Over the course of the three episodes we read for today, the narrative structure becomes increasingly more difficult to follow with each new section of text. By the time we reach Proteus, the relatively straightforward narrative structure established in the first two episodes (I say straightforward only in relation to the third episode) breaks down and we begin to learn about Stephen’s past through a fluid narrative that jumps between third-person “real-time” narration and a more introspective “stream of consciousness” narrative as Stephen walks along the beach and lets his mind wander to his past.
Each time Stephen’s conscience seems to almost entirely consume the narration, we are brought back to reality by a harsh transition to “real-time” with a more classic, third-person narration such as, “he had come nearer the edge of the sea and wet sand slapped his boots” (37), “the dog’s bark ran towards him, stopped, ran back” (38), or “he lay back at full stretch over the sharp rocks” (41). The sensory details of these third-person passages (sandy feet, a dog’s bark, sharp rocks) remind us as readers of the physical realities Stephen is experiencing separately from what he is experiencing in his mind.
These sort of jarring descriptions that take us as readers back to reality make it easier to follow the smaller chunks of Stephen’s “stream of consciousness” narration that come in-between. For example, a third-person “real-time” narration informs us that Stephen’s “feet marched in sudden proud rhythm over the sand furrows” (35), only to be followed by a much less straightforward, internal narration of Stephen’s own past in “Paris rawly waking” (35). The fluid movements between third-person “real-time” narration into more internal, personal narration from Stephen create a sort of interplay between memory and present day in which Stephen’s past informs the present and vice versa. It is because we have the physical image of Stephen walking solitarily along the shore that we as readers understand the poignancy of his introspective reflection that, “you were going to do wonders” (35) – the loss of potential he has experienced in his past is embodied in his present-day solitude.
Even these transitions between “real-time” and “stream of consciousness” are not entirely straightforward, however, as there are moments where Stephen begins to question his own reality and confuses us as readers in the process. He asks, “Am I going to aunt Sara’s or not?” (32), and then tells us a story where he “pulls the wheezy bell of their shuttered cottage” and engaging in dialogue with his aunt and uncle. It is only after Stephen says, “I have passed the way to aunt Sara’s. Am I not going there? Seems not” (34) that we become certain that Stephen’s narration of his visit with his relatives has taken place in his mind instead of “real-time.” The narrative patterns of Ulysses are predictable yet also unpredictable, and it almost feels like it’s impossible to be certain that any one interpretation can be considered correct.
