Bloomsday

Yesterday was Bloomsday, the whole James Joyce thing. A few years ago, we found ourselves in Dublin on June 16th and saw all sorts of strange happenings around that date. Had no clue how big the celebrations were. Well not NYC St. Paddy's Day big, but celebratory. Bars and the like. Readings on street corners.

I've tried a few times to read Ulysses. I'm sure it was assigned in my college lit classes. And it's one of those books you think you've probably read, until you pick it up and try again. So when I read this essay by Colum McCann about trying (and succeeding- the writer was laid up in a hospital bed, for goodness sake) from yesterday's New York Times, I couldn't resist this quote:

I had brought an old copy of “Ulysses,” James Joyce’s masterpiece that takes place in the back streets of Dublin on June 16, 1904. I wanted to read it cover to cover. I have been dipping into the novel for many years, reading the accessible parts, plundering the icing on the cake, but in truth I had never read it all in one flow.

Plundering the icing on the cake- don't you just love that?