"A byebye bingbang boys!"

(302.11-304.2)  Well, maybe the letter that Kevin wrote and was the subject of yesterday's reading didn't end, as I thought it had, with a signature of "Blott."  I now think that was just an inkblot, because the letter writing resumes in today's reading.  This is a new paragraph, so it seems logical that the "him" that is its focus is Dolph, the "aboleshqvick" (as McHugh notes, "Bolshevik") for whom writing is the one subject that "he had ever funnet without difficultads" (had fun at or found without difficulties).  Dolph takes a pen out of his pocket so that he can go about "signing away in happinext complete," or writing happily to complete the letter.  A parenthetical, which sounds like it's the voice of Kevin, seems to confirm the thought that Dolph's completing the letter.  "Exquisite Game of Inspiration!  I always adored your hand," Kevin says in the parenthetical.  "Can you write us a last line?"  

McHugh notes that the act of Dolph finishing the letter for Kevin calls to mind the time when Joyce composed the last line of a prize-winning poem otherwise written by Joyce's then-friend Oliver Gogarty (who is immortalized as Stephen Dedalus' false friend Buck Mulligan in Ulysses).  Dolph concludes the letter with poorly spelled language (for instance, "And i Romain, hup u bn gd gil.  Unds alws my thts.").  Once it's finished, Kevin pays his brother for his work, affixes a stamp, and mails the letter.

Now Dolph's attention is on the subject of writing, and so he gives a quick lecture to Kevin on how to be an effective writer.  He prefaces his demonstration by saying that he's going to show Kevin "the way Romeopullupalleaps," or the way Romeo woos.  (In her footnote, Isabel calls Dolph "Mr Tellibly Divicult" and notes that, while she thought he was an angel, he failed three times in trying to solve the heliotrope riddle.)  Dolph shows Kevin how to properly shape his letters ("Bould strokes for your life!") and then explains how he can incorporate bits from seven notable Irish authors (who McHugh notes are paired with the six chakras of the yogic doctrine of Kundalini, plus a Joycean bonus seventh):  "Steal" (Steele, heart), "Barke" (Burke, throat), "Starn" (Sterne, naval), "Swhipt" (Swift, spleen), "Wiles" (Wilde, sacral), "Pshaw" (Shaw, fontanella), and "Doubbllinnbbayyates" (W.B. Yeates, intertemporal eye).  Then Dolph gives examples of three great Irish patriots:  Daniel O'Connell, James Connolly, and Charles Stewart Parnell.

Kevin has had enough at this point.  He's "wreathed with his pother," or full of wrath with his brother.  McHugh notes that this language echoes the language of Genesis 4:5:  "and Cain was very wroth, and his countenance fell."  Hungry for another biscuit and still overwhelmed with all this math work, he strikes Dolph:  "hit him where he lived."  The narrator says that this attack isn't out of the ordinary:  "he fight him all time twofeller longa kill dead finish bloody face."  With one punch, Kevin has won.  In a kind of reverse echo of that passage from Genesis, the narrator says, "And his countinghands rose."  

We'll return tomorrow, with Dolph down for the count, to see what happens in the second-to-last reading of this chapter.

"Sink deep or touch not the Cartesian spring!"

(300.9-302.10)  Kevin, still unhappy about Dolph's geometry lesson, begins today's reading itching to have the last word on the subject.  Before doing so, he eats a Jacob's marie biscuit.  In another echo of language from Yeats' A Vision, Dolph (the "Other") continues to use his creative mind to "deleberate the mass from the booty of fight" (in one sense, devilishly liberate the masses from the beauty of light) while Kevin (the "Same") tries to use the bounty of food (that biscuit he just enjoyed) to "delubberate the mess from his corructive mund" (in one sense, eliminate the mess (the knowledge he received from Dolph) from his corrupted mind).  

Kevin's angry:  all of this math homework (especially here, the trigonometry) and Dolph's lecturing has got him in a state where the veins of his neck are bursting out like tightropes.  The narrator calls for a doctor in a parenthetical:  "(Spry him!  call a bloodlekar!  Where's Dr Brassenaarse?)".  But it's Kevin's lot in life for him to suffer.  As for his buffoonish brother Dolph, who is late for mass, Kevin tells us to "pray for blaablaablack sheep."

At this point, the narrator (in another parenthetical) tries to soothe Kevin, telling him that he could write anything as fine as his father ("that moultylousy Erewhig"), and exhorting him to best his brother:  "Nock the muddy nickers!"  The remainder of the passage is a kind of letter, which, McHugh points out, recalls some of the language from the letter of ALP that was found in the dump by the hen.  While Campbell and Robinson indicate that the letter contains at least the voices of both brothers and their sister (taking cues from Shem's comments in the left margin), I'm having a hard time seeing this, and so I'm operating on the basis that the letter is written entirely by Kevin.  (I could easily be swayed otherwise, though.)  He's addressing his lady, beginning with a "how are you, waggy?", and then noting how his soul is "sorrafool."  His subject turns to his brother, Jerry who is also a sad fellow, and a "mister-mysterion."  In his anger, Kevin interrupts his description of Jerry's sorry state to directly address his brother to tell him to snap out of his funk:  "Sink deep or touch not the Cartesian spring!  Want more ashes, griper!"  Returning to the letter, Kevin asks his lady to lend him some money, although I admit this could be Kevin mocking his down-and-out brother.  Finally, wrapping up the letter, Kevin returns to his cutesy language, saying, "Well wiggywiggywagtail, and how are you, yaggy?" before singing his letter "Blott."

"Well, well, well well!"

(298.6-300.8)  It looks like today's reading wraps up Dolph's geometry lesson.  This passage -- or at least the first page of it -- is a doozy.  I've spent a decent amount of time pouring over the first page, and it doesn't really make any sense to me.  Even when I consider what Tindall and Campbell and Robinson have written about it, nothing really clicks.

Here's what I can say for sure:  Dolph is summing up the lessons to be learned from his lecture, and he's getting into some math terminology that I haven't thought about in this millennium (stuff like sines, cosines, and logarithms . . . this is when getting away with not taking any math classes after high school works to my disadvantage).  

Here's what I can guess:  Dolph's summary establishes ALP as a parallel to HCE, particularly in terms of the way HCE was presented mathematically a few pages back (see this post).  There's a lot of stuff here about zeroes and amounts greater than and less than one and infinite figures "returnally reprodictive of themselves."  I'm thinking this ties into the ideas of ALP as a mother of nations and the perfect complement to HCE (combining her fraction -- her imperfect self -- and his fraction -- his imperfect self -- to make a whole one).  That's all I'm going to say about that for now -- I'm going to mark this page as one I'd like to follow up on later by consulting some more recent critical analysis.

The rest of the passage makes more sense to me.  With the lesson completed, Kevin weighs in.  And he's not really all that impressed.  It soon becomes clear that Kevin is mocking Dolph with sarcastic praise:  "Mother of us all!  O, dear me, look at that now!  My Lourde!  My Lourde!  If that aint just the beatenest lay I ever see!  And a superpbosition!  Quoint a quincidence! . . . Who in the name of thunder'd ever belevin you were that bolt?"  One gets the sense that Kevin's a bit offended by Dolph's display:  "Hear where the bolgylines, Yseen here the puncture.  So he done it.  Luck!  See her good.  Well, well, well, well!  O dee, O dee, that's very lovely!"  Perhaps Kevin believes that there's more to their mother than just the anatomy that Dolph has reduced her to, as when he says, "Her trunk's not her brainbox."  Regardless, he says they should've just talked about money:  "More better twofeller we been speak copperads."

The passage ends with Kevin offering biting criticism of Dolph.  Isabel addresses Kevin in the footnotes, saying, "Picking on Nickagain, Pikey Mikey?"  Thinking Dolph an idler, Kevin offers him the same advice that Joyce's father offered young Joyce when he tells him to think about taking a job at the brewery:  "Ever thought about Guinness's?"  Soon after, Kevin delivers sarcastic praise of Dolph's intellect, suggesting that his knowledge is impractical.  For example, he says, "You know, you were always one of the bright ones, since a foot made you an unmentionable, fakes!"  McHugh and the other commentators note that the punctuating words to Kevin's three sarcastic sentences -- "fakes," "hoax," and "carrotty" -- suggest that Dolph is lacking in the three theological virtues of faith, hope, and charity.  This also indicates that Kevin sees Dolph as a kind of imposter.

With the geometry lesson completed, I've now hit the stretch run for this chapter.  Only four more days, and it'll be completed.

"So post that to your pape and smarket!"

(296.8-298.6)  Yesterday's reading ended with the "bad" son Dolph taking point P in the figure (pictured in this post), which being the place brought low by "Pride," also stands for Hell.  Today's reading begins with the "good" son Kevin taking point π, which is the highest point -- the "apexojesus" -- that also stands for Heaven.  From his position below, Dolph (aka Nick) calls up to his brother:  "Are you right there, Michael, are you right?  Do you think you can hold on by sitting tight?  Well, of course, it's awful angelous.  Still I don't feel it's so dangelous."  In response, Kevin (aka Mick) calls down to Dolph that he's alright:  "Ay, I'm right here, Nickel, and I'll write.  Singing the top line why it suits me mikey fine."  (Also notable here is Kevin's utterance of the word "hogwarts," which I recognize as Harry Potter's school, even though I've never read those books or seen the movies.  I wonder if J.K. Rowling got the name from the Wake?)

With the brothers' places above and below established, Dolph goes on to complete the figure, or "to compleat anglers."  He draws a dotted line from A to P and L to P, and a solid line from L to
π and from π to A.  With his work complete, Dolph says, "Innate little bondery.  And as plane as a poke stiff."  (McHugh notes that "pikestaff" is slang for "penis," which explains Isabel's footnote that reads, "The impudence of that in girl's things!")

Now that the figure is constructed, Dolph explains its significance and tells Kevin that he'll help him to "see figuratleavely the whome of your eternal geomater."  In other words, Dolph's using the figure to take the fig leaf away from the womb of their mother, which is the font of creation.  Dolph carefully lifts up the "maidsapron" of ALP until the part covering point P (the "nether nadir" that corresponds with her vagina) is brought up to point π (the "naval's napex" that corresponds with her navel).  With the skirt lifted, the two brothers peek underneath it.  Dolph tells Kevin to approach near him because it's dark underneath and has him light a match so they can see.  

What they do see is "the living spit of dead waters," which is "distinct and isoplural in its . . . sixuous parts, flument, fluvey and fluteous."  Dolph goes on to say that this is the "midden wedge of the stream's your muddy old triagonal delta, fiho miho, plain for you now, appia lippia pluvaville . . . the no niggard spot of her safety vulve."  It becomes pretty clear that the brothers are looking at ALP's vulva, the wet delta of her reproductive organs.  Speaking in winking terms, Dolph says, "You see her it" (with McHugh noting that "it" is slang for "cunt").  Proud of what he's revealed, Dolph concludes today's reading by saying, "Quicks herit fossyending," which, McHugh notes, in part stands for the Latin "quod erat faciendum," which translates to "which was to be done" and in abbreviated form is the "Q.E.F." that appears after problems in Euclidean geometry.

No doubt, we'll have more bawdy Joycean stuff tomorrow.

"As Great Shapesphere puns it."

(294.5-296.7)  The passage for today begins with Kevin performing a bit of math work:  "I bring down noth and carry awe" (or, I bring down a zero and carry one).  With this introduction out of the way, Kevin continues to construct the figure found on page 293 (which can be viewed in yesterday's post).  He marks "Olaf" (alpha, or A) as "centrum" (or the center) and uses "Olaf's lambtail" (lamda, or L) as "his spokesman" (or the radius point) to construct the left circle.  This showing elicits a round of perhaps mocking praise from Dolph.  "O, dear me now!  Another grand discobely!" he says.  Soon after, he adds, "You've actuary entducked one!"

Dolph calls this first circle "[m]atch of a matchness," which calls to his mind "your Bigdud dadder," or their big, dead daddy, HCE, as represented in the "boudeville song, Gorotsky Gollovar's Troubles" (a vaudeville song from a city of mud that parodies Gulliver's Travels).  This song tells the familiar tale of HCE's fall.  An HCE figure, Abraham Bradley King, once stood smoking in the presence of two ladies, Mary Owens and Dolly Monks, as he was spied upon by three men, Blake-Roche, Kingston, and Dockrell.  King is referred to as "our papacocopotl," which McHugh notes is a volcano in Mexico.  This idea of the hero (who is also represented by Howth Hill) as a volcano explains why he was smoking in the song, and adds some fun color to the way his fall from grace near the Magazine Wall is described:  "By his magmasine fall.  Lumps, lavas and all."

HCE might be dead, but Dolph continues with a note of hope:  "But thunder and turf, it's not alover yet!  One recalls Byzantium.  The mystery repeats itself todate as our callback mother Gaudyanna, that was daughter to a tanner, used to sing . . . ."  Dolph goes on to describe the state of the house as it's kept by ALP after HCE's death and adds, "When I'm dreaming back like that I begins to see we're only all telescopes" (this is a line I like, and it's one of the many in this passage that McHugh notes as referencing portions of the writings of Yeats).  "Rest in peace!" Dolph says to HCE.  "But to return."

With this interlude complete, Kevin continues the math work from the beginning of today's reading:  "I bring town eau and curry nothung up my sleeve" (or I bring down a two and carry zero).  From there, he constructs the right circle on the diagram, which is "springing quickenly" from point L with point A as "her Elder."  Once again, Dolph engages in mock praise of his brother, saying, "O, dear me, that was very nesse!  Very nace indeed!"  He adds, "And makes us a daintical pair of accomplasses!"  This last line in particular has a variety of levels of meaning, from an identical pair of compasses (or circles) to a dainty pair of lasses (again referencing the two young women in the park) to the slang meaning of "a pair of compasses," which McHugh notes as "human legs" (therefore denoting another part of ALP's anatomy, building upon the selection from yesterday).

The two circles thus arranged create what Dolph terms "tew tricklesome poinds."  These two points appear "approxemetely in their suite poi and poi" and "dunloop into eath the ocher."  In other words, they're the points marked "P" and "π."  The "P" that marks the lower point, Dolph explains, stands for "Pride down there on the batom where Hoddum and Heave, our monsterbilker, balked his bawd of parodies," or the point of original sin.

It looks like we'll learn more about point π tomorrow.

"though a day be as dense as a decade"

(292.4-294.5)  As I mentioned in concluding yesterday's post, today we reach the end of the extended parenthetical and return to Kevin's geometry problem.  The rest of the parenthetical serves as a kind of apology for Dolph's behavior and, by extension, for Joyce's behavior in writing the Wake.  The narrator references the diagrams or theorems in "that most improving of roundshows, Spice and Westend Woman."  As all of my secondary sources note, this is a reference to Wyndham Lewis' Time and Western Man, which included material critical of Joyce.  

Basically, the narrator's saying there is no use in railing against the actions of Dolph (and Joyce).  People are going to do what they do, after all.  And what's more, even assuming that we were "decontaminated enough" to look inside the brain of Dolph/Joyce, we would see an overwhelming collection of memories, forgotten lands, and lost languages.  And our own minds would reel to see the new ways in which Dolph/Joyce uses stale words.  Ultimately, we rely upon the rudimentary learning we gained via the "pupilteachertaut duplex," and we have to concede that, even though "a day be as dense as a decade" and we have all the time in the world, we're unable to transpose our language onto one we can't understand, and we end up having to draw the line somewhere.  This could be Joyce saying that we're never going to be able to make heads or tales of the Wake.  He wrote the book for it to be read, though, so I look at this passage more as a challenge that tries to incite us to put forth the effort to expand our minds.  (I think this could also be Joyce mocking those who, like Lewis, thought it was a waste of time to try to understand Joyce's books.)  Anyway, I get a kick out of this passage, and it affirms what I'm trying to do with this blog (I guess).

This ends the long parenthetical, and on page 293 we go back to Kevin's geometry problem.  But while the parenthetical was being delivered, Kevin has Morpheus (here "Murphy") has dragged Kevin to sleep, and he's drifted off into a dream (here a "dozedeam") of Dublin.  Dolph wakes him up, and Kevin attempts to solve the problem, saying, "Allow me!"  This page represents the point in the chapter that Shaun and Shem's margin commentary switches, with Shem now commenting in the capital letters on the right and Shaun commenting in the italics on the left.  Shaun titles this passage, "Uteralterance or the Interplay of Bones in the Womb."  So, this deals with the uterus and the battle between Shem and Shaun that began before they were born.  We also get the figure of the problem on this page:

The text beginning below the diagram more clearly shows that the problem touches upon what I'll call "carnal geometry," for the figure represents the boys' mother, ALP.  Kevin notes that "A is for Anna like L is for liv."  In a sense, this line is a timeline, representing the whole of human history:  "Aha hahah, Ante Ann you're apt to ape aunty annalive!  Dawn gives rise.  Lo, lo, lives love!  Eve takes fall.  La, la, laugh leaves alass!  Aiaiaiai, Antiann, we're last to the lost, Loulou!"  Ante (before) Ann mimcs her ape ancestor, from whom she's evolved.  Alternately, humankind is created in the image of God at dawn, falls via Eve, and loses Eden.  Kevin notes that this AL "strayedline" appears in the figure above and depicts part of his mother:  "(in Fig., the forest)."  McHugh notes that "fig" is slang for "cunt," and Campbell and Robinson note that "the forest" indicates that the line is the boundary line of the pubic hair.  So, today's reading accordingly concludes with fairly straightforward indication that the geometry problem touches upon ALP's genitalia (um . . . apologies for that pun).

"heaven help his hindmost"

(290.5-292.4)  Resuming with the portion of the long parenthetical that focuses on Isabel, we learn that the "niche of time" she's in is 4.32 M.P., which in part recalls the year St. Patrick landed in Ireland, 432 A.D.  Much of today's passage focuses on the legend of Tristan and Isolde.  For instance, we see the Isabel figure giving the Dolph figure a "cuddlebath," much like Isolde bathed Tristan to help him recover from his wounds.  Isabel "could never have forefelt, as she yet will fearfeel" what is to come "when the lovenext breaks out" and Dolph has completed his conquest.

As the passage moves along, that conquest is detailed.  Dolph returns, "doubling back, in nowtime," to "mount miss (the wooeds of Fogloot!) under that chemise de fer and a vanrtyproof name, Mulatusi."  In one sense, this emphasizes the St. Patrick parallel (as McHugh notes), for St. Patrick worked as a boy on Mt. Mish, was called back to Ireland by voices from the Wood of Foclut, and landed at the River Vantry.  In another sense, this is Joyce engaging in erotic wordplay, with Dolph having a sexual affair with Isabel.  With the conquest complete, Isabel is made into "a lonely peggy," and isolated from the outside world.  She does draw sympathetic attention from men who "console with her at her mirrorable gracewindow'd hut."

The narrator proceeds to express some disgust with the way Dolph treats Isabel:  "but to think of him foundling a nelliza the second."  And at the conclusion of today's reading, the narrator takes things a step further:  "if that is what lamoor that of gentle breast rathe is intaken seems circling toward out yondest . . . heaven help his hindmost."  This phrase "circling toward out yondest" reminds us of the geometry theme we're in the midst of, and it points toward tomorrow's reading, in which we finish going through this parenthetical and return to the problem facing Kevin.

"Joke and Jilt will have their tilt."

(288.4-290.4)  The long parenthetical picks up with more description of Dolph/Shem.  More specifically, it picks up with more unflattering details about him.  He was content to let other people finish his sentences for him, as he'd rather smile edgewise (or "eggways," which gets a good footnote from Isabel, who recognizes the word "egg" as referencing HCE's role as humpty-dumpty when she adds, "Who brought us into the yellow world!"), pick at his fingernails, and tell "a reel of funnish facts apout the shee."  In short, he sets forth "in fine the whole damning letter," which is the letter written by ALP telling the tale of HCE, or the Wake itself.

The second theme of today's reading establishes Dolph/Shem as an foreign invader to Ireland, a type of St. Patrick, Tristan, and Strongbow.  Dolph converted the Irish natives using his brand of "znigznaks with sotiric zeal."  The masses still hold to their Dolphic/Roman Catholic ways, despite attempts to have them "steeplechange back" to their "ancient flash and crash habits of old Pales time ere beam slewed cable," or back to Vico's first age.  In keeping with this appearance of the idea of thunder and lightning, and of note to me as a U.S. citizen, is a reference to Benjamin Franklin, that master of lightning, here as "Benjermine Funkling."

The end of the passage takes us away from "the reptile's age" and brings us to the section's third theme, Isabel.  Here, she's "the pretty Lady Elisabbess, who we see "uncrowned" and "deceptered."  The narrator asks, "[I]n what niche of time is Shee, or where in the rose world trysting"?  Perhaps we'll find out tomorrow . . . .

"Singlebarrelled names for doubleparalleled twixtytwins."

(286.3-288.4)  After yesterday's reading covering fatherhood, the fall, and chaos, we see that it's a sort of universal truth that HCE's fate was to be determined by a random shuffling of a deck that prompts a type of cosmic game of cards.  With the first card dealt, the narrator asks us to turn it over to see what we've got.

We now uncover the first problem posed on this particular evening to the geometrically-challenged Kevin:  construct an equilateral triangle, or an "aquilittoral dryankle" (or a river delta, indicating ALP, who is symbolized by the river, the triangle, and the Greek letter Delta).  Kevin begins his work with a sort of parody of the Sign of the Cross.  His brother, Dolph (the Shem to Shaun's Kevin in this passage), asks Kevin if he knows how to solve the problem.  Kevin says he can't, and asks Dolph whether he can.  Kevin is "expecting the answer guess," indicating that he both anticipates that Dolph knows the answer (meaning that "guess" equals "yes") and that Dolph won't tell him either way.  Kevin then asks Dolph/Shem (here, for the moment, "Sem") to tell him the answer.

Instead of getting a straightforward answer, Dolph gives a complicated and extended geometry lesson, which Tindall calls in his Reader's Guide "the heart of this chapter."  Dolph begins by instructing, "First mull a mugfull of mud, son."  As McHugh notes, this means Dolph is telling Kevin to start at the beginning, and think about the mud from which Adam, the first man, was formed.  Emphasizing this a few lines later, Dolph tells Kevin to "take your mut for a first beginning, big to bog, back to bach," or, in other words, to consider his mother the first beginning, and to move from the big ideas to the primordial bog, or back to the brook (which is the English translation of the German "bach").  Moving on, Dolph says that in order to get "a locus for alp" Kevin must "get a howlth on her bayrings," which in a sense means to get a hold of our ever-present Howth Castle or Howth Hill for her bearings.  Dolph says to mark the Isle of Man as "a" or "alpha" on the map.  With this done, he considers everything to be in "applepine odrer," or in accordance with the state of human existence in Eden, under the appletree.

Now the geometry lesson is interrupted by an extended parenthetical aside, which serves as a clue to both the relationship between Kevin/Shaun and Dolph/Shem and the problem of the equilateral triangle/ALP.  In keeping with previous depictions of Shem, Dolph is described as "dean of idlers."  A long passage in Latin -- which asks us to turn our minds toward Bruno and Vico and recognize that the river (ALP) is the predominant force and is embraced by the rival forces (Shem and Shaun) on either side of its banks -- then interrupts this parenthetical.  Returning to the parenthetical, today's reading ends with a quick summary of Dolph's scholastic life, in which he taught pupils and engaged in a variety of underhanded scholarly practices, such as forging letters and telling doublecrossing lies.  

We're just at the beginning of a couple of days' journey into this parenthetical, so more to come on this tomorrow . . . .

"Binomeans to be comprendered."

(284.5-286.2)  It's kind of funny how one day I feel like things are beginning to make sense to me, and a couple of days later I'm flailing through a passage about which Campbell and Robinson write, "These last two pages are intentionally very obscure."

These two pages begin with another example of a geometry problem that Kevin finds challenging.  This one seems to involve calculated something related to a triangle, one side of which is the height of a telegraph pole.  A little bit later, we see the answers to these questions in the "teacher's only" section of the children's textbook:  "Answers (for teasers only).  Ten twent, thirt, see, ex and three icky totchy ones."  But seeing the answers is of little use to those of us who can't even figure out what the questions are.

Moving along, I get the sense that these complex math problems are related to the familiar story of HCE's fall.  After all, we do see another appearance of the two young women, the three soldiers, HCE, and ALP:  "It follows that, if the two antesedents be bissyclitties and the three comeseekwenchers trundletrikes, then, Aysha Lalipat behidden on the footplate, Big Whiggler restant upsittuponable . . . ."  As that sentence continues, we see HCE win ALP's hand in marriage and his eventual fall (best summarized in the parenthetical:  "(he wins her hend!  he falls to tail!)") leading to "a rainborne pamtomomiom," which is both a spectacular rainbow pantomime and a depressing rainfall of sheer pandemonium.  As noted by McHugh, this leads a countdown from 12 to 1 in Finnish ("kaksitoisa volts yksitoista volts kymmenen . . . "), which is both the countdown to an inevitable zero, or death, and 12 factorial (i.e., 12 multiplied by 11 multiplied by 10, etc.), which is the huge number 479,001,600.  I think that this is an example of HCE as everyman -- both a sinner doomed to die and a father who gives life to millions.

This reading plays right into the final line of today's passage:  "Equal to = aosch."  HCE is the alpha (the beginning, or the father) the omega (the end, or the human doomed to die), and the chaos ("aosch" unscrambled) in between (the seemingly random and uncontainable events of both history and a human life).  Of course, to recycle the words of Campbell and Robinson when reflecting on their own interpretation of today's reading, my "rendering is necessarily a long shot."

"Give you the fantods, seemed to him."

(282.5-284.4)  With the intermission/recess period done, today's passage returns to the children's lessons.  And our subject beginning today is math.  Campbell and Robinson identify Kevin, the Shaun figure of the chapter, as the particular subject of this passage.  From the cradle, he excelled at "manual arith" because he had an innate understanding that he could count on his fingers.  He had a kind of finger obsession, giving names to each of them:  from the pinky to the thumb on the left hand, "boko," "wigworms," "tittlies," "cheekadeekchimple," and "pickpocket"; and from the thumb to the pinky on the right hand, "pickpocketpumb," "pickpocketpoint," "pickpocketprod," "pickpocketpromise," and "upwiththem."  (I say left hand first because . . . well . . . we read left to right, and because I'm going to go with the odds and assume Kevin would do the majority of his pickpocketing with his right hand.)  He also had names for the first four cardinal numerals:  "his element curdinal numen," "his enement curdinal marryng," "his epulent curdinal weisswassh," and "his eminent curdinal Kay O'Okay" (as McHugh and Campbell and Robinson note, these cardinal names parody the names of famous cardinals of the Catholic Church and signify the Viconian cycle of birth, marriage, death, and resurrection).

Young Kevin spent his time counting and performing basic math functions (adding, subtracting, multiplying, and dividing), and he also had a knack for using tables to make conversions between units of measurement.  But even though his ability to read, write, and perform basic arithmetic were unparalleled, he was terrible at the more advanced mathematical areas of geometry and algebra.  As the narrator explains in words that recall the language of Huckleberry Finn (another Finnegan type that's been referenced at various points throughout the book), the manner of learning and performing these subjects didn't agree with Kevin:  "They ought to told you every last word first stead of trying every which way to kinder smear it out poison long."

In illustration of Kevin's frustration with geometry, the passage ends with an example of a question posed to Kevin:  "Show that the median, hce che ech, interecting at royde angles the parilegs of a given obtuse one biscuts both the arcs that are in curveachord behind."  McHugh notes that a diagram of this problem will appear in the book a few pages down the line.  I'll wait until then to try to parse out that mess.

"Enten eller, either or."

(280.4-282.4)  Maybe getting back to (almost) daily readings is helping me get back into my Wake groove, maybe the reading in this chapter is getting less obscure, or maybe it's a combination of both of those things, but I am feeling like things are beginning to make a little more sense for me now.  Today's reading continues from the dreamy scene we left off from yesterday.  Near the continually renewing river in which the stock of salmon is regenerated year after year, Isabel (or another female figure) writes another letter.  This one is addressed to "desired subject, A.N.," implying the widowed ALP.  Rather than going into the juicy gossip characteristic of yesterday's letter, today's letter is a cliched one expressing condolences.

Stepping away from the letter, we see Isabel -- now the "Pious and pure fair one" -- walking amongst "lifetrees leaves whose silence hiterto has shone as sphere of silver fastalbarnstone."  In the evening, we have reached the point of the daily life cycle dominated by death, but that death brings the hope of renewal.  This hope is encapsulated in the narrator's call to utilize the four elements:  "Sleep in the water, drug at the fire, shake the dust off and dream your one who would give her sidecurls to."

Following this is a paragraph written in French that closely follows a passage written by Edgar Quinet.  In a nutshell, the passage shows us how nature -- here in the form of flowers -- will outlast even the greatest of human civilizations, with each successive generation of plant life cheerily laughing off human frivolity.  The next paragraph serves as an inverse to this, with nature being ignored by warring men, here in the form of Brutus and Cassius.  These two -- archetypes of the twins Shem and Shaun -- are prepared to engage in battle to determine who will stand in the place of the vanquished Caesar.  The object of their fighting is Isabel, and the narrator wonders whether she will truly love the victor before noting that power vacuums are seized by those who had previously been moving about freely and unnoticed like the oxygen in the air.

Today's reading ends with the focus turned from Brutus and Cassius toward the deposed Caesar, who has "sobs for his job," "tears for his toil," and "horror for his squalor," yet still has "pep for his perdition."

"tough troth is stronger than fortuitous fiction"

(278.7-280.4)  Today's reading is unique in that it can basically be divided up into two parts.  First, there's the "standard" setup we've been seeing throughout the second chapter of Book II of the Wake, that is, primary text in the middle, with Shem's commentary in the left margin, Shaun's commentary in the right margin, and Isabel's commentary in the footnotes.  Second, there's an extended footnote from Isabel on page 279, which is significant in that it takes up nearly three-quarters of that page.

The passage begins with a short passage bearing a heading from Shaun which reads, "INCIPIT INTERMISSIO," which McHugh translates as Latin for "intermission begins."  The narrator warns us to beware the heart of a young girl before momentarily meditating upon the nature of letters.  Shem notes a number of different types of correspondence written by men, from an uncle's letter to his niece to Caesar's address to Brutus.  "All the world's in want and is writing letters," the narrator states.  I particularly like this bit, which lists the variety of types of letters and letter writers while highlighting the human tendency to want to raise up individuals before tearing them down:

When men want to write a letters.  Ten men, ton men, pen men, pun men, wont to rise a ladder.  And den men, dun men, fen men, fun men, hen men, hun men wend to raze a leader.

This short early-intermission paragraph ends with Isabel -- that young girl with the heart to beware -- looking to see whether any mail has arrived.  The next paragraph begins with a setting of the scene:  We have traveled far and entered the post-summer season. It's strangely cold for this time of year, but, the narrator notes, "Erigureen is ever," both recognizing that Ireland's green season is over and that evergreens last forever.  With the children taking a break from their studies, their thoughts turn elsewhere.  The boys seem to be enjoying their recess time by playing sports:  "Since alls war that end war let sports be leisure and bring and buy fair.  Ah ah athclete, blest your bally bathfeet!"

Isabel, however, is engaged otherwise.  "A halt for hearsake," the narrator says, indicating that we're taking a further intermission both for Isabel's sake and to hear what she has to say.  This leads to the long footnote, which is a letter from Isabel to her teacher.  She begins gloomily, saying that "I was fairly killing times of putting an end to myself and my malody."  She remembers her teacher's lessons, though, and turns her thoughts toward romance.  She speaks of a time when her and her teacher with "conjugate together" during "amare hour," hinting at a perhaps scandalous relationship.  Nevertheless, she notes that she's engaged to a more age-appropriate young man (the "Jr" to her teacher's "Sr") and goes on to discuss her future plans.  She's going to get her degree and go into acting ("flaunt on the flimsyfilmsies") and make full use of the worldly knowledge she gained from her "old nourse Asa," perhaps during her grammar lesson.  She emphasizes that she "learned all the runes of the gamest game ever" and "knows the ruelles of the rut and she don't fear andy mandy."  Her letter ends with her stating her conviction that her father will provide a good dowry.

With the letter digression complete, the narrator returns us to the scene of dreamy Ireland.  We'll pick up with that scene tomorrow.

"A liss in hunterland."

(276.11-278.6)  The reading for today is an interesting one that recalls moments from the book (like Finnegan's actual wake) and emphasizes its important themes.  With the archetypal father and mother figures up in their bedroom, night has arrived.  The dogs are singing in the darkness, and the shepherds are turning in for the evening.  It's going to be a long night:  "long 'tis till gets bright that all cocks waken and birds Diana with dawnsong hail."  

As the bats flap about outside, "Tam Fanagan's" wake is still going strong.  The drinks are flowing like rivers, calling to mind the eternal river (and ALP), which renews continually.  We will dream our dreams and drink our drinks until the father returns.  And we're not the only ones awaiting his return, for others throughout both the country and the city "look for its being ever yet."

But lest we focus too much on rebirth and renewal, the narrator states that "it's time that all paid tribute to this massive mortiality, the pink of punk perfection as photography in mud."  We need to learn that in order to escape death, we must embrace it:  "Some may seek to dodge the gobbet for its quantity of quality but who wants to cheat the choker's got to learn to chew the cud."  In a sense, this maxim ties together the lessons we've covered thus far in this chapter.

"Traduced into jinglish janglage"

(274.12-276.10) Picking up in mid-paragraph where we left off yesterday, we focus on a home at 32 West 11th Street, which looks on to a "doloriferous" datetree.  The tree (similar to trees we've encountered before) overlooks the scene wondering what everyone is "scouting around and shooting about."  Meanwhile, Dagobert (the seventh century king of Franks, as noted by McHugh) is engaging in his studies and learning how to persevere despite his threadbare pants.  

The next paragraph, to paraphrase Shem's marginalia, brings us from discord through peace to dynasty.  The focus turns back toward "that royal pair in their palace," or ALP (Airyanna) and HCE (Blowyhart) in their bedroom above the pub ("The Goat and Compasses").  They discuss their past:  "crime and fable with shame, home and profit," and why he lied to her and why she tried to kill him.  Like all of us, HCE has lived through woe.  And ALP is the one who remains steadfast through all that woe, tearing up "lettereens she never apposed a pen upon" and singing "of love and the monster man."

Today's passage was often a bit obscure to me (surprise, surprise), so this is just the basic outline I was able to cobble together, without any attempt at analysis.  We'll see how tomorrow's reading shakes out . . .

"Impoverment of the booble by the bauble for the bubble."

(272.9-274.12)  Well, the heavy lifting I did Friday trying to make any sense out of the previous passage at the very least helped prepare me better for today's reading.  While Friday's excerpt, as I read it, looked backward from ancient history to the beginning of existence, today's reading seems to go in the opposite direction, from more recent history toward the future.  In addition, rather than focus purely on history, today's passage also incorporates elements of politics and sociology (this is Shem's "PANOPTICAL PURVIEW OF POLITICAL PROGRESS AND THE FUTURE PRESENTATION OF THE PAST"), perhaps indicating that we've moved on to a different subject of the children's studies.

The lecturer asks the reader to "[p]lease stop if you're a B.C. minding missy, please do."  But the reader is encouraged to go forward if interested in more recent history:  "But should you prefer A.D. stepplease."  While the reader was busy putting "your twofootlarge timepates in that dead wash of Lough Murph" (perhaps resting in a watery grave like the dead HCE), a political shift has occurred:  "the same Messherrn the grinning statesmen, Brock and Leon, have shunted the grumbling coundedouts, Starlin and Ser Artur Ghinis."  (As McHugh notes, Joyce's father was a political secretary during the 1880 general election in which Brooks and Lyons, the Liberal candidates, ousted Stirling and Sir Arthur Guinness from power.)  This has returned us to the natural order of war ("Bull igien bear and then bearagain bulligan."), with the war being more of the political, rather than physical, variety.  Indeed, it's a type of class war:  "Opprimor's [the oppressed] down, up up Opima [the rich]!  Rents and rates and tithes and taxes, wages, saves and spends."  In a distortion of Abraham Lincoln's "government of the people, by the people, for the people," we get "Impovernment of the booble by the bauble for the bubble."

But even though the leader has fallen, "there's one more ope for downfall ned."  As when HCE fell and left ALP to distribute her trinkets, we see "Hanah Levy" winning over the people by distributing her "spoileds" to everyone:  "For hugh and guy and goy and jew.  To dimpled and pimpled and simpled and wimpled."  As ALP does this work, we enter into another version of the Wellington Museum, where we see memorabilia associated with "the muckwits of willesly" (the Marquis of Wellesley, who McHugh notes was Wellington's brother) and "the umproar napollyon" (the emperor Napoleon), including the famous horse and hat we encountered in the first chapter of the Wake.

The passage ends with a consideration of the "allriddle," which the lecturer tells us is "allruddy with us, ahead of schedule."  A figure referred to as Daft Dathy of the Five Positions stands on the Matterhorn challenging Dunderhead (McHugh notes that Dathi was the last pagan king of Ireland and died when lightning struck him in the Alps), and Hannibal mac Hamiltan the Hegerite is "ministerbuilding up . . . in Saint Barmabrac's," seemingly constructing a new Tower of Babel.

This is the abrupt, mid-paragraph conclusion of today's reading.  Tomorrow, we finish this paragraph and read another.

"You may fail to see the lie of that layout"

(270.29-272.8)  Ok, I admit it:  I found today's reading borderline-incomprehensible.  The good news is that it doesn't appear that I'm alone on this one.  Campbell and Robinson call the next few pages "very difficult" and offer a fairly detailed explanation of what's going on in today's short passage based upon the corresponding text of Shem's marginalia before noting, "We do not promise that we have correctly related the passages in the body of the text to the principles named in the margin; readers will have to do this job themselves!"

Here's my shot in the dark at what's going on in today's text.  We're seeing correspondences between the subject matter of each day's reading and a particular area of study.  For instance, yesterday's text dealt with the subject of grammar, and Tuesday's dealt with geography.  Today's passage is concerned with history as constructed or chronicled by the four wise men (here the heads of four houses of Ireland:  O'Brien, O'Connor, Mac Loughlin, and Mac Namara).  Their knowledge is pooled together and our focus is turned on Julius Caesar ("Sire Jeallyous Seizer") and the Second Triumvirate ("the tryonforit of Oxtheivious, Lapidous and Malthouse Anthemy").  In terms of Wake archetypes, Caesar is the HCE figure (the singular leading figure) and the Second Triumvirate is the three soldiers (who are connected, however tenuously, to the downfall of the singular leading figure and are left to deal with the fallout surrounding his death).

Much like history does, the rest of the paragraph looks backward from there.  And much like the Wake does, the rest of the paragraph moves toward the elemental.  Whereas the previous pages moved "forward" from war to seduction, this paragraph moves "backward" from seduction to war to Eden.  The triumphs of history are thus reduced to destiny, as we see when HCE's initials are reversed:  "Eat early earthapples.  Coax Cobra to chatters.  Hail, Heva, we hear!"  Original sin required the eating of the apple, which required the serpent's temptation, which required the existence of Eve.

The end of the passage reduces history even further.  Existence is reduced to defining physical features of the two sexes -- "But it's tails for toughs and titties for totties" -- and then further reduced to first origins -- "and come buckets come bats till deeleet."  Here, the final "deeleet" is "daylight" (as noted by McHugh), referring to the first dawning of the sun.  It's also "delete," or the complete absence of anything -- in other words, the void that preceded existence.  History, which has been demonstrated throughout the Wake to be cyclical, can thus be viewed as the study of destiny (humanity as passive vessels of fate), which is the polar principle opposite of courage (humanity as active forces shaping the world) according to Shem's marginalia.

Now . . . does that make any sense?  I don't know.

"To me or not to me. Satis thy quest on."

(268.7-270.28)  After working through another challenging passage today, I'm more convinced that the commentators are on to something when they say that this chapter is among the most challenging -- if not the most challenging -- of the Wake.  But I'm also more convinced that the tougher the going, the more rewarding the book is.

Today's paragraph-long reading begins with a quick nod toward the twins Shem and Shuan, who will soon be fighting over arithmetic.  Our focus is promptly turned back to Isabel, who is studying grammar.  The writing is consequently loaded with grammatical and compositional references, from cases ("Take the dative with his oblative . . . ") to poetics ("Quantity counts though accents falter.").  Beyond this "surface" level is the study of another grammar:  "gramma's grammar," the grammar of human -- or, more specifically, male-female -- interaction.

The grandmother thus presents to Isabel a lecture on the "inbourne" manner in which men court women, and vice versa.  Shaun summarizes this as "EARLY NOTIONS OF ACQUIRED RIGHTS AND THE INFLUENCE OF COLLECTIVE TRADITION UPON THE INDIVIDUAL."  In brief, the grandmother explains that romantic conquest generally comes easier to men, the stereotypical aggressors who, as the seekers, tend to have the pick of mates.  Women, on the other hand, have to take what they can get.

This comes off as unenlightened until one realizes that the grandmother is teaching Isabel to use her abilities to make this patriarchal game work in her favor.  After all, she says, "It's a wild's kitten, my dear, who can tell a wilkling from a warthog."  Rather than be a "wallfloored" woman (who Isabel notes stands passively lamenting, "Is love worse living?") like those in the Respectable Irish Distressed Ladies and the Merry Mustard Frothblowers of Humphreystown Associations, the grandmother encourages Isabel to remember that "[t]he game goes on."

"Atac first, queckqueck quicks after," she says (on one level, McHugh notes that this is the old adage to "attack first, ask questions after").  Men are easily tempted.  Our old friend "oreilles" -- Persse O'Reilly -- was easily teased toward his own doom, and Eve was the catalyst that triggered Adam's downfall and caused us to lose "Wonderlawn" forever.  Isabel should be like Alice, who shattered the Lookinglass, and work to cunningly subvert the gender roles by becoming the aggressor and turning the world upside down.  By using her knowledge in this way, she will be able to heed her grandmother's advice to "never stray who'll nimm you nice and nehm the day."

"One must sell it to some one, the sacred name of love."

(266.20-268.6)  Today's reading consists of two parts.  Here, Shaun's glosses in the right margin provide some help in unpacking each section's meaning.  The first, as noted by Shaun, covers "PREAUSTERIC MAN AND HIS PURSUIT OF PANHYSTERIC WOMAN."  This is early man in search of early woman.  On the wall of the children's study, we see a picture of two fighters:  "wranglers for wringwrowdy wready," or rowdy fighters ready to do battle in the ring.  This is compared to both the showdown between Mutt and Jute (here "meet" and "chaff") and the battle between Aetius and Atilla.  Their battle serves as a prelude for the quest for the woman, the "flickerflapper" who is the subject of the "Storiella as she is syung."

With the preliminaries of war taken care of, we move on to the seduction, or as Shaun explains it, "URGES AND WIDERURGES IN A PRIMITIVE SEPT."  The woman is now addressed as light ("Belisha beacon, beckon bright!") and color ("That greene ray of earong it waves us to yonder as the red, blue and yellow flogs time on the domisole, with a blewy blow and a windigo.").  After this "sybilette" is identified, a charmer (presumably, the victor of the previous paragraph's battle) engages her in an embrace that enflames sexual desire, with "all thinking of it, the It with an itch in it, the All every inich of it, the pleasure each will preen her for, the business each was bred to breed by."  

Here, it appears that the universal, all-encompassing sexual desire and appetite serves as the counterpart, or, perhaps, compliment, to the war urge.  It also is the means by which the human race will flourish.  It is fitting, then, that today's reading ends with a footnote from Isabel, which calls all this "The law of the jungerl" -- the law of the jungle, the law of the young girl, and the law of Jung.

"Distorted mirage, aloofiest of the plain"

(264.15-266.19)  In preparation for HCE's inevitable return, today's passage presents a bird's eye view of Chapelizod and environs and zooms its focus onto HCE's home there.  As part of our "sojeournemus" (a fake Latin word for "let us journey") through the area, the description of the scenes are loaded with references to actual places within Chapelizod.  For instance, McHugh notes that the phrase "with our king's house of stone, belgroved of mulbrey" references King's House, Stone House, Belgrov, Mulberry Hill, and Mulberry House.  These ubiquitous references add color to the passage while grounding it in (a version of) reality.

One thing I liked about today's reading was the way this scenic view of Chapelizod incorporated verbal scenes we've encountered throughout the Wake.  Two particular passages jumped out at me as references to chapter endings.  When discussing the female river figures ALP and Isabel, we read:  "but Izolde, her chaplet gardens, an litlee pads af liefest pose, arride the winnerful wonders off, the winnerful wonnerful wanders off."  This calls to mind the closing of the eighth chapter:  "Beside the rivering waters of, hitherandthithering waters of."  And the description of the sleeping HCE includes:  "D'Oblong's by his by.  Which we all pass.  Tons.  In our snoo.  Znore.  While we hickerwards the thicker.  Schein.  Schore."  This echoes the conclusion of the third chapter:  "Humph is in his doge.  Words weigh no no more to him than raindrips to Rethfernhim.  Which we all like.  Rain.  When we sleep.  Drops.  But wait until our sleeping.  Drain.  Sdops."

The passage ends, as I've noted, inside the Earwicker home.  HCE, as I just mentioned, is snoring in his sleep (apparently somewhere downstairs in the pub).  We leave the barroom, walk past the breakfast table ("Morningtop's necessity") and toilet ("Harington's invention") upstairs, and encounter the children at their studies:  "the clarience of the childlight in the studiorium upsturts."  Some days these readings are nicely self-contained, and this is a particularly good example of one of those.

"But is was all so long ago."

(262.3-264.14)  And so, I've returned.  Good to see you again.  And happy birthday, James Joyce -- in honor of the occasion, I'm diving back in to your work.

It's weird getting back into the Wake after almost three months of being away, but maybe it's appropriate to have my project of reading the Wake be reborn in this new(ish) year, picking right off where I left off as if it's just a matter of course.

And where do I begin?  At a beginning.  Our hero crosses a bridge, knocks at the castle door (echoing and inverting the story of the Prankquean), and gains entrance with the password, "pearse" (recalling Persse O'Reilly).  But as soon as our hero gains entrance to the castle, he falls victim to the thunder:

Hoo cavedin earthwight
At furscht kracht of thunder.

With the hero fallen, it's time to "wake em!"  And so, the mourners are called in to the wake with the words, "Sow byg eat," both lamenting "so be it" and imploring the wakers to eat.  "Burials be ballyhouraised!" the narrator proclaims.  "So let Bacchus e'en call!  Inn inn!  Inn inn!"

The world is now in order.  "The babbers ply the pen." (The babies/children are doing their schoolwork.)  "The bibbers drang the den."  (The imbibers/drinkers are draining their glasses in the den of the pub.)  And "[t]he papplicom, the pubblicam he's turning tin for ten."  (The pubkeeper's making a tidy profit.)  The four wise old men are here:  Ignotus Loquor, Egyptus, Major A. Shaw, and Whiteman.

At this point, the narrator of the children's textbook takes a step back and notes that this world is but one iteration of the eternal cycle:  "But is was all so long ago."  Expanding on this, the narrator adds, "Pastimes are past times.  Now let bygones be bei Gunne's."  We can see slight variations on the themes as they repeat throughout history, but ultimately they amount to the same thing.  And not only are things the same forward and backward, but the same scenarios reappear both above and below (i.e., in heaven and hell):

The tasks above are ask the flasks below, saith the emerald canticle of Hermes and all's loth and pleasestir, are we told, on excellent inkbottle authority, solarsystemised, seriolcosmically, in a more and more almightily expanding universe under one, there is rhymeless reason to believe, orignal sun.

This meditation ends with a comical swipe at the Father who is responsible for everything we are and know:  "O felicitous culpability, sweet bad cess to you for an archetypt!"

Back at the wake, the mourners honor the father (or HCE, "Honour commercio's energy") and offer assistance to the mother (or ALP, "aid the linkless proud").  They note it's "roaring month with its two lunar eclipses and its three saturnine settings" (once again recalling the two young women -- for whom the lunar reference is appropriate, given the fact that HCE sees them with their pants down, meaning that they're mooning him -- and the three soliders), and they look forward to HCE's return:  "We seek the Blessed One, the Harbourer-cum-Enheritance."  He's "[e]ver a-going, ever a-coming," and he's both rotting history and sprouting future:  "Fossilisation, all branches."  Today's passage ends with the all-seeing and ever-present stone and the tree -- Petra and Ulma -- swearing, "[b]y the mortals' frost!" and "[o]n my veiny life!"