Notes for the August meeting, pp. 120-123
(picking up from the colon fourteen lines down the page, starting “all those red raddled…”
As noted from the July meeting, we are in the midst of navigating through Joyce’s “analogy / parody / play” of Sullivan’s analysis of the Book of Kells. What begins to manifest in this section is Joyce’s mockery of Sullivan’s analysis for its somewhat superficial qualities—that is, it appears to remark only about the style, and instead says nothing about the substance of the text. The Sullivan-like narrator of this section, furthermore, attempts to tell a story about the writer of this letter / book / text by knowingly casting judgments on other cultures based upon HOW the language is presented but not on WHAT is actually presented.
Consider how Joyce’s narrator, here, insinuates characteristics of the writer based solely on the style—the “superciliouslooking crisscrossed Greek ees awkwardlike perched there and here out of date like sick owls hawked back to Athens: and the geegees too, jesuistically formed at first but afterwards genuflected aggrily toewards the occident” (FW 120.18-21)
Can “crisscrossed” [maybe also “Christ’s cross”] E’s demonstrate a “superciliousness” in Greek culture? They look as “awkward” and “out of date” today as “sick owls” [possibly an allusion to Egyptian hieroglyphics where the Owl represented the letter “m”—an inverted “E”] may have “hawked [looked] back to Athens.” Egypt, after all, to the Greeks was considered an especially backwards culture. The narrator continues with “gee-gees” “Gs” that may have been written by “jesuistically.” What judgments will lie in the future as texts are “aggrily [eagerly?] interpreted by those who bring them towards the Western World [the occident].
Joyce may tip his hand in this section to future readers and scholars (like ourselves) who study his strange and curious style in Finnegans Wake. Indeed, we are often attempting, with this book, to make interpretations “over the text, [by] calling unnecessary attention to errors, omissions, repetitions and misalignment” (FW 120.15-16). This may be Joyce anticipating scholars who pour over his Finnegans Wake drafts and notebooks—scrap-heaps that give clues to Joyce’s personal and writing history. These often appear somewhat organized (as with the titled sections of his Scribbledehobble notebook) but are also littered with “red raddled obeli cayennepeppercast over the text” (120.14-15)—or “read riddled with red crayon marks [cayenne peppers = red, but also a reference to Joyce’s preferred use of “crayons” to mark edits, changes, or places he took material from in the notebooks] over the text”—our attempts to make sense of the fragmented knowledge left to us.
Indeed, the narrator continues to move forward with the analysis of letter/language styles that judge the characteristics of those cultures: “Ostrogothic [Austrian gothic] kakography” [shit calligraphy or bad writing]; “Etruscan stabletalk” [ancient Italian attempts to “stabilize” language? but also filthy gossip—talk within the stables—the things behind closed doors]; the “constant labour to make” Jew and Greek pass as the same in one another’s eye [“ghimelpass [Jewish letter] through the eye of an iota [Greek letter]” / a theme within Ulysses “Jewgreek is Greekjew”], “and one peculiar sore point in the past; those throne [monarchy but also thrown] open doubleyous (of an early muddy terranean origin)” (FW 120.22-27) [“w” keeping with a developing pattern of “E” (Greek) “M” (Egyptian)”W” (Mediterranean)—the signs of HCE at various stages in human history—reminding us once again that it is history being interpreted, judged, misinterpreted, reinterpreted, and sometimes based on how the story/letters/language is presented, and not our understanding of what has been written]. It is “hornful digamma [di=2, gamma = C, but also dilemma] of your bornabarbar” (FW 120.34). Barbarians, here, is used in a definition similar to its Greek origin—anyone who is not of “our” culture.
We did not get to talk much of the following section during the meeting (I was fumbling and bumbling what I wanted to say and unable to make the connections I wanted to make) —Feel free to skip what I have tried to develop here to make the connection I wanted to make when we did actually talk about this section:
To back up this claim—Joyce references one of his lesser known works—
“the Aranman ingperwhis through the hole of his hat, indicating that the words which
follow may be taken in any order desired, hole of Aran man the hat through the
whispering his ho” (FW 121.12-14).
The reference is to Joyce’s 1912 article he wrote while in Galway with Nora and their children, submitted for publication in the Il Piccolo della Sera newspaper in Trieste, Italy: “The Mirage of the Fisherman of Aran: England’s Saftey Valve in Case of War” (Critical Writings 234-37). Within the article, Joyce comments on a British plan to build a new port in Galway—one that will connect Canada to the United Kingdom through Ireland—allowing for the flow of “granary,” “goods,” “passengers” “wealth” and “energy” into Galway and through to Dublin and Holyhead before making its way to London—a plan that would pump life “through this new artery of an Ireland drained of blood” (CW 235).
This sentiment, Joyce writes, compares to the mirage of the poor fisherman of Aran—a mirage of independence—as “Up until a few years ago the village elected its own king, had its own mode of dress, passed its own laws and lived it itself. The wedding rings of the inhabitants are still decorated with the king’s crest: two joined hands supporting a crowned heart” (CW 234). This bliss of independence, a separateness from their “United Kingdom,” seemingly is the mirage of the fisherman’s life. It is the conflict that will come with the creation of this new port—a complete misunderstanding of a people, of a culture, of a way of life.
Joyce and his companion are invited into the home of an old lady for tea and buttered bread [an act of hospitality contrasted to our earlier mention of barbarianism—“bornabarbar” (FW 120.34)]. The old lady’s son “sits near the fireplace and answers the questions of my companion in an embarrassed and humble manner”—answering questions that indicate he does not know his exact age—but that he’ll soon be old—and that he is unmarried because there are no women for him (CW 237). These things, Joyce insinuates, do not matter to these people. The man “confused and smiling” at the questions “remov[es] his hat from his head, [and] sinks his face in the soft wool” (CW 237), showing his embarrassment. “Aran,” Joyce writes, “is the strangest place in the world. A poor place, but no matter how poor it is, when my companion tries to pay, the old lady rejects the money almost angrily and asks us if we are trying to dishonour her house” (CW 237).
Feel free to resume here!
In short, this reference suggests the powers at large impose their meanings, their values, onto others—in language, in culture, in life. The harbor is said to bring money to Galway—but the people, at least in this passage, do not value money, or recognize themselves as British—they had their own King, laws, customs. It is a meaning and life that is judged by a reader who imposes and privileges his values, and often without ever understanding the cultures that he prejudges—and it has happened over, and over, and again “(here keen again and begin again to make soundsense and sensesound kin again) (FW 121.14-16)”
More judgments are made against cultures and the style of the writing—“haughtypitched disdotted aiches [H’s]” “Jaywalking [J] eyes [I]” almost spelling out this text’s “sahib” [owner] giving us the “principial” [first], the “medial” [middle], but not the “final” letter [M]—which is “always jims in the jam” (FW 121.16-18).
We begin to move away from letters (but not for long) as this paragraph continues (yes, this is all one paragraph—pp.119-123) and onto some of the illustrations—“that strange exotic serpentine, since so properly banished from our scripture” [possibly an allusion to St. Patrick removing the snakes form Ireland—but also a hint of the narrators own haughtiness—calling the symbol “exotic” and praising its “proper banishment” from “our” scripture]. What further makes this text inferior in the opinion of this narrator is its “studious omission of year number and era name from the date” mockingly calling this omission “the one and only time when our copyist seems at least [last] to have grasped the beauty of restraint” (FW 121.20-21; 28-30).
He attempts to place it in history by noting the “lubricitous conjugation of the last with the first” only occurs in ”the Bootherbrowth family of MSS., Bb – Cod IV [4], Pap II [2 or 11], Brek XI [11], Lun III [3 or 111], Dinn XVII [17], Sup XXX [30], Fullup M D C X C [1690—year of the “Battle of the Boyne” [where Catholic supporters of King James ultimately fell at the hands of the Protestant forces of William of Orange] (FW 121.31-35). Whether he can place a time and date with this seemingly chaotic order of numbers, letters, and events seems impossible.
The language begins to mirror pirate talk; the narrator begins to examine “those ars, rrrr! Those ars all bellical, the highpriest’s hieroglyph of kettletom and oddsbones [skull and crossbones—Jolly Roger], wrasted redhandedly from our hallowed rubic prayer for truce with booty” (FW 122.06-09). The “booty” may be foreign texts translated into English—the interpretations being “stolen” or “pirated”—There is reference, here, to two texts from the orient that were translated for the first times in English in the mid 19th and early 20th centuries: the “quatrain of rubyjets” Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (1859) (FW 122.11) and “ars all bellical” (FW 122.07) the Art of War by Sun Tzu (translated in 1905).
The examination of R’s leads to a potential examination of the brother’s battles, “O’Remus [Remus] pro Romulo [Romulus]” (FW 122.09) the twin brothers who fought over where to build a new city [Rome—as Romulus killed Remus in their fighting]. The battle that ensues here takes the form of drinking [“Roe’s Distillery,” “porter,” “firefill’d cup,” “jig jog jug” and a game of cards “pinnacle” [pinochle] (FW 122.09-13). The players take turns throwing their cards down with a “whang” (FW 122.13;15;16;17) in the backdrop of mannish parlor room talk where the “whangs” take on a sexual tone “and there she’s for you, sir, whang her, the fine [w]ooman, roughe to her lobster locks, the rosy, whang, God and O’Mara” (FW 122.14-16).
But often this sexual innuendo appears more to do with card playing mixed with Irish history: “loyal six I lead [leading with a six—but also maybe the loyal six of unionist Northern Ireland]” and “spoil five of spuds’s trumps [Spade trump cards in pinochle, also “spuds” as potatoes and a reminder of famine in Ireland]” (FW 122.10-14). There is a punch thrown—“whang, whack on his pigsking’s Kisser” [punched in the mouth with a possible reference to the Festy King—the pigsking—the King accused of dressing in coal to escape after selling a stolen pig – and a possible “Shem” character: see notes from June 2011 meeting: Festy King!] (FW 122.14-15). Kisser leads to more confusion – basia / bastum [lip kisses] (122.16; 32) or osculua [osculum-a cheek kiss] (122.16) or suavium [tongue kisses] (122.32).
How, though, did we get this far off topic?
Easy! Language/translation/interpretation, here, has become unstable—with words holding “toomuchness” of meaning “fartoomanyness” of those fourlegged ems [meanings] (FW 122-23)—too many meanings, it seems, for the narrator to keep track of in an organized way, as the paragraph drifts into a chaotic state of incongruence. The narrator instead begins again to study the images on the “plainly inspiring…Tunc page of the Book of Kells” (FW 122.18)—but even here there are discrepancies. The text is “Then there were two thieves crucified with him” but the pictures don’t match the text. This is simply noted as a discrepancy by the Sullivanesque narrator, who can only describe images but not actually interpret or analyze.
The paragraph concludes (phew) with references to more questions of letters “why spell dear god with a big thick dhee [D] (why [Y], O why [Y], O Why [Y]): the cut and dry aks [X] and wise [Y]—the symbols of male and female chromosomes. But when “all is zed [Z and said] and done” (FW 123), Joyce seems to remind the readers of translations in his own work—Ulysses: A modern Odyssey told in “eighteenthly [18]” episodes of Homer’s “twentyfourthly [24]” episode original. He thanks the man who published Ulysses in Dijon, France in 1922--Maurice Darantière with a simple “thank Maurice” for having “penelopean patience” [Penelope—the conclusion of Ulysses, also the weaver and un-weaver which ties into our discussion of meaning] in publishing the “seven hundred and thirtytwo strokes” [732 page Ulysses] so that those willing to “press on” through the book can “marvel” at the “vaulting feminine libido…sternly controlled and easily repersuaded by the uniform matteroffactness of a meandering male fist?” (FW 123.01-10). The question is to the reader and about the reader: “Who will continue reading this masturbatory drivel?” Why, we will!
If I were in Springfield with Homer Simpson, I might need a Duff-Muggli (FW 123.11) before I continue. Join us for Duff-Muggli talk as we press forward into the murky depths of Finnegans Wake.
