Ulysses

Return to The Odyssey

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In interesting news for lovers of The Odyssey, cinema seems to have caught the Homeric bug, with not one but two major films on the way.

In May, Ralph Fiennes and Juliet Binoche will star in The Return. Director Umberto Pasolini tells the story of the final books set in Ithaca, thereby eliminating the need for special effects, monsters and turning his actors into pigs. Given that the glorious stop-motion visual effects produced by Ray Harryhausen for the 1963 epic Jason and the Argonauts made that the definitive visual version for so many, it may be wise to tell the story on screen as a purely human struggle (there is no Athena in the cast list, so there won’t even be an appearance by the goddess).

Meanwhile, Christopher Nolan is also working on a film version of The Odyssey with a release date in 2026. Cast members are being announced as I write, and it will be interesting to see how the director of The Dark Knight, Dunkirk and Oppenheimer tackles the challenges of bringing this foundational epic story to life. 

The idea that there is no one way to experience or connect with The Odyssey is again in my mind as Toby, Jane  and I start to prepare for our fifth trip to the small island of Agistri. Even though this will be our fourth time tackling The Odyssey in this unique setting, I don’t have the feeling of returning to a familiar groove. Each morning on Agistri I walk out to a headland to watch the sunrise, and I have never had the same walk twice: every day there is something new or different that catches my notice. Similarly, our subject may be the same but, as no two groups are alike, the discussion will always be as individual as the colours of the sunrise or the number of alpine swifts that swoop to catch insects as the heat warms the cliffs. 

From ancient times, Homer has been praised for his vividness. As readers we can see, hear and feel every corner of his world. So we have not just the sweep of the narrative and the big themes of honour, hospitality and homecoming, but the texture and details of life – and it’s those details, impossible to absorb all at once, that for me make repeated readings so satisfying.

In the past, some participants have come to the study via the novel Ulysses, seeking a deeper understanding of the origins of James Joyce’s masterpiece. And this idea of The Odyssey as a deep well that has nourished and inspired writers since its beginning is central to our work with the text. I bring with me to the island a series of Odyssey poems written over time, by poets from Sappho to Terrance Hayes who, like other readers of The Odyssey, have found many ways to dip into the source and find something that they can make their own. Sharing these poems with the group opens up the text, bringing it into focus in our daily lives.   

Our study space on Agistri is open to the calm waters of the Saronic Gulf and part of the rhythm of the day is watching the boats arrive and leave from Skala port, every type of vessel from car ferries to sailboats chartered for a day trip to the island. To me they are all beautiful – at least as we watch from a distance – and it’s Tennyson that I recite most often to myself as one of them leaves the dock and glides silently away from us:

There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail: 

There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners, 

Souls that have toil’d, and wrought, and thought with me— 

That ever with a frolic welcome took 

The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed 

Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old; 

Old age hath yet his honour and his toil; 

Death closes all: but something ere the end, 

Some work of noble note, may yet be done, 

Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. 

The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: 

The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep 

Moans round with many voices.

I am looking forward to sharing these experiences and more with another group of enthusiastic readers in the warm embrace of Agistri and the Greek sunshine.

Our 2025 Odyssey study on Agistri runs from 28 April to 5 May, there are still places available if you are interested in joining us.

Why read Ulysses?

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Top of many ‘best novel’ lists, Ulysses also heads countless lists of great novels abandoned or never read – even by accomplished readers and writers. What is it about this huge book that makes it so daunting, so hard, and so valuable? Why read it at all?

The book offers an ever-widening perspective. From an intimate view of one relatively unremarkable man’s walk around Dublin on a summer’s day, the linguistic journey ripples outward to encompass a dazzling range of quirky local characters, visions of the Far East, critiques of Empire, references to Irish politics, ancient and modern philosophical theories, gender dynamics, operas, innards, sexual hallucinations, cross-dressing, dogs (alive and dead), cats, the history of food, lemon soap that sings, a treatise on water, death rituals and the decomposition of the human body, pornographic books, Shakespearean theories . . . Ulysses is packed with rich intellectual enquiry, the compelling rhythms of a hungry mind exploring the wonders of the world.

Then there is the writing itself. To grapple with the words and linguistic pyrotechnics of James Joyce – to enter into his exploration of the body, mind and street-life, to sit in awe of his allusions, musicality, interweaving structures and thematic developments – is to expand the possibilities of the written word. To do this with a diverse group of other curious readers who are sharing the struggle and process of discovery allows each participant to enrich their own understanding many times over. Together we laugh, we express our frustrations, we query meaning and purpose, and we discover great depth in the language and vision of an extraordinary writer.

Our next Ulysses studies – two options: 11.30 am – 1.30 pm or 5.30 – 7.30 pm (UK time) – begin on Tuesday 21 January. If you are tempted to sign up we have a very few places remaining and you are welcome to join the first meeting without charge or obligation to continue. Please email litsalon@gmail.com using the subject line ‘Ulysses 2025’ if you would like to try a session before you buy!

Ten good reasons to read Ulysses . . .

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Six months seems like a long commitment and reading this 933 page masterpiece can be a daunting prospect. There will be literary, historical and classical references you may not know (yet), but I promise you it will be worth it! Here are ten reasons why:

  • Ulysses teaches you to be a better reader.
  • Reading Ulysses helps you to understand your own interior thoughts and language.
  • Ulysses is frighteningly pertinent to today’s climate of xenophobia and tyranny.
  • Ulysses is funny.
  • Ulysses features a dancing, singing bar of soap.
  • Everyone who reads Ulysses finds references, allusions and images that resonate.
  • Once banned for obscenity, Ulysses is up-close and personal to the body.
  • The language of Ulysses can be breathtakingly beautiful: “The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit . . .”
  • The vivid and seductive response to ignorance and injustice in Ulysses will inspire you.
  • Ulysses is the story of one man, but a woman (Molly) gets the last word!

What past Ulysses readers in the Salon have said:

“I must thank you for a most wonderful study of Ulysses. I couldn’t imagine that I would actually make it through.  Occasionally I felt inadequate, but always eager and always willing to reach. And what a reward in the end: to have read a brilliant novel, and to have made a connection with a group of fellow voyagers that I cannot praise enough. How fortunate we have all been. It is never really over though is it? Bloom will be with me forever, pulling me back to Dublin and the streets therein.”

“Those of us who have done Proust and Ulysses with Toby are longing for her to take us on another read . . . We all love the long read.”

For more on this join my lecture and discussion Why Read Ulysses? (Tuesday 24 November on Zoom), the cost is redeemable against our next Ulysses study starting in January 2025.

Can’t read? Won’t read?

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Photo by Eugenio Mazzone on Unsplash

News from the US last month about growing numbers of students at elite universities who can’t read whole books (revealed in The Atlantic magazine) was immediately echoed by UK academics. Earlier in the year a report from UK charity the Reading Agency (whose mission is to empower people of all ages to read) found that half of UK adults don’t regularly read and almost one in four young people aged 16-24 say they’ve never been readers.

While some people find the prospect of reading literature simply overwhelming, others find it difficult to overcome barriers including lack of time, as well as competing distractions from electronic devices and bite-size chunks of instant entertainment. Fortunately, there are also many who remain convinced that reading is a unique way of expanding our understanding of the world and our empathy for others. Sharing the experience of individuals in different times, places and circumstances through reading expands our consciousness, our sensitivity and our imagination in unique ways.

We continue to offer opportunities to be part of a community reading wonderful books from authors writing originally in a range of languages, from places real and imagined, and covering milliennia from the ancient world to the present day. Already on the menu for 2025 are new studies of Proust’s In Search of Lost Time and James Joyce’s Ulysses starting in January. Also booking now are Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Flaubert’s Madame Bovary, Virginia Woolf’s Mrs Dalloway and Truman Capote’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s, not to mention travel studies reading Homer’s Iliad and Euripides’ Trojan Women in Greece, and Herman Melville’s Moby Dick on board a traditional sailing ship. Much more – poetry, drama, philosophy, history of art – will follow soon. Join us if you can!

If you are thinking about joining our Proust or James Joyce studies check out these lectures and discussions led by Toby Brothers and coming up in the next few weeks (the cost is redeemable against the study price if you decide to sign up):

Tuesday 26 November, Why read Ulysses?

Tuesday 3 December, Why read Proust in 2025?

You can also read Toby’s thoughts on ‘How we Read‘ for more about what the Salon experience offers.

Bloomsday 2024!

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“Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed . . .”

For many of us the opening lines of Ulysses, which usher in the one day (16 June 1904) on which Leopold Bloom takes his long perambulation around Dublin, are so familiar they scarcely need repeating. And yet, there are always people who have yet to read – or re-read – James Joyce’s monumental work of art. For anyone contemplating this journey through time we are planning a new Ulysses study starting early in 2025, details will be announced here on the website and in our newsletter soon (please make sure you are subscribed).

We have some incredible readers who are just in the process of completing Ulysses with Toby, after six months of what she describes as: “mad reading, struggling for understanding, deep probing of textual complexity, gender roles and identifications, the awful weight of history, antisemitism, the haunting of grief and the meaning of the lemon soap – a lovely group of readers have triumphed in their work with Joyce – their final meeting happens this week.” 

Unusually, we are not celebrating Bloomsday formally this year, BUT the gallery above is a reminder of Bloomsday and other Joyce-related events the Salon has enjoyed in recent years (and there will be more in the future). Meanwhile, here are a few things going on if you are keen to find a last minute opportunity:

  • The London Balloonatics, who can normally be found on Bloomsday re-enacting Bloom’s Dublin walk on the streets of London, are instead walking in Dublin this year (find them on the Bloomsday Festival website link below) but offer this audio for those of us who are not in Dublin with them!
  • Our friends at Audrey are offering a ‘listen-along’ Ulysses opportunity.
  • For anyone in Dublin the James Joyce Centre’s annual Bloomsday Festival has lots going on this weekend, as does the Derry-based YES Festival celebrating female creativity with a focus on Molly Bloom’s soliloquy.
  • In London the Irish Cultural Centre in Hammersmith is offering a play Norah & Jim and an art exhibition based on Ulysses.

Happy Bloomsday!

On reading: long reading, slow reading, hard reading, reading that tickles . . .

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“I just don’t know where the time goes” I overheard this morning in the changing room at the pond where I swim. I nodded ruefully — a day slips away in the simple doing of modern life: emails to answer, writing and research to be done, plans to be made, food to prepare, bills to pay, dogs to be walked, the needs of ageing parents and the young — and underlying it all, the constant aching worry at wars being waged and the environment collapsing.

My mind feels crowded and noisy in the face of so many demands on my attention. It is easy — so easy — to be caught up in the movement of the day and reach the twilight moments of reflection to wonder: what have I done? With this day? With my life?

I step into a Salon session with lists and undone tasks still buzzing in my head, I worry that I will not be able to settle . . . and then, it happens. People enter the virtual space and something shifts as we all arrive, take a collective breath and slip into the words on the page. For the next few hours we are utterly attendant on the realm of words and ideas. It is not so much that the loud world goes away, rather that the book provides a space for contemplation that orders the overwhelming discord of the mind.

Perhaps it is the struggle with time that the book asks us to consider: how to understand its relentlessness, how to manage the unbearable weight of memory, how to live with flux. In other studies (or even later in the same book) we are considering the mystery of human motivation, how we ourselves often don’t recognise — or try not to — the true reason we treat another person a certain way. On another page, we are digging beneath the surface of racism, finding the complex entanglements within our self-perception that may evolve into a kind of tribalism.

I emerge from the Salon with gratitude for the wonderful minds I have engaged with, for the willingness of each person to go deeply into the work, to offer their ideas, to try out a reading of a difficult passage, sometimes to stumble, and to learn.

I am particularly grateful for the commitment and patience of those who take up one of the longer studies — whether it is a six month Ulysses odyssey, a two-and-a-half-year Proust project, or delving into Finnegans Wake (for however long it takes), or the ‘Slow Read’ of Ulysses or the Proust ‘Rebounders’ — these are all opportunities for a deeper engagement with the book, with each other, and to TAKE OUR TIME.  N.B. If you are interested, some of the longer studies can be joined along the way, not just at the beginning (although for the Ulysses Slow Read and the Proust Rebounders there is an expectation of having gone through the text previously).

I found this article by Christine Seifert (in the unlikely space of the Harvard Business Review) to give empirical support to what I have felt in my own work in the Salon and what I have observed in the experience of others. To quote:

“Research suggests that reading literary fiction is an effective way to enhance the brain’s ability to keep an open mind while processing information, a necessary skill for effective decision-making. In a 2013 study, researchers examined something called the need for cognitive closure, or the desire to “reach a quick conclusion in decision-making and an aversion to ambiguity and confusion.” Individuals with a strong need for cognitive closure rely heavily on “early information cues,” meaning they struggle to change their minds as new information becomes available. They also produce fewer individual hypotheses about alternative explanations, which makes them more confident in their own initial (and potentially flawed) beliefs. A high need for cognitive closure also means individuals gravitate toward smaller bits of information and fewer viewpoints. Individuals who resist the need for cognitive closure tend to be more thoughtful, more creative, and more comfortable with competing narratives—all characteristics of high EQ.

“University of Toronto researchers discovered that individuals in their study who read short stories (as opposed to essays) demonstrated a lower need for cognitive closure. That result is not surprising given that reading literature requires us to slow down, take in volumes of information, and then change our minds as we read. There’s no easy answer in literature; instead, there’s only perspective-taking.”

Christine Seifert, The Case for Reading Fiction (Harvard Business Review, March 06, 2020)

Below I have gathered a few poems that speak of the moment we are in and help me to be within the cataclysm of war in my imagination, helping me to not turn away but to be part of human experience empathically. As the study already quoted cites: “no easy answer . . . instead, there’s only perspective-taking.” I hope you too may find them helpful.

Every Morning by Mary Oliver

Things You May Find Hidden in My Ear by Mosab Abu Toha

Is there always more to say about Ulysses?

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Portrait of James Joyce by Jacques-Emile Blanche, 1934, National Gallery of Ireland, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Is there always more to say about Ulysses? Yes, there is always more to say about Ulysses. Particularly in the wake of the tidal wave of the centenary . . . and the wonderful writer Colm Tóibín always adds to my view with his deft prose and deep curiosity.

From the London Review of Books: Arruginated: James Joyce’s Errors by Colm Tóibín

In this article from the LRB about the errors—volitional or otherwise—that Joyce makes in the text, I found myself bemused by the desire to drill down to fact in the face of the magnificent vision of Ulysses. 

Having spent some time in the text—reading, teaching, singing, researching and puzzling—it is interesting to know that we are still learning how the details of the text match or do not match the historical experience of Dublin in 1904. As Tóibín considers, some of it matters (the final notes), some of it may not. Sometimes we go off on galloping goose chases, sometimes we disappear down holes more fitting the Mad Hatter. As I read this, I was thinking about the sweet satisfaction I have in peeling back layers of the text with both new and practised Ulyssians. 

Our Slow-Read Ulysses group has found a rhythm of play in a careful exploration of the text that expands both my knowledge of the text and my understanding of what a close encounter with a great work may yield. While some of our own work echoes Tóibín’s detective work traced in the article, we also find moments of lift-off, when the beauty of the prose and Joyce’s technical mastery of the language launch us into new realms of thought—about our relationship to history, about identity, around gender play, about our relationship to the material world . . . and how Joyce pulls us in with his shimmering net of wordplay, allusion and musicality in language. 

In Arruginated, I am faced with fragments and details that may offer verisimilitude to the real world, or remind me how much the experience of the real world is always sifting in my mind—against my memories, imagination and sensory limits and embellishments. This puts me in mind of our wonderful work in the Finnegans Wake group, as it shifts and adapts to the needs of life and time, goes from digging in fragments (the middenheap with the Hen) with an eye towards the wider scapes of sky or water. This was echoed in the recent Anselm Kiefer exhibition on Finnegans Wake which included rubble as part of the installation. I had not realised that Kiefer’s home had been destroyed by bombing on the day he was born; the rubble he used in the installation was from his childhood home—he had played in that rubble, and the tactile experience of rubble informs his vision of fragments and broken pieces that gave him insight into the Wake. 

We are continuing our Slow-Read of Ulysses in a few weeks . . . there are spaces available if you would like to join us, anyone who has meandered through Ulysses is most welcome. You can do a series (usually six weeks of meetings) and then drop out and return as you wish and as life allows. We will be digging into Aeolus next: the pace is comfortable (3-5 pages p/week), the work is shared and we have lots of laughs. And, o, there is some learning along the way!

Feel free to email me if you have any questions.

Thoughts on the ‘Slow-Read’ experience

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Photo by Nareeta Martin on Unsplash

My mother frequently told me that I lacked patience. As in, utterly and completely, almost like I was missing an internal organ. I turned the criticism into a kind of badge – of course I had no patience, but look at how much I can do all at once! Frantic movement as a superpower . . .

But high speed has its issues and one of the gifts of passing years is more time for thinking – and re-thinking. So, when Salon facilitator Mark Cwik first named and developed the ‘Slow Reading’ practice, I was intrigued but not quite certain this was my style. 

And then came Finnegans Wake.

I had resisted the Wake knowing that it is considered by many to be unreadable, but since a few honoured Salonistas kept nudging – even (Rachel) putting an excerpted book of Shem and Shaun in my hands – well I thought, what the hell: I have spent enough time with James Joyce and really, how long can I avoid the Wake? We began in 2017 and some iteration of the Wake group continues to trip through its ‘appatently ambrosiaurealised’ pages, seeking earwigger references and disappearing down the most unexpected rabbit holes – sometimes intoxicating, sometimes infuriating, but always opening up my understanding of the underlying structures of human history and identity. We read 3-5 pages a week. Some of the group have managed an entire read of the book already and we are re-Cycling-Vico-like through. And always learning.

Thus the Wake work led me to consider other Slow Read possibilities – and Ulysses was the obvious next choice. Although new readers may at first baulk at the six-month study, once they are rolling in the Bloomian pages, most chime in that we need MORE time! But once through a first read – once the arc of the book is in your mind – you are ready for a more thoughtful approach, where we can really discuss each paragraph with attention. 

In the Slow-Read Ulysses that started in September 2022, we have wonderful readers from all over the world, contributing expertise on philosophy, Jewish traditions and scholarship, psychological theories, economics, gender relationships, music, Irish history, aesthetics, narrative form, medical practices, modernism . . . we are truly eating with relish.

This week’s discussion of six pages, for example, included reflections on the Language of Flowers; desire as articulated in masochism; the Mary/Martha story from the Gospels of Luke and John, and how these are reflected in our Martha and Mary (Molly) characters; the use of the colour yellow to signal treachery; the figuration of Black people in missionary narratives; Marxism; Matzoh; what motivates people to turn to faith; relationship between colonial and religious projects; the geography of interior thoughts; the narcotic quality of sexual fantasies; pious frauds (echoing Pope Pius X); the relief of Sophocles on no longer being driven by lust . . .

The Ulysses Slow Read – like the Wake – is not a three or five year commitment. Rather, it invites participants to dip in and out as their lives allow and interests demand. Anyone who has previously read Ulysses can dive in to a 6-8 week series of study sessions (as long as there is space) and pick up the thread wherever we are. Each week, about half the participants adopt a particular passage and present this to the group with their own research or reflections. 

After years of reading and teaching Ulysses, I am so thankful for this practice of reading slowly and thoroughly. I am discovering gems that I have previously skipped over, and finding correspondences that I only now realise. The Slow Read also gives me time to explore more thoroughly the secondary literature, especially useful as there was a tremendous flowering of new work to coincide with the centenary celebration of the book in 2022. 

I would not say I have yet learned patience, but my mother would be surprised at my increasing ability to cultivate it. I have a practice – in both the Wake and Ulysses Slow Read sessions – that builds my capacity for attention and (the reward of exercising patience?) complexity. And I have learned so much: my sense of wonder expands with each dive into the realms of art, history, human nature, and the weird and beautiful intricacy of the human mind. 

BBC Arena ‘James Joyce’s Ulysses’

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For Ulysses readers past, present and future who didn’t catch Adam Low’s film James Joyce’s Ulysses on BBC2 last night, it will remain available to view online for the next eleven months.

Over an hour and a half the film visits Trieste, Zurich, Paris and Dublin, telling the tale of how Joyce came to write his masterpiece, the struggle to get it published and how he and Nora Barnacle lived their lives together. With archive footage and contributions from scholars and writers including Salman Rushdie, Colm Tóibín, Anne Enright, Howard Jacobson, Eimear McBride, Paul Muldoon, John McCourt, Nuala O’Connor, Vivien Igoe and many others. Apologies to those who can’t access the BBC but catch it if you can!

Bloomsday 2022!

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So, in the centenary year of Ulysses, this year’s Bloomsday on 16th June was – perhaps slightly confusingly – the 100th (from publication) or the 116th (from the setting of the book in 1904).

Either way, devotees of James Joyce and his most famous work continue to use the day as as a reason to celebrate all things Joycean and in particular the fabulous characters that populate Ulysses, most notably Leopold and Molly Bloom and Stephen Dedalus. Below are some of this year’s highlights for the LitSalon.

‘Bloomsday’ by Nick Midgley on RTE Radio 1

Nick Midgley’s radio play Bloomsday, dramatising the relationship between James Joyce and his brother Stanislaus and their time together (with Nora Barnacle) in Trieste, was broadcast on RTE Radio 1 on Sunday 12 June and can still be heard online.

The Bootleg Balloonatics’ Bloomsday Walk in Tufnell Park,
12 June 2022

The Bootleg Balloonatics – organiser Chris Bilton, Paul Dornan and John Goudie – invited Toby Brothers to join them (playing Molly, Milly and Mrs Breen) for a two-hour recreation of Leopold Bloom’s Dublin perambulations in London’s Tufnell Park, performed for an appreciative travelling audience of around 50, ending with gorgonzola sandwiches in the Dartmouth Arms . . . Read more in the Camden New Journal here.

Bloomsday in Dublin, 16 June 2022

A group of intrepid Salonistas – including Sheila Fitzgerald, Leah Jewett, Paul Caviston, Zita Moran (to name just a few) – visited Dublin to enjoy Bloomsday celebrations in situ. The day included the Dublin Balloonatics’ Bloomsday Walk led by founder Paul O’Hanrahan, an early morning swim from the Forty Foot (that’s Toby diving in), a variety of period costumes, a visit to The James Joyce Centre, and an Eccles Cake (or perhaps it’s a toasted teacake) in Eccles Street . . . a good time was had by all!

At a specially convened celebratory lunch on the following day, Toby – who has guided so many in the Salon through this extraordinary literary journey – recited her poem about launching a new Ulysses study:

Launching Ulysses study

A new study begins…
First time faces gather in Hollywood Squares
Alarmed face asks me
Why did he come?
Courtesy or an inward light?

Will they find their way?
Will they stumble and fall into ineluctable modality of the impossible?
This reader wants into the fray, but
“I’m not a believer myself, that is to say…
A believer in the narrow sense of the word.”
And I want to say:
Shut your eyes and See.

Another reader takes tentative steps forward
Her reading wobbles but Buck draws her near
“Are we supposed to like him – or not?”
In Joyce, there are no easy answers. 
In the stilted dance of Telemachus
I hope she will catch a grip
And Joyce whispers close:
“That’s the bucko that’ll organise her, take my tip.”

A frustrated reader who hasn’t yet learned to swim in Jim
Scratches at the text
But it is himself he fears
Plenty to see and hear and feel yet.
“The only thing is to walk,
Then you’ll feel a different man. 
It’s not far – lean on me.“

I hope they will hear in a profound 
Ancient male unfamiliar melody
The accumulation of the past.  

I hope that they will hear
The chant of a quick young male form
The predestination of the future.

Look out—gender fireworks ahead
Who will stumble? O, so many rocks!
“Possess her once take the starch out of her”
“O wept! Aren’t men frightful idiots!”
“She does whack it, by George!“
So many cocks. 

But if—o, but if they can find
The ample bed-warmed flesh

Yes                Yes        
FORWARD woozy Wobblers!
Old Ulyssians – Make more room in the Bed!

Reading Ulysses is not only a wonderful literary adventure, it’s also great fun! Our next Ulysses studies (a six-month study beginning in January 2023 and an extended ‘slow read’ option starting in October 2022) are now open for booking.

Also in Dublin . . .

Meanwhile, Salonista Geoff Strange has kindly allowed us to publish below an account of his own independent visit to Dublin for Bloomsday 2022.


The day was long, starting with a brisk walk to the Martello Tower in Dalkey, then walking the strand in Sandymount, then Sweny’s, then The National Museum and for then what we hoped to be a relieving park bench in St Stephen’s Green before our next “appointment.” But could we find a spare park bench anywhere? No! Literally all benches were occupied and occupied, I might add, by a cacophony of bonnet/boater wearing Edwardians, some of whom were even playing American football! At last, we spied a shady bench and after a dash that would impress Usain Bolt, the bench was duly nabbed! We sat and napped only to discover on awakening that we were sat opposite non other than our very own Jim! There he was, plinthed and peering back at us with those dodgy eyes of his. It’s as if he had bequeathed his very own bench to a couple of foot weary flaneurs in our hour of need!   

Suitably reinvigorated we left our bench, said bench soon to be taken up as temporary dug-out for those Edwardian garbed American footballers, and made our way to MoLI for a lecture by Paul Muldoon, Irish poet and general polymath about town. He was giving the inaugural Dedalus Lecture entitled, “Spinoza’s Shillelagh: Some Thorny Issues in Ulysses.” We were treated to an hour of poetic investigation of, wait for it, the first three words of the novel. Can you remember them? Of course: stately, plump, and buck. To Muldoon, the whole book is bound within those three words. It was a fanciful and entertaining romp through Irish and Classical literature! 

The whole sixty minutes was, in a way, quite Joycean, not through design but in the way he was initially interrupted by the reggae band in the garden, then a stream of late attendees with himself, no less, showing them to their seats and then to cap it all, the gentle murmur of somebody’s mobile phone. All of us reached for our pockets but all but one was safe in the knowledge that it was not ours. For the poor eejit that discovered that it was his phone was bad enough but his woeful inability to firstly find the correct pocket and then work out how to switch the damned thing off, all the time the volume of its inane ringtone getting louder and louder, made me think of how Joyce would actually have loved this! 

After that there was only one final destination on the agenda: pints and a toasted sandwich at Peter’s Pub. No, not mentioned by Joyce but this favourite Dublin haunt of mine is so redolent of a bygone era of manners, stools at the bar and none of that musak, maybe similar to Davy Byrne’s in its heyday. As you walk in, they say “how are yer, what’ll you have,” to which the response is two pints please (no need for clarification in this boozer). “No matter, you sit down, and I’ll bring them over. Toastie?” No need to tell you the answer to that! 

Several hours later we are back on the DART speeding past Sandymount Strand with not a firework in sight! We look left across the sea denuded strand, peering into eternity. 

What a day!

Hope your day was special!

And just to say, Toby, how grateful I am to you for your amazing guidance on this epic journey. You certainly opened an old door very carefully to another way of reading and I can’t thank you enough. 

Go raibh mile maith agaibh


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