The Toast’s previous literary pilgrimages can be found here.
Say you’re me. (Sorry for the frizzy hair and insomnia.) You wrote your college thesis on anti-Semitism and male menstruation in James Joyce’s Ulysses. Not only would you be the coolest cat in Cooltown; you’d also be the perfect fit for Bloomsday, Dublin’s annual James Joyce extravaganza.
Every June 16th, literary nerds of all stripes gather in Ireland’s capital to celebrate the day Ulysses protagonist Leopold Bloom bumbled through the city to avoid walking in on his wife as she banged her current boy-toy. From 8 am on, straw-hatted celebrants host readings, eat with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowl, and pant the book’s final words – “yes I said yes I will yes” – with such emphasis that one might think Dublin was experiencing a citywide orgasm.
Attending Dublin Bloomsday had long been number one on my bucket list, so I slipped on my best Oxfords and jingle jangle jaunted across the Atlantic. Before long I was boarding the minibus that would take a ragtag bunch of English teachers, German grad students, and a giggly book club of elderly Swedish women around the metro area to check out the hottest Joyceian sights.
Yeah, I sepia-toned my pictures. I am that cool.
Our six-hour tour took us to Sandycove’s Martello Tower, where Ulysses begins. The curtain rises on a just-barely-awake Stephen Dedalus, whom you’ll remember as the lovably pretentious asshole from Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.
Joyce himself lived here for six whole days in 1904.
Coincidence????
I was delighted to see the curators at the James Joyce Tower and Museum had recreated Stephen’s so-called “gloomy room.” There, Stephen’s roommate nearly killed our dear Dedalus by shooting at a panther he dreamed the previous night. Jokers that they are, the museum curators placed their own ceramic panther statue in the corner – or maybe I hallucinated it. I did drink a lot of absinthe.
We then bussed over to Sandymount Strand, once the location of the beach where Stephen executed the most highbrow public urination in literary history. This photo is actually of a different beach on the same bay, as the original beach was paved over and made into a park. Sandymount’s beach is also the setting of the Ulysses‘ Nausicaa episode, where Bloom famously jerks off to the sight of a young disabled woman.
Look at that photo. Are you picturing a chubby, middle-aged Jew masturbating? I know I am. But be careful. Joyce specifies that Bloom was uncircumcised.
Our tour then passed through Eccles Street, the home of Bloom and his wife, Molly. Sadly their residence no longer exists; a modern condo now stands in its place. Municipal government of Dublin, you should be ashamed of yourself. How dare you not preserve the entire city solely for the amusement of Ulysses fanatics? For shame, municipal government.
The best part of my Bloomsday pilgrimage was my visit to Sweny’s Pharmacy, where Bloom purchased some lemon soap. Why was this my favorite stop? Well, first:
Cosplay! Sure, we’ve all seen Man-Faye at Comic-con (and possibly in our bedrooms), but how many of us can say we’ve seen a dozen Josie Breens and Nora Barnacles?
As for my second reason for loving Sweny’s:
Lemon soap! I know you’re thinking, “Does it smell like lemons?” TOAST READERS. YOU BET YOUR ASS IT SMELLS LIKE LEMONS.
More from Sweny’s:
Oh, cell phone cosplayer. I should have married you, cell phone cosplayer.
The other mecca for Bloomsday pilgrims is Davy Byrne’s pub, where Bloom ate his June 16th lunch.
Naturally on Bloomsday you can order Leopold’s own meal: a gorgonzola sandwich and glass of Burgundy. (Twelve euro.) A man after my own heart, that Bloom.
It’s not a Bloomsday trip if you don’t take a detour to Mabbot Street, the entrance to the Nighttown of Ulysses‘ Circe episode. It’s my favorite chapter, mainly because of the BDSM, the hallucinatory gender-swapping, and the Stephen getting knocked on his ass by an English soldier.
That’s right: BDSM, gender-swapping, public urination, beachfront masturbation. Ulysses virgins may be surprised this early twentieth century masterpiece features such racy scenes. I bet you’re even wondering if you should buy a copy so you can bring it on your next vacation.
Here’s the thing about Ulysses. It’s my favorite novel that I never recommend. For one thing, there’s not nearly enough misandry. Not one “kill all men” in the whole thing. Worse, if you want to get Joyce’s references and jokes, you need to schlep around a hulking book of annotations. It also helps if you’re fluent in Latin – and French and Hebrew and Italian and Irish – and you’d better know your Bible, your Edwardian Irish history, and pretty much every line of The Odyssey.
But if you do choose to get lost for ten years in this great ocean of a novel, you’ll be rewarded with a shockingly fun and moving tale – and Molly Bloom, who’s like Donna Noble meets Donna Meagle, but sluttier. And maybe next year you can join us weirdos at Dublin Bloomsday. Just don’t forget to bring me more absinthe.
