I’m trying to begin blogging a little more often.
One thing that is helping is James Joyce. I started Ulysses a few months ago, put it down, and then picked it up again a few weeks ago. And I love it.
I was nervous to even touch Ulysses, let alone attempt to read it. There’s so much stigma around this one little (ok, rather large) novel.
The story goes something like this: Ulysses contains so many references: to literature, history, Latin, Catholicism, Irish culture, nursery rhymes, bawdy ballads, etc etc etc that it’s impossible to get any sort of meaning out of it. In addition, it chronicles the stream of consciousness of one man on one day, making it tedious to read.
I’m on chapter 5 (page 58) which has taken me a few days to get through. It is pretty dense reading, so I have to take my time, and I can only do a bit in one sitting. This is VERY GOOD FOR ME. I read so quickly that I don’t often pay attention to the craft inherent in the writing. This puts me at a disadvantage when I’m writing myself. I’m not always aware of the mechanics of writing, and I’m not talking about grammar.
Anyway. It is a beautiful book. Joyce just lets himself relax and describe the ocean of sensation that washes over us on daily basis. (I wonder what Buddists would have to say about this book, so full of ego-centered thinking.) It’s lovely and I think, if one relaxes, not too hard to understand.
I was thinking about Joyce while I was walking Maggie this morning. His sense of the present is sometimes overwhelming. But when you are out in the world, noticing things around you, his style is fitting.
Maggie!