Searching for Stamina

Week 7, May 10-May 17, pages 80-92

Since we began this Finnegans Wake project, I’ve celebrated Easter, my wife’s birthday, and the birth of my second child. I’ve had not one, not two, but three bosses at work (don’t ask). My favorite television series of all time ended.

And Finnegans Wake rambles along. We are closing in on 100 pages, and I think it’s reasonable to say the question of stamina has been raised. How do you keep this project going when life elsewhere demands so much?  Stupid life.

JF has mentioned several times the importance of momentum.  FW is easy to read when you’re reading it. When you’re not reading, or haven’t for a couple of days, the book looks heavy, sitting there on the bedside table.  Like it might actually take some physical effort to lift the thing and peel back the pages to find the bookmark.

It’s during moments like these when you ask yourself, “Why?”  As in, “Why did I get myself into it?” Or, perhaps more frighteningly, “What am I getting out of it?”

Fair point, though. I’m still reading to the newborn, and we’ve already made our way through “The Dead,” a good chunk of Leaves of Grass (nods to JF), and about half of Salinger’s Nine Stories. I’ll be heading off on vacation next week, and I’m considering what I should read while poolside, but it’ll at least be something light with a generally agreed-upon plot.

I can tell you why I’m reading all of those things.  Either I’m going for escapism while on vacation, or I’m having a blast reading great literature to a four week old.

So what’s Finnegans Wake for?

Fear not, faithful blog reader, I’m not giving up. Because Finnegans Wake is its own reward. When I pick it up and work through a simple passage, or a few pages, it almost never lets me down. 

Why do people do thousand-piece puzzles? Is there anything to it other than putting the old noodle through a workout?

At a basic level, FW is a puzzle. If there were nothing else (and of course, there is always something else when it comes to Joyce), then the simple mental exercise of reading FW would make it all worthwhile.

From last week’s section, we have this section, page 88.21-25:

And with tumblerous legs, redipnomii-nated Helmingham Erchenwyne Rutter Egbert Crumwall Odin Maximus Esme Saxon Esa  Vercingetorix Ethelwulf Rupprecht Ydwalla Bentley Osmund Dysart Yggdrasselmann? Holy Saint Eiffel, the very phoenix!

OK, so I’m stumbling along, and I come to this long name. Hey, a capital “H”! I’m immediately on the look for HCE.  But the “E” is the second letter and again the fourth, and the “C” doesn’t show until the fifth the letter.  That’s not exactly HCE. But we’re definitely talking about HCE here. Those names are all names of royalty or rulers of men of some sort. We’re talking about HCE rising up.

Oh, it’s an acrostic!  The first letter of every name spells HERE COMES EVERYBODY.  I swear, I didn’t even care what else this section was about, I was just excited to figure that out. 

The little things keep us coming back!

Quiz: Is Reading Finnegans Wake for You?

Week 6, May 3-May 10, pages 68-80

Warning: there is a quiz at the end of this post.

Liverpoor? Sot a bit of it! His braynes coolt parritch, his pelt nassy, his heart's adrone, his bluidstreams acrawl, his puff but a piff, his extremeties extremely so: Fengless, Pawmbroke, Chilblaimend and Baldowl. Humph is in his doge. Words weigh no no more to him than raindrips to Rethfernhim. Which we all like. Rain. When we sleep. Drops. But wait until our sleeping. Drain. Sdops.

Finnegans Wake, 74.13-19

The preceding passage is the last paragraph of chapter three. Read it without context.  Don’t worry about what’s come before in the chapter. Why am I asking you to ignore context? Because chapter three is dense.  This is Finnegans Wake we’re talking about, so if I tell you it’s dense, you know it’s neutron-star dense.

But wait—would having read the 26.5 pages that come before in chapter three make these passage easier to understand? I’ll feel confident in saying “No” to that question. You would have a deeper and fuller understanding, perhaps, but that experience wouldn’t make these seven lines easier, in and of themselves.

Let’s see if I’m right about that.

Liverpoor? Sot a bit of it!

Liverpool is an English city that’s almost directly across the Irish Sea from Dublin.  A “liver poor” is what you have when you drink too much, and a “sot” is a drunk.

His braynes coolt parritch, his pelt nassy, his heart's adrone, his bluidstreams acrawl, his puff but a piff,

Who is the “he”? Well, a safe bet is that it’s our protagonist, our main male character, possibly the man dreaming the dream, HCE in one of his many guises.

What’s he doing? His brains are cold porridge, his skin is wet, his heart is droning, his blood slowly crawls through his veins, and his breath is quiet. Looks like he’s asleep. So far so good.

his extremeties extremely so: Fengless, Pawmbroke, Chilblaimend and Baldowl.

I had to look up those four names, and they are apparently plays on the names of four districts in Dublin. HCE, a man who may be Dublin itself, lies asleep with his four extremities spread across the city.

Humph is in his doge.

HCE (Humphrey Chimpden Earwicker) is dosing. A doge was also the name for the ruler of many of the city-states in Renaissance-era Italy.

Words weigh no no more to him than raindrips to Rethfernhim.

Rethfernhim also refers to a Dublin suburbs. Words weigh less than raindrops.  As HCE sleeps, words become as slippery as water.

Which we all like. Rain. When we sleep. Drops. But wait until our sleeping. Drain. Sdops.

Ah, the joy of falling asleep. HCE’s sleeping brain stops.  He’s a sleeping puddle, isn’t he?

What’s the point of going through all that? I’ve been asked, “What’s it like reading Finnegans Wake?” I’d say reading Finnegans Wake is often like what we just did with this passage.  You read on, sometimes with a broader understanding of where you are, but more likely with only the text immediately at hand to help you. You’ve got to burrow in. Feel comfortable reading without context.

Then, you read it again. We’ve broken it all down, and understood at least some of it. So let’s read it again in its entirety. Let the words rush by.

Liverpoor? Sot a bit of it! His braynes coolt parritch, his pelt nassy, his heart's adrone, his bluidstreams acrawl, his puff but a piff, his extremeties extremely so: Fengless, Pawmbroke, Chilblaimend and Baldowl. Humph is in his doge. Words weigh no no more to him than raindrips to Rethfernhim. Which we all like. Rain. When we sleep. Drops. But wait until our sleeping. Drain. Sdops.

Here’s the quiz.

1. Did you enjoy that exercise?
2. Do you like this passage on its own, without feeling like you need to know more about what’s going on?
3. Could you imagine reading an almost endless number of these passages back to back, many of which are more difficult to understand than this one? 
4. Did you like going back and re-reading the passage a second time?

If you answered “Yes” to all four questions, I have good news for you: you should read Finnegans Wake.  And if you answered “No” to any of them, I have even better news: there’s still a chance you’re a normal person!

My Kid Story

OM had a random midweek blog post a few weeks ago.  (Cool Buckyball, btw.)  I'm probably not going to do that, ever.  It's hard enough for me to plow thru 12p of FW, then howevermany pages of Tindall, then blog about it all and sound coherent.  If I have passably intelligent insights between posts, I'm sure as shit gonna save them for next time.  I'm actually working one on Vico and Bruno for a week when I have nothing to say about the text or the guide.  This isn't that week.

Why?  Because I don't have my books, and I can't even read.  Ugh.  I'll spare you the details of my socalledlife, but I'm away from home every Wednesday.  Sucks.  This particular Wednesday, I had to work-work.  Actually, I've had to work during commutes and over weekends and at night for a few weeks.  At some point, I took FW and Tindall out of my backpack to make room for a pile of important papers.  That pile has gone back and forth with me every day this week, and didn't cough up its spot.  Or I didn't remember to put the books on top of the papers.  Which really sucks because I finished my work-work early enough to actually catch up tonight (OM is on a Sunday-Sunday schedule, and I've slipped to a Wednesday-Wednesday schedule - don't worry, O, I'm still here), and didn't remember that I flaked.  It was the bright spot I expected after a long, trying day, and it wasn't there.

Anyway.  I'll do 12p tomorrow, and, hopefully, get back here.  In the meantime (like anybody but you is reading, O, lol - kinda cute to frame things for an "audience"), no abstract title and no cool header image.  Here's my kid story, now that OM's done two.

My youngest son (8 y.o.) is fascinated by this book, and my older son (11 y.o.) is not.  I read them an excerpt (sort of inspired by Chabon's piece that I mentioned a few weeks ago) recently because they had noticed FW and Tindall on the dining room table, and asked what's up with that, and if I had finally quit on DFW's Infinite Jest (um, no).  Anyway, here's the somewhat edited exchange:

Me: Hardest book evah.  [I talk to them like bros - or, actually, like Mordecai and Rigby from the Regular Show - sometimes.]

11: What do you mean?  [He's thru the Hunger Games and almost thru the Harry Potter books, and page length is a major concern.]

8: Yeah, what do you mean?  [Echoing happens.]

Me: Hardest novel written in the English language, let's say.  Because it's not actually in English.

8: What??

11: Dad, read some to us!!

We read aloud alot, various stuff (right now it's this and this), so I did.  Just a paragraph, using the best phonetic pronunciation I could for JJ's words.  11 tuned out, which is fine and cool and age-appropriate; 8 freaked out, which is also fine and cool and something besides age-appropriate.  11 is a reader, and loves fiction.  8 is a self-described non-fiction guy, ha.  And hearing what JJ did to the language that he fought so hard to learn - tbh, not that many years ago - blew his shiny mind.  Not necessarily in a good way.  It's kid-specific, I guess.  But he said that he wants to read "a few pages" soon.  Go for it, kid.  You might understand more than me.

Peace, 

JF

Reading (Or Not Reading) Finnegans Wake to a Newborn

Week 5, April 27-May 3, pages 56-68

When my first child was born a little over three years ago, I was given the advice: "Read to him as much as possible, even if he's just lying there asleep." So I read Moby-Dick aloud during the no-longer-so-quiet hours of the night, as he struggled and fussed with a sensitive tummy. We had a lot of fun -- or I had fun, at least. The little guy thought Melville when on a bit too long about the different types of whales, but he enjoyed the story.

Baby #2 arrived last week, and to continue the tradition I began reading Finnegans Wake to him. Just as quickly, I abandoned that idea. I mean, the kid needs to work up to FW. The word salad was a tad too much for his baby ears. 

We shifted gears and I picked up Dubliners, flipping right to "The Dead." For the little one, the words and cadence were more his speed, and if you ignore the heavy thematic content, it's good for napping.

For Dad, though, the Wake bubbled beneath the surface. It's no secret that the major works of Joyce overlap. Characters, major and minor, appear in multiple stories. And early 20th-century Dublin, down to the smallest detail, is the heart of it all.

It's in the geography of the city that those faint echoes ring. But for one who is as neck deep in FW as I, the sounds are unmistakable. Aunt Julia sings in the choir at Adam and Eve's, the church that's name-checked in FW's very first sentence. The Wellington Monument is mentioned, reminding us of the Willingdone Museyroom episode of 1.1. Finally, we hear of Phoenix Park, the literal scene of FW's crime.

No, there's no mention of HCE or ALP, but there's a thread that connects. And for a sleep-deprived dad, that's enough for this week.

As for my own reading, FW continues as a steady pace. I'm enjoying it as much as ever, and look forward to getting deep into the nitty gritty in coming weeks.

But for now, it's nap time.