Ulysses (Annotated)BookRix, 2 juni 2014 - 1064 sidor Ulysses (1922) is a novel by the Irish author James Joyce. It was first serialised in parts in the American journal The Little Review from March 1918 to December 1920, and then published in its entirety by Sylvia Beach on 2 February 1922, in Paris. Joyce's technical innovations in the art of the novel... he used a complex network of symbolic parallels drawn from the mythology, history, and literature, and created a unique language of invented words, puns, and allusions. One of the most important works of Modernist literature, it has been called "a demonstration and summation of the entire movement". "Before Joyce, no writer of fiction had so foregrounded the process of thinking." Written over a seven-year period from 1914 to 1921. No book has ever been more eagerly and curiously awaited by the strange little inner circle of book-lovers and littérateurs than James Joyce's "Ulysses". |
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James Joyce. before , so that , while Flaubert is merely the words and cadences carefully adapted to transmit the status specific mood or character without any attempt to identify the narrative with the stream of consciousness of the ...
James Joyce. before , so that , while Flaubert is merely the words and cadences carefully adapted to transmit the status specific mood or character without any attempt to identify the narrative with the stream of consciousness of the ...
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... I suppose I did say it. I didn't mean to offend the memory of your mother. He had spoken himself into boldness. Stephen, shielding the gaping wounds which the words had left in his heart, said very coldly: —I am not thinking of.
... I suppose I did say it. I didn't mean to offend the memory of your mother. He had spoken himself into boldness. Stephen, shielding the gaping wounds which the words had left in his heart, said very coldly: —I am not thinking of.
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... words shimmering on the dim tide. A cloud began to cover the sun slowly, wholly, shadowing the bay in deeper green. It lay beneath him, a bowl of bitter waters. Fergus' song: I sang it alone in the house, holding down the long dark ...
... words shimmering on the dim tide. A cloud began to cover the sun slowly, wholly, shadowing the bay in deeper green. It lay beneath him, a bowl of bitter waters. Fergus' song: I sang it alone in the house, holding down the long dark ...
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... words, a faint odour of wetted ashes. Her glazing eyes, staring out of death, to shake and bend my soul. On me alone. The ghostcandle to light her agony. Ghostly light on the tortured face. Her hoarse loud breath rattling in horror ...
... words, a faint odour of wetted ashes. Her glazing eyes, staring out of death, to shake and bend my soul. On me alone. The ghostcandle to light her agony. Ghostly light on the tortured face. Her hoarse loud breath rattling in horror ...
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... words. —Dedalus, come down, like a good mosey. Breakfast is ready. Haines is apologising for waking us last night. It's all right. —I'm coming, Stephen said, turning. —Do, for Jesus' sake, Buck Mulligan said. For my sake and for all our ...
... words. —Dedalus, come down, like a good mosey. Breakfast is ready. Haines is apologising for waking us last night. It's all right. —I'm coming, Stephen said, turning. —Do, for Jesus' sake, Buck Mulligan said. For my sake and for all our ...
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