{"title":"Philatelic Ulysses","authors":"J. Ulin","doi":"10.2307/j.ctv941w0x.6","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctv941w0x.6","url":null,"abstract":"February 1922 was to be a momentous month for Ireland’s philatelic and literary history.1 On February 1, the day before the publication of James Joyce’s Ulysses, a press notice appeared from J. J. Walsh, the new Postmaster General of the Irish Free State and former 1916 fighter, calling for designs “of a symbolic character” for the Free State’s first postage stamps.2 On the 11th, a Dublin correspondent reported that armed guards were watching over the stamps that would serve in the interim, British stamps featuring King George V overprinted with the inscription Rialtas Sealadac na hÉireann 1922 (Provisional Government of Ireland 1922) (Cooke 38). That same day, James Joyce wrote to Sylvia Beach about his concerns that Ireland’s postal transition would impact mailing copies and notices of Ulysses: “I think all Irish notices ought to be sent out as with a new Irish postmaster general and a vigilance committee in clerical hands you never know from one day to the next what may occur.”3 On the 17th, following their escort by armed guards to the GPO, the first overprinted Free State stamps “denoting drastic political changes” and “of great interest to philatelists” were issued to the public and to collectors worldwide (see Figure 1).4 As a columnist for the Irish Times would later ask rhetorically,","PeriodicalId":330014,"journal":{"name":"Joyce Studies Annual","volume":"33 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2019-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"117077267","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Seeing James Joyce's Ulysses into the Digital Age: Forty Years of Steering an Edition Through Turbulences of Scholarship and Reception","authors":"H. Gabler","doi":"10.2307/j.ctv941w0x.4","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctv941w0x.4","url":null,"abstract":"A post-doctoral fellowship from the Harkness Foundation in New York enabled me from the autumn of 1968 to early spring 1970 to learn the ropes of textual criticism and bibliography in Charlottesville, Virginia, the Anglo-American way. On its own terms, the discipline’s name was pleonastic in those days: Textual criticism was bibliography; bibliography was textual criticism. Textual criticism as a foundational discipline in the humanities had over centuries developed procedures to explore the transmissions of texts through and across documents. On the age-old assumption that transmission must inevitably disintegrate texts and produce error, different document texts were compared: they were collated. They would vary, sometimes less, sometimes more, in their readings. By patterns of error, the less disintegrative—less “corrupt”—document text was singled out to provide the basis for a given edition. In the twentieth century, bibliography brought further refinement to the identification of errors in transmission. Bibliography used to be understood as a set of techniques to explore the history of books as artifacts. It was now harnessed to analyze the typesetting and printing of text contents of books. Still predicated on the concept of error, bibliographical analysis encouraged inferences about what types of errors the printinghouse workmen were prone to make and therefore, how reliably or unreliably they could be assumed to have transmitted specific readings in a specific document text. Where changes between one document text and","PeriodicalId":330014,"journal":{"name":"Joyce Studies Annual","volume":"53 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2019-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"114246539","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Building Metonymic Meaning with Joyce, Deleuze, and Guattari","authors":"G. Renggli","doi":"10.2307/j.ctv941w0x.9","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctv941w0x.9","url":null,"abstract":"HCE serves at least a double function with regard to cities and citybuilding in Finnegans Wake. Geert Lernout aptly describes him as “the builder of cities who is interred in the landscape.”1 As Tim Finnegan, HCE is a builder; he carries a hod in order to rise in the world. But as the giant Finn MacCool, he doesn’t so much rise as drop: Stretched out along the river Liffey in his sleep, he forms part of the landscape. What does this double role entail? What are we to make of Joyce’s folding together of disparate meanings in a manner that creates this fusion of the builder and the ground, of the body and its surroundings, of the phenomenon and its situation? What should we do with meaning that is already in the process of becoming different meaning, that is changing before our very eyes? When HCE appears as “Howth Castle and Environs” (FW 3.3), this tells us that he is an environment, specifically the geography of Dublin. He embodies this geography in his manifestation as the “form outlined aslumbered, even in our own nighttime by the sedge of the troutling stream [ . . . ]. Hic cubat edilis” (FW 7.20–3). That this slumbering form relates to Dublin is again indicated when we read that “the humptyhillhead of humself prumptly sends an unquiring one well to the west in quest of his tumptytumtoes: and their upturnpikepointandplace is at the knock out in the park” (FW 3.20–2). Roland McHugh comments: “If Howth is the head of a sleeping giant, his feet stick up in Phoenix Park.”2 Moreover, the city HCE describes himself as building in chapter III.3 of the Wake may likewise be Dublin. This would make it a city built on and","PeriodicalId":330014,"journal":{"name":"Joyce Studies Annual","volume":"1 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2019-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"124325959","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"The Horses of \"Araby\"","authors":"R. Gerber","doi":"10.2307/j.ctv941w0x.15","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctv941w0x.15","url":null,"abstract":"While the image of a “ponytail” comes readily to mind—and frescoes of Greek women displaying that hairstyle date back as early as 1600 b.c.— the word did not appear until 1916. However, the movement of Mangan’s sister’s dress and body is suggestive of the sway of a horse, and the swing of her hair is much like that of a horse’s tail; those descriptions are not accidental. In retrospect, perhaps even the smoothing and combing of the horse hints at an unspoken desire by the boy in the story to do likewise with Mangan’s sister’s dark hair. In any event, the fact that “mangan” is a Gaelic word meaning “abundant hair” lends further emphasis to a careful construction of the paragraph’s strong associative allusions. Joyce’s unique ability here to distill beauty from the decay of Dublin’s ashpits, and find music in the quotidian work of the stables, sensitizes him to other forms","PeriodicalId":330014,"journal":{"name":"Joyce Studies Annual","volume":"43 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2019-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"130597930","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Leopold Bloom on Death","authors":"J. Simons","doi":"10.2307/j.ctv941w0x.7","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctv941w0x.7","url":null,"abstract":"In Joyce’s Ulysses, Leopold Bloom’s thought, rising in moments of lyric resonance, forms a sort of “oceansong” (U 11.378) that unites the opening three episodes, devoted to Stephen, to the closing episode, “Penelope,” devoted to Molly.1 Over this expanse, Bloom thinks about many things, and often about death. Joyce does not give to Bloom, as he does to Stephen, such polished lyric resonance as “Wavewhite wedded words shimmering on the dim tide” (U 1.246–7), nor would Bloom think of anyone, as Stephen does of Mulligan, in observing “He fears the lancet of my art as I fear that of his” (U 1.152). But at certain moments Joyce subtly enhances Bloom’s thought, so as to give it a homespun eloquence of its own, one able to lampoon the high-flown oratory in “Aeolus” as “gassing about the what was it the pensive bosom of the silver effulgence. Flapdoodle to feed fools on” (U 8.381–2). When not mocked by others or undone by the intuition of imminent cuckoldry, Bloom is at home with linguistic play, as evinced by his lively sense of the English alphabet. In “Calypso,” we see this when he muses, “Fresh air helps memory. Or a lilt. Ahbeesee defeegee kelomen opeecue rustyouvee doubleyou” (U 4.136–8); in “Hades,” when he recalls the song lyrics, “Has anybody here seen Kelly? Kay ee double ell wy” (U 6.373–4); and in “Aeolus,” when he reflects, “It is amusing to view the unpar one ar alleled embarra two ars is it? double ess ment of a harassed pedlar while gauging au the symmetry with a y of a peeled pear under a cemetery wall” (U 7.166–9). In these reflections on language, often breezy and at times moving, we hear Bloom’s thought rise in moments of lyric expression. The theme to inspire most often this lyric resonance is human mortality: Bloom’s reflections on death move him to particular eloquence. While Stephen is haunted by a morbid preoccupation with death, particularly his mother’s, and while Molly recalls the pathos of her infant son Rudy’s","PeriodicalId":330014,"journal":{"name":"Joyce Studies Annual","volume":"22 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2019-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"130840680","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Elegiac Ulysses","authors":"T. Martin","doi":"10.2307/j.ctt20krxc7.9","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctt20krxc7.9","url":null,"abstract":"What shall we call Ulysses? In a 1974 essay on “The Genre of Ulysses,” A. Walton Litz offered a short catalog of terms that scholars have applied to Joyce’s great experiment in fiction. “At one time or another,” Litz wrote, “Ulysses has been presented as a stark naturalistic drama, a symbolist poem, a comic epic in prose, even a conventional novel of character and situation.”1 Joyce himself, as he prepared his readers for an encounter, in the early 1920s, with a work with few obvious precedents, did somewhat better. He told his friend Carlo Linati that the book was an “epic of two races (Israel-Ireland),” a “cycle of the human body,” and “a kind of encyclopaedia.” It was also, he said, a “little story of a day.”2 In his study “Ulysses” and Us: The Art of Everyday Living, Declan Kiberd links Joyce’s novel to the tradition of what he calls “wisdom literature.”3 Like the Bible, the works of Homer, and the Aeneid, Ulysses serves, in Kiberd’s reading, more than the usual purposes of epic storytelling. It also functions as a repository of advice, chapter by chapter, on such quotidian matters as waking, learning, thinking, and walking. Kiberd reminds us that Leopold Bloom, according to the “Ithaca” episode, has apparently made a similar use of canonical works of literature. Describing his own tastes in reading and evoking the venerable poetic distinction between the sweet and the useful, Bloom “reflected on the pleasures derived from literature of instruction rather than of amusement as he himself had applied to the works of William Shakespeare more than once for the solution of difficult problems in imaginary or real life” (U 17.384–87). In its formal complexity, Ulysses represents an extreme but perhaps not an exception in modern prose fiction. In an essay of 1927 called “The Narrow Bridge of Art,” Virginia Woolf claimed that the contemporary novel had become a kind of “cannibal,” absorbing the aims and methods of other forms and traditions. “We shall be forced,” she wrote, “to invent new names for the","PeriodicalId":330014,"journal":{"name":"Joyce Studies Annual","volume":"42 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2017-03-15","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"127256783","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
M. Levitt, P. Sicker, Moshe Gold, Jeremy Colangelo, K. Devlin, Marion Quirici, Rodney X. Sharkey, T. Martin, Leonid Osseny, Michael Opest, Patrick Milian, Hailey Haffey, Michael F. Davis
{"title":"My Life in Joyce Studies, Such as It Is","authors":"M. Levitt, P. Sicker, Moshe Gold, Jeremy Colangelo, K. Devlin, Marion Quirici, Rodney X. Sharkey, T. Martin, Leonid Osseny, Michael Opest, Patrick Milian, Hailey Haffey, Michael F. Davis","doi":"10.2307/j.ctt20krxc7.4","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctt20krxc7.4","url":null,"abstract":"Coming from someone who takes pride in writing clearly, that simple, seemingly comic add-on, “Such as It Is,” seems strangely ambiguous: Does it refer to “My [Academic] Life” or to the state of “Joyce Studies”? And why the ambiguity? I have never thought of myself as a Joycean. My professional interest in Joyce has almost from the start been his place among the Modernist Masters—the great age of the novel, as I (continue to) understand it—and in his role as a lodestar for the generations of novelists who have followed him. But from the very start, nearly half a century ago, Joyceans have insisted that I was indeed one of them. I feel honored by the label and also a bit limited. I first read Ulysses in an undergraduate course at Dickinson College in 1957 . . . if “read” is quite the right word for it, even if I did approach every word on every page with all the concentration and goodwill then at my command. We were assigned fifteen novels in a fifteen-week course, and although I can’t recall the entire syllabus, I know that midway through the course Ulysses was followed first by Swann’s Way, then by The Magic Mountain and The Trial, and finally by The Sound and the Fury, in a frustrating, fascinating, intimidating five-week excursion into the modern novel. (I didn’t know the term Modernism at the time. But in a sign of how mysterious—or misleading—literary definitions can be, we also read Arnold Bennett’s contemporaneous novel Riceyman Steps.) It was obviously impossible for me to read Ulysses—indeed, any one of these five novels—in the single week assigned to it (I was taking five other courses that semester) so that I determined to continue reading Ulysses while starting the next assignment and then on to the ones after that and then, finally, at last, to the fifth, so that by the final week, quite literally, I was","PeriodicalId":330014,"journal":{"name":"Joyce Studies Annual","volume":"99 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2017-03-15","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"121561050","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Real Time in Ulysses","authors":"Leonid Osseny","doi":"10.2307/j.ctt20krxc7.11","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctt20krxc7.11","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":330014,"journal":{"name":"Joyce Studies Annual","volume":"48 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2017-03-15","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"130415189","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Degeneration, Decadence, and Joyce’s Modernist Disability Aesthetics","authors":"Marion Quirici","doi":"10.2307/j.ctt20krxc7.7","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctt20krxc7.7","url":null,"abstract":"Shortly after the publication of James Joyce’s Anna Livia Plurabelle as a standalone volume in 1928, the Observer issued an unfavorable review by Gerald Gould. “It looks as if he had a spelling-bee in his bonnet, and had got confused by the buzz,” he complained.1 To Padraic Colum, whose preface to Anna Livia had praised Joyce as “an innovator of literary form,”2 Gould countered, “I doubt whether it is really an invention to burble, since all babies do it” (7). His summary response to this chapter on rivers and flowing waters was blunt: “The only water it all suggests to me,” he wrote, “is water on the brain” (7). Gould’s technique— discrediting Joyce by invoking disability—is dashed off with a lightness of touch that reveals the use of negative disability metaphors as a secondnature reflex during this stage of eugenics and social Darwinism. Indeed, by 1928, disability imagery was already a well-worn trope in Joyce’s reception. This essay explores the invocations of disability in early responses to Joyce’s novels, from newspaper reviews to essays by well-known modernist contemporaries. My study demonstrates the lasting impact of nineteenthcentury theories of degeneration—the idea that modern art was contributing to the disabling, weakening, and moral deterioration of the human race—on the reception of modernist literature in the interwar period. Socalled “degenerate art” was targeted by the rising Nazi party,3 but others outside Germany shared the attitude that modernism was an expression of sickness: Joyce’s critics in England, Ireland, and the United States used imagery of degeneracy and disease to describe what they saw as the immorality, incomprehensibility, and lowness of his writing. They saw his work, and his status as an icon of innovation, as indicative of a spreading moral, mental, and artistic decline. Joyce, responding creatively to these","PeriodicalId":330014,"journal":{"name":"Joyce Studies Annual","volume":"1 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2017-03-15","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"116340855","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"A Little Cloud of Queer Suspicion","authors":"Michael F. Davis","doi":"10.2307/j.ctt20krxc7.15","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctt20krxc7.15","url":null,"abstract":"A number of the stories in Dubliners have what we might call “oblique” titles that, instead of pointing directly to an apparent principal character or an ostensible major theme, point away to seemingly secondary characters, subordinate themes, or minor—even incidental—narrative concerns.1 Consider, for example, the first and last stories. While “The Sisters” is primarily concerned with the young boy–protagonist’s processing of the death of a priest with whom he had a fairly intimate relationship, the title identifies the secondary figures of the priest’s two sisters, directing our attention to their sisterly part in upholding illusions concerning the dead priest/brother and to their eventual disillusionment. While the last story, “The Dead,” is primarily concerned both with the adult Gabriel Conroy’s attempts to uphold illusions of himself and with his eventual disillusionment, the title singles out what seems to be a more widespread theme of death. Although both stories have oblique titles, these titles might be said to activate similar but reverse lines of signification. It has been suggested that while “The Sisters” might have made a more “appropriate” title for “The Dead,” “The Dead” might have been a more appropriate title for “The Sisters.” While the first story’s title might point across the volume to the last story, the last title points across the volume to the first. Thus, Joyce’s use of titles functions like the rhetorical stitch of a double chiasmus, by which, as he suggests himself in Finnegans Wake, Dubliners is “doublends jined,” or “double ends [Dublin’s] joined.”2 In addition to the beginning and ending stories of Dubliners, a number of stories near the middle also have oblique titles, including “Counterparts” and “Clay,” both of which identify specialized objects in the text that are not actually named and elevate these objects into leading narrative conceits. The title “Counterparts” activates a highly specialized term to","PeriodicalId":330014,"journal":{"name":"Joyce Studies Annual","volume":"57 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2017-03-15","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"128007480","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}