From time to time a detour from the middle ages or versions thereof are necessary and where else to go but Dear Old Dirty Dublin. So I walk into town for the occasional Southport Ulysses Reading Group. Their offices have great views.
If we had a logo it would be two blind eejits reeling merrily along Sandymount strand, giggling uproariously and bumping against reality every once in a while.
But the beauty of the Blue Book of Eccles is that it is resolute and friendly enough to welcome us in and survive our visits. We laugh at the jokes, admire the language, puzzle over the references. We digress. It’s such an anecdote to the way we are supposed to teach English. “Analyze the discourses in this text”. Any one like to try that on Ulysses?
How good is "I'm Almosting it"?
My pattener in climes against culturally accepteddy finations of sanity clams Ulysses is more a bobby than a hook. I tink it’s what the sweaty Jock personal fatness roaches bang on about: “a healthy lifestyle choice”.
You lift weights: I’ll follow Stephen and Bloom into the labyrinth of Joyce’s imagination and out into the possibilities of language. And when it gets a little claustrophobic, one can always take a holiday and read Beckett's novels or work on the Anglo-Saxon grammar.
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