Molly should have crushed you like a slug, Leopold, but instead, she gave us this:

I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.

Thank you, James Joyce, for making the final chapter something separate from the rest of the book and allowing me to write a long essay on Ulysses for my Modern Lit final without actually reading the whole damn thing.

My college girlfriend has a t-shirt that reads: "The Ineluctable Modality of the Visible" and she will be wearing it today.

I hope there's not actually a "the" at the beginning of that t-shirt. tsk.

I'm sure it's textually accurate and my post is the errant quote.

Back to Woman's World for a minute: the "twist" I thought I guessed at the beginning isn't really the twist.

Or, rather, what I guessed is *part* of the twist, but there's more to it. It's like a twisty twist.

And I'm not finished with it yet, so it may end up being a half-gainer with a twisty twist.

Ah, it's "gibberish that's supposed to be exquisite flights of literary brilliance day."

Find the non-fan of Joyce.

Ah, it's "gibberish that's supposed to be exquisite flights of literary brilliance day."

Wow, that's freakin' ignorant, Connie.

If you've read Ulysses you'd know better. Go read his short story "The Dead" and tell me that Joyce didn't know how to write.

It's not gibberish, but it is really, really difficult. I think it's like Shakespearean English in a way--it can be very off-putting at first but once you learn the language of the writer, it's a total pleasure to read. It's like Sci-Fi world-building, but instead of creating a different world using regular language, the writer is describing this world, using a whole world of words, which has its own sense and layers.

I was in Dublin on Bloomsday a few years ago. It was kind of neat -- I was taking a cab to the airport, and the cab driver was listening to a broadcast about Joyce.

I've never read more than a few excerpts of Ulysses. I did read all the way though Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man in high school, and didn't particularly enjoy it.

Excellent and shiny description, Scrappy.