Book Review (sorta): Ulysses by James Joyce

I tried. I first met this bloated fiasco of a book in hardcover close to twenty years ago. I started to read it, but soon realized that it was unreadable. I put it down and ended up getting rid of it (with most of my library) when I moved to Italy.

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Years later, after hearing it repeatedly called a masterpiece, I bought it on Kindle. I was not able to make much progress there, either, and put it down again.

Deciding to give it another go, I recently bought a hardcover copy, along with a guide book. I’m sorry to say that I have to punch out after about 250 pages.

I am not a stupid man, at least according to my own standards. I’m an educated man by any standard. I have a bachelor’s degree, a master’s degree and a law degree. I’ve written six novels, albeit self-published. So, why can’t I get through Ulysses? I feel like the guy in “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” who sees that the Emperor is naked.

Problem one: I would like a story. There is no discernable story in this book. It starts out as though there might be, but then it disintegrates into page upon page upon page of stream-of-consciousness belly button staring.

Problem two: Random thoughts, sentence fragments. Guy wiping a booger on a rock. Guy taking a shit. Random wanderings about town with no apparent effort at creating a story. Page after page after bloody incoherent gibberish-filled page of men discussing Shakespeare’s Hamlet.

Guy goes to a cheap restaurant and is grossed out, as the reader is, by the horrid and sloppy way the other patrons gorge their horrible and pigish selves.

These things could be entertaining in a novel (which this ain’t), but it has to be in the context of a story.

Problem three: the language is generally impenetrable. I like clear writing. Want to fill your novel with fancy words and clever turns of phrase? So do I. Have a blast. But it has to flow. No stream-of-consciousness random blather.

I’m sure by now that the evangelicals for this “masterpiece” are coming apart at the seems and can’t wait to send me hate mail explaining what a philistine I am. Whatever. But if you are inclined to question my parental heritage, kindly point to some evidence that I’m wrong. What makes this a masterpiece, in your opinion?

I don’t mind doing a bit of work while reading fiction. Take And the Ass Saw the Angel, by Nick Cave. Great writing, poetic, even, and often not easy. But there’s still a story. One can follow it. In Ulysses, there’s no story to follow.

I get that Ulysses is a break from the nineteenth century novel form. I understand it gives glimpses of life in Dublin in 1904, and that it makes reference to the horrible way the Irish have been treated under the English. I appreciate the comments with respect to the Catholic Church regarding continued procreation of the poor, though lacking the means to feed themselves. All lovely themes for a novel, or even a series of novels. But this is no novel.

Present these things in the context of a story. Develop facts and ideas through the acts and words of the characters. Through exposition, not through random ramblings of thought.

Yes, I know. A literary hack is giving advice to the likes of James Joyce. For those of you who love this work, there’s nothing I can say, and my thoughts are not directed to you. I direct my opinions to those of you who are considering reading this book, or to those of you who have or are trying to read it, and finding it unpleasant.

To those considering reading it, I say certainly give it a go. It may be for you.

To those like me, who have tried and tried to choke it down, but found it impossible, I say put it away and find a book with a story. If it’s literary writing you seek, try some Anthony Burgess (A Clockwork Orange, Earthly Powers), Nick Cave (And the Ass Saw the Angel), or anything by Ian McEwan or Cormac McCarthy. As to your trouble with Ulysses, you’re right. Forget it and move on.