Today, of course, is Bloomsday, as every June 16th has been (at least unofficially) since the publication of James Joyce’s Ulysses back in 1922. And being the centenary to boot (Leopold Bloom having perambulated fictionally about Dublin on this date in 1904), much fuss is being made of this otherwise much-ignored event.

Here in Vancouver there was a marathon midnight-to-midnight reading of the book at the Granville Book Company — co-sponsored by Felix Culpa as a fund-raiser for Capilano College’s Learning Centre at the Carnegie Community Centre (did you know, by the way, that the Joyce estate apparently frowns legally upon such public demonstrations of Joycean affection? It seems that the estate considers this a contravention of copyright, a reading being a “performance” of the work, in their assinine and unasked-for opinion…)

In defiance, and in defence of my contrary opinion I walked up to the bookstore at lunch, defiantly finishing my ice-cream cone (a furtive wipe of the facial hairs) as I crossed the threshold. All seemed suspiciously quiet within (perhaps the Joycean lawyers had prevailed?), so I browsed through the bright and shining books on display, long enough to weaken my resolve, and spring for a copy of the new McSweeney’s Quarterly (Issue 13: the all-comics issue!)

And then the reading recommenced. I drifted towards the back staircase, which led predictably to the mezzanine. Wherein I found: 1 reader, 8 listeners, and a scattering of empty folding chairs, one of which I claimed for my very own posterior.

The reader was comfortably ensconsed in a cozy armchair in the corner, her feet upon a footstool, a period pole-lamp shedding light upon the page. At hand was a plastic bottle containing a clear lubricant for her no-doubt-drying lips. Meanwhile the 8 other listeners listened listlessly, some lounging lugubriously upon the floor, others nodding (off) approvingly as she entered the 14th hour of her 24-hour literary odyssey.

All I could spare, however, was a bare 20-minutes of my ears’ time: Bloom was watching two young girls upon the beach; I left before he could fully Bloom in response. But I took it as an auspicious omen to see to my right a face-out copy of O’Reilly’s Learning Red Hat Enterprise Linux & Fedora. I thought that the cover bore an uncanny resemblance to the celebrated Mr. Joyce, except that this more contemporary version had bowed to vanity, had had laser eye surgery, and was now able to manage without his trademark glasses.

I slipped out the door upon a tide of Irish rhetoric, back into the ebb and flow of Granville mall on a mid-week noon. I had been inspired, however, and once back in the sanctity of my office I decided to do a quick brush-up of the entire opus that I’d heard a mere smidgen of; I found that this animated version was suitably succinct (if somewhat devoid of lilt).