|(it was a preface to knowing)
||[Sep. 19th, 2010|10:49 pm]
( Blahdiblahdiladeedah, Ithaca, Ithaca, Ithaca.Collapse )
The computer only encourages my deranged note-taking process. I'll become Stephen, paragraphing all over the place--oh, who am I kidding, no future tense necessary. I love 'Ithaca'. There are parts I can barely get through because they're such a pile of cataloging blather but do I care? no, because Stephen Dedalus finally gets a cup of cocoa! I've been wanting to give him one for six hundred and eighty-seven pages, Bloom. Thank you so much.
The idea of writing a chapter of a novel entirely in Q & A format's really delightful--I mean, were I to do it, I wouldn't be thinking on a zillion levels, nor referencing old textbooks, catechisms, or even a real scientific inquiry. The closest to set, intellectual questioning I get is half-baked Socratic interrogation. And that's among friends. It's so hard for a narrator to ask questions without sounding like a doofus. :( I work very hard to drive myself out of my narrative voices, and I ask questions all the time, so I ditch the question marks save in quotation and and this has nothing to do with Plan.
Uh, look, a wonderful quote from an essay on Ithaca:
[In Ithaca] we are tacitly invited...to supply our own reflections upon the ruin that language leaves when, like time, it has passed across the reality.
R.A. Copland & G.W. Turner, 'The Nature of James Joyce's Parody in 'Ithaca''
And one from the chapter itself:
What in water did Bloom, waterlover, drawer of water, watercarrier returning to the range, admire?
Its universality: its democratic equality and constancy to its nature in seeking its own level: its vastness in the ocean of Mercator's projection: its umplumbed profundity in the Sundam trench of the Pacific exceeding 8,000 fathoms: the restlessness of its waves and surface particles visiting in turn all points of its seaboard: the independence of its units: the variability of states of sea: its hydrostatic quiescence in calm: its hydrokinetic turgidity in neap and spring tides: its subsidence after devastation...its violence in seaquakes, waterspouts, artesian wells, eruptions, torrents, eddies, freshets, spates, groundswells, watersheds, waterpartings, geysers, cataracts, whirlpools, maelstroms, inundations, deluges, cloudbursts: its vast circumterrestrial ahorizontal curve: its secrecy in springs, and latent humidity, revealed by rhabdomantic or hygrometric instruments and exemplified by the hole in the wall at Ashtown gate, saturation of air, distillation of dew...its potentiality derivable from harnessed tides or watercourses falling from level to level: its submarine fauna and flora (anacoustic, photophobe) numerically, if not literally, the inhabitants of the globe: its ubiquity as constituting 90% of the human body: the noxiousness of its effluvia in lacustrine marshes, pestilential fens, faded flowerwater, stagnant pools in the waning moon.
...What reason did Stephen give for declining Bloom's offer?
That he was hydrophobe, hating partial contact by immersion or total by submersion in cold water (his last bath having taken place in the month of October of the preceding year), disliking the aqueous substances of glass and crystal, distrusting aquacities of thought and language.
....October?! This is June, Stephen. For shame. Don't worry, neither thought nor language'll get on you if you practice hygiene. If you brood in the shower, that's your problem; you brood every damn where.