Chapter 6

In this episode Joyce presents an inherent problem in narratives, and life: death, or THE END, as the great unknown may render all that comes before it null. Bloom's incredible perceptions are no match for the grave, and his daydreaming about the dead, like the nail catching their flesh (they bleed and they don't) and the telegraph by which they can speak to the living, are ludicrous (& funny). If the consciousness of Bloom and Stephen seem overwhelming, then Joyce's alternative is so very underwhelming: the dead as completely separate, in their own universe so to speak, as to make the protagonists' worlds seem at least vivacious.

There's a lot of Irish in this chapter. Some good old Irish sentiment, i.e., "They used to drive a stake of wood through his heart in the grave. As if it wasn't already broken" (line had me choking up, a bit). And Irish types: Dedalus as the redfaced blowhard, Powers the hypocrite, and Cunningham the Blarney speaking, sensitive but insubstantial lad. Not to mention the sycophantic caretaker and the fascistic John Henry Menton. Having Bloom as the observer gives Joyce a good lens for observing these sons of Erin; his mind is so his own, it helps to see others clearly through him.

The chapter is human, and touching, in Ulysses unique way. There's no flinching from the ugly, but it's not fetishsived. Rather the awful, the offal, and the beautiful are put on the same level, and considered realistically.