Ulysses: my incoherrent analysis

Right, I won't pretend for a second that I can give you a comprehensive or, indeed, accurate interpretation of what Joyce's novel is about. I must also apologise that I completely failed to articulate my feelings towards the novel in a coherrent and grammatically conventional manner. Here then I present my uneducated thoughts on Ulysses in the manner of Molly Bloom's internal monologue:

Language its all about language the history of language the evolution of language but also the failure of language people say that Ulysses was a book written to endear itself to the lords of academia and maybe it was to a degree but Joyce also hated "bookish" types the elite the custodians of the literary canon so he wrote a novel full of base human behaviour nose picking pissing shitting wanking fucking which at the same time made grandiose allusions to classic literature of all periods politics religion in the most prosiac prose imaginable Joyce having a laugh revelling in words creating puzzles to be puzzled over for years and yes so much of it went over my head and so many words phrases sentences I struggled to unravel but maybe that too was Joyce's point that so many words are often used to say so little or to conceal the truth language that deceives or fails to communicate and yet the energy of it was infectious and drew me in and how proud I was when I understood something it didn't matter how baffled I was for the most part because I could feel the cogs in my brain moving exercise for the mind excited me with possibilities of art I haven't felt since David Lynch's INLAND EMPIRE

Remarkable also the depth of characterisation Leopold Bloom is no stereotype a genuinely complicated and real character with strengths and weaknesses intelligent but pedantic compassionate yet distant a common man yet aloof decent yet tosses off at the sight of a young girl from behind a rock courageous in the face of anti-semitism but fearful of intimacy due to the suicide of his father and death of his eleven day old son Molly Bloom too could have so easily been depicted as a shallow adulteress but in the space of the final sixty pages of unpunctuated monologue Joyce shows her to be loving sensual bitter jealous sad frustrated angry guilty nostalgic resentful of her husband still in love with her husband so despite all high-falutin games the complex alusions the complex structure the impenetrable prose Joyce ultimately presents the reader with a poignant and compassionate portrait of common people in all their complexity and ambiguity

Fucking masterpiece