… would be an appropriate thing to do, given Joyce’s whimsicality and preoccupation with bowel movements. What gave rise to this thought was Mark’s comment yesterday: he was looking at a computer screen and uttered a series of incomprehensible syllables. Now, this is not an uncommon occurrence in our house, but I can usually discern a couple of actual words in most of his utterances. Not this time. ‘What?’ I said, irritably. ‘Don’t you recognise Finnegan’s Wake? he said, aghast.
It’s the third paragraph above. The third paragraph is about as far as I got with FW. I mean, for god’s sake! 600 pages of that. It would be like living with Mark.
Moving swiftly on… I’m working on a parody of Victorian verse; it begins:
Do you remember a poem, Miranda?
Do you remember a poem?
I’d forgotten that was by Hilaire Belloc, who wasn’t really a Victorian as he died in 1953, but I think it belongs to the tradition of Victorian verse.
The talk at Tomatoes went well yesterday – it was on camels, needles and the parrot sketch. Today I shall be mostly… leading the session at Yessim’s cafe. Come along if you’re around:
It starts at 7.