]
James H. Maddox, Jr., Joyces Ulysses and the Assault upon Character (Rutgers UP; Hassocks: Harvester Press 1978), pp.203-04: In this study I have been less concerned with ethics per se that with the structures of personality which make ethics possible and operative in the world. And perhaps the most important discovery we make when we attempt to define such structures is that they are founded upon an unfathomable mystery. We can chart the sine curve of feeling which Bloom undergoes dozens of times throughout the day, but the generative core, the soul out of which that pattern of response grows, is numerous, beyond the powers of analysis – Joyces or our own. The closest we come to a final formation of character in Ulysses is the characters rhythm which is itself only a phenomenon of deeper-lying impulse. In Bloom, this rhythm consists of the alternate powers of self dispersal and re-assimilation. [Extract supplied by Jonathan McCreedy, UU PhD candidate 2009.] [ top ] David Lodge, The Language of Modernist Fiction: Metaphor and Metonymy, in Modernism, ed. Malcolm Bradbury & James McFarlane (Harmondsworth: Penguin 1976), seeks to see what generalisations we might make about the language of modern fiction (p.481.) [...] A useful text to examine is Ulysses (1922), where, indeed, the two streams-of-consciousness that constitute the linguistic staple [484] - and Stephens and Blooms - may be said to tend toward the metaphoric and metonymic poles respectively. This is Stephen, catching sight of Mrs McCabe, a midwife, in the Proteus episode [quotes One of her sisterhood lugged me squealing into life [...] Belly without blemish, bulging big, a buckler of taut vellum, no, whiteheaped corn, orient and immortal, standing from everlasting to everlasting.] The significant thing is not merely the presence of specific metaphors (cable of a flesh, buckler, &c.) but the fact that the interior monologue proceeds by perceived similarities and substitutions. The perception of an analogy between a telephone cable and the umbilical cord leads Stephens thoughts comically from midwife to Genesis, from his own birth to that of the race. And drawn in are other similarities and contrasts: the cords round the habits of monks, which are symbols of chastity and, when linked, of community in the mystical body of Christ; the navels contemplated by oriental mystics; the images from the Iliad, Song of Songs, Thomas Traherne. This, now, is Bloom, looking at his neighbours servant girl served before him in the pork butchers [quotes A kidney oozed bloodgouts on to the willowpatterned dish [...] Sound meat there like a stallfed heifer.] Blooms perception of the girl is strikingly synecdochic: he sees her in terms of chapped hands, vigorous hips, strong arms, and skirt: parts standing for the whole. His thought proceeds by associating items that [485] are contiguous rather than, as Stephen, similar: the girl is linked with her master, the master with the mistress, the age of the mistress with the youth of the girl, and so on. In the second paragraph, with ferreteyed, sausagepink, &c., we appear to have reverted to metaphor; but these are weak metaphors, and are so precisely because they depend on contiguity and context. Thus the physical juxtaposition of the butchers fingers and the sausages he handles provides the ready-made metaphor sausagepink; the butcher is compared with animals; and it is because the two terms of the comparison, the tenor and vehicle, am not widely separated that the metaphors are weak. / The structure of Ulysses is metaphorical, being based on similarity and substitution (the parallel between modern Dublin and the Odyssey and the many other parallels subsequently superimposed). But it is clear that this is compatible with extensive and deliberate exploitation of metonymy; and that the basically metonymic writing through which Blooms consciousness is rendered is no less modern than the metaphoric rendering of Stephens consciousness. The interesting conclusion follows that modern fiction may be characterised by an extreme or mannered drive toward the metonymic pole of language to which the novel naturally inclines, as well as by a drive toward the metaphoric pole from which it is naturally remote. [End Sect.] another clear example of this double tendency is Gertrude Stein [...]. (pp.485-86.)
[ top ] Colin MacCabe, James Joyce and the Revolution of the Word (London: Macmillan 1978): Rather than engaging in the direct espousal of political positions, Joyces work poses new questions about the relation between reader and text in ways that I have attempted to explicate. What remains to be discussed is the politics of this relation and the consequences of a practice of writing which subverts traditional political discourse. I have suggested that the crucial difference for the reader of Joyce lies in the position allocated him or her by the text. Instead of a traditional organisation of discourses which confer an imaginary unity on the reader, there is a disruption of any such position of unity. The reader is transformed into a set of contradictory discourses, engaged in the investigation of his or her own symbolic construction. What is subverted in the writing is the full Cartesian subject and this subversion is a political event of [152] central importance. For with the loss of the punctual subject, it is no longer possible to indicate discrete areas in which the punctual subject is represented. Instead one is confronted with the problem of understanding the individual as a set of overlapping and contradictory practices which produce a plurality of contradictory subjects. To understand the subject as plural and contradictory is to abandon a conception of politics as a determinate area with its specific discourses and organisation. When Lenin called for a new kind of party, he was challenging the assumption that those who wished to transform social relations could organise in a discrete area called politics. Lenins emphasis on style of work and on self-criticism can be understood as an attempt to find an organisational structure which would allow for the articulation of other practices within the area of representational politics and vice versa. The fact that the history of Leninist organisations is all too often the history of the total subordination of other practices to the political (and the political understood in the narrowest of bourgeois senses) should not obscure the revolutionary nature of Lenins call. And it is in terms of the desire for a new kind of party that one can understand Joyces texts as revolutionary in their commitment to the overthrow of the possibility of contemporary (both his and still ours) political discourse. Though it is also important to explain the relation between their subversive force and their profound political ineffectiveness. (pp.152-53.) Note: Margaret Mills Harper remarks on Colin MacCabes study of Joyces concern with the material effects of language and [...] the possibility of transformation [... &c.] (MacCabe, ibid., p.2; Harper, Taken in Drapery: Dressing the Narrative in the Odyssey and Penelope, in Molly Blooms: A Polylogue on Penelope and Cultural Studies, Wisconsin UP 1994, p.243.) [See further extracts in RICORSO Library, Major Authors - James Joyce, infra.]
[ top ] Jean-Michel Rabaté, Silence in Dubliners, in Colin MacCabe, ed., James Joyce: New Perspectives (Brighton: Harvester Wheatsheaf 1982), pp.45-72: The question of the silence of interpretation is built within the text, prepared and unforeseen in the deceptive game it plays with the reader [.; p.45] The problematics of silence can offer an approach which would go beyond the facile antagonism between the surface realism of the stories and the suggestions, allusions and quasi-symbolist tactics of inferring by cross-references. The only way to gain a broader perspective is to introduce the silent process of reading into the text. Thus one can keep in mind the insistent ethical function of the stories Joyce knew he was writing a chapter of the moral history of my country (Letters, II, 134)) and their political relevance, see these as confronted with the construction of a real Irish capital through literature (Is it not possible for a few persons of character and culture to make Dublin a capital such as Christiania has become? (Letters, II, 105), a construction which opposes any capitalistic exploitation. The mirror held up to the Irish may well be nicely polished, it is not dependent on a theory of pure mimesis, nor of purely symbolist implications. Dubliners is not, on the other hand, a direct consequence of Joyces current theories of aesthetics, such as Stephen expounds them; it is rather the theory itself, in its wider sense, which is mirrored in the text, where it is coupled with the utmost degree of precision and particularity, in the pragmatics of writing which deconstructs the voices of the characters, narrators, commentators, and paves the way toward the constitution of another rhetoric of silences, the silences of the writing being caught up by the silent reading-writing which transforms a collection of short stories into a text. [...; cont.]
Maud Ellmann, Polytropic Man: Paternity, Identity, and Naming in The Odyssey and A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, in James Joyce: New Perspectives, ed. Colin MacCabe (Brighton: Harvester Wheatsheaf 1982), pp.73-104. Ellmann discusses Stephens encounter with the word Foetus during the trip to Cork with his father.] Although the fathers rehearsal of his past, and his excavation of his name, seem to repossess his lost identity, the real motive of the journey belies this sentiment. For he returns to his origins only to sell them away. He is to auction his belongings, and to dispossess himself and his resentful son. (A Portrait, ed. Robert Scholes, London: Jonathan Cape, 1968, p.90.) / What is more, another scar intrudes itself into the narrative, and seems to usurp or obliterature the cutting leters of his name. Remembering reverts to disremembering. [Quotes They passed into the anatomy theatre . hid his flushed face. Portrait, 92-93.) [...] No explanation ever comes to gloss this episode, no trope induces it to circulate. For when, in sudden legends like this word or Lotts, the economy of literature breaks forth, its letters like a littoral: a shoreline or horizon that circumscribes the vital sea or flow and influence, and severs words and flesh from their circulation. As literature, or speech in storage, Foetus introdcues a lacuna in the tissue of the text - and the word itself remains imprisoned, strangely, in its very unequivocality. Neither Stephen, nor the reader, nor the text itself, can broach the littoral, or quite digest the literality of Foetus which erupts so inexplicably. [...] In three ways [...] this mutilating word encroaches on the fathers empire. Firstly, it breaks out where the fathers name should be. Then it lets forth that vision of the dead which Simon Dedaluss words - according to his son - had been powerless to evoke. Finally, its repetitions resist the fiction of a singular begetting. How can we trace a first creation in a word cut several times by untold hands? Repeated, the scarletter refuses the Creation from nothing, from only begetter to only begotten, to which paternity at last refers itself and justifies itself (U, 43; 207). But the initials which Foetus has pre-empted or effaced must also stand for Stephen Dedalus.
Maud Ellmann, Polytropic Man: Paternity, Identity, and Naming [... &c.], in James Joyce, ed. Colin MacCabe (1982) - cont. [new para.]: In Proteus, and in The Oxen of the Sun, Stephen twice repudiates the notion of a belly without blemish: of flesh unblotted by its nameless scar (U, 43; 389). just so, in Michelangelos Creation in the Sistine Chapel, Adams navel, in mute blasphemy, foreswears the fatherhood of God. The umbilicus, which Stephen calls the strandentwining cable of all flesh, belies the firstness of the father, and the originality of his creation. For rather than an origin, this blemish is the footnote of the flesh. / In A Portrait, Foetus opens up the hole we all have, the void on which the world, the Church, the father so precariously rest. It plunges both the subject and the text toward agnomenity and semotic anarchy. (pp.95-97; for longer extracts, see RICORSO Library, Major Authors, James Joyce, infra.) [ top ] Seamus Heaney, A Tale of Two Islands: Reflections on The Irish Literary Revival, in P. J. Drury, ed., Irish Studies, I (Cambridge UP 1980), pp.1-20: The great and true liberator was, of course, Joyce who, like Tiresias, foresuffered all. In one well-known and central diary entry at the end of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, the whole problem of the Irish artist and his inheritance is vividly exposed. [Quotes entry for 14 April on Stephen Dedaluss rejection of Mulrennans horny eyed peasant]: The old man is as much a victim as the writer. His illiterate fidelities are the object of Stephens scepticism, the substance of what Stephen rejects; and yet they are a part of Stephen himself. Stephen is angry that all his culture can offer him for veneration is this peasant oracle, yet understanding the ruination that he and the old man share, he is not prepared to struggle to the death. [17] / Yeatss stance, and Lady Gregory and Synges towards the old man are very different. He is for them a portal, a gleam of half-extinguished thought. [...] Joyce did not seek to use myths to establish a racial separateness or a national literature. He was not immediately interested in a coherent Irish tradition but was necessarily content to inherit the shattered one which history bequeathed him. Stephen tells Davin, the young Gaelic League enthusiast, that he is not prepared to pay in his life and person for the mistakes which his people have made. Instead, he will forge a personal truth. He will use myth not to construct exemplary alternative worlds but to structure the facts of his own bourgeois Catholic experience. We will have the Hades chapter of Ulysses instead of the Aran keen, we will have the Aeolus chapter to redeem the orange-peel. / And it is surely the Joycean example that was at the back of Thomas Kinsellas mind when he doubted whether a coherent national literary tradition was necessarily an advantage, and went on to declare that every modern writer inherits a gapped and polyglot tradition anyhow. (pp.17-18; quoted in part [on the old man] in Stan Smith, Seamus Heaney: The Distance Between, The Chosen Ground: Essays on the Contemporary Poetry of Northern Ireland, Neil Corcoran, Brigend, Mid Glamorgan: Seren Books; Dufour 1992, p.47.)
[ top ] Dominic Manganiello, Joyces Politics (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul 1980): For Joyce, then, the emancipation made possible through [38] literature transcended those notions of freedom embraced by nationalists and socialists. Literature operated as an instrument by altering mens minds. The transformation of institutions does not depend on force, lobbying for peace, or pleading for social Justice, but can only follow upon this unsuspected process of changing basic attitudes and prejudices. (pp.38-39.) Further, In setting himself against Church, fatherland, family and friends Joyce was not being apolitical. Exile did not mean escape but a widening of political consciousness; it did not mean indifference but preserving intimacy with his country by intensifying his quarrel with her. (p.41.) [Cont.]
Frederic Jameson, Ulysses in History, in James Joyce and Modern Literature, ed. W. J. McCormack & Alistair Stead ((London: Routledge & Kegan Paul 1982): A long experience of the classical modernisms has finally taught us the bankruptcy of the symbolic in literature; we demand something more from artists than this facile affirmation that the existent also means. that things are also symbols. But this is very precisely why I am anxious to rescue Joyce from the exceedingly doubtful merit of being called a symbolic writer. (p.129.) Like the classical unities, it offers a useful but wholly extrinsic set of limits against which the writer works, and which serve as a purely mechanical cheek on what risks otherwise becoming an infinite proliferation of detail [...] alongside the type of reading encouraged by the mythic parallels - which I have called a matching up - there is a rather different form of reading which resists that one in all kinds of ways, and ends up subverting it. (p.131.) [Cont.]
Terence Brown, Dublin of Dubliners, in James Joyce: An International Perspective, ed. Suheil Bushrui & Bernard Benstock (Gerrards Cross: Colin Smythe 1982): [...] The fact that Joyces Dublin was a city with military traditions is suggested throughout the book indeed in the frequency in which military metaphors are employed to heighten, one supposes, the [15] sense of futile confict that is one of the books themes. (p.16.) [.; quotes description of the dinner-table in The Dead - A fat brown goose ... green sashes:] It is worth noting I think that this protracted military parody is included in a tale which by no means lacks military allusion. Military metaphors like those noticed in earlier stories recur in The Dead: An irregular musketry of applause escorted Aunt Julia to the piano while Mr. Browne advancing from the door, gallantly escorted her; Gabriel feels valorous about his wife and he longs to defend her against something. Later he feels some impalpable and vindicative being was coming against him, gathering forces against him in its vague world, and at the end the snow lies on the spears of the little gate. There are also allusions to military tradition. The song discussed is Let me like a Soldier fall; Michael Fureys song was The Lass of Aughrim; and one of the dances danced is The Lancers. We are also reminded of the Wellington and King William monuments with all their military associations, and told of grandfather Morkan going to a military review in the park. / I take it that all this together [...] serves as an ironic counterpoint to the real emotional conflicts that confront Gabriel at the heart of the story, where traditions of military aspiration, like those of hospitality he so sentimentally invokes and all the rest of Dublins paralysed traditions that the book has laid bare, can serve him nothing at all. (p.17; bibl. refs. John V. Kelleher, Irish History and Mythology in James Joyces The Dead [America Committee for Irish Studies reprints] (Chicago Nov. 1971). [ top ] Charles Rossman, The Readers Role in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, in James Joyce: An International Perspective, ed. Suheil Bushrui & Bernard Benstock (Gerrards Cross: Colin Smythe 1982): Joyces much discussed idea of the “epiphany” is basically a theory of perception. Stephen Dedalus makes this clear when, near the end of Stephen Hero, he expounds the theory, in words too familiar to quote at length. A few excerpted phrases will make my point: “By an epiphany he meant a sudden spiritual manifestation. ... He told Cranly that the Ballast Office clock was capable of an epiphany. ... All at once I see it and I know what it is: epiphany. ... Imagine my glimpses at that clock as the gropings of a spiritual eye which seeks to adjust its vision to an exact focus. The moment the focus is reached the object is epiphanised” (SH, 211). Stephen states the matter explicitly. The thing (the Ballast Office clock) is out there; the perceiver needs to adjust his focus carefully; under ideal conditions, an epiphany occurs: object and observer coincide to produce a pellucid “reality”. / In an earlier, less familiar passage, Stephen corroborates this notion of perception as a delicate attunement of perceiver to object. He speaks of the artists special faculty of perception as the ability to “disentangle the subtle soul of the image from its mesh of defining circumstances” (SH, 78). In A Portrait, Stephen Dedalus advances a similar notion of perception. He explains to Lynch how, confronted by a basket, the mind first of all separates the basket from the rest of the visible universe which is not a basket, in order to apprehend it as one thing. This phase of perception Stephen calls the discovery of the objects integritas. Two successive phases, the discovery of consonantia and of claritas, yield a radiant manifestation of the whatness of a thing. That is, the mind discovers that thing which [the basket] is and no other thing (AP, p.213). [Cont.]
Bernard Benstock, On the Nature of Evidence in Ulysses, in James Joyce: An Joyce International Perspective, ed. Suheil Bushrui & Benstock (Gerrards Cross: Colin Smythe 1982), p.46ff.: [...] There has long been a certain amount of wailing and sighing over the Bloom marriage. Those who describe Bloom as impotent (the single most common word in Ulysses commentary to classify him) apparently sidestep the physiological evidence of his ejaculations in masturbating and interrupted coitus. Those who allow him his biological virility concentrate on his psychological warps, and Bloom certainly has his peculiarities. But psychological manifestations suggest psychological causes, yet even the most committed [50] members of the psychoanalytical school fail to relate the causes to Bloom, preferring to examine James Joyce instead. Whatever the author might have revealed on the couch that he so adamantly refused to occupy need not detract from the evidence he provided for Blooms situation. Rudy born unhealthy (a fact for which Ulysses supplies an abundance of clues) managed to alter the sexual appetites of both parents, as both readily admit about themselves. Bloom was obviously the more seriously affected since he harboured the fallacy that the father was biologically responsible for a malformed male child: If its healthy its from the mother. If not the man (U96). And despite his yearning for a male heir, he practised the only kinds of sex with Molly that would preclude another pregnancy. / Wary of venereal disease Bloom usually avoids prostitutes; wary of social stigmas he generally avoids relations with other women. And aware of Mollys progressively depressed state he has stoically arranged her affair with Blazes Boylan, from the initial introduction to the assurance of a safe house on June 16th. He reveals his anxieties over the arrangements and his regrets, but basically he remains satisfied with the days events. In many ways it was the best and safest compromise he could make under the circumstances, and as Raleigh implies, the Blooms have one of the best marriages in Dublin - at least as far as Ulysses is concerned. Which married couple could the Blooms envy - Charlie and Fanny MCoy? Richie and Sara Goulding? Bob and Polly Doran? Mr. and Mrs. Tom Kernan? The MacDowells? Or before widowhood the Dedaluses, the Dignams? Or perhaps the Purefoys with their nine children? - certainly the sentimental favourite. (pp.50-51.) Note that Benstock, who is usually intent on demonstrating the incertitude of evidence in Ulysses, here postulates a define motive and design on the part of Leopold in relation to the adultery between Molly and Blazes Boylan in the novel. (For longer extracts, dealing with such matters as the events in Nighttown, see RICORSO, Library, Major Authors - James Joyce, infra.) [ top ] Vivian Mercier, John Eglinton as Socrates: A Study of Scylla and Charybdis, in James Joyce: An International Perspective, ed. Suheil Bushrui & Bernard Benstock, Gerrards Cross: Colin Smythe 1982): [...] Though they may appear rambling enough at first, the thirty-five pages of Scylla and Charybdis prove on closer examination to be among the most tightly packed with meaning in the whole of prose literature. They present several of the most persistent themes in [66] Ulysses almost simultaneously, so closely woven together that the reader is not allowed to lose sight of any for more than a few moments at a time. The most important theme -so important that it might be called the key to Ulysses - is the relationship between art and life, more specifically between Shakespeares art and Shakespeares life. Stephen Dedalus argues that these were very intimately related indeed. What gives his exposition an intensity rarely to be found in academic discourse is his creators secret purpose: Joyce is giving himself away. This man who was so reserved that he wished all his men friends to address him as Joyce rather than Jim or James, and who so rarely showed his feelings in private life except in those extraordinary love letters to Nora Barnacle, is pressing upon the readers of Ulysses clues to his own mystery. Those who accuse Richard Ellmann of the biographical fallacy because he interprets Joyces works in terms of his life deliberately ignore the obvious fact that Joyce makes Stephen joyfully embrace the alleged fallacy in his account of Shakespeare. It is true that when John Eglinton asks, Do you believe your own theory? Stephen promptly (too promptly, perhaps?) answers No (U, 213-14). But in my case Eglinton is referring specifically to what he calls a French triangle (U213), the theory that Shakespeare was cuckolded by one of his brothers. Nobody who takes part in the discussion, not even A.E. (But this prying into the family life of a great man, Russell began impatiently [1891), seriously questions the existence of a relationship between a writers life and his work. The novelty of Stephens analysis of Hamlet lies in his identification of Shakespeare not with Prince Hamlet but with Hamlets father, the ghost. (For whole text, see RICORSO, Library, Major Authors - James Joyce, infra.)
John Paul Riquelme, Twists of the Tellers Tale: Finnegans Wake, in James Joyce: An Joyce International Perspective, ed. Suheil Bushrui & Benstock (Gerrards Cross: Colin Smythe 1982), pp.82-114: John Paul Riquelme, Twists of the Tellers Tale: Finnegans Wake, in James Joyce: An Joyce International Perspective, ed. Suheil Bushrui & Benstock (Gerrards Cross: Colin Smythe 1982), pp.82-114 Through the virtuoso and protean power of imaginative enactment and making associated with acting, writing, and printing, in Finnegans Wake, homo ludens as homo faber mimes, in comic Promethean fashion, the status traditionally associated with the godhead. Since human creations are full of the misprints, hints, and concealments (such as Shems concealment behind his squirtscreen), for which paper is one medium, the words of the book of Doublends Jined (20.15-16) will be bound, as are all words in books, to require multiple readings. These readings include the repeated perusals of the printers. proofs needed for making corrections and revisions. And they are the multiple meanings that proliferate until the person who opened the book closeth thereof the (20.17-18). The closing of the Wake, its final word, is, of course, the. The distinction made between finally and endlike (20.11-12) in the passage about Gutenmorg indicates that the is not likely to be entirely final. Eventually, that is, finally but not absolutely finally, reader and author reach a state of repletion that is more a filling up (fillstup [20.13]) than a full stop. The books last the lacks the punctuation of the full stop, since the end is the int. Reader and author reach a provisionally final state when they meet with the acquaintance of Mister Typus, Mistress Tope and all the little typtopies (20.12-13) in such a way that the words can be bound over for closure though not for ending in any categorical sense. When such closure takes place, the general, the myth, type, or archetype becomes incarnated in a specific place and at a specific occasion (in two senses of topos). Type as model then proliferates as typtopies, both further incarnations of the myth and multiple copies in the typeface of printed books. In the making of the book, the typed copies of MSS are set in printing type to make passages (topoi again). In their complementary experiences with the text, [100] reader and author meet with the acquaintance and make the acquaintance of type and topos as they become familiars of the text. The author meets with the printer, the person acquainted with types who is indispensable for publishing. And the author as teller meets with the reader, who must already be acquainted with printing type in order to experience the text. At the same time, the author makes the reader into a new acquaintance by creating the readers persona. If the author chooses, as Joyce did, he can develop strategies for letting the reader perceive the continuity and overlap of reading, writing, and printing in the bookmaking process. Through the allusions to printing in the Wake, the reader can realize the experience of meeting author and printer, the acquaintances of type and typos. The writer, his text as epistle, and his printer concerned with letters, all together once for omniboss step rubrickredd out of the wordpress, when the rubrics are read. (pp.100-101.) [Cont.]
Phillip Herring, Joyce and Rimbaud: An Introductory Essay, in James Joyce: An Joyce International Perspective, ed. Suheil Bushrui & Benstock (Gerrards Cross: Colin Smythe 1982): Quotes Oliver St. John Gogary [as supra] and compares the lives of Joyce and Rimbaud, drawing particular attention to Joyces imitation of the sonnet “Voyelles”, and the Proteus passages on epiphanies (Book you were to write with letters for titles. Have you read his F? Oh yes but I prefer Q [...; U40; cf. alphabet books you were going to write, U48]. [...] the biographical parallels with Rimbaud are striking. They [both] reject country, family, religion for a revolutionary aestheticism and see exile as their inevitable destiny (p.184.) [T]he character of Shem [...] is a caricature of the artistic temperament (so offensive to Gogarty) which Joyce associated with Rimbaud and himself in his letter of Sept. 1905 [I am an artist by temperament. Newman and Renan, for example, are excellent writers but they seem to have very little of the temperament I mean. Whereas Rimbaud, who is hardly a writer at all, has it. Letters, 1966, Vol. II, p.110; vide also ibid., p.173 on Joyces reading of the Symbolistes.] Herring quotes C. P. Curran on Joyces youthful interest in Rimbaud, and concludes: For once Gogarty was right. The influence is there, from Stephen Hero to A Portrait to Ulysses [..lles was a stage - perhaps even a blockage - through which Stephen had to pass to attain mastery; Ulysses reflects this process in plot and form. Finnegans Wake proclaims on every page the virtuosity to which Stephen aspires, one surpassing anything of which Rimbaud could have dreamed. Hence he is little celebrated in Joyces final work. [...]. See also n.26, citing Joyces play W. Y. Tindalls reference to Joyces play upon Rimbauds coinage ithyphalliques in La Coeur Volé) as mithyphallic [481.04] which Herring calls ornamental. Joyce also finds Rainbow in Rimbaud (Ha.] being most apparent in reveries where aesthetics is the subject. When Stephen tries to push on toward truly original theories of experimentation, his thoughts weave synaesthetic patterns in colours and vowels [...] Rimbaud represented for Stephen a classical case of anxiety of influence [...] to be vanquished or assimilated [...] By Finnegans Wake, Rimbaud had about served Joyces purpose; although his [Joyces] interest doubtless remained, his use of the French poet, as with so many other writers, had become more ornamental than essential. The experimentalism of Rimbaud and Voyeyman and Glasheen; here n.26, p.180.) [ top ] Ann Saddlemyer, James Joyce and the Irish Dramatic Movement, in James Joyce: A Joyce International Perspective, ed. Suheil Bushrui & Benstock (Gerrards Cross: Colin Smythe 1982) [extensive remarks on Joyce and Synge] - on Exiles: Described in his notes as three cat and mouse acts, Exiles deals with estrangement and liberation, perversion and conversion, on the ethical, moral, aesthetic, and sexual planes - and hence, by implication, on the national plane also. The origins of plot are readily recognizable from Joyces biography, as is his determination to create a drama of Ibsenite clarity: either the perception of a great truth, or the opening up of a great question, or a great conflict which is almost independent of the conflicting actors. The conflict (and great question) is how to reconcile, while exploring, the opposite values of the soul and conscience, the fruitful and the sterile. The perception of truth, which Richard Rowan struggles toward and for which he must sacrifice all certainties, lies in what Joyce calls the virginity of the soul, a state of readiness which one must consciously strive for while acknowledging the hopelessness of recapturing it, once its initial energy is spent. There is no final end to such a conflict or perception, and so the play ends not in death, but spiritual, emotional, and physical stasis, a mood of lassitude tenuously balanced between physical longing and the wounding doubt of the soul. / Such an intricately patterned thematic structure required a matching rigidity of checks and counterchecks, comparisons and contrasts, in both plot and characterization. With Jonsonian precision Joyce presents the theme of putative cuckoldry through his humorous characters: Richard Rowan, spiritual but not genetic heir to the Anglo-lrish patriot, an automystic, artist/author, warring within him the conflict of a previous generation in his generous, artistic father and an unforgiving, puritanical mother; Robert Hand, artisan/journalist, an automobile, sadist in his sensuality [205] where Richard is masochistic in his self-denial, unwillingly-led betrayer to Richards will towards betrayal; Richards mistress-in-exile, Bertha, mother to his child, herself denied a patronym while Richard strives to free her soul and body from bondage to their love; Beatrice Justice, cousin and childhood sweetheart of Robert, spiritual mistress to Richard, while sickly in her own virginity; the inevitable folk mother Brigid; and Richard and Berthas son Archie, herald of the future, combining the flexibility of his godfather Robert Hand with the lunar qualities of his mother and the openness to experience of his father. (pp.205-06; [Saddlemyer treats fully of Joyces relations with Edward Martyn, W. B. Yeats, Lady Gregory and - particularly - J. M. Synge. for full text, see RICORSO > Library > Criticism > Major Authors > James Joyce - in this frame or in a new window.]
Jeremy Hawthorn, Ulysses, Modernism and the Marxist Criticism, in W. J. McCormack & Alistair Stead, eds., James Joyce and Modernism (Routledge 1984): [... Mollys stream of consciousness is often seen as the most extreme form of technical innovation on Joyces part in Ulysses, but it is worth noting that as nearly all of her thoughts concern her relationships with other eople rather than merely physical sensation, their expression in words present fewer problems than do some of Blooms more ephemeral thoughts and sensations. In spite of her physicality and concern with sexuality, Molly consistently conceptualises; she does not just remember events, she comment upon them and tires to put them into some sort of order. We may remember Molly as an experiencer rather than a thinker, but when we go back to her monolgue we discover that she never stops interpreting and commenting upon her experiences. This is why we never feel any strain has been caused by representing her thoughts in words; they are generally at that level of conceptualisation which requires words anyway. In addition, of course, many of the events she is thinking about have had a significant verbal element in the first place. (p.119.) [ top ] Derek Attridge & Daniel Ferrer, eds., Post-structuralist Joyce: Essay from the French (Cambridge UP 1984): The literary work which refuses this satisfaction [i.e., that of discovering truths in the text which correspond to those the critic brought to it] which does not yield to the prevailing critical strategies, whose proliferations go uncontrollably beyond established reading habits and threatens to obliterate the safe distance between text and reader, is put to one side, to await the critic who will be able to show that it is, after all, not so ferocious, but has merely been misunderstood. But the critical text which refuses the same satisfaction [...] is permanently discarded. (p.3.) Further: [... the] incessant shifting and opening-out of meaning in the act of reading and re-reading. The dream of final and total explication seems to be turning into a prospect of interminable accumulation - or a Rabelaisian vision of infinite and comic fecundity. There is no doubt which view Joyce would have taken. (p.8.) [Cont.]
[ top ] James Simmons, The Recipe for all Misfortunes, Courage: A study of three works by Protestant authors [Forrest Reid, Joyce Cary, Sam Hanna Bell], in Across the Roaring Hill: The Protestant Imagination in Modern Ireland - Essays in Honour of John Hewitt, ed. Gerald Dawe & Edna Longley (Belfast: Blackstaff 1985): [...] It is hard to discuss Irish literature outside an historical context. What leads me in to some preliminary comments on James Joyce is that the Irish learnt a peculiar loyalty to the priests who stood by them in the eighteenth century, and by the time of the Famine there was very little the mass of Irish people could call their own but their religion. When the Americans were confidently separating Church and State the Irish were contracting an unnatural loyalty to the most conservative and power-hungry of Churches, an imperial power, as Joyce recognised. But while the weight of all his books is a challenge to Church domination (Blooms friendly, practical meditations undermine the Church continually. ... Said he was going to paradise or is in paradise. Says that over everybody. Tiresome kind of a job. But he has to say something), the technical intricacy of the book as a whole can seem like a desire to compete with or impress that Church. [ftn. ref. to Simmons poem The Catholic Churchs Revenge on James Joyce.] What are we to think of his negative attitude to politics? If we can understand his early lack of faith in the ability of the Irish to free themselves from British rule,, why is he so indifferent when they actually bring it off? Joyces comedy is so warm and liberating and original that we often choose to ignore the proud, pretentious side of him, what you might call the tossing antlers syndrome, that made him a prey to Modernism, a movement with pride and despair in its heart, a last fling of aristocracy, though, as a young American poet writes, at least the quatrains ran on time. [Bill Knott, Becos, 1983]. To invent Bloom was a profound assertion of the rights of man: a foreigner who masturbates, is cuckolded and lacks any obvious talent, claims his rights as a man, an Irishman, a husband and a citizen with disarming simplicity, courage and directness. Not all the selfconscious literary experiment that the author indulges in can hide [80] his primary inspiration. If we look to literature for some sort of guidance in this life, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and Ulysses are not to be ignored, for warmth, boldness and intelligence. There is in some respects a steadier warmth and boldness in the authors I am contracted to discuss; but none of them is so radical and original. (p.80-81.) [Cont.]
Philip Gaskell & Clive Hart, Ulysses: A Review of Three Texts [Princess Grace Irish Library] (Gerrards Cross: Colin Smythe 1988), Introduction: [...] We are troubled by three characteristics of the 1984 clear-reading text [ed. Hans Walter Gabler]: (1) its preference for readings derived from evidence, usually manuscript, of Joyces first thoughts, however strong the case for later versions; (2) its normalisation of inconsistencies and errors even when these are indisputably attributable to the author; (3) most important: [ix] the adoption of readings from sources, usually manuscript, that are not in the direct line of descent of the final text. (pp.ix-x.) [Cont.]
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