Saturday, March 28, 2009
This photo of the hospital at the top of Eccles street in Dublin.
In the offices of S.U.R.G. we follow Bloom as he sets out on his longest day. Weird juxtaposition, vivid memories of Dublin, of walking along Eccles street, of the deeply creepy front door preserved in the Joyce Centre and the clouds moving across Surfers in the distance, the high rise buildings disappearing as the rain moved in from the Pacific.
To which Joyce’s syntax could probably do justice.
Each reading differs. This time I pick up the lost key, the left open door, the ten years of marital abstinence echoing Ulysses’ ten years wandering from Troy. The fact that he keeps his card in his hat. We speculate about the Blooms’ relationship, about how the book doesn’t judge it, although Critics have. Most of all, we enjoy Bloom and the language. The humour.
And of course the skill.
Mrs. Marion Bloom.