Bloomsday

I can't believe I've never did a post about Bloomsday before. Ulysses is the ultimate novel of the 20th century, at times almost completely inscrutable but also a darkly comic and soaring statement on love, the transmigration of souls, and the power of memory. I actually recommend Sean Walsh's Bloom, which is kind of a visual Cliff's Notes of Joyce's novel but gets a staggering amount of things right. But there's no substitute for the text itself. Back when I lived in Philadelphia they had an all-day reading which featured local celebrities, including then-mayor and now-governor of Pennsylvania Ed Rendell. I'm sure if you dig hard enough you can find a similar such celebration in your area. And it's well worth it. 102 years after June 16, 1904, the words and actions of Leopold Bloom and Molly Bloom and Stephen Dedalus still resonate. Especially these:

History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.

A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.

A nation is the same people living in the same place.

And of course, the decidedly non-political statement of desire, the rememberance of things past, all that was good about the first flush of love and the reawakening of how that can be renewed again...

… and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.

It's important to remember that Ulysses was a novel that was burnt before it reached American shores, that had trouble getting published at all because of its alleged salaciousness (horror of horrors, people have sex over the course of a day!), that took ten years of legal battle to get clearance to be printed in this country. And earwicker from Kos notes:

All of which is why I'm a wee pissed that President Bush decided yesterday to sign bill S. 193 or the Broadcast Decency Enforcement Act or the Does-the-American-Family-Association-want-a-biscuit? It-does? Beg-for-the-biscuit-AFA-that's-a-good-boy! AFA-likes-biscuits-yes-it-does-Now-roll-over Act.

Ladies and gentlemen, after two and half years of national soul searching, after tremendous gnashing of teeth, we can finally wake from our long nightmare that began with an errant pop star's nipple. This sorry excuse for legislation increases the maximum fine the FCC can levy on radio and TV stations by a factor of ten for violating decency standards. Well, praise the Lord for that! It's about goddamn time we got rid of all that objectionable material - who knew you could do it with just a stroke of the pen?

And that brings me back to Ulysses. For over a decade America was robbed of one of the greatest works of art made in the 20th century because it was considered "pornographic" and it would be a shame to ever have something like that happen again.

Mrgkgnao! to that.

p.s. This year's Bloomsday obsession may have something to do with my stay in Dublin back in March. I even stopped by Davy Byrne's pub:



Though I didn't have a gongonzola sandwich and a glass of burgundy.