James Joyce
The Greatest Writer That Professors Read

One thing you'll be told if you take a course in technical writing, creative writing, essay writing, or writing for comic strips is that you know what you want to say. The reader doesn't.

Always the idea is communication. Does your reader know what your words mean? Do they recognize your allusions or allegories? Does one idea clearly lead to the next? If so, you are communicating.

But if you pepper your prose with inside jokes or hidden symbols, you may chuckle at your wit. But after a few pages the readers will simply put the book down and go on to a book they can understand.

And it gets worse. Not only will they never look at anything else you've written, but they'll give their friends the worst critique anyone can give about a book.

They'll say it's boring.

Hence an increasingly common assessment of James Joyce's Ulysses.

For instance, pick up the book (or click the mouse) and open it to the first page:

Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him on the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:

-Introibo ad altare Dei.

Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called out coarsely:

-Come up, Kinch! Come up, you fearful jesuit!

 

You're not quite sure what's going on. But you remember this is one of the greatest books ever written. Both critics and professors have said so. So you plow on. Eventually you figure the book is about some people in Dublin going about their daily business (whatever that is). But you still find yourself getting bogged down.

Didn't catch me napping that wheeze. The quick touch. Soft mark. I'd like my job. Valise I have a particular fancy for. Leather. Capped corners, riveted edges, double action lever lock. Bob Cowley lent him his for the Wicklow regatta concert last year and never heard tidings of it from that good day to this.

But before they reach this passage - which is about a quarter of the way through the book - most people have long given up.

Of course, James's friends have an explanation why more and more people are saying one of the greatest works of literature is boring. Such philistines simply don't understand the book. Were they only more intelligent, they would immediately recognize the genius of the author.

And some of the readers who can only manage a few pages themselves have self-doubt. Perhaps it is their own lack of education and ability that limits their appreciation. After all, the book has been one of the most influential in history. Perhaps we should not limit ourselves to a single volume.

Instead let's turn to James's last book, Finnegan's Wake. This was written over a period of 17 years and originally published in various (now defunct) literary magazines as Work in Progress. So you open the book and began to read:

riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.

Ha? (To quote Shakespeare). What is this? But you keep on.

Sir Tristram, violer d'amores, fr'over the short sea, had passencore rearrived from North Armorica on this side the scraggy isthmus of Europe Minor to wielderfight his penisolate war: nor had topsawyer's rocks by the stream Oconee exaggerated themselse to Laurens County's gorgios while they went doublin their mumper all the time: nor avoice from afire bellowsed mishe mishe to tauftauf thuartpeatrick: not yet, though venissoon after, had a kidscad buttended a bland old isaac: not yet, though all's fair in vanessy, were sosie sesthers wroth with twone nathandjoe. Rot a peck of pa's malt had Jhem or Shen brewed by arclight and rory end to the regginbrow was to be seen ringsome on the aquaface.

At this point or before, most people have abandoned their well-intentioned effort.

Now lest the reader - and fans of James - misconstrue these comments as criticism, it is absolutely true that there are people who have not only read Ulysses and Finnegan's Wake, but have studied them. You can find newer editions with copious footnotes to explain the - get this - obscure parts. One recent "annotated edition" of Wake has about every other word footnoted.

Sadly, a century of study hasn't brought us any enlightenment as to what James was writing about, footnotes or not. So almost in despair (or exasperation) some recent critics have wondered if James was intentionally pulling his readers' collective legs. After all, if he cranked out cac that no one could understand, everyone would praise James as a genius.

But if James did laugh, he did not laugh all the way to the bank. For decades none of his books sold hardly anything. And the reasons his books finally sold (and well) is most interesting.

First, a bit about James.

James Joyce was born in Dublin on Groundhog's Day, 1882. His dad, John, was an unsuccessful medical student who inherited an annual stipend of £500 which eventually he lost. He ended up working as a clerk where he got a reputation as a witty fellow and a boozer.

John married Mary Jane Murray in 1880 and they had a total of 12 children. The second they christened as James Augustine Aloysius. His mom wanted James to study for the priesthood and enrolled him at Clongowes Wood College. That took James away from a home which became increasingly chaotic due - believe it or not - to politics.

Like many Irish families, the Joyce's were strong supporters of the Nationalist Charles Stewart Parnell, MP. But when the Irish hero was found fiddling around with Kitty O'Shea, the family divided into pro- and anti-Parnell factions.

James's grandmother became anti-Parnell. She even ripped off the green backing from her hairbrush in protest. On the other hand, his dad remained a stanch Parnell Loyalist. But the controversy led to him boozing even more.

John's main complaint was the Catholic Church repudiated Charles and so he began to refer to priests and bishops in most discourteous terms. It was probably John's spittle flinging diatribes against the clergy that prompted James to give up any priestly ambitions.

There were not just the shouting scenes that had become so routine chez Joyce. In 1895, Mary had given birth to her last child who did not survive. Shortly afterwards, John went bonkers and started shouting at his wife and grabbed her by the throat. James had to hold him down so Mary could make a break for it. For his part James was spending more and more time away from home. Eventually he entered University College Dublin.

The college curriculum in the 19th century was different than today. The first years were strict and you worked on what might roughly be considered "core" courses plus a minor. The last two years were more relaxed with perhaps only a couple of lectures a week. James was able to pass his "matriculation" in Latin and then he went on to study French and Italian.

You'll read on the Fount of All Knowledge that James "knew" 12 languages (or maybe it was 17). Now this does not necessarily mean he was fluent. But there's no doubt James did have a natural facility for learning foreign languages and became conversational in both French and Italian.

James also become known as something of a jokester. Once he and a friend acted like they were disagreeing during a class discussion. They pretended to get more and more riled to the point they challenged each other to a duel. When their dissembling was revealed it took quite a bit of effort to smooth the feathers of their very unamused teacher.

After James graduated with his BA, the question was just what to do. In Ireland, then as now, one option was to get the heck out. You could go to England, but with his knowledge of French and Italian, James opted to cross to the continent where there was an increasing demand for teachers of English.

Even in college, James had hung out with the literary crowd, and before he graduated he had published the essays "Ibsen's New Drama" and "A Day of Rabblement" about the Irish theater. The latter essay appeared in a pamphlet along with an essay by a friend. We should put the latter publication in perspective since the two men simply went to a printer's shop and had some copies run off. But that wasn't that unusual for the time. Edgar Allen Poe usually had to put up the costs to publish his books. At best he was paid nothing and given perhaps 25 copies of his own.

After graduating in 1902, James lived briefly in Paris, making a living by teaching English as a 2nd language. But he soon returned to Dublin as his mother's health began to fail. She died in 1903 and the following year James met Nora Barnacle and they, well, we'll call it "set up housekeeping". In 1905, they moved to Europe and settled in Trieste in Italy where they lived for about 10 years. Nora had two kids, Giorgio and Lucia born between 1905 and 1907, and James and Nora finally got married in 1931.

One question many people have when they read about the fledgling and later famous authors is how did they make money since it seems all they did was talk about literature and write books that didn't sell. Well, James taught English at - yes - the Berlitz Schools - but that didn't pay enough for his rather spendthrift ways or the upkeep of a family. But he also had a good chunk of his support from his brother Stanislaus who remained in Dublin managing the family's properties.

In 1909 there was a rather odd side trip back to Ireland. James actually became proprietor of a movie heater, the Volta. Naturally the venture wasn't a success and he returned to Europe.

Back in Trieste, James started almost becoming mainstream. He passed the official government requirements to be a teacher and lectured on English authors at Trieste University. He also wrote some short stories, but they were only published as a book called Dubliners in 1914. The stories had not appeared previously in any magazine. Publishing first in a book was not only literarily odd but also financially unfortunate since at that time there was a mechanism by which even non-profitable magazines could get by.

The first part of the 20th century saw the last gasp of the great literary patrons. Sometimes these were wealthy individuals who befriended budding artists and simply paid them a stipend to be artists. One of the most important patrons of the first decades of the 20th century was John Quinn an American attorney who supported writers like Joseph Conrad and William Butler Yeats. Rather than demeaning the writers by simple handouts John would purchase their manuscripts. He also was a collector of modern art which helped pay the bills for artists like Henri Matisse, Marcel Duchamp, and Pablo Picasso (whoever they were).

Other patrons were rich people with a literary bent that would put up a chunk of their inherited family wealth to keep a magazine running. That way the authors could get paid even if hardly anyone was buying the magazines. Things were made simpler if the patron was also the editor of the magazine itself.

This excellent, but alas now almost totally defunct system came to James's aid. He had been working on a novel with the working title Stephen Hero, a story more or less about James's own life until he left college. The chapters were serialized in a magazine called the Egoist which was edited (and published and funded) by a lady named Harriet Weaver. Harriet was from England and had a lot of dough, particularly from her mother's side of the family. As she grew up she became a suffragette involved in women's rights and took to editing (then) radical magazines which eventually evolved into the Egoist. Later Harriet found a printer and she put up the money to publish Stephen Hero, now retitled A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, as a book.

The book made a bit of a stir and was read by some of the well-known writers and literary figures of the day like H. G. Wells (of "The Invisible Man" and "Time Machine" fame) and Ezra Pound, who even at that early date was achieving fame as a poet. Although not a best seller, Portrait also received favorable newspaper reviews.

But then in August 1914, everyone's plans were put on hold - except Kaiser Bill's. With the onset of the War to End All Wars, James, Nora, and the kids moved to Zurich. One positive outcome of the times was that A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man was issued in England and America. The book again was well received and James was soon established as a serious author.

The serialization of Portrait and it's (critical) success as a book was not unusual. Many of the books of the 19th century were issued by such a publication pathway and James took the same tack with his new book, Ulysses. This began being serialized in 1918 in the Little Review.

So by the time James and his family moved to Paris in 1920, he was nearly 40 and the writers of the Seine saw him as a grand old man of modern literature. Many of his young admirers went on to become famous and popular authors, but at the time, there was not much public demand for their work, and so the patrons did a brisk business.

Not all writers needed patrons, though. Some were rich like F. Scott Fitzgerald and others had, well, we'll call them adequate independent resources. Despite what he claimed in later years, Ernest Hemingway was far from poor during his Paris years, and when he decided to pursue a full time career as a fiction writer, he lived off his wife's $200 a month trust fund. That was good money in 1923.

Ernest left us some descriptions of James in Paris. For one thing Ernest learned that James, Nora, and the kids were starving but then would see him eating in Michaud's Restaurant (now Le Comptoir des Saints-Pères) which Ernest described as "expensive". He also said James was afraid of lightning and would sometimes get into arguments with people to the point of fisticuffs and then get up and walk out, leaving Ernest to handle the matter. We should also remember that Ernest was known to stretch the blanket a bit, such as the time he told a young friend about hitting it off with the girlfriend of Legs Diamond in a restaurant kitchen and then on a stairway.

Writers like to have a place to hang out, and a favorite spot in Paris was a book store and lending library, Shakespeare and Company. This was run by Sylvia Beach, a young American a few years younger than James who had settled in Paris in 1915. It was Shakespeare and Company who published Ulysses in 1922. Today you can spend a couple of hundred grand for one of these first paperback editions.

The book sold around Paris, yes, but James still had to live off his patrons. Then when he started sending Harriet chapters that ended up as his last book, Finnegan's Wake, she wondered if James was laughing behind his hand. Eventually James had to find a new editor to publish the last of these incomprehensible series of stories (or whatever they were).

Ulysses, though, had the good fortune that many authors only dream of. Even before it was issued as a book, it was banned due to both James's choice of words and what his characters did to occupy their time. But early on James didn't get much advantage since in America the copies that were sold were pirated editions for which he didn't receive a penny.

But the ban helped a bit as it became quite chic to - quote - "smuggle" - unquote - copies into the United States. Tourists in Paris would stop by Sylvia's bookstore and plop down their 120 francs (about ten dollars) and stuff the book into their suitcases. The customs inspectors simply winked the book on through. So things went for about a decade

Then a young publisher in New York, Bennett Cerf, - yes, the Bennett Cerf, the panelist from the old What's My Line television show - decided he wanted to bring out a US edition of the book. There are varying versions of exactly what happened, but probably we should go by what Bennett himself said.

After he decided to publish the book, Bennett contacted the famous attorney Morris Ernest, who had publicly denounced the censorship of the book. If they could get the case before a judge, Bennett said, his company would pay court costs if Morris would argue the case. He couldn't afford Morris's usually fat fees, Bennett said, but they would pay him a royalty from Ulysses Of course, he wouldn't get anything if they lost the case, but Morris said that was fine.

Bennett sailed to Paris and met James at Sylvia's bookstore. James had barely made it. When crossing the street he had walked smack in front of a taxicab. With bandaged head and his arm in a sling (his eyepatch which Bennett also noted was a result of his never ceasing eye problems), James agreed to a $1500 cash advance on 15 % royalties. If Bennett wasn't able to get the book published, James could keep the $1500 which Bennett immediately handed over.

There were two possible plans of action. The most straightforward was for Bennett to go ahead and publish the book, get arrested, and be put on trial. If he won he could then release the book.

This approach did not appeal to Bennett. So he decided on Plan B. This was to have a copy of the book smuggled in and have it seized at the customs desk. If the book was simply being packed in the luggage and not surreptitiously concealed, the owner would not be arrested. Instead, the book would just be confiscated. The owner could then file a petition to get the book back. If he was successful, that would effectively overturn the legal ban on the book.

Bennett arranged to have a smuggler - or as Bennett put it, his "agent" whom he never named - to sneak the book in. They also stuffed clips from newspapers where famous authors had praised the book. These would also be seized and so could be introduced into the court record. To get the best chance in court, Bennett picked a day and entry point that insured the case would fall to a judge whom they considered friendly, the Honorable John Woolsey.

But they hadn't counted on the day being so hot - this was long before central air conditioning - that the customs inspectors were simply waving everyone through. So Bennett's agent had to insist his luggage be inspected. When he pulled the book out, he had to insist the book be seized. Even then the inspector still refused and told him to get on. Eventually a supervisor had to be called in, who to get things moving again, agreed to seize the book.

Well, everything worked out. Judge Woolsey said the book was not obscene and Random House brought out its edition in 1934. Now Bennett had to sell the book.

At that time Random House sold a good chunk of their books at Macy's in New York. But to make real dough, they needed to get the book to mainstream national retailers. So they contacted the American News Company's boss, Harold Williams, to see if he'd order copies for his outlets which were nationwide.

Harold and Bennett knew each other and sometimes played golf together. So Bennett asked Harold to order some books. Waving the book off as "dirty" and not suitable for their outlets, Harold said, he'd order two hundred and fifty copies. Bennett almost had a fit. This was going to be one of the biggest sellers of all time! And Harold's order for the whole country would be only 250 copies! Yep, said Harold, 250 copies.

Bennett started yelling but Harold remained unruffled. Well, OK, he said, we'll order 500 copies. With more shouting, Bennett got Harold to agree to 1000 copies, then with more bargaining (and shouting), Bennett gradually worked Harold up to 5000 copies.

Rather proud of his ability to get a distributor to go from 250 copies to 5000 in a few minutes, Bennett was surprised when Harold smilingly reached into a drawer and pulled out a pre-prepared order form for 5000 copies.

"I thought I'd make you to work for it," Harold said.

Ulysses did indeed sell well. But Bennett admitted this was at least partly because "it was one of those books that are considered smart to own and which many people buy but don't read."

James continued to live in Paris. His eyes began to deteriorate for reasons that aren't entirely clear, and he underwent repeated eye operations. But the 1930's was also the decade of the rise of Fascism and when Germany invaded France, the Joyces fled to Switzerland and settled in Zurich.

On Saturday, February 11, 1941, James underwent an operation to repair an intestinal ulcer. His son, Giorgio, reported to the press that his father was doing well. Unfortunately as was too common in the pre-antibiotic days, James had a relapse and died two days later. He was not quite 59 years old.

Today, of course, Ulysses isn't anywhere near as famous (or notorious) as it was. And since you can find it online - worldwide copyright of the original edition for all practical purposes ended in 2012 - there's really no reason to buy it. Still, if you want a hard copy you can order them for as low as $1 plus shipping.

If you want to read the book but not get bogged down, first see the movie. Yes, the movie. In 1967 a version was filmed in Dublin which like most film adaptations is rather loose. One of the reasons it is "loose" is that the action - originally set in 1904 - is clearly mid-1960's Dublin. Also considerable editing was needed to cut the 700-odd pages down a little over two hours. But it's amazing how the visualization that accompanies the voice-overs (which were taken directly and verbatim from the book) adds to the comprehension. So when Stephen and Molly give their stream of conscious soliloquies they actually make sense.

The film is virtually forgotten today but at the time the X rating caused quite a stir. One magazine had a gag cartoon where two little old ladies were leaving a theater with the marquee blazing the title Ulysses.

"My goodness," one of them was saying, "that wasn't about the man in the boat, was it?"

But we must insist. Although the book is difficult to understand and tortuous to read, the book is important. That's because at the very least it went a long way to giving us back America's Family Values. And we mean Traditional American Family Values.

Again we must quote Shakespeare.

Ha?

You see, in the Good Old Days of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and Benjamin Franklin, you didn't have to worry about what words you used. That's because - quote - "obscenity laws" - unquote - really showed up only in the 19th century. Oh, there were some feeble attempts, even as early as the 16th century to muzzle print. But in a day when people swore by saying "Zounds!", "S'blood!", or "Ye Gods and Little Fishes!" the best the government could do was complain someone's writing had a "corrupting influence" on the readers. That, of course, was hard to prove, and so virtually no one ever went to jail for using bad language.

So Benjamin did not just write "A stitch in time save nine" or "A fool and his money are soon parted." Instead he peppered his newspapers with wit and wisdom such as:

The greatest monarch on the proudest throne is oblig'd to sit on his own arse.

and

He who lives upon hope, dies farting.

or even

Force shites upon reason's back.

But in late 19th and early 20th century, things got more specific. The laws started targeting descriptions of specific actions and words. So Benjamin's words of wisdom were lost for generations and with them disappeared True American American Family Values.

With the clearing of Ulysses and the later trials of Allen Ginsberg's Howl and William Burrough's Naked Lunch came the last gasps of printed censorship. Today, you can pretty much write what you want and use the words you want as long as you do so - as they say - in an appropriate forum. So even in a family oriented website we can write words like "arse", "fart", and "shite".

Today the debates are not whether Ulysses is obscene - it's incredibly tame compared to what you can read with the click of the mouse - or so the author and illustrator of CooperToons has heard. But the question is whether the book is really all it's cracked up to be. Is it really one of the greatest books of the 20th century or is it actually - as many "innovative" and "modernistic" books are increasingly labeled - simply a snap shot of a time and place and so is increasingly corny and trite, and a perfect example of how many of our literary emperors are actually quite scantily clothed.

Or phrased a bit less allegorically, can a book that most people throw aside after a page or two and is read mostly as forced reading imposed by college professors really a good book? Particularly since even professors disagree whether it's good or bad. One professor likes James's short stories, and thinks Portrait starts off OK but spirals into convoluted impenetrable prose. Ulysses, he says, is something you should read once, and Finnegan's Wake stinks.

So perhaps we shouldn't shake our heads when books that once astounded the world - books like On the Road, Naked Lunch, and yes, Ulysses - are not faring that well with the younger readers. Today you even see them on lists of "Most Overrated Books" or "Books Nobody Reads But Says They Have".

Of course, these listings cause angst and gnashing of teeth among any survivors of 1920's - 1950's Lost, Hipster, and Beat Generations while aging denizens of the Flower Power 1960's smirk. But even they gasp in horror when they see the new "Most Overrated Books" or "Books Nobody Reads But Says They Have" lists put The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit at the top.

Ha? (Shakespeare one last time).

The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit?

Trite?

Unread?

Boring?

Blasphemy!

Oh, well, we suppose good literature, like good food, is a matter of taste, culture, and the times. After all, corn pone and chicken fried steak are as good as escargot. But you have to be careful. Once someone ordered escargot and cervelles, and they snuck snails and brains in on him.

So in conclusions, we can do nothing better than let James have the last word. Always remember that no matter what you read:

Onetwo moremens more. So. Avelaval. My leaves have drifted from me.All. But one clings still. I'll bear it on me. To remind me of. Lff! So soft this morning, ours. Yes. Carry me along, taddy, like you done through the toy fair! If I seen him bearing down on me now under whitespread wings like he'd come from Arkangels, I sink I'd die down over his feet, humbly dumbly, only to washup. Yes, tid. There's where. First. We pass through grass behush the bush to. Whish! A gull. Gulls. Far calls. Coming, far! End here. Us then. Finn, again! Take. Bussoftlhee, mememormee! Till thousendsthee. Lps. The keys to. Given! A way a lone a last a loved a long the

Couldn't have said it better myself.

References and Further Reading

James Joyce, Richard Ellmann, Oxford University Press, NY, 1974

James Joyce: A New Biography, Gordon Bowker, Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2013

"James Joyce", Harry Levin, The Atlantic Monthly, pp. 125-129, December, 1946.

Ulysses, James Joyce, Sylvia Beach (Publisher), 1922.

"Finnegans Wake - The Book the Web Was Invented For", Billy Mills, The Guardian, April 28, 2015.

At Random, Bennett Cerf, Random House, 1977.

Early American Proverbs and Proverbial Phrases, Bartlett Jere Whiting, Belnap Press of Harvard University Press, 1977.

The Life of Benjamin Franklin, Volume 1: Journalist, 1706 - 1732, Volume 2: Printer and Publisher, 1730-1747, Leo Lemay, University of Pennsylvania Press, 2006.

"James Joyce Dies; Wrote 'Ulysses'", New York Times, January 13, 1941.