Milo O'Shea as Leopold Bloom |
In calling his novel Ulysses,
James Joyce asks us to compare Leopold Bloom, a turn-of-the-twentieth-century
middle-aged Irishman, with Odysseus, “the man of twists and turns,” hero of the
Trojan War, king of Ithaca, favorite of the goddess Athena, the master
tactician and brave warrior who dispatches over 100 suitors to reclaim his
throne and his marriage bed. On the surface of it, we might think that the
comparison can only be to Bloom’s detriment, that the novel must be a satire on
the weakness of modern man and how pathetically he has fallen from the heroes
of our venerable myths.
Louis Menand, however, suggests that Joyce may have had
something else in mind:
He thought that, from some vast superhuman distance, the people in Ulysses are just like the people in Homer. They are tracing the same patterns, walking through the same roles, struggling to work out the same sets of relations. . . .
I think this idea offers an interesting interpretive window
into the novel: a way to view Bloom as a hero instead of a butt of a joke (even
though he does become the butt of jokes multiple times in the novel itself). Bloom’s
feats clearly don’t measure up to those of Odysseus, who endures shipwrecks and
travels to the underworld, survives bouts with six-headed monsters and
malevolent witches, and speaks eloquently and strategically with princesses and
kings. Bloom’s adventures so far have been much more humble: moving his bowels,
burning his breakfast, buying some soap, carrying on an epistolary affair,
attending a funeral, chatting up an acquaintance in the street.
But Menand’s point makes me think that Joyce wants us to see
Bloom as a hero despite the quotidian (and literally pedestrian) nature of his
exploits.
The back cover of the Penguin Classics edition of Robert
Fagles’ translation of The Odyssey describes
the poem as “literature’s grandest evocation of everyman’s journey through
life,” a formulation which has always seemed wrong to me. Odysseus is everyman?
He’s a king, endowed with extraordinary talents, beloved by some gods and hated
by others—but a special person regardless, someone whose life is debated on Olympus.
And yet, from another perspective, Odysseus is not a very good guy: he sacks
cities, killing men and stealing their wives and riches; he is such an
inveterate liar that even when he is reunited with his own father he can’t help
but dissemble one last time and “cut him to the core”; he brutally slaughters
over 100 men and orders the execution of the serving women who have been their
lovers. Yet it’s clear throughout the Odyssey
that Homer wants us to side with his eponymous hero and to admire his
endurance, his craftiness, his devotion to his kin, his skill with language.
Similarly, Joyce, in his own grand evocation of an ordinary
man’s journey through one day of life, clearly wants us to side with Bloom,
despite his foibles. Bloom’s attentiveness to the details of the world, his joy
in physical sensation, his empathy with the creatures and people around him,
his thoughtfulness—all of these qualities make Bloom, like Odysseus, more than
simply a man like every other, but instead an embodiment of the values Joyce
embraced just as Odysseus embodies the values Homer embraced. Why else would
Joyce devote an epic (and a considerable portion of his own time and energy) to the stream of this particular man’s consciousness, if
not to suggest that it is to such a human, modern consciousness that we must
look for the heroism, inspiration, and cultural meaning that Homer’s listeners
once found in his tale?
Frank K.
Exactly my sentiment. Thx.
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