Over the past weeks my thoughts have kept returning to this question of sexual deviancy, restlessly, in such a way as that usually means I haven’t got it figured out yet, that I’ve missed something. Rather than press this subject in class (where no one else seems particularly interested) I’ll take advantage of this platform to think out loud with it.
The other day, while taking a walk, my thoughts stumbled into pondering the mythology of the goddess (this was near the equinox). I found I kept having to chide myself for persisting in perverting an otherwise poignant, and far-reaching, concept—that of rebirth, and of personal rebirths embodied in the processes of the Earth at work personified in the Other, as wife or mother, and of the phenomenally expansive healing and challenging power of the feminine temperament or psyche, of submission only in the sense of keeping oneself open to the transformational potential of being in love; submit to nurture, which is to submit to growth, which is to partake within oneself of the processes of rebirth, the defining characteristics of the Mother-Goddess principal. (By coming at it from this direction, I think it’s possible to avoid the easiness of the New Age.) In Ulysses we haven’t reached the chapter where this question of extreme sexual deviancy continually comes to mind—“Circe,” Episode 15, but here, as everywhere, it is essential to note that this is but one aspect coloring an otherwise phantasmagoric many-faced Monster always trotting just out of reach.
Perhaps Joyce is being literal only insofar as he is being playful, a playfulness which renders it the more devastating when considered as metaphor: part of what immobilizes Bloom, and this hearkens back to the sacrament of marriage mentioned in class, is that he gives himself over to what might, tentatively, be called the wrong way to worship (though I am unsure of my terms here and worship probably isn’t what I mean). I am reminded of a conversation had with a minister friend some years ago, in which he pointed out how—for a Christian, at least—foot worship was an example of misdirected prayer, that that energy if refocused in contemplation of Christ led to greater self-actualization (as a Christian) via right ways of worship. I am not a Christian, but I think this can be applied, in a humanistic attitude, to the right and wrong ways of realizing our human potential, to the refocusing of our attentions, and questioning us that we attend to what end?
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4 comments:
What you are saying is very interesting, and I am curious to see how you eventually relate it back to the text. Molly surely has the power in relation to Bloom, and women are seen throughout the novel as somewhat fatal. In the lotus-eaters, women's scent is inescapable, intoxicating. Molly, especially is associated with pinpricks, and pricks Bloom in multiple episodes. I can other places wehre you are finding sexual deviance. But I think that Bloom and Molly's sexual relationship is more metaphoric of Bloom's impotence in the greater scheme of the novel. Everyone seems to be in a state of arrest. Mrs. Purefoy's baby cannot be birthed. The dead body cannot birth itself from the rancid womb of Stephen's dead mother (the sea). The sacrament is dead, we chew Christ’s corpse, but there is no resurrection. So, again, I think the sexual impotence is metaphoric. Bloom is likened to Christ a few times. We have an impotent messiah in a wasteland. What do you think?
I don't disagree with any of that, but in a book where everything is metaphorical why are we less willing to take this in any other light; Bloom is taking a walk, which is like Odysseus at sea - but he is still taking a walk.
Anyway, here's a Q: If Bloom realizes his latent heroism, must he relinquish his kinks? If purely metaphorical then he can't take them with him. If he can then this is more complex in addition to what you, accurately I think, suggest.
Classics of the genre, mostly Victorian, tend to represent sadomasochism (generally women's submission) as a quasi-spiritual act... almost like a sort of "submission" to God or to one's higher self through a kind of mortification of the external self. Since Bloom has so much empathy with women: Molly, Mina, Gertie (he guesses that Ms. MacDowell is getting her period), one could read this in a Jungian way, that part of Bloom's growth as a hero lies in his struggle with the anima, or feminine side, which is so strong in him. Submission to women, even when it is the intoxicating power of their sexual allure or Martha's teasing, may dramatize this battle.
If you want to talk about power struggles... I am always interested. I think that Bloom is really interesting when analyzed from this angle-- his relationship with his wife is highly complicated and gives him little power but in the world he's a harsh critic of the women he encounters; his criticisms of their dress, hair, wrinkles, etc. seem to be a means of judging them, of taking control. Why does he do this? Does it somehow correlate to his feelings toward his wife? Since he feels he has no power over the woman over whom he should have some control, does he attempt to control the women he sees and does not have relationships with?
If any of this doesn't make sense to you, feel free to comment on my blog.
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