Tag Archives: Cyclops


    Love loves to love love. Nurse loves the new chemist. Constable 14A loves Mary Kelly. Gerty MacDowell loves the boy that has the bicycle. M. B. loves a fair gentleman. Li Chi Han lovey up kissy Cha Pu Chow. Jumbo, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant. Old Mr Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. The man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen. Mrs Norman W. Tupper loves officer Taylor. You love a certain person. And this person loves that other person because everybody loves somebody but God loves everybody.

James Joyce. Ulysses (Page 273)

In the previous Blogpost, Barney Kiernan’s Pub,  I noted comments from Anthony Burgess that a knowledge of the city is not necessarily the key to understanding the works of Joyce. He is also concerned about too much being made of the biographical information that influenced Joyce’s writings.

In certain countries of the Far East, American films – even the most bizarre and fanciful – are taken for actuality, not fiction. Readers of Joyce in the West are sometimes no more sophisticated: they are more concerned with the biography of A Portrait than with the art, and they welcome Stephen Hero as a source of elucidation and gap-filling. This is desperately wrong.

Anthony Burgess. Re Joyce (Page 59)

One of that things that is interesting in the writings of James Joyce is his interweaving of facts into his fiction and the joy one can have teasing out their effects. I have previously quoted the Love loves to love list from the Cyclops episode of Ulysses in the blogpost about M’intosh and speculating that he is Mr. Duffy from the Dubliners story, A Painful Case. In Stanislaus Joyce’s book My Brother’s Keeper, James Joyce’s Early Years, Stanislaus points out (page 54) that he is the model for Mr. Duffy.

Our house was well down the lane and we had to run the gauntlet of the unwashed every evening coming home from school. In the end I had a fight with one of the most active of the cat-callers, a little red-headed rough-neck, who rejoiced in the sobriquet of Pisser Duffy. It was late in the afternoon, and the loungers from the cottages, and even the women, stood around without interfering. In the imaginary portrait for which I served as model. ‘A Painful Case’, my brother has given me the name of Duffy.

Joyce loves lists and in the middle of the Love loves to love list, as well as the man in the brown mackintosh, Joyce notes Jumbo, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant.

In A Portrait, the figure of Dante appears in the early chapters. Dante, likely to be named after a Dublin child’s way of saying “the auntie” is based on a Mrs. Conway. Stanislaus writes of her unhappy marriage. She had entered a convent, but before her final vows were taken, a brother died and left her a lot of money. She left the convent and got married to a man who at a later date, ran off to Buenos Aires with most of her fortune, never to be seen by her again. Stanislaus writes,

In an elephantine attempt to be playful, his wife wrote to him, quoting a popular song of the time:

Jumbo said to Alice:
‘I love you’
Alice said to Jumbo:
‘I don’t believe you do:
For if you really loved me,
As you say you do,
You’d never go to Yankee town
And leave me in the zoo’

This pachydermatous frolicsomeness so outraged his sense of propriety that after a last indignant letter he never wrote to her again, and she lost all trace of him.

Stanislaus Joyce. My Brother’s Keeper (Page 9)

Knowing this section from Stanislaus’ book helps in understanding the passage in Ulysses and adds to the layers of meaning, which, though not remotely essential, leads to a richer understanding of the book.

One of the benefits of running is that it gives one time to think and with the above in mind I decided to run to Dublin Zoo. As the extract is from the Cyclops I decided to run via Arbour Hill, where the episode begins.

    *I was just passing the time of day with old Troy of the D. M. P. at the corner of Arbour hill there and be damned but a bloody sweep came along and he near drove his gear into my eye. I turned around to let him have the weight of my tongue when who should I see dodging along Stony Batter only Joe Hynes.
—Lo, Joe, says I. How are you blowing? Did you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his brush?
—Soot’s luck, says Joe. Who’s the old ballocks you were talking to?
—Old Troy, says I, was in the force. I’m on two minds not to give that fellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms and ladders.
—What are you doing round those parts? says Joe.
—Devil a much, says I. There’s a bloody big foxy thief beyond by the garrison church at the corner of Chicken lane—old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him—lifted any God’s quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a farm in the county Down off a hop-of-my-thumb by the name of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesbury Street.

James Joyce. Ulysses (Page 240)

It took me some time to figure out that Chicken Lane is now Arbour Place, and in this, one of the most accessible of the episodes in Ulysses the juxtaposition of the foxy thief at Chicken lane, is a tiny point of amusement in this wonderful episode.


Burgess, A. (1968) Re Joyce. New York, United States: W. W. Norton & Co.

Joyce, J. (1998) Ulysses. Edited by Hans Walter Gabler, Wolfhard Steppe, and Claus Melchior. Afterward by Michael Gordon edn. New York, United States: Vintage Books.

Joyce, S. (2003) My Brother’s Keeper: James Joyce’s Early Years. Edited by Richard Ellmann. Cambridge, Massachusetts, United States: Da Capo Press.

Click here to see the route details on Runkeeper


    So we turned into Barney Kiernan’s and there, sure enough, was the citizen up in the corner having a great confab with himself and that bloody mangy mongrel, Garryowen, and he waiting for what the sky would drop in the way of drink.
—There he is, says I, in his gloryhole, with his cruiskeen lawn and his load of papers, working for the cause.
    The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him would give you the creeps. Be a corporal work of mercy if someone would take the life of that bloody dog. I’m told for a fact he ate a good part of the breeches off a constabulary man in Santry that came round one time with a blue paper about a licence.
—Stand and deliver, says he.
—That’s all right, citizen, says Joe. Friends here.
—Pass, friends, says he.
    Then he rubs his hand in his eye and says he:
—What’s your opinion of the times?
    Doing the rapparee and Rory of the hill. But, begob, Joe was equal to the occasion.
—I think the markets are on a rise, says he, sliding his hand down his fork.
    So begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says:
—Foreign wars is the cause of it.
    And says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket:
—It’s the Russians wish to tyrannise.
—Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I. I’ve a thirst on me I wouldn’t sell for half a crown.
—Give it a name, citizen, says Joe.
—Wine of the country, says he.
—What’s yours? says Joe.
—Ditto MacAnaspey, says I.
—Three pints, Terry, says Joe. And how’s the old heart, citizen? says he.
—Never better, a chara, says he. What Garry? Are we going to win? Eh?
    And with that he took the bloody old towser by the scruff of the neck and, by Jesus, he near throttled him.

James Joyce. Ulysses (Pages 242, 243)

The Cyclops episode of Ulysses is full of vitriol and humour. Most of the episode takes place in Barney Kiernan’s pub in Little Britain Street. The pub is no longer in use and whilst other public houses such as Davy Byrne’s in Duke Street celebrate and manipulate their Joycean heritage, others have quietly disappeared. Burgess notes the glorifying of pubs and poverty, and in this regard Barney Kiernan’s is the most interesting of the public houses of Ulysses.

Joyce’s purpose in life was to glorify the Dublin of pubs and poverty, not to further a shining national image. He was a Dubliner as Bloom and Earwicker are Dubliners, and both Bloom and Earwicker are foreigners.

Anthony Burgess.  Re Joyce (Page 33)

In The Making of Ulysses, written in 1934, Joyce’s friend Frank Budgen describes Barney Kiernan’s

This pub is still going strong in Little Britain Street, but its great days were from fifty to a hundred years ago. Yet it still stands as it was then, non-party market scales hanging from smoked rafters, cobwebs and all complete. Time was when Dan O’Connell and his contemporaries dropped in from the courthouse for a drink, and later on the Earl of Dudley, the popular Viceroy was an occasional guest, but now, so the genial proprietor assures me, the art of and the taste for conversation (an art developed in the tavern through centuries to perfection) have been vanquished by the cinema, the football field and the puritan licensing laws.

Frank Budgen. The Making of Ulysses (page 156)

It is interesting to note that it was Joyce who introduced Ireland’s first commercial cinema the Cinematograph Volta nearby at 45 Mary Street in 1909.

Burgess continues,

Joyce’s books are about Dublin, all of them. In the earlier sections of A Portrait we visit other Irish places, but briefly. We home back to Dublin with relief. But we are wrong if we think that Dublin encloses the work of Joyce, that a knowledge of the city is the key to understanding. The living Dubliner claims a superior appreciation of Joyce because he knows the distance from Sir John Rogerson’s Quay to Mount Jerome Cemetery. This is a delusion. Dublin, in Joyce, is turned into an archetypal city, eventually into a dream city. Moreover, the Dublin of 1904 is, with romantic Ireland and O’Leary, dead and gone.

One of the things that interests me, is the knitting through of the characters real and imagined in Joyce’s writings. Joyce is making a model city and manipulating its citizens and their movements in a game that suits his purposes. All of the biographical capturing adds to our enjoyment of the writings as does Burgess’s book, but it is the writings and not their surroundings that are of primary importance not the city that is of primary importance as Burgess amusingly notes,

Davy Byrne’s is now a smart bar, not a boozer. The Martello Tower is a Joyce museum, an omphalos of petrifaction. It helps us to know something about Dublin, the real city of Joyce’s memory, when we tackle the myths he has made of it, but it is by no means essential. The real keys to an understanding of Joyce are given to the diligent reader, not the purchaser of an Aer Lingus ticket.

Anthony Burgess. Re Joyce (Page 34)


Budgen, F. (1960) James Joyce and the Making of Ulysses. Bloomington, Indiana, United States: Indiana University Press.

Burgess, A. (1968) Re Joyce. New York, United States: W. W. Norton & Co.

Joyce, J. (1998) Ulysses. Edited by Hans Walter Gabler, Wolfhard Steppe, and Claus Melchior. Afterward by Michael Gordon edn. New York, United States: Vintage Books.

Click here to see the route details on Runkeeper

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