The Artist's Art Means What?!?!

So bear with me here but I feel like expanding a bit on yesterday’s post. Recently I was in an argument with a friend (you know who you are) who was suggesting that any meaning gleaned from art that is not explicitly intended by the artist is, by definition, invalid. In other words, if the artist doesn’t say it, then she doesn’t mean it, and if she doesn’t mean it, than it doesn’t matter. So, all the “sharp imagery” and “matronly metaphors” discussed in yesterday’s post become immaterial if Joyce did not explicitly mean to convey, well…, sharp imagery and matronly metaphors.

I reject this notion for a number of reasons. Generally speaking, I think being open-minded when consuming art personalizes the experience, which in turn gives it meaning, real meaning, meaning to the viewer, not the creator, which is kind of the point, right? As long as it is well considered, supported, and presented, I say why not? Even if the artist has absolutely no intention whatsoever of conveying meaning X, this by no means invalidates meaning X as long as meaning X is well reasoned (ah Reason, my old friend, glad you could chime in). And perhaps most importantly, when considering the artist as creator, who’s to say that the creator, any creator, can actually fully control the truth of their work. Who’s to say that the artist can actually make their art say something exact and the same for everyone in all contexts. It can’t be done of course. Besides, it’s fun to consider everything, to look everywhere, to leave no stone unturned. Makes the world go ‘round, ya know?

“The moment you think you understand a great work of art, it’s dead for you.” - Oscar Wilde

Indeed.

Breakfast, Anyone?

So, I was just able to get into the first few pages of the book and am currently watching (and hearing, and seeing, and feeling…) our hero have breakfast. I really like it so far. A couple of things right off the bat:

1) The prose is excellent. Tight, ultra-descriptive, and somehow feeling very different from your typical narrative. Although it is kind of gross at times, eh? This part describing the bowl in his mother’s sick room is downright revolting: “A bowl of white china had stood beside her deathbed holding the green sluggish bile which she had torn up from her rotting liver by fits of loud groaning vomiting.” Nice!

2) I like the idea of this blog more and more as a companion to reading the book. Reading while trying to think of blog-worthy topics makes you like, pay attention and stuff. My desire to look like something other that a complete blithering idiot on these pages drives me to be the model reader. Imagine that.

3) Joyce weaves some great thematic references to motherhood in the opening pages, from the emotional bits about the death of Dedalus’ mother to the delivery of the “mother’s milk” by the milkmaid (the “wandering crone”). In a rather skillful way, he reiterates this theme (not sure what it means yet) tightly and with purpose, letting each reference set up the other, over and over, but not too much. Good stuff. It should be very interesting to see this play out.

Speaking of the milkmaid, how about this bit of prose describing her morning milking duties: “Crouching by a patient cow at daybreak in the lush field, a witch on her toadstool, her wrinkled fingers quick at the squirting dugs.” What’s with all the sharp imagery?

And...Begin

Well, here’s the book. Although mainly a library guy, I figured I’d buy this one because 1) it gives the project a little more weight if I drop thirty bucks and 2) I plan on thoroughly defacing the thing with written comments and such. So, let’s begin. To start out, I’d like to post a positive quote and a ominous note:

A positive quote:

“‘Tis the good reader that makes the good book.” – Emerson

An ominous note:

“The demand that I make of my reader is that he should devote his whole Life to reading my works.” – James Joyce

Seriously dude?

Literary Modernism Redux

In preparation for this project, I figured I should do a little research into the life and times of the man and his greatest work. This has led me to look into the artistic sensibilities of the day, which of course would mean Modernism. From what I can tell, Modernist literature is basically a rejection of Realism (think Middlemarch, one of my favorites) for a more disjointed, twisted, and ambiguous worldview, with a bit of pessimistic disillusionment sprinkled in for good measure (fun times!). Plot, character, and themes are mixed and mashed so as not to be as clear cut or, er…, realistic. The article I was reading basically pointed to T.S. Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock as one of the seminal works of Modernism (another one of course is Ulysses). This poem, if you recall, thrives on ambiguity, presenting a puzzling yet beautiful poetic narrative that raises more questions than it answers. Who is the narrator really? Who is he talking to? What is literal or symbolic? What is actually going on? This of course hints heavily towards what I will find in Ulysses and should, in a lot of ways, frighten me thoroughly. One thing I would say, though, is that the very questions I just listed and will undoubtedly wrestle with in the months to come are certainly relevant to my reality, on a daily basis. I think it is interesting that, although seen by some as a rejection of Realism, the Modernist writer may actually be moving closer to “reality” that any writer before or since.

Some Pregame Thoughts

So, as I prepare to begin (i.e., find time to get my lazy a - - over to the bookstore to buy the book), I figured I'd post a few “pregame” thoughts just to get into the swing of things. First off, I ran across something really interesting today, something I’m taking as a sign that this project was meant to be. Apparently, among other great and rare manuscripts and books, the Rosenbach Museum & Library in Philadelphia has in its possession a handwritten version of Ulysses. Not only that, but they have a reading group devoted to Ulysses that meets once a month, starting on Feburary 4th. This of course fits perfectly into the spirit of this whole thing so I think I’ll pay the place a visit and perhaps join this kind of scary sounding reading club.

So Here We Go....

Okay everybody, so here goes. Stick with me here as I am about to try something kind of different, a fine project bloated full with literary pretention and nerdyness. Over the next four months I plan to finally read all of James Joyce’s Ulysses and blog about it in every way possible (sky’s the limit here folks). Why? Because I have always wanted to read this much hyped and heralded book. Why not do so with the added support of a blog? Also, it could turn out to be kind of fun, right? RIGHT?

The blogging here will, I’m sure, end up all over the place, which seems appropriate given the topic. However, in some way, I want to consistently use this blog to relate to the book and to place it firmly in the context of a middle-aged American dude looking for meaning in the year 2010. Certainly don’t look for any sort of expert (ha!) analysis and/or detailed literary dissection. I guess I just want to enjoy the thing and figured that this blog could help. So expect some pretty atypical comments as I move through the text, with some “alternative” interpretations (at best) and embarrassingly incorrect analysis (at worst). So be it. If you don’t like it then you can just take your ball and go home.

So let’s get this party started! Check back often for updates as I plan on posting often and most importantly, wish me luck! Hidey-ho!

"I am tomorrow, or some future day, what I establish today. I am today what I established yesterday or some previous day." – James Joyce