Hiram Ulysses Grant’s Memoir
Hiram Ulysses Grant’s life started as all great men’s lives start, ordinarily and unassumingly. In Point Pleasant, Ohio, Grant was born to Jesse and Hannah Grant, two common religious and hard-working people who would go on to have 5 more (less important) children. At a young age he took to his father’s business as an apprentice tanner; although it earned him a decent wage, he loathed the work and environment and quickly decided once he was an adult, it would not be the life for him (Miller Center).
He was not overly educated at a young age, and as with many children that age schooling bored him. What he lacked in a desire to be formally educated, he more than made up for with his horsemanship skills, a very critical skill in this time and place in history. This skill set made an impact later in life, when his father enrolled him in the United States Military Academy at West Point, where as in his younger years, performed less than admirably in the common subjects of his education, however, his skill with horses was his saving grace, as he was unmatched in that area. He was thought to be a shoe-in for a spot in the cavalry, but the coveted position passed him by and he was ultimately assigned to the infantry (Miller Center).
In the 1840s the United States Army was still near its humble beginnings, and Grant found himself assigned to the 4th Infantry at the Jefferson Barracks, just south of St. Louis, Missouri. It was here when Grant first met the woman who would become the love of his life. Julia Dent was the sister of Grant’s then-roommate Frederick Dent, who had grown up near St. Louis, and Grant would accompany him on trips back to his home. Sadly Grant had to wait before being able to declare his intentions with Julia, as the Mexican War started, and he was called away (Miller Center).
With his regiment moving to Texas, Lieutenant Grant spent the next two years fighting, and being cited for bravery by his superiors; after being appointed Quartermaster, he gained valuable logistics experience. Though he had many successes in war, Grant did not glory in it, and openly mourned his fallen brothers-in-arms and lamented the waste that war creates. The end of war found Grant being able to live his dream of marrying Julia, although soon he was reassigned to the Pacific Northwest, in Oregon and California. He hated being separated from his family, and his problems didn’t stop there as he ran into money problems, and by many accounts began to drink in excess; this no doubt contributed to his sudden resignation in 1854 (Miller Center).
Returning to his family, his problems seemed to follow him back home, as he found it difficult to make a living, going through half a dozen jobs that did not pan out. On a particularly depressing Christmas, he was forced to pawn his timepiece just to get his children, who now numbered four, their presents. By 1860 he was forced to go to his father for help, working for his younger brother in a tannery located in Illinois. While the country’s future took a disastrous turn, it provided Grant with a career that he could excel in, and the Union needed men with experience. After being able to whip a particularly undisciplined regiment into shape, he won the respect of his men and was subsequently promoted to Brigadier General (Friedel and Sidey, 2006).
Although Grant was finally in his element, the North in general didn’t have an easy road ahead of them. The confederates were mainly in their own territory, and fighting (in their mind) for their freedom. The Union had the tough task of rooting out the enemy in a large territory, and the South had the benefit of strong support from the citizens and started with superior military commanders. The North still had a strong advantage with better weapons, more soldiers, and the crucial blockades to the Confederates supply lines (Miller Center).
Unfortunately for the Union, that advantage didn’t equal easy victories, and the war dragged on. The inefficiency of the Northern military leadership did not match up well against the drive the Southerners had and the fervor with which they fought. This continuing trend of poor military leaders in the North is what eventually led to Lincoln turning to Grant as the man who would lead them to victory (Miller Center).
Grant proved that he was exactly the man to do that soon afterwards. In 1861 he led 3,000 troops into a battle that would eventually come out as a draw, but he showed a willingness to fight, and said later of the lesson he learned that day, “I never forgot,” he wrote, “that he had as much reason to fear my forces as I had his. The lesson was valuable.” (qtd. in Miller Center). He continued to build upon his legend by capturing two Confederate forts in Tennessee, earning himself both the moniker “Unconditional Surrender” Grant and a well-earned promotion to Major General (Miller Center).
His good standing with the people did not last long as he was blamed for the tragic loss known as the Battle of Shiloh. A clever early morning ambush by Confederate forces pushed Grant and the Union line back, resulting in many soldiers being taken as Prisoners of War (POW). Grant still showed his tenacity when he managed to hold his position, and arrange for a counterattack the following day where they gave as good as they got. That being said, the citizens placed all the lost lives of those troops squarely at the feet of Grant (Miller Center).
Lincoln understood the worth of such a man however, and instead of feeding him to the political wolves, stood by him and reminded everyone of Grant’s worth and prowess. His calm demeanor during battle was a far cry from the earlier Union military commanders. He was decisive, concise, and knew the dangers of micromanaging his troops, trusting his junior officers to carry out his direct orders. Lincoln put it simply when asked, “I can’t spare this man–he fights.” That alone spoke volumes of Grant’s predecessors (Friedel and Sidey, 2006).
Grant didn’t let his momentum slow either, after being appointed command over the District of Tennessee, he moved quickly to capture Vicksburg, Mississippi, the location of which allowed him to not only gain a high defensible position, but also cut off the Confederate stranglehold that had been on the Mississippi River since the beginning of the war. This was such a decisive turn in the war, and after the pivotal, devastating blow was struck, Lincoln declared “Grant is my man, and I am his” when hearing of the victory (Miller Center).
It was not long before Grant had the entire Western Theater of the war under his command. After more decisive victories in eastern Tennessee, Grant was the undisputed war hero, not only leading and shaping victories, but his men as well as all his generals earned their reputations as well. By 1864 Lincoln had named Grant the de facto commander of all Union forces, and he was transferred to Washington, DC to oversee the war effort. Grant, being the man of action that he was, hated being too far from the battlefield and instead joined up with General Meade and started the grueling campaign where battle after battle between Grant and Robert E. Lee raged across the countryside. Such huge losses were incurred curing this campaign, that grant was given an additional nickname by the press, “The Butcher” (Miller Center).
Grant ignored the murmurings of the peanut gallery and continued taking the fight to Lee, leading to victories so overpowering, that the South eventually started losing the will to continue fighting. This all culminated into Grant trapping the Confederate Army west of Richmond and forcing Lee to surrender on April 9th, 1865. Lee’s surrender to Grant was basically the unofficial end to the war. Grant wrote out magnanimous terms of surrender that would prevent treason trials (Friedel and Sidey, 2006).
In only 4 short years, Grant had gone from tannery clerk to a living legend, a hero in the flesh that had enough war mythos surrounding him to endear him to the entire nation. In 1866 he was named the General of the Armies, a rank that had not been obtained since George Washington himself. He now had the public eye, and the respect of the country, which makes it far from surprising that it was not long after that he would become a presidential candidate (Miller Center).
During the Reconstruction period, Grant attempted to work alongside Lincoln’s abysmal successor Andrew Johnson. However, he was not a fan of Johnson’s policies, and a dispute arose between the two when Grant refused to back him during one of his many struggles with Congress. He moved more and more towards the Radical’s viewpoint, wanting more protection for recently freed slaves, and although he had little to no interest in being president himself, his popularity lead to him being virtually unable to deny the people (Miller Center).
In 1868, Grant’s nomination was nothing more than a formality. Speaker of the House Schuyler Colfax of Indiana was declared to be his running mate and the Democrats chose Horatio Seymour, the then governor of New York, to run against them. The 46-year-old Grant did not campaign himself, which was usual during that day and age, but he was easily the most popular candidate. He won the Electoral College vote by a nearly 3 to 1 margin over Seymour. Attributed in no small part to the newly enfranchised Southern blacks in some reconstructed states, he won the popular vote by 300,000 (Miller Center).
Near the end of his first term in office, Grant’s popularity was still high, but over the past four years a small part of the Republican Party had grown tired of his policies, and branched off to become the Liberal Republicans. They mostly just stood against Grant’s support for the African Americans and the Federal Government intervention in the South (Miller Center).
The Liberal Republicans basically wanted the return of white rule in the south, and nominated a man of their own, Horace Greely, as their candidate. The Democrats, knowing that they could profit off of the Republican split, immediately made their support of Greely known, and he became their candidate as well. However, Greely couldn’t seem to keep his issues straight, and ended up switching his stories and policies too often for people to feel that he was a stable voting choice. This led to Grant winning his reelection, and brought with it a Republican majority into both houses of Congress (Miller Center).
Grant declared in 1875 that he had no interest in running for a third term, and proved it when he played virtually no role in the next election at all, leaving the election too close to be decided. This in turn led Congress to negotiating a compromise to decide which votes counted, and eventually they ruled in favor of Rutherford B. Hayes, who became Grant’s successor. During all of this, Grant seemed more concerned with maintaining a fair election and keeping the peace to facilitate and orderly transfer or power (Miller Center).
When Grant finally stepped down, he could do so knowing that even though the country had a long way to go, he had set it on course to survive, and one day thrive. With this in mind, he took Julia and fulfilled a lifelong passion for world travel, touring across many different countries, and always being received as the hero and great man that he was (Miller Center).
Upon returning from his trips to Europe, Africa, the Middle East, and Asia, Grant was received well, his popularity still ringing strongly throughout the citizens of the United States of America. He even sought to reclaim the Republican nomination for president. Alas, he had made too many enemies inside of his own party, and instead James A. Garfield earned the nomination instead (Miller Center).
It seemed that misfortune was all the future had in store for Grant after that, starting with a financial disaster that ended with most of his assets being lost due to a scam by his son’s company. The former President and war hero now had to rely on the generosity of his friends as he had no money of his own (Miller Center).
As if that wasn’t enough, he then discovered he was dying of throat cancer. A lifetime of smoking had finally taken its toll on him. Grant was not an emotionally weak man though, he did not allow his recent misfortunes to change the man he had always been, and he approached this fight with cancer with the same fervor and unwillingness to give up that he had approached every fight before this. His final act was to write his memoirs, an act that took all of his time and energy to fully commit to (Miller Center).
He did not do this out of any egotistical need to tell his story, but instead because he knew that he was not leaving his family the legacy they deserved, and did not want his wife and children to also live off of the charity of their friends. He spent his last days at his home, scrawling out his epic tale, and actually managing to finish it just before his death on July 23rd, 1885. It was published by none other than Mark Twain, and its huge success took care of his family for the rest of their lives, accomplishing his last self-issued mission. His funeral was fit for a man of his stature, and it drew a million and a half citizens from all over the country to come and commemorate his life and what a simple tanner’s son had managed to accomplish. Ulysses S. Grant still lies in Grant’s Monument in Manhattan, to this day and is the largest tomb in North America (Miller Center).
Grant’s memory and legend lives on even now, almost 130 years after his death, and he is still widely regarded as one of the better presidents to have had the honor of leading this great nation. Scholars still argue that even though he didn’t make tremendous strides toward the future as many presidents did before him, and have since, he is credited with keeping this country together after the debacle that was Andrew Johnson, and doing that in only two terms is no small thing (C-Span).
Compare and Contrast Two or Three Episodes from Ulysses
James Joyce’s 1922 novel, Ulysses, is a recast of one of the most formulaic and fundamental plots of the Western canon, Homer’s Odyssey. The novel is divided into eighteen episodes, which is set on the 16th of June 1904 in Dublin. Joyce fills the lengthy novel with bathetic mythical parallels and exhibits mimesis with its main protagonist, Leopold Bloom, ‘othered’ in every sense from his classifications as Jewish and cuckoldry whose wife, Molly Bloom, ‘consummates’ an affair at approximately ‘four o’clock’. This essay will aim to discuss the positive representation of women within this modernist epic. As Callow cites in her work, ‘Joyce’s Female Voices in “Ulysses”’, Joyce’s relationship with ‘feminism’ remains undeniably ‘problematic’, receiving criticism from critics such as Carolyn Heilbrun and Mary Ellmann. The focus of this argument will center around the deviation of Leopold’s and Stephen’s narrative during the episodes ‘Nausicaa’ and ‘Penelope’.
Not only his novels but Joyce, himself, has come under criticism from feminist theory, with Suzette A. Henke even claiming Joyce ‘apportioned’ womanhood to its ‘sexual aspects’ with Molly Bloom. However, to read the entirety of ‘Penelope’ and only deduce the sexual aspects of Molly’s character can only fit into a radical feminist opinion upon sexuality. Her governess and sexual agency assert her as one of the main vehicles driving the plot forward in the novel, she is in no manner passive. The lack of a strong female voice in the history of literature has led to feminist literary theory seeking to examine old texts within literary canon through a new lens. Anette Kolodny, a theorist of feminist interpretation, cites that it is ‘her right’ to choose which features of a text she takes a ‘relevant’. Within this notion of feminist literary theory framework, this essay will analyze the contents of the two female narrated episodes of Ulysses, ‘Nausicaa’ and ‘Penelope’.
Joyce granting Molly Bloom, the novel’s initial obscure object of desire, contrasts the throngs of male-dominated canon novels, which leave their women voiceless subjects seen only through limiting masculine narrative. Secondly, as Hugh Kenner notes, ‘Penelope’ is the only episode in which Joyce does not ‘interrupt’. This idea of her interrupted soliloquy working in contingency with the episode’s form, ‘outside the fixed language of androcentricism’ moves in steps towards an empowering feminine language which alludes to feminist, Hélene Cixous’s theory of écriture féminine, rebuts Henke’s criticism of the representation of Molly Bloom. Gerty McDowell’s the subject of Bloom’s attention within Nausicaa, autonomy cannot be denied as it is her perspective and interpretation of the subsequent of the episode which even on the surface layer move her from a passive character into an active one, as it is her who guides the readers.
Contained within Molly’s infamous ending soliloquy, the flow of the narrative showcases the transience of emotional process as they occur, deviating from conventional narratives with afterthoughts. Free of punctuation, Molly’s ideas and thoughts progress naturally, without interruption, with her mind free of constraint, she is finally granted her own say on her own actions and subsequent events, in which she ruminates Leopold must have ‘came’ somewhere due to his ‘appetite’. Her narrative encapsulates her husband, subjecting her to her own criticism and also gives her autonomy through fleshing her out as a person, no longer limiting her character through observations made by the men in the book. The writing style ties into notions theorized by French feminist Luce Irigaray, who surmises ‘feminine’ writing is ‘always fluid’.
The fluidity of ‘Penelope’ with its lack of punctuation and formless stylization feeds into écriture féminine, a previously mentioned theory, which Henderson cites ‘anticipates’ the feminist theories of Irigaray. Écriture féminine is a theory which is associated with French Second Wave Feminism, and looks at the ‘inscription’ of the female body and the difference in text and language, to cite Showalter’s definition.Henderson continues to theorize that this anticipation of écriture féminine deconstructs patriarchal structures, formally put in place in the novel. Molly’s ramblings flesh out her character, and while sexuality underlay much of her musings, she is always in control of the situation, harnessing her physicality to become the controller of situations, such as the one with the lieutenant Jack Joe Harry Mulvey, whom she teases by opening her blouse while disallowing him permission to touch her anywhere. In comparison to ‘Nausicaa’, which presents a complex narrative, with some critics such as Arthur Power deducing that nothing occurred between Leopold and Gerty MacDowell, however, this essay will reject that idea as it undermines Gerty’s feminine voice and takes on the events, setting the episode in a patriarchal structure. Gerty MacDowell, influenced by Victorian popular culture, mirrors some of Flaubert’s Emma Bovary’s ‘libidinal desires’.
This can be observed in her pleasure garnered from Leopold’s infamous masturbation on Sandymount. Emma Bovary and Gerty MacDowell, are two women whose circumstances are determined by the position of women in their respective eras. Gerty, while physically lame and vulnerable, she also occupies a vulnerable position of early twentieth century Dublin, where she is female, unmarried and poor. She comes from a low-income social context which limits her mobility within society, paired with her disability from an accident coming down ‘Dalkey hill’, places Gerty’s position precariously in society. Both women, Molly and Gerty feel the effects of their patriarchal society which dictates the specific roles of mother and wife for them to fill. Notably, both women fail at both of their roles, which deconstructs the Victorian feminine ideal of an angel in the attic, a literary trope critiqued by feminist Virginia Woolf. Gerty is unwed and childless, while Molly is adulterous with a dead child, who she refuses to allow make her upset anymore during ‘Penelope’.
Victorian’s popular culture has a weighted influence on ‘Nausicaa’s’ Gerty, with much of her interior monologue focuses on such, showcasing how Victorian culture has shaped her behavior, conditioned her perception on chastity and obsession with image. ‘Nausicaa’ can be interpreted as a criticism of how Victorian society has wronged its women, molding Gerty in such a way she is pliant and accepting of Leopold’s sexual perversion. In ‘Prostitution, Incest, and Venereal Disease in Ulysses’ “Nausicaa”’ cites the jarring juxtaposition of Gerty’s section to Bloom’s section, suggests a parallactic perspective – a common motif running throughout Ulysses – which acts as a ‘satirical’ take on both femininity and masculinity. Molly also shares Gerty’s ‘penchant’ for the ‘romantic’, as observed in her final musings on how Leopold deemed her ‘flower of the mountain’.
Molly’s soliloquy ends in rumination of a romantic setting of her and Leopold among the ‘rhododendrons’ of Howth head, which contrasts sharply with her earlier topics including her adultery with Boylan and the death of Rudy. This softer side of Molly is reminiscent of Gerty’s quixotic narrative, showcasing the humility of the two characters, marking them as human above female.
‘Nausicaa’s’ female language encodes and deconstructs Victorian patriarchal confinements by giving a voice to a young women’s silenced experiences, by showcasing how Gerty must operate within society if she is to succeed. Gerty, while influenced by popular culture is aware of her position in society and knows that marriage is the only way to elevate her status. She desires a husband who will go out ‘to the business’ so to provide for her.
While feminist critics will condemn women relying on men, within the context of Ulysses’ society, Gerty is attempting to utilize what prowess she exerts over men, her sexuality, in order to receive stability from them. In contrast to Molly, who was the active agent in her and Leopold’s relationship as it was her who chose him because she could ‘always get around him’, thus showcasing Molly’s control, Gerty does not have such privileges due to her disability.
Questions stemming from Gerty’s true identity, hint at the position, through her links with Cissy Caffery, Edy Boardman, and Bertha Supple, all of which, citing Mark Shechner’s psychoanalytical reading of the text, make an appearance in the hallucinatory brothel scene. Within this reading, Gerty can be viewed as much more than her hyperbolic language and deemed as the ‘second most important’ female character in Ulysses’
The Story Surrounding the Presidency of Ulysses Grant
Although Ulysses S. Grant’s contemporaries placed him in the highest position of great Americans along with George Washington and Abraham Lincoln, the twentieth century has seen him fade. His presidency has been almost universally condemned, and he is consistently ranked second to rock bottom Warren G. Harding in polls of historians to rate the presidents.
Although his military reputation has declined as well, it nevertheless continues to win him a steady following. Even his most faithful admirers, however, tend to end their studies conveniently at Appomattox, and one senses a wide regret that Grant’s public career extended beyond the Civil War. Taking note of this trend, John Y. Simon observes that some biographers “seem to have wished that Grant had accepted Lincoln’s invitation to Ford’s Theatre” on the night the president was shot- the night that John Wilkes Booth had intended to assassinate Grant along with Lincoln.
Much of what has been passed down as an objective appraisal of Grant’s presidency more closely resembles the partisan critiques that were produced by a relatively small group of performers during the 1870’s– in many ways the intellectual ancestors of the present historical profession. Although such a minority can sometimes be a source of enlightenment, in this case, it has contributed a monolithic picture of a complex era that is about as depressing as it is inaccurate. Little consideration is given the checkered nature of Grant’s eight years of the Gilded Age. Michael Les Benedict observes that Grant “dominated his era, a stronger resident than most have recognized”.
In both the domestic and foreign realms, President Grant could claim a wide range of achievements. In the aftermath of the most serious fiscal problems the nation had ever faced, he pursued policies that stopped inflation, raised the nations credit, and reduced taxes and the national debt by over $300 million and $435 million respectively. His veto of the Inflation Act of 1874 and subsequent drive for what became the Resumption Act of 1875 shocked many who looked to Congress to cure the nation’s economic ills, and the panic of 1873 came to an abrupt end when the act went into effect in 1879. The successful arbitration of the Alabama and Virginus disputes mark not only foreign policy victories for the United States, but a significant precursor to the future course of international affairs. The establishment of the principle of the international arbitration through the Treaty of Washington, would later be embodied in the Hague Tribunal, the League of Nations, the World Court, and the United Nations.
Grant’s desire for peace was evident to me from the beginning of my research, but I did not realize how far-reaching it was until I noted the steadiness and rectitude he displayed throughout the presidential electoral crisis of 1876-77, which could have become a disaster. Also remarkable to me was Grant’s “Quaker” Indian Peace Policy: on the eve of what could have become the complete genocide of the American Indian, Grant acted decisively to begin two decades of reform that for the first time promoted the welfare of Indians as individuals and broke ground for their eventual citizenship.
However important these issues may seem, the traditional evaluation of Grant as president nevertheless pays far less attention to them than to the issue of corruption. Unlike other cases of presidents charged with allowing corruption, however, the “corruption” that reformers condemned during Grant’s two terms, for the most part, was merely the practice of making appointments through the spoils system. As Benedict points out, scholars have tended to accept the judgment of the anti-Grant reformers that this (patronage) system was inherently corrupt, but that is a very questionable conclusion, and reformers had ulterior, political motives for making the charge.
The matter of whether patronage is necessarily synonymous with corruption provides an additional question of consistency; for historians, if the reformers’ verdict is true, must explain how Grant’s predecessors, most of whom practiced patronage, led administrations exempt from the brand of corruption. What is ironic about the traditional picture of honest reformers opposing the president’s corrupt party henchmen is that Grant was actually the first president since the establishment of the Jacksonian spoils system to initiate civil service reform.
The arguability of the reformers’ charges against Grant extends to cases of actual corruption. The Credit Mobilier scandal, the most conspicuous of the so-called Grant scandals, was in fact only uncovered by the administration. The corrupt activity had occurred in 1867-68, before Grant even became president. Nowhere else in the American political tradition is a president held accountable for corruption dating back to a previous administration. The reformers also charged such figures as cabinet members George H. Williams and George M. Robeson with corruption, and although the record showed the baselessness of such charges, historians evidently see this minor point as negligible. No major study of the Grant presidency makes the connection between the untrustworthiness and utter damage of the reformers’ accusations and Grant’s adverse behavior toward such reformers as Secretary of the Treasury Benjamin Bristow, who made serious allegations concerning the president’s private secretary, Orville Babcock, without sufficient evidence. The weakness of the reformers’ charges, however, is in itself an insufficient explanation of the political environment of the Grant presidency. The crucial issue that remains to be explored–Reconstruction– sheds light on the entire political situation. There was more to the reformers than civil service reform, just as there was more to Grant’s supporters than patronage.
In order to understand the reformers, one must understand the circumstances under which they first came into existence as an organized group dedicated specifically to defeating Grant in 1872 through the Liberal Republican Party. Grant’s suspension of habeas corpus in nine South Carolina counties in 1871 marked a singular display of peacetime presidential power, and in Benedict’s words, ” The effect was electric. Reformers lamented the sacrifice of ‘real’ issues, such as the tariff and civil-service reform, to the ‘dead’ one symbolized by the ‘bloody shirt’…and the use of federal troops (in the South) as gross violations of civil liberty, but they were also forced at last to give up their open hostility to equal rights and black suffrage. Announcing a “new departure,” they promised to accept the finality of the Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteenth amendments. The new departure enabled Democrats, reform Republicans, and some Republican politicians who had lost power in their party to unite against Grant’s reelection. Calling themselves Liberal republicans, the dissident Republicans met…(in 1872 ) to name a candidate whom the Democrats would endorse”.
The administration’s success that led to the “new departure” was one of President Grant’s crowning achievements, but Grant would pay dearly for it in history. Having lost their old focus and finding themselves desperately in need of a new one, the Liberal Republican movement began to focus upon what they questionably termed corruption. Both the birth and the survival of Grant’s enemies as a group specifically “focused on Grant himself and the new politics of the Gilded Age” was deeply intertwined with Grant’s dedication to Reconstruction. “(Liberal reform had come to view Reconstruction as an expression of all the real and imagined evils of the Gilded Age,” Historian Eric Foner asserted, and “the rise of (pro-Grant) Stalwarts did less to undermine Republican Southern policy than the emergence of an influential group of party reformers whose revolt against the new politics of the Grant era” caused them to “demand…an end to Reconstruction”.
It is the centrality of Reconstruction issues in Grant’s political situation that has led to a great deal of oversight by historians. Grant’s years in office cannot be understood if the politics of the Gilded Age is separated from the politics of Reconstruction. Both were primary features of the 1870’s, and in order to understand Grant’s political situation, historians must recognize how fundamental the inconsistency was between the reformers’ revered conception of government by the best educated and the notion of black rule in the South, the latter being an essential part of Grant’s program. The president’s dedication to Reconstruction, which endured even after most national leaders declared it misguided, produced a civil rights record which, according to Richard N. Current, made Grant, “in a certain respect, one of the greatest presidents” with whom “only Lyndon B. Johnson can even be compared…”
A look at all of the pressing issues during the Grant administration, but especially Reconstruction, clearly indicates that the portrait of politics during the 1870’s as a mere matter of who practiced a less desirable system of patronage and who advocated civil service reform is seriously distorted. The traditional verdict on the Grant presidency does not even begin to appear logical until one accepts the flawed assumption that the corruption / civil service reform issue was more important than such issues as Reconstruction, international crises, Indian affairs, and the multitude of economic matters, all combined. As William B. Hesseltine admits in his definitive study of President Grant, “Grant’s enemies….stuffed the ballot boxes of history against Grant…”
Hiram Ulysses Grant: biography
Born April 27, 1822 in Point Pleasant, Ohio, Hiram Ulysses Grant, also known as Ulysses S Grant, was the first of six children to Hannah Grant and Jesse Grant. Ulysses was small, sensitive, and quiet. The local schools bored him, and other children mistook his quietness for stupidity, nicknaming him “Useless.” Ulysses also loved horses as a child and was known for taming unruly horses.
His family had little money for college, but the United States Military Academy at West Point offered a deal a free education in return for Army service after graduating. Grant though did not know there was this opportunity so his dad signed him up and he got in. After great depait he decided to go. He was good at math and drawing, but his prior education was limited, leaving him as a otherwise unexceptional student. His skill with horses, however, were amazing, and he amazed everyone with his riding abilities. Grant seemed sure to win a coveted spot in the Army’s cavalry, its horse-soldier elite, but he was assigned to the infantry after graduating twenty-first out of a class of thirty-nine. In 1804 the Army was very small. Grant was assigned to the Fourth Infantry at the Jefferson Barracks, just south of St. Louis, Missouri. Grant’s West Point roommate, Frederick Dent, had grown up nearby, and Grant often visited the Fredericks home, where the family’s hospitality made him feel comfortable. One day while visiting, Grant met Frederick’s sister, Julia Dent. Julia was charming, smart, and sociable.
They soon fell in love, although Grants service in the Mexican War would delay their union for several years. Grant’s troops moved further south, first to Louisiana and then to Texas to prepare for the conflict with Mexico that was happening on the Texas Territory. From 1846 to 1848 Grant (who was a lieutenant at the time) fought in the Mexican War and was twice recognized for bravery. Grant was then appointed quartermaster for the Fourth Infantry and was responsible for providing supplies and transportation as his troops moved through the Mexican countryside.
Grant, did not like the ideals of war. He mourned his lost comrades and the waste that war created. When the war was over Grant traveled back to St. Louis to marry Julia. Grant though was unaware that, all three of his Southern attendants, including James Longstreet, would fight against him during the Civil War. The Army then transferred the young lieutenant to Detroit and New York. At the beginning of their marriage Julia was able to travel with Grant but when the Army sent Grant to the Pacific Northwest, first to the Oregon Territory then to California. Grant hated being away from his family. Grant ended up running into some financial problems, he then became depressed. According to some accounts he began to drink to excess. In 1854, Grant resigned suddenly from the Army. And is still not know to this day why he resigned. After leaving the Army, Grant returned to his wife and children in Missouri. Julia’s father had given her some land, and Grant tried to farm it, building a log house he built “Hardscrabble.” Working hard, Grant found it difficult to make a living.
When extra labor was needed, he hired free blacks. He could have made money from selling the one slave that his father-in-law gave him but instead freed the slave. The painful reality was that Ulysses could not support his family, which eventually grew to four children. He also attempted a half-dozen other lines of work over the next several years. One bleak Christmas, he pawned his watch for $22 to buy presents for his family. By 1860, Grant was forced appeal to his father for help, and he went to work for his younger brother in a leather shop in Galena, Illinois. Soon thereafter, the South seceded from the Union and formed the Confederate States of America. The Civil War had begun, and, suddenly, the North needed experienced Army officers like Grant. The governor of Illinois appointed the former captain to lead a volunteer regiment that no one else had been able to train.
Grant instituted badly needed discipline, focusing on the regiment’s main goals and overlooking minor details. He gradually won the men’s respect and allegiance and was subsequently appointed to brigadier general. Grant displayed his military prowess early in the conflict. In 1861, he led 3,000 troops into his first major engagement. The clash at Belmont, Missouri, was a draw, but he showed a rare Union trait at the time—a willingness to fight. More than that in this early period Grant learned something about the enemy, and about himself. “I never forgot,” he wrote, “that he had as much reason to fear my forces as I had his. The lesson was valuable.” In February 1862, he captured Fort Henry and Fort Donelson, two critical Confederate fortifications in Tennessee. At Fort Donelson, he accepted the surrender of an entire Confederate force, earning a nickname, “Unconditional Surrender” Grant. Fort Donelson was the first real Union victory of the
Episode Eighteen: The Female Perspective in Joyce’s Ulysses
James Joyce’s Ulysses is unlike any other novel. With a variety of characters, a stream-of-consciousness narrative, parodies, allusions, and obscenities, Joyce’s eighteen-episode novel illustrates only a single Dublin day. While the first thirteen episodes present a substantial number of questions, confusion, and comedic relief, the remaining five experiment with alternative narrative techniques. From the form of a play script in Episode Fifteen to the question-and-answer narrative in Episode Seventeen, Joyce explores various methods, challenging the conventional modes of storytelling. The final episode, Episode Eighteen (also known as “Penelope”), delivers the novel from the female perspective of Molly Bloom. Molly Bloom, Leopold Bloom’s sexually flirtatious wife, narrates her feminine viewpoint on assorted events and her relationship with Bloom in an eight-sentence, 37-page collection of lethargic, unpunctuated words, thoughts, and opinions. Through this episode, Joyce displays an eccentric form of literature, creating an epic culmination to his legendary masterpiece. Additionally, Molly Bloom’s feminine expressivity illustrates Joyce’s perception of women and fully encompasses their role within the novel.
While the great majority of Ulysses is documented through a stream-of-consciousness technique from the viewpoints of primarily Stephen or Leopold Bloom, Molly Bloom’s Episode Eighteen is drastically different from all of the others. First, without the presence of periods, commas, or evidence of punctuation in general, this incidence of stream-of-consciousness is unparalleled. It is almost inaccurate to even describe Molly’s soliloquy as her stream of consciousness; a more precise explanation might label this eight-sentence episode as Molly’s exhausted compilation of various words and opinions. For instance, a brief segment from Molly’s first sentence, discussing Mrs. Riordan, demonstrates her opinionated thoughts and uttering of words: “she had too much old chat in her about politics and earthquakes and the end of the world let us have a bit of fun first God help the world if all the women were her sort down on bathingsuits and lownecks of course nobody wanted her to wear them I suppose she was pious because no man would look at her twice” (608). Joyce’s lack of punctuation throughout this episode imitates an actual flooding of thoughts, while also further exaggerating the familiar stream-of-consciousness technique. While this method makes for a frustrating read, Joyce is forcing the reader to visualize Molly’s constant ramblings and contemplations. Without periods or breaks in the monologue, Joyce produces a sense of exhaustion, parallel to Molly’s fatigued state. Therefore, the absence of punctuation amplifies the stream-of-consciousness technique, while also defining the tone of the episode as equivalent to Molly’s own emotional and physical condition.
In addition to the irregular style and methods Joyce uses throughout Episode Eighteen, the choice to employ this technique from the perspective of a female character is significant. While the lack of punctuation creates an unstoppable flow of words and thoughts, it also exhibits a liberated approach to the English language and grammar. As Joyce chooses to use Molly as the narrator for this episode, he is deliberately demonstrating her independence from the expectations of confined society. For instance, throughout the novel leading up to this episode, Molly has gained a promiscuous reputation — one that we find out is not necessarily true. Although Bloom rants about her various suitors, Molly asserts that Boylan was her first and only infidelity, after a sexless ten years with Bloom.
Regardless, Molly chooses to express her sexuality and femininity without fearing a man’s judgment. She refuses to be confined by social norms, just as Joyce chooses to create his own literary techniques outside of the established scholarly methods.
In addition to Molly’s sexual freedom, she also takes a liberating approach within her marriage. At the opening of this chapter, Bloom has asked Molly to serve him breakfast in bed, attempting to reestablish his dominant male role within the household and their marriage. Molly is annoyed and curious about this request, thus convinced that her husband partook in unfaithful activities earlier in the day. While this curiosity implies that Molly is not the only one being adulterous within their marriage, it also demonstrates Molly’s independence. Unlike the majority of women during the early 1900s, Molly is not subservient to her husband’s wishes and demands. She lives her life as she pleases, whether it is in a respectable manner or not. Molly is a strong character, as described through her actions and displayed through her appearance. While Joyce uses a liberated female to exercise his unconventional modern techniques, the parallels drawn between Molly’s persona and Joyce’s writing style are undeniable.
Furthermore, Joyce makes a conscious decision to conclude the novel with Molly, a female voice — the only chapter in the novel with a female narrator. Although this may appear to attribute a considerable amount of significance to Molly’s point of view and opinions, as with the remainder of the novel, Joyce implies the characters’ fallibility in regards to their perception and judgment of other characters and events within the novel. For example, Molly fantasizes about Stephen, creating an exaggerated and incorrect perception of his character. She imagines, “Im sure hes very distinguished Id like to meet a man like that… hed be so clean compared with those pigs of men I suppose never dream of washing…” (638). While Molly’s view of Stephen is highly inaccurate, as he is often described as anything but clean, Joyce is demonstrating a character’s personal opinion rather than a factual identification. There is no true, honest narrator in Ulysses, only a vast array of opinions and the consistent passing of judgments. Therefore, while Joyce implements a female narrator to conclude the novel, he is further exploring an atypical technique, rather than giving Molly the authority to close the novel with her opinions and final judgments as the ultimate truth.
In addition to its unusual form of stream-of-consciousness and the implications of a female narrative, Episode Eighteen is the only instance when Molly expresses her feelings and opinions regarding her marriage with Bloom, as well as her other relationships. While Molly admits that she was initially attracted to Bloom because he understands how a woman thinks, her unfaithful actions and their continuous marital problems have resulted in a challenging and rather unconventional marriage. She describes the initial days while courting Bloom, detailing how she once found his appearance quite attractive. Although the spark in their relationship has diminished and the initial feelings have weakened, Molly will always be affectionate toward Bloom. Even her extramarital affair with Boylan and her suspicions regarding Bloom’s unfaithful activities could not permanently terminate their marriage.
Lastly, throughout this chapter, Joyce attempts to imitate a woman’s thought process and the female perspective, often leading to stereotypical generalizations and exaggerations. For example, Joyce illustrates Molly’s character as a strong feminist, yet with one fixation: sex. Female critics have disapproved of Joyce’s inaccurate female characterizations: “That’s not the female perspective! If you men think that all we think about at night is sex and how we’re seen by men in our lives, then you’ve got another think coming!” (Shmoop). In addition to labeling Molly’s character in this manner, in Episode Thirteen, Joyce also displays Gerty MacDowell as an overly sexual being. In both instances, Joyce is stereotyping the women, making them objects of sexual desire as well as implying that their primary thoughts revolve solely around sex. While Joyce makes a valid attempt at creating the female perspective, his view of the female gender is slightly tainted and flawed.
As the finale to James Joyce’s Ulysses, Episode Eighteen encompasses a number of themes and ideas while also exploring unconventional literary techniques. Through Molly Bloom’s soliloquy, the reader is introduced to new opinions, personalities, and scholarly methods. As the journey of Ulysses concludes in this unusual fashion, the introduction and exploration of alternative forms of style and technique defines Joyce’s authentic literary approach and purpose.
A Study into General Ulysses Grant’s Personality
General Ulysses S. Grant was the union general for the last years of the civil war and is celebrated and respected throughout America for his service to the country. Revered military historian, Shelby Foote, considers Grant one of the greatest generals of history. Grant was born Hiram Ulysses Grant, in Point Pleasant, Ohio on April 27, 1822. He had what he described as an “uneventful” childhood in Georgetown, Ohio where his family moved a year after him being born. At the age of 17, Grant’s father organised for him to be sent to the United States Military Academy at West Point. Due to a secretarial error he was listed as Ulysses S. Grant, and so, not wanting to be rejected from the school, Grant changed his name on the spot. He did not excel as a student at West Point, achieving average grades and receiving demerits for slovenly dress and tardiness, and ultimately decided that the academy “had no charms” for him. He planned to resign from the military after he served his mandatory four years of duty. Despite all of this, when the Civil war broke out, Grant jumped at the chance to serve his country again. Grants possession of skills such as bravery, determination, perseverance, and the ability to be flexible under immense stress, helped him win the war. His successes can be attributed to his aptitude for understanding the politics of this war and how it influences battle; his capacity to stay cool and fearless under intense pressure and stress; his assertion and determination in his fights; his thoughts regarding his motivation; and his ability to make all around educated, quick choices in the heart of battle. Grant’s hard-won victory at Vicksburg, Mississippi, in May of 1863 was a strategic masterpiece and although his earlier victories placed him in the public eye, his triumph at Vicksburg really cemented his reputation as a capable and effective leader.
Grant’s ability to grasp the political nature of modern war and see how state truly affects warfare is an example of his importance and genius as a General. He is known as one of the first great modern generals because of the fact that he recognised that war was changing and that he too would have to change the way he fought. In Source A, a mister Williams is quoted as saying that “Grants common sense allowed him to see past mere theory,” and that it was his “ability to grasp the political nature of modern war” that truly identifies him as “the first of the great modern generals.” This source displays the contemporary thinking of the union general and how this lead to him being able to make decisions that, although must have seemed crazy at the time, paid off in the long run.
Grant demonstrates his worth as a general through his ability to remain calm and courageous under extreme pressure and stress. These abilities helped Grant to become noticeably recognised as a man who fought well and gained numerous victories. Unmistakably, the worries of other generals through the Civil War did not affect Grant and did not prevent his capacity to make detailed, strategic plans and implement them in the midst of battle. This is seen in Source B where Grant is described as having “four o’clock in the morning courage ” and could be as “cool as a cucumber” while being told the enemy was near. This source is significant because it highlights Grants ability to make quick, informed decisions on things while staying composed, paying little regard to the situation he was confronting at the time. He was known for both remaining effective under outrageous conditions and staying focused in intense battles. Shelby Foote also mentions another of Grant’s admirable qualities; that he never cried in front of his troops and remained strong and stoic in their presence. This strength of character was admired and looked for among generals. These qualities are important in military leadership because without them, generals might be more inclined to make decision based on what is happening in that very second rather than considering the outcomes of such a choice. By having the blend of these qualities, Grant could clearly plan and implement strategies in the midst of warfare, which led to him being respected by the President of the time for his successes and broadly perceived as an extremely compelling and critical leader and general in the Civil War.
Grant’s determination and doggedness in his battles were some of his most renowned qualities. His persistence and perseverance were some of the qualities most looked for in a general as it meant that they would be willing to go all the way to achieve their goal. President Theodore Roosevelt assesses the quality of Grants tactics in source C saying that it was his “hard hitting” and “continuous hammering” that finally broke through the lines. This source is important because it emphases Grant’s annoyance with the old idea that the enemy should be reasoned with. In his first major successes as a General in the Civil War, the seizure of Fort Donelson and Fort Henry in 1862, he won the nickname ‘“Unconditional Surrender” Grant’. His “contempt for the weak souls who wished to hold parley with the enemy while the enemy was still capable of resistance” was the spark behind his famed unconditional surrender requirement. This attribute was one that has been talked about by many in the years after the civil war and identifies Grant as the most important and admired general of the Civil war.
Ulysses S. Grant has been viewed as one of the best generals for his attention to his motivation. His passion and assertion to accomplish his objective is the thing that made him most effective. Alongside his own ethos, he had the general population around him as a primary concern when he settled on his choices, needing just the best for his men and his nation. And so his cause became the want to do what was “right, constitutional, within the law, and for the very best interests of the whole people” as seen in source D. Source D particularly focuses on his desire to make the wisest decision by those individuals around him. He immovably put faith in what he was doing and needed to do it to the best of his abilities. He plainly states that his defeats have not been the intent, but rather his own “errors of judgment”. He had the best objectives and the interests of his troops at the top of the priority list while he coordinated the army. This focus of Grant enabled him to be highly effective as it allowed for him to accommodate the requirements of his troops and not have his own particular plan for victory at the top of the list. While he aimed for victory for his own beliefs, as his men’s superior, he made choices that would benefit his troops. This single-mindedness for his cause, and promise to make the wisest decision by every other person, is the thing that made him such an adored general. By having his cause at the focal point of his choices, he became the best general of the Civil War.
The battle and siege of Vicksburg again highlighted Grant’s capability of making well-informed, swift decisions in the heart of combat. His tactical ability during the battle of Vicksburg highlighted his ability to change and adapt his plans as he overcame problems during the battle. Grant’s quick thinking and strong determination to win proved to be just what the union needed for this victory. This can be seen in source A because although the Confederates originally held the high ground, Grant knew his men outnumbered them 3-to-1 and so decided to stage a full frontal assault of the confederate lines. After the first two failed attempts to break the lines, Grant’s flexibility and tactical prowess allowed him to see that a siege would now be the course of action to achieve a complete surrender. Source E is important because it highlights the resilience and determination of how he could use his numerical advantage and circumstance to his advantage. This source really emphasises Grant’s skill at creating and altering plans as new problems arise. This source additionally emphasises how Grant reacted to the disappointment of his initial two strikes on Confederate lines by re-evaluating how he could use his numerically superior armed force’s quality against the enemies shortcoming keeping in mind the end goal to accomplish triumph. It is additionally huge in light of the fact that it demonstrates how each of his fight methodologies influenced the general consequence of the war, which was a triumph for the Union. In this manner, Grant is viewed as one of the greatest generals and a pioneer of the Civil War.
In conclusion, Grant’s passion and belief for his cause, his affirmation and wilfulness in his battles, his thought with respect to his motivation and his capacity of making all around instructed, speedy decisions in the heart of fight helped him win the war. Nonetheless it was his unbending determination in the face of the enemy, his level-headedness and adaptability in the field, his modern way of thinking and his excellent battle strategies that ultimately make Ulysses S. Grant the best general of the Civil War.
The Function of Parody in Ulysses
The word “parody” comes from the Latin parodia, meaning “burlesque song or poem”, but it has come to refer to any artistic composition in which “the characteristic themes and the style of a particular work, author, etc., are exaggerated or applied to an inappropriate subject for the purposes of ridicule.” Parody is used throughout Ulysses both as a form of comedy and as a critique. In the “Cyclops” episode, parody functions as a critique of the grand narrative, specifically in terms of history and the discourse of the nineteenth century. Parody is further used in order to subvert existing structures and hierarchies, as is apparent through the elements of Bakhtin’s conception of the Carnivale, which are present in the episode. In “Nausicaa”, Joyce parodies aspects of popular culture, particularly romance fiction and the censorship debate. This technique serves to highlight the relationship between language and consciousness, as well as the way in which discourses are constructed and interact with each other. By using parody, Joyce appears to be critiquing aspects of society and questioning the manner in which language is used to convey meaning.Parody in “Cyclops” serves to disrupt conventional notions of narrative. In particular, Joyce appears to be critiquing the notion of history as a grand narrative. The elevated language of the episode, as can be seen in the passage describing “a historic and a hefty battle,” acts as a parody of the literature drawn on by Irish nationalists in order to idealize Ireland’s heroic past. These writers offered popular versions of mythology using writing styles similar to nineteenth-century writers such as Carlyle. For the twentieth-century reader, however, these allusions might seem pretentious and inflated; Joyce appears to be parodying the passionate nationalists who celebrated the heroic past of the Irish people in this manner. The list of names of heroic leaders in “Cyclops” descends into complete farce, as it lists figures completely unconnected with Ireland, such as “Gautama Buddha” and “Jack the Giant Killer”, as well as some names that are simply invented. Joyce likewise parodies this idea of mindless drivel by concluding the narrator’s speeches with phrases such as “and so forth and so on”, “this phenomenon and the other phenomenon”, and “new Ireland and new this, that and the other”. These parodies reveal that extreme Irish nationalists grasped at almost anything to further their mission. Thematically, Joyce establishes an ongoing dialogue between Bloom’s “humanistic universalism” and the citizen’s narrow nationalism. The citizen refuses to acknowledge the possibility that Bloom can claim Ireland as his nation whilst also being a Jew. Bloom, on the other hand, postulates the humanistic view that “force, hatred, history…that’s not life for men and women…love…the opposite of hatred…that is really life.” Joyce seems to be critiquing the often fanatical nature of Irish nationalism, specifically the manner in which heroism is figured in terms of violence, and the fact that this fanaticism is encouraged at a cost to humanity.Furthermore, Joyce appears to be critiquing the grand narrative of nineteenth-century discourse. He does so firstly by juxtaposing colloquial passages narrated by an anonymous Dubliner with grandiose mythic passages such as “the nec and non plus ultra of emotion were reached when the blushing bride elect burst her way through…and flung herself upon the muscular bosom of him who was about to be launched into eternity.” The ridiculousness of this bombastic style is furthered by the subject matter: a wedding of trees. Indeed, the juxtaposition of this language with the narrator’s colloquial “God blimey if she aint a clinker” highlights the pretentiousness of the elevated form. Joyce uses an exaggerated multiplicity of adjectives such as “broadshouldered deepchested stronglimbed frankeyed redhaired freely freckled” to parody an overly descriptive style of writing and critique the imperialist nature of grand narratives that claim to offer a comprehensive view of events. In doing so, Joyce demonstrates an awareness that aspects of nineteenth-century literature cannot be translated. He appears to be critiquing the extent to which people who sought independence for Ireland attempted to translate to the twentieth-century notions that belong to the past and could not be recovered – especially not via inflated language.There is no clear narrative voice in this episode, as Joyce rapidly transitions from one narrative style to another. The shifting narrative also serves as a parody of the pretentious writing of the nineteenth century. Like the one-eyed Polyphemus in the Homeric parallel, each narrative presents a single view, offering the reader separate eyewitnesses who interrupt and contradict each other. This enables the characters to undergo a metamorphosis between various narrative frames. The medical journal parody, for example, transforms Bloom’s muddled scientific knowledge into a precise explication of physiology, as he becomes “Herr Professor Luitpold Blumenduft.” Through other narratives, the reader gets a vision of Bloom as a hero “O’Bloom, the son of Rory,” Bloom the “distinguished phenomenologist,” and ultimately “ben Bloom Elijah.” Joyce also appears to be engaging this type of narration in an effort to both define and limit it to a narrative structure. In doing so, he explores the breakdown in narration. At times, this occurs in the midst of a sentence, as in the episode’s final words: “ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of the brightness…at an angle of fortyfive degrees…like a shot off a shovel.” The sentence begins as a Biblical epic, shifts to a quasi-science journalistic style, and then shifts once again to colloquialism. The structure resembles a comic routine, with different voices presenting different views, which in turn highlight the unreliability of each individual perspective. Interestingly, Homer’s Polyphemus is both one-eyed and multi-vocal, echoing the ambiguities that Joyce explores in the episode. The parody in “Cyclops” can thus be seen as a microcosm of the parody of Ulysses the novel; that is to say, a parody of the epic form.Parody further functions to subvert existing structures and hierarchies. The events in “Cyclops” echo the revelries of the Carnivale as conceptualised by Bakhtin. Bakhtin underlines the predominance of “the material principle and the physical life with images of the body, or eating and drinking, and with the satisfaction of the natural urges.” The pub is site for informal socializing – the characters are tipsy from drink, and the environment is conducive to the kind of revelry associated with the Carnivale. There is a sense of anarchy about the episode, with characters indulging in excess, “[nearly eating] the tin and all,” and laying emphasis on the nether parts of the body, such as Molly Bloom’s bottom and the hanged man’s erection. Joyce appears to be staging a verbal carnival, first through the polyphony of voices, specifically the alternation of the lofty and vulgar styles, and secondly through the wordplay that characterises much of the episode. Within the episode are examples of antanaclasis (“Good Christ!…Who said Christ is good?”), etymology (“barber/barbarous/barbarian”), puns (“foul/fowl”), neologism (“codology”) and non-sequiteurs (“talking about new Ireland, he ought to go and get a new dog so he ought”). Parrinder characterises a carnival as a “world…turned bottom upwards…a forum in which a behaviour that is normally frowned upon…becomes sanctioned and overt.” In a carnival, the highest authority (usually the King) is insulted and beaten by the people. In “Cyclops”, Bloom is presented as this figure, the image of him “on point duty up” suggesting his superiority, which is highlighted by his refusal to join in the drinking session. It is thus significant that the end of the episode finds him being insulted and set upon by the dogs. The carnival is also a place where religion is parodied, and in this episode God undergoes a plethora of irreverent metamorphoses: “begob…Christ M’Keown…dog.” Here, the parody functions as a subversion of these figures of authority.In “Nausicaa”, parody serves as a critique of popular culture and highlights the manner in which aspects of popular culture seep into our consciousness. Gerty McDowell’s language and consciousness is an amalgam of romance literature, fashion magazines, advertising, and folk wisdom. The first half of “Nausicaa” is often read as a parody of the sentimental novel, and particularly The Lamplighter, written by Maria Cummins in 1864, which features a heroine named “Gertrude”. The frequent usage of exclamation marks, as in “O so lively! O so soft, sweet, soft!” and exaggerated use of “O!” parodies the emotive, heightened language of romance fiction. Joyce himself referred to the language of this half of the episode as “namby-pamby jammy marmalady drawsery.” Interestingly, many of the references to fashion magazines and advertising occur in parenthesis, such as “(because it was expected in the Lady’s Pictorial that electric blue would be worn),” suggesting a kind of ‘aside’, as if these aspects of popular culture create resonances that infiltrate our consciousness at particular moments.Gerty herself is a parody of the romantic heroine, one who “completely [represses] all sexual desires and awareness of her own physical being…she must be an object.” Gerty, however, is aware of her sexual desires and cannot keep her fantasies pure, imagining that Bloom’s “hands and face were working and a tremor went over her.” She is further aware that she is being watched, and seems to enjoy being seen, deliberately “[revealing] all her graceful beautifully shaped legs” to Bloom. This awareness of her sexual power is at odds with the stereotype of this sort of heroine, and as such, Gerty becomes the antitheses of the romantic heroine. Parody also serves to critique the censorship debate. The idea that young women were vulnerable to any moral deviance in works of fiction was particularly highlighted by the sensational novel outrage of the nineteenth century. These “sensational” novels were considered dangerous because they “made readers read with their bodies.” Gerty is a virgin who is aware of her own sexuality because she reads – exactly what advocates against sensational novels feared. Joyce’s ironic twist, however, is that Gerty read a romance novel with a typically asexual heroine, rather than “sensational” fiction, seemingly mocking the whole censorship debate. Perhaps Joyce is critiquing the readiness with which people vilify literature in order to create a scapegoat for societal problems. The issues facing Irish society during Joyce’s time are revealed through the virgin/whore dichotomy. On one hand, Irish Catholicism postulated the doctrine of Mary-olatry, but on the other, Ireland had a sizeable population of prostitutes. In The Lamplighter, Gertrude models herself after the Virgin Mary. Likewise, in the “Nausicaa” episode of Ulysses, Gerty tries to see herself in this light, as the “refuge of sinners…comfortress of the afflicted” – allusions to the Holy Virgin. However, her sexual awareness means she must fail as this figure. The juxtaposition between Gerty’s sexuality and the Virgin Mary’s takes on a comic element as the discrepancy between Gerty’s vision of herself and what she really is becomes wider. Joyce’s parody of the would-be virgin seems to allude to the hypocrisy of societal attitudes at the time. The doctrine of Mary-olatry also suggests transubstantiation. It is thus interesting that Gerty’s stockings are a diaphanous object, recalling the motif of the diaphane that permeates previous episodes in Ulysses. Aristotle spoke of the diaphane as a medium that enables things to show their actual selves only in light, begging the question of where the source of the light is located. This parallels the question of the where the source of creativity – and particularly the creation of language – can be found.This question is explored through parody, as it highlights the relationship between language and consciousness. This is firstly considered through the construction of character-specific discourses. Gerty may be a typical example of “winsome Irish girlhood,” but that is because she is a composite of the discourses that construct the ideal Irish female. The parody occurs through Joyce’s subversion of this ideal construct, wherein Gerty appears to be deluding herself into believing that she is this ideal. There are several images in the episode that suggest Gerty’s narcissistic delusions, including her placement, like Narcissus, near “the little pool by the rock,” and her bedroom mirror, in front of which she “[smiles] at the lovely reflection which the mirror gave back to her!” Gerty appears to be deliberately constructing this image of herself, perhaps in order to mask her insecurities about her role as a woman, and it is thus significant that we discover that she is lame, as we realise that she is not the ideal female form she makes herself out to be.Gerty thinks of Bloom in terms of masculine stereotypes: “her dreamhusband…[who] would embrace her gently, like a real man, crushing her soft body to him.” She is portrayed as a “typical” woman, who imagines the possibilities of marriage and children, whilst Bloom is the “typical” man, who sees Gerty merely as an object of desire. In this sense, Bloom’s narrative is very much part of his character. This raises the question of linguistic determination, and of whether we can think outside of our own language. Bloom acknowledges this question when he describes his erotic communication with Gerty as “a kind of language between us.” He is aware that something has taken place, and wonders whether or not that is a language. Joyce seems to be engaging with those points of nexus between thought and language, and makes the reader question whether it is possible to document them. The two voices in this episode create an intratextual parody. Gerty is observing Bloom as he observes her, and as such, the characters function simultaneously as both the representor and the object of representation. Bakhtin claims that this dialogical relationship can be regarded as a parodic relationship, stating that “in parodic discourse two styles, two ‘languages’ come together…the language being parodied…and the language that parodies.” Likewise, the two voices of Gerty and Bloom critique and comment on each other. The unreliability of Gerty’s account of what happened between herself and Bloom is highlighted by the juxtaposition of Bloom’s discourse against her own. Gerty romanticises her physicality, and subsequently Bloom’s reaction to it, claiming that “his eyes burned into her as thought they would…read her very soul.” This stands in direct contrast to Bloom’s matter-of-fact, coarse reaction, “I saw your. I saw all. Lord!” and after masturbating, “for this relief much thanks.” At one time, both discourses act as parodies of the other. Bloom appears preoccupied with the coarse physicality of females, thinking about them in terms of menstruation, orgasms, and their bodies, and in this manner enables us to laugh at Gerty’s romantic view of her physicality while simultaneously critiquing her constructed discourse. Indeed, Bakhtin cites critique through laughter as the first foundation of novelistic discourse, because “these parodic-travestying forms…destroyed the homogenising power of myth over language.” In these two episodes, parody serves to critique the values of Joyce’s society both present and past, and to explore the different facets of language. In “Cyclops”, parody functions specifically as a critique of the grand narrative, and is used to subvert existing structures and hierarchies. Joyce parodies aspects of popular culture in “Nausicaa” to highlight the relationship between language and consciousness, and to reveal the manner in which discourses are constructed and interact with each other.SourcesBakhtin, M. Rabelais and His World (trans. H. Iswelolsky). Indiana UP, Bloomington, 1984Bakhtin, M. “The Pre-history of Novelistic Discourse”, from The Dialogic Imagination: Four EssaysBennett, A and Royle, N. An Introduction to Literature, Criticism and Theory: Key Critical Concepts. London: Prentice Hall, 1995Bullocks, A and Stallybrass, O. The Fontana Dictionary of Modern Thought. London: Fontana/Collins, 1977Cohen, L. “Sensation Fiction of the Nineteenth Century”, from http://caxton.stockton.edu/ulysses/disc.msg 12/10/2002, accessed 29/5/04Devlin, K. “The Romance Heroine Exposed: Nausicaa and The Lamplighter.” James Joyce Quarterly, 22.4 (1985)Goldman, A. The Joyce Paradox. Routledge and Kegan Paul Ltd, London, 1966Henke, S. James Joyce and the Politics of Desire. Routledge, London, 1990Joyce, J. Ulysses. Penguin Classics, London, 2000 (ed. Declan Kiberd)Leckie, B. “Reading Bodies, Reading Nerves.” James Joyce Quarterly, 34.1-2 (1996)Newman, R. Pedagogy, Praxis, Ulysses. University of Michigan Press, Michigan, 1996Parrinder, P. James Joyce. Cambridge UP, Cambridge, 1984Tymoczko, M. The Irish Ulysses. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994
An Extraordinary Ordinary Man
As Leopold Bloom goes through the ordinary motions of a single day, he tries at times to add excitement and mystery to his life so that he may imagine himself as an extraordinary man with exceptional problems. Bloom does this so as to dispel the frightening notion that he is only an ordinary man with relatively commonplace troubles. If he can imagine that he is an extraordinary man in extraordinary circumstances, his tragedies gain a sense of importance, instead of being meaningless miseries that he must bear alone, in silence. Bloom’s “affair” with Martha is just one of the ways that he attempts to add excitement to his life, so that he does not feel quite so ordinary. The fact that he has a forbidden secret lends excitement and mystery to Bloom’s life, as does the actual act of keeping his affair hidden from everyone else. Bloom takes unnecessary pains to avoid having his communication with Martha discovered, indulging his fantasy that somebody might care about his life. Additionally, Bloom seems, at times, almost to revel in his sadness about Molly’s affair, presumably because this allows him to imagine himself a tragic hero valiantly bearing his hard life. Bloom is unquestionably an ordinary man, and while his “affair” with Martha and his marriage difficulties are hardly extraordinary circumstances that nobody else has experienced, Bloom finds a kind of solace by creating a fantasy with himself as the central tragic figure. He revels in the secrecy surrounding his affair and his sadness about his marriage problems because they enable him to feel less like an ordinary man who is like every other man going through an ordinary day which is like every other day. This day in Leopold Bloom’s life is, while unusually difficult due to the funeral and his wife’s upcoming infidelity, not entirely out-of-the-ordinary. Although the circumstances of the day on which Ulysses takes place are slightly extraordinary, it is clear that Bloom is an ordinary man dealing with a single day in his life. Bloom is obviously an intelligent man, as the reader may infer from his intellectual thoughts regarding everything from physics to parallax, and he certainly is aware of how ordinary he is. His desire to be extraordinary — to be an exciting, mysterious man — is what causes him to initiate his “affair” with Martha. The affair, however, has thus far consisted solely of a few only indirectly suggestive letters. This is certainly no wild, passionate romance — the correspondence is hardly even incriminating. Bloom, however, has elevated the affair in his mind to heights far disproportionate to the reality of their communication. He takes unnecessary precautions to avoid being “caught”: Corresponding under a pseudonym; using a P.O. Box; shredding the envelope his letter comes in and casting it into the river. The pseudonym of Henry Flower and the phony address serve to literally transform Bloom into another person — a person, presumably, who is able to do exciting things, things that Leopold Bloom can only dream of doing. The shredding of the letter is almost a spy tactic, as though Bloom fears that someone is trailing him, picking up evidence of any subversive acts he might be engaging in. Additionally, Bloom only removes Martha’s letter from his pocket when no one is around, perhaps imagining that someone might be watching him. The reality, of course, is that nobody would pay any heed to a man walking down the street reading a letter. Nobody would even wonder what was written on the page. Yet to Bloom, the letter-writing is thrilling in it’s surreptitiousness, and the possibilities that the correspondence seems to imply are incredibly exciting, because a real affair is such a forbidden act. The relationship with Martha possesses great importance to Bloom, as he can imagine himself a man in control of his own life, not an emasculated “Poldy,” and he can feel some excitement in his life at the possibility of being caught. “Go further next time. Naughty boy: punish” (64). Bloom revels in the excitement of doing something wrong, of being a “naughty boy” for perhaps the first time ever, even if his actions are only “wrong” in his own mind. In Chapter 11, Bloom has a fantasy that he is being followed, his correspondence tracked, and so he must cover the evidence of his communication with Martha. Through this fantasy, he lends excitement and importance to what is only, in reality, a relatively tame psuedo-relationship. While sitting in the tavern and responding to Martha’s letter, Bloom draws out the experience of doing something forbidden, taking the time to disguise his handwriting and blot over the impression on the blotting-pad. “No, change that ee… Sign H. They like sad tail at end… Blot over the other so he can’t read. There. Right. Idea prize titbit. Something detective read off blottingpad” (229-30). Again, of course, the reality is that no-one would take any notice of an impression on a blotting-pad, take the time to decipher it, or even care about what was written if they could read it. However, by imagining not only that someone would attempt to discover his secrets but that they would care about them, Bloom is able to give himself a fleeting sense of being a mysterious, important man. All of the little fantasies and dramatics that Bloom engages in are ways for him to feel that he is important, special – more human. Another way that Bloom is able to make his life (in his mind, anyway) more exciting and out-of-the-ordinary than it really is is by reveling in the “tragedy” that his marriage has become. While his marriage difficulties are not fantasies, as his affair with Martha is, they have a similar effect on Bloom. How he feels about the affair with Martha and how he feels about Molly’s affair with Boylan both serve to enhance Bloom’s sense of being important, being alive. The affair with Martha makes Bloom feel like more of a man, and his sadness over Molly’s affair makes Bloom feel like more of a human. His sadness over Molly is real; a real emotion that Bloom clings to so as not to lose his humanity. He can feel that he has chosen not to take action, like he can still make choices and is almost noble for choosing not to confront Boylan. Certainly, Bloom is a non-confrontational person, but perhaps he chooses to ignore the affair and let it go on because the sadness makes him feel truly, genuinely human. Molly’s affair with Boylan adds a kind of perverse excitement to Bloom’s life by making him the center of what is really a common man’s tragedy. Bloom is forced to feel deep sadness, and almost begins to enjoy the feeling, because it makes him feel somewhat extraordinary. Deep sadness can make one feel special, important, as though no one can understand the suffering, and Bloom takes what seems, at times, to be a kind of pleasure in his misery. The emotions which he feels whenever he thinks of Molly make him feel more alive, and thus important. Although he makes an effort to banish any thoughts of Boylan that enter his head, Bloom is, subconsciously or not, encouraging the affair to some extent. Not only does he not make any effort to stop Molly, but he also buys her romance novels and lingerie. When Molly hides the letter from Boylan under her pillow, Bloom notices yet makes no comment about her secretiveness. Molly’s attempt to hide the letter, however, is very much like Bloom’s secretiveness about his correspondence with Martha. Perhaps Bloom enjoys, in a way, the degree of mystery that their respective affairs impart to their lives. Additionally, Bloom encourages Molly by not going home at the time when he knows Boylan will be visiting. Although he spends the day attempting to keep the thought of Molly’s affair out of his head, he also does absolutely nothing to stop it. Clearly, their marriage has not been going well since Rudy’s death, so perhaps Bloom feels that he is not losing anything by Molly’s affair, as he was not sleeping with her anyway, but is only gaining a degree of excitement in his life. Even though this excitement manifests itself, in Bloom, as misery, misery is better than absence of emotion. At times, misery may even feel better than happiness. Misery has a unique quality – it has the ability to make the sufferer feel real in a way that not even joy can match. Misery is a true emotion – undeniable, incapacitating in it’s strength. In Chapter 11, right after thinking about Molly, Bloom thinks “[y]et too much happy bores” (228). Although it seems bizarre, too much happiness can feel almost unreal, as though one is just waiting for something to go wrong. The advantage to misery is that there is always the certainty that one can feel no worse. Too much happiness can be boring – misery is far more exciting, for it is an emotion far deeper than happiness can ever be. Bloom sadness about Molly’s affair makes him aware that he still has the ability to feel great emotion. Perhaps this is the most emotion he has felt towards her in years, and his sadness about her loving another man is a way for him to reassert the love that he still has for her. Bloom’s misery about Molly allows him to feel a kind of excitement of feeling that affirms his humanity and his ability to experience deep emotions, and it is for that reason that he does not take action to put an end to the affair. In Ulysses, Leopold Bloom is faced with the greatest tragedy of the common man: being common. Although Bloom’s situation is hardly what one would consider ideal, or even desirable, he is doing the best that he can to impart some shred of excitement or emotion into his otherwise commonplace life. For Bloom, the fantasy of an affair is better than having nothing to dream about, and unhappiness is preferable to no feeling at all. The tragedy implicit in Ulysses comes from the reader’s ability to identify so closely with Bloom, and the subsequent realization that we are all common men. Each of us must contend, alone, with the everyday tragedies of life, and each of us persists, in our own way, in the futile search to find some meaning in the hardships of life.
Language, Consciousness and Experience in Waiting for Godot and Ulysses
Samuel Beckett’s Waiting For Godot and James Joyce’s Ulysses are strikingly similar in style, content, and most significantly a philosophy of life. The idea of language as doubly futile and liberating is central to both works. It is found in the playfulness of language in Beckett’s dialogue and Joyce’s description. Every aspect of each form is carefully utilized in communicating this point. Language is only one institution among many that control and confine the individual. But its many flaws and contributions to our lives can represent a larger realm of meaning. Both works strive consistently to define, however subtly or indirectly, the meaning of life and the self. Like language, consciousness and experience are factors in the frustrations of existence, and therefore central to both works.
In both works, experience is reduced to its simplest meaning, its briefest form. This can be seen in the setting and dialogue in Beckett’s play and Joyce’s attention to extreme detail in each moment of one day. Beckett reduces the setting of his play to simply “A country road. A tree. Evening.” (Beckett, 1) And Joyce’s stream-of-consciousness style of writing inside of Leopold Bloom’s head piles detail upon detail. These are the units of experience that are then stretched out again to expand time and examine its passing. In the human consciousness, these units are experiences. In the English language, the building blocks are the words themselves, even down to the different letters that make them up. (Philip Fisher, in lecture, 10/25/99)
Words trigger recognition in the mind of the reader or human being, in the same way experience serves the consciousness. And letters, until combined in a certain way, are absurd symbols without meaning. Like human life, the use of letters and words to create meaningful language is a process in question by both of these authors. In Ulysses, Leopold Bloom explains the meaning of the word “metempsychosis” to his wife Molly when she points it out in a book. (Joyce, 52) Much later in Bloom’s day, he identifies the word as “met him pike hoses” because that is what “she called it till [he] told her…” (Joyce, 126) Here, the word becomes four words and although it means the same to Bloom, it has been dissected and expanded for the reader. Molly’s naïve blundering in pronouncing a large word makes a commentary on both the excesses and capacity for growth of the English language. And Bloom further conveys this subtle message with “She’s right after all. Only big words for ordinary things on account of the sound.” (Joyce, 126) This is dually a unit of experience and of language that is being explored. Joyce illuminates one word to propose ideas about language, and reveals one moment in Bloom’s consciousness to show an aspect of his relationship with his wife.
The examination of language is different in Waiting for Godot because it must occur in dialogue, or an audience cannot see it. Beckett clearly doesn’t have Joyce’s freedom in printing words on a page for readers to examine, letter by letter. Instead, he must achieve the same effect in the spoken form. Language survives a kind of transformation when it is actually spoken. The effect of speaking is noted when Vladimir shortens the question “You want to get rid of him?” to one word, “You waagerrim?” (Beckett, 31) In the same way metempsychosis became four words, Vladimir can make one word out of many. But language also transforms in different ways. To communicate this, Beckett makes use of repetition in dialogue. Characters say the same thing in different ways, and the audience is reminded of the capacity of language. When Vladimir asks the Boy “Does he give you enough to eat?” and “The Boy hesitates,” the question is simply rephrased as “Does he feed you well?” (Beckett, 56) Although these two sentences could seem to be the same question, they are not asking the same thing. This is illustrated by the fact that the boy responds to the second one, though he had hesitated to the first. There are many moments of renaming in this manner.
The back-and-forth banter of Vladimir and Estragon creates the perfect form for reducing to smaller units and then repeating. The brief, nearly incomplete sentences of the two men mean something when they are said together, each component equally completing the expression. The simple observation of a tree brings about such a moment:
ESTRAGON: What is it?
VLADIMIR: I don’t know. A willow.
ESTRAGON: Where are the leaves?
VLADIMIR: It must be dead.
ESTRAGON: No more weeping.
VLADIMIR: Or perhaps its not the season.
ESTRAGON: Looks more like a bush.
VLADIMIR: A shrub.
ESTRAGON: A bush.
Here, one idea is fragmented into smaller pieces, but still communicated. Beckett zooms consistently into the language until arriving finally at two simple words. And the argument over “shrub” and “bush” when they are actually talking about a tree notes the frustration with language’s limitations. Repetition illustrates this idea as much as showing the freedom of language. A spectator realizes the futility and frustration of language by hearing the same phrases repeated again and again and again throughout the play.
Both authors take standard phrases and turns of speech, especially those considered polite or required in communication, and present them for their audience to be reconsidered. In Beckett, this critique is found in a moment of saying goodbye. In being polite, one must say goodbye, and enter in a standard accepted course of interaction before leaving. This interaction’s silly repetition is illustrated when Pozzo wants to leave Estragon and Vladimir, in Act I:
ESTRAGON: Then Adieu
Silence. No one moves.
POZZO: And thank you.
VLADIMIR: Thank you.
POZZO. Not at all.
ESTRAGON: Yes yes.
POZZO: No no.
VLADIMIR: Yes yes.
ESTRAGON: No no.
It is unclear who is saying goodbye or who should be thanked. But the exchange is strikingly familiar. And the fact that no one moves points to the ability to separate words from their standard purpose. Goodbye is connected to the act of leaving because we agree to use it in this way. But it can be as meaningless at it is common and useful.
This sort of comedy is not simply funny. It illustrates the absurd in real life by highlighting the silliness in things we do every day. It also communicates the stasis of life and language, ending finally in the double “yes” and “no” sequence, once again whittling the interaction down to its simplest words and meaning. The word “yes” is at the heart of Ulysses’ final chapter. It begins this chapter and even ends the novel. (Joyce, 644) It becomes a motif in this final chapter inside of Molly Bloom’s consciousness. Here, one word is used to explain a character, a relationship, and even the nature of gender roles. By repeating it throughout the only female-perspective narrative in the entire story Joyce is suggesting that “yes,” a one-syllable common word, is at the core of the female character. And the repetition itself contributes to her character by making “yes” into a large-scale kind of acquiescence, and acceptance, even an invitation. This is an incredible expansion of one small word, taken so for granted. Once again, language expresses so much and too little.
Language is not simply examined through small units and repetition, or social critique. Both Beckett and Joyce choose to play with language and words in a variety of ways. This often involves demonstrating the absurdity and flexibility of language as it is used every day. This is often comical, in both texts, as these are rituals an audience can surely recognize and relate to. Joyce includes this playfulness in his use of nonsense. Throughout Ulysses, he inserts words and sounds made up of recognizable letters in no recognizable order. For example, as Bloom sits in a carriage, the narration is taken to a situation outside by bracketing a sentence with: “Oot: a dullgarbed old man from the curbstone tendered his wares, his mouth opening: oot.” (Joyce, 77) This is one of countless moments involving nonsense words such as “oot.” What Joyce achieves with comical stream-of-consciousness, Beckett relates with vaudeville-inspired action on stage. An argument ensues between Vladimir and Estragon for no apparent reason, and becomes a funny play with words. After being called a moron, Estragon retaliates with “That’s the idea, let’s abuse each other,” and the following purposeless argument occurs:
ESTRAGON: (with finality) Crritic!
Within moments they’ve embraced and made up, and repeated words are used again. In a similar back-and-forth manner, the phrase “our exercises” is repeated as “our movements,” “our elevations,” and “our relaxations,” (Beckett, 86) While an audience is laughing, they are also witnessing the wide range of the English language.
These meditations on language are not only funny. They also serve to illuminate aspects of human life through words. Joyce is concerned with the larger picture of everyday interaction and language. The phrases and rituals of daily life are interspersed throughout Ulysses, as they are in Waiting for Godot. In a chapter where food is the central theme, Joyce relates countless common phrases to food or the process of eating. In Bloom’s stream-of-consciousness, terms like “Eat you out of house and home,” (Joyce, 124) “Have a finger in the pie,” (Joyce, 127) “I was souped,” (Joyce, 133) or “Bitten off more than he can chew,”(Joyce, 139) are thrown together in an outpouring of food-related thoughts. They serve to highlight food in our lives, as something important enough to invade even our language. Here, Joyce is making significance out of the seemingly insignificant in life. Like the intersection of memory and experience to create consciousness, language and human needs cross to create everyday communication, an interaction we take for granted. Our shared understanding of hunger allows us to create a language that so generously refers to food in a metaphorical sense. Once again, the smaller units of life have been separated and re-unified through language.
This method of creating significant commentary out of seemingly insignificant events is extremely important in examining the details of life. Both authors are able to address the larger picture through its tiniest components. Whether it be food or insulting language, or simply the word ?yes,’ both texts refer back to the endless cycles of life. Most importantly, they illustrate the giant web in which each individual is operating, highlighting the relative insignificance of one being in the universe. Joyce speculates closely on the cyclical nature of the universe in Chapter IV when Bloom buys, cooks, eats, and expels a kidney. During the course of this chapter, endless references are made to the inevitable death in life and the making of life out of death. When Bloom is buying the kidney, he imagines the actual slaughtering of animals with “those mornings in the cattlemarket, the beasts lowing in their pens, branded sheep, flop and fall of dung, the breeders hobnailed boots trudging through the litter, slapping a palm on a ripemeated hindquarter….” (Joyce, 48) After he cooks his kidney, and eats it, he naturally “[feels] heavy, full: then a gentle loosening of his bowels,” (Joyce, 55) in the natural human cycle of digestion. As he goes to the bathroom, he walks through his garden, his train of thought alluding to excrement and its purpose: “Make a summerhouse here…Want to manure the whole place over, scabby soil…All soil like that without dung. Household slops. Loam, what is this that is? The hens in the next garden: their droppings are very good top dressing. Best of all though are the cattle, especially when they are fed on those oilcakes.” (Joyce, 55) Here, within an everyday human process, Joyce uses imagery of fertilization with excrement to illustrate constantly the bigger picture, the larger cycle happening all the time. The last word of this chapter is “Dignam,” (Joyce, 57) the name of a friend who has just died, in one final reminder of human mortality.
Beckett illustrates his vision of a cyclical universe in many aspects of his play. The redundancy of Vladimir and Estragon’s wait, in the same unidentifiable place, every day is one large symbol of this idea. But within dialogue and action, Beckett refers to the cycles so apparent in Joyce’s worldview. Pozzo explodes with “One day, is that not enough for you, one day he went dumb, one day I went blind, one day we’ll go deaf, one day we were born, one day we shall die, the same day, the same second, is that not enough for you?…They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it’s night once more.” (Beckett, 103) Beyond the idea of brief human life so clear in this chilling vision, is the unit of “one day” as a significant event. Like the words that make up language, the days that make up a human life are worth examining. This inspires the entire structure of Ulysses in following one day, the same as any other but important in its details.
Waiting for Godot goes beyond any particular single day to claim that every day is the same, unrecognizable from the one before. Like language, the labeling of days is another man-made institution that requires conformity. When Vladimir and Estragon realize that Godot asked for them on a Saturday, Estragon wonders “But what Saturday? And is it Saturday? Is it rather Sunday? (Pause). Or Monday? (Pause). Or Friday?” (Beckett, 10) Like people’s names, the names of days actually mean nothing beyond time cycling forward. Beckett’s characters experience moments of clarity where they can vocally consider this expanse of existence. Like Pozzo’s outburst, Vladimir later strengthens the same ideas with a dismal vision of the world: “Astride of a grave and a difficult birth. Down in the hole, lingeringly, the grave-digger puts on the forceps. We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries.” (Beckett, 104) Both works consider the role of the individual in their brief, and relatively insignificant time on earth.
The unimportance of single human beings is an idea alluded to in the use of names. There is the notion that names are simply labels, like so many public rituals and formalities. In Waiting for Godot, there are many nicknames and even incorrect names used to refer to the characters. Vladimir and Estragon often become “Didi” and “Gogo.” Both of these versions play with meaning and language. There is a hint of action with “go” and stasis with “did.” Moreover, the only thing separating one man from the next is his name. Characters do not recognize each other without names. And even once the names are known, they are more insignificant language. This is emphasized when Pozzo introduces himself to Vladimir and Estragon:
POZZO: I present myself: Pozzo.
VLADIMIR: (to Estragon). Not at all!
ESTRAGON: He said Godot.
VLADIMIR: Not at all!
ESTRAGON: (timidly, to Pozzo). You’re not Mr. Godot, Sir?
POZZO: (terrifying voice). I am Pozzo! (silence) Pozzo! (Silence.) Does that name mean nothing to you? (silence) I say does that name mean nothing to you?
Vladimir and Estragon look at each other questioningly
ESTRAGON: (pretending to search). Bozzo…Bozzo…
VLADIMIR: (ditto) Pozzo…Pozzo…
ESTRAGON: Ah! Pozzo…let me see…Pozzo…
VLADIMIR: Is it Pozzo or Bozzo?
ESTRAGON: Pozzo…no…I’m afraid I…no…I don’t seem to…
Pozzo advances threateningly
VLADIMIR: (conciliating). I once knew a family called Gozzo. The mother had the clap.
What seems another comic episode is once again a commentary on the stupidity of relying on names to identify people. Names can symbolize words and language, and thus the futility of language is alluded to again. Most of all, considering a name important relies on considering an individual important, an idea contradicted often in both works.
In examining the place of the individual, both authors create characters and relationships to state their ideas. There are several themes that are considered in both texts through characterization. One of the most apparent is the slave/master relationship. Lucky and Pozzo serve as a vehicle to consider this manifestation in human relations. Bloom is essentially slave to Molly, as is revealed in the course of his thoughts during a normal day. Neither of these “slave” characters fits a traditional interpretation of slavery as a purely negative or imposed state. Pozzo explains Lucky’s position as a slave-by-choice: “Ah! Why couldn’t you say so before? Why he doesn’t make himself comfortable? Let’s try and get this clear. Has he not the right to? Certainly he has. It follows that he doesn’t want to. There’s reasoning for you. And why doesn’t he want to? (Pause) Gentlemen, the reason is this…He wants to impress me.” (Beckett, 30) It appears that slavery is as plausible a choice as freedom, in this life where one is slave to so many institutions regardless of their position.
Bloom’s enslavement to Molly is less directly addressed, but certainly central to the novel. In Chapter fifteen, there is a strange sequence written in the form of a play. In this strange conglomeration of characters, Bloom confronts his mother and father, a bar of soap, many street characters, and even Stephen Dedalus. When Molly appears, having only heard a voice, his first words to her are “At your service,” (Joyce, 359) a clue to how he subconsciously views his relationship with her. References to Molly fill his day, invading his consciousness in a true mastery over his mind. His attempt at an affair with another woman does not go beyond an exchange of letters, under an assumed name. (Joyce, 63) He buys her a scented bar of soap (Joyce, 69) that he touches nervously when someone asks of her. This object operates like Lucky’s rope, a chosen tether to his master. What ties him most to Lucky is his choice in the matter. He remains married to her, and serves her, despite her infidelities. It seems to be for Lucky’s reasons as well. He cannot lose her, and so makes her master. Perhaps the most striking indication of the true power Molly holds over Bloom is his sense of his own body, an image devoid of strength or agency: “He foresaw his pale body reclined in [a bath] at full, naked, in a womb of warmth, oiled by scented melting soap…and saw the dark tangled curls of his bush floating, floating hair of the stream around the limp father of thousands, a languid floating flower.” (Joyce, 71) Bloom is Molly’s servant to a point of physical decay. This weak vision of his masculinity is a part of his preoccupation with her, a woman who is clearly confident in her sexuality, and her power over her husband.
The striking similarity between Joyce and Beckett is not simply coincidence, but the sign of a deep friendship and understanding between these men. Surely their obsession with the futility of the English language was involved with their shared status as expatriates. Both Irishmen exiled themselves to write in countries other than their own. They spent time together in Paris, and Beckett even wrote in French. At the end of Ulysses, Joyce notes “Trieste-Zurich-Paris,” (Joyce, 645) careful to identify his separation from Ireland. The lack of location or nationality in Waiting for Godot creates an isolation and desolation that must stem from his self-imposed exile. Their similar frustration can be found in the use of silences or pauses in both texts. Though Joyce fills these spaces with the constant flow of Bloom’s consciousness, Beckett emphasizes many words by placing a pause after them. The directions “pause,” or simply “silence,” appear on nearly every page of Waiting for Godot, and create meaning as well as comic rhythm. In his famous Joyce biography, Richard Ellman explains this tendency with the friendship of the two men: “Beckett was addicted to silences, and so was Joyce; they engaged in conversation which consisted often of silences directed towards each other, both suffused with sadness, Beckett mostly for the world, Joyce mostly for himself.” (Ellman, 661) It is clear that these artists learned from each other, and suffused their work with events and conditions of their actual lives.
As disappointed in the English language as these two men may have been, they certainly succeed in manipulating it to share their ideas. Perhaps their distance from their native tongue allowed an objective reconsideration of its strengths and flaws. Whatever the reason, they shared a vision of the world, and an ability to communicate it with language. It is strange that two of the most famous and central literary works attack the very form they have taken. Beckett and Joyce use the English language to analyze itself. Their detachment from Ireland perhaps allowed them the distance necessary for this sort of view. Although they present dismal visions of the typical human life, they also create intricate relationships that justify life in some sense. The slave, in all his misery, has at least found purpose. Just as the husband, though defeated and weak in the face of a woman’s lust, can discover warmth and comfort in their own dependency. Most of all, one becomes adequately convinced of life’s inevitable paradoxes, and entranced by an institution so confusing as language itself.
Ulysses’ Dog Images
If we examine Ulysses for the use of animals, we soon realize that Joyce draws on an extensive bestiary which includes basilisks, wrens, pigs, eagles, hyenas, panthers, pards, pelicans, roebucks, unicorns, dogs, bats, whales and serpents among others. All the beasts included in Ulysses carry symbolic meaning which is closely linked to the characters themselves and to the circumstances they are in. Interestingly enough, not much has been written about Joyce’s imagery as far as animals are concerned. There are some interesting journal articles but they do not go beyond analyzing porcine, cattle and horse images in Ulysses. Rather than covering a wide range of beasts and their meanings, this paper will focus on the analysis of canine imagery throughout the book and will attempt to unravel its meaning in the story.The first evident observation when dealing with dog images is the recurrent use of the word dog and its derivatives throughout the book. Take for example, Chapter 1 (Telemachus) where Buck Mulligan, who was shaving himself, kindly calls Stephen “dogsbody” (112) before asking him how the secondhand breeks fitted him. According to Gifford, this was a colloquial use of the term for a person who does odd jobs, usually in an institution. Joyce also plays with the inversion of the word God/dog in Chapter 15 when in Bloom’s hallucinations the voice of all the damned say “Htengier Tnetopinmo Dog Drol eht rof, Aiulella!” (4708), Adonai utters “Dooooooooog!” (4710) and then the voice of all the blessed pronounce the phrase in the correct way “Alleluia, for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth!” (4712) and Adonai calls “Gooooooooood.”The word dog is also used in phrases such as the one Rudolph uses when scolding his son in Chapter 15. He tells Bloom: “one night they bring you home drunk as dog after spend your good money.” (267). Bloom himself uses the phrase “dog of a Christian” when, in his dream, he orders to shoot Leopold M’Intosh (1563)There are so many examples like the ones above-mentioned that no list can be exhaustive. However, the purpose of the present work is not to deal with the use of the word dog, but rather with “flesh and bone” dogs, their effects on the characters and their possible meaning and contribution to the story.In order to start analyzing their meaning in Ulysses, I will first make reference to what the Dictionary of Symbolic and Mythological Animals says about the subject of my study. According to this dictionary, there is evidence that the dog was domesticated in 7500 BC. It is not only the oldest animal companion of humanity but also has the widest range of uses in friendship, guarding, hunting and herding.Notwithstanding its use in symbolism and myth, it is ambivalent, revered and a close companion in some societies and despised and execrated in others. It can also be either a solar or lunar animal. Solar dogs chase away the Boar of Winter. They are fire-bringers and masters of fire, destroying the enemies of light.Lunar dogs are associated with Artemies, Goddess of the Moon and of the hunt. They are intermediaries between moon deities.Apuleius says that “the dog… denotes the messenger going hence and thence between the Higher and Infernal powers.” It is a guardian of the underworld, attends on the dead and leads then to the next world.Plutarch says dogs symbolize “the conservative, watchful, philosophical principle in life.” They embody qualities of fidelity, watchfulness and nobility; they are also credited with psychic powers and the dog is often a culture hero or mythical ancestor.In Sumero-Semitic symbolism, the significance of the dog varies. It is evil and demonic. The Semitic antipathy towards the dog was carried over into Judaism where, except for in Tobit, where Tobias has a dog companion, the dog was held in contempt as unclean and a scavenger and was ritually taboo (Matthew 7:6), associated with whoremongers (Deuteronomy 23:18) and sorcerers, fornicators and idolaters (Revelation 22:15)In Graeco-Roman myth the dog is again ambivalent, the term “cynic”- that is, “dog-like”- is derogatory and implies impudence and flattery. Homer says the dog is shameless, but on the other hand, it is associated with Aesculapius or Asclepios the skilled physician and healer, and the dog also heals by rebirth into life. Its fidelity survives death.It also accompanies Hermes/Mercury as messenger god – presiding wind and the Good Shepherd.The dog is important in Celtic myth and appears frequently with hunter-gods. Dogs are associated with the healing waters. They are also psychic animals connected with divination and they are frequently metamorphosed people in Celtic lore.In Christianity the dog represents fidelity, watchfulness and conjugal fidelity. It is also depicted with the Good Shepherd as a guardian of the flock and in this aspect can also symbolize a bishop or priest.In the Bestiaries dogs typify sagacity, fidelity and priests as watch dogs since they drive away the trespassing Devil and protect the treasures of God.Dogs appear frequently in Heraldry, esp. in England (greyhounds, bloodhounds and foxhounds)The Black Dog, a huge, shaggy ghost-dog with fiery eyes is a frequent theme in haunting and is usually a portent of death; it can be harmless if not touched, but to touch it is to die.Having this background information in mind, we will observe that Joyce has attached to the Ulysses’ dogs the symbolism of more than one culture.In chapter 3 (Proteus), the first real dog appears. In fact, the first dog Stephen notices is a dead dog: “A bloated carcass of a dog lay lolled on bladderwrack.”(286) He observes the surroundings, noticing “the gunwale of a boat, sunk in sand.” He draws a parallel between the sand and the language and realizes the importance hidden underneath: “These heavy sands are language tide and wind have silted here.(…). Hide gold there. Try it. You have some. Sands and stones. Heavy of the past.” Thus, this first dead dog seems to be symbolic of the metaphorical death of the beauty of language which, though a valuable asset, is hidden in the past. As Gifford points out in his note 9.953, according to Robert Graves, in Celtic mythology the dog’s epithet is “Guard the Secret.” Therefore, this dead dog may have been the faithful guardian of language.Stephen soon sees another dog: “A point, live dog, grew into sight running across the sweep of sand.”(294) This dog doesn’t trigger meditation; on the contrary, Stephen is rather afraid of him: “Lord, is he going to attack me?” (295) He seems to receive God’s response in no time “Respect his liberty. You will not be master of others or their slave.”(296) Such an answer does not bring any comfort to him. He checks his stick and sits tight until he runs back to the two figures who are walking along the shore. Stephen remarks that the “two maries tucked it safe among the bulrushes” (298) He has witnessed something he was not supposed to see. Then, the dog as the guardian of the women’s secret discovers that Stephen has been watching. “The dog’s bark ran towards him, stopped, ran back.” (310) In this case, Stephen “just simply stood pale, silent, bayed about. Terribilia meditans.”(311) It is in that moment that he starts thinking about the man who had drowned nine days before and he imagines himself in that situation and reflects upon such a terrible death. Gifford suggests that Stephen envisions himself as Acteon who, because he interrupted Diana while she was bathing, was transformed into a deer or roebuck. It is also a traditional symbol of the hidden secret of the self. In Celtic mythology its epithet is “Hide the Secret.” Likewise, Stephen will not reveal the secret to the reader. Then, there approaches a woman and a man’s dog called Tatters. He “ambled about a bank of dwinding sand, trotting, sniffing on all sides. Looking for something lost in a past life.” (331) Then, “the man’s shrieked whistle struck his limp ears. He turned, bounded back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks.”(333-334) This illustrates the dog’s obedience and loyalty towards the human being. As Gifford states, Stephen then translates the dog on the beach into the language of heraldry: “On a field a tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired”(337) tenney: orange or tawny; trippant applied to a stag when walking; proper: in natural colors; unattired: without antlers (unusual in heraldry because it would imply impotence). The dog then “halted with stiff forehoofs, seawardpointed ears. His snout lifted barked at the wavenoise…” (243) He, as a messenger, seems to be attentive to any message coming from the ocean. It is after this moment that Tatters discovers the dead dog. “The carcass lay on his path. He stopped, sniffed, stalked round it, brother, nosing closer, went round it, sniffling rapidly like a dog all over the dead dog’s bedraggled fell. Dogskull, dogsniff, eyes on the ground, moves to one great goal.” (248-249) The dog seems very interested in his discovery; this dog is humanized and he calls the dead dog “brother.” He inspects him closely and shows sympathy towards him. He adds: “Ah, poor dogsbody! Here lies poor dogsbody’s body.” If we remember what Mulligan called Stephen in the first chapter, we may assume that Stephen has almost transmuted into Tatters and that he observes the dead dog as his own carcass. So much so that the citation reads “sniffling rapidly like a dog.” (248) This may be the burial of his former self and the beginning of something new since he has his “eyes on the ground” meaning that he is inspecting the territory, examining his past, and he “moves to one great goal.” (249) Maybe a new Stephen will arise out of his deep meditation. Joyce may be employing the Celtic symbolism of metamorphosis here.Tatter’s owners call him back and kick him for having been smelling the old dog. Stephen has not been discovered by the dog this time. Tatter’s “hindpaws then scattered the sand: then his forepaws dabbled and delved. Something he buried there.” (359-360) Stephen remembers the riddle of the fox that is burying his grandmother and he thinks Tatter is doing the same. Once more, though not told, this image may reflect Stephen digging in his past and remembering his mother’s funeral.In chapter 6 (Hades), we are first shown the image of Mr Bloom’s dog. He is taking him to the Dog’s home and on the way he thinks about poor children, illnesses and death. When he gets there, he says: “Dogs’ home over there. Poor old Athos! Be good to Athos, Leopold, is my last wish. Thy will be done. We obey them in the grave. A dying scrawl. He took it to heart, pined away. Quiet brute. Old men’s dogs usually are.” (125-128) Gifford explains that the Dog’s home was maintained by the Dublin Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. The home advertised its interest in strays and proclaimed: “The diseased painlessly destroyed.” He adds that Bloom’s father’s dog was apparently named after one of the three musketeers (Aramis, Athos, and Porthos) from Alexandre Dumas pere’s (1802 – 70) popular novel “Les trois musquetaires.” (Paris, 1844) According to Gifford, we can establish a comparison with The Odyssey since when Odysseus first approaches his manor house he weeps at the sight of his old dog Argos, “abandoned” on a dung heap outside the gates. The dog struggles to greet his master, “but death and darkness in that instant closed/ the eyes of Argos, who had seen his master/ Odysseus, after twenty years.” Joyce, in this case, shows not only Athos as being respected and honored by his owner, but also the intimate links human beings are capable of creating with animals.After dealing with the image of a dead dog, we move to another death when we read about Paltry’s funeral which is connected with the canine imagery through the use of the word “dogbiscuits.” The narrator describes the funeral saying: “It’s all the same. Pallbearers, gold reins, gold reins, requiem mass, firing a volley. Pomp of death. Beyond the hind carriage a hawker stood by his barrow of cakes and fruit. Simnel cakes those are, stuck together: cakes for the dead. Dogbiscuits. Who ate them? Mourners coming out.” (499-503) Gifford clarifies the meaning of dogbiscuits, stating that they are called that not only because simnel cakes are hard but also after the Aeneid, when the sibyl guiding Aeneas into the underworld throws “a morsel drowsy with honey and drugged meal” to the three-headed dog Cerberus. This dog imagery is sustained by the fact that Father Coffey is described as “Bully about the muzzle” (596) and “with a belly on him like a poisoned pup” (599) as if he were Cerberus. Joyce may be employing Christian symbolism in this case.In chapter 12 (The Cyclops), the reader encounters a large dog named Garryowen. This dog is more menacing for Bloom, and what is worse, Garryowen is in allegiance with Citizen, who, in spite of not being his owner, feeds the dog biscuits. It is an intimidating dog that inspires no mercy on any of the pub attendants: “The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him would give you the creeps. Be a corporal work of mercy if someone would take the life of that bloody dog. I’m told for a fact he ate a good part of the breeches off a constabulary man in Santry that came round one time with a blue paper about a licence. (124-127) In fact, they want to get rid of him. His mere name, according to Gifford, has many connotations since Garryowen is a suburb of Limerick famous for its squalor and for the crudity and brutality of its inhabitants. Such characteristics can easily be applied to this dog, who in spite of doing nothing frightens the men who are in the pub. Garryowen is also the title of an Irish drinking song and also a famous Irish setter who was owned by J.J. Giltrap of Dublin. In turn, Old Giltrap’s: Gerty McDowell’s maternal grandfather. So there may be a remote connection between the dog and Bloom and Gerty’s “affair” in the sense that this dog, with the psychic power attributed to his species, may know in advance Bloom’s intention when seeing Gerty. This may also provide an explanation for Bloom’s fear of the dog and for the dog’s growling at Bloom.The Citizen, in contrast, befriends this dog and is portrayed as his master: “A couched spear of acuminated granite rested by him while at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine tribe whose stertorous gasps announced that he was sunk in uneasy slumber, a supposition confirmed by hoarse growls and spasmodic movements which his master repressed from time to time by tranquilising blows of a mighty cudgel rudely fashioned out of Paleolithic stone.” (200-205) When Bloom enters the pub Old Garryowen starts growling again at Bloom. The Citizen mocks Bloom and says: “Come in, come on, says the citizen. He won’t eat you.” (399) Bloom enters but the dog keeps smelling him all the time. He has no merciful feelings towards the dog, he thinks the Citizen should “get a new dog Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs. And round he goes to Bob Doran that was standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get.” (284 -289) Bloom even disapproves of Alf for “trying to keep him from tumbling off the bloody stool atop of the bloody old dog and he talking all kinds of drivel about training by kindness and thoroughbred dog and intelligent dog: give you the bloody pip.” (291) Even when Garryowen is eating the biscuits can we hear Bloom complaining “Gob, he galloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him a yard long for more. Near ate the tin and all, hungry bloody mongrel.” (294-295) He is even more irritated when “the old dog seeing the tin was empty starts mousing around by Joe and me. I’d train him by kindness, so I would, if he was my dog. Give him a rousing fine kick now and again where it wouldn’t blind him.” (698-699) Bloom’s negative side is seen when the dog is near him. The Citizen mocks him again.: “-Afraid he’ll bite you? Says the citizen, jeering.” (700) Bloom tries to justify himself by telling him that the dog “might take (his) leg for a lamppost.” (702) There is such an intimacy, such a communion between the Citizen and Garryowen that when he calls the dog he “starts hauling and mauling and talking to him in Irish and the old towser growling, letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. Such growling you never heard as they let off between them.” (705-706) Bloom instead thinks that the dog should be muzzled and describes him as “growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his jaws.” (709-710) Bloom then imagines the dog as “Arsing around from one pub to another, leaving it to your own honour, with old Giltrap’s dog and getting fed up by the ratepayers and corporators. Entertainment for man and beast.(252-253)When the Citizen leaves the pub, he throws an empty can to Bloom and says:”- Did I kill him, says he, or what?And he shouting to the bloody dog:- After him, Garry! After him, boy!” (1903-1905)That is the last time they see the Citizen and the dog. However, something amazing happens just after the evil characters leave: “When, lo, there came about them all a great brightness and they beheld the chariot wherein He stood ascend to heaven. And they beheld Him in the chariot, clothed upon in the glory of the brightness… And they beheld Him even Him, ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of the brightness.” (1910-1917)A possible interpretation for this is that once evil, represented by Garryowen as the Black dog hereinabove mentioned, disappears, Bloom is able to ascend to a higher level. All his aggression will be left behind and we will see a more tolerant Bloom when he encounters dogs in chapter 15.In Circe, David Hayman says Joyce seems to have taken the whole book, jumbled it together in a giant mixer, and then rearranged its elements in a monster pantomime which includes every imaginable form of foolery but which may well be the most serious chapter in the book, a true rite of passage. Joyce makes no clear distinction between minor hallucinations and the normal surface and even introduces improbable elements into the characters’ hallucinations. As a result the visions and identities of Stephen and Bloom are blurred, universalized, mythicized; the components of their days are intermingled, so that their fates may momentarily be joined.Bloom is walking along the red-light district and, in his hallucinations, dog imagery is also present. First, he is approached by a dog with his “tongue outlolling, panting.” (632)When he is considering to “Go or turn? And this food? Eat it and get all pigsticky. Absurd I am. Waste of money. One and eightpence too much,” (358) a “retriever drives a cold sniveling muzzle against his hand, wagging his tail,”(359) and Bloom, unlike in Chapter 12, wonders about the fact that he is liked by dogs and he thinks, “Strange how they take to me. Even that brute today.” (660). He sees Garryowen and says, “Better speak to him first.” (661) He goes to him and thinks, “He might be mad. Dogdays.” Bloom is, “Uncertain in his movements.” But he tells him, “Good fellow! Fido! Good fellow! Garryowen!” The dog’s response is very different now: “The wolfdog sprawls on his back wriggling obscenely with begging paws, his long black tongue lolling out.” Bloom thinks it is the, “Influence of his surroundings.” (665) Then, Bloom, “calling encouraging words he shambles back with a furtive poacher’s tread, dogged by the setter into a dark stale stunk corner. He unrolls one parcel and goes to dump the crubeen softly but hold back and feels the trotter.” (666-669) He shares his food with the dog who, “mauls the bundle clumsily and gluts himself with growling greed, crunching the bones.” (672) In that moment, two watchmen approach silently and tell Bloom:”First watch: ‘Caught in the act. Commit no nuisance.'(stammers) Bloom: ‘I am doing good to others’Bloom: ‘The friend of man. Trained by kindness.'” (680-685)We can see a complete reversal in Bloom’s attitude towards the dog. He seems to have learnt the lesson about training dogs by treating them kindly. Somehow, this setting, though certainly not an ideal one, has benefited Bloom. However, he is caught by the watch who are working for the “Prevention of Cruelty to Animals” (668) as the second watch explains to Bloom.When Bloom meets Stephen, there is a dog bark heard in the distance. This, shared by both of them, makes them become one, blurring their individual differences. The narrator tells us that “Stephen (murmurs), “…shadows… the woods… white breast… dim sea” (4941-4942) Then he “stretches out his arms, sighs again and curls his body. Bloom, holding the hat and ashplant, stands erect. A dog barks in the distance. Bloom tightens and loosens his grip on the ashplant. He looks down on Stephen’s face and form. (4944-4948) Bloom thinks Stephen’s face reminds him of, “his poor mother. In the shady wood. The deep white breast (…) (he murmurs)… swear that I will always hail, ever conceal, never reveal, any part or parts, art or arts….” (4950) Bloom is described as being, “silent, thoughtful, alert he stands on guard, his fingers at his lips in the attitude of secret master,” (4956-4957) and in that moment Rudy appears. Bloom in this final scene is also transformed into a watchful dog who will take care of the drunken Stephen as he did with Rudy. In this case, Joyce draws upon Plutarch’s dog symbolism since Bloom is the embodiment of fidelity, nobility and watchfulness.As Neil Russack stated in “Inner City books. Animal Guides in life, myth and dreams. An Analyst’s notebook,” humans and animals are capable of a deep and healing intimacy with one another. In Bloom and Stephen’s cases, their contact with dogs and their identification with them has been highly beneficial. Both of them, Stephen in Chapter 3 and Bloom in Chapter 15, seem to have developed a new self through the canine imagery. Without them knowing it, dogs change and refresh their lives. These dogs can be considered as solar animals in that they fire up Stephen and Bloom’s hearts.Joyce, besides depicting dogs as performing two of their basic roles, namely friendship and guarding, draws on the symbolism of different cultures to give his images a deeper meaning.BibliographyDictionary of Symbolic and Mythological Animals. Gifford, Don, and Robert Seidman. Ulysses Annotated. Los Angeles, University of California Press, 1989.Hayman, David. Ulysses: the mechanics of meaning. New Jersey, Prentice-Hall, 1970.Joyce, James. Ulysses. New York, First Vintage Books Edition, 1986.Russack, Neil. Inner City books. Animal Guides in life, myth and dreams. An Analyst’s notebook.Toronto, 2002.Schutte, William M. Index of Recurrent Elements in James Joyce’s Ulysses. Illinois, Southern Illinois University Press, 1982.