Sunday, April 24, 2016

Rise and Shine: The Dawn Prayers of Book IV (Part 1)

"Pu Nuseht, lord of risings"

In our local Finnegans Wake Reading Group here in Austin, the month of April introduced us to a new chapter in the text. Right after the spring equinox sprung forth Austin's lush verdant landscape into abundant green blooming, we kicked off the 17th and final chapter of Finnegans Wake, the sole chapter making up Book IV starting on page 593. (Note: this is actually our seventh chapter since the start of the reading group in 2012 since we are approaching the text in the non-linear chapter sequence described here.)

The chapter brings dawn, sunrise, and renewal to the long dark night of the Wake. The earliest rays of dawn sunlight creeping over the horizon spring this corner of the world to life; the sleeping Irish pub owner Humphrey Chimpden Earwicker is summoned for resurrection.

It's the awakening of all the Finnegans.

I've always considered this my favorite chapter for its ample use of Eastern mythological themes (Sanskrit features heavily in the opening, as we'll see) and because this chapter of sacred invocations and prayers to the rising sun is among the richest, most dense and rewarding sections of the entire book. It's one of the last parts Joyce wrote in the Wake's 17-year compositional odyssey and all the themes of the book seem to be distilled here.

Normally in our reading group we study two pages per meeting. Because of this chapter's densely packed collection of riches and the awe-inspiring poetic nature of its main theme (dawn and renewal), we are tackling this section at a pace of one page per meeting. So far, after two meetings we've unearthed a great deal of treasures---mostly related to the renewing fires of the sun---but in my follow-up research into the pages I've uncovered lots more.

That being the case, I'd like to examine some of the themes present in these first two pages of Book IV here. There is a ton to unpack, so bear with me.

(As always, is an indispensable resource in parsing the Wake. Another fantastic resource---which had slipped my mind for a while, possibly owing to its rather obscure presence on the web---is the blog/website "Annotated Finnegans Wake (with Wakepedia)" which I believe may be arranged by legendary master of Joyceana, Jorn Barger. The same mystery man has set up a Finnegans Wake e-text which has also been very helpful. William York Tindall's book A Reader's Guide to Finnegans Wake has unique insights on this chapter as does Donald Theall's book James Joyce's Techno-Poetics.)

Here is page 593, the opening of Book IV (presented in gold font for the rising sun):

    Sandhyas! Sandhyas! Sandhyas! 
Calling all downs. Calling all downs to dayne. Array! Surrection. Eireweeker to the wohld bludyn world. O rally, O rally, O rally! Phlenxty, O rally! To what lifelike thyne of the bird can be. Seek you somany matters. Haze sea east to Osseania. Here! Here! Tass, Patt, Staff, Woff, Haw, Bluvv and Rutter. The smog is lofting. And already the olduman's olduman has godden up on othertimes to litanate the bonnamours. Sonne feine, somme feehn avaunt! Guld modning, have yous viewsed Piers' aube? Thane yaars agon we have used yoors up since when we have fused now orther. Calling all daynes. Calling all daynes to dawn. The old breeding bradsted culminwillth of natures to Foyn Mac-Hooligan. The leader, the leader! Securest jubilends albas Temoram. Clogan slogan. Quake up, dim dusky, wook doom for husky! And let Billey Feghin be baallad out of his humuluation. Confindention to churchen. We have highest gratifications in announcing to pewtewr publikumst of pratician pratyusers, genghis is ghoon for you.
A hand from the cloud emerges, holding a chart expanded. 
The eversower of the seeds of light to the cowld owld sowls that are in the domnatory of Defmut after the night of the carrying of the word of Nuahs and the night of making Mehs to cuddle up in a coddlepot, Pu Nuseht, lord of risings in the yonderworld of Ntamplin, tohp triumphant, speaketh.

It's dawn in the Earwicker household, a new day, and another rebirth of the universe is taking place.

The entire page is a solar prayer, a dawn paean to the rising sun, opening with a chant echoing the Sanctus from the Mass, then a radio broadcast calling for an awakening and uprising, interrupted by radio commercials advertising soap, and ending with a description of the sun speaking through light and arousing the dead from sleep in a style mimicking The Egyptian Book of the Dead.

Now let's plunge into some of the details:

Sandhyas! Sandhyas! Sandhyas! 
"Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus" - (Latin: "holy, holy, holy") The Sanctus prayer from the Roman Catholic Mass, from the end of the Preface to the Prayers of Consecration of the Eucharist. This part of the prayer goes: "(All): Holy, holy, holy Lord, God of power and might, heaven and earth are full of your Glory."

Sandhyas - (Sanskrit) twilight period, a period of junction

sandhya - daily Hindu prayers recited at dawn, noon, sunset, midnight

Sandhya - in Hindu mythology, the personification of twilight, being the daughter of Brahma who changed herself into a deer to escape her father when he tried to force himself on her. (A theme reminiscent of the father HCE and his daughter Issy.)

As one of the readers in our group pointed out, the presence of "deus" (Latin "God") is also in Sandhyas. It sounds like "sun - deus".

Sunday - Easter Sunday. Donald Theall sees this chapter as the Easter Sunday Mass at dawn.

T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land concludes with "Shantih shantih shantih" (from the ending of the Upanishads, Sanskrit shantih - peace, tranquility).

This twilight invocation comes through on a radio announcement that sounds like a police alarm, "Calling all cars!":

Calling all downs. Calling all downs to dayne. Array! Surrection. Eireweeker to the wohld bludyn world. O rally, O rally, O rally! Phlenxty, O rally! To what lifelike thyne of the bird can be. Seek you somany matters. Haze sea east to Osseania. Here! Here! 

Calling all downs. Calling all downs to dayne.
"Calling all cars!", calling all towns, calling all dawns, calling all those who are laying down. Get up!

Calling all dawns to day, calling all those are laying down to the day time. Calling all dawns to become day now (day-ne). Dane is also the Scandinavian HCE. As a member of our group also enlightened us: "Dane" was the pronunciation Deimne of the childhood nickname of Finn MacCool, the Irish hero and recurring figure in Finnegans Wake.

Array! Surrection.
Arise! Hooray! A ray (of sunlight)!

Re-surrection. Insurrection. Morning erection. The resurrection of the sleeper back to wakefulness. A political uprising, insurrection, a rebellion. Finnegans, Wake!

Eireweeker to the wohld bludyn world. 
Earwicker to the whole bloody world. Ear waker to the whole bloody world. The Irish (Eire) uprising of 1916 during Easter week (thanks, W.Y. Tindall). To the old bloody world. To the whole Dublin ("bludyn" anagram) world. German wohl - well. Bulgarian "bluden" - lecherous. The well bloody world.

O rally, O rally, O rally! Phlenxty, O rally!
A rally, a rally, a rally! A rebellion, a political and social rally. Plenty of rally. Phoenix O'Reilly, Persse O'Reilly (nickname for main character/sleeper HCE, from "Ballad of Persse O'Reilly," FW p. 44). Phalanx (a body or row of troops or police), O rally! The three "O rally" followed by the fourth with phoenix reference mirrors the structure of Finnegans Wake with three books then Book IV which is the rally, the phoenix rising, the Ricorso, the sun rising, dawn of a new era. O'Reilly is also The O'Rahilly, one of the rebels killed at the Post Office during the Easter Rising.

To what lifelike thyne of the bird can be.
Rise to what life like that of the bird can be, rise up to sky heights. Also from a Thomas Moore song: 'What life like that of the bard can be" (from "The Wandering Bard" which also features an air of "Planxty O'Reilly). Thyne also echoes dayne. The bird is the phoenix bird previously mentioned in "Phlenxty".

Seek you somany matters. Haze sea east to Osseania. Here! Here! 
I feel like getting up in the morning is often the hardest thing to do in a day. If you opt to snooze when the sun's rays are beckoning you to awaken, you seek somnolent matters. But the sun peeking over from the far east of the globe is calling for you to get up and seek somany matters, the multiplicity of the world revealed by light. The morning sun scatters the vaporous haze hanging over the Pacific, the hazy sea out east of Oceania (Australia and surrounding region).

"Haze sea east" is also H-C-E the everpresent everyman of Joyce's book. Osseania is also Ossian, the son of Finn MacCool. 

Joyce in the Wake makes frequent reference to The Poems of Ossian by James Macpherson, about which a quick aside is worth getting into.

Songs of Ossian by Ingres (1813)

Ossian purports to be a translation of an epic cycle of Scottish poems from the early dark ages. Ossian, a blind bard, sings of the life and battles of Fingal, a Scotch warrior [Fingal is the Scottish name for Finn MacCool]. Ossian caused a sensation when it was published on the cusp of the era of revolutions, and had a massive cultural impact during the 18th and 19th centuries. Napolean carried a copy into battle; Goethe translated parts of it... 
James Macpherson claimed that Ossian was based on an ancient Gaelic manuscript. There was just one problem. The existence of this manuscript was never established. In fact, unlike Ireland and Wales, there are no dark-age manuscripts of epic poems, tales, and chronicles and so on from Scotland. It isn't that such ancient Scottish poetry and lore didn't exist, it was just purely oral in nature. Not much of it was committed to writing until it was on the verge of extinction. There are Scottish manuscripts and books in existence today which date as far back as the 12th century (some with scraps of poetry in them), but they are principally on subjects such as religion, genealogy, and land grants. For this and several other reasons ... authenticity of the work was widely contested, particularly by Samuel Johnson. A huge (and probably excessive) backlash ensued, and conventional wisdom today brands Ossian as one of the great forgeries of history. 
I love this description because it has echoes of the Wake which also describes itself as a forgery, written by Shem (James/Jim) the Forger, from page 181: "how cutely to copy all their various styles of signature so as one day to utter an epical forged cheque on the public for his own private profit." The oral nature of The Poems of Ossian resembles that of the Wake ("Here! Here!" or Hear! Hear!). The questionable history and research surrounding an ancient document that was unearthed also echoes the Wake's letter dug up out of a trash dump which scholars puzzle over the history and meaning of.

Moving on...

Tass, Patt, Staff, Woff, Haw, Bluvv and Rutter. The smog is lofting. And already the olduman's olduman has godden up on othertimes to litanate the bonnamours. Sonne feine, somme feehn avaunt! 

The seven names are punning references to radio news agencies around "the wohld bludyn world": Tass (Russia), Pat (Poland), Stefani (Italy), Wolff (pre-Nazi Germany), Havas (France), Reuters (Great Britain). Also bread and butter is hinted at, thoughts of breakfast on the mind of the awakening sleeper.

The police radio call blaring out of the "radiooscillating epiepistle" (FW p. 181) of Finnegans Wake is spreading its call for resurrection and insurrection across the world. The rising sun is also climbing above Oceania and shedding light on the Eurasian continent telling everyone to wake up.

The smog is lofting.
The hazy Pacific smog is lifting.

And already the olduman's olduman has godden up on othertimes to litanate the bonnamours.
During "othertimes" or other days at this time, (aforementioned Poems of Ossian frequently speaks "of other times" or far off ancient times) already by now the oldman's oldman (Joe the Janitor at HCE's pub) or the oldwoman's oldwoman (Kate, the janitrix at the pub, aka "Kothereen the Slop" FW p. 556) would be getting up and lighting the bonfires. Litany of the "bon amour" (French, good love) or Bona Mor (Latin, happy death, also the name of a Catholic sodality founded in the 17th century with the purpose of preparing its members to a peaceful death).

Sonne feine, somme feehn avaunt! 

Sinn Féin, Sinn Féin Amháin (Irish) - "Ourselves, ourselves alone!" Irish Nationalist slogan.

Sun fine - (German) "Sonne" and "feine"

somme - (French) nap or snooze

Somme - French river

Foehn = warm dry south wind blowing down the valleys on the north side of the Alps


avaunt - (archaic) begone! or (French) before

Guld modning, have yous viewsed Piers' aube? Thane yaars agon we have used yoors up since when we have fused now orther. 

Gold morning! The Golden Age is returning, the world is renewing.

Guld - (Danish) gold

modning - (Danish) ripening, maturation

Piers' aube - Persse O (Reilly)

aube - (French) dawn

Have you watched (viewed) the sun rise?

Also a radio commercial (which also appeared in Ulysses): "Good morning, have you used Pears' soap?"

Introducing the soap theme, the cleansing of renewal, as in the washerwomen of the ALP chapter. And the awakening sleeper needing to take a morning shower. In Ulysses, Bloom picks up a bar of lemon soap for his wife and carries it throughout the day, during the psychedelic trip of the Circe episode it rises over the horizon like the sun: "A cake of new clean lemon soap arises, diffusing light and perfume... the disc of the soapsun."

Thane yaars agon we have used yoors up since when we have fused now orther. 

From the Wakepedia page:

"Good morning! Have you used Pears' soap?"

"I used your soap two years ago; since then I have used no other."

"Since using Pears' soap I have discarded all others."

"now orther" is also New Order or New Arthur (return of King Arthur) or, having used Pears' soap for ten years now, no odor, or have used no other. 

Calling all daynes. Calling all daynes to dawn. The old breeding bradsted culminwillth of natures to Foyn MacHooligan. The leader, the leader! 

Repeating the "calling all cars!" style radio announcement, whereas before it was calling out "to the whole bloody world" now it's to "the old breeding bradsted" or bleeding blasted "culminwillth of natures" or commonwealth of nations. "The old breeding bradsted culminwillth" also forms the acronym for BBC news. 

"Culmin" comes from the aforementioned Poems of Ossian, it's a name that means "fair-haired" much like Finn which also means "fair" or "blond".  The phrase also suggests the common will of nature, the culmination of nature. 

Foyn MacHooligan - (fine) Finn MacCool again. Finn again. The rebirth of the Irish hero in the form of some son (mac) of a hooligan. 

The leader, the leader! echoes "Thalatta, thalatta" (Greek, "the sea, the sea!") chanted in the opening chapter of Ulysses. The "now orther" or New Arthur, is a new leader of the people, a new Finn MacCool (MacCool again). It's also "The letter, the letter!" for the letter at the heart of Finnegans Wake (to finally be encountered at the end of this same chapter). 

"Thalatta! Thalatta!" ("the sea! the sea!") comes from the ancient Greek text Anabasis by Xenophon. The word "Anabasis" in Greek means "an ascent or going up" (usually in reference to an expedition from a coastline into the interior of a country) which ties in with the rising sun theme. 

Securest jubilends albas Temoram. Clogan slogan. Quake up, dim dusky, wook doom for husky! And let Billey Feghin be baallad out of his humuluation. Confindention to churchen. We have highest gratifications in announcing to pewtewr publikumst of pratician pratyusers, genghis is ghoon for you.

Things definitely get increasingly dense here and it's harder to identify what exactly is being said, but we have plenty of clues.

Securest jubilends albas Temoram. 

From St. Augustine: "Securus iudicat orbis terrarum" - (Latin) "The verdict of the world is secure." Here it's blended and punned into something a little different. In Portuguese "albas" means daybreak and "Temoram" sounds like tomorrow but it's also Temora, the title of a poem in The Poems of Ossian, where it is the name of a palace. Latin timorem means "fear" (where the word timid derives from). So I'm reading this as something like "Secure rest lends jubilation at the daybreak of tomorrow" or "Secure rest jubilantly daybreaks the fearful night" or something like that. Deciphering Joyce's puns on Latin is no easy task but we've got enough pieces here to hint at a meaning. It seems to fit in the rejuvenating, cleansing context of the rising sun (albas = daybreak in Portuguese but also alba = white in Latin) scattering away the pitch black darkness (timorem = fear).

Clogan slogan.
Danish klog - wise, clever. Irish clogan - little bell, clock. 

The alarm clock is announcing its slogan: Wake up!

Also Colgan is a bard in Poems of Ossian.

The clever, wise slogan of the preceding soap advertisement.

John Colgan was a 17th century historian and hagiographer who coined the name Annals of the Four Masters, a history of Ireland that features heavily in the Wake.

Quake up, dim dusky, wook doom for husky! 
Wake up, dim dusk! Make room for Humphrey!

'Move up, Mick, make room for Dick' (Dublin graffito after Collins' death, 1922, referring to Michael Collins and to Richard Mulcahy, his succesor). In this context this sort of sounds like, move out of the way to make room for the new king or the new leader.

 And let Billey Feghin be baallad out of his humuluation. 

Cannot figure out who Billey Feghin is, but in this context it is referring to HCE aka Persse O'Reilly who had a ballad condemning him on page 44. This seems to say he's being bailed out of his humiliation, the guilt he's suffered throughout the entire book is now cleaned away, refreshed, renewed by the new day and the washing away of dirt and sins with Pears' soap.

Also, since Danish baal is bonfire and Cornish baal is spade or shovel, this is saying we can dig up HCE/Finn/Persse out of the funeral pyre or out of the humus (or compost) of the earth. The theme of resurrection again.

Confindention to churchen.
Cleansing away his guilt just like confiding in confession and having confidence in the church. 

Jurchen is an ancient name for the Chinese tribe known as the Manchu. Lots of Eastern references weaved in here with the sun rising.

We have highest gratifications in announcing to pewtewr publikumst of pratician pratyusers, genghis is ghoon for you.

Sounds so much like another advertisement because it is: Guiness is good for you!

It's a new day so HCE's pub can be re-opened, announced to future publications or a public of pratyusers (Anglo-Irish, "potato"-users, the Irish populace) holding their pewter mugs ready to imbibe. 

Also another Eastern reference with Genghis Khan. 

Now the style flips: 

A hand from the cloud emerges, holding a chart expanded. 

H-C-E, H-C-E

Beautiful line here, the image invoking the medieval representation of God the Father.

The line is inspired by the description of the family crest for the name Finnegan which Joyce found in the Weekly Irish Times from July 18, 1936 (my birthday in the year my dad was born): "Out of a cloud a hand erect holding a book expanded proper."

The chart expanded is the surface of the earthly globe expanding in the sunlight emerging out from the clouds.

The eversower of the seeds of light to the cowld owld sowls that are in the domnatory of Defmut after the night of the carrying of the word of Nuahs and the night of making Mehs to cuddle up in a coddlepot, Pu Nuseht, lord of risings in the yonderworld of Ntamplin, tohp triumphant, speaketh.
The style directly influenced by The Egyptian Book of the Dead where passages often begin with: "The overseer of the house of the overseer of the seal, Nu, triumphant, saith..."

Here it's the sun, the sower of seeds of light waking up the "cowld owld sowls" or cold old souls who are still in the somnolent dormitory of deaf-mute sleep. The "cowld owld sowls" includes the sacred cow as well as owl and sow (pig), the animals are waking up to the sun as well. The word "sow" connects with the seeds of light being sowed into the earth, too.

Defmut - Tefnut was the Egyptian goddess of moisture and rain, resonating with the sowing of seeds in the earth. It also recalls Mutt and Jeff, a comicstrip duo recurring in the Wake.

That comicstrip duo becomes the brothers Shem and Shaun. Here their names are reversed: "carrying of the word of Nuahs" that's Shaun the Postman who's been carrying the letter (a newsletter or newspaper---Irish nuadhacht means news) through the night and "making Mehs to cuddle in a coddlepot" is Shem the Penman who's been bullied and taunted by his brother all night, being forced to cuddle up and sleep in a pot of stew (Irish codul means sleep).

To all of those cold old souls that are still in the somn-domn-atory after the night of Shem & Shaun, "Pu Nuseht" or "The sun up" written backwards, "the lord of risings" speaketh.

Pu is actually the name of a solar deity in the Vedas while echoing the aforementioned invocation of Nu from the Egyptian Book of the Dead.

Nuseht contains the German nu for now and seht for you (plural) see.

The sun comes up and now all of you see.

"Nuseht" could also hint at the Egyptian sky goddess Nut. It also sounds like "new Set" referring to Set and Horus, the conflicting twin sons of Isis and Osiris. This could tie in with the twins Shem and Shaun again.

The lord of risings in the underworld of "Ntamplin" or Dublin (in Greek "d" is written "nt" and "b" is writen "mp").

This all invokes the symbol from the Egyptian Book of the Dead of the sun traveling through the underworld which is the dark side of the earth, until it finally rises again, resurrecting in the east.

toph triumphant - in a passage with lots of backwards words, toph is the flipped Greek "photo" for light.

So what this whole paragraph is saying is that the rising sun is now going to speak to the cold old souls who are still sleeping.

What does the sun say?

Stay tuned for Part 2.

(Or just flip to page 594.)

Friday, January 29, 2016

Mathematicians Confirm: Finnegans Wake is Fractal

While constructing Finnegans Wake, James Joyce boasted, "I am really one of the greatest engineers, if not the greatest, in the world."

In studying the intricate designs of the Wake, one realizes this statement applies to many different aspects of it. The book is a living machine, cranking out fresh meanings, references, and connections every time you engage with it. It was published nearly 80 years ago yet somehow its material can always apply to the present day.

It was also, as I've written about recently, engineered as a rotating reconstruction of the Earth.

And its entire framework, from the most minor details to the overriding structure, is fractal. Devoted Wake-heads have always been aware of this, but now some physicists and mathematicians examining literature have confirmed the Wake's fractal fabric.

From The Guardian:

The absolute record in terms of multifractality turned out to be Finnegans Wake by James Joyce. The results of our analysis of this text are virtually indistinguishable from ideal, purely mathematical multifractals,” said Professor Stanisław Drożdż, another author of the paper, which has just been published in the computer science journal Information Sciences."

fractal (n) - a curve or geometric figure, each part of which has the same statistical character as the whole. Fractals are useful in modeling structures (such as eroded coastlines or snowflakes) in which similar patterns recur at progressively smaller scales, and in describing partly random or chaotic phenomena such as crystal growth, fluid turbulence, and galaxy formation.

"find, if you are not literally cooefficient, how minney combinaisies and permutandies can be played on the international surd!" - FW p. 284  

Friday, January 22, 2016

What is Finnegans Wake? A Simulacrum of the Globe (Part 2)

Further reinforcing the astounding idea that James Joyce constructed the physical text of Finnegans Wake as a simulacrum of the earthly globe is Roy Benjamin's theory expounded in his excellent article "What Era’s O’ering?: The Precession of the Equinoxes in Finnegans Wake" (from James Joyce Quarterly Vol. 48.1*) where he argues that the Precession of the Equinoxes and the ancient myths revolving around this phenomenon play a central role in the Wake.

It appears that Joyce not only shaped the whole of his book in the form of the spherical earth, he made sure to set it in motion, "whirled without end to end" (FW 582.20) amid the glistening theater of constellations. So accurately did he render its spin that even the earth's slight wobble, like "the spin of a coin" (FW 127.14) or "the spin of the top" (FW 163.18), and the resultant celestial re-positioning that ensues over millennia are featured in his simulacrum.

Remember, Joyce literally put painstaking effort into constructing his works down to the most minute details, especially Finnegans Wake. John Bishop calls it "the single most intentionally crafted literary artefact that our culture has produced." (I cannot refer to that statement enough.) This was not by accident. It's been 75 years since its publication and scholars are still uncovering new forms in its fractal latticework.

Tuesday, January 19, 2016

Finn Awakens: The Influence of Finnegans Wake on Star Wars

Be sure to go check out eminent illustrator and Joycean Bobby Campbell's newest blog post connecting the dots between Finnegans Wake and Star Wars.

Here's a snippet:
The latest installment in the Star Wars saga, Episode VII, includes 2 potential high-profile references to the monomythic source material. The episode title The Force Awakens is a pretty simple jump from Finnegans Wake, and it’s an even smaller leap of logic to Finn, the stormtrooper turned rebel hero. Of course, these may be merely coincidental creative decisions, but it’d be cooler if they weren’t!
In the world of Wakean synchronicities and bizarre anachronisms, these are completely valid observations. Somehow Finnegans Wake is always current, "as modern as tomorrow afternoon" (FW p. 309).

An alternate title for the new Star Wars film could have been Finn Awakens.

The main criticism being lodged against the new film is that it essentially repeats the story of the very first Star Wars installment. This is reminiscent of what's going on in Finnegans Wake where the same story with the same essential players or archetypes is told and retold in different versions of the same thing, "one thousand and one stories, all told, of the same." (FW p. 5)

The theme of the younger generation taking over from their elders is also a prominent feature of The Force Awakens and is a core theme in Finnegans Wake where the sons unite to topple their father.

(SPOILER ALERT: The final scene of The Force Awakens also takes place on an island off the coast of Ireland.)

Thursday, November 26, 2015

What is Finnegans Wake? A Simulacrum of the Globe (Part 1)

Out of all the alternative theories about Finnegans Wake you can find out there, few are more unique and compelling than this one.

In an essay for the Hypermedia Joyce Studies journal from 2007 entitled "Joyce, Liberature and Writing of the Book," a Joyce scholar from Poland named Katarzyna Bazarnik unveils an entirely new perspective of Joyce's cryptic magnum opus, arguing that the physical text itself was intentionally constructed to be a sort of simulacrum for our earthly globe.

Bazarnik lays out her theory persuasively, beginning by discussing Joyce's history of carefully crafting all of his works to achieve certain meaningful results in the final physical presentation. This tendency goes as far back as his 1914 collection of poems, Giacomo Joyce, which Richard Ellmann felt "could not be properly appreciated without resorting to its actual, physical form." Ellmann was convinced that "the appearance of the work on the page may have become an element of its substance."

Similar intentions are evident in the composition of Ulysses whose text Joyce constantly added onto and tinkered with until the very last minute, resulting in a range of Joycean correspondences such as:
on page 77 “Seventh heaven” was inserted as the seventh sentence in a paragraph where Bloom muses on what people feel taking the holy communion. On page 88 Joyce added: “Aged 88 after a long and tedious illness” to an obituary Bloom is scanning. When Bloom is thinking about weight, gravity, and the rate of falling bodies, he recalls its value: “thirty two feet per second”, in the thirty-second sentence of the paragraph. And in “Calypso” the punctuation of Milly’s letter was so modified as to contain fifteen sentences. Bloom was struck by a coincidence between Milly turning fifteen on the fifteenth of June, the day she wrote the letter...
If one pursued such numerology further, one could notice that the first edition of the novel counts 732 pages. This is the number of nights and days in the leap year; coincidentally, 1904, when Ulysses is set, was a leap year, too. Besides, the diurnal and nocturnal halves of the book are equal: the dawn falls exactly on pages 364-5. “Done half by design” thinks Bloom at that moment, reflecting on the shape of the Dublin Bay.
Many of these little synchronicities are preserved only in the original 1922 text as all subsequent editions included enough additions and modifications to collapse these hidden little houses of cards.

Thankfully, in the case of Finnegans Wake the same pagination has been preserved from the original 1939 publication giving us a chance to pick apart Joyce's astounding structural engineering.

Bazarnik argues that since the Wake describes itself as “the book of Doublends Jined” (FW 20.16) or double ends joined, "we can visualise it as a book opened in such a way that its covers are joined, while its radially extending pages form a circle." This linking of front and back was confirmed, in Bazarnik's view, by the design of the first edition which bore the same lettering on the front and back covers, not to mention the final uncompleted sentence linking to the opening line of the book.

A new way to view the mandala of Finnegans Wake.
Not only does this view of the text give new implications to its length of 628 pages as representing the circumference of a circle (in a simple formula Bazarnik shows as 2r x 3.14 = 628 where r=100), but the shape of the text can now be viewed geographically as a "Shapesphere" (FW 295.04) or
"gllll (... (...) ... (...) ...) lobe" (FW 54.29 - 55.1):

This diagram is the most fascinating visual representation of Finnegans Wake I've encountered aside from John Bishop's relief maps in Joyce's Book of the Dark. I find her theory absolutely stunning. Bazarnik points to a number of references to various polar regions appearing around pages 627, 628, 3, and 4 while in the middle of the text (the South Pole on the map) appear references to a bunch of polar explorers and vessels.

She even offers an entirely new viewpoint for the mysterious clustering of particular languages appearing throughout the text, noting specific languages and references appearing in alignment with the Tropic of Cancer or the Tropic of Capricorn on the globe diagram. Many of these appearances, she emphasizes, were added in the later stages of composition including this apparent reference to the cartographic character of ALP's letter: "But once done, dealt and delivered, tattat, you’re on the map. Rased on traumscrapt from Maston, Boss. After rounding his world of ancient days." (FW 623.29-624.01)

Another late modification was to replace the word "geographical" with "geodetic" emphasizing the book's embodiment of the branch of mathematics dealing with the shape and area of the earth. This change was made on page 114 in the middle of a chapter describing the curious nature of Finnegans Wake itself:
One cannot help noticing that rather more than half of the lines run north-south in the Nemzes and Bukarahast directions while the others go west-east in search from Maliziies with Bulgarad for, tiny tot though it looks when schtschupnistling alongside other incunabula, it has its cardinal points for all that... It is seriously believed by some that the intention may have been geodetic. (FW 114.02-114.15)
She closes by quoting Clive Hart from his book Structure and Motif in Finnegans Wake where he clearly picked up on the same thing writing on pg 111: "The 'intention may have been geodetic' indeed. Finnegans Wake is laid out like a map of the globe---'a chart expanded' (593.19)---for geography is as important to Joyce as history."


No wonder Joyce considered himself the greatest engineer who ever lived.

This theory goes along quite nicely with the similarly mind-blowing idea put forth by Joyce scholar Roy Benjamin in a recent James Joyce Quarterly article about the precession of the equinoxes in Finnegans Wake.

We will dig into that in Part 2.

(Credit is owed to the Finnegans Awake Tumblr page which first alerted me to this article.)

Saturday, August 15, 2015

FinWake ATX visits the Ransom Center

The Finnegans Wake Reading Group of Austin had the privilege of visiting the Harry Ransom Center last week for an exclusive guided tour of some of the archive's most interesting James Joyce related material. It was a special afternoon with 14 of us getting to peruse and handle about a dozen significant objects all laid out in a chronological order that told the story of Joyce's career from 1922 to 1939, plus some of the many artworks spawned by his influence.

Upon arrival at the Ransom Center (located on the University of Texas campus), we were all greeted by a familiar face in the lobby, providing a perfect intro to the proceedings:

It was the head of Joyce himself, looking back at us from a 1938 sculpture made by Sava Botzaris shortly before Finnegans Wake was completed. It is fittingly in all black just like Joyce's autobiographical caricature in the Wake, Shem the Penman, an outcast and despised figure, "this dirty little blacking beetle" (FW p. 171) described as a "nogger among the blankards" (FW p. 188).

Shem the Penman resides in a "Haunted Inkbottle" (FW p. 182) whose messy, hoarded contents are catalogued for more than a page in a hilarious satire that forms one of the most entertaining parts of the book. You can hear Robert Anton Wilson perform this section to perfection:

When we studied this passage in our reading group last year, we got into an in-depth discussion about all the objects we spend our lives collecting (and creating) until we die, when our bodies disappear and our only real remains are the material we surrounded ourselves with. That's what Joyce seemed to be getting at in that passage, we thought, Shem was "writing the mystery of himsel in furniture" (FW p. 184) the same way we all do. The furniture and other belongings we leave behind carry our mysteries like anchors holding our departed spirits to the earthly realm. 

I kept reflecting on that passage in the days after the Ransom Center visit. My memory of the event includes not merely a long row of intriguing objects, but a room swarming with silent ghosts. I kept having dreams featuring invisible spirits and ghosts for a few nights afterward.

Many of the items we saw had so much life to them, so much history. Archaeologists use the so-called "material culture" of old societies to develop conclusions about them and the divining of history from objects has been a popular topic for books lately. On that note, here is a quick rundown of 12 of the objects we got to look at.

1. Ledger of orders for first edition of Ulysses
As an accountant, this simple booklet ended up being one of the most fascinating objects for me. It was a small leather-bound graph-paper book owned by Sylvia Beach which had on each page a carefully inscribed list of names for those people who were pledging money up front to receive copies of Ulysses when it was first published by Shakespeare & Co in 1922 (Miss Beach, who ran a small bookshop and never published anything before, had to take in pre-orders to cover the cost of the printing). I loved the perfect handwriting and precision of the lists, plus it was loaded with names of literary luminaries like William Carlos Williams, WB Yeats, and Wallace Stevens, not to mention Winston Churchill. Flipping through it briefly I noticed Joyce's patron Harriet Shaw Weaver had one of the largest pre-orders.

2. T.E Lawrence's personal annotated copy of Ulysses
Lawrence of Arabia carried around a special signed 1st edition copy of Ulysses that he had fitted with sturdy custom leather binding and made frequent notations in it. As HRC guide Rick pointed out to us, the big bulky book had a smell of engine oil, most likely from hanging around in aircraft hangars and being perused by mechanics looking for the notoriously naughty parts. This was a book with some old ghosts in it. I found it thrilling.

3. Ulysses Court Documents
It's incredible to imagine how, throughout the 20s and early 30s, while Joyce was hard at work on his zany history of the world, he was all over the newspapers in the US and Britain because Ulysses was causing such an uproar for its supposed obscenity. This segment of history was covered magnificently by Kevin Birmingham in his book from last year, The Most Dangerous Book: The Battle for James Joyce's Ulysses. A dossier of files and papers from the court case was displayed, including testimony from critics, scholars, and bookstores on whether the Ulysses was smutty or not. Of course, a landmark decision declared it was indeed not pornography but an epochal work of art and the United States finally got to read Ulysses legally after 11 years of prohibition. 

4. Ulysses page proofs and typed schema
These were kept behind glass because they were just too damn treasured and delicate to be handled. Here were some of the final page proofs for Ulysses featuring Joyce's own edits and corrections made in red crayon. In addition to that was a very long sheet of paper featuring the typed out schema for Ulysses (with a little handwritten note from Joyce. This had been provided to Stuart Gilbert when he was writing the first detailed exegesis of Joyce's labyrinth. While I'd been well aware of the schema, seeing it stretched out in its original form looking like a massive Excel spreadsheet containing all the intricately conceived architecture of possibly the greatest novel ever gave me a tingling in my stomach. 

5. Many editions of Transition featuring earliest published snippets of Work in Progress (Finnegans Wake)
Before the public could finish digesting Ulysses, a small experimental literary journal called transition (founded by Joyce supporters Eugene and Maria Jolas) had begun to publish excerpts from Joyce's newest work. This bizarre and confusing text didn't have a title yet, so it was called Work in Progress. We got to see many editions of transition, each featuring yet another fresh snippet from Joyce with the title "Continuation of A Work in Progress." (You can view the full pre-publication details of Finnegans Wake at the Genetic Joyce Studies webpage.) Joyce kept the title of his new novel a secret during the entire seventeen year writing process, challenging friends to guess what it was and offering a reward of a thousand francs. In 1938, Eugene Jolas managed to correctly guess the title "Finnegans Wake" and Joyce eventually presented him with a bag full of coins. Joyce made them promise not to reveal the title until he'd finished the "final full stop, though there is none."

6. Page proofs of Finnegans Wake
Not sure whether these were proofs for the final published book or for the sections published in transition (guessing the latter), these were typed pages of the first chapter of the book on very thin paper, featuring minor inscriptions and additions presumably from Joyce but possibly from Stuart Gilbert or one of his other helpers since Joyce was nearly blind at this time. It's difficult to imagine how someone could've taken Joyce's barely legible hand-written sheets and typed the text of Finnegans Wake on a typewriter. Almost inconceivable. But somehow it happened.

7. "Tales Told of Shem and Shaun", "Haveth Childers Everywhere" and other early published fragments of Work in Progress 
In the late 1920s-early 30s, some fragments of Work in Progress were published by small presses in standalone pamphlets. Thumbing through these pamphlets, you start to get a sense of the sheer immensity of the final book since it contains many dozens of these segments which alone make nice little books. It'd be nice if someone re-released some of these pamphlets, most of which feature interesting artwork and very large print which allows the complex, idiosyncratic words the breathing room they need. 

8. Our Exagmination Round His Factification for Incamination of Work in Progress first edition
What a time it must've been in the late 20s literary world. Readers and supporters baffled by the excerpts of Joyce's newest work were treated to this extraordinary publication in 1929. It's a collection of 12 essays from different writers, each covering a different topic in defense of the genius of Joyce's latest work. The essays first started appearing in literary journals, then were collected here in book form published by Shakespeare & Co (Joyce had plans for another book of essays supporting his book, but the poor sales of Our Exagmination scrapped that). The collection features the first thing Samuel Beckett ever published, an essay entitled "Dante... Bruno. Vico.. Joyce." What I find so amazing about this book is that it was attempting to defend and explain a book that still had another 10 years until it was completed.

9. Finnegans Wake 1st edition
Bound in a red cover to symbolize the auburn streams of the Liffey, this first edition text had belonged to a writer/historian/scholar(?) whose name escapes me but the gentleman lived on an island and the pages in his copy of Finnegans Wake showed the effects. As my pal Brendan quipped, "a river runs through it."

10. ALP bookbinding art (unknown artist)
We now began progressing past the origins and into the derivative artwork. This was an edition of Finnegans Wake with a leather bookbinding featuring a beautiful design of ALP's face and winding hair. 

11. Philip Smith bookbinding art for Finnegans Wake
Minds were blown. This is without a doubt the coolest book I've ever seen in my life. Created by the same artist who made the bookbinding art featured on the background and sidebar of this blog, this was an alternate version featuring a grim corpse laying across the front and back cover. The book came in an elaborate, large case with special instructions on how it should be handled. This thing was dripping with art, every piece of it was special. When you took a close look at the dreadful corpse sculpted on the cover, his eyes were wide open. Finnegan was awakening. Thankfully someone managed to sneak a picture of this one:

12. "Valentines for James Joyce" by Elsa de Brun (aka Nuala)
This was the biggest crowd pleaser and will surely end up being the thing that stays with us the longest. Elsa de Brun was an abstract artist who painted under the Gaelic name Nuala. She lived in New York City and was known for creating stained glass windows in some prominent NYC spots. You can find some interesting pieces about her in the NY Times. Clearly touched deeply by Finnegans Wake, she created a series of 43 pastel artworks each inspired by a passage from the book. The majesty of these works of art had us all in awe. They were so intricately weaved, crisply drawn, and thickly layered that the sheer devotion that it must've taken to create them blew me away.

Our group was so taken by this collection that we've decided to pursue publication of it all in book form. It will surely be a challenge as none of has any experience doing this type of thing, but we're inspired and already making progress.

A website and Facebook page have been created to document this endeavor and we greatly appreciate your support and interest:

(Special thanks to Brian McNerney for orchestrating this event.) 

Monday, May 25, 2015

"dotter of his eyes": The Mystery of Lucia Joyce and Finnegans Wake

Lucia Joyce and her father in 1924
He gave me details about the mental disorder from which his daughter suffered, recounted a painful episode without pathos, in that sober and reserved manner he maintained even in moments of the most intimate sorrow. After a long silence, in a deep, low voice, beyond hope, his hand on a page of his manuscript: "Sometimes I tell myself that when I leave this dark night, she too will be cured." 
- Jacques Mercanton (from Portraits of the Artist in Exile, ed. Willard Potts)
Over at his fantastic blog "Swerve of Shore to Bend of Bay", notable Finnegans Wake enthusiast Peter Chrisp recently wrote about his experience witnessing the new play entitled "Lucia's Chapters of Coming Forth by Day" which attempts to give voice to the dead daughter of James Joyce who spent the last 47 years of her life incarcerated in a mental institution.

The play has not received great reviews due mainly to its production values, but the story is definitely an intriguing one. Written and directed by Sharon Fogarty, the play draws heavily upon Finnegans Wake which, among its many guises, is a modern version of The Egyptian Book of the Dead, the ancient guidebook to the afterlife that was literally entitled "Chapters of Coming Forth by Day." From Peter Chrisp's review:
The play places Lucia in the afterlife, with her own personal Book of the Dead. But she's also metaphorically dead because she's spent almost fifty years in mental institutions. There's a strong sense of entrapment. She's unable to escape from the institution and from the shadow of her famous father, James Joyce (Paul Kandel), who appears for most of the play in silhouette behind a screen. The men she falls in love with, such as Samuel Beckett, are more interested in her father than in her. She is frustrated in love and in her attempts to express herself as an artist.
The story of Lucia Joyce has become an increasingly popular one of late with this new play following up a well-received graphic novel Dotter of Her Father's Eyes written by Mary Talbot who draws parallels between her upbringing as the daughter of Joyce scholar James S. Atherton (author of The Books at the Wake) and that of Lucia suffering from the neglect of her busy father. The renewed interest in the life of James Joyce's artistically gifted but ostensibly mentally ill daughter would seem to have been sparked by the 2003 biography written by Carol Loeb Shloss, Lucia Joyce: To Dance in the Wake.

The Lucia biography elicited some in-depth responses at the time, most notably a lengthy New Yorker piece entitled "A Fire in the Brain" which echoed the response most critics and scholars had to the book: the author made lots of stuff up.

A cursory perusal of the Lucia bio does indeed confirm this opinion. Shloss frequently drums up far more material about Lucia's inner life and her relationship with her father than one could expect a biographer to be aware of considering Joyce's cantankerous grandson Stephen destroyed most of her letters years ago. Despite this significant gap in source material, Shloss manages to assemble a nearly 500-page book on Joyce's daughter using lots of imaginative embellishment.

The two main points of her book, both controversial, are that the artistic modern dancer Lucia was a major inspiration for the Wake's style and that, once she became ill, Lucia was essentially sacrificed so that Joyce could finish the book. Here's the New Yorker piece elaborating on the latter:
Carol Shloss believes that Lucia’s case was cruelly mishandled. When Lucia fell ill, she at last captured her father’s sustained attention. He grieved over her incessantly. At the same time, he was in the middle of writing Finnegans Wake, and there were people around him—friends, patrons, assistants, on whom, since he was going blind, he was very dependent—who believed that the future of Western literature depended on his ability to finish this book. But he was not finishing it, because he was too busy worrying about Lucia. He was desperate to keep her at home. His friends—and also Nora, who bore the burden of caring for Lucia when she was at home, and who was the primary target of her fury—insisted that she be institutionalized. The entourage finally prevailed, and Joyce completed Finnegans Wake. In Shloss’s view, Lucia was the price paid for a book.
It's a tragic story that makes for good theater, but whether Lucia could have been "saved" by her father had he not been so caught up in finishing his giant puzzle book is unlikely. For years, Joyce was ignoring the advice of family, friends, and doctors by investing excessive amounts of time and money trying to find a cure for her illness. He tried everything from sending her to see Carl Jung (who told Joyce he and his daughter are in the same river but he is swimming while she's drowning) to a whole array of alternative cures (like saltwater injections) with no real progress, yet he refused to give up on her. He was convinced she possessed the same spark of genius that he had, that she wasn't insane but gifted, even clairvoyant.

I'm partial to the diagnosis Jacques Lacan retroactively applied to the situation which was that Joyce and his daughter were both suffering from a psychosis, but while the father had his writing to channel all of his unconscious energy into---thus balancing out his psychotic symptoms through an affect Lacan calls "le sinthome"---the similarly gifted, artistically inclined daughter failed to find a sustained artform to devote herself to.

Lucia got into modern dance during the 1920s and clearly had a talent for it. She toured with a dancing group called Les Six de Rythme et Couleur (Joyce's dancing rainbow girls in Finnegans Wake bear traces of this outfit), studied at various schools in Paris, and in what would be perhaps the shining moment of her life, was a finalist in an international dance competition in 1929. While she didn't win the competition, she was the crowd favorite, the rowdy audience booed and heckled when she didn't win and chanted to the judges (in French) "The Irish girl! Gentlemen, be fair!" For her performance she wore an evocative shimmery fish costume which she'd made herself, pictured below.

During this period she was profiled in the Paris Times:
"Lucia Joyce is her father's daughter. She has James Joyce's enthusiasm, energy, and a not-yet-determined amount of his genius... When she reaches her full capacity for rhythmic dancing, James Joyce may yet be known as his daughter's father."
Her dancing career sputtered though, when she made the poor decision to fortify her dancing foundation by going back to school to study ballet. Already in her late 20s, she was too old to begin such a rigorous practice from scratch and quickly flamed out. Shloss speculates that her mother Nora, a lifelong adversary, pushed her to quit dancing.

The failure of her dance career combined with a string of failed romantic relationships likely hastened Lucia's descent into mental illness. At one point, she had fallen in love with her father's young amanuensis and protégé Samuel Beckett only to be told bluntly that he was only interested in her father. According to Richard Ellmann, Beckett later told a friend "that he was dead and had no feelings that were human; hence had not been able to fall in love with Lucia." Revealingly, after Beckett died a photo of Lucia in her dancing fish outfit was found at his desk. He'd kept it for more than 60 years.

*   *   *

Artist Roy Wallace depicts James Joyce, Samuel Beckett, and Lucia.

As for the influence Lucia had on Finnegans Wake, while it may not have happened the way Shloss portrays it in her book, Lucia surely plays a major role in Joyce's magnum opus. Building off the scene a cousin of the Joyce's witnessed at their house once, Shloss paints this picture:
There are two artists in this room, and both of them are working. Joyce is watching and learning. The two communicate with a secret, unarticulated voice. The writing of the pen, the writing of the body become a dialogue of artists, performing and counterperforming, the pen, the limbs writing away. The father notices the dance’s autonomous eloquence. He understands the body to be the hieroglyphic of a mysterious writing, the dancer’s steps to be an alphabet of the inexpressible. . . . The place where she meets her father is not in consciousness but in some more primitive place before consciousness. They understand each other, for they speak the same language, a language not yet arrived into words and concepts but a language nevertheless, founded on the communicative body. In the room are flows, intensities.
You'll notice Shloss injecting a great deal of her own creative interpretation into things. This is what she does throughout the book and it's why she hasn't been taken too seriously.

She employs this brand of creative interpretation to the material from the Wake, as well, frequently reading into it references to Lucia. For this I don't think she can be faulted, though, as this type of projection of one's own theories when deciphering the text is exactly how it should be read. And in her reading of Joyce's twisted "nat language" (FW p. 83) she often presents a fairly good case for there being present allusions to Lucia.

The Nuvoletta scene of the Wake, which is prominently featured in the "Lucia's Chapters of Coming Forth by Day" performance, carries strong echoes of Lucia, the character's name even morphing into "Nuvoluccia" (FW p. 157) at one point. The book's "daughter of pearl" (FW p. 399) Issy and her accompanying rainbow girls have always been the most difficult of the main characters to pin down, there's certainly some of Lucia embedded in there.

Lucia Anna Joyce was the apple of her father's half-blind eye. The two had a special relationship, one might say they were on the same wavelength. As one of Lucia's fellow dancers, Helene Vanel, put it: "Yes, she was really the spiritual daughter of James Joyce; she was his extension. She was the single element on earth that prolonged his existence, both inside and outside of his work."

After she was entered into a mental institution, Joyce continued to rally in defense of his daughter, writing to Harriet Shaw Weaver, "I am again in a minority of one in my opinion as everybody else apparently thinks she is crazy. She behaves like a fool very often but her mind is as clear and unsparing as the lightning" and wrote to a friend about "the lightning-lit revery of her clairvoyance." (There's lightning flashing outside my window as I write this.) In an essay for the James Joyce Quarterly entitled "Lightning Becomes Electra: Violence, Inspiration, and Lucia Joyce in Finnegans Wake," Joyce scholar Finn Fordham points out that in the late 1930s there were several additions made to the text linking together Lucia and lightning (Lucia in Italian means light). It's also revealing that, as Shloss notes, when Finnegans Wake was about to be published Joyce wanted to show Lucia the first copy.

Like most everything in Finnegans Wake, we likely won't ever get a straight answer about the role Lucia played in its creation. Her mystery grows darker and invites further speculation since her letters were destroyed. What was Stephen Joyce trying to hide? Another denunciation aimed at Shloss' book stems from her speculation that there was some sort of sexual indiscretion involved in Lucia's early life, likely involving her brother---Stephen's father---that contributed to her condition (though she admits there's actually no evidence for this). At the heart of Finnegans Wake is a vague nightmarish guilt for some sexual act committed by the main character. Whatever may have actually occurred is purposely obscured, the story twisted, tangled, and distorted through degrees of gossip.

The reader is never able to get to the heart of the matter, always picking up clues and hints while the truth recedes further, teasing and laughing off into the darkness. The curious persist, sensing something major just beyond their grasp. Confined to a mental institution until her death in 1982 (the centenary of her father's birth) and forever silenced by a paranoid family member afterward, we'll likely never know the full story of Lucia Joyce. I don't think it's crazy to suggest there are encoded secrets about Joyce's beloved daughter buried within the pages of his puzzle book, never to be solved.