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Leopold Bloom is the primary protagonist of Ulysses. In the context of Homer’s poem, he corresponds to Odysseus and the story of the novel, like the story of The Odyssey, is the journey of one man returning home after a long, arduous journey. Whereas Odysseus is a heroic king, Bloom is an outsider. He is a 38-year-old ad canvasser whose Jewish family heritage makes him the target for many antisemitic remarks. This is the irony of Bloom’s character: He functions as an everyman, a representative of early 20th-century life, but he does not feel a part of a society that perpetually ostracizes and alienates him. The ordinariness of Bloom and the mundanity of his anxieties is a key part of Ulysses: Whereas The Odyssey told the story of heroic kings and magical quests, Ulysses finds the heroism of the everyman, exploring the capacity for rich, nuanced psychological depth even in the most unlikely of characters. Through his sheer ordinariness, through his vast unremarkable nature, Leopold Bloom embodies the Modernist desire to explore every aspect of the human consciousness in every part of society.
Bloom’s ethnic and religious identity is a complicated matter. Bloom’s father Rudolph was a Hungarian Jew while his mother was an Irish Christian. The question of whether Bloom is Jewish has a nuanced answer. Traditionally, Jewishness has been considered matrilineal and, since Bloom’s mother was not Jewish, the question of whether Bloom is even Jewish is in doubt. In fact, Bloom has been baptized “three times” (635) as a Christian, blasphemes often, and fails to adhere to Jewish religious rules (such as keeping kosher) so often that he is practically atheistic in his worldview. In a religious and cultural sense, Bloom’s Jewishness is in doubt. In a practical sense, however, Bloom is Jewish. Since the people of Dublin in the early 1900s have little understanding of the nuances of Jewish identity, they simply decide that Bloom is “a jew” (326), often using this as an antisemitic pejorative. Bloom’s Jewish identity functions as a demonstration of his alienation. The society decides that he is an outsider, and he internalizes this identity, becoming alienated and adopting his Jewish identity as a matter of pride, shouting at the citizen that “Christ was a jew like me” (327) even if “he [knows] that he [is] not” (634) practicing. The particulars of Bloom’s Jewish identity are rendered irrelevant when the entire world treats him as such and when he adopts a Jewish identity in defiance of imposed alienation. Bloom considers himself Jewish as an act of rebellion—a way to assert his identity even if that identity is not wholly accurate.
Bloom is also defined by his anxiety. He spends the entire day worrying about Molly’s affair with Boylan. He fears that everyone in Dublin knows about his wife’s infidelity, which is why he sympathizes so much with the betrayed wife of Kitty O’Shea, whose affair with Parnell brought about the public shaming of the hero of Irish republicanism. Bloom considers the affair to be “a case for the twoparties themselves” (609), revealing his desire that the entire city not regard him as a cuckold. Bloom’s anxiety is hypocritical: he has had numerous sexual encounters with women who are not his wife, and he has not had sex with Molly in ten years. In this respect, his grief for his dead son becomes more pronounced. The death of Rudy was, in some respects, the death of the marriage. Bloom’s love for Molly is deep and enduring but no longer sexual. His sexual anxieties propel him through the city at a dazzling pace, but he always returns to Molly, and she always returns to him. The depth and meaning of their platonic affection for one another—affection that is colored by shared grief—transcend their sexual urges and proclivities. Bloom, often characterized by others as “the wandering jew” (209) always returns, like Odysseus, to his wife’s side.
Stephen Dedalus first appeared in Joyce’s work in the semi-autobiographical A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. After the events of the previous novel, Stephen is now 22 and grieving his recently deceased mother. Stephen was in Paris, pursuing his artistic and academic ambitions when he received news that his mother was dying. He refused to pray at her bedside, sticking to his principles as an atheist, and he blames himself for her death, to the point where he is still “clad in mourning” (85) as he grieves. Concurrent to this, Stephen feels unsatisfied as an artist. His poetry has not garnered the respect he craves, nor have his academic theories about Shakespeare proven popular. He teaches history at a boys’ school and plans to leave as soon as he can. Stephen is struggling with his identity. At the beginning of the novel, he feels in flux, no longer satisfied in his own home as Buck Mulligan has usurped everything from him. As such, Stephen is presented as detached, aloof, and desperate to demonstrate his own intelligence. His pretentious references to literature are not only his way of proving how clever he is, but also an attempt to find reference points for his own existence. He latches on to figures like Hamlet because, as the grieving son of a parent, he feels empathy for the characters and hopes that his own existence will follow a similar narrative arc, one which will bring meaning and clarity to his existence. Stephen is searching for an identity as the past versions of himself crumble away.
While Bloom traverses the physical space of Dublin, Stephen is somewhat disconnected from the world around him. As he bathes in the opening scenes of the novel, he floats on the surface of society, occasionally deigning to dip deeper beneath the waves. He is buoyed by a world of his own intellectual pursuits, ideas that allow him to remain at a safe distance from the world in an emotional sense, in the same way and for the same purpose that Bloom and Molly keep each other at bay; they mourn their dead son, whose death has redefined their identities and relationship, and Stephen mourns his dead mother, whose death has forced him to redefine himself and his relationship to the world. He fears becoming too attached to anything, to the point where he actively distances himself from his suffering family members because he feels the pain of his mother’s loss so acutely. As much as Stephen strives for independence or charitably gives away his money, this is affected by his family’s struggles. Stephen is disconnected from the emotional and the material world, a ruptured connection that is not necessarily admirable or sympathetic because his detachment is purely academic and internal. Bloom strives to find a place for himself in society, whereas Stephen is struggling to find himself at all. He feels caught between various “masters” (20), unable to pledge himself to anything or anyone.
After the first three episodes, Stephen sinks back into the scenery. He bursts into vivid life occasionally, but these narrative instances are seen from Bloom’s perspective. Stephen becomes incredibly drunk and smashes a chandelier in a brothel before allowing Bloom to walk him home. The anxious, self-conscious thoughts that pervaded the opening episodes sink back into the mire, overcome by the alcohol and the circumstances. Stephen achieves his goal: he breaks free from Buck Mulligan and does not return to the tower. He accepts Bloom’s hospitality, if only for a moment. This acceptance is the first time that Stephen accepts someone into his life, a brief hint that he may be reconnecting with the world. The long, meandering conversation between Bloom and Stephen does not bring closure to Stephen’s pursuit of identity but hints at a moment of catharsis in the future. Stephen connected with another person, someone else who feels a pointed and definitive sense of grief. This shared moment is Stephen recognizing the power of human relationships. Though he vanishes out into the night, disjointed from the world once again, he has briefly learned how to connect to the world from which he felt so alienated.
Stephen and Leopold may be the primary protagonists of the novel, but Molly Bloom plays an important role. She is the foremost female character, to whom the final episode is given over in its entirety. Before the final episode, however, she is portrayed mostly through the eyes of other people. Bloom makes her breakfast when she is barely awake, leaving the house before she fully rouses herself. From this point on, she is in his thoughts. Not only is he constantly (and correctly) worried that she is having an affair, but other men talk about Molly in front of him. Molly has many admirers. Most of them are shocked that she is married to a man like Leopold Bloom. Whenever Molly is mentioned, people compliment her as a “finelooking woman” (102), as well as mentioning her association with Blazes Boylan and whether he is “mixed up in” (164) her business. Even Bloom’s enemy, the citizen, refers to Molly as “a nice old phenomenon” (293) and is shocked that she would be with a man like Bloom. As such, Molly is frequently portrayed through the male gaze. The men of Dublin know Molly, while Bloom cannot stop fretting about her, meaning that the audience’s understanding of Molly is built from this perspective, turning her into a sexual object who is subject to both lust and jealousy.
Bloom’s relationship with Molly is complicated. They have a daughter named Milly and they lost a young son named Rudy. Since this tragic loss, they have not had sex. As the tragedy of Rudy’s death is slowly revealed through Bloom’s thoughts, Molly’s own sexual behavior becomes more sympathetic. Bloom is as alienated from his wife as he is from society. He performs small gestures for her, such as cooking her breakfast and purchasing her books and lotion, but he is unable to provide her with the emotional and physical support that she needs at a difficult time. He even seems conscious of this, to the point where he sends Milly away seemingly to better furnish Molly’s affair. Molly’s affair is not built on pure lust. Instead, she is seeking emotional and physical gratification in the wake of a tragic loss and the collapse of her marriage. She does not love Boylan, but he is able to provide her with something resembling physical affection, something that her husband is no longer able to provide. His seemingly tacit approval—and his own sexual misdeeds—give Molly permission to embark on her affairs, making her actions more understandable and more sympathetic.
The final episode is four long sentences of Molly’s thoughts. The stream-of-consciousness style allows for a direct insight into her thoughts, emotions, and hopes. Through this long passage, Molly provides a rebuttal to the male-dominated narrative of earlier episodes. In this episode, the audience comes to understand her alienation from her husband and the disinterested way in which she views Boylan as a means to an end rather than as a potential husband. Furthermore, she plans to return Bloom’s favor from the morning and cook him “breakfast in bed” (690). This small, intimate gesture reveals the new tenors of their relationship. They may not be able to talk about their grief or their infidelity, but they can perform rituals of affirmation and affection that reinforce their bond. In the ensuing pages, Molly makes clear that she is frustrated with Bloom and that she sees through many of his lies and secrets. She understands him, however, and she is willing to stay with him. She could have had narratives and adventures of her own (as she states, she could have been an actress), but Molly finds meaning in her everyday life with Bloom. Molly may not be happy, but she understands her own unhappiness. More than Bloom or Stephen, she is approaching an understanding of herself that they crave.
Blazes Boylan is a haunting presence in the novel. The thought of him and the sight of him is enough to frighten Bloom, who is keenly aware that Boylan is having an affair with his wife. Every person in Dublin is seemingly aware of Molly’s infidelity, the thought of which is so anxiety inducing that Bloom leaps into museums to avoid any interaction with Boylan. As such, two versions of Boylan exist in the novel. There is the version that exists in Bloom’s mind—an artificial construction built from Bloom’s anxious thoughts—and the version presented by Molly in the final episode, when she describes her afternoon love affair with Boylan.
To Bloom, Boylan represents the kind of admiration and respect that he can seemingly never earn. On the way to the funeral, Simon Dedalus and Martin Cunningham spot Boylan from the carriage. Bloom loathes their “fascination” (89) with the man who he knows will be “coming in the afternoon” (89) to have his affair with Molly. Bloom cannot understand the appeal of the loud, handsome, charismatic Boylan, who he describes as the “worst man in Dublin” (89). Despite his loathing, Bloom cannot stop thinking about Boylan. He walks into bars just to keep an eye on the enemy who does not seem to know he exists. When Bloom descends into a hallucinatory theatrical display of self-interrogation, however, Bloom is fawning over Boylan’s imagined sexual encounter with Molly, repeatedly saying “thank you” (527) to Boylan’s desultory remarks. This version of Boylan is built from Bloom’s feelings of inferiority. He is socially accepted and charming, playing a social role that seems beyond the reach of a man like Bloom. Boylan does not just remind Bloom of his wife’s infidelity, but of his own inability to fit into society. Of all the people to have an affair with Molly, then, this version of Boylan hurts Bloom the most because Boylan represents everything Bloom can never be, hurting him even more that his wife would choose such a man.
From Molly’s perspective, Boylan is not nearly as charming as Bloom believes him to be. Molly concedes that Boylan is sexually appealing and a competent lover, but she is critical of Boylan’s coarseness. She views him as a vulgar man, saying that he has “no manners nor no refinement” (726). In the stream-of-consciousness style, her thoughts of sexual pleasure are intermingled with his vulgarity, presenting Boylan as an abrasive but attractive man who provides her with some sexual relief but little emotional catharsis. Molly’s version of Boylan is more nuanced, less theatrical than Bloom’s version. She is willing to see Boylan’s flaws, whereas Bloom can only see himself reflected back poorly in his wife’s lover. This is the irony of Boylan’s character. His affair with Molly defines the day of both Molly and Bloom, but neither of them particularly cares for Boylan. Instead, they fret and worry more about what his presence in their home says about them, their relationship, and the state of the world. As such, the coarse, vulgar Boylan functions more as a cipher for the anxieties of the Blooms than he does as a character in his own right.
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