The Kiss

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  “Ryabovitch pulled the bed-clothes over his head, curled himself up in bed, and tried to gather together the floating images in his mind and to combine them into one whole. But nothing came of it. He soon fell asleep, and his last thought was that someone had caressed him and made him happy—that something extraordinary, foolish, but joyful and delightful, had come into his life. The thought did not leave him even in his sleep. When he woke up the sensations of oil on his neck and the chill of peppermint about his lips had gone, but joy flooded his heart just as the day before.” The Kiss By Anton Chekhov (1860–1904)

Happy Bloomsday

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We interrupt our irregularly scheduled flight of fancy that we might observe this day, June 16, known to most bookworms (the Irish ones, in particular) as “Bloomsday.” Herein we celebrate (with as much reserve as panache) the literary marvel that is “Ulysses” as written by James Joyce. The novel in its entirety takes place on this one day in 1904, telling the story of a man who is trying to avoid going home to his wife. In ironic real life, it was the same day Joyce met his wife-to-be. Love it and hate it. It’s not an easy read, but it’s definitely rewarding. It does not soften reality.

I’ve provided below a sample from his work that I find most poetic, as the rhythm and alliteration are astounding. Read slowly, out loud. Pay attention to the sounds of the letters, the words. Genius!

My copy was published in 1961 and contains in the forward, “The Monumental Decision Of The United States District Court Rendered December 6, 1933, By Honorable John M. Wolsey Lifting The Ban On ‘Ulysses.’” Fascinating.

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