Epic Narrative Experience: The Odyssey, Ulysses, and Temporal Correspondence

Dec 9, 2018. 5,500 words, 15mins

         At the moment of representation, narrative discourse fractures the present into two separate times: the experiential, non-diegetic, personal time of the audience, and a separate, diegetic ‘story time’ of the text. The particular thematic breadth and synthesis of the moment of representation within its narrative form led Ezra Pound to define the epic as ‘a poem containing history’[1]. While the first half of this definition is of formal concern, it is in the epic delimitation and evocation of the notion of a communal historical time that Homer’s Odyssey achieves its narrative significance, and its relationship with a rewriting much later in history – that of James Joyce’s Ulysses – that brings to the surface the way this relationship is ruptured and transformed in rewritings, and the dynamics of literary transmission by which texts locate themselves within history with respect to one another. While Gerard Genette has identified that narrative discourse is itself defined according to the seriation of temporal events and their relation to non-diegetic time, both texts’ disruption of chronology through different perspectives within the narrative creates a crisis of consensus within the text that is both troubled and resolved through equivalency between separated characters – the wanderer who is searching his way home, and the family awaiting him there.[2] In this sense, the Odyssey and Ulysses can be said to have an equivalent narrative, though radically different discourses – and, as Mikhail Bakhtin has explored in detail in ‘Epic and Novel’, the innovation of later forms of narrative creates a disparity in their representations of time; as opposed to the novel, ‘in its style, tone and manner of expression, epic discourse is infinitely far removed from discourse of a contemporary about a contemporary addressed to contemporaries.’[3] However, it is the argument of this essay and of later critics that discourse of any form which seeks a valid historical relation of diegetic and non-diegetic time must be concerned with the ‘contemporary’ in its most literal definition – the consensus of a moment in time between characters within the narrative and an awareness of the historical divides between a text and its previous incarnations.

         While the events of Homer’s Odyssey follow on from the events of the Trojan War, but do not concern it directly, from the outset the audience is introduced to the narrative in a state of disorientation. Though we are told Odysseus’ location almost immediately – that he is being kept from coming home in Calypso’s ‘vaulted cave’ – for the first four books we follow Telemachus, who is searching for knowledge of his father’s whereabouts in a state of ignorance.[4] Telemachus himself leaves Ithaca to seek knowledge from Menelaus, who gives word from the soothsayer Proteus that Odysseus is being held captive on Calypso’s island. While this report does seem to satisfy Telemachus, it is far from an exact moment of equivalency, since the information is both old and doubly received and thus has been through two representations – or, presumably, three by the time Telemachus tells his mother at home in Ithaca. It is significant the information of Odysseus’ location comes via Proteus’ supernatural clairvoyance and, while we know the report to be correct, it is far from a direct report from the gods, who, as Menelaus notes, ‘know everything’.[5] Later in the poem, we witness a similar act of equivalency from the perspective of Odysseus, who learns information regarding his family from a supernatural yet questionable source in the form of Agamemnon and his mother’s ghost during his journey to the underworld in Book XI. Not only is the information received regarding the state of his wife and child once again not contemporaneous with its transmission, but Agamemnon specifically warns Odysseus to be cautious of his own wife’s fidelity and not to ‘show her all that is in [his] mind.’[6] Thus, it is the crisis of what each knows or does not know about the wellbeing and faithfulness of the other that becomes the main source of tension as the narrative reaches its climax, and the convergence of the two strands upon Odysseus’ homecoming that resolves it.

         However, if we are to think how the epic narrative seeks to define itself within and across history, we must consider how a later author such as James Joyce acts as both a receptor and adaptor for this very narrative device. While, as Bakhtin argues, The Odyssey locates itself in a mythic, heroic ‘absolute past’, which is ‘walled off absolutely from all subsequent times,’ Joyce locates the entirety of Ulysses’ narrative on a single day, June 16, 1904, whose very specificity relates it directly to any given non-diegetic time of representation and establishes historical deixis.[7] Indeed, so exact is the temporal stamp of events in the book ‘Wandering Rocks’ that critics such as Clive Hart have been able to pinpoint the actions of the various characters represented in the chapter with minute (in both senses of the word) precision. While we cannot account for any directly simultaneous actions between the two strands of the Odyssey, by this token exact simultaneity is much more easily established within the ‘clockwork time’ of ‘Wandering Rocks’ where every action is accountable to the minute and enmeshed in a geared system of simultaneous motions, though the effect of this in terms of creating a meaningful consensus of separate temporal spheres is questionable.[8]

Clive Hart is of the opinion that ‘Time and place are the real unifiers of ‘Wandering Rocks’’, and Leo Knuth’s equally granular analysis of the book marks both the movements of the characters and the oscillations of the narrative voice as exhibiting a kind of centripetal centrism throughout its multifarious strands.[9] These critics point to the viceroy’s procession in this chapter as the singular event which unifies the perspectives of each of the characters with a single reference point throughout. However, in her analysis of the chapter’s style, Karen Lawrence states that ‘Wandering Rocks’’ ‘narrative mind’ ‘exhibits what I would call a “lateral” or paratactic imagination: it catalogues facts without synthesising them […] For example, successive sections often refer to events occurring simultaneously, but there is no reference to their simultaneity in the text.’[10] In other words, although an attentive reader might be aware of the temporal equivalency, there is no way for the characters to be aware – at the moment that Blazes Boylan is making a pass at the girl in Thornton’s (five past three, by Hart’s estimation), Bloom is obliviously scanning books on the hawker’s car under Merchants’ arch, for example.[11] The fact that they are both simultaneously seeking presents for Molly ironises and exacerbates, rather than resolves, the disparity. Hugh Kenner stresses throughout Dublin’s Joyce that differentials of knowledge are central to the stylistic effect of Ulysses and likewise remarks upon the effect of such juxtaposition in ‘Wandering Rocks’: ‘Nothing unites the simultaneous events but the pavements on which they occur […] there isn’t a trace of unanimity in the three pages cataloguing the greetings [the viceroy] receives’.[12] It is also important to consider the disorientating effect of the separate perspectives presented in this chapter with relation to the previous, monistic style of the novel; as Lawrence remarks, ‘In the first eleven chapters of Ulysses, this narrative style establishes the empirical world of the novel; it provides stability and continuity […] it functions as the “rock of Ithaca,” the “initial style.”’[13] In terms of its intertextual significance, it is telling that ‘Wandering Rocks’ is the only book in Ulysses that is based on an event that does not occur in the Odyssey, and displays a temporal paradigm which is also absent in its predecessor.

Much can be made of the distinct cultural, technological and societal differences that can account for such radically precise representations of time in Joyce’s work – critics such as Peter Osborne, Jacques Le Goff and David Gross have identified such innovations as the development of personal and public clocks, the punctuality of the rail network, the establishment of Daylight Savings and World Standard Time in 1884, the precision of militaristic planning in the First World War, Taylorism and Einstein’s Theories of Relativity to have radically refined the conception of time in the first half of the 20th Century and be both symptomatic of and responsible for an increased anxiety over the present moment of experiential consciousness.[14] More than this, a society and historical continuity can be posited between the novel and 20th-Century artists’ notions of simultaneous perspective; the same parallax technique can be spotted in Virginia Woolf’s writing within the multiple simultaneous views presented of the aeroplane in Mrs. Dalloway, for example, or within the kaleidoscopic perspective of the contemporaneous Cubist movement. More than simply establishing a causational link between Joyce’s milieu and his adaptation of epic equivalency, this reinforces the sociological situation and germination of the anxiety over heterogenous perspective in Ulysses, as well as the notion that the significance of such an anxiety over temporal consensus can only be understood contextually and, therefore, historically.

It is important at this point then to query the nature of Joyce’s link between his own textual discourse and the Odyssey in order to fully understand this expression of a specific historical identity. T.S. Eliot’s critique of Ulysses upon its publication was one of the first to lay specific emphasis on Joyce’s Homeric parallels and to relate it directly to the novel’s entire conception of the ‘immense panorama of futility which is contemporary history’.[15] Eliot’s conception then is that the conceited structuring of Joyce’s novel is a method ‘of controlling, of ordering, of giving shape and a significance’ to make temporal sense of the unstable and transient narrative of present consciousness ‘in manipulating a continuous parallel between contemporaneity and antiquity’.[16] How, though, can meaningful relation with an absolutely removed time be achieved from the perspective of an exact chronology? Eliot’s interpretation of this conscious textual relation is unilateral, and describes Joyce as using the epic canon in an effort towards personal coherence, but Bakhtin’s own conception of a more horizontal, reciprocal intertextuality in ‘Discourse in the Novel’implies that the incompatibility of these two texts’ temporal universes would create a mutual disjunct.[17] If we abolish any conception that Joyce is attempting to utterly incorporate heroic, absolute time into the events of June 14, 1904, then we must consider and become newly aware of the historical and stylistic differences that yawn between such disparate interpretations of epic, synchronising narrative. Steve Connor distinguishes in ‘The Impossibility of the Present’ between the concept of ‘synchrony’ and Levinas’ term ‘diachrony’, the latter of which ‘evokes movement through time rather than the correlations between times’ according to the Greek dia meaning ‘apart’ or ‘across’; this, he argues, is the effect of an anachronistic textual correspondence.[18] Thus, these moments of intertextual equivalency work to create anything but exact equivalencies and are evidence of the anxiety and heterogeneity by which Ulysses achieves literary deixis and delimits both itself and its source text in time by difference.

It is impossible to analyse exactly how each text represents their relative diegetic times in relation to the non-diegetic history without examining the disparity between their modes of representation. As is displayed self-referentially in the text by having Odysseus orally narrate much of his own story within the Phaeacians ‘s banquet hall, The Odyssey as a narrative artefact is part of an oral tradition whose performance, while remaining coherent across generations, would have been located in a particular place and recited at a particular time and in a particular order by a bard – at least in its own time. Ulysses’ discourse, as a novel, can always occur at any moment that the narrative is read – whether partially, non-sequentially, or, as per enthusiasts who wish to establish their own sense of equivalency with the diegetic time of the novel, in a single sitting on Bloomsday. It is obvious when we think of the Odyssey in performance that any notion of representing a diegetic present would be absurd and that this must in part be accountable for the text’s situation in an absolute past that is separated entirely from the non-diegetic experience of the listener or reader. In terms of Joyce’s reception of his source, he himself would have read it in text form and, initially at least, in translation – and this very dynamic of reception must play into Joyce’s idea of what constitutes representation in and of itself.[19] At the moment of publication, the events described in Ulysses were themselves already situated eighteen years in the past, but nonetheless align themselves via the ‘stream of consciousness’ style with the very present-ness of the reading experience that sustains at any moment it is received. In this sense, the two texts are alike, if disparate –  Connor quotes Lyotard when he notes that ‘narrative’s reference may seem to belong to the past, but in reality it is always contemporaneous with the act of recitation.’[20] The degree of specificity to which the novel, and in particular Ulysses, relates the present of reading with the diegtic present can therefore be said to be an continuation, rather than a disruption, of this same concern in the classical epic.

Thomas Docherty remarks in ‘Now, Here, This’ that ‘a presentation of the present must always involve a representing, which has the effect of marking the present moment with the passage of time. The contemporary thus has the effect of introducing an element of heterogeneity and difference into what is or should be homogenous […] The term operates as a deictic.’ The contortions and transformations that the word ‘present’ goes through in the first clause of this quotation alone are sufficient to display the intrinsic relation between the present, narrative as representation, and contemporaneity by which the separate diegetic presents of these texts are situated relative to each other and to history itself. The way in which these specific notions have been interpreted across literary history can be said to display this very aspect of shifting relations, as post-Marxist critics such as Benjamin and Docherty in the era of capitalism and cultural multiplicity show increased concern with contemporaneity as we approach the contemporary. Benjamin’s criticism on the concept of history is particularly emblematic of historical materialism’s concern with a past which is sublimated in present experience: ‘The past can be seized upon only as an image which flashes up at the instant when it can be recognised and is never seen again […] To articulate the past historically does not mean to recognise it “the way it really was”. It means to seize hold of a memory as it flashes up at a moment of danger.’[21] If we are comparing these texts in terms of their view history, then this must therefore be considered in terms of our own contemporary, as well as their contemporaneity.

While Bakhtin’s discussion of intertextuality of the novel form is mostly focused on the  agency of the author in adapting and incorporating different stylistic features, it is Hans Robert Jauss who identifies that a truly reciprocal intertextual relationship occurs within the reception by an audience in a ‘corresponding process of the continuous establishing and altering of horizons [that] determines the relationship of the individual text to the succession of texts that form the genre.’[22] Therefore, he states, ‘the step from the history of the reception of the individual work to the history of literature has to lead to seeing and representing the historical sequence of works as they determine and clarify the coherence of literature, to the extent that it is meaningful for us, as the prehistory of its present experience.’[23] The emphasis that Jauss places on reception of texts as a profoundly social function in terms of ‘coherence’ can open up not only how heterogenous depictions of time can comply with each other, but how they might be mediated in the present moment of their experience – what in Benjamin’s terminology is the Jetztzeit of ‘now-time’, or in Heidegger as the Dasein of experiential being, as opposed to the ‘empty, homogenous time’ of history.[24] The tension that intra- and inter-text anachronism exposes is therefore the disjunct between time as an individuum and as a continuum in which a totality of experiential times is achieved: ‘the time of History with a capital H – through which these multiple temporalities are unified’, in the words of Peter Osborne.[25] The entire notion of history as based on temporal consensus is therefore pendant on heterogenous contemporaneity, as Docherty remarks: ‘‘The now – or contemporaneity – can occur as a historical event if and only if it is marked by an intrinsic heterogeneity’.[26]

At this point then, in order to properly tease out the disparity between the texts’ representations of temporal equivalence that evoke this very intertextual historicity in Ulysses’ ‘now-time’, one must directly compare the way both discourses handle the dislocation between wanderer and home that is crucial to both narratives. As we have seen, the experience of time as a lone individuum is responsible for the crisis of uncertainty in the central relationship between husband and wife – that is, Bloom/Odysseus and Molly/Penelope – and there is, fittingly, a single moment in the ‘Nausicaa’ book of Ulysses in which the stakes of this disjunct become apparent. Immediately following Bloom’s adulterous fantasy with Gerty MacDowell on Sandymount Strand, he lapses into a post-coital funk when his mind turns toward his wife: ‘Wrangle with Molly it was put me off […] Funny my watch stopped at half past four […] Was that just when he, she? O, he did. Into her. She did. Done.’[27] As we know, half past four was the moment at which Molly committed her own dalliance with Blazes Boylan – but it is the very symbolic and associative moment of transmission at a corresponding moment of adultery and through the modern device of the watch that brings the nature of this disjunct of temporal consensus to the surface. At this moment, the time is approximately half past eight, by Fritz Senn’s estimations, and the frozen, inaccessible and inalterable state of this past time is evoked by Bloom in the final, fatalistic ‘Done’.[28] The correspondence between each spouse’s adultery is not the time of the present – it is itself represented at a later time, preserved but quite inaccessible. A similar device is achieved in an earlier temporal correspondence between Bloom and Stephen Dedalus when in both ‘Calypso’ and ‘Nestor’ the same event is experienced by both protagonists – a cloud crossing the sun – in very different circumstances.

However, the effect of a linear discourse must always be to present events in succession rather than simultaneously, and as such any representation of the same event must be marked predominantly by differentiation – even the same sentence repeated twice cannot have identical contextual meaning, and thus this intentional moment of equivalence during a mutual infidelity represents an experiential disparity between Bloom and Molly. If we examine the scenes more closely in the context of Molly’s own vivid account of her affair in Ulysses’ final section, whose candour clashes wildly with the maudlin, faux-romantic style of ‘Nausicaa’, we see that her own experience of infidelity is likewise rather more subdued. Despite musing ‘he [Boylan] must have come 3 or 4 times’, it is left ambiguous by Joyce whether Molly achieved orgasm herself.[29] Fr. Robert Boyle, for one, quotes several scholars refuting the idea that Molly was an experienced philanderer in his essay on ‘Penelope’ and ventures that ‘her reactions to her experience with Boylan indicate, in so far as I am able to judge such matters [and never was a more crushingly tragic phase written in academic criticism] a lack of wide sexual experience and certainly a frustration in regard to sexual satisfaction.’[30] Certainly, Molly herself senses a disparity between the male and female orgasm – ‘nice invention they made for women for him to get all the pleasure but if someone gave them a touch of it themselves theyd know what I went through’.[31] Much was made by the near-contemporary D.H. Lawrence in Lady Chatterley’s Lover about the metaphysical significance of the simultaneous orgasm, and the chimes between the ecstatic ‘O!’ of Bloom’s orgasm during the Sandymount fireworks and the reiterative ‘O’s that punctuate Molly’s soliloquy models the distinction between a syllabic, instantaneous ejaculation and the unvoiced, ovular and unfulfilled continuum that the common experience of coitus evokes. ‘O’, as it is used as an expression of frustration, regret or realisation is also evocative of the knowledge disparities that exist between the two – ‘O, he did,’ thinks Bloom of Boylan’s cuckoldry; ‘O, rocks!’ exclaims Molly when Bloom speaks circuitously to her.[32] The last time Bloom and Molly were in the same room, he informed her of the meaning of the word ‘metempsychosis’ as a transmigration of souls – if only to make more evident the physical and figurative gap that exists between their two sensibilities. Molly’s estrangement from Greek parlance is obvious, and her idiomatic question ‘Who’s he when he’s at home?’ ironically, if obliviously, recalls Odysseus’ disguised homecoming in Ulysses’ source and the common alienation between man and wife.[33]

However, to relate this gendered intratextual conflict to Ulysses’ intertextual relationship with its source, the most significant distinction is that the female spouse is unfaithful at all. In this sense, the certainty of infidelity can be said to express the 20th-Century concern with a present that is troubled, and thus historicised, by heterogenous experience, though the question remains whether this textual difference marks a paradigmatic difference between conceptions of time. As has been discussed, The Odyssey contains no such precise contemporalities between wanderer and home until Odysseus returns to his wife – but even at this point – since Odysseus returns in disguise, as Agamemnon advised ‘at the opportune moment’ – there is a disjunct between what the husband knows and what the wife knows – he has indeed not shown her ‘all that is in his mind’.[34] Docherty recalls this same language when he states that ‘the project of modernity is based upon the timely correspondence: action provoking immediate reaction at the appropriate moment.’[35] However, when one considers the entire notion of ‘an opportune moment’ for a meeting, one cannot exempt this former text from this same anxiety over heterogenous times. Aaron Hess’ analysis of ancient rhetoric has unveiled the same tension between individuum and continuum embraided into the Greek language – specifically, overarching chronological time is denoted by kronos, whereas the term for an ‘opportune’ or ‘appropriate time’, which necessarily must involve synchrony with exterior times, is denoted by kairos. To this we might add a third term, eos, which in Greek denotes the transcendental time of the divine or supernatural via which, as we have seen in the moments of equivalency in the Odyssey, common historical time can be subsumed; as Lyotard remarks, ‘God is outside time.’[36] What is key here is that, as Steve Connor notes, ‘Time has always allowed, or required, the meeting of different times,’ regardless of their mode of transmission, and so to identify that any idea of the ‘contemporary’ as defined by social, heterogenous time is exclusively the realm of the novel and not the classical epic, as Bakhtin or Eliot do, cannot be fully valid.[37]

         It is in the way these relative times are sublimated by the meeting of different strands by their conclusion that both narratives evoke this notion of contemporaneity and display a common union of consensual history through which we might consider the genre of ‘epic’, in Pound’s definition. The notion of a continuous, homogenous time is evident stylistically in the final chapter of Ulysses, in which Bloom and Molly lie in bed together and in which events past, present and future and blended in a single continuous screed. Joyce’s schema for the novel designates the time scheme for this final section with a lemniscate and identifies Molly as symbolic of ‘Earth’, which attests that, in the author’s mind at least, this section is intended to resolve and totalise the previously fragmentary and experiential time, and to anticipate the endless and atemporal Finnegans Wake.[38] Joyce’s act of adaptation in this section is a remarkable display of depth in realising this paradigm; while the conclusion of the Odyssey achieves only a brief, if untroubled, consummation before the hero embarks on yet another adventure, the significance of this union is shown in Ulysses not to be fully pendant on fidelity or equivalency at all, but in the achievement of a universal time through which narrative can continue, be reiterated, or become adapted beyond the text itself in the course of a literary or nationalistic history.

To return then to Genette’s identification of narrative as modelling time in progress, one can see that it is the entire figuration of the story of the wanderer across a spatial topos can also be considered in terms of the resolution of the linearly-progressing diegetic time through which it is expressed. Now that we have explored the extent to which these texts vex and manipulate time schemes towards a social agenda, we can see that this relationship is similarly reciprocal and bivalent. One of Osborne’s more sweeping statements in his discussion of the politics of time is that all narrative has this structuring, ordering effect: ‘Time acquires meaning by taking on the structure of a narrative. Narrative is the meaningful unification of temporal relations.’[39] If this is a common agency of all narrative is in ‘unifying’ the relations between diegetic and non-diegetic time, then the specific discourses which we have identified here as mediating separate heterogenous times within them can be said to prefigure this very effect in process. ‘Reading time is modelling our understanding in progress,’ according to Senn, so we might consider the more explicit evocations of synchronicity in Ulysses to directly prefigure our own relation to the text both in their disparity and resolution.[40]

So, if we consider equivalency as a form of parallax – not as unifying, but as giving synoptic accounts of a single thing – ‘History with a capital H’ can be considered an effect of temporal consensus in these texts and, in and of itself, an effect of contemporaneity. To return to Bakhtin then, the epic of Pound’s definition can be said to be ‘of a contemporary’ by the post-Marxist definition, though not ‘about a contemporary’ in strictly the same narrative sense. Both texts can legitimately claim the genre of epic in the way the union of temporal spheres transcends the discourse, and the transformation of its mode serves to display this distinction and the very historicity which is their collective concern. Jauss’ final thesis in ‘Literary Theory as a Challenge to Literary History’ lays this precise social function of intertextuality bare: ‘The task of literary history is thus only completed when literary production is not only represented synchronically and diachronically in the succession of its systems, but also seen as “special history” in its own unique relationship to “general history”.’[41] This comes not only in the relations across times by which the texts define themselves therefore, but in the moment of reception by which these relations come to have meaning for the reader in the process of reading to achieve historical deixis. We might say then that narrative is not only defined by time in the epic sense, but time by narrative.

Bibliography:

Bakhtin, Mikhail. ‘Discourse in the Novel: Modern Stylistics and the Novel’, in Critical Theory Since 1965, ed. By Hazard Adams and Leroy Searle, pp.665-78. Tallahassee: Florida State UP, 1986.

Bakhtin, Mikhail. ‘Epic and Novel: Towards a Methodology for the Study of the Novel’, in The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays. Ed. By Michael Holquist, trans. by Caryl Emerson and Michael Holquist, pp.3-69. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1981.

Benjamin, Walter. ‘Theses on the Concept of History’, in Illuminations. Ed. by Hannah Arendt, trans. by Harry Zohn, pp.253-64. New York: Schoken, 1969.

Boyle, Fr. Robert. ‘Penelope’, in James Joyce’s Ulysses: Critical Essays. Ed. By Clive Hart and David Hayman, pp.407-33. London: University of California Press, 1974.

Connor, Steve. ‘The Impossibility of the Present: or, from the Contemporary to the Contemporal’, in Literature and the Contemporary: Fictions and Theories of the Present, ed. by Roger Luckhurst and Peter Marks, pp.15-35. London: Routledge, 1999.

Docherty, Thomas. After Theory: Postmodernism/Postmarxism. London: Routledge, 1990.

Docherty, Thomas. ‘Now, Here, This’, in Literature and the Contemporary: Fictions and Theories of the Present, ed. by Roger Luckhurst and Peter Marks, pp.50-62. London: Routledge, 1999.

Eliot, T.S. ‘Ulysses, Order and Myth’, in James Joyce: The Critical Heritage [Vol. 1], ed. by Robert Deming, pp.268-71. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1970.

Genette, Gerard. Narrative Discourse. Oxford:Basil Blackwell, 1980.

Gilbert, Stuart. James Joyce’s Ulysses: A Study. London: Vintage, 1955.

Gross, David. ‘Temporality and the Modern State’, in Theory and Society 14 (Summer, 1985), pp.53-82.

Hall, Donald. ‘Interviews: Ezra Pound, The Art of Poetry No. 5’, in The Paris Review. Accessed 16 December 2018 from: http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/4598/the-art-of-poetry-no-5-ezra-pound.

Hart, Clive. ‘Wandering Rocks’, in James Joyce’s Ulysses: Critical Essays, ed. By Clive Hart and David Hayman, pp.181-216. London: University of California Press, 1974.

Herring, Philip F. Joyce’s Uncertainty Principle.Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1987.

Hess, Aaron. ‘Critical-Rhetorical Ethnography: Rethinking the Place and Process of Rhetoric’, in Communication Studies, 18 April 2011, Vol.62(2), pp.127-152.

Homer. The Odyssey. London: Penguin Classics, 1970.

Jauss, Hans Robert. ‘Literary Theory as a Challenge to Literary Theory’, in Towards an Aesthetics of Representation, pp.164-183. London: University of Minnesota Press, 1982.

Joyce, James. Ulysses. London: Bodley Head, 1960.

Kenner, Hugh. Dublin’s Joyce Peter Smith: Gloucester, Mass, 1969.

Knuth, Leo. ‘A Bathymetric Reading of Joyce’s “Ulysses”, Chapter X’, in James Joyce Quarterly, Vol. 9, No. 4 (Summer, 1972), pp. 405-422.

Lawrence, Karen. The Odyssey of Style in Ulysses. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981.

Le Goff, Jacques. Time, Work and Culture in the Middle Ages. Trans. Arthur Goldhammer. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980.

Lyotard, Jean-Francois. The Inhuman: Reflections on Time. Trans. Geoffrey Bennington and Rachel Bowlby. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1991.

Osborne, Peter. ‘The Politics of Time’, in Literature and the Contemporary: Fictions and Theories of the Present, ed. by Roger Luckhurst and Peter Marks, pp.36-49. London: Routledge, 1999.

Seidel, Michael. Epic Geography: James Joyce’s Ulysses. Princeton University Press: Princeton, 1976.

Senn, Fritz. Inductive Scrutinies: Focus on Joyce. Ed. By Christine O’Neill. Dublin: Lilliput Press, 1995.

Senn, Fritz. Joyce’s Dislocutions: Essay on Reading as Translation. Ed. By John Paul Riquelme. London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1984.

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[1] Donald Hall, ‘Interviews: Ezra Pound, The Art of Poetry No. 5’, Paris Review.

[2] Gerard Genette, Narrative Discourse (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1980).

[3] Mikhail Bakhtin, ‘Epic and Novel: Towards a Methodology for the Study of the Novel’, in The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays. Ed. By Michael Holquist, trans. by Caryl Emerson and Michael Holquist (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1981), p.13.

[4] Homer, The Odyssey (London: Penguin Classics, 1970), p.25.

[5] Ibid., p.74.

[6] Ibid., p.183.

[7] Bakhtin, ‘Epic and Novel’, p.15.

[8] ‘Clockwork time’ is how Fritz Senn describes ‘Wandering Rocks’ in Joyce’s Dislocutions: Essay on Reading as Translation (London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1984), p 197 – perhaps in reference to how Joyce himself described the chapter as a ‘clockwork piece’.

[9] Clive Hart, ‘Wandering Rocks’, in James Joyce’s Ulysses: Critical Essays (London: University of California Press, 1974), p.199; Leo Knuth, ‘A Bathymetric Reading of Joyce’s “Ulysses”, Chapter X’, in James Joyce Quarterly

Vol. 9, No. 4 (Summer, 1972).

[10] Karen Lawrence, The Odyssey of Style in Ulysses (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981), p.83.

[11] Hart, ‘Wandering Rocks’, pp.209-11.

[12] Hugh Kenner, Dublin’s Joyce (Gloucester, Mass: Peter Smith, 1969), p.253.

[13] Ibid., p.43.

[14]Peter Osborne, ‘The Politics of Time’, in Literature and the Contemporary: Fictions and Theories of the Present (London: Routledge, 1999), p.42; Jacques Le Goff, Time, Work and Culture in the Middle Ages, trans. Arthur Goldhammer (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980); David Gross, ‘Temporality and the Modern State’, in Theory and Society 14 (1985).

[15] T.S. Eliot, ‘Ulysses, Order and Myth’, in The Dial, LXXV (Nov. 1923), p.483; rep. in Robert Deming, ed., James Joyce: The Critical Heritage [Vol. 1] (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1970), p.269.

[16] Ibid.

[17] Mikhail Bakhtin, ‘Discourse in the Novel: Modern Stylistics and the Novel’, in Critical Theory Since 1965, ed. By Hazard Adams and Leroy Searle (Tallahassee: Florida State U P, 1986).

[18] Steve Connor ‘The Impossibility of the Present: or, from the Contemporary to the Contemporal’, in Literature and the Contemporary, p.24.

[19] Thomas Docherty, ‘Now, Here, This’, in Literature and the Contemporary: Fictions and Theories of the Present, p.50.

[20] Ibid., p.17.

[21] Walter Benjamin, ‘Theses on the Concept of History’, in Illuminations (New York: Schoken, 1969), p.255.

[22] Hans Robert Jauss, Literary History as a Challenge to Literary Theory’, in Towards an Aesthetics of Representation (London: University of Minnesota Press, 1982), p.167.

[23] Ibid., p.165.

[24] Both referenced in Osborne, ‘The Politics of Time’, p.40.

[25] Ibid., p.42.

[26] Docherty, ‘Now, Here, This’, p.57.

[27] James Joyce, Ulysses (London: Bodley Head, 1960), p.367.

[28] Fritz Senn, ‘Nausicaa’, in James Joyce’s Ulysses: Critical Essays, p.282.

[29] Joyce, Ulysses, p.663.

[30] Robert Boyle, ‘Penelope’, in James Joyce’s Ulysses: Critical Essays, p.412.

[31] Joyce, Ulysses, p.663.

[32] Ibid., p.66.

[33] Ibid.

[34] Homer, The Odyssey, p.183.

[35] Thomas Docherty, After Theory: Postmodernism/Postmarxism (London: Routledge, 1990), p.9.

[36] Jean-Francois Lyotard, The Inhuman: Reflections on Time, trans. Geoffrey Bennington and Rachel Bowlby, (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1991), p.60.

[37] Connor, ‘The Impossibility of the Present’, p.25.

[38] Joyce’s schema for the novel was published by Stuart Gilbert in James Joyce’s Ulysses: A Study (London: Vintage, 1955).

[39] Osborne, ‘The Politics of Time’, p.43.

[40] Fritz Senn, Inductive Scrutinies: Focus on Joyce (Dublin: Lilliput Press, 1995), p.129.

[41] Jauss, ‘Literary Theory as a Challenge to Literary History’, p.179.

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