The Wandering Rocks

So, Episode 10, The Wandering Rocks, an episode in Ulysses that does not actually happen in The Odyssey (it is only discussed and referenced, secondhand, in the Greek version). The episode is composed of nineteen short sections that overlap and interlace, in character, place, and theme. The stories in this section are like little snapshots of life, small pieces, often mundane and ordinary, of the everyday. In the annotations, the scenes are said to be “temporally simultaneous but spatially remote,” a stop-start, herky-jerky narrative that, ironically, is simultaneously concurrent in time. The main job of the reader, it seems, is to weed through these nineteen pieces and weave together a coherence for themselves, a whole from the parts. I like the little visions of life here that Joyce provides us, so descriptive and poignant, but I must admit that it is a struggle at times to tie it all together in order to understand the central action.

A Shakespeare story

The characters in the episode Scylla and Charybdis discuss a funny and apparently singular account concerning Shakespeare that I though was amusing. It is found in the diary of John Manningham (March 3rd, 1601). It is the only third person account that mentions Shakespeare ever found anywhere and, as such, becomes by default a major piece of evidence on the man’s life. It is basically a story linking the most famous actor of the day (Richard Burbage) to Shakespeare. The text in the diary goes like this:

“Upon a tyme when Burbridge played Rich.3 there was a Citizen greue soe farr in liking with him, that before shee went from the play shee appointed him to come that night unto hir by the name of Ri: the 3. Shakespeare overhearing their conclusion went before, was intertained, and at his game ere Burbridge came. Then message returne to be made that William the Conquerour was before Rich. the 3. Shakespeare's name William.”

Such ribaldry!

Who was Hamlet?

So as I may have mentioned earlier, Joyce sets up a rather interesting conversation in this episode (Scylla and Charybdis) on the Shakespeare play Hamlet, specifically on the identity of Hamlet. The character Stephen Dedalus wonders aloud as to the many coincidences between Shakespeare and Hamlet, including thoughts on the implications of the relationship between Shakespeare’s only son Hamnet (who died at age eleven) and the fictional character in the play who almost bears the same name. Apparently, such explorations of the life of Shakespeare and their influences on his works were all the rage back then (and maybe they still are). This got me to thinking about the nature of Art again and the nature of the divisions between reality and fiction that an artist builds into their work. Is it worthwhile to try and understand everything about the creator of a work of Art in order to gain insight into the work itself? Or, should it stand entirely on it’s own, free of context, an encapsulated package of meaning? The answer is probably both of course, and, for what it’s worth, it seems to me that when you find something that appeals so strongly to your heart and soul as all great art should do, it is only natural to try and delve as deeply into it as you can in search of what makes it tick.

More Tidbits...

Some more tidbits from Scylla and Charybdis:

Groundlings were cool. These were the lower class theater goers in Shakespeare’s day that “ate, drank, drew corks, smoked tobacco, fought with each other, and, often, when they were out of humour, threw food and even stones at actors.” Now that’s theater.

Many scholars think Hamlet, to a great extent, is Shakespeare personified, an autobiographical look at the author himself. With so little to go on (relatively speaking, hardly anything is known about Shakespeare’s life) it might as well be.

Somewhat famously, Shakespeare dedicated his sonnets to someone named “W.H.” No one has any idea who this is. Hmmm, and ambiguous reference, wonder where we've seen that before?

Shakespeare’s wedding should probably be regarded as a shotgun wedding by modern standards. He was 18 when he married a 28 year old Anne Hathaway, who bore his first child five month’s after the wedding (do the math). Also, they were most unhappily married, to the point where Shakespeare left her to live in London for a large portion of his adult life. And, like a bad episode of Jerry Springer, he spurned her even after death, writing her out of the first draft of his will (he later gave her his bed…whoopee!) and placing a curse on his gravestone against anyone who would “moves my bones” so as to ensure that she would not be buried next to him.

Here’s how the mythological Minotaur was conceived, according to the annotations: “Minos, king of Crete, offended Poseidon, who revenged himself by making Minos’s wife, Pasiphäe, fall in love with a white bull. To fulfill her passion she concealed herself in a wooden cow that Daedalus prepared for her; the result of the union was the Minataur – half bull, half man.” Seriously, where do they come up with this stuff?

Scylla and Charybdis and Shakespeare

So, I finished the annotations for the next episode of Ulysses (my strategy at this point is to read all the annotations, then read the actual episode all the way through, then review the annotations. This is to experience an “uninterrupted” read of the actual book while still picking up on all the references. Yeah, I should be finished this thing sometime next century). This is the Scylla and Charybdis episode based on the part in The Odyssey where, to get to where he needs to be, Ulysses must choose between sailing by either a horrific six-headed sea-monster known as Scylla or a raging whirlpool-like sea monster known as Charybdis. Talk about a rock and a hard place. Needless to say, Ulysses screws up royally and brings down all manner of hell and havoc upon himself and his hapless crew.

In any case, at least from the annotations, this section seems to be focusing on contrasts, differences, choice, and enigmas, as set up by the original story in The Odyssey. It also contains a very large number of references to literature and literary figures, both real and imagined. And speaking of literary figures, Shakespeare looms large in this episode, so large in fact that I felt like I was reading his plays while digesting the annotations (there’s that book-within-a-book thing again). Joyce continually conjures up the old bard throughout, analyzing his plays and his life in great detail. He especially focuses on the enigma that is Shakespeare himself and on the more puzzling aspects of some of his works (Hamlet, arguably Shakespeare’s most enigmatic character, is particularly dissected). Puzzles, layers, depth, and enigmas. Sounds familiar, eh?

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!!!

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!!! Remember, everyone's Irish on March 17th!

U.P.: up

So, I’m all caught up with the references from the previous episodes. Thus, I am in the process of reading my first episode “in tandem” with the annotations. Such a richer experience of course, a source of context, the notes serving as an anchor of sorts. Either that or a life preserver. I’m about halfway through Episode 8, Lestrygonians. Since I’ve started reading the annotations, my old “one-episode-in-a-single-sitting” rule is totally out the window. So much more to read.

Here’s a few comments:

1) The phrase “method to the madness” is from Hamlet. It’s from an aside Polonius makes concerning Hamlet’s seemingly bizarre behavior. I like finding the origins to stuff.

2) This section has the famous “U.P.: up” note to the character Breem. According to the notes, there are numerous theories as to what this may mean, but nothing authoritative. This happens every so often in the annotations, where they’ll say something like “no known reference” to what appears to be an obvious reference to something. Imagine that. Maybe I’ll quit my day job and pursue a Master’s in Literature based on one of these “loose ends.” It’ll be fun.

3) Lots of Irish historical references in this section. It’s like a history lesson within a fictional narrative. Add another one to the list of things that this book “is.”

Tandem Reading

So, with the annotations added into the mix, reading this book has become quite a project. But I refuse to give up of course. I’m stubborn like that. Anyway, there is a practical matter to attend to, namely, how exactly to read the novel along side of the references. The author of the annotation book, Don Gifford, states that his book “is thus designed to be laid open beside the novel and to be read in tandem with it.” Tandem reading. Should be interesting.

As I mentioned before, the annotations are quite extensive and numerous (a single sentence usually possesses many, many separate references, piling up on each other like ice floes in a thawing river). Gifford has a suggestion here that bears mentioning. He states that the reader can “accept an interrupted reading and follow it with an uninterrupted reading [of the novel]…read through a sequence of the notes before reading the annotated sequence in the novel…or skim a sequence of notes, then read the annotated sequence in the novel with interruptions for consideration of those notes that seem critical, and then follow with an uninterrupted reading of the sequence in the novel.”

So much work. There better be a prize at the end of this or something.