The Day After: Well Bloomsdayhas come and goneand I don'tfeel anymoresurrealordirtyor"modern" than the day before.
Okay sorry about that - just my tiny tribute to the crazy one-eyed Irish ex-pat.
I've picked up "Ulysses" twice. Once to buy it, once to read it. I confess however to being one of those who didn't get through the first 50 pages. I then put it down, where it sits on my shelf, cursing at me.
Now, I'm not shy about dense, modern books. Hell, Eno knows well my love for the post-modern genre (although Ulysses is technically just "modern"). From "Gravity's Rainbow" to "Infinite Jest", I have not ducked those thousand page books, with their footnotes, thrice-removed derivative references, and hallucinatory excursions.
With Ulysses, I just couldn't get my foot far enough in the door for it to latch hold. Well, I'm going to try once more. Not because I intend to brag about it, or that my self-image as a man of all seasons needs burnishing. Just because I want to understand what all the fuss is about. Maybe I won't like it; and if that's the case I'll be man enough to admit it. But I should try, at least.
Once I finish my current book "Whirlwind" by Clavell (no slouch himself in the page number department) I shall once again embark on Joyce. It may be a while, but I will fill you in on my findings.