SOURCE: "Joyce's Bifocal Lens: Politics in Ireland," in the Midwest Quarterly, Vol. XXII, No. 2, Winter, 1981, pp. 147-62.

[In the following essay, Zehr contends that the "Cyclops " chapter of James Joyce 's Ulysses "dramatizes . . . both forty years of Irish history and the complexity of Joyce's political attitudes and responses to the Irish political situation. "]

One of our most persistent critical images of James Joyce has been that of the politically uninvolved artist—the detached writer sitting above the arena of human affairs paring his fingernails. Although we do associate with Joyce an extensive cultural consciousness of Ireland, we have generally understood that consciousness as free from political partisanship. The "Cyclops" chapter of Ulysses—which pits, in a serio-comic style, the humanist Bloom against the bigoted nationalist figure of the Citizen—is usually read as confirming this political detachment; while the chapter clearly reflects Joyce's pervasive knowledge of Ireland's cultural and political affairs, "Cyclops" is commonly seen as a satire on the nationalist movement and as Joyce's own justification of his dissociation from Irish politics. However, Joyce's relationship to Irish politics was considerably more complex. In 1919, when he had just completed "Cyclops," he expressed to Frank Budgen his anxiety over the reception of this chapter in Ireland: "It is a work of a sceptic, but I don't want it to appear the work of a cynic. I don't want to hurt or offend those of my countrymen who are devoting their lives to a cause they feel to be necessary and just" (p. 152). Joyce's response to the Irish struggle was essentially problematic; while he maintained an adversary relationship to the Irish nationalists, he was also deeply and imaginatively concerned with the direction and future of Irish politics.

The fact that throughout Ulysses Joyce is never indifferent to political events or to the conflicts between Ireland and England should not be at all surprising, for the years from his birth in 1882 (the year of the Phoenix Park murders) to the publication of Ulysses in 1922 (the year of the resolution of Ireland's civil war in the south), were probably the most significant forty years in modern Irish history. Joyce's childhood and adolescence coalesced with the fall of Parnell and the rise of the Gaelic movements in language, sports, and literature, and when he wrote Ulysses it was under the shadow of both the First World War and the unsuccessful Easter Rebellion in Dublin in 1916. Not only does a consciousness of these historical-political events permeate the text and tone of Ulysses, but the novel also discloses an active and complex response to these, and other, events—a response that demonstrates that Joyce was seldom apolitical when it came to Irish issues.

Although my specific textual attention in this essay will focus on the "Cyclops" chapter, my intention is not that of explication de texte. Rather, this chapter is extremely valuable because it dramatizes in such a remarkably coherent manner both forty years of Irish history and the complexity of Joyce's political attitudes and responses to the Irish political situation. First, I think we can best begin to understand the weighty cultural and political "baggage" that Joyce carried with him when he began to write Ulysses by looking at the influences that affected his political development in the years preceding his composition of Ulysses.

In 1891, Joyce wrote his first published work, "Et tu Healy?", a poem on Timothy Healy's desertion of his political commander, Charles Stewart Parnell. What is interesting about this work is not just that it focuses on a nationalist subject at such an early age, but that it focuses on a conflict between Irish nationalism and what Joyce would later come to identify as an Irish temper—suggesting (as others have done) that there was something about the Irish character that often was at odds with the goals of Irish political action. Joyce elaborates on this attitude in his essay, "Fenianism," in which he ironically approves of the fact that James Stephens had organized the Fenian movement into small cells, indicating that this plan was "eminently fitted to the Irish character because it reduced to a minimum the possibility of betrayal" (Mason and Ellmann, p. 189). I think we will be able to see that Joyce's political satire is aimed not just at Irish nationalism, but at a generalized flaw in the Irish character, which he believed had often subverted the humanist values that he saw as fundamental to the politics of a free and progressive Ireland:

The last decade of the nineteenth century saw the emergency of two Irish nationalist organizations—the Gaelic League and the Gaelic Athletic Association—both of which Joyce was temporarily involved with before he left Dublin in 1904. The concern of Douglas Hyde (the founder of the Gaelic League) with the loss of Irish language, traditions, music, and ideas suggests the kind of nationalist idealism that was compatible with Joyce's own sensibility—a nationalism grounded in a humanist sensibility rather than in rhetoric and ideology. But Joyce came to discover that nationalist ideals could be all too easily transformed into cultural chauvinism and political rhetoric. In a 1906 letter to his brother Stanislaus, Joyce expressed his early problematic relationship to Irish nationalism: "If the Irish programme did not insist on the Irish language I suppose I could call myself a nationalist" (Ellmann, p. 246). While at University College, Joyce was persuaded by his friend Clancy (Davin in A Portrait) to take lessons in the Gaelic language—a fact that seems quite inconsistent with the fifth chapter of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. However, he gave up the lessons because the instructor, Padraic Pearse (one of the leaders of the Easter 1916 revolt), "found it necessary to exalt Irish by denigrating English" (Ellmann, p. 62). If the Gaelic League, which sponsored Joyce's classes in Gaelic, was intended by Hyde to preserve an Irish cultural heritage, it soon became transformed by an infusion of nationalist ideology. Oliver MacDonagh indicates that Hyde's movement was "infiltrated by extremists" and that as a result it became "a sort of school for rebellion . . . instead of binding Irishmen of all types and opinions together" (p. 64). It was not just the program itself that Joyce rejected, then, but the blinding Irish nationalism that transformed it from a cultural program into a polemical platform.

The Gaelic Athletic Association, which stressed the importance of physical exercise and advocated the revival of native Gaelic sports, also appears to have temporarily attracted the young Joyce, who was made secretary of the new gymnasium while at Belvedere College (the growth of such gymnasiums, and of a renewed interest in sports, was influenced by the GAA). But the Gaelic Athletic Association lacked the humanist impulse that initially informed Douglas Hyde's movement. Oliver MacDonagh says that it "encouraged the idea of a separate people," and that it "sought to insulate native from British sport by a system of exclusion and boycott" (p. 64). Just as with the Gaelic League, the political transformation of this movement into a program for nationalist chauvinism quickly alienated Joyce—and the political subversion of such a cultural organization was not to be lost on Joyce's art. The Citizen, that overblown, myopic nationalist who receives the central satiric focus of "Cyclops," is apparently modelled after Michael Cusack, the founder of the Gaelic Athletic Association; at one point during the chapter, Joe Hynes points at the Citizen and declares him to be the man "that made the Gaelic Sports Revival." Joyce follows this statement with a fantasy meeting of the Slaugh na h-Eireann (the Gaelic name for the Association), the subject of which is the "revival of ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the development of the race" (Ulysses, p. 316). Joyce believed that the notion that a sports revival could connect Ireland with a time characterized by such legendary and mythical heroes as Finn MacCool and Cuchulain could only serve to anchor Ireland in the deceiving myth of a golden age, and continue to perpetuate Irish parochialism. At the fantasy meeting it is a lone "L. Bloom," the man who sustains a humanist and modernist sensibility in the novel, who casts the single negative vote.

However, despite Joyce's critical stance toward the nationalists' manipulation of Ireland's internal affairs, when those affairs were interfered with by blatantly discriminatory English practices, Joyce was quick to assume a partisan Irish stance. In "Cyclops" Joyce picks up two nationalist issues that seemed to reflect English prejudice, and interweaves them in order to dramatize his sympathy and support for the Irish cause. In 1904 the British Police Commissioner in Dublin had prohibited the playing of Gaelic games (such as hurling) by the Slaugh na h-Eireann in Phoenix Park, while still permitting the British to play polo there. Joyce gives further force to this issue by interrelating this 1904 incident with a situation that did not take place until 1911, the British embargo on Irish cattle.

As a result of spotted incidents of hoof-and-mouth disease in Irish cattle, the English parliament placed a strict embargo on all Irish cattle, seriously affecting an already weakened Irish economy. The situation was aggravated by the popular belief in England that the Irish were trying to mask the disease and continue to send the diseased cattle to England. Joyce responded strongly enough to the issue to write a short editorial on the conflict in 1912, entitled "Politics and Cattle Disease." He indicates that while concern and careful examination procedures were certainly warranted, the distrust of Irish motives and the doubting of their equal interest in isolating and curing the disease was a continuing insult to the Gaelic nation. Joyce became somewhat involved personally when Henry N. Blackwood Price, an Ulsterman, asked Joyce in 1912 to obtain the address of William Fields, M.P., who was president of the Irish Cattle Trader's Society, in order to inform him of a cure for the hoof-and-mouth disease that he had heard of in Austria. Joyce incorporates this event into the "Nestor" chapter, but does not give the issue political force until the "Cyclops" chapter. Joe Hynes, who has just returned from the Cattle Trader's meeting at the City Arms Hotel, where they are discussing the embargo, comes into Kiernan's Pub in order to give the Citizen the "hard word about it." The Citizen, Joyce's composite portrait of the worst aspects of the nationalist movement, has naturally forsaken the meeting for the more pressing call of drink. Joe Hynes indicates that William Fields and Nannetti are crossing over to London that very night in order to ask about the British embargo on the floor of the House of Commons. At this moment Joyce incorporates into the narrative a short fantasy scene in which a mythical Mr. Cowe Conacre is addressing the House of Commons: "May I ask the right honorable gentleman whether the government has issued orders that these animals shall be slaughtered though no medical evidence is forthcoming as to their pathological condition?" (Ulysses, p. 314). However, Joyce does not leave the issue at this merely polemical level.

He raises the cattle issue to a metaphorical level by merging it with the British ban against the playing of Irish games in Phoenix Park. While in London inquiring about the cattle situation, Nannetti is also supposed to inquire for "the league" about the prohibition against the Irish games. Directly following Mr. Cowe Conacre's question, then, an equally imaginative Mr. Orelli stands and inquires, "Have similar orders been issued for the slaughter of human animals who dare to play Irish games in the Phoenix Park?" (Ulysses, p. 316). That the answer is in the negative from a learned M.P. does not reduce the irony or the polemical value of relating the two issues—for whether with cattle, or sports, or with politics, Joyce clearly implies that the British exercise a decisive discriminatory policy that stems from a cultural prejudice and that leads to a continued oppression of the Irish people. Thus, although Joyce is clearly satirizing the parochial and polemical nature of the nationalist movement, he also endorses a number of Irish issues, especially those which arise from British interference with Irish affairs.

However, when Joyce left Ireland in 1904, he was less politically conscious and less sympathetic with Irish issues in general than he would be in Ulysses; he left Ireland disaffected with his homeland, disenchanted with the Gaelic Revival, and carrying with him an imaginative definition of the Irish character as parochial, idealist, and given to overzealousness. And although he had gone to some socialist meetings in Dublin, his motivation appears to have been less political than personal: he felt convinced that if he was to live as an artist and fly the bonds of a bourgeois life, he would require a government subsidy or a redistribution of wealth. But during his stay in Trieste, Joyce became more polemically involved with socialism, and this renewed interest, combined with the appearance of a new political movement in Ireland, significantly altered Joyce's response to the Irish struggle.

The socialists in Trieste had fomented a general strike in February, 1902, the mood of which was sustained by the Russian Revolution of 1905, and during his early years there Joyce's pronouncements on socialism became more rhetorical and his response to Irish politics more sympathetic. He told his brother, Stanislaus: "You have often shown opposition to my socialistic tendencies. But can you not see plainly that a deferment of the emancipation of the proletariat, a reaction to clericalism or aristocracy or bourgeoism would mean a revulsion to tyrannies of all kinds. Gogarty would jump into the Liffey to save a man's life, but he seems to have little hesitation in condemning generations to servitude. Perhaps it is a case which the piping poets should solemnize" (Ellmann, p. 204). Although Joyce's interest in international politics would soon be on the wane, I do not think that it is accidental that at the same time his sense of alienation from Ireland began to change. He told Stanislaus at this time, "Sometimes thinking of Ireland it seems to me that I have been unnecessarily harsh. I had reproduced (in Dubliners at least) none of the attraction of the city for I have never felt at my ease in any city since I left it" (Ellmann, p. 239). Joyce's renewed political interest, and his reassessed relationship with Ireland were intertwined, I think, with his belief that there was a viable political alternative to the dominant nationalist movement in Ireland—Arthur Griffith's Sinn Fein movement, which appeared in the fall of 1904.

Arthur Griffith formulated the program for the Sinn Fein on the basis of Hungary's successful fight for freedom from Austria: the Hungarians had begun their fight by refusing to send representatives to the parliament in Vienna. Griffith put his ideas together in a book, The Resurrection of Hungary, which appeared serially in his paper, The United Irishmen, between January and June 1904—where it was likely read by the young Joyce. Griffith recognized that the parliamentary actions of Parnell had only led to vetoed Home Rule Bills, and that the violent insurrections of 1803, 1848, and 1867 had proved to be ludicrous failures, and he saw the pervasive nostalgia for a mythical Irish past as merely anchoring the Irish is an unreal, self-deluding world. "Griffith, therefore, advocated that "Members of Parliament could begin by withdrawing from Westminster and setting up an Irish Council; after that Irish courts, banks, a civil service, a stock exchange could be established to function along-side their British counterparts until the latter withered away through lack of use" (Caulfield, p. 20). The very name of the movement, Sinn Fein, meaning "Ourselves Alone," suggested that the ideas of self-reliance and pragmatic self-determination (in fact, these were very much the ideas that Swift set forth in A Modest Proposal) were more important preliminary steps for independence than the frustrating battle for political recognition. The policy of the Sinn Fein was not bigoted, internally separatist, or polemical; rather, it was a humanist assertion of a modern, non-violent plan to better the social and economic condition of the Irish people, without acquiescing either to the British or to the Irish militants (that it was ultimately subverted by the ideological Irish Revolutionary Brotherhood and taken over by Eamon De Valera in 1917 suggests the power that was recognized in its policy).

Joyce, who was himself convinced of the futility of parliamentary action for Home Rule and was committed to non-violence, declared Griffith to be "the first person in Ireland to revive the separatist idea on modern lines" (Ellmann, p. 245). Joyce expresses his approbation of Sinn Fein in Ulysses by suggesting that it is Bloom who gives the idea of the revoluntionary Hungarian methods to Arthur Griffith (Bloom's father was, of course, a transplanted Hungarian, né Virag). By associating the origin of Sinn Fein with Bloom, Joyce not only indicates his endorsement of Sinn Fein, he also manages to give the pacifist, apolitical Bloom an aura of political potential more substantive than that associated with the inflated, violence-declaiming Citizen. While the Citizen's world is narrowly constructed around ideological rhetoric, which Joyce sees as lacking a stable, viable foundation, Bloom embodies a world of moderate humanist values that Joyce sees as a necessary foundation for any progressive, enduring political action. Joyce seems to imply that if Bloom's transmission of the idea for the Hungarian revolution can be so affirmatively transformed, so might his naive ideas of love as the opposite of hatred and of a nation as the same people living in the same place be more tenable as political values than all the fervor and fanaticism of the Citizen.

Joyce's response to a 1907 incident serves to clarify the direction of his political development and the nature of his response to the Irish situation. In February, 1907, J. M. Synge's The Playboy of the Western World resulted in riots in Dublin by Irish nationalists; Padraic Colum, arrested during the riots, declared that "nothing would deter him from protesting against such a slander on Ireland" (Ellmann, p. 248). To Slanislaus's amazement, Joyce appeared to side against the literary people and with the nationalists: "I believe that Colum and the Irish Theatre will beat Y. and L.G. and Miss H. [Yeats, Lady Gregory, and Miss Horniman, a supporter of the English and Irish theatres] which will please me greatly . . ." (Ellmann, p. 248). Although this occurrence must have reaffirmed Joyce's sense of Irish parochialism, he believed that Yeats was "quite out of touch with the Irish people," and, therefore, I think we should see his statement less as an anti-intellectual remark than as a partisan Irish reaction against the intellectual Protestants (generally Anglo-Irish) who were controlling the Abbey Theatre. As a result of his interest in the Sinn Fein movement and of his socialist development in Trieste, Joyce took a political stance that was based on his belief that "if the Irish question exists, it exists for the Irish proletariat chiefly" (Ellmann, p. 246).

However, 1907 was a crucial year for Joyce, for in that year he suddenly became acutely aware of the conflict between his art and his socialist interests. He had previously told his brother, "It is a mistake for you to imagine that my political opinions are those of a universal lover; but they are those of a socialistic artist" (Ellmann, p. 240). But in the same month as The Playboy of the Western World riots (February 1907), Joyce expressed a fundamental discontent with the direction of his work, and a feeling of need for creative reorganization:

I have come to the conclusion that it is about time I made up my mind whether I am to become a writer or a patient Cousins. .. . It is months since I have written a line and even reading tires me. I have gradually slid down until I have ceased to take any interest in any subject. .. . I have no wish to codify myself anarchist or socialist or reactionary. . . . Yet I have certain ideas I would like to give form to: not as a doctrine but as the continuation of the expression of myself which I now see I began in Chamber Music. (Ellmann, p. 249)

If Joyce did begin to write with renewed consistency and authority at this time (which is clearly demonstrated by his next story, "The Dead"), he nevertheless did not abandon the political ideals and social satire that he had consolidated over the previous decade. He continued to express his distrust and nostalgia for Ireland and his disaffection with British dominance in his 1907 lectures, "Ireland, Island of Saints and Sages," "Fenianism," "Home Rule Comes of Age," and "Ireland at the Bar." If this period demonstrates the complexity and problematic nature of Joyce's commitment to the Irish question, we can now better understand the weighty cultural baggage that Joyce carried with him when he began to write Ulysses. In addition, we can now more clearly understand how the events that immediately preceded the composition of "Cyclops"—the First World War and the Easter Rising of 1916—would affect the cultural and political attitudes expressed in that chapter.

Joyce's stay in Zurich from 1915 to 1920 was the major period of the writing of Ulysses, during which he was relatively free from immediate financial worries and from the overt disruption of the First World War. Indeed, Ellmann suggests that during the first six months of the war, Joyce was "supremely indifferent to the result and, so long as gunfire could not be heard, to the conflict itself (p. 394). It is precisely this kind of response that has served to engender our image of a non-political Joyce. But the emotional detachment of his situation in Zurich was suddenly upset in 1916—and, at least temporarily, Joyce became emotionally reinvolved with Ireland and the nationalist struggle.

On Easter Monday, 1916, a revolutionary force led by Padraic Pearse and James Connolly declared Ireland a republic and started the first major insurrection since 1801, but within five days the rebellion was soundly and violently defeated. Joyce followed the events with impatience and pity, slipping for a short time into what Helene Cixous calls a "nostalgic Parnellism" (p. 239), which suggests his latent romantic attachment to his native country. Although he believed that the rising was ultimately futile, he felt emotionally drawn once again to his native country, and declared that one day he and his son would go back to wear the shamrock of an independent Ireland. But when this initial fervor waned, he began to retain his feelings of emotional distance and of ironic personal alienation from Ireland: when asked if he did not look forward to the emergence of an independent Ireland, he replied, "So that I might declare myself its first enemy?" (Ellmann, p. 412).

Nevertheless, the events of 1916 deeply affected Joyce; if he dissociated himself from the violent revolt, he was still moved by those men who had died for a cause in which they believed (cf. Yeats' "Easter 1916"). And in "Cyclops," Joyce implicitly indicts those who voiced a nationalist position but failed to act during the uprising. When Eamon De Valera was being led by the British out of the barricades and through the Dublin onlookers, he is reported to have said, "If only you had come out with knives and forks." The Citizen, sitting in the pub asking for news on the Gaelic League caucus and the Cattle Trader's meeting (neither of which he attends), and having declared himself ready to put "force against force" (Ulysses, p. 329), is Joyce's portrait of the vociferous Irish citizen whose ideology is nurtured by heroic rhetoric rather than by action. When the Citizen drinks a toast to the "memory of the dead," his 1904 statement gains clearly ironic overtones in light of the frustrated 1916 revolt. Joyce declared that the "Irish, even though they break the hearts of those who sacrifice their lives for their native land, never fail to show great respect for their dead" (Mason and Ellmann, p. 192). Joyce is thus clearly satirizing the easiness with which the Citizen talks about "the brothers Sheares and Wolfe Tone . . . and Robert Emmet and die for your country" all in one breath, while he sits drinking in Kiernan's pub. In this instance, Joyce is criticizing not those who have fought and died for the cause, but an Irish character which he sees as anchored in a legendary and nostalgic past rather than in a pragmatic political present.

A concrete manifestation of what Joyce identified as the major problem in the Irish political program, and which helped to define for him the political reality, occurred during the Easter Rebellion when a large number of Dubliners became looters rather than supporters of the struggle. Both Joyce and Sean O'Casey (cf. The Plough and the Stars) identified this not as a betrayal of the rebellion, as most nationalists did, but as a reflection of the real interest of the Irish people. The fact that so many of Dublin's citizens had risked being shot not for the proclamation of the Republic but for material goods indicated that their real concern lay with an economic and social revolution, rather than with the specific question of political independence. Although Joyce was not unsympathetic with the Easter Rising, it ultimately reaffirmed for him his belief in the futility of violence and his belief that violent nationalism would only subvert the social revolution and the humanist values necessary for a socially progressive Irish Republic. If the 1916 revolt made a significant impression on Joyce and his art, he saw in the First World War the absurdity and futility of nationalism on an even more magnified scale.

Although Joyce remained detached from the events and issues of the Great War, his attitude in "Cyclops" is clearly the product of a post-World War I consciousness, one that has witnessed the ravaging effects of nationalism throughout Europe. The Citizen dreams of the day "when the first Irish battleship is seen breasting the waves with our own flags," but Bloom, his voice conveying the resonance of a post-World War sensibility, despite the 1904 setting, responds by asking, "Wouldn't it be the same here if you put force against force?" (Ulysses, pp. 328-29). Such nationalist aspirations as the Citizen's were not only mocked by the devastating effects of the First World War, they could only result, as Bloom suggests and as Joyce had seen, in "perpetuating national hatred among nations" (Ulysses, p. 331). Thus, it is with political and value-laden force that Bloom, who innocently transmitted the idea for Sinn Fein to Griffith, declares: "But it's no use. . . . Force, hatred, history, all that. That's not life for men and women" (Ulysses, p. 333). We become increasingly aware that Bloom's humanist sensibility, enunciated in a fictive 1904 world, achieves the impact and meaning that it does because of the events of the First World War (and, for contemporary readers, of the wars that have followed). And Joyce himself demonstrated a Bloomsian sense of the problematic relationship between politics and violence when he told George Borach in October 1918: "Naturally I can't approve of the act of the revolutionary who tosses a bomb in a theatre to destroy the king and his children. On the other hand, have those states behaved any better which have drowned the world in a blood-bath?" (Cixous, p. 239).

Although Joyce is clearly setting up a political dialectic between the humanist Bloom and the ideological Citizen, he still continues to write about specific Irish issues. When John Wyse Nolan raises the subject of England's devastation of Ireland's forests, it is the Citizen who supports an issue with which Joyce appears to be in full sympathy: "Save the trees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O" (Ulysses, p. 326). While Joyce is certainly satirizing the Citizen's habit of transforming such issues into heroic rhetoric, there is no satire associated with the subject itself, just as there was not with the cattle issue, or with the banning of Irish games in Phoenix Park. For Joyce, such issues dramatize an unjustifiable British abuse of the Gaelic nation, and permit him to express a partisan commitment, entirely consistent with Sinn Fein policy, to Irish economic, cultural, and social self-determination—while at the same time maintaining the privilege of detached judgment of an Irish temper.

We can now better understand the complex political relationship with Ireland that led to Joyce's anxiety over the reception of "Cyclops" by his countrymen: "It is a work of a sceptic, but I don't want it to appear the work of a cynic. I don't want to hurt or offend those of my countrymen who are devoting their lives to a cause they feel to be necessary and just." Although Joyce dissociated himself from the Irish nationalists, whom he saw as fighting for political independence rather than for a socially progressive Ireland, he did support Griffith's Sinn Fein movement, and he openly attacked English mistreatment of the Irish. Despite the bitterness and distrust that Joyce had learned to associate with the Irish character, Stephen Dedalus is still able to declare toward the end of Ulysses, "I suspect that Ireland must be important because it belongs to me." Joyce, then, is never personally or artistically uninvolved with Irish politics. And this dual commitment to Ireland, a commitment to satirize the negative and reactionary aspects, and to assert humanist and cultural values from which his country could establish a modern, unified, progressive state, is, finally, the complex political sensibility that underlies and informs the world of Ulysses.

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Caufield, Max. The Easter Rebellion. New York, 1963.

Cixous, Helene. The Exile of James Joyce, trans. Sally A. J. Purcell. New York, 1972.

Ellmann, Richard. James Joyce. New York, 1959.

Joyce, James. Ulysses. New York, 1934.

MacDonagh, Oliver. Ireland. Englewood Cliffs, N.J., 1968.

Mason, Ellsworth and Richard Ellmann, eds. James Joyce: The Critical Writings. New York, 1959.