Ulysses by James Joyce Summary and Analysis

Chapters 1: Telemachus

Summary:
When James Joyce began writing his novel Ulysses, he had in mind a creative project that brought together aspects of his two major works Dubliners and Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, while at the same time incorporating aspects of Homer's epic The Odyssey. The novel Ulysses encompasses a total of eighteen chapters, tracing the actions of various Dubliners beginning at 8 am on the day of June 16, 1904. Chapter One opens with the breakfast of three young men: Haines, a British student who is in Dublin on temporary leave from Oxford; Malachi "Buck" Mulligan, a medical student; and Stephen Dedalus, the protagonist from Portrait and the central character in the first three chapters of Ulysses. The three young men are living in Martello Tower, for which only Stephen pays rent as he is the one who has rented it from the Ministry of War. We immediately discover that there are tense relations between Mulligan and Stephen; particularly, Stephen feels increasingly ostracized, as Mulligan and Haines become closer. Further, Buck spares no sympathy in his constant tormenting of Stephen in regards to the recent death of his mother, Mary Dedalus. Stephen is, in general, the butt of most of Mulligans jokes. Particularly, Mulligan teases Stephen that he is responsible for his mother's death because upon seeing her on her deathbed, he refused her pleas for him to pray, having distanced himself from organized religion. In this, Mulligan jokes that his aunt has refused to allow him to keep company with Stephen, as his apostasy is made worse by being the murderer of his mother. Further, Stephen feels distanced from Haines; Stephen feels that Haines is somewhat patronizing in his attitude towards Stephen's desire to become a poet. Haines is a British native and both Mulligan and Stephen despise him, though Mulligan masks his true thoughts with hypocrisy and flattery. Haines appears as a spoiled student and a shallow thinker. He argues that British oppression is not the cause of Irelands problems; rather "history" is to blame. Interrupting the young men's conversation about Ireland and its international politics, an old lady arrives to deliver the morning milk and Stephen finds that he is forced to pay the bill. Soon after breakfast, the three men leave the Tower to walk along the beach. After making plans to meet Stephen at a bar called the Ship around noon, Mulligan asks him for his key to the tower. After, forfeiting his key to Mulligan, Stephen departs from his two roommates, feeling that he has been usurped from his position.

Analysis:
Joyce's novel is named after the Greek hero Ulysses (Odysseus, is the original name) who is the central figure in Homer's The Odyssey. The ancient Greek epic chronicles the many years that the royal warrior Ulysses spends wandering in his attempts to return home to his throne Ithaca after victory in the Trojan War. The eighteen chapters of Joyce's Ulysses, though not originally titled, correspond to specific episodes in Homer's epic. Chapter One is named for Telemachus, the son of Ulysses and his wife Penelope. Telemachus, a prince who is entering adulthood, sees his castle being overrun by young suitors who are intent on wooing his mother, and gaining the crown. In this section of The Odyssey, Telemachus, advised by the Greek goddess of wisdom, Athena, decides to head out in search of his father who is rumored to be dead. His decision to leave the castle is the result not only of his desire to find his father, but of the usurped feeling that he feels in his own castle where he is the disrespected son of a forgotten king. In Joyce's novel, the parallel between the Telemachus passages is central to an understanding of the work. Joyce's central character is Leopold Bloom, who plays the Ulysses figure (though we do not meet him until Chapter Four. It is Stephen Dedalus who is the parallel to Homer's Telemachus. It is important to note though, that it is not Stephen's biological father, Simon Dedalus, who he searches for, but a paternal figure which Bloom will attempt to play towards the end of the novel when the two main characters finally meet. Stephen, like Telemachus, is rather obsessed with ideas of paternity and this establishes a further link to Homer's work and provides the basis for the eventual Bloom-Dedalus relationship.

The extensive variety of the narrative structures that are employed in Ulysses distinguish Joyce from the writers that preceded him, and upon reaching a new chapter we can always expect something new from the author. In Chapter One, the action is narrated largely from the point of view of Stephen Dedalus, whose interior monologue is presented to us. In fact, most of the information that we glean comes not from the dialogue between the characters but from Stephen's revealed preoccupation. Stephen's guilt concerning his mother's death as well as his desperation to become a respected artist are presented through his thoughts. Further, much of the hostility between Dedalus and Mulligan is unspoken and Stephen thinks back to several events that we would not be privy to if we could not read his memory. Dedalus, an intelligent young graduate, is an artistic, philosophical mind on display and in presenting his thinking patterns to us, Joyce decorates the tracks with what may seem like random references to obscure trivia. Stephen's mind wanders through poetry, though Irish folk songs, Greek philosophy and Roman Catholic liturgy as well as memories of his mother's death scene. All of these references are linked thematically, though, and do bear a direct relationship to the subjects at hand. The consequence of such a literary approach is scene in the multi-layered "collage" effect that is evident in the work. In his effort to replicate the manner in which the mind actually processes information, Joyce connects a series of thoughts or sounds or memories that often times appear as sentence fragments or unfamiliar syntax that are uncomfortable for the reader. Further, because the mind is moving quickly, we are given initial pieces of information, and the details are filled in later. This also becomes a powerful literary tool because characters and ideas that do not bear direct relationship to each other can be brought together by a character thoughts. For example, when the elderly milk lady arrives, Stephen thinks of an old folksong that she reminds him of. Later, he imagines her as a witch on a milking stool, again as Mother Ireland, and finally as the sister of his dead mother, Mary Dedalus. Through Stephen's imagination at work, the themes of maternity and decay are co-developed. This process only becomes more complex as the novel progresses, and at times it is difficult to separate Stephen's hyperactive mental activity from the true narrative action of the novel. Only a few characters are introduced to us in the first Chapter. Stephen Dedalus, we learn, is a schoolteacher who has recently returned from Paris upon hearing news that his mother was dying. While he lives in Martello, an old sea tower rented cheaply from the Department of War, his father Simon Dedalus and his four younger sisters live in the city. Joyce's depiction of Dedalus, his protagonist from Portrait, is somewhat critical, but tempered with enough compassion to identify Stephen as an awkward young man, who will need to match his ambition with realism and maturity if he is to become a successful poet. The extroverted Buck Mulligan is a severe contrast to his more introverted roommate, Stephen. Buck seems jovial and self-confident while Stephen is overly self-conscious. While Stephen is sincere in his questioning of his Catholic upbringing, Buck is merely a sacrilegious jokester who regards nothing as sacred. While shaving, Mulligan mocks the exaggerated movements of the priests offering sacrament and upon distributing bread at the breakfast table, Mulligan makes references to the Gospels. His sacrilegious humor continues throughout the novel. Finally, Stephen feels used by Mulligan who does not make equal payments towards their living expenses and in fact, frequently borrows money from Stephen despite the fact that he is significantly wealthier. Haines, the British Oxonian, is in Dublin to study Ireland and he plans a visit to Dublin's National Library. Through Haines, we receive much of the discourse of Ireland's political situation-a key theme in Joyce's 1922 novel. Haines argues from a conservative British standpoint, that history-not Britain-is to blame for Ireland's problems. When the old milkmaid arrives, Haines speaks to her in Irish, hoping that she will understand; ironically, she does not know Irish but mistakes it for French. Neither Stephen nor Mulligan enjoys the company of Haines, the aristocratic intellectual, and his presence illustrates another difference between Stephen and Mulligan. While Stephen tries to avoid Haines, Buck flatters him and uses the British gentleman to ostracize Stephen and impose control over him. Throughout the novel, names have important meaning and Chapter One is no different. Stephen Dedalus, feels self-conscious because his Greek name, "Dedalus" is not Irish. Dedalus was the artisan father of Icarus, who fashioned wings for the two of them to escape from a prison tower. This is particularly resonant given Stephen's thoughts of exile and escape from Martello and Ireland. Buck has several nicknames for Stephen, whose birth name means crown. Among Stephen's nickname is the name "Kinch" which means knife; this is often interpreted as a reference to Stephen's quick, sharp mind. The fact that Stephen means crown indicates that, like Telemachus, Stephen has a royal potential that is presently unrealized. Mulligan's name also bears insight into his character. The nickname "Buck" is accurate for the coarse, brusque joker and Joyce is not sympathetic to Mulligan, despite the fact that Mulligan is a rather popular

figure. The fact that he is nicknamed after an animal-as opposed to "Kinch"-is to hint at the fact that despite his comic wit, Mulligan is not as deep and sincere a thinker as Dedalus. Equally important, a parallel is eventually developed between the treatment suffered by Dedalus on account of Mulligan and the treatment that Leopold Bloom suffers on account of Hugh "Blazes" Boylan, the man who sleeps with his wife. Not only do the names share the letter B (Buck, Blazes, Boylan) but there is an alliterative resemblance between Malachi Mulligan and Blazes Boylan. Finally, Malachi is the name of the last book of the Christian Bible's Old Testament, named for its author, a Jewish priest who prophecies Christ the imminent Messiah. This is extremely ironic because in every conversation, Mulligan satirizes the church. In the opening scene of the novel, Malachi Mulligan describes Stephen as a "fearful Jesuit" and imitates the priests reforming holy rituals. The opening chapter is heavy with foreshadowing and a series of themes are established foreshadowing the appearance of Bloom in Chapter Four. Particularly, the anti-Semitic ideas expressed by Haines and echoed by Mr. Deasy in Chapter Two, bear particular resonance when we discover that Bloom is a Jew. The extensive references to Prince Hamlet and his ghosts begin an extensive discourse on Shakespeare that culminates with the apparition of Mary Dedalus. Finally, the rift between Stephen Dedalus and his friends only grows wider and eventually becomes his most primary concern. Additionally, several of Joyce's opening themes are developed by the references that he makes to other literary and philosophical works. Dedalus' thoughts consistently refer to the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche who developed the idea of a Superman (Ubermensch) and this becomes important in his thoughts later in the day concerning the United Kingdom and Ireland, the overwhelming role of the Catholic Church and the desperation of Dublin's urban poor. At this moment though, Dedalus humorously applies the theory of the Superman to the fact that Mulligan, who is wealthier than he is, is taking his money. While Joyce also makes references to religious texts--both Biblical and liturgical--as well as Greek and Irish literature, the most important literary allusions are the Shakespearean ones. Joyce's Shakespearean references continue throughout every chapter of the novel and bear extreme thematic importance. One of the most important ideas in Chapter One, is that while Stephen is a modern "Telemachus" figure, he is more accurately a modern "Prince Hamlet." The title prince of the Shakespearean tragedy, suffers after the death of his father who appears as a ghost. The ghost of King Hamlet informs his son that King Claudius (brother of dead King Hamlet) is guilty of fratricide; he has killed Hamlet both to wed his wife Gertrude as well as claim the throne. Having burdened his son with his spectral presence, King Hamlet urges the prince to seize revenge and Hamlet's mission produces the tragic conclusion of the drama. There are of course, parallels between the princes Telemachus and Hamlet, and Joyce seeks to exploit these overlaps. Like Hamlet, Joyce's Telemachus (Stephen) is brooding and overly contemplative. Throughout the one day of the novel's narrative action (June 16, 1904), Stephen continually relives the quandary of Hamlet's famous question "To be or not to be." In his struggle to become a poet, in his lingering loyalties to kin, country and church, in his efforts to remove himself from burdensome disingenuous friends, Stephen, a modern Hamlet, must arrive at some sort of self-definition. When this occurs, towards the end of the novel, it is one of the novel's narrative climaxes. Joyce's wit is at work in Chapter One and we immediately find marvelous intricate narrative details that link Stephen to the play Hamlet. The early morning seascape of Stephen's tower resembles the early morning action of the Shakespearean drama. While Hamlet paces upon the heights of the royal tower Elsinore thinking upon the vision his father's ghost, Stephen ponders thoughts of his dead mother and explicitly refers to his own tower, Martello, as his Elsinore. The motif of the key and the tower is essential to the stories of Hamlet, The Odyssey and the passage of The Metamorphoses in which Ovid narrates the escape of Icarus and Dedalus. Another explicit reference is seen in the words of Mulligan who refers to Stephen as a "bard," mockingly minimizing Dedalus' poetic ambitions by comparing him to the lyrical giant Shakespeare. While Stephen suffers the paternity obsessions of Hamlet and Telemachus, much of the imagery surrounding the dead father is applied to Mary Dedalus, despite the fact that Stephen engages upon a "search for paternity" of his very own. Despite the entangling of motifs, it is important to keep these two ideas separate. Indeed, Joyce (through Stephen) later contrasts the ideas of maternity and paternity. Further parallels between Prince Hamlet and Stephen Dedalus as Telemachus can be seen in other details of their young adulthood. While Hamlet has recently returned home to find his mother wed to the uncle that killed his father, Stephen has also recently returned home to see his mother die. In Stephen Dedalus, we find the confluence of Prince Hamlet and Telemachus. Hamlet embarks upon an academic or psychological journey to find his father (he must determine the authenticity of the ghost and the veracity of its claims) and Telemachus who begins a true journey to find his missing father, rumored to

be dead. Stephen's psychological journey touches upon his loyalties an increasing distance to his home while his geographical journey brings him from Paris to Dublin, in contact with the paternal Bloom and into serious considerations of self-exile. To the degree that Ulysses, like Portrait, is loosely autobiographical, Joyce intends to elevate the importance of Stephen's literary ambitions. Far from being just another budding poet, Stephen (as a 22-year old James Joyce) intends to give Ireland its national epic and this is to be the equivalent of the political efforts of Prince Hamlet and Telemachus' efforts to reclaim what has been lost. The "crowned prince" motif links Stephen to the two princes that he is based on, to the degree that he is willing to accept and successfully negotiate his relationship with Ireland. All three of these young men (Stephen, Hamlet and Telemachus) are defenders of a tower. The most dramatic piece of evidence confirming this is Stephen's final and unspoken word, which is, in fact, the last word of the first chapter: Usurper. A usurper is an individual who successfully lays claim to what rightfully belongs to another. The word "usurper" is a direct lift from Hamlet, where Prince Hamlet repeats the word throughout the play in reference to his uncle Claudius, who unjustly reigns in Hamlet's stead. In The Odyssey, the young suitors of Penelope are usurpers in a fashion similar to Shakespeare's Claudius, shutting out both the dead king and his living son. Stephen regards Mulligan as a usurper for taking the key to Martello Tower; again, Joyce uses a comparatively mundane concern (Stephen's loss of the key) to connect him to literary themes that indicate that something larger is at stake. As a result of the literary structure of the first chapter and its somber literary allusions, Ulysses opens with a pensive, somewhat gloomy tone. Stephen is brooding and depressed and because his thoughts are the only ones relayed to us, his personal mood wholly determines the mood of the chapter. Stephen's thoughts of struggle, exile and death further shadow the chapter and because it is the opening of the novel and his quest, we sense that there will be myriad difficulties to overcome. Despite the melancholy of Stephen Dedalus, Joyce does manage to slip in a few humorous episodes. Most notably, the old milk lady provides a comic semi-distraction from the chapter's weighty themes. As a comic fool, the milk lady's physical appearance as "Old Mother Grogan" is satirical of typical old women. Her error of mistaking Irish for French is especially laughable, not only because the two sound dissimilar but because of her remark on the subject: "I'm told it's a grand language by them that knows." Even in this detail, Joyce is not simply being comic. The fact that the old Irish woman does not even recognize her language is to be factored into Haines' commentary on the renaissance of Irish nativist language and literature. This is a theme that recurs in Ulysses. Joyce's somewhat twisted sense of humor occurs again when he uses Stephen's imagination to mix satire and symbolism. The milk lady, having become Old Mother Grogan, a character from an Irish folk song, is envisioned as a Mother Ireland, because of her age and her connection to the folk-all this, despite the fact that she does not recognize her native language. Further, Dedalus' word play hints of Mother Grogan as one of the Gorgon sisters from Greek myth. She is then a witch on a milking stool (as opposed to a toadstool) and then one of the Wyrd sisters from the epic Beowulf. Most important, Joyce establishes the milk lady in a series of women who are to stand as symbols for various ideas. Specifically, Stephen mentally links the old woman to his mother who has died and makes an argument about maternity when he imagines the soured milk of Mother Grogan as the sour green bile that Mary Dedalus coughed up on her deathbed. Having fused the images of the milk (representing birth) and the bile (representing death), Stephen then projects them onto the sea, which he describes as a "bowl of green water." In his association of Mary Dedalus with the old milk lady, Stephen draws the final conclusion that his Mother Ireland is dying and her nourishment for the young is becoming sour. Because of his extensive use of polarized symbols in marking almost all of his female characters, Joyce's work has suffered some critical displeasure. In severe contrast to several of the characters in his collection Dubliners, all of the women in Ulysses carry a symbolic importance that supercedes their narrative importance, with the possible exception of Bloom's wife, Molly. By the time that the novel concludes in Molly's "Penelope" chapter, old midwives, young virgins, prostitutes and mothers have been lumped together into one female character. Despite the somewhat valid criticism, it is also worth noting that Joyce's female characters in Ulysses greatly foreshadow his later and final work, Finnegan's Wake, in which all of the characters are only symbols; their names and biographical information become interchangeable and eventually unimportant. Besides this recurring motif, there are a few others that are important because they appear in other chapters. Joyce is notorious for his puns, and he frequently evaluates the contrast between cleanliness and dirtiness. In this chapter there are references to the dirty sea washing clean and clean milk as well as sour. The motif of the key and tower, links Stephen to Bloom, who will forfeit his key as well. The motif of the key and tower also becomes a political argument in terms of the Irish desire for "Home Rule" in place of British occupation. The fact that Ulysses is chiefly the story of two wanderers, Stephen

and Bloom, is a narrative parallel to the Homeric epic, but this is only enforceable because neither of the two have their keys with them. They are, in a sense, exiled from home. A final motif in Chapter One, is the motif of music. Throughout the chapter, Joyce uses fragments of songs to forward the narrative plot and also provide philosophical depth and fuse different images together. All the while, the music is part of the plot itself. In this chapter, we find Buck's mocking of the Eucharistic ceremony, Irish drinking songs, a folk ballad entitled "Mary Ann" and the song that Stephen sang to his dying mother: "Love's bitter mystery." In this chapter, as with several others, the motif of liquid (water or milk) is connected with the music that is sung or referenced. Finally, Joyce uses these motifs and a few others, to establish the major themes of his novel. He does this early on and by the end of "Telemachus," the reader already has a sense of the four themes of Ulysses, despite the fact that the hero, Leopold Bloom, has not yet appeared. The first theme of the novel, stems from the political climate of Joyce's time. Written in 1922, Ulysses (like many of Joyce's preceding works) evaluates the political struggle for Irish independence. Set in 1904, the Dublin of Ulysses is a city in which the heated discussions of political independence, violence in response to British military occupation and the veneration of fallen heroes, run parallel to the academic "parlor-talk" of the Irish literary renaissance, the rebirth of the Irish language and the rejection of Anglophilic culture. The concept of "Home Rule," for Joyce, encompasses both the political and cultural questions and while he examines the British critically, the author is equally critical of the Irish patriots, many of whom opt for isolation or nativism. Particularly, Joyce takes offense at the sentimentalists who continually assert that Ireland needs her young people to save her; rather, Joyce argues that the conservative conventions of Ireland are stifling Irish youth. In Stephen's memorable remark to Haines makes this evident: "I am a servant of two masters, an English and an Italian...And a third there is who wants me for odd jobs." Here, Stephen uses a Biblical allusion, arguing that Ireland suffers equally under British and Catholic oppression, all the while trying to enlist young people for a few "odd jobs" of her own. In his depiction of the Roman Catholic Church in Ireland, Joyce continues a theme that he embarked upon in Portrait. Again, Joyce develops the theme of faith opposed to dissent, and again, Joyce is mostly critical of the organized church. Stephen Dedalus seeks to sever the ties that bind him to his Roman Catholic upbringing but Joyce develops the argument that Roman Catholicism is an integral part of Ireland. The sea, for example, bears reference to the Eucharist. The sacrilegious Mulligan cannot eat bread without making reference to Christian symbols. Stephen, who is a dissenter, suffers more religious occupations than any other Joycean character. Even as Stephen is able to politically divorce himself from Ireland, he is unable to completely divorce himself from the Church. A final treatment of the religious theme is seen in the concept of the Virgin Mary whose Joycean depiction resembles both Mary Dedalus and Mother Ireland. Joyce's argument is simply that in Ireland, Irish and Catholic are indistinguishable. We will find that despite Bloom's desire to be included, his non-Catholic heritage prevents him from being accepted. Ironically, Stephen cannot escape from Ireland because of Catholicism's fetters. A third theme that Joyce begins in Chapter One is the idea of the solitary individual. Dedalus suffers the typical artist's melancholy, but his solitude is also constructed to parallel Christ and Hamlet. Both Stephen and especially Bloom feel estranged from their countrymen and the rebukes and discomforts they suffer from their acquaintances testify to a larger alienation. Finally, Joyce's most central theme is the concept of love. Specifically, Joyce embarks upon a search for its definition and its potentially salvific role in modern life. The musical phrase, "Love's bitter mystery" is repeated throughout the novel and pondered by all of the central characters. Joyce evaluates the love between a mother and son, between a father and son, between a citizen and country, colony and Mother country, between friends and brothers, between God and man, and most important in the novel, between husband and wife. Joyce's discussions of love are always furthered by immediate questions of fidelity. Stephen's love song is challenged by the fact that he denied his mother's dying request. Stephen's Latin invocation of Buck as his friend, is immediately challenged by Mulligan's disloyalty in his preference for Haines. This foreshadows the more serious question of Molly Bloom's infidelity, after which both Leopold Bloom and Stephen Dedalus find themselves heartily investigating the nature of love as chief among human emotions.

Chapter 2: Nestor Summary:

About an hour after "Telemachus" ends, we find Stephen teaching ancient history and the classics to a disrespectful class of wealthy boys. Neither Stephen nor the students are particularly interested in the lesson which concerns the martial exploits of the Greek hero, Pyrrhus. Armstrong, the class clown, is disruptive and Talbot, a lazy cheater who is reading the answers out of his book, does not bother to hide his act from Stephen, who tells him to 'turn the page" when he stammers at his final response. Stephen struggles to keep the class in order and it is clear that they disrespect him. Eventually, even Stephen is distant and half-hearted in his participation and he eventually gives up his attempt to quiz the students on their classics lesson. Later, the young boys ask Stephen to tell them ghost stories and riddles instead of their lesson. Upon recess, one pathetic student named Cyril Sargent asks Stephen for assistance with his multiplication tables and Stephen is reminded of his mother as he considers the fact that only a mother could love as pitiful a creature as what he and Cyril must have been. Stephen considers his roommate Haines to be much like the spoiled students to whom he must cater. Because he feels that his students are incapable of learning, and because he feels that his intellectual talents are being wasted in his current position, Stephen does not care about his job and is already considering leaving his position. At the end of the chapter, the schoolmaster, Mr. Deasy, gives Stephen his meager pay for the month. and annoys the young teacher with trite advice on lending money, pro-British and anti-Semitic rhetoric. Mr. Deasy continues with an unintelligent attempt at philosophy as well as Shakespearean criticism. At the close of the chapter, Mr. Deasy asks Stephen to examine his letter on a cattle-disease that has caused foreign economic powers to consider an embargo on Irish cattle. Deasy intends for Stephen to use his contacts to get the letter, which is full of misstatements and incorrect assertions, printed in the Evening Telegraph.

Analysis:
In The Odyssey, Nestor is he long-winded elderly man whom Telemachus visits before he sets sail. The young prince is in search of advice and information about his father. Nestor is hospitable and good intentioned but unfortunately he is of little aid, and his interminable commentary is worthless to Telemachus. As Stephen continues his passage, his path crosses Mr. Deasy who, like Nestor, offers worthless advice. Another parallel between Mr. Deasy and Nestor can be seen in the imagery of shells and horses connected to both characters. Not only does Deasy's school offer instruction in Greek military history, but he jokingly refers to intense debate as "breaking a lance," a somewhat ironic parallel to Nestor, who is a veritable war hero despite his foibles. While Homer's Nestor was developed as a parody, Joyce's Deasy goes further. In his commentary on borrowing and lending, Deasy resembles Hamlet's Polonius who spits out empty platitudes. A parallel between Stephen and Nestor could be seen in Stephen's failure in his role as a teacher. The chapter opens in Stephen's classroom and again, the reader must rely upon Stephen's interior monologue to discover what is happening. While he teaches his students, we get his opinion of them and his half-hearted lecture his mind wanders over various topics. When depicting the conversation between Stephen Dedalus and Mr. Deasy, Joyce writes in an impartial narrative voice to avoid a judgmental tone while satirizing the anti-Semitic and insular schoolmaster. Joyce consciously avoids editorializing and allows Mr. Deasy to condemn himself with his own words. Despite the fact that Stephen has left Haines and Mulligan, there is no indication that most of his relationships outside of Martello Tower are any more fulfilling. In his description of his students, Stephen suggests that the schoolboys are similar to Haines and Stephen openly resents their wealth. The class consciousness that Stephen feels in his interactions with Mulligan and Haines becomes more explicit in this chapter. At the same though, Stephen is able to forge a bond with Cyril Sargent who figures as a younger Stephen, the same way that Stephen will later figure as a younger Leopold Bloom. Just as this relationship is foreshadowed, Deasy's anti-Semitic comments and Anglophilic sensibilities make him the first in a series of ardent patriots who will cause trouble for our protagonists, Dedalus and Bloom. In Chapter Two as in others, Joyce makes several Shakespearean references that will prove valuable to the careful reader. Alluding to Hamlet, as well as Macbeth and Julius Caesar, Joyce's Dedalus thinks of scenes of betrayal and guilt while struggling to pay attention to Deasy's lecture about saving and lending. In place of the Irish love songs and Aristotelian theory presented in Chapter One, "Nestor"

contains lines from Irish political songs and references Greek military history. In this chapter, which largely focuses on economic and political themes, Joyce's tone is largely satirical. In contrast to the inflated rhetoric of Deasy, who emulates the British pride in saying "I paid my way," we learn that he is the collector of "symbols soiled by greed and misery." As we will see with other citizens later in the novel, Deasy's anti-Semitic humor falls flat, and rather ironically, the end of the chapter is a scene in which sunlight rains down upon Mr. Deasy's "wise shoulders" A collector of shells, Mr. Deasy himself becomes a similar symbol of the decay and emptiness that Ireland suffers. Deasy regards his shell collection as dearly as his collection of coins and Joyce is clearly making the argument that the economic greed that goads men like Mr. Deasy into "wanting to become British" is destructive to the cause of Irish independence. Despite the fact that Mr. Deasy considers himself to be a patriot, Joyce suggests that Ireland's salvation is not through economic growth. Ironically, Deasy's money-obsessed rhetoric is interspersed with Stephen's thoughts of various Irish patriotic songs whose images jar with Deasy's mania. In one of the more explicit passages of a usually opaque novel, Joyce goes as far as to allude to various figures and parties involved in Irish politics, including Parnell, Sinn Fein and the Fenians. The theme of the citizen's love of Ireland-loosely established in Chapter One-gets more treatment here. While there are no female characters in "Nestor," the theme of love between a man and a woman is also developed further. In his hasty chronology of human history, Deasy confuses several concepts and conflates several characters before arriving at the misogynistic conclusion that women-or the love of women-inevitably brings the downfall of man. The schoolmaster makes reference to Eve, but interestingly enough, he also refers to Helen of Troy. Mr. Deasy also mentions the woman whose affair with Parnell ended the political leader's movement for Irish independence (while Parnell was disgraced by an affair, Mr. Deasy names the wrong woman). In The Odyssey, Homer constructs a series of females including the Sirens, Calypso and Circe, temptresses who will destroy the hero should his expression of love make him vulnerable. Joyce's treatment of love between the sexes largely follows classical Greek lines. In both the husband/wife and mother/son relationships, the lines between devotion and temptation, protection and destruction are blurred. Stephen's thoughts on his student Cyril Sargent and their relationships with their mothers form the emotional peak of "Nestor." Of course, Stephen is more inclined to think of Cyril in relationship to his mother, not because he knows Mrs. Sargent or particularly cares about Cyril, but because of the lingering ghost of his dead mother. The theme of the mother/son relationship is developed in the image of Stephen and Cyril as weak sons who are in desperate need of their mother's assistance. Dedalus describes their consistency as that of "weak watery blood;" ironically, it is Dedalus' mother who has suffered a "weak watery" death. The son and mother seem to function in tandem, a relationship in which only one can be strong and the other weak. The devotion that Stephen failed to express at his mother's deathbed is expressed in his riddle that he tells his students of the fox who is burying his grandmother. This important motif recurs throughout Stephen's thoughts in later chapters.

Chapter 3: Proteus Summary:

After 11 AM, Stephen Dedalus wanders along Sandymount strand (a beach) to waste time before he is to go to the Ship at 12:30 to meet Mulligan and Haines. Though, in the end, Stephen decides not to go to the Ship to see Mulligan. This occurs immediately after the "Nestor" episode at Mr. Deasy's school and Stephen is still disgruntled by his unpleasant experience with Mr. Deasy and also feels burdened because he has to carry Mr. Deasys inane letter to the Evening Telegraph. Later in the chapter, Stephen sits on a rock and pencils in a few corrections, in an effort to make his upcoming trip to the newspaper office less embarrassing. After walking for several miles, Stephen considers visiting his mother's family (the Gouldings) but after imagining what his father's objections would be, he decides against it. Stephen imagines a vivid scene of what would transpire if he did decide to visit the Gouldings. He imagines his Uncle Richie Goulding who is laid up in bed as he suffers the consequences of decades of alcoholism. As usually, "nuncle Richie" would be singing Italian opera while cousin Walter ran around the house in search of backache pills for his father. In another room, Mrs. Goulding would no doubt be bathing one of the myriad young children running around the house. As he walks on the beach, Stephen considers different philosophical questions on what is real and what is only perceived, on the relationship of the symbol versus the symbolized, as well as the human senses

and how they interact and overlap. Stephen expresses his feelings of solitude as his mind wanders on the real and imagined figures that surround him on Sandymount and he imagines himself to be in Paris, in the company of his friend, Kevin Egan. Dedalus friend, Egan, was reputed to be a socialist and after exiling himself to Paris, unlike Stephen, he never returned to Ireland.

Analysis:
In Homer's two epics, The Iliad and The Odyssey, we learn of Menelaus, a king who was married to Helen, the beautiful woman who was kidnapped by Paris, a prince in the city of Troy. It was this abduction that caused Menelaus to unite the Greek kings and attack Troy. After the ten years of the Trojan War, Menelaus returned home with his wife Helen and Telemachus visits the king on his passage in search of Ulysses. Menelaus offers hope that Ulysses is still alive on the seas and he tells the prince of Proteus, the sea god. Just as the derivative word "protean" indicates, Proteus was famous for being able to alter his physical form. While there is no narrative parallel between the episode from The Odyssey and the "Proteus" chapter, there is a philosophical one. Just as Proteus, like the sea, continually changed his form, Stephen considers ideas of form in terms of metamorphosis, perception and deception. Another parallel to the "Proteus" theme can be seen in the literary technique employed in the third chapter's narrative structure. Joyce's technique is called "stream of consciousness," and it is presented as a recording of Stephen's thoughts and ideas without many of the standard grammatical structures to which readers are accustomed. Because of the "stream" of the Stephen's thoughts and how they are presented, it is very difficult to differentiate between the beach scenes that are occurring around him and his own thoughts on various subjects. Often times, one informs the other. One example is Stephen's encounter with a dog named Tatters who is digging in the beach sand. Upon seeing Tatters, Stephen remembers the riddle of the fox that is burying his grandmother and decides that the dog must be doing the same thing. Later on in "Proteus," Stephen passes a man and a woman strolling in the opposite direction and Stephen re-imagines them as a couple that might have passed him on the streets during his time in Paris. Even after Stephen decides not to visit the Gouldings, he mentally enacts the scene of his arrival and the bedraggled appearance of his bedridden uncle, Richie Goulding. It is only because we hear the shells under Stephen's feet that we know he is still walking on the beach and only imagining the visit. This sort of technique not only considers the interaction of Stephen's different senses but also plays upon the reader's senses. We receive the image of his imagined visit as if it were real. Joyce seeks to present, distort and deceive the reader, just as the sea-god and Stephen's mind are in a constant state of flux. Further more, the third chapter is notorious for Stephen's rather erudite philosophical considerations. The opening phrase of the chapter ("ineluctable modality of the visible") is among the most notorious of Joyce's excesses in obscurity. While subtle references to Aristotelian theory dominates the chapter, there are also references to Dante's Divine Comedy, the writing of the Irish poet W.B. Yeats and John Milton's Paradise Lost. There are also multiple musical references to Irish ballads, French chansons and Italian opera. The simplicity and frankness of Bloom, who appears in the next chapter, will be a sharp contrast to Stephen, who theorizes in several languages during his beach stroll. The fact that Stephen is so lost in thought is an indication of how far removed he is from reality. Only a few characters are presented in this chapter which is almost exclusively a transcript of Stephen's mental activity. Joyce's ability to create portraits using very few words becomes evident. One minor character who will appear again later in the novel is an elderly woman by the name of Mrs. Florence MacCabe, who Stephen imagines as a midwife. She and her female companion are carrying dark black bags and Stephen concludes that there is some "misbirth" (a miscarriage) cradled inside. The irony of an elderly midwife carrying a dead child is reinforced by the fact that MacCabe is a widow who lives on Bride Street. Later in the novel, Stephen's imagination will re-employ MacCabe to make the argument that females, in opposition to males, are the endpoints on the continuum of life. As is unsurprising, Stephen's imagined characters reveal more about his own thoughts than the actual lives of the various Dubliners that he passes. The morbidity of Stephen's thoughts of Tatters burying his fictitious grandmother is explained by Stephen's image of his devoted cousin Walter caring for "nuncle Richie" on his deathbed. The tired refrain "Papa's little lump of love," reinforces Stephen's guilt concerning his desertion of his mother when she was on her deathbed. Besides the parallel to his cousin, Walter Goulding, he also gather more information about Stephen to compare him to two of his acquaintances. In Paris, Stephen met Kevin Egan, a young Irishman in France who lived in self-exile. Stephen's later reflections on him reveal his own hesitation and concomitant urge to leave Ireland again. He notes that while Kevin Egan easily forgot Ireland, Ireland had not forgotten him. While Stephen is eager to be

remembered, we find that he is reluctant to forget Ireland. Another parallel can be seen in Stephen's initial fear of the dog Tatters, in contrast to his roommate, Mulligan, who once saved a dog from drowning. As may be expected, many of Joyce's "portraits" in "Proteus" are humorous despite the weighty subject matter of Stephen's thoughts. Joyce paints a picture of Richie Goulding, whose veneer of middle-class respectability is wearing thin. He is a suffering alcoholic who relies upon backache pills to eliminate the sufferings of his youthful excesses. Goulding's sickbed is described as throne-like and his crown is one of dirty grey hair. The themes of death and decay that began the novel are continued in "Proteus." The shell motif that was begun in Deasy's school, continues with the metaphors of Irish souls as emptied shells and empty ships, collectibles that are the casualties of foreign conquest. The drowning motif that began with the "drowning" of Mary Dedalus, who choked on her bile, and the drowning of Dedalus' son, is repeated in the bloated carcass that surfaces. Further, Mary's brother Richie refers to his own "lowering" bedside water, a direct parallel to her "bowl of green bile." The musical motif becomes somewhat hyperbolic in the scene where Uncle Richie's recitation from Il Trovatore is juxtaposed with narrative exposition of some of Dublin's poorest and most miserable souls. The theme of solitude is echoed in the shell motif and is Stephen's most recurring thought. After imagining the scenario of each of the creatures around him, Stephen always returns to the observation that he is alone. This self-realization is most excruciating towards the end of "Proteus" when Stephen leans against the hard rocks and sighs, wishing that there was some person who might give him a soft touch. A ship called the Rosevean ends the chapter on a somber note. The triple mast of the boat is a replication of the hillside crucifixion of Christ, foreshadowing Stephen's inevitable lonely suffering.

Chapters 4: Calypso Summary:

Chapter Four marks the opening of Part Two, beginning at 8am with Leopold Bloom in his house on 7 Eccles Street. It is breakfast time at the Bloom residence as was the case in Martello, and the scene that we encounter is one of fractured domesticity. Bloom's wife, Molly, is asleep in the bed and their daughter Milly is away. Joyce's focus on Bloom's thoughts is a contrast to Stephen's intellectualism. When he wakes up, Blooms primary concern is to get breakfast made before his wife is stirring. He likes to serve Molly breakfast in bed, and Molly is very specific about how she likes her toast corners cut and her morning tea served. After beginning preparations for her breakfast and serving the cat her milk, Bloom quickly departs for the butcher shop in search of a nice cut of pork kidney for his own breakfast. He later burns the kidney when he spends too much time assisting Molly upstairs. Indeed, Joyce's Ulysses is more of a comic hero than an epic figure, a resemblance to Cervantes' Don Quijote. Bloom is doomed to wander for the day because he has left his key in the pair of pants that he wore the previous day and he is afraid to go upstairs and disturb his wife Molly. Like Stephen, Bloom is rather submissive in his relationships. Bloom, for example, is aware of the fact that his wife is having an affair with Blazes Boylan, a younger man with whom she professionally sings. Molly has received a letter from Boylan that morning and Bloom is aware that Molly and Boylan plan to consummate their relationship that very afternoon. Additionally, Bloom is also concerned that his daughter's innocence may be imperiled on account of her new suitor; Bloom simply shrugs this off and is passive, if not fatalistic. We learn a little about Bloom's sexual preferences in his rather obsessive voyeurism. When Bloom goes to the Dlugacz butcher shop, he attempts to pursue a young girl at the hope of catching a glimpse of her underwear. Towards the end of the chapter, Bloom is dressing in all black on account of the funeral of his acquaintance, Paddy Dignam. And the chapter ends when Bloom takes a trip to the outhouse and expresses his concern about again while reading a serialized story which leads him to consider taking up a literary career to make more money.

Analysis:
This chapter is named for Calypso, a nymph who held Ulysses as a captive for seven years. The parallel between Homer's story and Joyce's "Calypso" is rather ironic as it is Bloom's wife Molly who parallels Calypso, when she ought to be a parallel to Ulysses' wife Penelope. Molly stays in bed, half asleep and orders Bloom around the house. While Ulysses was a captive of Calypso who tried to prevent him from

reaching his home, Molly holds him captive in his own home. Like Ulysses, Bloom will have to leave captivity, free himself, and then re-enter the home. The painting of The Bath of the Nymph reinforces the Calypso imagery of Molly, and the Bloom's address, 7 Eccles Street, corresponds to Ulysses' seven years of captivity. Bloom's thoughts are recounted for the reader, much as Stephen's were. In contrast to Stephen's Aristotelian logic, Bloom expresses his thoughts in terms of simple science. Unlike Stephen, Bloom's thinks more on the mechanics of the physical world surrounding him. Nonetheless, both characters are in denial and are unable to adequately address the concerns posed by their relationships. In his depiction of Bloom, Joyce develops the imagery of Ulysses as a wanderer and fuses it with the motif of the Wandering Jew of European legend. Because Bloom works as an ad canvasser for The Freedman Journal, his job requires that he wander the city in search of new advertisements and account renewals. Both Bloom and Stephen are outsiders who are keyless and dressed in all black. Joyce's depiction of Bloom is very humorous. Upon the conclusion of the chapter we find our hero as a voyeur who is obsessed with food and defecation. Despite the fact that he knows his wife is planning to fornicate with a younger man, he is hapless in response. Instead of a key, he carries a potato in his pocket. His subservience in service to his wife is rather extreme and Bloom has clearly facilitated her affair by moving their daughter Milly out of the house so that she will not come into contact with Molly and Boylan. Furthermore, Bloom intends to stay out of the house for the entire day, willingly exiling himself from the house so that he will not come in contact with the two lovers. The decay motif that was begun with Stephen's thoughts on Ireland and his dead mother are continued with Bloom. We learn that Bloom's father has died and while he and Molly share a fifteen-year old daughter, their son, Rudy, died when he was eleven days old. Bloom considers his stump lineage to be a parallel to the lack of a Jewish homeland and he is sensitive to both the desires for a Jewish state as well as the need for Irish "Home Rule." Just as Stephen considers thoughts of a potential Irish renaissance, when Bloom arrives at the butcher shop of Dlugacz, also a Hungarian Jew, he looks at a pamphlet advertising ventures for utopian settlements in the Levant. Ironically, for all of Bloom's concern about the decay of Jewish customs and community, he violates Jewish dietary laws.

Chapter 5: The Lotus Eaters Summary:

Chapter Five begins close to 10am as a keyless Bloom leaves his house and takes a circuitous route to the post office in order to pick up any responses to an advertisement in which he inquired for a secretary. As a result of his advertisement, Bloom has been in correspondence with a flirtatious woman who uses the pseudonym "Martha Clifford" to his "Henry Flower, Esquire." Despite the fact that he has already found an answer to his advertisement, Bloom continues to check the post office box and his advertisement has netted over forty responses and in the end Martha Clifford was the final consideration, narrowly defeating Lizzie Twigg for the "position." Regardless of Blooms initial intent and whether or not he was initially searching for a secretary, Martha Clifford has become a platonic pen-pal and now it seems that the relationship is escalating. Upon reading Clifford's letter, Bloom regrets the fact that he has goaded Clifford by responding to her letters and he is afraid that she may want to meet him instead of continue a Clifford-Flower relationship with non-committed, teasing love letters. As if to confirm her romantic intentions, Clifford, the coquette, has included a flower along with her letter. After leaving the post office, Bloom travels to the Belfast and Oriental Tea Company, though he only looks through the window and admires the various spiced teas from the outside. Looking through the large window of the store, Bloom is lost in a daydream as he imagines the various advertisement possibilities for the establishment. Bloom continues on his wandering course until he reaches F.W. Sweny's chemist shop where he buys a bar of lemon soap and makes plans to return with a recipe for Molly's lotion. He had forgotten to bring it with him. Bloom sees Bantam Lyons on the street and Lyons misunderstands Bloom's offer of the newspaper that he has just finished reading. Bloom's statement that he was just going to throw away the paper is misheard by Lyons who thinks that Bloom is giving him a tip on the racehorse, Throwaway. This rather strained comic scene has unfortunate consequences for Bloom, later in the novel. Towards the end of the chapter, Bloom contemplates a Turkish bath, but his peaceful thoughts are interrupted by his memory of his father's suicide. Blooms father, Rudolph, took an overdose of monkshood poison and died in a resort in Italy.

Analysis:
The Lotus flower (also spelled Lotos) was known for its fragrant and narcotic characteristics, inspiring sleep and forgetfulness. When Ulysses spends time in the land of the Lotus-Eaters, he finds that his crew becomes forgetful and is unwilling to leave the new land; they have to be coerced onto the ship. The yellow lotus flower presented an alluring escape from reality much like the appealing banquet of Circe, an enchantress who Ulysses later meets. There are several parallels between the "Lotus-Eaters" chapter and the Homeric episode. The most obvious parallel is in Bloom's purchase of a yellow bar of fragrant lemon soap, and of course, his visit to a chemist specializing in soaps, flowers and perfumes. Bloom also daydreams in front of a spice and tea shop. Additionally, Martha Clifford asks "Henry Flower," for the name of his wife's perfume. The flower that Martha encloses in her letter is another "lotus" and it is worth noting that Bloom's three names are floral references. His legal name is "Bloom," his ancestral name is the Hungarian word for flower which is "Virag," and his pseudonym is "Henry Flower." In his vision of the Turkish bath, Bloom imagines his penis as the "limp father of thousands" and a "languid floating flower" again combining the physical effects of the flower (sleep, limpness) with its physical characteristics "floating flower." The suicide of Bloom's father, Rudolph Virag, as well as the furtive affair-by-mail are thematic parallels in regards to escapism. The idea of escapism is also reflected in the fact that Bloom refused to see the body of his dead father. Instead he intentionally avoided the sight. Indeed, Bloom's wandering route indicates his fear of being apprehended and his languid, forgetful manner. After all, upon entering Sweny's, Bloom forgets his recipe. The idea of escapism and hiding is important in regards to Bloom and his activity in this chapter greatly foreshadows his street activity for the remainder of the novel. The most revealing aspect of Bloom's personality is the fact that he has perhaps "escaped" from his house to avoid seeing his wife's affair. We find that for all of Bloom's efforts to escape from the emotional traumas of life, he (like Stephen) will be forced to confront his fears. Bloom's emotionally distant commentary on his father's death and his trips to the grave site will be expanded in a discussion of suicide in the next chapter, "Hades." Furthermore, Bloom has sought to escape from his marriage with Molly by pursuing a false relationship as "Henry Flower," the penpal of "Martha Clifford." Bloom even goes as far as to position himself as a Christ-like figure who is caught between Martha (Clifford) and Mary (Molly's maiden name is Marion Tweed). While Bloom alludes to this scene from the Gospels, made famous by several pieces of art, the parallel with Christ does little to secure his precarious situation. Bloom's escape from Molly becomes just as troubling once Bloom realizes that Martha Clifford wants a physical relationship with Henry Flower. Joyce's depiction of the modern Ulysses differs from the traditional Homeric hero on a variety of levels. One important difference that becomes even clearer in the "Circe" chapter is the fact that Homer's Ulysses is spared most of the indignities that his crew suffers because of their own immaturity and lack of self-control. In contrast to Homer's Ulysses, Leopold Bloom's character is defined by various, often humiliating entanglements. Some critics go as far as to suggest that Joyce's hero is an anti-hero, citing evidence that the "cuckold" (a man whose wife has been unfaithful) was often depicted as precisely pitiful and emasculated, both in Chaucer and in other canonical works. Joyce forces the reader to simultaneously identify the heroic and the pitiful within Bloom. His sincere concern for those around him becomes immediately evident to us. Still, we receive confirmation that his wife is going to have an affair and his various comments on manliness and male impersonators playing Prince Hamlet on stage is extremely ironic, considering both Stephen's obsession with the drama and his own imminent emasculation. Joyce re-employs the juxtaposition of emasculation and manliness in the concluding lines of the chapter: "the limp father of thousands, a languid floating flower." "Father" and "floating flower" are both alliterative and indicative of the potential for procreation. Unfortunately, the words "limp" and "languid" sap the potential for procreation. The phrase "father of thousands" is also a direct allusion to Abraham, considered to be the spiritual and Biblical patriarch of the Jews. For Bloom, the emasculation of his cuckolding is echoed in the death of his father and his newborn son, both named Rudolph. Rudolph Virag committed suicide in 1886 and Rudolph "Rudy" Bloom died at the age of eleven days in 1894. Leopold Bloom, in 1904, nonetheless feels trapped in a vice of death. Besides this continuance of the themes of escapism and paternity, there are three other major themes that Joyce develops in the "Lotus-Eaters." The first is a political one which prepares the reader for the foreshadowed discussions in the "Hades," "Aeolus," and "Cyclops" chapters (Chapters Six, Seven and Twelve). The idea of Ireland's political freedom is expressed in terms of "Home Rule." But what is interesting to note is how the Dublin scenery sparks analog references in Bloom's head, when compared to Stephen. Stephen is contemplating a life of self-exile on the European continent and he imagines his surroundings to be the city of Paris, at times various Greek locales or the coast of Denmark (Elsinore).

Conversely, Bloom thinks of the Levant, specifically the Promised Land and his spatial imaginationsmosques, Turkish Baths, the Dead Sea and the island of Ceylon-have a decidedly oriental orientation in contrast to Stephen's continental theme. Joyce hints that the hearts of these men do not lie wholly in Ireland, despite the fact that they both consider themselves to be citizens. The theme of Bloom's solitude is extensively treated in this chapter, which foreshadows the hero's unsuccessful attempts to belong and feel at ease among his fellow Dubliners. Despite his numerous foibles, Bloom's Jewish heritage is the chief obstacle in his attempts to belong. Joyce humorously depicts Bloom's marginal status in the scene where Bantam Lyons does not bother to listen to Bloom and as a result misinterprets his sentence as gambling advice in support of the racehorse, Throwaway. Far from inconsequential, Lyons' treatment of Bloom is merely the first in a long series of incidents, continuing in the sixth chapter, "Hades," and violently climaxing in the twelfth chapter "Cyclops." Just as Joyce has shown us (through Stephen) that Roman Catholicism is infused in everything Irish, Bloom's Jewishness underscores the exclusion and indignities that he suffers constantly. From Joyce's un-subtle wordplay with racehorse named "Throwaway" to Bloom's mottled thoughts as an outsider commenting on the music of the Catholic church, we begin to gain a sense of the loneliness that wandering entails. Finally, Joyce steers us through the potentially confusing emotional details of Bloom's dead father and son by refocusing on the theme of the love song to indicate that Bloom's primary concern is not his lineage but his marriage. All of Bloom's thoughts on Martha Clifford are rendered incomplete on account of his mental rebounding to thoughts of Molly. Bloom expresses his confusion on the "mystery" of love and then things of the song "Love's Old Sweet Song." The musical expression of love's mystery and permanence should remind the reader of Stephen's song to his dying mother: "Love's Bitter Mystery." Bloom initially considers that the idea that flowers (rather than music) constitute the "language" of life and love. Here it is important to note that while Bloom is a musical aficionado, his musical knowledge is limited and shallow. Furthermore, Bloom is excluded from the arena of love songs. Not only is his wife Molly a singer, but she is planning to star in a concert with Blazes Boylan with whom she is having an affair. Ironically, the two singers will perform "Love's Old Sweet Song" both on tour and on the afternoon of June 16. The theme of the love song grows more important for both of our heroes as the chapter progresses. For Stephen, love songs are burdensome and chained in memory. For Bloom, as an explicit scene in the "Sirens" chapter will reveal, love songs are performed in an arena from which he is excluded.

Chapter 6: Hades Summary:

Soon before 11am, Bloom enters a funereal carriage with other friends of Paddy Dignam. Jack Power, Martin Cunningham, Simon Dedalus (the father of Stephen) and Bloom, follow Dignam's hearse to Glasnevin Cemetery where Father Coffey delivers the conclusion of the religious interment ceremony. Along the way, the carriage passes throngs of urban poor, the small hearse of an orphan, a widow, Blazes Boylan, as well as Stephen Dedalus. As the funeral procession passes through the city, all of Dublins bleakest characteristics are exposed and magnified. Bloom imagines it as a city of the dead and when he passes an old lady, he thinks to himself that she is somewhat relieved to see the hearse pass by her as she lives in the constant fear that the next death she sees will be her own. The carriage has a few navigational problems as the course to Glasnevin Cemetery requires that they pass over four different rivers including the Liffey, Dublins largest river. Bloom's outsider status is revealed even in the stilted congeniality of the cramped carriage. Power and Dedalus are extremely terse in their comments to Bloom, though Cunningham does make an effort to express his kindness. Still, the conversation is triangular and Bloom spends most of his time thinking of ways to jump into the conversation. His attempt to be sociable is more of a faux pas than anything else and his comments expose him as a non-Catholic. One of the carriage members comments on the unfortunate nature of Paddy Dignams death, given that he died in a drunken and unconscious stupor. For the three Catholics, it need not be said that Dignam was unable to receive last rites, jeopardizing the status of his soul in the afterlife. Bloom, an outsider, has missed the nuance of the conversation and he argues that Paddy was lucky, for dying in ones sleep is the least painful exit. Later the conversation turns to the subject of suicide and Jack Power makes an inconsiderate remark about the eternal damnation suffered by suicides. Unlike Power, Cunningham is aware of the fact that Blooms father committed suicide and he steers the conversation to a lighthearted topic. Despite the stiff sobriety of the occasion though, Bloom's opinions of the Roman Catholic ceremony provide comic relief from the somber subject matter of the chapter.

Analysis:
Chapter Six, "Hades," is named after the Greek underworld where souls were ferried once earthly life has ended. In Homer's epic, Ulysses travels to the underworld for advice and among other souls, he encounters his lost crewman Elpenor. Elpenor fell off of a roof and his death was the result of his excesses and lack of self-control. In Joyce's "Hades," the city of Dublin mirrors the underworld as the funeral procession crosses four rivers just as there are four rivers that divide the territory of the underworld. Elpenor's analog is Dignam whose death is the result of his drunken excesses and some critics also see Martin Cunningham as a parallel to Sisyphus, another famous denizen of Hades. Sisyphus was forced to roll a large stone up a hill, but as soon as he reached the peak of the hill, the stone would roll back down and he was forced to start over again. Cunningham spends his entire life battling his mad wife who pawns all of the family furniture as soon as Martin has scrounged up enough money to repurchase it. While the most important parallel is the thematic treatment of death, another parallel can be seen in Father Coffey, whose satirized appearance is a striking resemblance to Cerberus, the threeheaded dog who guards the underworld. Joyce's word game between D-O-G and G-O-D (begun with Tatters in "Proteus") continues in the contemplation of the Christian Trinity as a parallel to the threeheaded dog. While Bloom's thoughts on Catholicism are not a reflection of his own Judaism, they are the thoughts of an individual who is not a member of the Church and Joyce uses Bloom to critique the Church as an institution. In the carriage discussion of Dignam's death, Bloom suggests that Dignam died a fortunate death having passed in his sleep (a drunken stupor). Bloom receives a startled reaction from the Catholic men in the carriage who understand the fact that Dignam's unexpected death prevented the offering of last rites. When one of the other characters refers to suicide as an unforgivable offense, Bloom's thoughts immediate refer to his father before contemplating the lack of mercy displayed in the Catholic doctrine on suicide. Simon Dedalus and Martin Cunningham stand out as interesting minor characters in this episode. Simon appears as a rather gruff character, who expresses concern over his distant son's activity and later expresses sadness in Glasnevin Cemetery when he remembers the death of his wife. Martin Cunningham makes an effort to be civil to Bloom, though Cunningham does not regard Bloom as warmly as he regards his friends. When the discussion turns to the topic of suicide, Cunningham changes the subject, aware of Rudolph Virag's suicide. Bloom does suffer unspoken humiliation when the carriage passes Blazes Boylan, who is considered to be "the best man in Dublin." The positive comments of Dedalus, Power and Cunningham (in reference to Boylan) only deepens Bloom's feeling of dread. The image of Bloom as a silent sufferer is reinforced by images of Crucifixion, specifically piercing nails, and again when a newspaper man ignores Bloom in his listing of those present at the Dignam funeral. Like Bantam Lyons, the reporter half-listens to Bloom and thinks (incorrectly) that McIntosh is the name of a man who is wearing a McIntosh (raincoat). Later on, we will find that the reporter has also misspelled Bloom's name. Besides Bloom's outlandish thoughts, there are other instances of humor including Mrs. Cunningham's habit of pawning the family furniture as well as the story of the capsized hearse. Still, the somber tone of "Hades" is definitive of the chapter. Specifically, Joyce decides to portray Dublin as a city of the dead. The houses are described as houses of death and the gloom of Dublin is evident in the numerous open drains throughout the city's poorest sections. While these open drains are unsanitary and dangerous, they are also portals to the underworld. One of the most memorable scenes of the novel is when Bloom ponders the existence of Catholic Dubliners, who are trapped by the ghosts of the dead while preparing for the own afterlife. Bloom describes the chains of memory as "the love that kills," again expanding the thematic discussion of love as both Bloom and Stephen Dedalus, are both bound by "the love that kills."

Chapters 7: Aeolus Summary:

After the Dignam funeral, Bloom goes downtown to the newspaper office (an office for three different publications) to work on his newest advertising assignment, a two-month renewal for Alexander Keyes. Bloom appears close to accomplishing his goal because Keyes previous ad is easily recovered. Problems arise when the business manager, Nannetti, decides that Keyes should take out a three-month advertisement and he is largely unwilling to compromise. Nannettis tone is sarcastic when he addresses Bloom and so the ad canvasser is unclear as to whether or not he will have to re-negotiate his contract with Keyes, though in the end it seems that this is the case.

To further complicate manners, Bloom learns that he will have to trek to the National Library to retrieve a specific graphic image of two crossed keys. The Keyes house wanted to use this image and though it was the same image that they used in their last advertisement, Bloom is unable to find a copy of it in the office. Bloom's escapades in the office are interrupted by the entrance and exit of both Simon and Stephen Dedalus at different times and within different groups. Simon Dedalus has arrived with a few of his friends who were also in attendance at the funeral and they eventually leave for drinks. While they are there, the men discuss and ridicule a recent patriotic speech that has printed in the paper. When Stephen arrives, he sends a telegraph to Mulligan, notifying him that he will not be going to the Ship. Instead, Mulligan and Stephen will cross paths in the National Library, though Stephen is wholly unaware of Leopold Bloom and his plans. Stephen is also engaged in a political discussion in which he tells what he calls the Parable of the Plums, describing the Irish condition as that of two old women who have begun to climb the tall statue of the British Lord Nelson. Having stopped midway, they take a break to eat plums, spitting the pits down into the Irish soil. At this point, the two old women are horrified and unable to move, frightened by the distance between their current position and ground level. At the same time though, they find Lord Nelsons face to be unwelcoming and menacing and they refuse to climb any further on the statue, resigned to live the rest of their lives clutching on Lord Nelsons midsection. After telling the parable to his enthusiastic and older audience, Stephen delivers Mr. Deasy's letter on Irish cattle, which the staff reluctantly agrees to print. Bloom re-appears towards the end of the chapter as he attempts to call Keyes to confirm the three-month renewal before beginning the work but all of his attempts at communication are unsuccessful as his co-workers are disrespectful and only make Bloom's assignment more difficult than it needs to be.

Analysis:
Aeolus, the god of wind, decided to grant Ulysses a blessing. Specifically, Aeolus gave Ulysses a taut leather bag containing all of the winds of the sea. With these winds bound, Ulysses was guaranteed a safe and speedy passage home. As Ulysses fastened the bag to the mast of the ship, his crew suspected that it was a treasure that he was selfishly hoarding for himself. Eventually, their greed and curiosity overcame them and the bag was slit open, releasing pent-up winds that blew Ulysses off of his course even as home was in sight. The first parallel to the Homeric episode is in Bloom's frustrated wandering through the office, mirroring his wandering through the city. Just as Bloom was nearing the end of his Keyes assignment, he was blown off course just as Ulysses was. Literary critics also suggest that Joyce is also satirizing "windy" and "inflated" news reporting in the "Aeolus" chapter, as another parallel to the Homeric episode. The chapter is divided into sixty-three sections. Each section has a hyperbolic headline that greatly exaggerates the narrative action of the section. Bloom's blunders are exaggerated into cataclysm and the banter of the news office takes on crucial importance. As a result, "Aeolus" is a light relief from the heavy tone of "Hades." While Bloom's escapades are humorous, Joyce is careful to illustrate the myriad ways in which Bloom functions as an outsider. Ironically, the business manager who causes most of Bloom's problems is not an Irishman but an Italian named Nannetti, indicating that Bloom is among the most marginal of the excluded. Bloom does not only suffer the insult of not having his questions answered; later in the chapter, Lenehan accidentally bumps into him and exaggerates a false apology. Towards the end of "Aeolus," the newsboys make fun of Bloom's gait and Lenehan dances a mazurka in his own attempt to poke fun at Bloom. It is only at the very end of the novel that we read that Bloom is in fact aware of the derision that occurs when he is not present. Bloom's travels throughout the office and the derision that he suffers give us the first complete glimpse of Joyce's "Wandering Jew" motif. Bloom's departure for the National Library foreshadows his appearance in "Scylla and Charybdis," where he crosses paths with Stephen Dedalus, much as the two Dedaluses crossed paths in this chapter. The image of the crossed keys for the Keyes ad, is the final component of the larger motif of the keyless Bloom, doomed to wander. The separate conversations of Simon and Stephen Dedalus are two opportunities for Joyce to develop the political themes of the novel. Simon Dedalus is accompanied by MacHugh, Lambert, O'Molloy, Crawford and Lenehan. The discussion of Dan Dawson's speech in the newspaper focuses on an empty brand of patriotism and the comments made by the news reporters demonstrate the level of media incompetence that Joyce is satirizing in "Aeolus." The conversation is colored by gossip, incorrect names and places as well as transposed dates. Most ironically, the entire discussion-over the necessary resurrection of the Irish language-takes place in English. Another chief irony can be seen in the gentlemen's exclusion of Bloom from the conversation, all the while appropriating the images and rhetoric of a "chosen people" suffering "captivity" while awaiting a "Messiah." Stephen's brief contribution to newsroom conversation is a parable entitled "Pigsah Sight of Palestine or the Parable of

the Plums," in which he suggests that the young Irishman who has heard the call to stay home is both trapped in domestic sterility and unable to go abroad. This parable is a prelude to Stephen's extensive, though somewhat nave philosophizing in "Scylla and Charybdis," which takes place in the National Library.

Chapter 8: The Lestrygonians Summary:

Chapter Eight is a chronology of Bloom's early afternoon. Rather than directly venturing to the National Library, Bloom wanders for a little over an hour and the narrative of the chapter follows his course as he decides to get something to eat. A young proselytizer affiliated with the YMCA hands Bloom a "throwaway" tract and when Bloom first reads the words: "blood of the lamb," he mistakes the letters BL-O-O for the beginning of his own name. Soon after, Bloom sees one of Simon Dedalus' daughters waiting for him outside a bar. Bloom then feeds the gulls, watches the five men advertising H.E.L.Y.S. establishment, listens to Mrs. Breen's story concerning her husband, Denis, who is losing his mind. Mr. Denis Breen has received a postcard in the mail that reads "U. p: up" and enraged, by the unintelligible prank, he has ventured to a lawyer in order to press charges. Denis Breen intends to sue for libel, though he is unaware of the intent or sender of the postcard. Mrs. Breen also shares the story of Mina Purefoy, who has been in labor for three days. Purefoy is losing her strength and apparently, Mrs. Breen has recently visited her in the National Maternity Hospital. Concerned for Mrs. Purefoy, Bloom decides that he will visit the pregnant woman and a little after this decision, Bloom encounters an in/famous character by the name of Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farell. Farrell is another Dublin crazyman who spends him time walking in between the lampposts. After avoiding Farrell's track, a hungry Bloom enters the Burton Restaurant but he leaves, disgusted by the exceptionally poor habits of the savage customers. Bloom, in fact, does not even give himself the chance to sit down in the Restaurant, whose somewhat opulent dcor contrasts the loud noise of the animated diners. After leaving the Burton Restaurant, Bloom continues his wandering through the city before he finally opts for Davy Byrne's "moral pub," where he sees Nosey Flynn. Just as the "moral pub" is considerably cleaner than the Burton Restaurant, Flynn presents himself as a decent man though he too, is not the cleanest. Flynn is constantly picking and brushing lice off his shoulders. The conversation inside Byrne's touches upon Blazes Boylan as well as the upcoming horserace in which Sceptre is heavily favored. After Bloom's exit, Byrne and Flynn discuss the wanderer, concluding rather fairly that he is a decent man despite his deliberate ambiguity and consistent refusal to sign his name to any agreement. The chapter ends soon after Bloom is on the path to the National Library. He helps a "blind stripling" cross street and soon after, Bloom enters a Museum, presumably to hide from Blazes Boylan whose path has again crossed with Bloom's.

Analysis:
The Lestrygonians were a tribe of cannibalistic giants who terrorized Ulysses' crew much as the oneeyed giant, Polyphemus, provided a formidable challenge when Ulysses entered the land of the Cyclops. In Chapter Eight, the Lestrygonian theme is developed in Joyce's copious puns and allusions to cannibalism. There is an interesting relationship to the "cannibalism" motif of this chapter and the "slaughter" motif of "Oxen of the Sun" (Chapter Fourteen). Earlier in the novel, we learn that food and eating are among Bloom's favorite diversions and Joyce expands the motif of "cannibalism" to eating or rather, dirty eating. The diners in the Burton Restaurant are as "bestial" as the gulls at the quay. In the depiction of the gulls and the Burton diners, Joyce foreshadows the victims of Circe, whose enchanting banquet table inspires excessive greed in Ulysses' men. After gorging themselves they turn into swine, literally becoming "bestial." Joyce also refers to the gulls as greedy "men" grabbing at the "manna" which Bloom offers them. Through the motif of food then, Joyce has constructed Bloom as a beneficent God or Messiah. Joyce's eaters also testify to his concern that the depths of human character are too bestial. While these themes reach their climax in Chapter Fifteen, "Circe," it is in this chapter that Joyce almost excessively notes the humanitarian excess of Bloom's heart. Bloom's confluence with Christ is fully realized to the degree that he sacrifices himself for others gain, literally offering his flesh as sustenance, a parallel to the Eucharist. Bloom actions point to a definition of love that necessitates a painful sacrifice by one party involved though he may eventually reject this by the novel's end.

This chapter, like "Circe" and "Hades," focuses on the idea of human frailty in its most laughable and hyperbolic forms. Our comic hero, has not fought Trojan battles or defied gods. Instead, he walks the blind across busy streets and makes plans to visit pregnant women. In "The Lestrygonians," Joyce is careful to balance the "greedy men" and "dirty eaters" with purely comic characters like the Farrell and Denis Breen. Like Mrs. Cunningham's pawn shop visits, Denis Breen's antics are tormenting his spouse. Denis has received an anonymous postcard in the mail that reads, unintelligibly "U. p: up" and as a result, Denis is seeking legal advice with the intention of suing for libel. Mina Purefoy's sixty hours of labor are just as hyperbolic and Joyce's "dirty eating" motif takes a morbid turn in his depiction of Nosey Flynn who picks at and eats the lice which are feeding upon his body. And Bloom is not without his own bizarre habits: he enters the Museum and tries to avoid being caught staring at the rear ends of the ancient sculptures; Bloom is curious as to whether or not the statues have anuses. One of Joyce's purposes in Ulysses was to depict both the sublime and bestial aspects of human nature and the sordid and grim squalor of Dublin is juxtaposed with Bloom's memory of happiness in Ben Howth. Ben Howth increasingly figures in Bloom's mind as he remembers kissing Molly and sharing a seedcake but the escapist euphoria of Ben Howth is undercut by Molly and Blazes' affair and Bloom is tortured as he counts down the minutes. The backward-looking gaze of the Bloom we saw in "Hades" is largely replaced by a series of events which foreshadow Bloom's later actions. His thought, "Hamlet, I am thy father's spirit doomed for a certain time to walk the earth" is a necessary preparation for the themes developed in "Scylla and Charybdis." Bloom's planned visit to Mina Purefoy takes place at the National Maternity Hospital in "Oxen of the Sun" and both Ben Howth and "Throwaway" recur in Bloom's thoughts indicating that the reader should take note. Additionally, the results of the horserace, featuring Sceptre and Throwaway, will contribute to the narrative climax of Ulysses.

Chapter 9: Scylla and Charybdis Summary:

This afternoon chapter lasts for approximately an hour and a half and ends at 3pm. "Scylla and Charybdis takes place in the National Library and the shift in focus from Bloom to Stephen Dedalus marks Stephen's third appearance since "Proteus." Stephen has left the news office of "Aeolus" and after sending a message to Mulligan, he departed for the National Library rather than The Ship. It is unclear exactly what Stephen has been doing in the interim, though we do see that he is not alone in the library and Stephen sees that this casual company provides him with another opportunity to present himself as an intellectual thinker and budding literary genius. Despite Stephens continued efforts to impress the men in his company, he finds that his ploys are mostly frustrated. In contrast to Stephen's more receptive audience in "Aeolus," two of his library companions, Russell and Eglington, are men of literary stature who patronize Stephen's ideas about Shakespeare, ideas that he wedges between commentary on Irish politics and the difficult predicament of the young Irish literati. In his discussion of Shakespeare, Stephen aims to make use of his various critical skills without actually believing the arguments that he makes. Bloom is the first interruption of the narrative when we learn that he has arrived in search of the design the Keyes advertisement. Upon Blooms arrival, the head Librarian briefly departs presumably, to help Bloom locate the design of the "Keys of Killarney." Later, Mulligan arrives and continues his "tongue-in-cheek" mocking of Stephen and while Bloom and Stephen do not meet in this chapter, Bloom does pass between the two young men as he exits, separating them. By the end of "Scylla and Charybdis," Stephen is irked by the discussion of the Irish literary renaissance and he wonders if he will ever achieve literary success in Ireland as Mulligan, a sarcastic medical student, has been invited to attend a literary function with Haines, while he remains uninvited.

Analysis:
Midway through The Odyssey, Ulysses approaches Athena, the grey-eyed goddess of wisdom. His ship is headed for the wandering rocks whose erratic behavior is known to sink all ships crossing into that territory. Athena warns Ulysses to head instead for Scylla and Charybdis. Scylla is a six-headed cave creature known for devouring sailors and nearby Scylla is Charybdis, a formidable whirlpool that sinks ships. Ulysses is further warned to steer his ship between the narrow strait of water between the two titan menaces but if he is unable to steer a strait course, Ulysses is to veer towards Scylla, sacrificing six men rather than the entire ship. Ulysses is unable to steer a straight course and as a result he loses six

men. It is worth noting that Joyce's tenth chapter parallels the Wandering Rocks even though Ulysses circumvents this obstacle. The difficult lose-lose situation of Scylla and Charybdis is expressed in Stephen's thoughts on exile as opposed to remaining in Ireland. Stephen puns Ireland into "Sireland" and imagines it as a whirlpool that could sink him if he stays. Simultaneously, his skepticism parallels Scylla, the six-headed devourer. Stephen also admits to himself that Mulligan is a pernicious influence and this thoughts: "My will: his will that fronts me. Seas between," reconstructs the spatial imagery of Scylla and Charybdis right as Bloom passes between Dedalus and Mulligan. "Scylla and Charybdis" presents Stephen at the height of erudition, his Shakespearean criticism colored by references to Dante's Divine Comedy, Paradise Lost, diverse Greek myths as well as Shakespeare's biological details and a majority of his dramas. Like the seas between Scylla and Charybdis, this chapter is difficult to navigate. We learn that Stephen does not truly believe his convoluted theories and it is difficult to differentiate between his sincere emotional commentary and his thoughts on Shakespeare. Often times, they are intertwined. The theme of exile and escape is prominent in Stephen's thoughts and comments and the response from the audience, that Stephen is choosing to "fly in the face of tradition," is an allusion to Stephen's namesakes, Dedalus and Icarus. Joyce also references Lucifer, the fallen angel and in some respects, Dedalus, Icarus and Lucifer are, like Ulysses, incapable of steering straight. From another angel, the rifts between Dedalus and Icarus, God and Lucifer and Ulysses and Athena are rifts between teacher and pupil. This rift is mirrored not only in Stephen's somewhat ambiguous search for paternity but in his philosophical dissent from Russell. Stephen also quotes a passage from Dante's Inferno. While Dante praises his instructor, Ser Brunetto, he has nonetheless inserted him in the Dantean scheme of hell. In contrast to the ambivalent paternal figures, "Allfather" and "Nobodaddy," Stephen hopes for a visit from an older "grey-eyed" muse, Athena. The call for Stephen to rouse Irish youth to "free their sireland" is rejected to the degree that Stephen distances himself from paternal love. In "Scylla and Charybdis," Stephen presents a convoluted theory of "consubstantiality," condensed within his phrase: "He is in my father. I am in his son." Stephen's theory of Shakespeare's consubstantiality is essential for understanding the rest of the novel. Stephen makes the argument that Shakespeare's wife, an older woman, served as a maternal-like muse before she became unfaithful. As a result Shakespeare bequeathed her his second best bed. Stephen then argues that the Shakespearean tragedies (especially Hamlet) focus on Shakespeare's relationship with his unfaithful wife, dead infant son and dead father. Joyce has taken the theory of consubstantiality and presented it in a method that suggests parallels to the narrative of the novel. In the character of Ann Hathaway, we find the grey-eyed muse of Ulysses, sought by Stephen. But Hathaway is also the unfaithful Gertrude of Hamlet and the bed references link Hathaway to Joyce's Molly Bloom and Homer's Penelope. While Stephen is unaware of Bloom's private life, his scheme also establishes Bloom as the Shakespeare who wrote Hamlet, the prince of a dead father as well as the lost king whose wife is unfaithful. Among Stephen's comments on romantic love between the sexes is his understatement: "People do not know how dangerous lovesongs can be." By the end of his analysis, Stephen's thoughts have returned to his own mother as he concludes the strongest human bond is amor matris, and not the love between a father and son, between a husband and wife or between brotherly friends.

Chapters 10: Wandering Rocks Summary:

The "Wandering Rocks" chapter of Ulysses is a narrative interlude midway through the novel. Joyce depicts the adventures of a collection of Dubliners between 2:40 and 4pm, ending approximately half an hour before Molly and Boylan meet. The diverse roll of characters includes some figures that do not appear in other chapters and Joyce's primary concern in Chapter Ten is painting a vivid portrait of Dublin. Among these, we meet several figures of the Roman Catholic Church included Father "Bob" Cowley, who a habitual alcoholic who has lost is collar for previous indiscretions. We also encounter Father Conmee, who has the noble though nave dream of venturing into Africa in the hopes of converting the millions of "dark souls" who are lost in paganism. Father Conmees nostalgic thoughts on his days at Clongowes College are interrupted when he notices two young people who are kissing behind a half-hidden bush. Joyce also offers several glimpses of the Dedalus daughters. One of the four daughters has made a failed effort to pawn their brother Stephens books in the hopes of

getting some money for food. After she returns, another daughter departs for the bars there father is none to frequent. While she accosts him in the hope of getting a few coins to purchase some food, her sisters are at home boiling laundry before taking a break to drink some discolored pea soup. We receive separate views of Boylan and Molly before they meet. Molly appears on Eccles Street, offering a coin to a beggar sailor before preparing her home for her upcoming tryst. Boylan exposes himself as a hopeless flirt in his relationship with his secretary and in his treatment of the clerk of the flower shop. Stephen Dedalus appears without mulligan; a few mourners meet again to discuss Dignam's funeral and two viceregal carriages cast their shadows over beggars and barmaids, among others. Bloom's path intersects with Boylan's yet again and Bloom busies himself with the purchase of a book.

Analysis:
In Homer's epic, Ulysses heeded the advice of Athena who urged him to pass through Scylla and Charybdis, entirely avoiding the Wandering Rocks. Joyce includes this episode nonetheless and this tenth chapter poses an intentional barrier to the reader almost as formidable as "Scylla and Charybdis." While the prose of "Wandering Rocks" is simpler, it is divided into nineteen sections-one for each of the sections of the novel, with a final section linking the themes of the first eighteen. The Dubliners in this chapter are "wandering rocks," wandering at home without a homeland and questions of homeland politics unquestionably dominate this chapter. The rocks imagery of the chapter signals both infertility and doom and the sections of the chapter each focus on specific Dubliner or group of Dubliners. As the citizens wander through the city streets, their listlessness and misplaced energy suggest that they are simultaneously wandering emotionally. The eighteen sections are not chronological and while some span five minutes, others span a full hour. Readers must construct a chronology by looking for specific phrases that appear in multiple sections. In this regard, Joyce sought to reflect his ideas of "consubstantiality" and "collage" in the structure of the chapter. One example can be seen in Section I where Father Conmee is sitting on a bench imagining his schoolyard past where "his thinsocked ankles were tickled by the stubble of Clongowes field." In Section IV, a conversation between "Katey and Boody Dedalus is interrupted by the sentence: "Father Conmee walked through Clongowes field, his thinsocked ankles tickled by stubble" indicating that these events (the Dedalus' conversation and Father Conmee's daydream) occurred at the same time. With similar links occurring between all of the 18 sections we can construct an accurate chronology for approximately seventy-five to ninety minutes. Remarkably, Joyce was able to almost perfect recall Dublin's myraid alleys, bridges and quays, despite the fact that he was living in self-imposed exile while writing Ulysses. Several members of the Dedalus family are among the characters introduced in "Wandering Rocks." Stephen's sisters are living a destitute existence as their father's alcoholism is exhausting their already strained finances. Stephen's sisters Maggy, Katey and Boody discuss the unsuccessful attempt to sell Stephen's old books to a pawnshop. As they drink a thinned yellow pea soup, Maggy addresses "Our Father, who are not in heaven." Simon Dedalus later appears in the chapter, completely drunk and unable to support his daughters. In a later street scene, Simon sees his sister Dilly who has procured a little money from her father and used it to purchase a French primer from a used book cart, in hopes of fleeing to France as Stephen did. Stephen feels incredible sympathy for Dilly, grimly concluding: "she is drowning...she will drown me with her," linking his sister Dilly to the memory of his drowned mother. Just as Stephen feels that Dilly is "drowning," Haines and Mulligan are discussing Stephen in his absence concluding that "he can never be a poet," though he may write something in ten years. To the degree that Stephen Dedalus is autobiographical, it is worth noting that ten years after 1904, Joyce had written Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. The "Wandering Rocks" episode also mines the histories and personalities of the other major characters. Lenehan's recounts a lewd story to M'Coy, telling of his historic and incomplete sexual exploit with Molly Bloom. While Lenehan's story confirms Molly's penchant and reputation for infidelity, M'Coy finds the story unfavorable and instead compliments Bloom as a "cultured allroundman." Ironically, while Bloom is hiding from Boylan's shadow, he decides to buy a gift for Molly: a romance novel entitled Sweets of Sin. In contrast to Bloom, Boylan presents himself as a swaggering, cocksure flirt who teases a girl selling flowers as well as his secretary. Boylan's planned Belfast/Liverpool concert is set for a date that coincides with Bloom's annual visit to his father's grave. Joyce also introduces Misses Kennedy and Douce, the bronze- and gold-haired barmaids of the Ormond Hotel, who become the sirens of Chapter Eleven. The motif of the wandering sailor is presented in the one-legged beggar who receives a donation from Molly. Ironically, the war hero sings a pro-British song echoed in the veritable Irish patriotic song that is

sung later in the chapter, "At the siege of Ross did my father fall." Bloom continues within the motif of the Wandering Jew and Joyce constructs a series of corresponding images. As the "Wandering Jew," Bloom is considered a "throwaway," referring to his marginal status and his resemblance with the unsung racehorse. Joyce again alludes to the Old Testament prophet Elijah. Considered a forerunner to Christ, the wandering Jewish prophet was assumed into heaven, discarding his mantle as a throwaway, worn by his appointed successor, Elisha. The Elijah references foreshadow the moment in the novel where Bloom's tired heroic ambitions will be largely subsumed by his desire to help the younger Stephen, for whom there is more hope. The passing ship in "Wandering Rocks" is the Rosevean, which first introduced the crucifixion motif in "Proteus." Bloom's status as a bruised, "crumpled" throwaway indicates that he may be ultimately valuable as a sacrificial figure. The polar opposite to Bloom's "throwaway" motif is the viceregal carriage of William Humble who is the Earl of Dudley and the face of British occupation in Dublin. The Earl, Lady Dudley and their accompaniment take an hour-long course through Dublin; some Irishmen salute, while others spit. Despite the occasional displays of resentment, the carriage is a symbol of British hegemony. Its course is the itinerary presented in the final nineteenth section. The carriage casts its shadow over all of Dublin and the reader is able to perfect ascertain the chronology of the chapter because nearly all of the featured Dubliners fall subject to the shadow of the carriage. Ironically, the one wandering character who does not fall under the shadow of the ostentatious carriage is Leopold Bloom. Joyce could be suggested that Bloom is the one citizen whose soul retains its independence, or it could be that the "Wandering Jew," Bloom, is so marginal a citizen that the failed Irish struggle for Home Rule does not pertain him. Irish political desperation is reinforced by the story of Parnell whose coffin may have contained stones, preserving the possibility for a Messianic triumph. Joyce places Parnell's brother under the shadow of the carriage as he sits in a bar before becoming a street wanderer himself. Ireland's lack of political viability is underscored by the presence of the disabled sailor who once fought for a cause. The pro-British slant of his begging song is justified by Bloom's later realization of Ireland as a country that cannot care for its own. Joyce's most expert depiction of Ireland's weaknesses is in the character of Father Cowley, who opens the chapter. While he is described as "the very reverend," Father Cowley's sincere sympathy for others is stymied by his simple-mindedness and deception. Father Cowley is a pretender who has been demoted in his ecclesiastical duties, on account of an unexplained scandal.

Chapter 11: The Sirens Summary:

"The Sirens" takes place in the bar and restaurant of the Ormond Hotel, where Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy are barmaids. The chronology of the chapter overlaps with the previous one. Douce and Kennedy have entered the Ormond bar before the "Wandering Rocks" episode has concluded and Bloom only arrives at the Ormond after he has made his purchase of Sweets of Sin. Because Bloom is in the restaurant area of the Ormond he can only hear the noise coming from the bar area. Boylan arrives at the Ormond to meet Lenehan and the singer enters and exits without Bloom noticing; all the while, Bloom sits in dread of his upcoming cuckolding. A despondent Leopold Bloom accompanies Richie Goulding to a restaurant table. The physical consequences of Richie's drinking are visible to Bloom who suspects that Goulding will soon die. Soon after sitting at the table, Bloom begins writing a letter to Martha while talking to Goulding, disguising his efforts and insisting that he is only replying to a newspaper advertisement and not writing a letter as Goulding had suspected. The piano sets a lively tone for those who are in the bar, including Simon Dedalus, Douce, Kennedy, Lenehan, Boylan, a singer named Ben Dollard, Father Cowley and Tom Kernan. This lively group provides intermittent comic relief from Blooms depressing meal. Dedalus is a strong singer and he engages in several rounds of a few Irish folk songs including the patriotic ballad, "The Croppy Boy." Ben Dollard, a professional singer, is also rather obese and he is the butt of a few of the barmaids jokes. For their parts, Douce and Kennedy, fully thrust themselves into their "siren" roles, luring Boylan and after he departs for 7 Eccles, focusing their attentions on Lenehan who squanders a significant amount of money in their bar.

Analysis:
Homer's Sirens were hybrid bird-women who were perched on a perilous rocky shore. Despite their hideous physical appearance, the Sirens were able to entice sailors with their alluring voices, fitting within The Odyssey's series of female enchantresses. Ulysses was pre-warned that the sirens would lure

sailors by song and then viciously devour them. Indeed their rocky crag was largely composed of bleached bones. Ulysses ordered his men to stop their ears with wax before they passed through the Sirens' territory. He did not have his own ears sealed and instead ordered his crew to securely tie him to mast of the ship so that he might be able to hear the song without being in danger. Upon hearing the Sirens' song, Ulysses pleads with his men to release him, but they refuse and normalcy returns to the deck once Ulysses is no longer able to hear the distant Sirens. The intoxicating effects of the Sirens are duplicated in the Ormond barmaids, Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy who deliver songs, drink and flirtation in order to collect money from the Ormond's male patrons. The men of Dublin stroll by the bar and stay, and Bloom is interesting foil to Ulysses. In "The Sirens," Bloom can only hear the music of the bar but he cannot see it unlike Ulysses whose sight of the hideous sirens does little to rein in his desire to flock to them. Unlike Ulysses, Bloom's thoughts of Molly and his home are not eclipsed by his desire for the Sirens, Douce and Kennedy. Joyce makes extensive use of direct Homeric parallels in his depiction of the Ormond barmaids, describing their "wet lips" and the "long in dying call" of their victims. One of the barmaids later says: "he's killed looking back." The phrases "Miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint," "reef of counter," "ruffling her nosewings," and "screaming...high piercing notes," all contribute to Joyce's efforts to transform the Ormond Bar into the rocky crag held by the Sirens. The sentence "Miss Kennedy unplugged her ears to hear" is typical of Joyce's thematic puns. While Miss Kennedy plays the Siren role, she plugs and unplugs her ears in mockery of Ulysses' pre-warned sailors. Joyce does not portray Kennedy and Douce with as wholly villainous and just as Miss Kennedy can plug and unplug her ears, both Kennedy and Douce simultaneously play the roles of victor and victim. For all of their efforts to attract and steal from men, both Kennedy and Douce are lonely, unhappy and jealous. Despite their brash demeanor and coarseness, Joyce's portraits of the two aging barmaids evoke sympathy from the reader. While "The Sirens" is noted for its obvious parallels to the corresponding Homeric episode, it is one of the most critically studied chapters because of Joyce's extensive musical references. Expanding the theme of "The Sirens" to music as a whole, Joyce fuses Bloom's letter with lines from the opera Martha. In the Ormond bar, Ben Dollard sings of the Croppy Boy, a young Irish boy soldier who is a revered hero of folk song. After his regiment was entirely destroyed, the Croppy Boy sought to escape before eventually finding himself trapped by a British soldier who had disguised himself as a priest. Joyce's most complex musical reference is developed in the narrative structure of "The Siren." The chapter opens with sixty-three lines that are fragments of sentences, short phrases and spelled-out sounds. Joyce intended the chapter as a musical arrangement and these sixty-three, beginning with "Bronze by gold heard the hoofirons, steelyringing" and ending with "Begin!" are musical "motifs" woven throughout chapter, changing meaning as they are applied and reapplied. One example is "rose of Castile" (line 8) which refers to a riddle that asks for the opera whose name is also the definition of a train's tracks (rows of cast steel). Later, floral imagery attaches the word "rose" to Bloom writing a Flower-Clifford letter. Amid Bloom's comparison of Martha Clifford and his wife Molly, the phrase "rose of Castile" is decisively attached to Molly who happens to be of Spanish descent. "Jingle jingle jaunted jingling" (line 15) occurs throughout the entire chapter to emulate the sound of the Bloom's loose bedan anticipation of Molly and Boylan's sexual act. The "jingle jingle" of the loose (and unfaithful) bed of Penelope/Molly becomes the "jaunted jingling" of the wandering Ulysses/Bloom's absent "jingling" key. "Jingle jingle" mirrors the alliteration of Blazes Boylan's name and parodies his cocky swagger into the Ormond. The progression of a musical motif is able to immediate alter the tone of the chapter. "Trilling, trilling: Idolores" (line 9) first appears when Miss Douce is "gaily" singing ("trilling") the song "O, Idolores, queen of the eastern seas." When the theme is rephrased, the queen of the eastern seas becomes Molly and "Idolores" becomes "Dolores." Dolores is both a regal and religious female name, but when translated from Spanish, dolores is defined as pain and emotional suffering, capturing the depression of Bloom who is juxtaposed to the gaiety "trilling" several feet away from him. Bloom's outsider status in "The Sirens" is not defined by his Jewishness but by his non-participation in musical activity and his desire to reduce music to scientific principles. Bloom contends that-unlike words, music is simply "musemathematics," a series of vibrations as magical as multiplication. Bloom's scientific mind decomposes music to explain away so that it will not pose as great a threat to him. Despite Bloom's attempts to plug his ears to music's emotional power, the phrase "love that is singing: love's old sweet song" enters his thoughts and Bloom recognizes it as a song which Molly will sing with Boylan. Molly's love songs exclude Bloom much as his seat in the Ormond's restaurant prevents him from participating in the gaiety of the bar. Bloom feels alone, even while he is sitting at the table with Richie

Goulding, and he likens himself to the Croppy Boy, thinking "I too. Last of my race...Well, my fault perhaps. No son. Rudy. Too late now. Or if not? If not? If still?" While Bloom is able to leave "The Sirens" in a tone of indecision, he is forced in next chapter to defend himself against the shame of a lone outsider.

Chapter 12: The Cyclops Summary:

During the time of Molly's affair, Leopold Bloom wanders into Barney Kiernan's pub. Bloom is not a drinker and this is not a pub that he regularly frequents; indeed, Bloom seems to be lost in thought when he literally wanders into Kiernans where he is to meet Cunningham and Power for a trip to see the Widow Dignam. The pub's fierce scene is a severe contrast to the mellow drunkenness of the Ormond's bar and Bloom is immediately uncomfortable. A rabid Irish nationalist called Citizen, terrorizes Kiernan's pub and focuses most of his verbal attack on Bloom. Citizen, like many of Joyces patriots, is both anti-Semitic and isolationist in his thinking. Citizen initially begins his drunken discourse on the subject of the lost Celtic culture. Though he briefly touches upon the death of the Irish language, Citizens primary focus is on the renaissance of the ancient Celtic games. Citizens verbal spouting is not held in regard, though none of the pubs patrons feel as uncomfortable as Bloom. A large dog named Garryowen is equally menacing for Bloom, and despite Garryowens allegiance with Citizen, who feeds the dog biscuits, Citizen is not the dogs owner. Lenehan is present and his conversation reveals the results of the horserace where Throwaway has upset the heavily favored Sceptre. When Citizen's anti-Semitism flares, Bloom is forced to assume a heroic role in defending himself. Specifically, the Citizen accuses Bloom of stealing from widows and orphans and he goes further, insinuating that Jews can never be true Irish citizens. Bloom defends himself as an honest person before offering Citizen a brief catalogue of Jews who have made significant contributions to European and Irish culture. When Bloom informs Citizen that his own God (Christ) also happened to be a Jew, Citizen becomes enraged and as Bloom exits the pub victorious, Citizen chases behind him, throwing an empty biscuit tin at Bloom's head. The sun temporarily blinds Citizen, whose missile falls far short of the target. Upon exiting Kiernans pub Bloom continues on his mission to visit the Dignam widow, accompanied by Martin Cunningham and Jack Power. They intend to discuss the specifics of Paddy Dignams insurance policy and help the widow get her finances in order.

Analysis:
The Cyclops, a tribe of one-eyed giants, are among the most famous of The Odyssey's villains. A son of Poseidon, one particular giant named Polyphemus kidnapped Ulysses and his crew and held them inside of his cave, intending to eat them all. The clever Ulysses offered Polyphemus a drink of wine and when the giant passed out, he and his men blinded Polyphemus with a fiery wooden stake. Trapped in the Cyclops' cave, Ulysses' men hid in the fleece of Polyphemus' giant sheep and escaped when the blinded giant permitted his sheep to exit the cave in order to graze. The victorious Ulysses taunted the blinded giant, telling him that his name was "Noman" and Polyphemus takes blind aim at Ulysses' ship, hurling a rock into the sea before praying to his father, Poseidon, who added enormous difficulties to Ulysses' journey. Clearly, Joyce's parallel to Polyphemus is Citizen, the semi-blind drunk who terrorizes Bloom in Kiernan's dark and cave-like pub. Citizen's blindness is both intellectual and physical and images of blinding shafts, light and blindness link "The Cyclops" to its correlating Homeric episode. Additionally, Citizen drunkenness and attempt to "stone" an exiting Bloom are mirrored in Polyphemus' actions. Citizen's patriot interests include reviving Gaelic sports and expelling the Jews and his surly attitude is reflected in the sinister demeanor of the vicious dog, Garryowen. Despite Bloom's heroism and self-defense, Joyce does not reveal the character's first-person commentary as he usually does with Bloom and Dedalus. The narrative structure of the chapter is seriously affected by the fact that Joyce uses an anonymous narrator. The distance between Bloom and the narrator provides an honest examination: the protagonist is a decent man whose incessant didacticism, intentional ambiguity and helpless hesitancy are grating and annoying. The narrator is a frequenter of pubs and his "street language" is a contrast to the elevated diction of Stephen Dedalus. The narrator is equally sarcastic and gross, and his commentary ranges from deriding the despicable rhetoric of Citizen to complaining about his painful urination on account of having contracted syphilis. The narrator unknowingly contributes to the irony of the chapter with his comic references to the

"heroics" of Bloom's altercation with the villain, Citizen. The narrator then undercuts his own story by relaying his own exhaustion with Bloom's long-windedness and Citizen's rhetoric. Citizen's accusation that Bloom, like all Jews, robs from widows and orphans, is as ironic as his drunken appeal to God for a Messiah for the Irish chosen people. Consider the Citizen's appropriation (or theft) of Jewish imagery and Bloom's continued and anticipated generosity in regards to the widow Dignam and numerous street orphans. The theme of Irish political independence is continued in the Citizen's rhetoric but Joyce's chief arguments are not wholly expressed in his continued parody of the villain's ardent and blind patriotism. The weighty phrase "Ireland sober is Ireland free" provides context for Citizen's drunken drivel while damning Dublin's excess of pubs and bars. Joyce's other major addition to his political theme is the reemployment of the Promised Land/Chosen People motif. While it is ironic to find these words expressed by anti-Semitic characters, there is some validity in Citizen's lament for Ireland's "lost tribes." Ireland's is a double loss of old martyrs and young people (like Stephen Dedalus) who are self-exiled from the island. The themes of masculinity and self-identity find an interesting parallel in the Homer "Cyclops" episode, when Ulysses taunts Polyphemus, confiding that his true name is "Noman." In addition to subtle references to "Noman" and "Nobody," Bloom is emasculated by references to "the adulteress and her paramour." Furthermore, Bloom has spent the day hiding from Boylan and just as his legal name Bloom differs from his ancestral name (Virag), Bloom is posing as Henry Flower as a method of escaping from his household troubles. That Bloom, Flower and Virag are synonymous indicates that under any name, Bloom cannot hide himself. The antics of the aptly named Citizen, force Bloom to gain some masculinity at the same time that he must define himself as something other than a nameless nomad. By defending his Jewish-ness and his simultaneous Irish citizenship, Bloom effectively sloughs off his "Noman" status. The "throwaway" motif painted Bloom as "a rank outsider" and "a bloody dark horse" and the 20 to 1 odds against the unsung horse parallel Ulysses' twenty years away from Ithaca. Lenehan's disgruntled announcement of Throwaway's unexpected victory also corresponds to Bloom's "victory" in spite of the derision of others. Just as the Old Testament Elijah was connected to the "Throwaway" motif in "Wandering Rocks," Bloom fulfills the prophecy in his "ascension" into heaven having bested Citizen. The "throwaway" motif applies aptly to the mantle that Elijah handed to his successor, Elisha, as well as the prophet's "throwaway" status as a forerunner of the Messiah. Bloom's victory against the Citizen is tempered by the termination of his own messianic ambitions. As an ascended "Throwaway," Bloom's perspective shifts to the younger generation and thoughts of his son Rudy, as well as Stephen, come to the forefront of his mind. The period of the day foreshadows the mood of Ulysses' later chapters. In several ways, "The Cyclops" foreshadows the nighttime darkness that reaches its dramatic climax in the Nighttown episode of "Circe." While Bloom has overcome his greatest challenge, the cooling of his anxieties as well as the completion of the "throwaway" motif anticipate the nighttime shift to the dilemmas of Stephen Dedalus. The extremely intimate portrait of Bloom in "Nausicaa" confirms another shift in the novel's thematic structure: Characters are becoming increasingly polarized by age. Finally, the general political questions of "Home Rule," anti-Semitism, cultural insularity and "Mother Ireland" and "Sireland," are becoming increasingly personal and consequential for Bloom and Dedalus.

Chapters 13: Nausicaa Summary:

Nausicaa takes place several hours after "The Cyclops," and ends with the clock striking nine. In the interim between the chapters, Bloom has visited the Dignam widow to discuss Paddy's insurance policy and in this chapter he is walking along Sandymount strand, the same beach where Stephen strolled during "Proteus." There is a group of young people on the beach including a young woman named Cissy Caffrey who is watching Tommy and Jacky Caffrey and a smaller baby. Alongside Cissy is her friend Gertrude "Gerty" MacDowell. Gerty's mostly thinks about her previous boyfriend and later she considers thoughts of marriage. In her conversation with Caffrey, MacDowell hides the emotional disappointment that she has suffered. Even as she maintains a rigid and impassive exterior, MacDowell is deep in thought, considering (apparently, for the first time) that she may not be able to find a boyfriend whom she might convince or seduce into marriage. Midway through her thoughts, Gerty notices the voyeur, Bloom. Leopold Bloom is still dressed in all black on account of Dignams funeral and he is a somber contrast to the white sand of the beach.

MacDowell can easily detect that Bloom is watching her though he continues his failed attempts to conceal his furtive staring. Cissy Caffrey suspects that something is awry when MacDowell appears to be distracted and focused in the direction of the dark stranger. MacDowell then decides to use Caffrey in a ploy to get a better look at Bloom who is sitting in the distance. Knowing the Caffrey did not have a timepiece with her, MacDowell asks her for the time and when Cissy replies that she does not know, MacDowell ventures over to Bloom, an "uncle" of hers, so that she might find out. Upon returning to her original seat with Caffrey, MacDowell feels sympathy for Bloom, who she decides must be the saddest man alive. In place of her thoughts on her boyfriend, Reggie Wylie, MacDowell suggests to herself that Bloom might be a character worth saving, as only she could truly understand him. It is not long before MacDowell notices that Bloom is again engaged in furtive behavior, masturbating himself with a hand cloaked in his pocket. After a brief consideration, Gerty decides to "loves" him back, teasing Bloom by displaying her garters as he masturbates. Soon after this, MacDowell and the Caffreys depart from the beach, having stayed for the display of the nearby Bazaars fireworks. After MacDowells flirtatious departure, Bloom's considers his wife Molly and at the end of "Nausicaa," our hero confesses that his nauseous post-orgasmic lassitude is a sure sign that he is aging.

Analysis:
Homer's Nausicaa is a maiden, who is playing on the beach with her friends. When their ball rolls away, Nausicaa departs to retrieve it and she encounters the body of Ulysees who is unconscious and has been swept to land after his shipwreck. After reviving Ulysses, Nausicaa sends him to her father's house where Ulysses plays the role of a story-telling dinner guest. Nausicaa is an unmarried young maiden whose love for the aging Ulysses continues long after he departs, having been granted a ship to continue his homeward voyage. Joyce's Nausicaa is Gerty MacDowell and her perception of Leopold Bloom as "soulwrecked" mirrors Nausicaa's discovery of the shipwrecked sailor. "Nausicaa" also shares its beachside setting with the Homeric episode and when Jacky Caffrey deliberately kicks his ball away, Bloom's blundering attempts to toss the ball to the group bring the mysterious dark-clad stranger into focus. MacDowell's Nausicaa-like qualities also include her clothes washing duties and the connection that Bloom makes between MacDowell and "nausea" which sounds like "Nausicaa." Gerty's imaginations of her "lover" as a tale-bearing stranger fit Bloom as squarely within the "ancient mariner" motif as her beachside display reveals her own "sea-maiden" qualities. While Joyce constructs numerous minor parallels between this chapter and the Homeric episode, the most recurring parallel is the thematic one. When greeted by Nausicaa, both Ulysses are in need of relief and aid. While the image of the young woman offers Bloom a vehicle for sexual relief, the copious references to the "stormtossed heart of man" suggests that Bloom is need of both spiritual and physical comfort. This argument is reaffirmed in Gerty's numerous overtures, expressing a merciful and sympathetic desire to love Bloom and offer a salve for his visible pain. "Nausicaa" opens with an exposition of Gerty MacDowell's thoughts and instead of writing the chapter as MacDowell's interior monologue, Joyce opts for an omniscient third-person narrator whose voice is a parody of the heavily sentimental "romantic" novels made popular by the likes of Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte. Much of Joyce's affected "female" hyperbole is lost in the shift from the "marmalady" style that comes with a return to Bloom. The hyperbole of the narrative prose is echoed in the hyperbole of the beach activity. MacDowell utters trite metaphors, the images of a church procession are juxtaposed with the scene of Bloom's masturbation. The bright fireworks that are shot from nearby Bazaar district explode across the dark sky at the same time that Bloom experiences the ejaculatory climax of his furtive masturbation. Despite the "marmalady" style of "Nausicaa," Joyce provides enough depth in MacDowell's character to establish her as one of the more memorable Dubliners crossing Bloom's path. While MacDowell's sentimentality is satirized, her hopes for an opportunity to "share love" are as desperate as the pleadings of the Dedalus girls for grocery money. Additionally, MacDowell's sentimentality is not completely blinding and she is able to accurately identify Bloom as a fumbling and unattractive older man at the same time that she is able to present the romanticized notion of Bloom's face as the "saddest she had ever seen." Fusing MacDowell's portrait of Bloom with the musings of the narrator of the previous chapter produces an evening view of the tired Leopold Bloom. The novel's return to Sandymount strand provides for a comparison and contrast between Stephen and Bloom. Stephen's morning thoughts in "Proteus" concentrated on the concepts of "form" and "sight." Bloom is similarly fascinated by Gerty's transparent stockings, which "had neither shape nor form." Bloom's voyeuristic masturbation provides another corollary to Stephen's ideas as Bloom's vision of

MacDowell is distorted and his masturbatory act is only the hollow approximation of sex. Stephen's physical release is not an ejaculation but urination and both men consider literary ventures in connection with their "releases." Finally, the rocks of the beachside are unquestionably a testament to the loneliness of both characters. Joyce will bring these characters together in the next chapter, having fully indicated their spiritual congruities. Just as Bloom's actions suggest that Stephen Dedalus is his younger counterpart, Gerty MacDowell's sentimental thoughts foreshadow the exposition of Molly Bloom's thoughts, presented in the final chapter of Ulysses, "Penelope." The focus on Gerty's undergarments and her domestic duties as a washerwoman presents the image of MacDowell as a young woman whose cleanliness jars with our memory of the dirty underwear strewn about sleeping Molly's bedroom. The Woods' washerwoman (the Woods are Bloom's neighbors) and the image of Dedalus girls boiling their laundry, complete the motif. But the simple dichotomy between "clean" youth and "dirty" age is complicated when Molly reveals her earliest sexual memories, the first of which occurred when she masturbated a man into her handkerchief, (dirtying it). And in "Nausicaa," Bloom must dirty himself while his Nausicaa waves her own clean handkerchief at Bloom upon exiting Sandymount Strand. Unquestionably, MacDowell's capacity and desire for love bring her closest connection to the revelations of "Penelope." In her own considerations of romance, the young woman both foreshadows Molly's response to Bloom and engages one of Joyce's major themes. In her reflection on Reggie Wylie, a recent ex-boyfriend, MacDowell regrets that she may never marry and she confesses that "she had loved him better than he knew." Gerty considers the personal relationships that are produced by the traditions of the Roman Catholic Church and she concludes that "there ought to be women priests" so that Irish women might have a soul in whom they may comfortably confide." While these two statements have nearly identical counterparts in "Penelope," MacDowell's other crucial admission is a somewhat damning commentary on the Blooms' marriage: "love laughs at locksmiths." While Gerty only means to express her unflagging desire to eclipse the barriers that separate human souls, her laughing at locksmiths turns Ulysses' key motif on its head, suggested that the preoccupying tedium of key and tower is evidence of love's absence. The cuckoo clock is equally damning in regards to Bloom. The chapter ends as the clock strikes nine and the bird sings three triplets of "Cuckoo." This seemingly unimportant occurrence is colored by Joycean references to "cuckolding" and Peter's tripled denial of Christ. Gerty's concept of love faults Bloom for his pretense and furtiveness and as a voyeur, Bloom is unsuccessful. Earlier in the day, Mulligan caught Bloom furtively staring at the rear ends of ancient statues and MacDowell can easily discern that Bloom is staring at her while masturbating. Gerty plays on Bloom's ineffective pretenses by displaying her undergarments "accidentally on purpose," and in this regard, "love" becomes a "game." The consequences of pretense are rather steep and Joyce recalls Hamlet's thematic treatment of pretense. The King Claudius is a royal pretender; the Queen, Gertrude, presents a false faade of devotion; Prince Hamlet presents a play in an attempt to replicate the true murder of his father and coax a confession from the King, and Hamlet later feigns madness. Similarly, Polonius eavesdrops behind a curtain and the unsuccessful snoop is murdered. Bloom's actions confess the inevitable futility of these "games" and at the end of "Nausicaa," Bloom realizes that he and Gerty must separate. In this relationship-just as with Martha Clifford-nothing real has been shared. At the chapter's end, Bloom suggests that these games are part of a larger attempt to "see ourselves as others see us" and Bloom evokes the "form" and "sight" theme of Stephen's Sandymount stroll. Bloom's exit from Sandymount corresponds with the novels official entry into the "Night" episodes of the novel and a final reference to "Proteus" occurs when Bloom notes that it is dark and difficult to see. Bloom plays with the idea concluding that Irish Home Rule is similarly a "Mirage." In love and life, Bloom argues, what appears on the horizon is not necessarily what is. It is interesting that "Nausicaa" captures the transition from dusk to night even though it ends at 9 pm. The darkening of the day foreshadows a shift in the mood of the novel, but the winding of the day refers to Bloom's comparative age in relation to Stephen, who strolled the beaches of Sandymount earlier in the day. Bloom's fascination with young girls is heightened by his flagging energy. After masturbating, he considers the effects of MacDowell's "temptation" referring to himself in the third-person plural: "drained all the manhood out of em...my youth." While Dedalus hopes for a grey-eyed muse, Bloom is Gerty's grey-haired lover. Like Stephen, Gerty is considered as the "future" of Ireland and her "winsome Irish girlhood" is a fusion of sexual allure, childlike purity and maternal instincts. She is a "sterling good daughter... just like a second mother" and within her chest beats "the very heart of a girlwoman." Just as Stephen is considered to be "consubstantial" of several men, Gerty MacDowell is alternately temptress and patron. The overriding "relief" and "rescue" themes of "Nausicaa" limit the parallels to MacDowell's namesake, Gertrude of Hamlet, but Joyce clearly suggests that MacDowell's affected displays are attempts to "corrupt" Bloom, though the desire to tempt Bloom is only one of several minor

motives. Gerty's chief motive comes from her emulation of the Virgin Mary and Gerty's beachside "Virgin Mary" bears a striking resemblance to the fourth chapter of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, where a beachside "Virgin Mary" inspires Stephen Dedalus' crucial epiphany. The opening lines of "Nausicaa" invoke the blessings of "Mary, star of the sea" and MacDowell's "eggblue" garments give her a chromatic resemblance to the traditional depictions of the Virgin Mary. Additionally, Gerty wears a badge identifying her as a "Child of Mary." MacDowell considers Bloom as a dark and lonely stranger and the narrator suggest that "even if he [Bloom] was a Protestant or Methodist she [MacDowell] could convert him easily if he truly loved her." Ironically, Bloom is a Jew who is far beyond the pale of MacDowell's religious preferences. Even though MacDowell is unaware of Bloom's Jewish heritage, her expression of benevolence as an avatar of the Virgin is the closest that Christianity comes to including Bloom within its fold. The motif of the Virgin Mary is complicated by the simultaneous references to Sandymount's church tower, the Martello tower and Mary's beacon-like strength. These phallic symbols of strength are intermittent in Bloom's display of his flagging potency and Mary becomes a tower that is also female, offering "pure radiance, a beacon ever to the stormtossed heart of man, Mary, star of the sea." As Mary, MacDowell offers the traditional female succor to a hero in need while asserting towered strength and power over the emasculated and elderly Bloom. MacDowell's invocation to the "holy virgin of virgins" is ironic given Gerty's sexually corrupt behavior and preference for phallic imagery. As a beacon-like virgin who saps Bloom's masculinity and youth, MacDowell foreshadows Bella/Bello who appears as "Circe" in a Nighttown brothel, but the sincerity of MacDowell's love and concern for Bloom allows her to successful apply her Christian idea of "Mary, the refuge of sinners," to the Jewish stranger. The power of MacDowell's "love" for Bloom is supported by the refrain of his love song: "Tell me, Mary, how to woo thee." Mary appears in Bloom's musical register despite his ignorance of Christian themes and his immediate reference to "those lovely seaside girls" supports the idea that Bloom is not consciously aware of Gerty's somewhat deliberate transition into an avatar of the Virgin Mary. While Bloom's previous references to love songs inevitably focused on his wife's betraying act of adultery, Bloom's wooed "Mary" and the "lovely seaside girls" smother Bloom's thoughts of adultery to a mere flicker. While Bloom does briefly consider his relationship with Molly, his paced and ordered thoughts have conspicuously lost the agitated preoccupation and distress that marked his earlier feelings of exclusion. "Mary" and the "lovely seaside girls," even in Bloom's contrived musical form, express Joyce's argument for love as the facilitator and preserver of human relationships. A few direct allusions to Dante's Divine Comedy appear in "Nausicaa" and these may be Joyce's method of confirming the chapter's unmistakable thematic reliance upon the final cantos of Paradiso, which are commonly referred to as an Ode to Love. In Dante's "Ode," the Virgin's offering of love and mercy matches an explosion of music starry lights. Joyce includes these elements in the fireworks, beaconlights, hymns and love songs of "Nausicaa," the last of Ulysses' numerous seaside chapters. As night ends and Bloom prepares to return to Dublin's urban locales, the image of the merciful Virgin seems especially apt. MacDowell offers Bloom the one interlude of respite between the terrors of Kiernan's pub in "The Cyclops" and Bloom's taxing guardianship of Stephen during the chronology of the next three chapters. As Joyce's prototypical young Irish woman, MacDowell's efforts as a "refuge of sinners" and "comfortress of the afflicted" propels the theme of love while suggesting that maternity, "Irishness" and "Catholicism" are indeed, "consubstantial." In "Nausicaa," Joyce's typically heated satire of the church has cooled and MacDowell is permitted her Catholic symbols and religious piety. Gerty can perform religious healing on a human level even as Joyce questions the Catholic Church's legitimacy. The potency of "Mary" should remind the reader of Stephen's Sandymount memories of his mother, Mary Dedalus as the sum of the thematic debate again corroborates the comparative strength of maternal love as opposed to the paternal. Even as Bloom prepares for his paternal mission, he is only sustained on account of MacDowell's maternal intervention and the sincerity of Bloom's desire for a son is undercut by his unproductive spilling of his seed.

Chapter 14: The Oxen of the Sun Summary:

"The Oxen of the Sun" begins no earlier than 10 pm and ends at approximately 11pm. After the "Nausicaa" episode, Bloom finally arrives at The National Maternity Hospital to visit Mina Purefoy who has been in labor for three days. Because Bloom is concerned that Purefoy has not been able to deliver the child, he waits in the hospital before briefly seeing Mrs. Purefoy, whose husband, Theodore, is not present. After a brief discussion with one of the midwives, Bloom decides to wait outside the maternity room, until he has received word that, with the aid of Dr Horne and midwives, Mina Purefoy has given birth to a healthy son.

While Bloom is waiting for information regarding Purefoy's labor, he meanders into a darkened waiting room where he encounters Stephen Dedalus, who is sitting at a long table, drinking absinthe in the company of several other young men who are also drinking. Apparently, Stephens acquaintances, including Buck Mulligan, are mostly medical students and interns at the hospital. When Bloom sits at the drinking table of the younger men, he is initiating the first union between the novel's principal characters (Bloom and Dedalus). Buck Mulligan is a menacing presence in the hospital and Bloom consciously assumes a paternal role, fearing that Mulligan has laced Stephen's drink with a harmful substance. Even after Bloom joins the conversation of the semi-inebriated men, Mulligan remains as bawdy and irreverent as before, making crass references to contraception, sexual intercourse, masturbation and procreation. And Blooms paternal aura seems to only extend to Stephen, who he singles out as the one decent character in the group. Repeatedly, the young men are cautioned to lower the volume of their laughter and profanity. After Stephen separates from Mulligan at the chapter's end, Bloom worries for Stephen's safety and he decides to follow Stephen who has departed for "Baudyville," alongside his friend Vincent Lynch; presumably, the young men intend to visit a brothel.

Analysis:
The Oxen of the Sun were the golden cattle of the sun-god Helios, whose herd freely grazed the sea-side pastures of one of the coasts where Ulysses' crew takes refuge from the stormy seas. In The Odyssey, several members of Ulysses' crew decide to slaughter and roast a few of the oxen, despite Ulysses' repeated warnings. The sun-god Helios is enraged and while he spares Ulysses and the temperate members of his crew, those who have taken part in the slaughter of the sacred flock are destroyed. Joyce's "Oxen of the Sun" chapter engages a thematic question of life versus death, with the sun as the igniting force behind life and the destruction of the cattle as a testament to the destruction that death brings. Dublin's National Maternity Hospital is the setting of the chapter and provides the appropriate context for discussions of birth and dying. Joyce does makes a few references to cattle. The diseased Irish cattle, which Deasy has crusaded for, may be slaughtered in the port of Liverpool. The name of Mina Purefoy's doctor is Horne, a pun on the horns of a bull and the multiple births occurring in the cramped hospital quarters resemble a barnyard scene, complete with a manger. The principal mother of the chapter, Mina Purefoy, shares her first name with the barmaid Ms. Kennedy whose gold-hair is a reference to the color of the sun as well as the sacred cattle. The birth of Purefoy's "golden child" is also a pun on the words son and sun. The imagery of wool and cattle in regards to Purefoy's newborn son identifies him with Helios' sacred herd while also suggesting that the Purefoy heir may play a messianic role. Amid references to Bullock harbor and the "bullockbefriending bard," the refrain "bullyboy" is repeated applied to the newborn Purefoy, indicating his vigor as well as his congruity with the sacred cattle. "Bullyboy" is one of the few positive bestial references in a novel replete with negative ones. In a day of death and dying, the birth of the healthy young Purefoy is a contrast to the Bloom's dead newborn, presenting a long-awaited response to the novel's ubiquitous expressions of decay and infertility. Joyce develops the "bullyboy" as a messianic parallel to the Oxen of the Sun, by constructing Mrs. Purefoy as a Virgin Mary-type character. The image of a manger is presented in the narrative even though there are no mangers in the hospital and the absence of Purefoy's husband simulates the exclusive link between the Virgin and the newborn Christ. While is unsurprising that Joyce's thematic treatment of "life and death" relies upon a construction of maternity as the source of life, it is worth noting that the birth of the "bullyboy," like the birth of Christ, reveals the conspicuous absence of a human paternal unit. Instead, Bloom's thoughts of his dead son Rudy suggest paternity's comparative irrelevance and even as Bloom is drawn to Mina as a source of life, the intoxicated young men at his table are mocking and disrespectful in their humorous philosophizing on conception, pregnancy and contraception. In particular, Mulligan's sordid humor is the epitome of "slaughter," for Joyce, as he humorously ponders various violations of life's sacredness. "Oxen of the Sun" is one of the more difficult chapters to read as Joyce employs another anonymous narrator who is both omniscient and physically absent from the setting of the chapter. Concentrating on the theme of birth, the prose of the chapter is artificially into nine different sections to emulate the nine months of gestation. Early on in the chapter, it becomes clear that each of the nine sections corresponds to a phase in the birth or evolution of the English language. "Oxen of the Sun" opens with a Celtic chant of broken sentences before progressing into various forms of Old and Middle English. As the sentence structure and syntax proceeds chronologically, the chapter assumes a more narrative tone relying upon narrative structures that chronologically correspond to the various syntactical forms of the English Language. During the Old English sections of the chapter, Joyce's narrator emulates the form of Beowulf and other Anglo-Saxon epics. Later on, "Oxen of the Sun" becomes a morality tale of Everyman and

again, appears fashioned after Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. As the tension between Stephen and his friends increases and Bloom becomes more alarmed at Mulligan's distasteful humor, the narrative shifts to "modern" versions of the English language, bearing stylistic relationships with Dickens and various Victorian writers. As a debilitated Stephen makes his exit, the language of empire degenerates into dialect and urban slang, the arc from birth to death having come full circle. The affected narrative style of "Oxen of the Sun" is the source of continuous humor. The opacity and intended "distance" of the narrator's Old English does very little to obscure his insults. At times, the narrator's joy in mocking the characters is just as unflinching as the commentary of the narrator in "The Cyclops," though this narrator lacks the sinister traits of his counterpart. While engaged in a parody of Beowulf, the narrator regards the "wound" of the hero, Bloom, and we later learn that this wound is a mere bee-sting. To express his disapproval of the young men's conversation, the narrator names them as Sirs, whose bawdy displays testify to the intended irony of the narrator's superficial compliment. Later, the young men are regarded as knights sitting at King Arthur's round table if not a fraternity of warriors, gathered in a mead hall. These hyperbolic descriptions have the dual purpose of indicating chronological shifts in the narrative's structure and reminding us that Stephen and his friends are getting drunk in a Maternity Hospital, one of the least likely venues for such activity. When Joyce parodies the famous "morality plays" of Europe's Middle Ages and early Renaissance, the narrator renames many of the characters, giving them names that offer some sort of biographical information, if not character assessment. An intern named Dixon is renamed "learningknight," Lenehan is described as an unimpressive "franklin," Sir Leopold comes to regard Stephen's friends as wastrels just as he is renamed "Calmer" to Stephen's "Boasthard." The narrator's hyperbolic excesses can be most easily detected in the depiction of Buck Mulligan whose sordid comedy is cast as wholly evil. The Old English narrator parodies himself by referring to Mulligan as Punch Costello, but the harmless (and rather accurate) moniker is replaced by the phrase "child of Lilith," and the Satanic connotations of Lilith juxapose Mulligan with the messianic "bullyboy." Mulligan's subsequent names, "patron of abortions" and "spawn of a rebel," prevent the reader from considering Mulligan's humor as harmless impropriety. The morality tale, featuring "Calmer" and "Boasthard," presents Mulligan as "Killchild" because of his unnecessarily ardent adulation of birth control. Mulligan is renamed "Carnal Concupiscence" after he argues that men should masturbate rather than marry, and he later distributes business cards that read "Mr Malachi Mulligan. Fertiliser and Incubator," in order to advertise his fictitious scheme to live on a compound of women with whom he will fornicate. Mulligan is wholly uninterested in the potential for procreation through sex even as he argues that his role as "Fertiliser and Incubator" will justify his sexual excesses. At times, Mulligan's unnecessary and immature cruelty resembles Citizen. Mulligan refers to the morning milkmaid whom he calls "Mother Grogan," exclaiming "there's a belly that never bore a bastard." Mulligan's reduction of procreation to its status as an inconvenient side-product of shallow and lustdriven sex, is not the full extent of his offense. Additionally, the young medical student revels in the details of death, corruption, perversion and destruction. Buck spends several minutes discussing incest and he affects the seriousness of a moral philosopher while telling a riddle after which the audience must decide between balancing the life of a pregnant woman against the life of her unborn child. Our final images of Mulligan make explicit references to Homer's "Oxen of the Sun" as Mulligan relishes a story of once eating pre-born calves from living cows. Mulligan is indicted for his intentional and unprovoked efforts to violate the sacredness of life and in satirical praise of Mulligan's numerous songs and alleged visions, the narrator name him Malachi Roland St. John Mulligan. Bloom's attempts to "rescue" Stephen reflect his concern for Dedalus' physical condition as well as his realization that Stephen's acquaintances would eventually produce in him, their same sacrilegious and crass manners. When Purefoy finally gives birth, Bloom struggles to pull Stephen away from the drunkenness of the table so that he might consider the "miracle" which has just taken place. Suggesting to Stephen that the sincere celebration of birth and life is a necessary characteristic of a true artist, Bloom asserts that "one must have a cold constitution and a frigid genius" to resist rejoicing at the news of Purefoy's birth, considering the fact Purefoy has innocently and patiently suffered three days of intense pain. Bloom's invitation to Stephen is countered by Mulligan's refrain, "O lust our refuge and our strength," a corrupted reference to the Virgin Mary. The scene in the Maternity Hospital pits Bloom against Mulligan, both of whom intend to influence Stephen, whose lack of maturity becomes glaringly apparent. Stephen appears as alternately fearful and boastful, and the depiction of "young Stephen orgulous of Mother Church" confirms our suspicion that Stephen is irritated by Mulligan's blasphemy because he has been unable to sever his own connections with the Roman Catholic Church. Even as the narrator examines Stephen's emotional "youth" and lack of rigor and independence, both the anonymous observer as well as Bloom agree that Stephen is decent

soul who lacks the depraved sensibilities of his acquaintances. Even though Stephen tries to emulate them, his conscience prevents him from fully reveling in their humor. Despite Bloom's exhausting display of paternal affection and his unspoken thoughts of his son of eleven days, buried "on a fair corselet of lamb's wool," the chapter's tone hints that Bloom and Dedalus will be unable to forge a permanent relationship. While Stephen remains obsessed with questions of paternity, his Hamlet-ghosts and Telemachus-like voyages inevitably return to the image of his dead mother. Stephen's most obvious departure from his two antecedents is his preference of the maternal to the paternal. Despite the chapter's multi-tiered argument against paternity, Bloom continues on his mission. Bloom's overtures to the intoxicated Dedalus are mostly ignored, though not because Stephen intends to disrespect Bloom. The tragic sense of Bloom's condition is heightened by our realization of what Bloom does not know: that he is thinking of his son, while Stephen is thinking of his mother. Bloom is explicitly described as a desperate figure who, "[having] no manchild for an heir looked upon his friend's son and was shut up in sorrow." The chapter makes reference to "our mighty mother" in addressing the midwives of Mina Purefoy, and we should recall the "birthcable" that Stephen considers as the unifying factor of humanity. Mina Purefoy is similarly constructed as the symbol of a fruitful union between Ireland and the Roman Catholic Church, in contrast to the "sireland." And Purefoy's Virgin Mary imagery is further developed in the parallel between her three days of labor and the three days spanning Christ crucifixion, burial and resurrection. The female is present at the "womb" and at the "tomb" and Molly's thoughts in "Penelope" similarly identify "the aged sisters" who "draw us into life...over us dead they bend." In contrast, "Nobodaddy," a God-like figure who lacks personal aspects of mercy, epitomizes Joyce's ideas of fatherhood. While the Virgin Mary is elevated, God is punned as a mere "disseminator of blessings" and Stephen recalls his earlier thoughts that fatherhood is fleeting and inconsequential. Mulligan's joke, that he will become a hired fertilizer/incubator, underscores the inconsequentiality of fatherhood. Even Bloom comes under attack as the narrator judges him: "thou has sinned against my light lust." Bloom's sin against the "light" is his masturbation, spilling his seed rather than attempting to create life. There is little hope for the Bloom-Virag line as the narrator notes Bloom's solemnity: "There is none now to be for Leopold, what Leopold was for Rudolph." This is a double-damnation as "Rudolph" is the name of Leopold's father and the name of his son. Bloom's paternal efforts are transfigured into more of a Christ-like, messianic outreach than fatherly guidance, in part because Bloom is too "different" and too much of a misfit to breach the divide he shares with Stephen. While he cannot claim Stephen as an heir, he is able to play the role of the "Kind Kristyann" who helps Stephen, the "yung man hoose frend tuk bungellow kee." This voice comes from the street, one of the "Nighttime" voices. Occurring at the end of the chapter's "evolution" of the English language, this slang (which closely resembles T.S. Eliot's approximations of black American dialects) expresses ambiguous emotions of Anglo-American Modernists who welcomed the end of Victorian sensibilities, all the while dismayed by the inevitable "culture chaos" of language without structure. The (European) Modernist response to the rise of "Black English" as being "outside" of the culture is especially poignant in this Joycean context considering that Joyce is a self-exiled Irish writer "outside" of the British culture. Joyce's protagonist, Bloom, is even more "excluded" than the young melancholy Stephen, because Mr. Bloom is an apostate Jew living beyond the pale of orthodox Judaism at the same time that his questionable "Jewishness" makes him a "dark horse" in Catholic Ireland. Finally, the Messiah to which Bloom aspires, is similarly a rejected beneficent character, expelled to the wilderness before an ultimate rejection by his kinsmen and execution by foreigners. Despite the intended opacity of the conclusion's "Black English," this passage provides one of the clearest depictions of Bloom and Stephen. The narrator explains that Young Stephen needs a place to "lay crown of his hed 2 night," and the alert reader should recall Joyce's earlier employments of the crown pun. Dedalus is Joyce's parallel to the princes Telemachus and Hamlet, and his first name, Stephen, is as Greek as his last name, Dedalus, deriving from the Greek word for crown, Stephanos. The "night" voice humorously refers to Martello as a "bungalow," but in spite of his foreign anonymity and distance, the black street speaker easily identifies the "key" as Stephen's primary concern (and recurring motif), even as the young Dedalus is drunk and clueless. The allusion to Mulligan-the-usurper as Stephen's "frend" is as (intentionally) ironic as the plea to the "Kind Kristyann," Bloom. At the conclusion of "The Cyclops," Bloom "ascended" into heaven, having realized his Elijah/Throwaway potential. Beginning in "Nausicaa," the anonymous narrators initiate Bloom's "Christianization," after a stressful day as an identifiable outsider. While the characters of Ulysses retain their knowledge of Bloom's Jewishness, the narrators allow Bloom to develop messianic imagery, all the while underscoring the fact that, unlike other literary heroes, he is a forgiven failure.

Even as his act of masturbation is chained to his immediate desires for an heir, his ambitions to be a Messiah are limited by his depiction as being a "Kristyann" instead of Christ, a facilitator instead of a savior.

Chapter 15: Circe Summary:

Bloom follows Stephen and Lynch out of the maternity hospital as they head to Bawdyville, a brothel in the red-light district of Dublin that Joyce refers to as Nighttown. The reader is presented with grisly scenes of street urchin and deformed children, rowdy British soldiers and depraved prostitutes. Bloom follows the young men by train but he gets off at wrong stop and has initial difficulty keeping track of them. He is then accosted by a stranger who refuses to let him pass and a "sandstrewer" runs him off the road. As Bloom progresses deeper into Nighttown with the hopes of finding young Stephen, the frenetic pace of the red-light district provokes several hallucinations in Bloom and his secret thoughts and hidden fears are played out before us. A sober Bloom is greeted by the spirits of his dead parents as well as the image of his wife Marion (Molly) who speaks to him in "Moorish." The farce continues when Bloom's bar of lemon soap begins to speak and Mrs. Breen, the wife of the lunatic Denis, appears in the road and flirts with Bloom before mocking him for getting caught in the red-light district. Bloom is suddenly in a courtroom, charged with accusations of lechery. Several young girls recount sordid stories of his Bloom, the conspicuous voyeur, and the courtroom's roll includes various characters from earlier in the day including Paddy Dignam and Father Coffey, who presided over Dignam's funeral. The narrative abruptly shifts when Bloom finally arrives at Bella Cohen's brothel. When Bloom finds Stephen inside, he immediately seeks to protect the young man from being swindled. Stephen continues his own descent into drunken madness and Bloom holds Dedalus' money to avoid any further losses. Stephen's despairing hallucinations reach their climax when he encounters the vengeful ghost of his mother who begs him to return to the Roman Catholic Church. Dedalus breaking his symbolic chains to past by smashing Cohen's cheap chandelier with his walking stick. Chaos ensues when Bella Cohen tries to overcharge Stephen for the damage and Bloom must defend Stephen's interests. Again, as they are leaving the brothel, Bloom comes to the defensive when Private Carr assaults Stephen. Carr attacks the intoxicated young man despite Bloom's insistence that Stephen is incapable of protecting himself. Stephen has lost his glasses, his hand wounded and he immediately faints after Carr's blow. Vincent Lynch deserts Dedalus in Nighttown and Bloom directs Stephen towards shelter. In the final scene of "Circe," Bloom is distracted by the vision of his dead son, Rudy, not as a newborn infant but at the age that he would have been had he lived.

Analysis:
Homer's Circe was an enchantress famed for her beauty as well as her powerful spells. Ulysses visited Circe and after inviting his crew to dine at her table, she turned may of them into swine and led them to her pen where they were joined by her other male victims. Ulysses and his more temperate sailors had to struggle to overcome Circe's powerful charms. Joyce's Circe is Bella Cohen, who runs a brothel in Nighttown in order to pay for her son's tuition at Oxford. The masochist tint of Cohen's brothel emphasizes female domination, lust, gluttony and the bestial nature of man. Bella's enchantress-like function is reaffirmed in the copious pig and bondage imagery of the "Circe" episode. While the ancient Ulysses overpowered Circe, Bloom immediately succumbs to hallucinations. In his major sexual hallucination, Bloom enjoys the transformation of "Bella" to "Bello" as he is "transformed" into a feminized beast. The brothel functions as a sty and both the prostitutes and their patrons are chained to sordidness of Nighttown at the same time that they each suffer under the burdens of memory. Stephen breaks Cohen's chandelier in an effort to ward off his mother's ghost and Stephen's nostalgic and religious obsessions are as "enchanting" and harmful as Bloom's sexual preoccupations with masculinity and virility. Stephen and Bloom are completely vulnerable in Nighttown, as if they are hypnotized or under a spell and both must re-assert themselves. "Circe," which reads as a play, is easily the longest of Ulysses' chapters. The Joycean hallucinations are as motivated by the logic of dreams as they are by his excessive puns and references to the Bible, to Shakespeare, to music as well as to the previous fourteen chapters of the novel. In Bloom's "Nighttown" hallucinations, earlier events are recounted with the details mixed up. In "Nausicaa," Bloom noted that Gerty MacDowell's attempt at a flirtatious strut looked more like a limp; in "Circe," MacDowell is a limping street urchin. Even though Bloom's mother, Ellen Higgins Bloom, is Jewish, she carries religious

symbols and calls upon the "sacred Heart of Mary" in a manner that resembles Stephen's dead mother, Mary Dedalus. Both the Dedalus and Virag family ghosts chastise their living sons who have departed from the religious orthodoxy of their youth. The "Circe" chapter bears testament to the Modernist Joyce's reliance upon the writings of Sigmund Freud. In particular, Joyce's argument that Bloom's dreams reveal his repressed sexual fears and desires is very Freudian. In Bloom's sado-masochistic hallucination, the brothel becomes a startling place: Bella Cohen becomes a large man named Bello and Bloom becomes a female pig who enjoys being debased and fettered. The extremes of Bloom's hallucination provide insight into his servility in Molly's presence. Towards the end of Bloom's hallucination we find the humorous cheering of bystanders who proclaim the unparalleled sexual prowess of Blazes Boylan. Given the sexually explicit language of the scene, it is little surprise that Ulysses was banned in the United Kingdom and United States when it was first published in 1922. Stephen's tormenting hallucinations are far less humorous than Bloom's and with his dead mother's ghost in pursuit, Stephen's behavior resembles the madness of Prince Hamlet. All around him, Stephen hears corrupted versions of the love songs that he sang to his mother and just as he has rejected paternity, Stephen must now reject his mother and declare his independence. As soon as Stephen smashes Bella Cohen's chandelier, his mother's ghost vanishes.

Chapters 16: Eumaeus Summary:

After Stephen is revived, Bloom directs him towards a "cabman's shelter," a coffeehouse owned by a man named "Skin-the-Goat" Fitzharris. As Stephen begins to slowly sober up, Bloom begins a conversation in earnest, discussing his ideas of love and politics. Bloom's desperation makes his desire for a "son" transparent and even when Stephen is sober, he does not seem to be particularly interested in Bloom's thoughts. The conversation between Bloom and Dedalus resembles the conversation in the Dignam funeral carriage, where Bloom appears as a man who is desperate for acceptance. In his efforts to win Stephens favor, Bloom attempts to play the role of an intellectual. Upon entering the cabmans shelter, Bloom hears a few Italians speaking their native language and he turns to Stephen, to proclaim his love of the Italian language, specifically its phonetics. Stephen (who knows Italian) calmly replies that the Italian melody that Bloom has heard, was a base squabble over money. Though Bloom soon realizes that he does not know the brooding young Dedalus very well, he believes that the student's company would be beneficial for the Blooms. He could perhaps be a singer like his father and his economic potential is all the more pleasant to Bloom because he considers Stephen to be an "edifying" partner in conversation. Later in the conversation, Bloom demonstrates his intellectual deficiencies as he attempts to discuss politics with Dedalus arguing a shallow and superficial Marxist Leninism. Blooms reform calls first, for all citizens to "labor" and second, for all citizens needs to be secured regardless of their varying abilities, provided that this reform is carried out "in installments." Perceiving Stephens negative reaction to be a non-intellectual aversion, Bloom seeks to immediately assuage Dedalus by explaining that poetry is "labor." Bloom leaves the cabman's shelter and invites Stephen to his home at 7 Eccles Street and the young man grudgingly accepts. While inside the coffeehouse, Stephen's paid less attention to Bloom and more attention to a man named W. B. Murphy, a self-described world sailor who had just come home to see his wife after many years. The comic sea bard adds a comic note to the tiring chapter, with his stories of acrobats, conspiracies and tattoos. As he is leaving the cabman's shelter, Stephen sees his dissipated friend, Corley. When Corley explains that he is in need of work, Stephen suggests that Corley visit Mr. Deasy's school to apply for an opening, as Dedalus intends to vacate his post.

Analysis:
Homer's Eumaeus was a herder who sheltered Ulysses when he first arrived in Ithaca. The "Eumaeus" parallel is the "cabman's shelter" which provides sustenance for Dedalus and Bloom, who are nearing the end of their wanderings. Fitzharris' nickname, "Skin-the-goat," presents a superficial parallel to the Ithaca herder and W. B. Murphy is close to the Ulysses prototype than Bloom is. It is Murphy who has traveled the world and has now returned home, fearing what infidelity may have transpired in his absence.

The long-winded prose of this chapter resembles the anonymous narrating of the fourteenth chapter, "Nausicaa." Both chapters emulate medieval morality tales and Christian parables and this chapter also develops the theme of the story-telling wanderer. Like the "Ancient Mariner," W. B. Murphy performs in a role similar to Ulysses' role in Homer's "Nausicaa" episode. The dissipated, wandering style of the narrative is meant to evoke the listlessness of the weary travelers. The sentences are long and winding; often times, they are not completed and this narrator seems too weary to offer a penetrating gaze into the minds of Bloom and Dedalus. In his arrangement of motifs, Joyce makes specific reference to Christ's parables of the Good Samaritan and the Prodigal Son as well as legendary wanderers like Jupiter Fluvius and the "Flying Dutchman." The words of W. B. Murphy ("my wife believes me dead, rocked in the cradle of the deep") link all of these figures together as they bedeviled by questions of recognition. Both Stephen and Bloom have been irrevocably changed on June 16, and after their pained wandering, they may not resemble the people they once were. Joyce realizes this and as Ithaca approaches, the men contemplate the fragility and endurance of love. Bloom thinks to himself: "love me, love my dirty shirt," a maxim of forgiveness that both he and Molly would need to learn. The narrator is more explicit in the questions posed to the reader: "Can real love, supposing there happens to be another chap in the case, exist between married folk?"

Chapter 17: Ithaca Summary:

The novel's penultimate chapter marks the pre-dawn hours of June 17, 1904. Stephen returns with Bloom to his residence at 7 Eccles Street and after a strained conversation and a cup of cocoa, Dedalus departs, turning down Bloom's invitation to stay for the night. When the two gentlemen reach 7 Eccles, Bloom realizes that he does not have his key and he is forced to literally jump over a gate in order to gain entry into the house. After navigating his way through the dark house, Bloom retrieves a candle and returns to lead Stephen through the dark house. Their conversation is more spirited as Stephen is considerably more conscious and lucid than he was in the fourteenth and fifteenth chapters. And unlike his demeanor in the cabmans shelter, Stephen is less sullen as he sits in the Bloom residence drinking cocoa. Blooms conversation eventually tires Dedalus though, and despite Blooms efforts, he departs without committing to Blooms offer for a future engagement for "intellectual" conversation. Dedalus does not know where he is going to go, as he declines returning to his fathers house and is locked out of Martello. Guiding Stephen outside of the house, Bloom lingers outside to stare at the multitude of early morning stars. Upon re-entering the house, Bloom retires for the night, focusing his thoughts on the untidy house. There is visible evidence of Boylan's earlier visit and after briefly contemplating a divorce, Bloom silently climbs into bed, offering Molly a kiss on the rear end. It seems that Bloom is eager to forget the matter, and will sacrifice his self-respect for comforts of married stability. Bloom's submissiveness presents a sharp contrast to the triumphal actions of Homer's Ulysses. In the original "Ithaca" episode, Ulysses and his son Telemachus attack Penelope's suitors, executing them all before re-establishing Ulysses on his throne.

Analysis:
"Ithaca" has long beguiled many literary critics; the chapter is structured as an interrogation or catechism. Through the answers to 307 posed questions, the reader gleans an account of Bloom's early morning activity. Again, an anonymous narrator accompanies Joyce's complicated narrative structure. The tone and scope of the questions alternates from philosophical to personal, effecting a new experience for the reader; all the while, "Ithaca" is bursting with the usual Joycean humor and wordplay. The narrator asks why Bloom was "doubly irritated" discovering the absence of his key; the response: "he had forgotten and because he remembered that he had reminded himself twice not to forget." Later, the narrator describes Bloom's "firm full masculine feminine passive active hand" and refers to Bloom's "clandestine satisfaction of erotic irritation in masculine brothels." The narrator also mimics Bloom's ambiguities and obsequious manners. Recounting Bloom's previous invitation to visit the Dedalus family, the narrator explains: "Very gratefully, with grateful appreciation, with sincere appreciative gratitude, in appreciatively grateful sincerity of regret, he declined." At some points, the obsessive narrator is selfsatirical: "they [Stephen and Bloom] drank in jocoserious silence Epp's massproduct, the creature cocoa."

At the same time that the narrator humorously delves into Bloom's psyche, the questions present an equally impersonal universality leading some critics to liken the chapter to a catechism, an Olympian divinity/oracle or the Old Testament "voice of the whirlwind." Others suggest another Old Testament parallel to God's interrogation of the Biblical character, Job. The language of the chapter is both scientific and theoretical, reducing Bloom's spiritual conundrums to neat formulas and observations. Remarking on the human-ness and universality of Bloom's solitude, the narrator describes Bloom as "assumed by any or known to none. Everyman or Noman." "Everyman" and "Noman" link Bloom to a medieval morality play and Homer's Ulysses, respectively. Bloom's fatalism is recast as his cognizance of "the futility of triumph or protest or vindication," ultimately citing "the apathy of the stars" as the source of his anti-heroic stance. Most critics agree that the questions and answers of "Ithaca," whatever their thematic import, produce an "objectivity" that none of the other narrators have created. Bloom's emotional discovery of "evidence" of Boylan's visit could have easily upset the tonal balance of the antisentimental novel. Instead, Ulysses remains on track, for even as Bloom experiences his heartbreak, he is reduced to size: Bloom is only one of billions of souls whose "allotted human life formed a parenthesis of infinitesimal brevity." Joyce's portrait of Bloom defies Homeric heroics to stress the mundane qualities that Bloom shares with all of humanity. Similarly, with a more pacifist and mellow union between Joyce's Ulysses and Telemachus figures replaces the martial vengeance of Homer's father and son pair. Again, Joyce gives Bloom a tint of the religious imagery that was first employed in "Nausicaa." Bloom and Stephen resemble a Catholic procession, as Bloom searches for a "lucifer match" before lighting a candle to guide Stephen into the house. As "Stephen obeys his [Bloom's] sign" to enter, the young Dedalus links Bloom with the Catholic "Fathers" he has obeyed since his schooldays. This Christian imagery is deepened when we learn that Bloom has been baptized three times throughout his life, and his final site of baptism is the same site where Stephen was baptized. The religious imagery ends with Stephen's departure from 7 Eccles and it is described as "the exodus from the house of bondage to the wilderness of inhabitation," ironically drawing attention to Bloom's Jewishness while alluding to a well-known Psalm shared by both Judeo-Christian traditions. Even as Stephen subconsciously admits him as a "Father," Bloom's messianic ambitions flare and he imagines himself as the "light to the Gentiles." Though Joyce has continually satirized his heroes' messianic complexes, in this chapter it seems that Bloom's imperfect desire to help Stephen is enough to merit the ultimate respect and admiration of the narrator. Bloom has plenty of faults and his schemes for the betterment of others often seem hypocritical. Joyce also paints Bloom as the shallow bourgeois type-he dreams of a utopian settlement called "Flowerville" or "Bloom Cottage" all the while conceding that Marx's "revolution" is both desirable and inevitable, only it must come in "installments." Bloom befriends Stephen, in part, because he believes that his conversation is edifying and that he would be a good tutor to teach Molly how to speak Italian. Bloom has a sincere desire to "better" the world and the souls around him and this considerably affects his interactions with others. When faced with Stephen's unexpected brusqueness, Bloom is hesitant to judge him, instead suggesting that Stephen is simply in need of etiquette lessons. Bloom's own failings are laughable-at the end of the chapter he considers leaving his wife but after contemplating the Ulysses-like life of a wanderer, he concludes that it is too late in the night for a "departure." And to the catalogue of Bloom's weaknesses and moments of indecision, Joyce adds the details of the unflattering minutia of Bloom's life: his urination, his flatulence and his painful bee sting. For the narrator, and perhaps for the reader, Bloom's heroism comes from his constant desire for a better world, his untiring acts of benevolence and his eagerness to see the best in people while forgiving the most painful offenses. By the conclusion of "Ithaca," Bloom has not mastered the kingliness of a veritable messiah, nor has he amassed a congregation of devotees. Nonetheless, the God-like narrator acknowledges Bloom's faults and forgives him with the same alacrity that Bloom has demonstrated earlier. In "Ithaca," the relationship between Bloom and Stephen touches upon a few biographical details of Joyce. One of the narrator's tangents discusses the age ratio between the two heroes. Ulysses is set in 1904, as Stephen is 22 years old and Bloom is 38. In "Wandering Rocks," Mulligan and Haines jokes that Stephen Dedalus would perhaps be able to "write something ten years from now." In 1914, Joyce first published selections of his novella, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and the relationship between Joyce and Dedalus is strengthened by the fact that in 1904, James Joyce and Stephen Dedalus were both 22 years old. Dedalus, like Joyce, left for Paris in 1902 and the conclusion of "Ithaca" foresees that in 1904, Dedalus, like Joyce, will leave Ireland to take up permanent residency elsewhere. Bloom is sixteen years Stephen's senior, at the age of 38. Not coincidentally, Joyce completed Ulysses in 1920, at the age of 38, having effectively written two avatars of himself into the novel-a younger Joyce and his older counterpart. In the novel's repeated references to Dante's Divine Comedy, Joyce has

suggested the Bloom/Dedalus relationship as a parallel to the Virgil/Dante relationship and now we find that Joyce is effectively mentoring his younger self via Bloom. Not only does this account for Bloom's (perhaps, Darwinian) desire to assist Stephen, but it also explains the excessive similarities between the two characters who are described as the "keyless couple," a pair of Prince Hamlets who ponder whether "to enter or not to enter. To knock or not to knock." For his part, Bloom is largely unaware of what influence he may have had on Dedalus. While under Bloom's beneficent gaze, Dedalus has decided to quit his job at Mr. Deasy's school. We can't know whether Bloom motivated this liberation, we do know that Bloom at least provided a place of "refuge" for Stephen while he was drunk and abused in Nighttown. Bloom's course as a Throwaway officially ends when Stephen leaves his house for the "wilderness of inhabitation," doomed to wander for a time, as he is without key. No doubt Bloom is somewhat relieved to see the burdensome hero's mantle set upon young Stephen's shoulders.

Chapter 18: Penelope Summary:

"Penelope" is Ulysses' eighteenth and final chapter. Molly Bloom thinks on her life before marriage and she defends and regrets her affair with Boylan, while bemoaning the social restrictions on women. Mrs. Bloom catalogues the detriments of her married life, describing her nagging loneliness, the deceptive allures of adultery and the betrayals she has suffered on account of her emotionally absent "Poldy." Mollys narrative quickly slides between the distant and recent past and we learn of her years as an unmarried and attractive young lady in Gibraltar, a British colony on the southernmost tip of Spain. Her years with her mother Lunita and her father, a military man named Tweedy, seem to offer her the most pleasure as she is largely displeased with Boylans rough manners and her husbands effeminate deficiencies. For all of the negative assessments of hearth and home, "Penelope" is emphatically braced with the word "Yes" at the beginning and conclusion, and we have every reason to believe that-at least for June 17-the Bloom's intend to preserve their marriage. Perhaps in irritation and gratitude for Bloom's "kiss on the rump," Molly intends to turn his servility on its head by waking up early to serve Bloom "his breakfast in bed with a couple of eggs." After analyzing Blooms faults, Molly suggests that she knows Bloom better than anyone else and that their shared memories represent an emotional wealth that she would be unable to duplicate in a relationship with Boylan.

Analysis:
The final chapter is named for "Penelope," the faithful wife of the Greek hero, Ulysses. When suitors overran her husband's palace and forced her to concede Ulysses' death and remarry, Penelope remained faithful, claiming that she had to knit a funereal shroud in memory of her husband before she could choose a suitor. After spending each day earnestly knitting, Penelope would spend the night unraveling the work that she had done. Eventually, her suitors tired of the ruse and Ulysses' triumphal return could not have come a moment later as it had been twenty years (and two Homeric epics) since Ulysses first left Ithaca to assist King Menelaus and the Greeks at Troy. As Ulysses and Telemachus reclaim the palace, Penelope has locked herself in her bedroom chamber and when Ulysses enters the chamber to greet his wife, she does not recognize him. Ulysses must prove himself by recounting the story of their wedding bed's construction, a secret that Penelope knows that only Ulysses would know. The end of epic is a portrait of marital bliss, even as the king and queen are physically altered, haggard and aged. Furthermore, Ulysses has more difficulties to endure. "Penelope" lacks the few narrative pretenses that are found in other chapters, expressing the simple and unstructured "interior monologue" of Molly Bloom. Unlike the other interior monologues, Molly's is uncorrupted by dialogue or outside distraction because it occurs when she is half-asleep. Because "Penelope" is so heavily foreshadowed in the seventeen previous chapters, some readers erroneously conclude that this final chapter functions like the Earl of Dudley's cavalcade in the final section of the "Wandering Rocks" chapter: a chronology that retraces the narrative timeline from start to finish, existing simultaneously in time. Even though Molly presents a fairly complete chronology of June 16 (as well as a few other historical moments), "Penelope" is very clearly a catalogue of Molly's thoughts beginning at the precise moment when she is stirred by Bloom's arrival into their bed. This is after 3 am and is probably closer to four or five in the morning as the light of the summer dawn is fast approaching. "Penelope" is the novel's final, most daring attempt to capture the essence of the human mind at work. Joyce complicates this mission and the "Penelope" that we see is Molly whose subconscious is at work while she is drifting into sleep. The non-narrative prose skips coherently from fragment to fragment and the lack of punctuation suggests a hallucination that is distinct from the regimented hallucinations of "Circe." That the chapter's mere eight sentences span over 1600 lines of text is evidence enough that

"Penelope" is Ulysses' closest approximation to the "stream of consciousness," functioning almost exclusively as a series of linked ideas rather than words. Just as "Penelope" carries the tropes of Modernism, it also represents a twentieth-century alternative to Homer's scheme of marital bliss. Joyce's revision is "modernized" and made "real" by Molly's infidelity and unabashed sexuality. The obsolescence of epic, battlefield heroism is chronicled in the story of Bloom-as-Ulysses just as the decline of sexual purity and marital devotion is captured in Molly's role as Penelope. The Blooms deviate from the classical ideal but they are able to attain a degree of marital bliss and perhaps it is more meaningful because they have both strained and struggled. Joyce argues in "Penelope" that even though his Ulysses and Penelope are imperfect, they are able to unite because their love for each other is uncorrupted and solid. The "wedding bed" motif was developed midway through Ulysses, foreshadowing the treatment of the marriage bed in "Penelope." In "Scylla and Charybdis," Stephen's Shakespearean criticism expounded upon Ann Hathaway's infidelity and the "secondbest bed" that her playwright husband bequeathed to her. The "jingle jangle jingling" of the loose bed figured as a musical confession of Molly's rather athletic sexual encounter with her energetic paramour, Blazes Boylan. Joyce's "Penelope" takes place in the mind of the unfaithful wife who is sleeping in the "jingle jangle jingling" bed where she committed adultery earlier in the afternoon. In this regard, Molly cannot be any more different from Penelope who marital devotion is unmatched. This final chapter provides the resolution of the "jingling" while delivering Molly's much anticipated presence. Mrs. Bloom briefly appeared in "Calypso,' in a similarly half-asleep state and Molly is also a fleeting character in "Wandering Rocks," offering a coin of charity to a beggar. The conspicuous narrative presence of Blazes Boylan, the recurring "jingle jangle" of the bed and Bloom's own foreknowledge and reflection of Molly's affair force Joyce to present Molly's "side" of the story. Molly appears as the sum total of all of the novel's female characters. Fusing Mrs. Breen and Mrs. Cunningham together, Molly presents herself as the beleaguered wife of a difficult man, all the while admitting her own "kimono" antics. Molly's thoughts on maternity contrast with Mina Purefoy and the midwives, because of her dismal attitude, no doubt influenced by her husband's refusal to inseminate her during sex. Molly also evokes the images of sexual conquest and competition, having vanquished Martha Clifford, Molly confirms the superiority of songs over flowers-as the medium of love. In this regard, Molly Bloom resembles Douce and Kennedy of the Ormond Bar, but her closest link is to the "Nausicaa" character, Gerty MacDowell. Molly's first sexual experience involves masturbating a man into her handkerchief and like MacDowell, she found religious confession to be an inhumane institution: "theres nothing like a kiss long and hot down your to soul almost paralyses you then I hate that confession when I used to go to Father Corrigan." Molly's possessiveness and odd sense of piety produce a Nausicaa-like commentary: "hed [Leopold Bloom] never find another woman like me to put up with him." "Penelope" is perhaps, most notorious for Molly's coarse language and sexual frankness. In considering how she has aged and her beauty has faded, Molly thinks to herself, "would I be like that bath of the nymph with my hair down yes only shes younger or Im a little like that dirty bitch in that Spanish photo." And in regarding her own body and her retentive physical charms, Molly exclaims, "how soft like a peach easy God I wouldnt mind being a man and get up on a lovely woman." Later, Molly explains her sexual frankness saying "it didnt make me blush why should it either its only nature." And with a commitment to honesty, Molly assesses her two paramours. She reveals Bloom's (unsurprising) sexual proclivities, his penchant for voyeurism and pornography ("the smutty photo"), his anal fetishes, and his coprophilia: "hed like me to walk in all the horse dung I could find but of course hes not natural like the rest of the world." Rather casually, Molly admits: "its a wonder Im not an old shrivelled hag before my time living with him so cold never embracing me." It is not difficult to detect the sadness that she has thinly veiled behind her exacting honesty when she compresses her "infertility" and "loneliness" into one charge, citing Bloom as the wrongdoer. When Molly confesses, "the last time he [Bloom] came on my bottom when was it the night Boylan gave my hand a great squeeze," we finally understand that Bloom's emotional distance corrupted their sexual union and forced Molly to seek companionship elsewhere. Like Douce and Kennedy, Molly refers to Bloom's "boiled [greasy] eyes" and in her biting commentary, Mrs. Bloom renames her husband "Poldy pigheaded" because "he thinks he knows a great lot," ending the subject with the backhanded moniker "L Boom." Apparently, she has read the evening press regarding Dignam's funeral. "Penelope" offers an equally descriptive portrait of Blazes Boylan, confirming his legendary sexual prowess: "he must have come 3 or 4 times with that tremendous big red brute of a thing he has." Molly even considers eloping with Boylan but she quickly admits that Boylan has his own faults. In her overtures, Molly resembles a hybrid of MacDowell's "Nausicaa" and Bloom's penpal, Martha Clifford: "I

wishsomebody would write me a loveletter his wasnt much and I told him he could write what he liked yours ever Hugh Boylan." Boylan's rough and casual demeanor complements his athletic sexuality. Molly describes him as "vulgar" and comments that she "didnt like his slapping me behind going away so familiarly in the hall though I laughed Im not a horse." Molly's final judgment of Boylan, "no that's no way for him has he no manners nor no refinement nor no nothing in his nature," is a lasting one and it is not a mere coincident that the word "no" occurs five times in this fragment. Molly's final image, her memory of Howth Head, where she " gave him [Bloom] the bit of seedcake out of my mouth" presents the word "yes" thirteen times within the span of ten lines. As "Penelope" concludes, Molly's acceptance of Bloom, stems from their shared memories and Mrs. Bloom assumes a defiant tone in her defense of Leopold. To the women of Dublin, she remarks, "let them get a husband first thats fit to be looked at and a daughter like mine." And she chides the men of Dublin for their treatment of Bloom, "making fun of him then behind his back I know well when he goes on with his idiotics because he has sense enough not to squander every penny piece he earns down their gullets and looks after his wife and family goodfornothings poor Paddy Dignam..." Molly admits to the reader that she "loves to hear him [Bloom] falling up the stairs of a morning," suggesting that his awkward foibles ("falling up") have an endearing quality to them, and like Nausicaa, Molly prides herself on her unique ability to perceive Bloom's brooding thoughts and melancholy. Bloom is "a madman nobody understands his cracked ideas but me." Molly's most revealing confession comes in her discussion of love songs. She remembers Ben Howth and confides that she needed to hear Poldy admit his love of her: "I had the devils own job to get it out of him though I liked him for that." When she explains the nature of Bloom's adoration, Molly takes on the imagery of the Virgin Mary: "O Maria Santisima...he said hed kneel down in the wet" and several times, Molly refers to "a Gorgeous wrap of some special kind of blue colour," a chromatic link between "Penelope" and the avatar of Mary that appears in "Nausicaa." Molly's refrain, "yes Ill sing," is tempered by her confession: "I could have been a prima donna only I married him comes looooves old deep down." Her final conclusion is that the love song that she sings is the song of her marriage, with all of its troubles and joys. Her thoughts on Rudy's death are reflected when she notes that her husband got her on stage "to sing in the Stabat Mater." The Stabat Mater, concerns the sadness of the Virgin Mary, the mother of Christ, standing at the cross of her dead son; the opening lines of the hymn, stabat mater, dolorosa, confirm the messianic potential of the Bloom-Virag lineage and similarly recall "Dolorosa," the Spanish "Queen of Heaven" whose song commingles beauty and pain. In this regard, the Stabat Mater of "Penelope" is a fitting conclusion to Love's bitter mystery, sung by Stephen Dedalus at his mother's deathbed. In typical Joycean style, a living son's song to his dead mother has been answered by a living mother's song to her dead son.