Morning in Sandycove #2

The Ulysses opens at the Martello tower in the small town Sandycove outside Dublin at eight o'clock in the morning.
We visited the place six years ago, one blowing October day.
I'm still shocked by how narrow the place was. Three young men were living there, at least in the novel I now am writing about.
In its absurdity it also becomes very real, because of all the references to places, year, date, even exact hour of the day.
Stephen Daedalus rented this tower from the English government, and for some reason he had let two more or less penniless friends stay there with him. One Oxonian student of Irish culture, an antisemitic by the name of Haines, and an Irish medical student, Buck Mulligan, a mocker of the Church and as the plot goes on, a torturer of his "friend" Stephen Daedalus.
I'm standing in the narrow stairs where all began. Mulligan climbing the stairs as if they led to an altar, only to start a game of spiteful blasphemy.
What started as a friendly student quarreling tongue twisting mocking, ended with young Stephen being forced to hand over the key to the tower to Mulligan, after he had paid for their food.
Lots of symbolism referring to the fact that Ireland was a country suppressed and exploited by the English.

Stephen calls Mulligan an usurper as he leaves the tower, heading for school. He was teaching at the mercy of an unpleasant headmaster, but at least, he made a living there.
One cannot help but be upraised by all the intrigues and foul play among seemingly friends.
This first chapter is called Telemachus, after the son of Odysseus, the one who left his home in Ithaca to go searching for his long lost father. Odysseus had been delayed on his way home from the battle of Troy, and we're going to meet later on .

Stephen may be seen as the modern Telemachus, leaving Erin to look for, not his father, but maybe a more righteous life.
Like the Wild Geese had to flee after James II had lost the Battle of Boyne, thousands and thousands have left their beloved Ireland in flood waves, literally spoken.
America is full of brave Irishmen, who left their country to seek a future and a living overseas.
To me it seems that sympathetic Steven is giving in too easy, but then again, I don't know much about his pre history.

Summer Odyssey #1

This summer I took upon a long planned and twice failed project.
The reading of Ulysses, novel written by James Joyce.
I think I maybe found the reading hard, because critics all over the world tells me so.
Gunnar convinced me, it's not a difficult book, but a rich one.
Feeding and inspiring the mind.

Armed with a glossary, a commentator's book, Homer's Odyssey, a map over Dublin, history of Ireland and a pen, I finally weighed anchor.
Gunnar was a bit reluctant to the idea of me making notes in the actual novel, but that is my way of reading in depth.
My Bible is highlighted from Genesis to the Revelation.

James Joyce used 8 years on writing the novel, no reason for me to try finish reading it in "one sitting", to quote John Cowart.

So far I find all the digressions more interesting than trying to point out a main road from A to Z.
Like life itself, the most interesting things keep popping up, while one is busy making other plans.

Summer, Sun and Ruby Tuesday

Summer in Norway is not so much about hot days, but sunny days. From today's paper; Sola opp = sun up 04:27 a.m.. Sola ned = sun down 22:49 = 10.49p. m. In short the sun is shining for 18 hours and 22 minutes, and we have still not reached midsummer. Temperature? !!Celsius degrees = around 50 Fahrenheit degrees. No bathing so far for me.


We are outdoor almost all day. Dressed in wind jackets. Eating on the terrace and reading. My project for this summer is Ulysses. A small hint of red on the book.
The old explorer is taking us out about sundown. I cannot imagine I'll ever get tired of the brilliant colors, making earth and sky magic.


Every cloud has a gold lining in Norway.

I know of no countries having such an abundance of summer poetry and beautiful songs in every changer praising sun, sea and God's immense creation. We are summer fanatics.

"But off he dies the fire wild, like fading glow." I'm still waiting for Kris to translate "From Sea a land of Elves arise". Best sunset poem ever.

Originated by MaryT, check hers for today