We are aware that the greatest adventure in our lives now is the lack of adventure. Odysseus fought in Troy, took the journey home in a ship he piloted himself, and had a lover on every island - no, this is not the life we live today. Homer's Odyssey now happens within man. Man has internalized it. The island, the sea, the sirens that seduce us, and Ithaca calling us home, all have transformed into voices within us.
Why I Don't Rate Ulysses
I don't rate Ulysses with stars because this book cannot be rated. Those who have read it (truly) know why. I, for my part, read it, with great difficulty, but I read it. However, I accompanied the reading with at least two other books that explain and interpret it, and hundreds of notes. Plus, at the time, I had joined a group reading here on Goodreads, with serious readers who brought many valuable insights.
Did I enjoy the reading? Did I savor it? Briefly, I would answer with a resounding NO. On the contrary, it was one of the most exhausting reads. I don't say difficult. Computer sciences are difficult. James Joyce for me was draining, due to the style, the tangled structure, without periods or commas, just as thoughts come to mind. One line might be an internal monologue, then many internal monologues of many people simultaneously, in a noisy Dublin pub, where they are speaking or thinking, it's unclear, and another line might be a newspaper text, or shop names caught by the eye right there, or grandmother's cooking recipes, or worse, portions of seven-century-old witch magic... Then many literary references to Shakespeare and antiquity, which even if you've read them, you need notes to catch because they are numerous and obscure.
Do I value it as a book? Absolutely YES. Gabriel Garcia Marquez said about Jorge Luis Borges:
"He is a writer I cannot stand. And yet I admire the violin he uses to express himself."
On Translation
Note: I haven't read it in Albanian! Any attempt to translate Ulysses into Albanian is a failure. If you've read it in Albanian, I'm telling you that you haven't read this book, but something completely different that has no connection to the original.
Some books, in my opinion, shouldn't be translated at all, as they do more harm than good. Some of these books are:
- Joyce's Ulysses
- Proust's In Search of Lost Time
- Melville's Moby Dick
- Musil's The Man Without Qualities
- Mann's The Magic Mountain
- Shakespeare's Complete Works
- Dante's Divine Comedy
You should approach Joyce's Ulysses as the illiterate Baptist preacher approaches the Old Testament: with faith.
– William Faulkner
Joyce considered writing a difficult job and not just a form of expression. You can compare the complexity of his work to that required of architects in cathedral structures. But an author, some might say, cannot and should not write exclusively for the world of artists, but should base his work solidly in reality. And this is exactly what Joyce wanted to do, think that he wanted to write 'for' the people as well as describe 'the people', because Joyce considered himself a "popular artist." I want to mention the fact that one of the first to receive a free copy directly from the author was the waiter at his favorite restaurant in Paris, and not some professor. And there's a humorous episode when a young man approaches him and says: "May I kiss the hand that wrote Ulysses?" Joyce replies: "No – because it has done many other things." Considering the writer, I want to understand it this way: in Ulysses, the difficulty of the text doesn't aim to avoid ordinary readers or reserve itself only for experts; instead, perhaps the purpose is to talk about the complexity of life itself, about an existence that is not and can never be taken lightly. It's no coincidence that in chapter 3 a voice seems to ask us: "You find my words dark. Darkness is in our souls do you not think?" So, I want to believe that the difficulty of Ulysses isn't due to snobbery, but from the desire that anyone who reads it declares themselves an expert, just as anyone who watches a sporting event will have the right to form a valid opinion about what they see.
Don't you think there is a certain resemblance between the mystery of the Mass and what I am trying to do? I mean that I am trying... to give people some kind of intellectual pleasure or spiritual enjoyment by converting the bread of everyday life into something that has a permanent artistic life... for their mental, moral, and spiritual uplift.
– James Joyce in a letter to his brother Stanislaus
On the other hand, it seems very difficult for Joyce to be read and understood by the ordinary reader. It's hard to believe that Joyce was a "popular writer." He seems to enjoy keeping Cambridge professors busy for 200 years more than reaching the masses, and turning daily bread into something that has a permanent artistic life... for their mental, moral, and spiritual uplift. So, why read it? Ulysses can be read with passion without intellectually understanding the text. In this case, we identify ourselves completely with the character, our imagination extends into his sensation, his pleasure, his memories, and we live with him, dream with him. Another reason might be that it will completely change you as a reader. It's frustrating yes, absolutely, but the language is special and many pages are some of the most beautiful prose in literature. Many will tell you there's no plot, that the story is about a man walking through Dublin. There are many things happening in this book actually, that's why it's so frustrating. But they don't happen as in the traditional novel with a linear, regular structure, but are thoughts, reflections, monologues that emerge from the stream of consciousness. You might find yourself transported from a walk on the beach, to dilemmas about death or to a reflection on human origin. Okay, is this book so amazing since it has so many praises? Yes, it is! But maybe not! You might hate it, wish to throw it in the toilet at some point, you might even get a serious headache from this reading. Read the warnings and contraindications carefully or discuss with a doctor before taking Joyce's products. For anyone who wants to read negative opinions about Joyce, I'll bring what Virginia Woolf thought about Ulysses. Virginia Woolf confided to her diary about the 200 pages she had read until then...
Virginia Woolf's Take
"I have been amused, stimulated, charmed by the first 2 or 3 chapters - to the end of the Cemetery scene; and then puzzled, bored, irritated and disillusioned as by a queasy undergraduate scratching his pimples. And Tom, great Tom, thinks this on a par with War and Peace! An illiterate, underbred book it seems to me: the book of a self-taught working man, and we all know how distressing they are, how egotistic, insistent, raw, striking, and ultimately nauseating. When one can have cooked flesh, why have it raw? But I think if you are anaemic, as Tom is, there is glory in blood."
Beginning to suspect that Joyce was beating her at her own game, she finally writes in her diary:
“I dislike Ulysses more and more–that is think it more and more unimportant; and dont even trouble conscientiously to make out its meanings."
To Virginia, Joyce reminded her of an antipathetic schoolboy, very clever and with potential, but so self-conscious and egotistical that he loses his head, becomes extravagant, with "manners," noisy and arrogant, with sickly features, that makes kind people feel sorry for him, and harsh people simply get irritated by him, and they all hope that he will grow out of this; but since Joyce is 40 years old, this doesn't seem possible. To Virginia, it seems as if the book shoots thousands of small bullets at her, but one doesn't get a fatal wound straight to the face - as from Tolstoy, for example. It's quite absurd to compare him with Tolstoy, as Tom did, who by the way, refers to T.S. Eliot who said:
I hold this book to be the most important expression which the present age has found; it is a book to which we are all indebted, and from which none of us can escape
T.S. Eliot
The Historic Meeting: Joyce and Proust
Now I'll go back in time again, as I did with Virginia Woolf, but this time to meet another rival of Joyce: Proust. Both are widely considered rivals; their works are often compared - although testimonies vary greatly, one thing is certain: neither had read the other's work (or at least, neither had admitted it). Has it occurred to you what it would be like if some of the most distinguished figures in art history met each other? Who knows what a magnificent event or not? Who knows how many interesting things and what brilliant discussions would spring from this meeting... right?! Well, it turns out it's not meant to be. Often these fantastic characters from the world of art and entertainment in general can be very disappointing when you meet them in reality. Has this never happened to you before? Better that way, believe me. I for one have long stripped "heroes" of their beautiful uniform, and I've unmasked the tricks of their super-powers as soon as I passed the childhood phase. All people, even the most distinguished and genius ones, are in the end just people, and often banal, not likeable and charming, as they appear from afar through their works. When I talk like this about these geniuses, imagine what I think about these ordinary figures found in intellectual circles, media, salons, showbiz etc., who from the outside look so "cool," and when you're a university student, you dream of being part of such a "cool" society, with people with so much baggage and culture, unlike most of your peers who seem empty, uninteresting and don't fulfill you intellectually and on a human and cultural level. In the end, however, when you get to know all these people up close, you'll discover they have nothing so "cool," their baggage is often a facade or their character and human nature very disappointing. Anyway, I go back in time to James Joyce's meeting with Marcel Proust. A meeting that actually happened, but which, according to testimonies, left no impression on those present. Their entire conversation was an exchange of "banal question - dry answer - no... banal question - dry answer - no....". Proust asked Joyce "do you know this lady and that countess?" Joyce answered with "no." Joyce asked if he had read his Ulysses, and Proust answered with "no." Then Proust began complaining about his poor health, about liver pains etc., and Joyce joined the complaint saying that he has the same concerns, and that his liver is driving him crazy. That was it, and afterward, everyone could hardly wait to break away from the party.
Since reality is therefore so disappointing, and our literary heroes are no different from any ordinary person in a neighborhood bar, let's turn this banal meeting into an extension of this review, by recreating that conversation of that evening... It should be mentioned that at that party there were two other equally famous figures, if not more famous: Picasso and Stravinsky. They said Picasso showed up in extravagant Catalan dress, to steal the show. They also said he was the most antipathetic and noisy of the evening, so they didn't pay him any more attention, which was the only thing he wanted. While Stravinsky didn't say much but made a comment about Proust when he entered: "He looks so pale, like the afternoon moon." Proust tries to pay Stravinsky a compliment by comparing him to Beethoven. "Surely you admire Beethoven," he adds. "I hate Beethoven." Stravinsky retorts. "But... cher maître... surely those late sonatas and quartets...?" asks Proust. "Worse than the others." answers Stravinsky.
As for James Joyce, he entered the room drunk and poorly dressed like a wretched man, swaying from side to side. "I can only enter the social order as a vagabond," he said. There he enters into "small talk" with Proust and had this unforgettable dialogue:
Proust: Do you like truffles?
Joyce: Yes, I like them.
Proust: I have never read your works, Mr. Joyce.
Joyce: I have never read your works, Mr. Proust.
Joyce: I've had headaches every day. My eyes are in pieces.
Proust: My poor stomach. What shall I do? It hurts. In fact, I must leave immediately.
Joyce: I'm in the same situation. If I can find someone to take my arm... Goodbye!
Proust: Charmé. Oh, my stomach.
As James Joyce himself said many years later: "Proust spoke only about duchesses, while I was more concerned with their maids. Our conversation consisted only of the word 'no'. Proust asked me if I knew such and such duke. I said 'no'. Our hosts asked Proust if he had read any part of Ulysses. Proust said: 'No'. And so on. Of course the situation was impossible. Proust's evening was just beginning. Mine was at an end."
The party ends and Joyce and Proust return home by Taxi. Joyce then starts smoking and opens the window, causing annoyance to Proust, an asthmatic who hates fresh air. On the short journey, Proust talks incessantly, but none of his words are directed at Joyce. When they get out, Joyce tries to join the others in Proust's apartment, but they do everything to avoid him. "Let my taxi take you home," Proust insists, before disappearing upstairs...
