… I’ve read the first one hundred pages of Finnegans Wake
… and am enjoying it.
Favorite line so far:
Wherefore
let it hardly by any being thinking be said either or thought that the prisoner
of that sacred edifice, where he an Ivor the Boneless or an Olaf the Hide, was
at his best a onestone parable, a rude breathing on the void of to be, a venter
hearing his own bauchspeech in backwords, or, more strictly, but tristurned
initials, the cluekey to a worldroom beyond the roomwhorld, for scare one, or
pathetically few of his dode canal sammenlivers cared seriously or for long to
doubt with Kurt Iuld van Dijke (the gravitational pull perceived by certain
fixed residents and the capture of uncertain comets chancedrifting through our
system suggesting an authenticitatem or his aliquitudinis) the canonicity of
his existence as a tesseract.
I have no idea what it means. I have no idea what I am
reading. But I love the musicality of Joyce’s made-up mash-up English. Is there
a pattern in the writing? Is there a code, a message buried beneath the
mumblemush? Aside from spotting a preponderance of “H.C.E.” and “Here Comes
Everybody,” – I don’t know!
No comments:
Post a Comment