Ulysses

Book 0: Vintage International

by James Joyce, Declan Kiberd

Genres: Classics; Literary Fiction; ireland; dublin

Synopsis

Ulysses is one of the greatest literary works in the English language. In his remarkable tour de force, Joyce catalogues one day - 16 June 1904 - in immense detail as Leopold Bloom wanders through Dublin, talking, observing, musing - and always remembering Molly, his passionate, wayward wife. Set in the shadow of Homer's Odyssey, internal thoughts - Joyce's famous stream of consciousness - give physical reality extra colour and perspective. This long-awaited unabridged recording of James Joyce's Ulysses is released to coincide with the hundredth anniversary of 'Bloomsday'. Regarded by many as the single most important novel of the twentieth century, the abridged recording by Norton and Riordan released in 1994, the first year of Naxos Audiobooks, is a proven bestseller. Now the two return - having recorded most of Joyce's other work - in a newly recorded unabridged production directed by Joyce expert Roger Marsh.

Release date: February 4, 2025

Publisher: Vintage

Print pages: 816

Sample

Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him by the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:

--Introibo ad altare Dei.

Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called up coarsely:

--Come up, Kinch. Come up, you fearful jesuit.

Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding country and the awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak.

Buck Milligan peeped an instant under the mirror and then covered the bowl smartly.

--Back to barracks, he said sternly.

He added in a preacher's tone:

--For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine: body and soul and blood and ouns. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes, gents. One moment. A little trouble about those white corpuscles. Silence, all. 

He peered sideways up and gave a long low whistle of call, then paused awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and there with gold points. Chrysostomos. Two strong shrill whistles answered through the calm. 

--Thanks, old chap, he cried briskly. That will do nicely. Switch off the current, will you?

He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his watcher, gathering about his legs the loose folds of his gown. The plump shadowed face and sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in the middle ages. A pleasant smile broke quietly over his lips.

--The mockery of it, he said gaily. Your absurd name, an ancient Greek.