So Labour Day has come and gone. Congratulations to Jian Ghomeshi for completing Ulysses. Congratulations to me for not going crazy in my attempt to do the same.
I didn't even make it close to completion by the deadline: I'm on page 274 of 783. I could blame it on a number of thing like trying to tend to the family needs of two toddling children, the worship and pastoral needs of two towering churches, left little brain function to wade through the densely elusive allegory.
Also the fact that my 25¢ copy from 1961 fell apart into two distinct novellas with a scattering of single leafs crammed back into place, alluded to my pre-destined failure. Although I will slog on through the pages to eventually finish the book Canada intended to read.
I had made a vow not to read any other book until I finished Ulysses. Now that the Labour Day deadline has passed without incident, I'm turning to my stack of neglected, borrowed library books: I Am Charlotte Simmons by Tom Wolfe; You Went Away, Timothy Findley; The Way the Crow Flies, Ann-Marie MacDonald; Sailing to Sarantium, Guy Gavriel Kay; Our Lady of the Forest, David Guterson; Disobedience, Jane Hamilton ...
My first post-Joyce foray is as far from early-20th century Ireland as I can get: The Road to Dune, a companion book to Frank Herbert's sci-fi epic, with original drafts, deleted scenes and correspondence. I noted that another trilogy based on Arrakis and its Spice is forthcoming; Shelley will be so happy for me. "The Spice must flow."