Trying to finish Joyce’s Ulysses

A daughter, voluminous manypaged ratherdullcolored skuffcreased book  in hand, attempts to read not one but three segments (Eumaeus, Ithica, Penelope) of wordrattling, soundprattling soundouting Ulysses by that most venerable author JJ. She wades through words, waitingly. Waitingly, she stumps through text, ploddingly. She mouthes the shapes of words never before known to her, soundlessly.

And what was she feeling at the time of the reading?

Sore from exercising yesterday; anxious at the knowledge of impending examinations involving said text; worried that something important has been forgotten; sad about her ill grandfather;  hot from two sweaters; cold from the draft by the window; guilty for letting her mind wander.

Published in: on December 1, 2010 at 7:50 pm  Leave a Comment  

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