Before I consign it to the dustbin of my memory, one final post on Ulysses and Bloomsday. Well actually a few links to various thoughts on James Joyce’s immortal classic. And yes, I have read it – twice now – and I enjoyed it immensely.
I was happy to hear about Ulysses being available as a page a day via RSS, that’s very cool. And the Guardian’s Bloomsday Blog was funny. But I found the NY Times article particularly interesting, especially John Banvilles’ reminisces about Jorge Luis Borges and the centenary celebration in 1982:
Among the many notable artists who came was — yes — Borges, who by then was in his 80’s and totally blind. He was collected from the airport by a couple of volunteer meeters-and-greeters, who deposited him in his suite at the Shelbourne Hotel and went off to do more meeting and greeting. When they returned, late in the day, Borges was still in his room, and in fact had not left during the intervening hours. What was he to have done, Borges asked, since he did not know the city or anyone in it? Ever since, when I hear talk of Bloomsday celebrations, that, I am afraid, is the image that springs immediately to mind: an old, blind writer, one of the greatest of his age, sitting alone in a hotel room overlooking an unseen St. Stephen’s Green.