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365 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1944
Joyce and Finnegans Wake reminds me of Caden Cotard and his play in Synecdoche, New York. Caden is nominated for a MacArthur Fellowship grant, and he decides to go about writing and directing a radical, revolutionary play. His aim is to encapsulate life itself by mimicking life itself. As the movie goes on, the play becomes more and more complicated because Caden adds more and more individual storylines occurring concomitantly. The play is eventually moved to an abandoned jet hangar to fit the set. The set is a microcosmic honeycomb of the world outside it: couples are breaking up in one room, a woman is pregnant unexpectedly, someone kills themselves, etc. Everyone is enamored with Caden's genius until he becomes overly engrossed with his work and the play subsumes his reality.
So why does Caden's masterpiece never entertain a real audience? Why is Finnegans Wake often deemed "a piece of literary curiosa"? The book is so expansive that to really enjoy it, one would have to be an omnipotent power. There's absolutely no way one can be so erudite as to understand every pun, reference, and trope. One would have to be fluent in French, Russian, German, Irish Gaelic, Italian, maybe even Chinese; one would have to be familiar with Nordic, Irish, Indian, Chinese (etc. etc.) myth; one would have to be not just familiar with world geography, but be a human atlas. Joyce worked on Finnegans Wake for fourteen years with help from the likes of Samuel Beckett. Joyce was no omnipotent being. This isn't inherently bad, but it makes this book a life project, and even as one coughs up a couple last breaths as a well-read octogenarian, they still would have missed something in the book.
Having not read the book, Campbell does a decent job of dumbing it down for you, but even in reading the idiot's guide the book is clearly outrageously difficult. Anyway, I'm gonna go for it.
Clearly, a new kind of communication has been encountered in these pagesor
Of one thing we can be sure: There are no nonsense syllables in Joyce