And thus we reach the end of Ulysses. In my last post, I discussed the function of gifts as representing the various offerings (lifestyle, future) Boylan and Bloom both exhibit for/give to Molly and what she ultimately decides, represented by her acquiescence to make breakfast for Bloom (a gift in it’s own right, with a cherry on top) and the gradual phasing out of Boylan despite his propensity to give many, many gifts. This structuring of gifts in the last episode brings up a continuous theme of opposition and elaboration used by Joyce throughout Ulysses – namely, a structuring of several extreme (in my case, gifts) at the beginning and end of each chapter that the main character must navigate through. Molly does this in Penelope, when she slowly shifts from Boylan, the material-giver, to Bloom, the family/love-giver (commercial/surface pleasure vs emotional). The other times gifts reprise as a structuring device is in Lestrygonians (the birds and the meal), Cyclops (the not-giving) and Nausicaa (the giving respite), and elements of Episodes 1, 2, and 4 (probably more than that).
The structuring aspects of gifts often relate to their ability to characterize, as with Boylan and Bloom in Penelope. Certain exchanges are surface-gifts and reflect negatively on the giver, while some are heart-felt and reflect positively, and some are social, reflecting neither here nor there, but highlighting important expectations the characters of Ulysses’ Dublin operate with. Bad transactions are commercial, with little thought for coming out ahead or being respected in any manner. Characters that adhere to this lifestyle are Mulligan, Boylan, Simon Dedalus, while others engage in this “giving” simply because they have to. Good giving, without thought for the repercussions on oneself or means, is exhibited by Bloom and Stephen (who are both capable of the other giving, as well), though Stephen’s dispensing of money for his “friends” shows how he is casting pearls before swine. Bloom mainly indulges in giving to animals, though Stephen and Molly both feature in his thoughts. Social giving, where it isn’t quite commercial but there is an expectation that the favor given will be repaid at a later date, is utilized by every character encountered in Dublin, with some being more reliable than others in keeping their word.
Aside from this, there are several anomaly gifts. There are “bad” gifts such as diseases and bribes, that come with pain and/or strings attached. An example of these would be the narrator of “Cyclops” suffering from disease and Boylan buying Molly a basket of potted meats while lying about his intentions. There is one example of a consciously ungiven gift that I can think of (there may be others, wasn’t looking for this, it just leaped out since we talked about it): Molly’s gift coat for Rudy. Undelivered to Rudy (while alive), Molly makes a conscious decision (or thinks about it afterwards) to not give the coat to some other child who might need it, but rather uses it to wrap her son’s body up. This tinges of selfishness at first scant scant glance, yet Molly’s dedication to her son heralds ideas of making gifts to the dead – something Stephen is incapable of doing for his mother. Unpack that!
Examination of gifts and giving in Ulysses has revealed a regular path: a certain theme gets introduced in one episode to be elaborated upon in subsequent chapters. Evidenced in the first ten chapters is the characterization of gifts and giving, from crass commercial exchange to sympathetic giving. In this phase, gifts fall under the garb of personal to social, usually with an eye toward some kind of return. This range in turn sheds light on (or underscores) the various characters populating the streets of Dublin. In the second phase, chapters eleven through fifteen, extremes of the earlier types of gifts are realized, both in literary form, character, and situation. In the third phase, episodes sixteen through seventeen, the father-son relationship of giving is explored in-depth. Episode Eighteen, Penelope, explores another facet of family exchanges – the husband-wife association, as well as recapping and transforming previous ideals concerning gifts in the prior chapters.
Within Molly Bloom’s rushing interior monologue we find a multitude of gift-forms scrutinized. The episode begins with Molly’s chafing thoughts on Bloom’s request for breakfast in bed. The husband-wife dynamic is highlighted immediately and ranges throughout the episode, and as guilt and social obligation seem to have little to do with whether the requests (from either party) are adhered to, other reasons must be found. There could be a sense of filial duty involved, and this possibility manifests itself, in Molly’s thoughts, in the put-upon woman form to the fleeting wish of a petticoat government, but these irate thoughts of duty are immediately followed by thoughts infused with feeling, or love, which constantly jumbles sense in a non-extreme way. The gift-giving in this dichotomy, then rests in how much the characters love each other, or are aware of their love for each other (mainly speaking about Molly, but some of Bloom’s actions can be traced throughout the day to have similar motivations). Realize that Molly has to work herself into this loving mood for Bloom throughout the chapter, but it ends with her deciding to adhere to his request for breakfast (she’s decided to put a spin on what “breakfast” might entail, which only proves my point).
Of course, wishes for commercial gifts are rife in this chapter, as Molly fantasizes over the myriad items she can dig out of Boylan’s gold-lined pockets. In the rest of the novel, this desire for the material would place a character into the “bad” category, or at the least unsavory. Boylan the Rich and Mulligan are the poster boys for this culture of giving, something for something. Molly’s place beside these two, however, is complicated. She indulges fleeting desires of clothes and jewels and attention, but the underlying problem resides again in her pauper-like relationship with Bloom, where the filial duty is going unfulfilled. This means more than simply adhering to or indulging the wishes of your spouse. As Molly points out, she sees herself as a good catch for Bloom yet notes that he is squandering her and aiding their poverty by being unable to hold a job down and constantly moving from one house to another. Interestingly, as the “sentences” continue, this commercial concern starts falling away to be replaced by the greater concerns of living with her spouse. Indeed, Molly herself sneers at the thought of riches and fame in the later sentences even as she craves them in the earlier ones.
My blog today will focus on Weldon Thornton’s Voices and Values in Joyce’s Ulysses. The book in general focuses on Joyce’s narrative and literary forms, their connotations, historical underpinnings, and whether or not Joyce is promoting certain narrative/literary modes over others. The general argument given is that Joyce was not “in-line” with the modernist themes of the “realist” novel or the contemporary perspective that the omniscient third-person narrative was archaic in novel writing.
In particular, I focus on chapter 5 “Voices and Values in Later Episodes,” as each of the episodes after 6 (excluding 8 and the last half of “Nausicaa”) are related in that they exhibit literary and narrative forms that Joyce disapproves of for one reason or another. In the section “Penelope,” the feminine interior monologue creates “the only moment in the novel where a figural voice totally obliterates the authorial narrative voice throughout the entire chapter.” Thornton claims that Joyce’s use of the monologue is to exhibit both its strengths and short-comings, and that he has set up the episode for the best possible scenario, having it come at the end (i.e., letting us get acquainted with Molly’s relationships with others and her general situation for an entire book before dropping us in) and allowing zero interactions to occur with the outside world during the monologue. For Ulysses, the form is deftly handled.
There are, however, obvious problems with it. The lack of punctuation makes sense when depicting the wandering un-punctuated thoughts of Molly, but the speaker (thinker?) surely has pauses of thought, changes in inflection, that cannot be conveyed without punctuation. Moreover, this absence of punctuation highlights puzzles and confusion, and actually makes the reader more aware of the author. As Thornton quotes one E. R. Steinberg: “Constantly feeling for the ends of the sentences as he progresses, the reader is continually aware of the difficulty of the reading and conscious of the fact not only that he is reading but that he is solving a puzzle. This awareness, of course, keeps him aware of the author, who presented the difficulty. As well, by completely effacing the narrator the ability to build a “world” examining self and society, Ulysses’ Dublin, breaks down.
I’m not entirely sure I agree with Thornton, in terms of this chapter at least. Afetr reading the chapter, I can agree that occasionally I despised Joyce for putting me into this puzzle, but a lot of the time I was lost in Molly’s thoughts, and keenly aware of only the “Molly” part of that phrase.
Instrument(s): 1 (plus numerous minor references)
As per usual, and mostly just out of habit, my counting system is above. Musemathematics at its finest. Nearly all of the songs referenced in Circe follow the general structure of the episode in that they draw on previous occurrences and thoughts experienced by either Bloom or Stephen.
Notably, the frequency of music or song references was not quite as lacking as I had originally stated on Monday. A quick glance at my post for episodes 10-12 revealed more or less the same amount of occurrences (over the course of roughly 100 pages) as Circe, which although it is 50 or so pages longer, was not a considerable difference.
Oddly enough, in this confusing and lengthy episode, the sentiments expressed in the music seem to accurately echo the themes or experiences of the characters, perhaps to a higher degree than in earlier episodes. A conversation between Virag and Bloom about choosing women, for instance, references John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera (How happy could you be with either, 15.2351), reflects both Bloom’s lacking sexuality and his desire for such acts (Gifford 493).
A little bit of research on the pianola (first mentioned at 15.1991) yielded some interesting results. According the Oxford English Dictionary, it was an extremely recent device: “The prototype of the piano-playing device which came to be known as the pianola was constructed in Detroit in 1895 by Edwin Scott Votey (1856-1931).” (http://dictionary.oed.com/cgi/entry/50178470?single=1&query_type=word&queryword=pianola&first=1&max_to_show=10) Why then, would it show up in the red light district of Dublin only nine years later? That aside, the Pianola raises some interesting questions with regard to some of my earlier posts. The concept of detachment from the authentic or complete performance of something and what can be captured on a page (a play, sheet music, etc.) is not relevant here; the Pianola is both script and performance (as is the gramophone for that matter).
Another interesting feature of the episode is the interior/exterior concepts, which are strikingly similar to the beach/temperance meeting of Nausicaa. The gramophone playing “The Holy City” outside stands in stark contrast to the occurrences within the building, yet both are at hand in the presentation of the scene.
15.2664-67: As the Gifford points out, Joyce cites this verse as the one most quoted by his father (199). This further cements the idea of the household as a place of song, and perhaps as the place of strictly Irish song, as several secondary sources I’ve read have indicated. The fact that no such text has been found could imply a few different things: the obscure nature of household songs or perhaps that Joyce’s father actually wrote a few songs himself. Whatever the case may be, this passage certainly stood out.
15.400ish: The re-appearance of “My Girl’s A Yorkshire Girl” represented roughly ten of the fifty or so song references in Circe. The numerous lovers in the song obviously draw a parallel between Bloom and, well, everyone else. The “girl” is of course married (Molly), though neither of her two other lovers seem to be aware of this until they attempt to go to her cottage (similar of course to Boylan).
I mentioned in my last post that I would have more on the abundance of music and noise on page 422. However, I don’t really know what to make of it other than framing it as some kind of coincidence or maybe as a climax of the noise and and sound of the city in general.
As a quick note, the concept of empty fifths is described here: (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Perfect_fifth) under the heading “Use in harmony.” It’s a fairly basic description and part of it is not applicable, but I figured I’d include it in case anyone was curious. Somehow I also managed to overlook Blamires’ comments on this concept, which are on pages 168-169.
Gifts play a large role in “Circe.” For the most part the gifts Bloom has given out throughout the novel to this point are mentioned within Bloom’s hallucinations as indicators of his generous and benevolent nature, particularly to animals, though the mention of his social gifts (to be repaid in some way later) are also brought up, when Bloom recalls Hyne’s debt to him. In his mind, when acting the emperor-saint figure, Bloom is able to decline these social repayments, a mark of his wealth and generosity. Of course, gifts alone never seem enough to off-set the self-loathing/insecurities Bloom hides concerning his personality, and his pathetic attemtps to plead a good character are laughed at when his gift-giving is paired against his philandering or otherness.
Part 2: Startlingly, the second half of Circe seems particularly devoid of gifts, though there is plenty of “giving” going on. Here you have the lessons and abuses “Bello” is giving to Bloom as well as demanding from him (“Ask for that every ten minutes. Beg. Pray for it as you never prayed before”; “What you longed for has come to pass”). This giving seems to drag Bloom down into and through his own infernal purgatory; he surfaces shaken but very much Bloom in the end – indeed the guiding and sheltering force at the end of this nightmare sequence, utilizing every tactic and skill of his to keep Stephen out of trouble and harm (he succeeds, excepting the “coward’s blow”). That these hellish gifts of life’s lessons are really given to Bloom by Bloom (hallucination/reality-skip), the boundary between what can and cannot (does and does not?)constitute a gift comes into question, as do the myriad reasons embraced throughout the book until now (and brought back in full during the first section of Circe). When Bloom helps Stephen out by talking down Bella and paying for the broken lamp, is he giving a gift to Stephen, paying him back, or enacting some other form of exchange? To my mind, perhaps because I want to believe it, but also because of the breaking down of “gifts” in the late half of this episode, this action symbolizes a necessary transaction in the realm of parenthood where “gifts” aren’t even discussed. The defense of the child invokes no social reciprocation, it is something that a parent does expecting no reward. Bloom’s cool assessment of the damages and situation shows Bloom at his analytical and perceptive best but still biased in regards to his child versus the world, seeing only the price gouging exhibited by Bella at Stephen’s expense, with the net effect being the minimizing of danger to Stephen. This also brings to mind Stephen’s mumbled proverb to Bloom “Be just before you are generous,” invoking concerns for fair-dealing and the very thing that Bloom himself is capable of enacting. An elaboration of this quote appears in Spectator (1908): “A likeable man is tempted to be generous before he is just.” Neither Bloom nor Stephen are “likeable” to the denizens of Dublin and both should therefore act with justice before flinging their money/gifts about. Bloom, the more typical outsider, is more aware of this, giving only to those he identifies with, while Stephen has yet to come to this realization, as he spends his money on whores and alcohol for “friends” who reject (Mulligan) and betray (Lynch/Judas) him (Bloom isn’t completely perfect, of course, when it comes to getting things for Molly). Does Bloom pay for the damages with his money or Stephen’s? Regardless, Bloom enacts this self-defense of his child again at the end of the episode, by pushing the blame of the “brawl” entirely on the soldiers. Protecting Stephen has inspired emotions in Bloom that were previously mute, such as anger and courage.
Gift of worship?
Martha, referenced thus far in episodes 7 and 11 of Ulysses, is a four act opera by German-born Friedrich von Flotow based on a French ballet, first produced in Vienna, and set in Richmond, England. This international milieu is supplemented later on by the additions of the play’s two most famous arias: “M’Appari” during its first production in Paris and Thomas Moore’s Irish melody “The Last Rose of Summer.”
Martha tells the story of a sheltered/shut-in noblewoman Harriet, her brief attempt to escape noble life, and the results this has on the locals and nobles. Flotow’s music is described as incredibly powerful and forbidding, especially the overture, yet everything ends happily enough.
Act 1 – Desperately bored with court life and riches (“pleasures come so easily they lack zest”) and unimpressed by her many suitors, she presses her maid Nancy and her most persistent suitor Sir Tristan into posing as country folk at the local fair. Posing as Martha, Julia, and Bob respectively, the three unwittingly entangle themselves in the fair’s tradition of auctioning off serving maids from the surrounding country. Before Bob (or the women) can stop events, “Martha” and “Julia” sign to a year’s contract with farmer Plunkett and his foster brother Lionel (who comes from a mysterious past).
Act 2 – Choosing to keep their identity secret to preserve their dignity, the women are asked by the brothers to perform basic household chores, proving inept (the men end up doing the chores). Despite this, love blooms between Julia-Plunkett, while Harriet/Martha (unsuccessfully) attempts to divert Lionel’s adoration by singing “The Last Rose of Summer.”
Act 3 – The women flee the farmhouse with the aid of Sir Tristan, returning to their former lives, yet now, instead of boredom, they are depressed. During a hunting trip they run into a similarly depressed Lionel, who recognizes Harriet for Martha, only to be locked up for a madman when he protests the trick played upon him and his brother. (M’appari – “Like a dream” – is sung during this act.)
Act 4 – Plunkett produces evidence of Lionel’s noble birth, setting his foster brother free with honors and titles. Lionel, however, has gone mad with depression at the loss of his “Martha.” Harriet, for her part, is lost and dejected. Nancy and Plunkett reunite the two at a “mock” fair, with a song; happiness.
Immediate connections occur between Martha and Ulysses. The overarching picture of a secluded/imprisoned female with many suitors draws parallels, though the twists in Martha, at least, illustrate the female’s love-hate relationship with that role and her own wandering loss/apathy. Martha is told primarily from the female’s point of view; Ulysses is almost claustrophobic in its avoidance of that perspective. The international background of the play and the idea of an Irish song that saves the heroes bears watching. At the beginning of episode 7, Bloom’s ruminations weave together Molly, Mary, Martha, Jesus, opera, song, Judaism, loss, and wanderings in the space of a few lines. In episode 11, the “M’Appari” song interjects thoughts of Molly in Bloom, who identifies, at the end, as Lionel – the disillusioned and betrayed wanderer – and Simon Dedalus, the singer, an Irishman. Complications with the Martha of Henry Flower’s correspondence or merely a jumping off point?
In this blog, I will summarize and update how Joyce utilizes gifts and gift-giving up until Episode Eleven. In addition, I hope to, at the end, give some thoughts as to what purpose gifts will be put to in future episodes, and what this blog will focus on.
The Telemachiad – Episodes One, Two, Three
In these episodes, our perceptions of Stephen, Buck, Haines, and Deasy are aided by how each character views and gives gifts. Most giftly interactions in this part of Ulysses are pale shadows of what we decided was true gift-giving, the acquirement (and giving) of something without compensation. Buck cheapens gifts to monetary and commercial transactions, clearly showing his investment in the material and superficial – Stephen’s antithesis. Stephen, however, does not come across much better: he gives up key and tower, but not willingly, as Buck comes across as jocularly coercive. Deasy imparts the gift of wisdom to Stephen, and then the reader discovers that the “gift” has been given before, and is less a manner of giving as bludgeoning Stephen with racist and sexist dogma. The inherent gift of talent obvious from the start in Stephen is shown to be repressed. Therefore, in the first episodes, literal and figurative gifts are repressed and twisted, fitting Stephen’s atmosphere of dispossession.
The Odyssey – Episodes Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten
With the introduction of Bloom there comes a steady progression of “good” gift-giving, illustrating both his character and the world he resides in is somewhat more open to interpretation than that of Stephen’s. Bloom begins by illustrating “gifts” that have an open-ended reciprocity about them. The sense of duty, social and private, constantly drives these early Bloom interactions, as well as those he gives to (the cat, M’Coy, etc.). He is willing to give hand-outs and favors with the expectation, but not the demand, for future favors.
Following this steady unveiling of Bloom’s character, we realize that in the depths of his capacity for multi-perceptions and empathy comes generous sympathy, culminating twice in episode eight. The first example comes with Bloom buying bread and throwing it to the hungry gulls. Here there is no sense of moral obligation or duty, social or private, nothing for Bloom to gain by feeding the birds, besides a slightly emptier wallet. Bloom connects with the birds, unswayed as they are by religion, discerning and surviving, and thus reaches out. This true gift-giving, which has been hidden from the reader and unobserved in every other character, now finds a home in Bloom, the dispossessed wanderer. The second selfless act of giving occurs when Bloom leads the blind stripling across the street. The dispossession, at home, at work, and in Ireland, emphasizes the generosity when one realizes that only people with comforts, riches, wealth, some stability, are able to give “gifts”.
Episode Ten farther stresses these points, the poor dispossession and generosity becoming touchstones for the gift-buying sequences of Boylan and Bloom. Boylan, wealthy, dapper, famous, is able to afford the best of fruits, wines, etc. Not so well off, Bloom wishes to buy his wife another erotic novel, something she’d enjoy, and shops for deals. In effect, the gift costs something for Bloom and nothing for Boylan. In addition, or perhaps compounding this identification, is that Boylan the well-to-do is not engaging in a socially acceptable practice; aware of this, he lies about his intentions, claiming to be giving to an invalid. Despite being the subject of several cruel jokes and pranks, Bloom’s character in episode ten is generally regarded positively by the other characters of Dublin.
Two other characters have “given” as Bloom has given and they both relate to the one-legged sailor. One was an unnamed “stout woman” and the other, never tacitly acknowledged, is Molly Bloom. Whether Molly can be this generous to people closer to her remains to be seen.
Thus far, I’ve observed Joyce’s use of gifts and giving to further delineate character and character development. The effects are subtle when compared to other obsessions, as none of the characters actively address the question of gifts, and thus my examination has been to merely establish perspective. Many of the characters (most of the characters) bear watching on their gift habits – will they develop or no? In what direction will they develop? Now that a pinnacle of true gift-giving has been observed, the progression in respects to Bloom must end and other questions must be asked. Can he apply such generosity to those elements in society not dispossessed or marginalized? What kind of gifts does he cherish most? Which does he (and others) shy away from, or hoard? Episode ten offers the possibility of a “bad” gift (Boylan’s) – does society have fixed notions of what is proper in gift-giving and what isn’t? How does this theme of giving tie into the other major themes of Ulysses – the ideas of parenthood, religion, art and craft, acceptance, home? I will have to begin the categorizing.