Miguel Cohen’s “Ulysses,” Part 2

miguel2.jpg

TEXT: He peered sideways up and gave a long low whistle of call, then paused awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and there with gold points. Chrysostomos. Two strong shrill whistles answered through the calm.

— Thanks, old chap, he cried briskly. That will do nicely. Switch off the current, will you?

MIGUEL: First, we had peering down and calling up. Now we have sideways up. Is Joyce suggesting that Buck’s pining for multiple positions? The other day, I threw several quarters on the ground and picked them up so I could look up a few skirts. It was a trick I learned from Splash. One thing I didn’t do was offer a catcall like this Buck guy.

And Chrysostomos? Turns out I’m not as familiar with my Bible as much as I’d like to be. This guy says it’s a reference to Buck’s “gold-capped teeth” (duh, dude) and some Greek guy who liked to bandy about a lot of rhetoric. But I think this is the kind of nonsequitur thing you usually spout off after a curry and lager. But what’s with the long whistle and then the two short whistles? Morse Code?

Switch off the current? Okay, so Buck’s going to settle down finally?

TEXT: He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his watcher, gathering about his legs the loose folds of his gown. The plump shadowed face and sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in the middle ages. A pleasant smile broke quietly over his lips.

— The mockery of it! he said gaily. Your absurd name, an ancient Greek!

He pointed his finger in friendly jest and went over to the parapet, laughing to himself. Stephen Dedalus stepped up, followed him wearily halfway and sat down on the edge of the gunrest, watching him still as he propped his mirror on the parapet, dipped the brush in the bowl and lathered cheeks and neck.

Buck Mulligan’s gay voice went on.

MIGUEL: See, he’s getting off the gunrest. So he’s no longer sexually frustrated! But what’s the deal with the covered bowl? And if he’s looking gravely at Kinch, is he ashamed of his sexual energy? Loose folds. Yeah, Buck, it’s still ungirdled. But where’s the wind to save your lecherous ass now, padre? Also, he’s still plump, but he’s gone from “stately” to “shadowed.” So if Buck’s a randy bastard, the presumption here is that he’ll always be plump no matter what. Are we to imply here that plump people are more sex-obsessed than others?

There’s also the juxtaposition of age and higher status (prelate). But it doesn’t sound terribly sexy to me. Where then is this pleasance coming from?

And why is Buck jealous of his name? Or is he still drifting in abstractions?

I don’t know about you, but I’m getting a little worried about Stephen moving to the gunrest. If that’s where the “current” or the action’s at, then I fear that Stephen will succomb to Buck’s sexual frustration. Or perhaps it’s this whole Greek-themed Catholicism that’s at issue? Religion as the ultimate sexual current?

And, no no no! Don’t put the sticky ejaculate on your cheeks! Ewwww! And his neck! He’s been annointed!

TEXT: — My name is absurd too: Malachi Mulligan, two dactyls. But it has a Hellenic ring, hasn’t it? Tripping and sunny like the buck himself. We must go to Athens. Will you come if I can get the aunt to fork out twenty quid?

He laid the brush aside and, laughing with delight, cried:

— Will he come? The jejune jesuit!

Ceasing, he began to shave with care.

— Tell me, Mulligan, Stephen said quietly.

— Yes, my love?

— How long is Haines going to stay in this tower?

Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his right shoulder.

— God, isn’t he dreadful? he said frankly. A ponderous Saxon. He thinks you’re not a gentleman. God, these bloody English! Bursting with money and indigestion. Because he comes from Oxford. You know, Dedalus, you have the real Oxford manner. He can’t make you out. O, my name for you is the best: Kinch, the knifeblade.

MIGUEL: So it’s Buck and Malachi now. Just like it’s Stephen and Kinch. I see what’s going down. Now that Kinch has been annointed with the holy shaving cream/ejaculate, he’s now pining for his own Greek-like annointation. And we all know what sort of sex the Greeks were interested in, no? Will he come? Will he come? The loaded language! Lawrence of Arabia, eat your heart out!

And he’s shaving, presumably a reference to the whole tonsure thing. But it looks like the love might be one way after all. Yes, my love? Take a clue from Miguel, Stephen. This Buck guy is bad news. And is this whole hair thing some masculine indicator? Maybe Buck might be calmer with a mohawk.

And Haines? The underwear? English vs. Irish? More dichotomies! Miguel’s head hurts!

And You Thought Your Email Backlog Was Unmanagable

AP: “While it’s long been part of the culture of the romance-novel business to accept unsolicited proposals, some publishers are making the process easier. News Corp.’s HarperCollins Publishers, for instance, accepts e-mail pitches on its romance Web site — and gets a mind-numbing 10,000 online queries annually. ‘We’re starting to get them from other countries, sometimes in broken English,’ says Morrow/Avon Executive Editor Carrie Feron. E-queries have arrived from Italy, eastern Europe and Asia. At least a few top editors are frankly irked. Diana Baroni, an executive editor at Time Warner’s Warner Books imprint, says she deletes e-mail queries as soon as they arrive. ‘I don’t know how they get my e-mail address, but I’m getting so many I don’t respond.'” (via Book Ninja)

Miguel Cohen’s “Ulysses,” Part 1

Miguel Cohen, brother of Randy “Ethicist” Cohen, has expressed a desire to come back to Return of the Reluctant. After several rounds of therapy, he confessed considerable guilt to me in an email about the Unethicist column. He was ashamed that his offerings weren’t literary. He was bothered by the fact that he had to compete with his brother. More importantly, he offered me five bucks.

Inspired by the recent Ulysses blog and the Bloomsbury anniversary, Miguel has decided to offer his interpretation of what it all means. So long as Mr. Cohen’s funds remain liquid, we here at Return of the Reluctant will reprint Mr. Cohen’s annotations in installments.

CHAPTER ONE: TELEMACHUS

TEXT: Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him by the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:

Introibo ad altare Dei.

MIGUEL: The thing that confuses me here is that this guy Buck is stately and plump. If Buck Mulligan echoes an elder statesman, I ask you, outside of Kucinich, have you ever seen a thin politician? Isn’t this a redundancy? And if he came from the stairhead, did he pop some chick’s maidenhead? How the fuck does one come from a stairhead? I know there’s a lot of dirty jokes in this book, but apparently this Joyce guy couldn’t keep his cock in his pants. He’s coming down with a bowl of lather, dig? He let loose in a bowl. So this Joyce cat has to get down and dirty from the very first sentence! My kind of guy. And what kind of asshole wears a yellow dressinggown? What’s restricting this Buck guy? The fact that he’s stately and plump? When’s he going to put on his girdle? And is Joyce implying that Buck’s cock-a-doodle-doo is exposed? Naughty pederast, I think.

And Latin? Frickin’ Latin? How can anyone say something in Latin before their cup of coffee? Of course, if he’s choked the chicken, then, fuckin’ hell, he’s probably wouldn’t need it anyway.

Anyway, this “Introibo ad altare Dei” nonsense means “I will go into the altar of God.” It’s the beginning of a Latin mass. Presumably, this bowl of lather is his offering for God. Half a life force. Dead sticky sperm. Or something. All I know is that this man always has Kleenex in hand.

TEXT: Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called up coarsely:

— Come up, Kinch! Come up, you fearful jesuit!

Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding country and the awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak.

MIGUEL: So is “halted” an emotion or did this Buck guy halt? What the hell’s stopping him? And why would you peer down and call up? That’s bad for acoustics! Unless, of course, he’s about to hock a loogey on this poor Kinch mofo. So that’s two references to bodily fluids and we’re only three paragraphs in!

And then we have more “coming” forward. Yeah, right, Joyce. That and mounting the round gunrest. Well, we all know what that means. He’s being an asshole again with that jesuit thing.

Now we have more cross stuff. As if the mirror and the razor weren’t enough, he’s establishing the holy venue. Gurgling when Mr. “Kinch” Dedalus is coming in? Bad form. Does this guy have a hangover? I’ve never known a guy to do this when he wanks himself silly. And this guy has a horse face too? And isn’t hair by its very definition “untonsured”? What the fuck, Joyce? So Buck has a tonsure and Dedalus does not?

TEXT: Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and then covered the bowl smartly.

— Back to barracks! he said sternly.

He added in a preacher’s tone:

— For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine: body and soul and blood and ouns. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes, gents. One moment. A little trouble about those white corpuscles. Silence, all.

MIGUEL: Peep marshmallows? Yeah, pretty instant, I think. Best to cover the bowl there, Buck, before ol’ Kinchie discovers the tight mess you’ve made. Been there before with brother Randy back in the day. Back to barracks? So that’s where it happens. So this is what Catholicism does to folks. I’ve seen it happen too many times. This Catholic girl I was seeing back in Boston wanted me to feed her a communion wafer every time, just after she screamed. You know how expensive those wafers are? $15.99 for a box of those motherfuckers! And I was already spending a lot of bread on the condoms.

So if Buck’s speaking in a preacher’s tone, he’s not a preacher, right? The genuine Christine instead of Christ? White corupscles? Okay, cat’s out of the bag. You’re a sick cat, James. I’m blowing this joint. And not the way you’re thinking.