The Milky Way
Its milk Jim Joyce but not as we know it.
Post Twenty One
I refer neither to our planet’s little corner of the universe nor to that petite chocolate bar that I used to scoff as a kid and which I see is still going strong. They used to say and maybe still do, that it was the snack one could eat between meals which technically is undeniable. But I am not interested in confectionery here and in fairness, I doubt the protectors of that brand are especially interested in what I have to say nor the product I wish to explore.
We take a break this week at North London Ulysses but on our return to the Proteus episode, shall meet Patrice Egan in a Parisian bar as he laps his warm milk. We are not sure what Stephen drinks, perhaps he sups from the same churn which would link to the milk delivered to the Martello tower and the Nestor cows that Mr. Deasy is so keen to save. But it’s a bit odd going to a bar and ordering milk. What’s going on? Apologies to the lovely folk at North London Ulysses but spoiler alert: it’s not milk.
What it is, is revealed a little later when we meet Patrice’s father Kevin and the reference to ‘froggreen wormwood’ before conclusively, we get the phrase:
“Kevin Egan rolls gunpowder cigarettes through fingers smeared with printer's ink, sipping his green fairy as Patrice his white.”
You guessed it, we’re talking Absinthe. The green fairy created from the flowers and leaves of the grand wormwood plant, though Joyce being Joyce it’s just as likely that ‘wormwood’ points to its reputation as to what the fang of the green fairy might do to one’s brain. But is it’s bark worse than it’s bite? The reputation for inducing psychedelic episodes may be why it was so popular among the Bohemians of fin de siècle Paris or it may be that it was this very radical popularity that so scared the Parisienne establishment. Thus the hype as well as the bans emerged. Whether the reputation is overblown and whether psychedelic or not, what is undeniable is it’s indecently high alcohol content which even in today’s over-regulated world lurks between 45 and 75% proof, UK. That’s 90-148 proof US; Wiki says. So if you have it with your morning cornflakes you really should seek professional help.
Which brings us back to milk. Absinthe is naturally green and the diehards like Kevin drink it neat but many including his son Patrice, add a little water and that’s when the magic happens. The chemists call it ‘precipitation’ and I failed my chemistry ‘O’ level so I know what I’m talking about. If you add water to whiskey it just looks like whiskey whereas with absinthe it goes milky-cloudy and unlike oil mixed with water and most other substances, it doesn’t separate again. It just stays milky and this apparently is very rare indeed.
It's a weird molecular thing which would appeal to Stephen who will muse in two hours how our molecular structure constantly renews so that over a five month period we are entirely new. Does that make us different people? Stephen will wonder, only half joking, if he still owes AE (George Russell) that guinea on the basis that the debt is down to Old Stephen but reflecting that he probably does, smiles again as he thinks: ae,iou.
Bloom will also contemplate our molecular structure and as the book progresses, we might think that Blephen or indeed Stoom could be the product of two souls Absinthe and water, that when mixed together refuse to obey the normal rules and do not separate again, they stay cloudy. A little swirly, mixed up and quite possibly unstable as together they slide by the Delta of Cassiopeia and into The Milky Way.
Some say alcohol is mother’s milk for the soul. That’s probably a pretty dangerous message but hey, as Patrice Egan says as he laps it up....schluss.
For more idle Ulysses thinking or to buy Russell’s guide to Ulysses: www.russellraphael.com
© RUSSELL RAPHAEL 2021-2023
The Promised Land is no Place Like Home
Stephen thinking Sion is less about Kevin Egan and more about Leopold Bloom
Post Three
Zion. It’s become an emotionally charged word. It’s mentioned over 150 times in the bible (I love the internet) and six times in Ulysses. Strictly it is the hill on which the City of David (Jerusalem) was first built around 900 BCE but its broader meaning has (at some point in the last three millennia) come to refer to causes and for our purposes, its first reference is in Proteus in the context of Kevin Egan in Paris.
‘Weak wasting hand on mine. They have forgotten Kevin Egan, not he them. Remembering thee, O Sion.’
The steady hands that once lit Fenian fuse wire now weak and wasted, shake to light his cigarette. Stranded in Paris like the beached whales we shortly encounter, he yearns to be reunited with the cause that no longer needs him. For to continue the psalm playing in Stephen’s head, how can he sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?
That Stephen thinks ‘Sion’ is in addition to whatever else it might be, one of Stephen’s many subconscious premonitions of Bloom, a man he doesn’t know. For Egan’s Zion, his Promised Land, should not be ridding Ireland of the British; at least not just that. Like Bloom, he needs to worry more about issues much closer to home. His wife has thrown him out, his son mocks him and his life is a daily crusade of failing to find a willing audience on his regular pub crawl. He doesn’t even vary the pubs.
Next chapter, Bloom’s mood undulates as he contemplates a Jewish homeland in then Turkish Palestine. But he needs to realise (and he subliminally does) that his Promised Land is not in the Levant but rather around the corner in the jingly bed in 7 Eccles Street. I succumb to temptation to mention enormous melons. Bloom and Egan need to worry more about the problems at the end of their noses and less of far flung causes, of whatever worth.
So there you have it. Stephen thinking Sion, might be as much (though he doesn’t know it) about Bloom as Egan or futile causes generally. Moreover it’s not simply semantics, he reveals that Egan has fallen into the trap that may also endanger Bloom; misreading the grid reference location of one’s Promised Land.
Well, it could be anyway. The beauty of Ulysses is that there are very few wrong answers when one allows one’s mind to expand.
For more idle thoughts: www.russellraphael.com
© RUSSELL RAPHAEL 2021-2023