Themes
Key
LitCharts assigns a color and icon to each theme in Ulysses, which you can use to track the themes throughout the work.
Alienation and the Quest for Belonging
Literature, Meaning, and Perspective
Love and Sex
Fate vs. Free Will
Religion, Atheism, and Philosophy
Irish Identity and Nationalism
Summary
Analysis
The unnamed Dubliner who narrates this episode of the novel is busy chatting with a police officer on a street corner when a passing chimney sweep’s brush nearly stabs him in the eye. The narrator furiously turns around, then sees his buddy Joe Hynes and strikes up a conversation. Hynes asks what the narrator is up to, and the narrator explains that he’s come to collect a debt. The debtor is Geraghty, a plumber who stole tea and sugar from a merchant, then refused to pay his fine and started threatening to sue the merchant for operating without a license. For a paragraph, the narrative shifts into the formalistic voice of a legal contract.
In the Odyssey, the stupid one-eyed brute Polyphemus traps Odysseus in a cave and eats several of his men. Knowing he’s next, Odysseus blinds the cyclops with a wooden stake and escapes with his herd of sheep. This episode takes its parallels to the Odyssey more seriously than most of the others in the book. The first sign of this is when the chimney sweep nearly pokes out the narrator´s eye (which references Odysseus blinding Polyphemus). The narrator and (to a greater extent) his friend “the citizen” represent the giant cyclops because they are extremely arrogant and view the world in a one-eyed way, from just a single perspective. Joyce contrasts this with Bloom’s cognitive flexibility, or his ability to assess multiple points of view and accept disagreement. (The astronomical concept of parallax also represents how triangulating between different perspectives can provide the most information about something.) Clearly, Joyce thinks that it’s important for people to see multiple sides of the same story—but as a writer, he also mocks that idea in this episode by introducing a series of grossly exaggerated voices that parody a wide variety of different literary styles and compete for attention. These voices are also “one-eyed” perspectives, and by using them, Joyce is partially engaging in self-parody. He is both trying to prove that Ulysses is a universal book and consciously poking fun at his own ego for his pretentious idea that any book could ever capture the entirety of the human experience. Meanwhile, the main narrator’s anonymity is a subtle nod to the way Odysseus convinced Polyphemus that his name was “nobody” in order to prevent him from finding him later.
Themes
Joe Hynes and the narrator agree to go to Barney Kiernan’s for a drink. Joe explains that he wants to meet “the citizen” to tell him about a city meeting about cattle foot and mouth disease. The narrative abruptly breaks into the style of a classical Celtic legend with a flowery description of Dublin’s central market, chock-full of goods from all across the country: fish, vegetables, meat, dairy, and more.
The characters’ interest in local politics and the brief caricature of classical Irish legend both point to this episode’s fixation on Irish politics and identity. Through the Celtic legend’s exaggerated praise, Joyce seems to be pointing out how many Irish nationalists irrationally feel loyal to and proud of absolutely anything associated with their country (including something as common as a central market). Of course, throughout this episode, foot and mouth disease also obviously hints at “foot in mouth disease”—or the characters’ tendency to say foolish things and awkwardly embarrass themselves.
Themes
In the corner of Barney Kiernan’s pub, Joe Hynes and the narrator meet the citizen and his mangy, aggressive dog Garryowen. The citizen starts talking about politics, and the men order drinks. An interlude describes the heroic citizen sitting on a boulder in front of a tower, breathing majestically, dressed like a rugged Irish mountain man. He has rocks engraved with images of dozens of different heroes, both Irish (like Cuchulin, Soggarth Eoghan, and Red Jim McDermott) and international (like Shakespeare, Captain Nemo, and the Gautama Buddha). Back in the pub, Hynes pays for everyone’s drinks and explains that a “prudent member” gave him a tip. (The epic voice says that “O’Bloom, the son of Rory” is “the prudent soul.”)
Garryowen is the reader’s first sign of the citizen’s personality, and the interlude describing the citizen as a hero allows Joyce to parody the citizen’s ridiculously inflated view of both himself and his country. Like many of the nationalists in this novel—as well as the British student Haines, who absurdly shares their view—true Irish people are rugged mountain men and milkmaids, and not the modern city-dwellers of Dublin. When Hynes refers to Bloom’s tip, he’s not talking about the Ascot Gold Cup race—he’s talking about the cashier at the Freeman office (although the similarity between these two “tips” set up a clear connection between them). Evidently, rather than paying his debts, Hynes just drew more money to go drinking.
Themes
The citizen complains that The Irish Independent is publishing too many English names in its listing of births, deaths, and marriages. While the men drink, Bob Doran is passed out in the corner. Alf Bergan enters the bar and points to something outside the door. It’s Denis Breen with his lawbooks and his wife, Alf explains, “traipsing all round Dublin” looking for a lawyer willing to take on his libel case. The novel breaks back into the ironic epic voice, as the barman Terry O’Ryan brings Alf a Guinness and Alf buys his buddies a round with a precious bronze coin embossed with the image of “Her Most Excellent Majesty” Queen Victoria.
Two figures from “Lestrygonians” return here: Bob Doran, who’s on his yearly bender, and Denis Breen, who’s trying to sue the unidentified sender of an incomprehensible postcard (“U.P.”). Doran and Breen’s commitment to totally pointless endeavors indirectly highlights the fact that the citizen is doing the exact same thing. The citizen’s complaint about The Irish Independent is characteristically superficial and intolerant: he conflates the fact that many English people live in Dublin with the British Empire’s colonial domination and the newspaper’s decision to report on these people with bias towards them. After Alf enters the bar, the description of his awe-inspiring coin parodies the citizen from the other side, by showing what an exaggerated and irrational English nationalism would sound like.
Themes
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Alf pulls out a stack of letters and declares that he just saw Willy Murray chatting with Paddy Dignam in the street. Joe Hynes clarifies that Paddy Dignam is dead, but Alf can scarcely believe it. Meanwhile, Bob Doran calls out from his corner, “Who are you laughing at? […] Who’s dead?” In a parody of the Sanskrit-obsessed theosophists, the novel describes Alf establishing a mystical connection with Paddy Dignam’s departed spirit. Then, the businesslike voice from the beginning of the episode discusses Dignam’s last will and testament, and the Celtic epic voice mourns for “O’Dignam.”
Alf’s claim to have seen Paddy Dignam calls his credibility into question and fits in with this episode’s constant emphasis on fibbing and exaggeration. Joyce pokes even greater fun at him by parodying the theosophists and returning to two of the voices from the beginning of the episode. While these different voices are all meaningful because they represent different perspectives, each of them is so exaggerated and narrow (or “one-eyed”) that it becomes impossible to synthesize them all into a coherent picture. Through the theosophist voice, he makes fun of spiritualists like George Russell but also comments on metempsychosis (or reincarnation); through the business voice he introduces the topic that will draw Bloom to the bar (Dignam’s will) but also parodies businessmen like Bloom; and through the Celtic epic voice he both mocks Irish nationalists and laments the finality of death. Thus Joyce uses narrow (“one-eyed”) perspectives to tell a series of more complex (“two-eyed”) stories.
Themes
The citizen spots Leopold Bloom outside the bar. Meanwhile, Bob Doran curses Christ for letting Dignam die. Terry O’Ryan comes down to shut Bob up, and Bob breaks out into tears instead. Bloom comes inside the bar and asks Terry for Martin Cunningham. Meanwhile, Joe Hynes reads one of Alf’s letters: a barber named Rumbold writes to the Dublin High Sheriff about a hangman job, citing his previous experience and his skill with nooses.
Bob Doran’s shouting, sobbing, and blasphemy add to the sense of danger and casual aggression that is slowly building up in this episode. So do the letters from the hangman. Of course, it’s no coincidence that Bloom and Cunningham—easily the novel’s most sympathetic and kindhearted male characters—are about to get caught up in this foreboding atmosphere.
Themes
Joe greets Bloom and offers him a drink, but Bloom doesn’t want anything. He eventually agrees to take a cigar. The men chat about capital punishment, and Bloom offers intelligent arguments about its practicality. Garryowen the dog sniffs at Bloom, which prompts the man narrating this episode to speculate that “those jewies does have a sort of queer odour.” Alf talks about how hanged men get erections, and Bloom responds by scientifically explaining why this happens. The novel describes Bloom’s theory in the anatomically precise style of a pretentious medical journal.
Bloom sets himself apart from the other men by refusing a drink at a pub, commenting intelligently on a boorish and opinionated conversation, and turning a joke about erections into an opportunity to teach others about science. While it's not surprising, the narrator’s casual anti-Semitism makes it clear that the other men do not consider Bloom a true Irishman or equal. In addition to alienating himself by putting his foot in his mouth, then, Bloom was already excluded from the group by the other men’s prejudice.
Themes
One thing leads to another, and Joe Hynes and the citizen start talking excitedly about Irish nationalist revolutionaries. Bob Doran starts rambling and playing with the dog Garryowen; Alf barely saves him from falling off his stool. Bob also starts eating the crumbs out of an old Jacobs’ biscuit tin. Meanwhile, Bloom gets involved in the political argument, although the narrator thinks he’s wrong and pretentious. The narrator remembers several rumors about Bloom, like how once got a young man drunk in order “to teach him the evils of alcohol,” but his plot backfired and the young man was soon getting drunk five days a week. The citizen drinks to “the memory of the dead [Irish revolutionaries]” and shouts over Bloom when he attempts to clarify his point.
Bob Doran’s antics serve as a metaphor to show that the bar scene is quickly falling into disarray. While the unproven rumors about Bloom actually testify to his well-intentioned (if naïve) attempts to help people, the narrator views them as suspicious because they go against his own personal loyalties. Similarly, by memorializing the dead instead of having a nuanced political discussion, the citizen shows that he’s less interested in learning or understanding others than repeating or celebrating his own beliefs. Whether he’s right or wrong about Irish independence, Joyce’s point is that he turns politics into an emotional performance and a source of identity, which prevents him from recognizing the validity of other people’s interests and points of view.
Themes
The novel parodies sensationalistic newspaper journalism with a long interlude describing the day of an Irish revolutionary’s public execution in Dublin. This account dwells at length on the weather, the prominent people in attendance, the executioner Rumbold’s “disembowelling appliances,” and the revolutionary’s girlfriend.
This parody mocks both the pro-Irish nationalists and the pro-English unionists for their ceremonious pretentiousness. In doing so, Joyce also mocks the journalists, pamphleteers, and novelists who exaggerate the importance of this kind of political theater.
Themes
Bloom, Joe Hynes, the citizen, and the narrator keep talking about politics. They discuss the Irish language and the politics of drinking—Bloom supports the antitreating league (a pro-sobriety group), but the narrator doesn’t, since he remembers getting bored at one of their events. The dog Garryowen starts growling at the narrator. In a passage parodying a magazine advertisement, the novel imagines an upcoming poetry reading exhibition by the humanized, well-trained Garryowen (now named Owen Garry). The narrator has Terry bring the dog some water, and Joe Hynes orders more drinks. Bloom declines, as he’s only intending to see Martin Cunningham about Dignam’s insurance. The narrator disapproves of the complex way Bloom explains the relevant mortgage laws and repeatedly makes anti-Semitic remarks.
Once again, Bloom’s opinions are based on reasoned political analysis, while the citizen and the narrator’s are based entirely on their personal experiences and loyalties. But the greater issue is that, in addition to starting with these personal loyalties, these men are simply incapable of looking past them. Garryowen’s aggressive growling is Joyce’s way of suggesting that the citizen is always on the prowl, looking for another target to attack. But on the other hand, Owen Garry’s poetry reading also mocks Bloom’s obsession with decorum and the idea that it’s possible to change people’s fundamental nature.
Themes
Bob Doran stumbles over to Bloom and expresses his condolences to Mrs. Dignam about Paddy Dignam’s death. The novel comments on this conversation with a parody of overly formal, elaborate upper-class politeness. Then, Bob stumbles out of the bar, even though it’s only five o’clock. The man narrating this episode points out that Bob is impious when he’s drunk, but he is a model Catholic when he isn’t. Joe Hynes, the citizen, and the narrator drink their pints.
The novel emphasizes Doran’s drunken recklessness by caricaturing its opposite. This is another example of how Joyce stays “two-eyed” while most of his characters (besides Bloom) remain “one-eyed.” Namely, Joyce not only sees multiple sides (extreme informality and extreme formality, or strict piety and sloppy impiety), but he also ruthlessly mocks both these sides.
Themes
Joe and Alf chat about Nannetti running for mayor, and Joe remembers seeing him at the meeting about foot and mouth disease. Bloom used to work with cattle, so he explains the disease, which makes the narrator even angrier at him. The narrator makes a joke about hens, and the novel briefly breaks out into the style of a book for young children starring Black Liz, the hen.
Bloom’s competence continues to frustrate the narrator and the citizen, because their convictions are based precisely on their willful incompetence. To add insult to injury, Bloom’s understanding of the problem doesn’t lead him to lose his calm and collected approach to it. Of course, the men’s annoyance is also somewhat rather justified, because Bloom stumbled into their conversation by accident and is now taking it over to explain things they don’t care about.
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Joe explains that Nannetti is headed to London to speak in Parliament about the cattle issue and the legality of playing traditional Irish games in the park. Bloom is disappointed because he’s supposed to talk to Nannetti about Keyes’s ad. The novel transforms into a question-and-answer session in the British Parliament about “the slaughter of human animals who dare to play Irish games in the Phoenix park.” Joe says that the citizen was once a great shot-putter, and the men start chatting about traditional Irish sports. The narrator complains that Bloom can talk about anything forever, even a piece of straw on the floor. The novel briefly becomes a parody of a newspaper column summarizing a public meeting about the Gaelic sports revival. The column notes that Bloom opposed the revival and lists all the clergy who attended.
Nannetti’s departure represents a kind of betrayal for Bloom—it suggests that, all along, he really wasn’t taking Bloom seriously. Meanwhile, Traditional Irish games become another proxy for nationalism, and Bloom’s questioning gets transformed into outright opposition in the newspaper column, which suggests that the narrator and the citizen see him as an enemy even though he’s just expressing slight skepticism. The scene set in Parliament mocks the nationalists’ sanctimoniousness, but also returns to the analogy between Irish cattle and oppressed Irish people, thereby mocking British colonialism as well.
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The men’s conversation drifts to the boxing match that Blazes Boylan promoted. Bloom talks about lawn tennis, but the other men ignore him, and then the novel breaks into a detailed account of a boxing match. The men chat about Boylan’s newest venture, Molly Bloom’s concert tour, and Bloom awkwardly praises Boylan’s management. A romantic literary voice praises Molly’s “peerless beauty,” then announces that J.J. O’Molloy and Lambert have entered the bar. The episode’s primary narrator criticizes O’Molloy, who pretends to be successful but secretly pawns off his possessions under a false name.
Yet another conversation turns to Molly and Blazes Boylan. Every time the novel comments on Molly’s beauty, it’s pointing out the bittersweet fate of Bloom’s marriage: everyone envies him, but another man is also sleeping with his wife. Boylan’s boxing promotion fits in with his brash, irreverent character, and this implies that Molly has chosen someone with the citizen and the narrator’s value system over the tame, decent, liberal Bloom. In other words, chaos and aggression seem to be the way of the world, and Bloom is lonely in rebelling against it on behalf of facts, reason, and tolerance. If O’Molloy’s debts are common knowledge, then the reader ought to wonder if Molly and Boylan’s affair is, too.
Themes
As they drink, the men chat about Denis Breen and laugh at his absurd lawsuit. Bloom sympathizes with Mrs. Breen, who has to deal with her husband’s madness. The Breens pass by again on the street with Corny Kelleher. Joe Hynes asks about the case of the scammer who sold people false tickets to Canada. Ned Lambert complains that the Recorder who tried the case was sympathetic because of the scammer’s poverty. In a passage that mocks both religious and legal prose, the novel describes the recorder Frederick Falkiner choosing to let the man off.
While everyone else ridicules the Breens, Bloom continues to be the only man at the bar who’s capable of seeing someone else’s perspective. In fact, Hynes and Lambert’s commentary on the court case indicates that they view empathy, sympathy, and kindness as forms of weakness. Joyce’s varied parodies allow him to keep mocking practically everything—Irish institutions, all the men in the bar scene, and their scornful and pointless conversations.
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The citizen starts complaining about immigrants and foreigners, whom he blames for Ireland’s problems and wants out. Bloom ignores him and, instead, asks Joe Hynes to help get Keyes’s advertisement to Myles Crawford. (In exchange, Bloom will forget about the money Hynes owes him until next month.) The citizen concludes that Ireland’s trouble is “a dishonoured wife,” and in response, Alf brings over a magazine of “smutty yankee pictures” from the bar counter and shows the other men a picture of a Chicago woman caught up in an adultery scandal.
The citizen finally crosses the line from defensible pro-Irish hype to open hostility at foreigners. Of course, this is a thinly-veiled attack on Bloom, although it may or may not be intentional. Acting out his values of tolerance and respect, Bloom dignifiedly ignores the citizen’s attack. The citizen’s “dishonoured wife” comment and Alf’s dirty pictures are another veiled reference to Molly—whose dishonor seems to be Bloom’s trouble. That said, the tolerant and forward-looking Bloom can choose to reject the citizen’s traditional analogy between country and family, or treason and adultery. In the next several episodes, Bloom is concerned with finding another way to think of his grace, honor, and success besides the tired metaphor of masculine competition over women and resources.
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Lenehan and John Wyse Nolan come into the bar and the citizen asks them what happened at the city hall meeting about the Irish language. In the voice of an epic legend, the novel briefly depicts Nolan as a hero dedicating himself to the Irish people. “To hell with the bloody brutal [English],” the citizen proclaims. J.J. O’Molloy and Bloom try to talk the citizen down, but he just gets angrier: he claims that the English have never created any valuable art and aren’t even real Europeans. Lenehan yells out, “Perfide Albion [Perfidious England],” and the novel briefly mocks him by comparing him to a brawny barbarian repeating his tribe’s slogan.
The citizen’s anger suggests that he’s unable to separate people, government, and country—he views them as one and the same. Therefore, his main criterion for choosing what to support and reject is whether it’s associated with the English or the Irish. Rather than considering nuances, like Bloom, he rejects everything English and praises everything Irish. The parody that describes Lenehan as a barbarian drives home this critique by making it absolutely clear that his opinions are based on blind loyalty and not independent thought.
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Lenehan informs the other men that the horse Throwaway, a longshot and outsider, won the Ascot Gold Cup. Lenehan, Boylan, and Boylan’s “lady friend” (possibly Molly Bloom) all lost money by betting on Sceptre.
Throwaway was the horse that Bantam Lyons bet on after misunderstanding Bloom (who said he was going to “throw away” a newspaper) in “Lotus Eaters.” Thus, the underdog has won—which also foreshadows the outcome of the novel’s other race (the masculine competition between Bloom and Boylan). It can also be seen as a metaphor for Ireland (the underdog) defeating England (the favorite) to win independence, or outsiders like Bloom finding success in Ireland.
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The citizen continues to argue with O’Molloy and Bloom. He blames England for degrading Ireland, reducing its population, corrupting the fine products it used to export, and cutting down its forests. The novel breaks into a mock newspaper report about a fashionable wedding, where the guests are all named after trees, flowers, and forests. The citizen insists that God will help Ireland rebuild its strength and win independence from the British. But the narrator thinks the citizen is spewing nonsense. The men order more drinks. Alf Bergan points out violent stories in the newspaper, one about a headbutting match and another about the lynching of a Black man in the U.S. The narrator of this episode thinks that they should have crucified the man instead of burning him alive.
The citizen might be right about England’s crimes in Ireland. But his absurd rhetoric about God-favored Ireland’s bright future shows that, for him, politics is still an emotional fantasy rather than a civic reality. He wants his team to win, at any cost, no matter what they have to do to get there. In fact, this fantasy gives him a promise of fulfillment and happiness—much like the idea of having a son and estate does for Bloom, or the idea of becoming an influential artist does for Stephen. Indeed, by returning to the metaphorical link between family, country, and fertility, the mock wedding scene points out this analogy between the citizen and Bloom. The narrator’s celebration of violence against minorities is a bad omen for Bloom, while the motif of crucifixion connects Bloom to the Messiah (which implies salvation, fulfillment, and sacrifice for the good of the many).
Themes
The citizen discusses how the English brutally punish misbehavior in the British Navy, and he declares that the English are hypocrites to sincerely believe that their empire is benevolent. In a brief parody of the Apostles’ Creed, a basic statement of Christian faith, the novel compares an Irish Navy man to Jesus. Bloom challenges the citizen’s indignation by suggesting that discipline is sometimes necessary in the Navy, and the citizen launches into a tirade about the potato famine of 1845-1852. The citizen, John Wyse Nolan, and Joe Hynes complain that the Irish fought for other nations (like France and Germany) in their wars, but didn’t get others’ loyalty in return. They even insult Queen Victoria and King Edward VII. Then, they order more drinks.
Again, Joyce is careful to offer both contrasting perspectives: with the novel’s parody of the Apostles’ Creed, he mocks the same Messianic analogies that he constantly makes between Bloom, Stephen, and Jesus. The citizen is fast spiraling out of control: anytime Bloom challenges anything he says, he coughs up another legitimate political grievance from the past. In contrast, while Bloom might recognize the validity of these grievances, he’s much more interested in the future. Thus, the citizen mistakes Bloom’s curiosity for disagreement.
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Bloom complains that people have always persecuted each other in world history, and this causes nations to hate each other. The citizen asks Bloom what a nation is, and they’re not satisfied with his response that it’s “the same people living in the same place.” They’re also not happy when he says that Ireland is his nation. The citizen spits and then cleans himself with a handkerchief, which the novel describes as a “muchtreasured and intricately embroidered ancient Irish facecloth” in a paragraph mocking a news report.
The conservative, traditionalist citizen turns explicitly against the tolerant, modern Bloom for several reasons. Bloom views Ireland in historical context rather than considering it a special nation with a unique historical destiny. Bloom similarly views nationalist anger as the result of historical forces, and not as a divine and righteous force for justice. He thinks of a nation as a social and geographical community, rather than an ethnic and historical one. According to his definition, Bloom considers him an Irishman, while the other men think he will never be truly Irish because of his foreign roots.
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Bloom points out that Jewish people continue to be persecuted, too. John Wyse Nolan proposes that Jewish people fight back, but Bloom says that this would be useless: the real solution is love. While Bloom leaves to go find Martin Cunningham, the citizen and John Wyse Nolan keep mocking him, and for a paragraph, the novel sappily lists different people who love each other.
This passage includes one of Joyce’s rare moral and political appeals. (He usually preferred to avoid politics.) Bloom points out that scapegoating has a long history, and anti-Semitism in 20th century Europe is another iteration of that history. He sees how dominant groups justify committing ethnic violence through a combination of racism, nationalism, and historical grievance. And he sees how this is a cycle—the British oppressed the Irish, who are now turning against the Jews. This is why Bloom believes in love, forgiveness, and tolerance: they’re the only way to break this cycle of grievance and violence. While the novel points out how Bloom’s line about love is cliched and uninspiring, there are good reasons to think that Joyce really does believe in it. After all, Bloom’s kindness, empathy, and capacity to forgive are his greatest moral strength in this novel.
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The citizen starts railing against the British for using religion to profit. He reads an article from a satirical newspaper that imagines a Zulu chief visiting England and thanking Queen Victoria for giving him a copy of the Bible. J.J. O’Molloy compares this to the Belgian atrocities in the Congo.
The other men simply ignore Bloom’s plea for love and continue to pointlessly rail against the British. Ironically, then, they’re perfectly capable of understanding how the English have injured and scapegoated other groups, including the Irish, but they can’t see how they’re now doing the same to immigrants and Jews.
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Lenehan falsely claims that Bloom has left to collect his horserace winnings from the Ascot Gold Cup—after all, Bantam Lyons told Lenehan that Bloom gave him a tip for Throwaway. The men agree that Bloom is “a bloody dark horse.” The narrator goes to the bathroom, thinking about Bloom’s alleged winnings. When he returns, John Wyse Nolan is suggesting that Bloom has actually been helping the Irish Nationalists, but the narrator decides Bloom’s father must have been a fraudster who contributed to Ireland’s downfall.
The Ascot Gold Cup becomes the basis for another prejudicial rumor about Bloom. This rumor is full of classic anti-Semitic tropes: secret conspiracies to make exorbitant profits. Meanwhile, the “bloody dark horse” comment clearly associates Bloom with the underdog horse, Throwaway, and solidifies his outsider status. John Wyse Nolan tries to deflate the situation by pointing out that Bloom actually does sympathize with the nationalists—which is true—but the other men can’t see beyond their prejudice.
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Martin Cunningham, Jack Power, and Crofton arrive at the bar. The novel briefly retells this arrival in a pseudo-medieval voice, and then Martin asks for Bloom. John Wyse Nolan asks Martin if Bloom really does support the nationalists, and Martin says he does. But Lenehan, Alf Bergan, J.J. O’Molloy, and the citizen don’t believe this, and when Martin explains that Bloom’s father was really a Hungarian Jew named Virag, the men get furious.
Martin Cunningham finally arrives to meet with Bloom about Dignam’s insurance, and the medieval voice emphasizes Cunningham’s virtue. (It’s worth remembering that their motives are nothing but pure and benevolent: they want to help support Dignam’s family.) Cunningham nobly tries to inform the other men about Bloom, but again, truth fails to overcome prejudice. The fact that Bloom is an Irish nationalist somehow doesn’t matter as much as the fact that he's a foreigner. Thus, the other men are alienating an ally—and making their own political fight harder—because they are more attached to their feeling of righteousness than the actual fate of Ireland.
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The citizen sarcastically compares Bloom to the Messiah and Ned Lambert remembers how excited Bloom was for his son Rudy’s birth. Martin agrees to have a drink with the other men, and he, the citizen, and Joe Hynes say a toast to St. Patrick. In a lengthy interlude, the novel gives an overly formal description of a Catholic procession. It includes a long list of saints who bear a long list of sacred items. Several of these saints are conveniently named after the main characters in this episode. Led by Father O’Flynn, the procession goes to Barney Kiernan’s and blesses it as a holy drinking-house.
Ironically enough, the citizen’s comparison is a real allusion in the book: Joyce frequently compares Bloom to the Messiah, so he might be making fun of his own ambition here. The father and son again correspond to God and the Messiah, which neatly refers to the way Bloom views having a son as the key to fulfillment. The religious procession allows Joyce to mock this idea—and Ireland’s religiosity and conservatism—in much more detail.
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Bloom comes back to the bar, and he’s glad to see Martin Cunningham (who he was looking for at the courthouse). Convinced that Bloom is lying, the narrator and the citizen accuse him of trying to keep a secret. Cunningham, Jack Power, and Crofton rush Bloom out of the bar and into their car. In a parody of a medieval legend, the novel compares this car to a mythical ship setting sail.
The religious iconography in the previous paragraphs makes it clear that Bloom’s return to the bar is a kind of symbolic second coming, but the narrator and the citizen don’t believe in him and symbolically crucify him by attacking him. The secret they’re referring to is clearly the Ascot Gold Cup race—the prize of which suggests a chalice (traditionally associated with communion, femininity, and abundance).
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The citizen runs to the door of the bar and yells out, “Three cheers for Israel!” The narrator criticizes this outburst, and a group of people congregates around the citizen, who goes on an anti-Semitic rant. Bloom replies that many great figures were Jewish, like the composer Mendelssohn, the philosopher Spinoza, and Jesus (which means God was Jewish, too). The furious citizen yells that he will “crucify” Bloom.
The citizen’s rant makes the crucifixion metaphor even more explicit. In his response, Bloom briefly takes up the citizen’s political worldview by naming a series of famous Jews and, essentially, cheering for his own team. By this team-based logic, God is on Bloom’s side. He snidely suggests that, if the citizen isn’t willing to be tolerant and accepting, then at the very least he ought to be Jewish.
Themes
In another intervening parody passage, the novel mockingly compares the crowd that gathers around Bloom and the citizen to a ceremony celebrating the departure of Hungarian royalty from Dublin. The citizen runs inside the bar and grabs the empty Jacob’s Biscuits tin. The horse starts pulling Martin Cunningham’s car along, and the citizen throws the biscuit tin at Bloom. But the sun gets in his eyes and he misses.
By juxtaposing an overly formal parody with the citizen’s vulgar and unceremonious attack, Joyce suggests that fanfare and formalities are often established to cover up a much less civil, more vicious reality. The Jacob’s tin is an important (if tongue-in-cheek) symbol of Irish nationalism because it was one of the only important factories that employed people in Dublin. When the citizen shot-puts the tin at Bloom but gets blinded by the sun, this is a clear reference to the blinded cyclops Polyphemus throwing a rock (and also missing) at Odysseus in the Odyssey.
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A long paragraph describes the ensuing confrontation as a devastating earthquake, which caused a storm so strong that it blew people’s possessions clear across Ireland. The narrator of this episode comments that the citizen was lucky to miss, so that he won’t get in legal trouble. But the citizen shouts, “Did I kill him, […] or what?” and sends the dog Garryowen after Bloom. The episode ends with one final parody, in which a new voice compares Martin Cunningham’s departing car to Elijah’s chariot, ascending to heaven.
The end of this episode embodies Joyce’s “two-eyed” strategy of simultaneously exaggerating events and making fun of his own exaggerations. The monumental storm and comparison between the car and the ascending chariot suggest that Bloom’s escape is a divinely ordained miracle (kind of like Odysseus’s numerous escapes from treacherous islands in the Odyssey). But the actual circumstances of his escape are utterly mundane: he’s running away from a drunken fool, not a mythical cyclops. The citizen’s last line shows that he’s still hopelessly in denial about his status and ability.
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