Still reading Ulysses

I would like to warn regular readers (no less than an impressive three on the last count) that all future posts may be on the subject of “reading Ulysses”. Because that is what I am going to be doing for the rest of my life. A few days back, I contemplated just throwing in the towel and quitting. But the krishnaswamys do not quit. Besides, I had finished reading as much 300 pages……..that is a good 38 per cent of the book. I feel unable to give up at this advanced stage.

But, it is slower going than I had anticipated because I spend time doing some supplementary reading the web. It does help to get more out of the experience. It also ensures that the experience is going to last a longish time. And this experience also brings me to my pet peeve regarding unreadable books and indeed any work of art that is largely incomprehensible.

I strongly believe that every creator must have complete artistic freedom to express his/her ideas. But, there has to be some justification for the form that the end product has taken. (It is another thing altogether though that it would appear that I go out of my way to pick books that have a reputation for being unreadable. And if I choose to visit art galleries exhibiting “modern art”, I am just asking for it). It does look like some writers are deliberately obtuse and that seems unacceptable.

Sticking specifically to Ulysses, judge Hon. John M. Woolsey in his verdict that lifted the ban on the book in the US (for pornography) says that the content and form of the book is a result of “Joyce’s sincerity and his honest effort to show exactly how the minds of his characters operate”. An admirable reason that would justify writing of any sort. But, here lies my crib. In many ways, it does not appear to be an unrelentingly honest account of the interior landscape of the protagonists’ minds. I highly doubt if the following words are anything more than just a collection of syllables.

“ Seabloom, greasebloom viewed last words. Softly. When my country take her place among.
Prrprr.
Must be the bur.
Fff. Oo. Rrpr.
Nations of the earth. No-one behind. She’s passed. Then and not till then. Tram. Kran, kran, kran. Good oppor. Coming. Krandlkrankran. I’m sure it’s the burgundy. Yes. One, two. Let my epitaph be. Karaaaaaaa. Written. I have.
Pprrpffrrppfff.
Done.”

Anyway, if it is claimed to be inner workings of the mind of an individual, I cannot dispute it. But, surely the voice of the omniscient narrator can conform to the rules of normal writing. Surely it does not have to be so clever ass and surely it can be distinguishable when said voice takes over. Of course, it might just turn out that there is no such narrator and I have got it all wrong. Who can be sure in such territory?

Joyce himself once said of Ulysses "I've put so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries arguing over what I meant...". This, in my opinion is both ridiculous and unacceptable. Any creative person must, through some means, be held more accountable for what they inflict on an unsuspecting public.