Ulysses Update - Episode 13 - Nausicaa

November 26, 2008

[image from litmuse; created by Jonathan Day]

Ah, the infamous Gerty MacDowell. This is one section of Ulysses that has remained in my mind from the first reading and even before I had started considering the Homeric parallels, thinking instead of Gerty in light of Hamlet’s mother Gertrude, an analogy that I still can’t carry much further than the idea that– at times– Gerty is seen as a potentially corrupting force in Bloom’s life.

But I’m beginning to recognize the brilliance of Joyce’s technique here, particularly in resisting the temptation (as I imagine it) to represent this crucial episode through the stream of consciousness of either character. This allows Joyce to at once erase any doubt about what is actually physically happening in the chapter while at the same time retain the essential ambiguity, indecision, and inconsistency that is human nature as Ulysses portrays it. I remember a long argument about Proteus erupting as to whether, in that section, also on the beach, Stephen was actually masturbating (this comes up altogether too much in discussions of the book, though not for good reason) when his “release” was at least represented as urination. There is no doubt in this chapter what Bloom is doing, entranced at the sight of young Gerty. But in adopting the “marmalady” style of the worst kind of romance novel, Joyce couldn’t have made the potentially titillating any less so. And with literal fireworks lighting up the sky at the climax of Stephen’s not-so-hidden activity, I couldn’t help but think of sappy pop songs invoking fireworks and “afternoon delights.”

And this episode is bulging with symbolism, textual parallels and allusions. As ornate and overly-written as the prose is at time, Joyce equals it by hanging layer after layer of reference on it as well. Gerty is Nausicaa, of course, in small detail as well as her function in the plot. Gerty, like Nausicaa, is particularly beautiful, with notably fine hair, and shares duties washing clothes. Bloom, as Ulysses, is in desperate need of comfort– rather than being shipwrecked, Bloom is described by Gerty as “soulwrecked”– and stumble across the beautiful maiden who rescues him.

At the same time, Gerty is clearly a Mary-like figure, again subtly and not so subtly presented as such: she wears a “Child of Mary” badge and as Bloom gazes upon her and masturbates the members of the church are praying to the statue of Mary for comfort. She even wears blue garments– the color Mary is traditionally depicted in. This parallel adds to the recurring tension in this section (and in the book) between the beauty and sustenance of sexual relationships and the notion of sex as being dirty or degrading… what could be worse than masturbating to an image of the Virgin Mary?

What struck me most about the depiction of Gerty this time around, though, was her physical lameness. Of all the characteristics of Bloom that have– or should have– bothered me, his reaction upon seeing Gerty’s lame gait felt the worst:

Slowly, without looking back she went down the uneven strand to Cissy, to Edy to Jacky and Tommy Caffrey, to little baby Boardman. It was darker now and there were stones and bits of wood on the strand and slippy seaweed. She walked with a certain quiet dignity characteristic of her but with care and very slowly because—because Gerty MacDowell was…

Tight boots? No. She’s lame! O!

Mr Bloom watched her as she limped away. Poor girl! That’s why she’s left on the shelf and the others did a sprint. Thought something was wrong by the cut of her jib. Jilted beauty. A defect is ten times worse in a woman. But makes them polite. Glad I didn’t know it when she was on show. Hot little devil all the same. I wouldn’t mind. Curiosity like a nun or a negress or a girl with glasses.

The recapitulation of the orgasmic ‘O’ and Stephen’s assessment transformed him for a moment in my estimation into something completely foreign and distasteful, much like I imagine the effect of crying out an unintentional racial epithet while making love to someone of that race.

What came to my mind when her limp was revealed was Cocteau’s famous– and most apt– formulation that “beauty limps.”

Tags: james joyce, nausicaa, reading, ulysses