At 12:49 this afternoon, just as the mailman came around with a stack of letters for me, I finished the last page of
Ulysses. This is a moment that I'm extremely proud of, even though it arrives a little bit late. I was supposed to have finished the book over two months ago. I read it with a reading group. But during my second semester at college, I was distracted by such meaningless things as speech class and extra-credit papers. And so,
Ulysses, though ever-present in my mind and on my night table, slipped from sight for several weeks at a time.
However, I made a conscious choice that I was going to finish the book before I left for a beach trip with some friends. I didn't want the weight of James Joyce hanging over me... After all, remember what Bloom does on the beach... As I read
Ulysses, I was frequently met with situations that resembled the novel. Much as I liked Bloom, I wouldn't want to have a repeat of that scene come into my life while I'm on vacation. No, I'd rather run into Buck and Stephen shaving in the early hours.
I often read at the beach, but it's usually pulp fiction novels that I take, not massive tomes. And after reading a book such as
Ulysses or say one of Nabokov's more challenging works, or particular works of post-post-modern literature, I feel the need to go through a period of relaxation via, frankly, trash-lit. (Thus why I'm reading 2 James
Pattersons and a Dan Brown novel.) I thought that I might be able to sneak in the last bit of
Ulysses at the beach if I had to, but then I changed my mind. Fired up by a recurring case of insomnia, I read chapters 16 and 17 one night after the other. I stopped myself from continuing onto Chapter 18, even though I felt that I could continue. Chapter 18 would have to have a day to itself, I thought. And what a better way to begin Molly's soliloquy than by laying in bed? I lazily picked the book up and read the first 2 sentences of the 8 sentences that make up the final chapter.
By 9 AM I was downstairs at my desk, answering emails. I read sentences 3 through 6 in between small tasks, taking a moment to reflect on them before moving along. By 11:30, I was on sentence 7. I went out to get bread for lunch, then ate up the rest of the tuna I'd made before. While I ate the sandwich, I propped the book up against a stack of other books and finished sentence 7. By the time I finished my sandwich, it was 12 o'clock, and time to begin the final,
transformative sentence. I call it
transformative because it marks a shift in Molly's thinking, beginning with the word "no" and ending with the repetition of the word "yes" again and again.
As I finished the book, I must admit that I felt Molly saying "and yes I said yes I will Yes." I felt myself tearing up. I've spent almost a year with these people, and it was hard to say goodbye.
Ah well, there's always next time. Plus I still have to read
Portrait of the Artist. And of course there's always the
Wake.
JPC
My new review of Patti Smith's 
