Bloomsday (celebrating the day of the book’s action – yes, the entire book happens in one day) in Dublin is packed with events both formal and spontaneous. While Paul O’Hanrahan as Bloom pantomimes a most literary bowel movement, other Joyceans had started the day at the Martello Tower, where the book opens. This group, connected by nothing other than a passion for Ulysses, commenced an impromptu dramatic reading of the opening scene.
The Literary Salon group that arrived from London joined together for some events and followed their own desires for others. We shared Bloom’s gorgonzola sandwich with a glass of Burgundy at Davey Byrnes’ moral pub in the middle of the day –
Good glass of Burgundy; take away that. Lubricate… the feety savour of green cheese. Sips of his wine soothed his palate… Glowing wine on his palate lingered swallowed…
– along with a growing crowd of other celebrants. All around us, scenes were acted out, characters were arriving in period costume, biscuit tins were being thrown, and the wonderfully maudlin “The Croppy Boy” was tenderly sung.
The frenetic energy, humour and surreal events infuse everyone with a giddiness that keeps us carousing from one end of the city to the other. We run into Molly Bloom out on a bicycle, we empathise with Leopold Bloom as he encounters cruelty and prejudice, we drink with the Irish nationalists as they let loose jingoistic clichés, we are bathed in the winds and shattering light of the sea at Howth Head (where Bloom and Molly… no, you have to read the book).
Wonderful article, Tob. It brought back memories the trip to Dublin years ago with the Paris Salon (and a tear to the eye).