JAMES JOYCE’S FINNEGANS WAKE
Episode 008 CAD CONFRONTATION
PAGE 34:29-39:13 | 2024-09-12
PODCAST AUDIO
PODCAST TRANSCRIPT
[Music: Richard Harte sings “The Ballad of Persse O’Reilly” from Finnegans Wake]
Have you heard of one Humpty Dumpty
How he fell with a roll and a rumble
And curled up like Lord Olofa Crumple
By the butt of the Magazine Wall
[Music fades out]
Adam Seelig: Welcome to James Joyce’s divine and delirious comedy, Finnegans Wake. In this episode, number 8, we’ll hear Irish-Canadian actor—and my good friend and colleague—Richard Harte reading pages 34 to 39 from Chapter 2 of Joyce’s last novel. I’m Adam Seelig, the director of the reading you’ll soon hear.
[Music: Adam Seelig plays piano]
Adam Seelig: Finnegans Wake is a production of One Little Goat Theatre Company. For the next five years, One Little Goat will film and record all 17 chapters (roughly 30 Hours) of Joyce’s Finnegans Wake before live audiences in various locations, screening and releasing them along along the way, with the aim of completing the entire book in time for its 90th birthday, May 4, 2029. One Little Goat Theatre Company is an official charity in Canada and the United States — if you’d like to support our work, please visit us online at www.OneLittleGoat.org to make a charitable donation. And if monetary support is not an option, you can still help this podcast by rating and reviewing it and by spreading the word. To get in touch, you’ll find our email address on the One Little Goat Theatre Company website and we’d love to hear from you.
[Music fades out]
Adam Seelig: From Emily Dickinson:
Tell all the truth but tell it slant —
Success in Circuit lies
Emily Dickinson
If Finnegans Wake tells the truth, assuming there’s even any truth in it to be told, then it does so at many slants from many perspectives, often in the dubious form of gossip.
In the previous episode (Episode 7) which opened Chapter 2 of Finnegans Wake, we heard about the origins of our protagonist’s name, H. C. Earwicker, and about possible rumours surrounding him. In today’s episode, those rumours will travel further and faster. Humanity is, after all, “an imperfectly warmblooded race” (33:21), and don’t we just love to talk.
Tell all the truth but tell it slant —
Success in Circuit lies
The “lies” of Dickinson’s second line offsets—maybe úpsets—the “truth” of the first. In today’s excerpt from Chapter 2, the closest we can come to any definitive truth about Earwicker lies in the ‘circuity’ of gossip, that loved and loathed source of news. Or so-called news. Or ‘fake news’. How much of this gossip, in other words, is information versus “illformation” (137:34)? Should we take what we hear as gospel or “gossiple” (38:23)? Facts can be suspect in a work of fiction, and Finnegans Wake, in addition to being a phantasmagoric poem, is a mammoth work of fiction within which we find many mini fictions, however factual, about HCE. And as these little fictions go through the rumour mill, as they make their successful rounds on the gossip circuit, they gain mass and momentum. It’s no coincidence that today’s reading, which follows a zigzagging relay of HCE-related rumours, ends up at the racetrack, one of the fastest circuits around, where the gossip about Earwicker reaches a veritable gallop.
The main event in today’s reading is Earwicker’s encounter with a guy described as “a cad with a pipe.” (35:11) It takes place in Dublin’s Phoenix Park, or as the text puts it, “the wide expanse of our greatest park”, (35:8) and indeed Phoenix Park is great: at seven square kilometres, it’s twice the size of New York’s Central Park, making it one of the largest urban parks in the world. The scene begins on the “ides-of-April morning”, i.e. on April 13th, which, we are told, happens to be Earwicker’s birthday. We are also told that this event is “ages and ages after the alleged misdemeanour” (35:5-6), a coy reference to the gossip that hounds HCE. Keep in mind that this tale of HCE’s confrontation with the cad is itself the product of rumour, beginning not with an authoritative, ‘Once upon a time’, but with a far less reliable, “They tell the story […]”.
The “ides-of-April” ominously echoes the Ides of March, when Julius Caesar was assassinated, and Earwicker dressed in seven items of clothing — ‘dressed to the sevens’ as we called it in the previous episode — could be foreshadowing a potential confrontation.
Is this meeting of Earwicker and the cad in the park a chance encounter or a spontaneous confrontation? Is it innocent or threatening?
Well, this is what seems to happen on that April morning… The cad with the pipe crosses paths with HCE and asks him, in a Wakean kind of Gaelic, something along the lines of: ‘How do you do? Could you tell me the time, because my watch is running slow?’ Ostensibly, this all sounds pretty innocuous. But as with the earlier encounter of two men, Mutt & Jute, in Chapter 1 (Episode 4), some miscommunication ensues. HCE interprets the cad’s words as a kind of attack and, in a panic, goes on the defensive. At this point the narrative, adhering to Earwicker’s state of mind, adopts the language of a cowboy-like showdown, so that instead of simply taking his watch out of his pocket and telling the cad that it’s twelve o’clock — which appears to be what happens (so much for it being morning) — HCE, we are told, is “quick on the draw” when he pulls his watch out of his “gunpocket” (35:26-27). For all his cowboy heroics, however, Earwicker ends up stuttering out his response to the cad, launching into an unsolicited, cringeworthy self-exoneration: “there is not one tittle of truth, allow me to tell you, in that purest of fibfib fabrications.” (36:34) This stuttering, which might betray HCE’s guilty conscience, is a motif throughout the novel that I’ll discuss in more detail in a minute.
Gaping Gill, an innocent bystander, “with infinite tact in the delicate situation seen the touchy nature of its perilous theme”, (37:4-5) politely extricates himself and walks off with his dog.
Now it’s evening, “ere the hour of the twattering of bards in the twitterlitter between Druidia and the Deepsleep Sea” (37:17-18). A wonderful, quiet passage follows, filled with the gentle sounds of letters reduced to their essence: a double F, a double K, a single T, a single I. I love Joyce’s writing, and Richard’s reciting, of these gloaming sounds of our alphabet, somewhere between the language of birds and lovers. (37:20-22)
The cad, home for supper, recounts his Phoenix Park encounter/confrontation with Earwicker, as best he can, to his wife. And from here, the zigzagging relay of gossip runs its course. In light of all this word of mouth, it makes sense that the text alludes, hilariously, to “Irish saliva” (37:25), the main ingredient in Dublin gossip. So the cad, chewing the cud, tells his wife, the wife tells her priest, and the priest tells the science teacher Philly Thurnston at the racetrack where the horses, like the rousing rumour itself, take on a life of their own.
Before we get to Richard’s reading, I want to highlight the stuttering motif that features prominently in Earwicker’s interaction/altercation with the cad.
From the very first page of Finnegans Wake, stuttering plays a part:
[Richard Harte reads Finnegans Wake 3:9-10.]
nor avoice from afire bellowsed mishe mishe to
tauftauf thuartpeatrick
Adam Seelig: And here’s Richard reading a more pronounced example a few lines later, with stuttering built into the novel’s first 100-letter ‘thunderword’:
[Richard Harte reads Finnegans Wake 3:15-17.]
The fall (bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonner-
ronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthur-
nuk!) of a once wallstrait oldparr
Adam Seelig: One page later, we hear of “Bygmester Finnegan, of the Stuttering Hand” (4:18); on page 16, in the prehistoric dialogue of Mutt and Jute, Mutt stammers to Jute that, “I became a stun a stummer” (16:17); and there are many more examples.
So why all the stuttering? As with everything in the Wake, we can read into it endlessly, but for now let’s consider two reasons:
(1) Stuttering as a form of early, elemental, prehistoric speech.
(& 2) Stuttering as a betrayal of guilty feelings; or in the parlance of poker, stuttering as a ‘tell’.
About (1) stuttering as early human speech…
Roland McHugh, in the introduction to his incredible Annotations to Finnegans Wake, details the influence of 18th-century philosopher Giambattista Vico on Joyce’s writing. In The New Science, published in 1725, Vico proposes that the history of nations divides into three ages: divine, heroic, and human — plus a kind of ‘fourth age’ or ‘coda’ during which the human age, number 3, reverts back to number 1, the divine age in a ‘rinse-and-repeat’ cycle, or a ricorso, which helps explain the cyclical structure of Finnegans Wake and adds another complexion to the word “recirculation” on the novel’s first page (and the word “vicus” in that same first sentence, in addition to suggesting Vico Road in Dublin or the Latin word for village, can also point to our Italian philosopher, Vico). As McHugh explains, in the first age, “the age of gods, brutish men are driven by shame and fear into caves to escape the thunder, which is the voice of the sky-god.” (p.x) And as William Tindall explains, in the divine age, prehistoric people, “like so many Mutts and Jutes, communicate by grunts, gestures, [etc.]” (9) including stutters. So, going back to that first thunder word after the fall—
[Richard Harte reads Finnegans Wake 3:15-17.]
Zeus hurling a thunderbolt, bronze statuette from Dodona, Greece, early 5th century BCE; Staatliche Museen, Berlin.
The fall (bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonner-
ronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthur-
nuk!)
Charles Dodgson (aka Lewis Carroll)
Adam Seelig: —we can hear the thunder of the sky-god or Zeus or ‘capital G God’ ‘capital H Himself’ generating language, birthing the first babble/babel, the first “bababada” of an infant humanity.
McHugh mentions that early humanity escapes thunder in “shame and fear”, which brings me to (2) stuttering as a sign of guilt…
In today’s reading, you’ll hear the text stammer when mentioning, “the hakusay accusation againstm” (36:3-4), i.e. the accusation about HCE’s “alleged misdemeanor” or, put simply, his sin. But what is this alleged sin? When Earwicker stutters during his unprovoked self-exoneration in response to the cad, the possible guilt revealed by his stammering is about what? McHugh offers a hint, pointing out that Charles Parnell, the Irish nationalist, and Lewis Carroll, author of Alice in Wonderland — both men (referenced throughout Finnegans Wake) stuttered. The former, Parnell, committed the sin of adultery, which led to his political downfall, while the latter, Charles Dodgson (aka Lewis Carroll), photographed children in the nude as a hobby, which, while not a sin, per se, has fueled speculation about Dodgson ever since, leading to rumours about his own “alleged misdemeanor[s]”.
And Earwicker: what’s his sin?
Charles Stewart Parnell
The examples of Parnell and Dodgson suggest that Earwicker, through the dream language of the Wake, experiences inappropriate sexual desires. But don’t we all, especially in our own personal, private dreams? The answer is yes, yes we do. The scandal of Parnell falling for Katherine (or Kitty) O’Shea, then falling from political grace, is an eminently relatable tale because, as the Wake reminds us on virtually every page, humanity, that is, all of us, fell from grace the moment Eve and Adam were swayed by the snake and ate the forbidden fruit. (In today’s reading, incidentally, Eden’s famous apple becomes a far more suggestive fruit: a banana eaten by Eve, whose original Hebrew name is Chava, hence the mention of “Havvah-ban-Annah” (38:30).) HCE, as a necessarily flawed character who contains multitudes, from Biblical Adam to folksy Tim Finnegan to admired Parnell, is ultimately “Here Comes Everybody” (as we heard in the previous episode), he’s all of us, embodying our original and subsequent sins, with his occasional stutter reminding us those sins are always there, however deeply and unconsciously buried.
"Adam & Eve, Serpent & Apple," Heinz Seelig.
So it’s thanks to the forked tongue of the serpent and the forked lightning of the gods that our stuttering fall into sin and speech began.
I’m going to close with the poem with which I opened, partly because it contains a flash of lightning and some thematic overlap with today’s episode, but mostly because Emily Dickinson knew how to write a damn good poem. Here it is in full:
Tell all the truth but tell it slant — (1263)
Tell all the truth but tell it slant —
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind —
Richard Harte’s reading of Finnegans Wake Chapter 2 was shot and recorded in Toronto at Noonan’s Irish Pub on June 26th, 2023 with a live audience. The film premiered at the Toronto Irish Film Festival and Bloomsday Film Festival at the James Joyce Centre in Dublin.
Now it’s time to welcome you to Noonan’s Irish Pub for Richard’s reading of James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake, page 34 line 29 to page 39 line 13 for the continuation of Chapter 2.
[Richard Harte reads Finnegans Wake 34:29-39:13.]
[34] We can’t do without them. Wives, rush to the restyours! Of-
man will toman while led is the lol. Zessid’s our kadem, villa-
pleach, vollapluck. Fikup, for flesh nelly, el mundo nov, zole flen!
If she’s a lilyth, pull early! Pauline, allow! And malers abushed,
keep black, keep black! Guiltless of much laid to him he was
clearly for once at least he clearly expressed himself as being with
still a trace of his erstwhile burr and hence it has been received of
[35] us that it is true. They tell the story (an amalgam as absorbing as
calzium chloereydes and hydrophobe sponges could make it) how
one happygogusty Ides-of-April morning (the anniversary, as it
fell out, of his first assumption of his mirthday suit and rights in
appurtenance to the confusioning of human races) ages and ages
after the alleged misdemeanour when the tried friend of all crea-
tion, tigerwood roadstaff to his stay, was billowing across the
wide expanse of our greatest park in his caoutchouc kepi and
great belt and hideinsacks and his blaufunx fustian and ironsides
jackboots and Bhagafat gaiters and his rubberised inverness, he
met a cad with a pipe. The latter, the luciferant not the oriuolate
(who, the odds are, is still berting dagabout in the same straw
bamer, carryin his overgoat under his schulder, sheepside out, so
as to look more like a coumfry gentleman and signing the pledge
as gaily as you please) hardily accosted him with: Guinness thaw
tool in jew me dinner ouzel fin? (a nice how-do-you-do in Pool-
black at the time as some of our olddaisers may still tremblingly
recall) to ask could he tell him how much a clock it was that the
clock struck had he any idea by cock’s luck as his watch was
bradys. Hesitency was clearly to be evitated. Execration as cleverly
to be honnisoid. The Earwicker of that spurring instant, realising
on fundamental liberal principles the supreme importance, nexally
and noxally, of physical life (the nearest help relay being pingping
K. O. Sempatrick’s Day and the fenian rising) and unwishful as
he felt of being hurled into eternity right then, plugged by a soft-
nosed bullet from the sap, halted, quick on the draw, and reply-
in that he was feelin tipstaff, cue, prodooced from his gunpocket
his Jurgensen’s shrapnel waterbury, ours by communionism, his
by usucapture, but, on the same stroke, hearing above the skirl-
ing of harsh Mother East old Fox Goodman, the bellmaster, over
the wastes to south, at work upon the ten ton tonuant thunder-
ous tenor toller in the speckled church (Couhounin’s call!) told
the inquiring kidder, by Jehova, it was twelve of em sidereal and
tankard time, adding, buttall, as he bended deeply with smoked
sardinish breath to give more pondus to the copperstick he pre-
sented (though this seems in some cumfusium with the chap-
[36] stuck ginger which, as being of sours, acids, salts, sweets and
bitters compompounded, we know him to have used as chaw-
chaw for bone, muscle, blood, flesh and vimvital,) that where-
as the hakusay accusation againstm had been made, what was
known in high quarters as was stood stated in Morganspost, by
a creature in youman form who was quite beneath parr and seve-
ral degrees lower than yore triplehydrad snake. In greater sup-
port of his word (it, quaint anticipation of a famous phrase, has
been reconstricted out of oral style into the verbal for all time
with ritual rhythmics, in quiritary quietude, and toosammen-
stucked from successive accounts by Noah Webster in the re-
daction known as the Sayings Attributive of H. C. Earwicker,
prize on schillings, postlots free), the flaxen Gygas tapped his
chronometrum drumdrum and, now standing full erect, above
the ambijacent floodplain, scene of its happening, with one Ber-
lin gauntlet chopstuck in the hough of his ellboge (by ancientest
signlore his gesture meaning: ℈!) pointed at an angle of thirty-
two degrees towards his duc de Fer’s overgrown milestone as
fellow to his gage and after a rendypresent pause averred with
solemn emotion’s fire: Shsh shake, co-comeraid! Me only, them
five ones, he is equal combat. I have won straight. Hence my
nonation wide hotel and creamery establishments which for the
honours of our mewmew mutual daughters, credit me, I am woo-
woo willing to take my stand, sir, upon the monument, that sign
of our ruru redemption, any hygienic day to this hour and to
make my hoath to my sinnfinners, even if I get life for it, upon
the Open Bible and before the Great Taskmaster’s (I lift my hat!)
and in the presence of the Deity Itself andwell of Bishop and
Mrs Michan of High Church of England as of all such of said
my immediate withdwellers and of every living sohole in every
corner wheresoever of this globe in general which useth of my
British to my backbone tongue and commutative justice that
there is not one tittle of truth, allow me to tell you, in that purest
of fibfib fabrications.
Gaping Gill, swift to mate errthors, stern to checkself, (diag-
nosing through eustacetube that it was to make with a markedly
[37] postpuberal hypertituitary type of Heidelberg mannleich cavern
ethics) lufted his slopingforward, bad Sweatagore good mur-
rough and dublnotch on to it as he was greedly obliged, and
like a sensible ham, with infinite tact in the delicate situation seen
the touchy nature of its perilous theme, thanked um for guilders
received and time of day (not a little token abock all the same that
that was owl the God’s clock it was) and, upon humble duty to
greet his Tyskminister and he shall gildthegap Gaper and thee his
a mouldy voids, went about his business, whoever it was, saluting
corpses, as a metter of corse (one could hound him out had one
hart to for the monticules of scalp and dandruff droppings blaze
his trail) accompanied by his trusty snorler and his permanent
reflection, verbigracious; I have met with you, bird, too late,
or if not, too worm and early: and with tag for ildiot repeated
in his secondmouth language as many of the bigtimer’s verbaten
words which he could balbly call to memory that same kveldeve,
ere the hour of the twattering of bards in the twitterlitter between
Druidia and the Deepsleep Sea, when suppertide and souvenir to
Charlatan Mall jointly kem gently and along the quiet darkenings
of Grand and Royal, ff, flitmansfluh, and, kk, ‘t crept i’ hedge
whenas to many a softongue’s pawkytalk mude unswer u sufter
poghyogh, Arvanda always aquiassent, while, studying castelles
in the blowne and studding cowshots over the noran, he spat in
careful convertedness a musaic dispensation about his hearthstone,
if you please, (Irish saliva, mawshe dho hole, but would a respect-
able prominently connected fellow of Iro-European ascendances
with welldressed ideas who knew the correct thing such as Mr
Shallwesigh or Mr Shallwelaugh expectorate after such a callous
fashion, no thank yous! when he had his belcher spuckertuck in his
pucket, pthuck?) musefed with his thockits after having supped
of the dish sot and pottage which he snobbishly dabbed Peach
Bombay (it is rawly only Lukanpukan pilzenpie which she knows
which senaffed and pibered him), a supreme of excelling peas,
balled under minnshogue’s milk into whitemalt winesour, a pro-
viant the littlebilker hoarsely relished, chaff it, in the snevel season,
being as fain o’t as your rat wi’fennel; and on this celebrating
[38] occasion of the happy escape, for a crowning of pot valiance,
this regional platter, benjamin of bouillis, with a spolish olive to
middlepoint its zaynith, was marrying itself (porkograso!) ere-
busqued very deluxiously with a bottle of Phenice-Bruerie ‘98,
followed for second nuptials by a Piessporter, Grand Cur, of
both of which cherished tablelights (though humble the bounquet
‘tis a leaman’s farewell) he obdurately sniffed the cobwebcrusted
corks.
Our cad’s bit of strife (knee Bareniece Maxwelton) with a quick
ear for spittoons (as the aftertale hath it) glaned up as usual with
dumbestic husbandry (no persicks and armelians for thee, Pome-
ranzia!) but, slipping the clav in her claw, broke of the matter
among a hundred and eleven others in her usual curtsey (how
faint these first vhespers womanly are, a secret pispigliando, amad
the lavurdy den of their manfolker!) the next night nudge one
as was Hegesippus over a hup a ‘ chee, her eys dry and small and
speech thicklish because he appeared a funny colour like he
couldn’t stood they old hens no longer, to her particular reverend,
the director, whom she had been meaning in her mind primarily
to speak with (hosch, intra! jist a timblespoon!) trusting, between
cuppled lips and annie lawrie promises (mighshe never have
Esnekerry pudden come Hunanov for her pecklapitschens!) that
the gossiple so delivered in his epistolear, buried teatoastally in
their Irish stew would go no further than his jesuit’s cloth, yet
(in vinars venitas! volatiles valetotum!) it was this overspoiled
priest Mr Browne, disguised as a vincentian, who, when seized
of the facts, was overheard, in his secondary personality as a
Nolan and underreared, poul soul, by accident — if, that is, the
incident it was an accident for here the ruah of Ecclectiastes
of Hippo outpuffs the writress of Havvah-ban-Annah — to
pianissime a slightly varied version of Crookedribs confidentials,
(what Mere Aloyse said but for Jesuphine’s sake!) hands between
hahands, in fealty sworn (my bravor best! my fraur!) and, to the
strains of The Secret of Her Birth, hushly pierce the rubiend
aurellum of one Philly Thurnston, a layteacher of rural science
and orthophonethics of a nearstout figure and about the middle
[39] of his forties during a priestly flutter for safe and sane bets at the
hippic runfields of breezy Baldoyle on a date (W. W. goes
through the cald) easily capable of rememberance by all pickers-
up of events national and Dublin details, the doubles of Perkin
and Paullock, peer and prole, when the classic Encourage Hackney
Plate was captured by two noses in a stablecloth finish, ek and nek,
some and none, evelo nevelo, from the cream colt Bold Boy
Cromwell after a clever getaway by Captain Chaplain Blount’s
roe hinny Saint Dalough, Drummer Coxon, nondepict third, at
breakneck odds, thanks to you great little, bonny little, portey
little, Winny Widger! you’re all their nappies! who in his never-
rip mud and purpular cap was surely leagues unlike any other
phantomweight that ever toppitt our timber maggies.
[End of reading excerpt]
Adam Seelig: That was my friend and colleague Richard Harte reading from Chapter 2 of Finnegans Wake, pages 34 to 39, recorded with a live audience at Noonan’s Irish Pub in Toronto on June 26th, 2023.
Join us in two weeks for Episode 9 when Richard continues Finnegans Wake Chapter 2, in which we meet the scandalous balladeer, Hosty. To be sure you don’t miss any episodes, why not follow or subscribe to this podcast? For more on One Little Goat’s Finnegans Wake project, including transcripts of this podcast and trailers for the films, visit our website at OneLittleGoat.org. And to hear about upcoming performances and screenings, join our mailing list, also at OneLittleGoat.org.
[Music: Adam Seelig plays piano]
Finnegans Wake is made possible by Friends of One Little Goat Theatre Company and the Emigrant Support Programme of the government of Ireland. Thank you for your support!
And thank you to the artists for this episode: Richard Harte; Sound by William Bembridge; Podcast production by Sean Rasmussen; Stage Management by Jobina Sitoh; Directed by yours truly, Adam Seelig.
A big thanks to Jane Noonan and the staff at Noonan’s Irish Pub, as well as to our wonderful live audience. Thank you to everyone at the Irish Consulate in Toronto. And to Production Consultants Cathy Murphy and Andrew Moodie.
One Little Goat Theatre Company is a nonprofit, artist-driven, registered charity. To donate or find out more or to join our mailing list please visit www.OneLittleGoat.org Thank you for listening!
[Music fades out]
[End of Ep008]
Mentioned: Emily Dickinson poem, “Tell all the truth but tell it slant”, HCE rumours, fiction, HCE’s encounter/confrontation with the cad, Dublin’s Phoenix Park, stuttering motif, language of birds and love, gossip relay, stuttering as early speech and signifying guilt, Giambattista Vico, cycle of three eras, first ‘thunderword’, Charles Parnell and Charles Dodgson, Adam and Eve, original sin, synopsis.
Resources: Transcript for this episode, including the text of Finnegans Wake pages 34-39.
Finnegans Wake (1939) by James Joyce: there are many free copies of FW to read online or download, e.g. finwake.com
James Joyce Digital Archive, “Chicken Guide” to Finnegans Wake provides a ‘plain English’ paraphrase of each chapter by Danis Rose.
Edmund Epstein, A Guide through Finnegans Wake. University Press of Florida, 2009.
William York Tindall, A Reader’s Guide to Finnegans Wake. Syracuse University Press, 1996.
Roland McHugh, Annotations to Finnegans Wake (4th edition). Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, 2016.
John Gordon’s annotations on his Finnegans Wake blog.
Richard Ellmann’s biography of James Joyce. Oxford University Press, 1982.