(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.
Sunday, February 8, 2015
Friday, February 6, 2015
"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.
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.
Thursday, February 5, 2015
"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."
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."
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
"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.
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.
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
"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.
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.
Monday, February 2, 2015
"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:
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):
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!"
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 earthwightWith 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!"
At furscht kracht of thunder.
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!"
Saturday, January 31, 2015
Up, Date!
Yep, I'm still kicking. For a variety of reasons, I've obviously fallen off the Wake wagon and gotten way behind on this project. The good news: I'm not giving up. I'll begin reading and posting with renewed spirit on Joyce's birthday, which is coming up on Monday.
Of course, I won't meet my goal of finishing the Wake in a year. It's looking like I'll now be wrapping up sometime in August, which maybe means I should change the name of the blog to "Sixteen Months in the Wake." But I won't.
So yeah, see you again in a few days.
Of course, I won't meet my goal of finishing the Wake in a year. It's looking like I'll now be wrapping up sometime in August, which maybe means I should change the name of the blog to "Sixteen Months in the Wake." But I won't.
So yeah, see you again in a few days.
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