Oh Crap, It’s Bloomsday
I was startled this morning by the following in my Facebook feed from friend Monica.
And I thought, “Oh, crap.”
Because, you see, I’ve been trying to get through Ulysses this year in time for Bloomsday. It’s not like I wasn’t warned it was impossible. I remembered Marinka’s attempts to get through it and, though she struggled valiantly, finishing the world’s best novel wasn’t in her cards.
The problem, though, was that I am part of an online bookclub that votes monthly which book should be read, and I picked Ulysses and now it’s being read. By everyone in the bookclub except for me.
The problem is cheapness.
Reading the book is nearly impossible unless you have a guide to explain what the hell James Joyce was inhaling when he wrote each page, such as this one, which is highly recommended. Unfortunately, that costs $30, or approximately $100, inflated for Jewishness. Add that to the price of the book (there’s no way two weeks from the library will be enough for me to read it, and I can’t read books online because I’m afraid my irises will melt), and that adds up to a hefty price for a book that purports to be about a Jew. The editors are clearly not pricing to their target audience.
Anyway, so it’s Bloomsday yet again and while all the Irish and the people that actually have read Ulysses, including the diligent members of my book club, are in pubs doing whatever it is that people in pubs do which I don’t know because I haven’t read the book, I am cursing yet another Bloomsday. Thanks for reminding me, Mon.