Skip to main content

Analecta 17 Ithaca BLOOMSDAY AFTERTHOUGHTS


This year’s online Bloomsday seminar via Facebook was a global conversation in the privacy of our own screens. Each of the eighteen short films, released online by Bloomsday in Melbourne at the hour set for each episode, were treated as the ‘papers’ to prompt online discussion. Episode 8 included contributions by Michael Cooney, Frances Devlin Glass, Heather McKean, Margaret Newman, Claire Pedersen, and Beverley Price, whose initials appear where their words are represented in these analecta.

Best catechism ever! (MC) Which raises the whole question of can there ever be such a thing as a ‘best catechism’. It’s unlikely that Joyce wrote the penultimate episode of Ulysses with the intention of winning First Prize in the Catechism of the Year Awards. Pravda offices throughout the world, in every organisation and every government, do not publish their Q&A manuals for their originality, their groundbreaking outlook, their provocative thesis. Their aim is to provide everyone with the pre-prepared answers that their people will need in order to have a firm grip on Pravda. Joyce’s procedure intends to satirise and even debunk all such manuals of institutional certitude. His target is not just the pedagogical methods of the Catholic Church in regard to dogma but any doctrinal finalities, be they of science, politics, aesthetics, philosophy, &c. The entire Ithaca catechism trials the nature of conditionality, contingency, uncertainty, all the straggly untidy bits that final explanations cannot quite explain. It does all of this with its tongue firmly in its cheek. But while doing so, the Ithaca catechism offers a view of existence, the universe, and the straggly bits that is itself marvellous to behold and worthy of closer attention.

We recall Stephen in the classroom that morning, working though the textbook and not overly thrilled with its dry certainties about history. Like Joyce, we notice how school textbooks go through editions. The answers to all the questions in 1950 are not the same as all the answers in 2020. Pluto, for example, is no longer a planet. The deepest ocean trench in 1904 is the still the deepest in 2020, but in 1904 it was thought to be near Java. Later editorial efforts to locate the trench near Guam are anachronistic in terms of the time setting of the novel, only showing how textbooks, like catechisms, are themselves products of time. Editors at their slavish task of getting it right and keeping up to the minute, fail to get the joke. The joke may even be on them.  Ulysses sails on above the waterline.  

The laboriously lengthy questions and answers about Leopold and Stephen remind us, through their own comic absurdity as serious questions and answers, how catechisms and the like give the answer without divulging what is of interest about the answer. Knowing the answer doesn’t explain why the answer is interesting or how humans arrived at the answer in the first place. Or why the answer might yet be contingent, a matter of “it all depends’ or ‘not necessarily in all cases’. Having the answer is only a prompt to asking, why is that the answer?

What imagination, to transpose complex Joyce into a quiz show. (HM) Including an ad for Plumtree’s Potted Meat. (CP) To film the episode as a quiz show is a step that Joyce has already taken by transposing fiction narrative form into a catechism. I imagine Joyce would have been even more merciless and edgy in his use of that format than the Bloomsday scriptwriters.  

‘Great detailed Kitsch!’ Oh! That was Kinch? Drop the capital K! (MN) Books are written on Joyce’s use of high and low art. His works of high art contain extreme numbers of references to works of low art. The author leaves it to the reader to judge the tastes of his characters, and most importantly the Blooms. It’s hard to say if Joyce is being democratic, or just describing things as he sees them. Whether Joyce is judging Bloom himself based on his artistic interests is difficult to decide: the author is out of the picture, presenting us with a story for our enjoyment.   

It has been many moons since I have read any of James Joyce. I remember reading Ulysses. At the time I didn’t appreciate his genius. (BP) To return to the books after some time is to see with fresh sight. An appreciation of Joyce comes not only through recognition of his sustained artistry but also through his questioning of social norms, as some would say, his irreverence. That irreverence extends to Joyce himself, whose literary legend is always at risk of itself becoming a norm. It is good not to be reverential of Joyce, to take leaves from his book and adopt his methods. This year’s film of Ithaca does what Joyce might have done with it, which is to turn it inside out. Writing Leopold and Stephen’s midnight cocoa as a spoof catechism is a crazy step, and in the spirit of that craziness, the actors have gone further, turning the backwards-and-forwards-questions into a stupid TV quiz show. Introducing women’s voices into an all-male bromance is something new also, in fact quite subversive of the critical convention of lost father and lost son united, typically adopted without question-and-answer by Joyceans.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Why did Dante write The Divine Comedy?

This is one of two short papers given by Philip Harvey at the first Spiritual Reading Group session for 2014 on Tuesday the 18 th of February in the Carmelite Library in Middle Park. He also gave a paper on that occasion, which can be found on the Library blog, entitled ‘A Rationale for Purgatory’ . Nadezhda Mandelstam recalls in one of her books how her husband, the Russian poet Osip Mandelstam, would say that when reading poetry we can spend a great deal of time discussing what it means, but the first and main question about a poem is not what does it mean, but why was it written. That is the place to start. Here are eleven reasons that I offer quietly to help us think about this poem: Why did Dante write The Divine Comedy? You may have other reasons and these are invited. We will spend most of our time today looking at meanings, but also at why. I wrote these out as they occurred to me, so there is no priority order. 1.      He wrote the poem because of Florence. Many o

The Walk (Seamus Heaney)

This poem was read aloud at Janet Campbell’s funeral in Hamilton in Victoria in December 2006. Janet was a great lover of poetry all her life, a great reader of poetry, and she read everything of Seamus Heaney. Indeed, when she worked in Melbourne or London bookshops Janet would grab hold of Faber pre-publication copies of Heaney if they came into the backroom, and disappear for days, copying lines onto postcards for her friends, transferring lines into her lifetime of diaries. Diaries that were also a lifeline. Janet read everything, but Heaney was one of the regulars. Seamus Heaney keeps a tight line. He is rarely though completely opaque and the way into this poem is the word ‘longshot’. We only find in the second of the two poems that we are being asked to look at two photographs. Or, at least, poems that are like photographs. Or, better still, strong memories that have taken on in the mind the nature of longshots. The two poems in one are reminders of close relationships.

The Poetry of Rowan Williams

Rowan Williams delivers the twelfth John Rylands Poetry Reading last year   This is a paper given by Philip Harvey in the Hughes Room at St Peter’s Church, Eastern Hill, Melbourne on Sunday the 6 th of December as one in an Advent series on religious poets. The original title of the paper was ‘The text that maps our losses and longings’. Everything Rowan Williams says and writes reveals a person with a highly developed sensitivity to language, its force, directness, instantaneousness, its subtlety, indirectness, longevity. A person though may speak three languages fluently and read at least nine languages with ease, as he does, and still not engage with language in the way we are looking at here. Because Rowan is unquestionably someone with a poetic gift. By that I don’t just mean he writes poetry, I mean he engages with the life of words, their meanings, ambiguities, colours, their playfulness, invention, sounds. We find this in those writings of his that deliberate