A correspondent who signs himself “The Man in the Mackintosh” writes to make several points about the recent James Joyce Symposium in Glasgow – which he attended – and its subsequent coverage on the news pages of The Irish Times. In keeping with what he says were “trigger warnings before almost all papers” presented at the conference, he also issues one for his email: “Heresy alert.”
He goes on to suggest that, while our feature on the general atmosphere of Joyce conferences was “wholly accurate”, it also “kinda” tarred the names “of any male attending”. He personally saw “nothing untoward the whole week” in Glasgow.
On a more general note, his email concludes: “To suggest that Joyce’s work is a magnet for perverts is surely an utter nonsense and an unwitting throwback to past puritanical times. Plus ça change. There – I think I’ve deplatformed myself. I’ll get my coat.”
We’ll come back to his criticisms in a minute. But first, for non-Joyceans, I should explain that the original “Man in the Mackintosh” is a mysterious figure who appears fleetingly throughout Ulysses and is never identified.
A Head of its time – Frank McNally on the bicentenary of Howth Road and more about wakes
Alive and kicking – Frank McNally on the continued survival of the great Irish wake
Ogham thoughts – Frank McNally on a new artwork, an old alphabet, and the longest word in Irish
Presidential bearing – Brian Maye on Erskine Childers
Many scholars have since wrestled with the mystery of who or what he represents. Guesses range from the ghost of James Clarence Mangan to a manifestation of Leopold Bloom’s tortured subconscious. Readers with any information that might finally identify the man are asked to contact their local university and write a PhD.
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In fairness to my colleagues Conor Gallagher and Declan Conlon, their “wholly accurate” account of the “misogyny, inappropriate behaviour, and sexual harassment” in the Joyce Studies community made clear that only a “small” number of men were involved, albeit repeatedly and with apparent immunity.
Their interviewees also made a fair point that the nature of the material under study may be such as to encourage the wrong kind occasionally. Ulysses is full of inappropriate behaviour (not that Joyce would have used that weird, catch-all euphemism, which I think was invented in about 1987).
One of the central – and yes, climactic – events in Ulysses, for example, has Leopold Bloom pleasuring himself while ogling a flirtatiously complicit Gertie MacDowell on Sandymount Strand.
Then there’s Molly Bloom, the woman who famously says “yes” (91* times) while ravishing the rules of English punctuation. It is no surprise, surely, that Molly Bloom studies might occasionally attract men with a less than complete grasp of the meaning of the word “no”.
*In case my interest appears self-incriminating, let me hasten to add that I didn’t count those yeses myself. I’m indebted to Suzanne Freeman’s superb artwork, Ulysses – An Odyssey at the James Joyce Centre, which summarises the 18 chapters via framed collections of artefacts, including one with Molly’s every affirmation etched in 3D metal type.
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That a 96-year-old Fritz Senn, perhaps the greatest living Joyce scholar, should have been asked to leave the Glasgow conference (after complaints including taking photographs of a woman without her consent) may have surprised some, not least him.
On the other hand, in a 2007 book called Joyce Murmoirs, via a question-and-answer catechism similar to the Ithaca episode of Ulysses, the then 79-year-old freely discussed a certain reputation he had then.
One question went as follows: “Many Joyceans who know of our project asked me specifically to enquire into the topic of Fritz Senn and (young) women?”
To which Senn replied, reflecting on it as a thing past: “Don’t expect anything sensational. There were far fewer liaisons than I had avidly hoped for. I honestly wish I had more to report on that score ... I was, or course, frequently seen with a camera taking pictures, or just conversing, and in that there may have been a certain discrimination relating to age and sex. Indeed one would have seen me more often in the company of younger students than with old cronies. That easily led to speculation and erroneous conclusions whose optimism, alas, I cannot share. I cannot boast of spectacular successes, and readers may be disappointed in this respect. Then again, disappointment is the most common of all experiences. What remains as consolation is mainly what I call flirtual reality.”
He concluded then, a little prematurely: “So there will be no chronique scandaleuse.”
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Oh well. Now that the annual orgy of interest in Ulysses is over for another year, Joyce’s other works can get a look in again. Happily, there will be no need for trigger warnings in Bewley’s Café today (Wednesday) and every 1pm until July 20th when the Volta Theatre company presents its fine adaptation of two stories from Dubliners: Counterparts and A Little Cloud. Mind you, the plot of Counterparts is a bit grim. On the other hand, there will be no steamy scenes anywhere, unless you’re also planning to have lunch in the restaurant downstairs.
Meanwhile, in the Volta Room of the Joyce Centre, today (Wednesday) at lunchtime will also feature free screenings of Godfrey Jordan’s short documentary on the making of a song suite based on Dubliners by folk group Hibsen. Trigger warning: there is a brief cameo involving the Diarist.