I read Ulysses for the first time in my last year of high school. I had already decided by then that I wouldn’t go on to study literature, although it was my oldest love. Somehow this made reading Ulysses a “now or never” affair. I wasn’t going to stop reading fiction just because I’d study something else in school, but, to my 18-year-old self, Ulysses seemed like the kind of book I might never check out without the incentive of a required reading list. I was prone to bouts of self-pity at the time, so this quickly became the symbol of all those intellectual landmarks I was going to miss by not becoming a lit major. So it was decided: I had to read Ulysses. There was just one small problem...
So, like many conscientious readers before me, I embarked on The Reading Ulysses Training Camp™. Mine was the abbreviated version. I figured I needed to be familiar with three things before tackling Ulysses: The Odyssey, modernism and Joyce’s previous writing. I was on reasonably good terms with the first two, so I moved straight to Joyce. (In retrospect, I really wish I had added some remedial Irish History to the list.) I read Dubliners and liked it. I moved on to Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and there the problems started.
I despised Stephen Dedalus. It was, I suppose, the effect of seeing oneself in a mirror. Like Stephen, I had problems. But they were not real problems. They were stock faux-intellectual problems and, it goes without saying, horribly self-centered. If I were to sum them up, I’d say they were all variations of a double question: “How do I find out if I am a tortured genius and what do I do if I am?” It felt good to indulge in this dilemma privately, but I didn’t really appreciate Stephen's endless navel-gazing (he'd probably call it "omphaloskepsis") and occasional assholery reminding me of it. (Although I do still have passages from Portrait of the Artist that I wrote down in a notebook, convinced they were Relevant to My Life. As you can see, at 18, I was somewhat worse at separating my personal life from the stuff I was reading.)
The question of my genius status temporarily put aside (it has since been solved in the negative), I finally ascended to Ulysses. I drew the Gilbert schema on a sheet and proceeded to read one episode every day. I’d read the episode, read the notes, go back and reread the episode. In the beginning, I tried a translated version as well (my native language =/= English), but after “scrotumtightening sea” became “the sea that grabs you by the scrotum," I couldn’t go on. Did I like what I was reading? Yes and no. I liked the experience. I liked what it taught me about the way I read before, about how superficial I was. It was unusual for me to spend so much time on a book. I remember sharing bits of it with my friends. The dirty bits, of course, but also countless instances of “Just look at this passage. Joyce is nuts.” (My friends are very patient people.) I liked figuring out stuff. At one point I started reading Nabokov’s lectures and I liked Ulysses even more seen through his eyes.
And
then I was done. I wanted to get myself a “I read Ulysses” badge, but even
ignoring the snottiness of it, I was too lazy to do it.
That right there is my Serious Reader Award. I won it by reading Ulysses. (And this right here is the propriety of the awesome |
To tell you the truth,
the whole thing was a little anti-climactic. I had read Ulysses. I was fond of
it, mostly because of the amount of work I put into reading it, but I didn’t love it. If
it hadn’t been for the Adorable Prof’s class (he of the faking Molly's orgasm fame), I probably wouldn’t have returned
to it. It was that class that made me long to reread Ulysses and it took me more than a year to finally decide to do it.
I returned to Ulysses last Bloomsday. There are things that never change: my ability to fret about my life choices a good example of that. Years after my initial career freakout at 18, things had gone full circle. I was agonizing over whether I should go to grad school or join the circus instead. But there are things that change, too, and my relationship with Ulysses is, thankfully, one of those. It wasn't just that I read it and loved it this time. It was that I looked at the world through its net for months after I was done. It never faded or went away - at some level, I never stopped thinking about it. In a nice twist of fate, Ulysses has become one of the most personal books I've read. That is one reason I decided to write this post like this, instead of writing a review.
***
A few years ago, before my second reading of Ulysses, I went to a modern art museum. It was a big museum, the kind that offers folding chairs, if you want to sit and contemplate the art, and art books, if you want to read about what you're contemplating. By far the most crowded room was one where people sat on their chairs, their backs to the walls and read art books about what was on the walls. It was a perfect image, the kind that is made to stand as a metaphor for something or other. I thought of Ulysses, of the Reading Ulysses Training Camp, of all the notes I went through and of how I wasn't sure if I would have liked the book more or less (or at all) without those crutches. I wasn't sure I had seen the book.
I returned to Ulysses last Bloomsday. There are things that never change: my ability to fret about my life choices a good example of that. Years after my initial career freakout at 18, things had gone full circle. I was agonizing over whether I should go to grad school or join the circus instead. But there are things that change, too, and my relationship with Ulysses is, thankfully, one of those. It wasn't just that I read it and loved it this time. It was that I looked at the world through its net for months after I was done. It never faded or went away - at some level, I never stopped thinking about it. In a nice twist of fate, Ulysses has become one of the most personal books I've read. That is one reason I decided to write this post like this, instead of writing a review.
***
A few years ago, before my second reading of Ulysses, I went to a modern art museum. It was a big museum, the kind that offers folding chairs, if you want to sit and contemplate the art, and art books, if you want to read about what you're contemplating. By far the most crowded room was one where people sat on their chairs, their backs to the walls and read art books about what was on the walls. It was a perfect image, the kind that is made to stand as a metaphor for something or other. I thought of Ulysses, of the Reading Ulysses Training Camp, of all the notes I went through and of how I wasn't sure if I would have liked the book more or less (or at all) without those crutches. I wasn't sure I had seen the book.
I'm not sure I have a good explanation for why this book became so important for me the second time I read it. My escapism was still there and the stuff I read about it the first time around cannot be unread. But I like to think that it was something like the image in that museum. I first read this book with my back to the wall and then I turned around and finally saw it. I'm sure there is no rhyme and reason as to why this happens with some books and not others, why some books come to life even under all those words about them and others don't, and I don't care. I'm glad this one did.
This is such a great post! I read Ulysses a few years ago and loved it, and I really hope that I can return to it again this year. However, I'm tempted to wait until I'm 21 and, well, a little more mature. I'm sure that Ulysses is a book that changes with you as you age.
ReplyDeleteI really love your museum analogy. I think I experienced something similar when re-reading War & Peace this summer. It was almost like I could properly engage with the book's essence (that sounds pretentious) after getting the plot out the way the first time round.
Thanks for such continually interesting posts!
Ha, your comment reminded me of a quote about how one cannot read, only reread and I looked it up and it's actually from Nabokov's Lectures. Here it is in its entirety and awesomeness:
Deletehttp://www.goodreads.com/quotes/676091-one-cannot-read-a-book-one-can-only-reread
Thank you for reading :)
Thanks, Nabokov's lectures -and that quote - are great!
DeleteIt's occurred to me recently that perhaps what Joyce *really* does is appeal to those of us who are both (1) drawn to the idea of literature, and (2) terminally obsessive-compulsive. Asking whether one likes Joyce might indeed be a useful diagnostic screening test.
ReplyDeleteI like this idea. You really do need 1 to get started and 2 to keep going. Although I know someone who has both, but has read Ulysses and dismissed it as a "clever intellectual puzzle," but not real literature, so there's that.
DeleteInteresting post! I read Ulysses for the first time last year (at the ripe old age of 36), and I also did a sort of "training camp". Or I guess it was just "get tons of books from the library that try to explain Ulysses". The first several sections I would spend poring over all the extra books talking about all his references, etc. But as I got further into it, I had to let some of that go and just read it. I can't say that I enjoyed Ulysses but I did feel quite a sense of satisfaction that I had finished it. Will be interesting to see if I have a deeper understanding of it next time (if there is a next time!).
ReplyDeleteHi, Amy, thanks for dropping by. I think I did progressively let go of that baggage while reading, too. Part of it is that you only have to get a grip on some recurring details once. Also, Stephen's POV sections were the ones I needed to put most work into and most of them were early on. And then in the last part, after Circe, everything just seems neat and normal :D
DeleteI'm reading Ulysses now. Really having good times. It's just amazing!
ReplyDeleteDidn't read before because I never had enough time to stop and jump into It. Guess all complaining about Joyce is just a matter of time. People don't have time to stop and read books like Ulysses. (Or just don't consider it an important stuff). Poor everyday people...
Awesome that you found time to read it. And yeah, I feel the same way (no time, when am I ever going to read all these pages??) about some authors, Proust and Tolstoy in particular.
DeleteFabulous post! Ulysses never particularly appealed to me - actually, it would be more accurate to say that it freaks me out -, but I always intended to read it someday. The way you talk about it actually makes me want to read it (and learn Irish History). It seems a life experience now, rather than just a chunkster to tick off from a list.
ReplyDeleteGlad you liked the post! You know, I reread Ulysses for one of o's (Delaisse) challenges last year - perhaps we could ask for a readalong in the Classics Club at some point? As Emily @ Reading While Female pointed out in her review yesterday, reading Ulysses with a friend (or 50) might help :)
DeleteThis is one of those books I should read yet I'm very, VERY, afraid even to buy.
ReplyDeleteDo it, do it, do it! Sorry, that's my reaction every time people say they haven't read yet a book I liked :) (But seriously, do it!)
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