Bloomsday in Sandycove was unforgettable. Besides the incredible location, being in a place where you can turn the corner and be greeted by hundreds of men in the themed hats and women in the early-20th century garb.

The extremeness of the costumes and celebration were all reminders of what this text has done for Irish identity. We have this St. Patrick’s Day, leprechaun notion of the Irish back in the United States, and with that stereotypical view follows ideas of binge drinking, loudness, crudeness, etc. This stereotype perpetuates the Irish identity propogated by the English, unbeknownst to the perpetrators. Seeing the Bloomsday celebration is a reminder to refrain from that crude interpretation of Irish identity, and also a reminder that the Irish are aware of this interpretation and cling to Joyce, and put him on a pedestal, in order to push back against these stereotypes.

Whitney and I stumbled upon the reading of Ulysses on accident–we were shushed on our way up the stairs because we didn’t know what we were getting ourselves into. The reader was spectacular, and the nuance of his reading makes me wish that he could do an audio recording for the text for the day that I decide to tackle Ulysses.

I found myself wishing that I had already read all of Ulysses (but if I had I probably wouldn’t be saying that!) because of all the festivities going on. However, during the time not seeing other Joyce related things, Shanna, Whitney and I interacted with some locals on the rocks, took photos on the waters edge, and were attacked by the scrotumtightening sea. 

Happy Bloomsday, all!