Boxing an Irishman

I've seen enough Jim Sheridan movies to know that boxing an Irishman is never a great idea.

Yesterday, I sent an email to our faculty to let people know what I was doing in case they were interested. I honestly didn't expect anyone to reply or even read the email. But very quickly, my inbox started filling up, and I posted several of them to the comments section of yesterday's entry. It seems like this project has touched a nerve. Two people even decided they want to join me in reading the book. All of the comments suggest intriguingly complex relationships to Joyce. The language at times implies the type of relationship you might have with an abusive father. There is grudging respect, emotional scarring, guarded tenderness, and the type of connection that clearly transcends the academic. You can read them yourself, but let me deal with a few of them here.

The responses I got seemed to fall into several distinct categories. The first can be summed up this way:

I'd rather burn my first edition of DeLillo's "Americana" than slog through "Finnegans Wake." I'll certainly read your blog and roll an occasional Red Bull across the cafeteria.

And then there are the dire warnings:

Please start with Dubliners and use a Reader's Guide which we have. Nobody attacks Joyce successfullly without a teacher, and forget about "Finnegan's Wake."

I love the compassionate tone, which could be read to imply some sort of physical danger could be involved. This was reflected elsewhere in the comments too.

It is like hearing the ocean is a really great place and jumping in the middle of the ocean when a storm is going on.

Or this:

If I were you, I would have chosen Ulysses. An easier opponent to box. At least the Bible is in English.

A lot of people said I should start with Ulysses, but I think if I conquer FW first, then when I do get to Ulysses, it will be like beach reading.

People in the hallways have expressed their commiseration as well, saying things like, "So I heard about your Joyce project..." followed by the type of pause they might use if they found out a close personal friend of mine had died.

On the other side of the spectrum, I've had some wonderful comments about how transformational Joyce has been, and these little hints are what make the project seem so worthwhile.

I probably think about JJ about once a week at least. While I was running yesterday, for instance.

Or this:

I can't say I like his work, I just can't forget it or let it go as I have so many others, it still fascinates.

Or this:

My favorite moment in "Araby" is the pause between these two lines: "'If I go,' I said, 'I will bring you something.'" and "What innumerable follies laid waste my waking and sleeping thoughts after that evening!" So much is implied in that pause, that break. The 2nd sentence encapsulates 14-year-old love better than almost anything else. I was that boy at that age.

That's not the type of comment I've heard about Joyce before. Always the awed respect, but rarely the personal identification. All of this reinforces for me why I want to do the project in this way. The encouraging comments are all wonderfully complex and personal, and show that when the works touch you, they can leave a permanent scar. Those who connected find themselves looking at the world differently, and find this new paradigm unforgettable.

But what confirms me most are the warnings. If a book cannot be understood, unaided, by a reasonably intelligent person, then what does that say about the book? If those who were affected by the book could only achieve that in a classroom setting, then how much of that has to do with the relationship with the teacher? Perhaps - as has been suggested - this is the essence of post-modernism, that this type of book cannot be separated from its intricate context, and shouldn't be. David (my co-teacher of the Living Epic course) suggested that it would be like trying to start reading The Two Towers without reading The Fellowship of the Ring, and that perhaps FW is not a standalone work - that it needs the context of his other writings, and even perhaps his own biography, to be understood properly. And I do understand this, and it's probably why I'll lose this fight.

But losing, ironically, would be the best outcome here.

Or perhaps the only better outcome would be to succeed not in proving that the work is not worth the effort, but in proving that the work can be understood on its own terms, and what I can bring to the text are my own experiences, my own biography, my own cultural references, my own curiosity. I am certainly allowing myself to look things up - dictionaries, encyclopedias, the internet, and of course the contributions of those who participate with me and comment here. But literature is ultimately a conversation between an author and a reader, and should not require the intervention of the scholar or the critic. I know that's a Protestant belief, and Joyce's complex relationship with Catholicism may complicate this even more, but I stand by the principle that a great work of literature should reward the seeking heart without having to be filtered.

So while I'm boxing a dead Irishman here, I'm actually searching for ways for his blows to reach me.

I just heard the bell. Time for Round 1 to begin...