5/26/2023 0 Comments Ulysses by james joyceAs an unfinished novel, it has an unimprovable last line – “He remained behind gazing into the canal near the feet of the body, looking at a fragment of paper on which was …” – but today it’s one for the scholars. Stephen Hero, an earlier, more traditionally realistic treatment of the material that became Portrait of the Artist, was rescued by Joyce’s sister after he threw it on the fire. Now we always have something to talk about. The delicate fragments sparked my interest in the oversized paperback of Ulysses that loomed over the Len Deightons and Le Carrés on his bookshelf. Pomes Penyeach was my own gateway to Joyce, after my dad, never usually a spontaneous present giver, left a copy in my room when I was 12. They provide a fascinating angle on his literary development and showcase his musicality, moving from traditional romantic swoons to a fragile, sincere beauty. “I prefer the poetry” would be a madly contrarian position, but the slim volumes Chamber Music and Pomes Penyeach will give you snatches of Joyce in seconds. It is still revolutionary today, as well as being knotty, funny, humane and endlessly rewarding. Each section pushes at least one new style of telling to the limits, as the narration flits from mind to mind. A young man and an older one wander Dublin, their paths repeatedly crossing, and a woman lies in bed thinking, on 16 June 1904. “Apart from everything that you could possibly imagine, nothing much happens in Ulysses,” wrote Anne Enright in her recent celebration of its centenary.
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