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Steven Loughran

Professor Dr. Kidd

HUM245

Fall 2010

Bloom vs. the Men of Dublin: A Look at Bloom’s

Masculinity in Ulysses

Anyone who takes up the daunting task of reading James

Joyce’s experimental masterpiece Ulysses today can, most likely,

be placed in one of three categories. One is the literature

scholar who has a passion for works and writers whose

contributions to literary canon deserve not only to be read, but

thoroughly studied, deconstructed, critiqued, analyzed and

regularly revisited for possible new insights. Another (which

can, and often does, overlap the first) is that of the college

English professor who feels strongly that Ulysses is still

relevant and has earned the right to continue to be taught. In

fact Joyce himself is famously quoted as saying, “I’ve put in so

many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy

for centuries arguing over what I meant…” Despite what seems like

an overly boastful statement, so far he is right. Then there is

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the group where I find myself: The literature student who reads

Ulysses in the context of classroom study. Simply put, given the

complexity of the novel, it is hard to imagine someone today

picking up a copy of Ulysses to read while on a flight from Los

Angeles to New York. That said, as a new member of the club of

Ulysses readers I feel I have a better understanding of why the

work receives the attention it gets.

This essay, however, is not to meant to be a discussion of

who does or who does not read Ulysses, though that might make for

an interesting study. The comments made regarding those who read

the novel are simply to reestablish what has been said many

times. This particular is very deep and complex, and has been

the subject of study, as well as much controversy. The focus of

this essay will be to look at one aspect of the novel that has

gotten a fair amount of consideration and debate. I will look at

the way some of the male characters are portrayed, focusing on

Leopold Bloom, compare him to others in the story and explore the

concept of masculinity during the time and place when Joyce was

writing. Through the character of Bloom, Joyce gives us an

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alternative perspective on what it means to “be a man” in early

twentieth century Ireland.

To the less scholarly, discussing abstract ideas like

masculinity and femininity is no different than discussing

sexuality and gender. Whereas there is an understanding that

these ideas are intertwined, they are not precisely the same

thing. For this essay, I am not concerned with what determines a

character’s biological sex (male or female) or their sexual

preference (homo or heterosexual), but the socially constructed

gender roles they do or do not fit into. This will be done by

looking at, not only the text of Ulysses, but also articles from

academic journals that have explored the different ways

masculinity is portrayed in the story.

Despite the risk of coming across as outdated, biased, even

chauvinistic, as the necessary starting point for our purposes, I

am using a clumsy definition of masculine which, I believe, most

in our current popular culture conjure up in the mind’s eye when

the word is used. Ironically, however, this is where much of the

controversy lies. Even if one considers the possibility that our

collective concept about traditional masculine stereotypes has

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changed somewhat from when Joyce was writing, in some circles it

is not so different. I am referring to traits such as physical

aggressiveness and courage, virility, sexual prowess and

conquest, competitiveness, self assurance, self- reliance,

leadership and decisiveness. Members of the modern day, male

dominated sports world come to mind. In this highly physically

aggressive and competitive world, the very act of participating

in sports is considered to be more masculine than, say, enjoying

the ballet. This is a bit paradoxical since male ballet dancers

are extraordinary athletes, yet (at least within American

culture) the ballet dancer is considered less “masculine” than

the NFL quarterback. This may have to do with the idea that a

male ballet dancer, despite his athletic ability, is not

necessarily displaying characteristics of leadership,

competitiveness, possible injury at the hands of another male,

nor aggressiveness. In short, a ballet dancer is not out to win,

like the quarterback, but is instead creating a piece of art.

Much has been written in academic articles and journals

about Leopold Bloom regarding the strong feminine elements to his

character. I have not read everything written on the subject,

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but I have not come across anything to suggest that scholars

consider him a frustrated and repressed homosexual, though the

same is not necessarily true for the character of Stephen. Dan

Brown, in his review of other’s work on Joyce, “Enjoy(c)ing

Cultures,” mentions Christine Froula’s essay, “Modernism’s Body”

and states that “her account of the feminization Stephen

undergoes while among the Jesuit priests does allow for the

possible homosexual and certainly homosocial responses on the

young man’s part…” (681). I do not agree with Froula’s assertion

since Stephen displays heterosexual, both romantic and lustful,

feelings toward women. However, her perspective is useful here

to illustrate an attitude that exists, in Joyce’s time as well as

today, rightly or wrongly, that homosexuality is considered a

less than masculine trait.

Bloom’s sexuality, on the other hand, is not so much a

question, among scholars and the other male characters as is his

“manliness.” Indeed, the reader of Ulysses witnesses Bloom’s

actions and read about his erotic longings as he watches the

young, pretty and female Gerty sexually teasing him on the beach

in the “Nausicca” episode, which should make it clear as to his

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sexual preference. Joyce, through the character of boisterous

Buck Mulligan, does on the other hand make a passing remark about

Bloom’s consistently odd behavior, and how he is perceived by

others in the community, near the end of “Scylla and Charybis”

episode, and speaks to the attitude towards men, by some other

men, who are “different.” As Buck and Stephen are leaving the

National Library, they briefly cross paths with Bloom, and Buck

says to Stephen, “Did you see his eye? He looked upon you to lust

after you. I fear thee, ancient mariner. O, Kinch, thou art in

peril” (217). Though this remark is obviously meant by Mulligan

to suggest that Bloom might be homosexual, it is doubtful that

Mulligan actually believes this. We see similar behavior

occurring today in some male circles, when calling someone a

“fag” is meant simply as a derogatory remark directed at a less

than über-macho male, thereby questioning his masculinity, not

necessarily his sexual preference. As mentioned, part of the

masculine stereotype we are discussing here involves a man’s

virility and sexual prowess, and it is often assumed, by some,

that a less masculine male would come up short in this area.

Joyce may have used this passing comment from Mulligan, in a

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humorous way, to show, not only a common reaction towards

sensitive, passive males, but also as insight into the crass and

insensitive character of Mulligan.

In previous episodes leading up to Mulligan’s comment we have

seen Bloom engage in activities that are hard to imagine most of

the other characters doing, including Mulligan, simply because

they conflict with culturally established gender roles. For

instance, Bloom brings his wife, Molly, breakfast in bed, talks

to and feeds his cat, purchases biscuits solely for the purpose

of feeding the gulls, and starts a fund to help support the

deceased Pat Dignam’s family, just to name a few. It is because

of these acts of kindness and sensitivity to other’s needs that

make other male characters suspicious and even contemptuous of

Bloom and his form of masculinity. We will see later that Bloom’s

manliness comes in the form of diplomacy, cognitive reasoning and

open mindedness, which Joyce may have preferred over the more

prevalent and popular bully style of masculinity.

In her article “´Hyspos or ‘Spadia’? Rethinking Androgyny in

Ulysses with help from Sacher-Moss.” Lisa Rado remarks that “many

scholars have noted that in general Joyce’s aesthetics are

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connected to his interest in androgyny…(193). She points to a

moment during one of Bloom’s many fantasies, or hallucinations,

in the “Circe” episode when Mulligan again questions Bloom’s

masculinity and declares him to be “bisexually abnormal” and even

refers to him as “a finished example of the new womanly man” (U

493). What is interesting about Rado’s article has in part to do

with her remarks on the idea that some held during Joyce’s time

suggesting that artistic sensibility is a feminine

characteristic, thus rendering male artists as androgynous. She

writes;

For while androgyny− described by [Joyce’s] contemporaries

as the simultaneous

coexistence of male and female cells or plasms in the brain−

was believed to promote

heightened sensitivity and greater artistic vision, it was

also considered by some

theorists…to be indicative of either overt or represses

homosexuality, a condition these

scientists dubbed “sexual inversion.” (195)

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Whether or not Joyce agreed with this line of thinking does not

negate the fact that the theory was out there, and Joyce was

likely aware of it. With this in mind, it is not much of a

stretch to suggest that Joyce was hinting at Bloom’s artistic,

and by extraction, his strong feminine side simply by choosing to

name the character Leopold Paula Bloom, and the pseudonym Bloom

chooses for himself, Henry Flower. This could also be viewed as

Joyce indulging in irony as Bloom is intended to be a parallel

character to the ultra-masculine Odysseus of Homer. Even Bloom’s

wife Molly comments that “he understood or felt what a woman is”

(782).

Rado is not the only scholar to comment on Bloom’s supposed

androgyny. Published in 1956 in Twentieth Century Literature,

Ellsworth Mason comments in his essay “James Joyce: Moralist,”

that “Leopold Paula [italic not mine] Bloom, who at several points

is described as and acts androgynous, assumes Stephen’s

masculinity and Molly’s femininity.” He continues to point out

that

[Bloom] is a Jew and a pacifist in an anti-Semitic country

that has been fighting for

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independence for seven hundred years, and is alternately

kicked around, and insulted

for his differences. He is a philanderer on the most

pusillanimous scale. He is a cuckold

whose cuckoldry is being compounded this very day. In short,

almost ideally bad material

for a hero. (204)

However, not to be misleading with this passage, Mason’s

perspective throughout the entire article indeed leans towards

admiring Bloom, and his form of masculinity, despite his

perceived shortcomings. He reminds the reader that at the end of

the “Circe” episode, Bloom “handles the madam with consummate

skill and sureness,” and after a street fight, which draws the

attention of the police, “defends Stephen with supreme courage”

(205), and one could add, using his skill as a mediator.

As mentioned, when one thinks about what constitutes

masculinity, one is often referring to what most think of as

“manly,” and one of the most common ideas of Western culture’s

concept of manliness is a man’s virility, sexual confidence, and

seductive aggressiveness towards women. Tony Thwaites points out

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that “Boylan [is] the figure of masculinity and sexual potency

who is everything cuckolded Bloom is not and who has replaced

Bloom in Molly’s eyes and bed” (684). Even though we obviously

cannot put ourselves inside Joyce’s mind, it is still interesting

to consider that Joyce, while using Homer’s Odyssey as a template

for his novel, gives his hero few of the stereotypical warrior

characteristics that Homer’s Odysseus possesses. That said, as

Mason implies, by using his cool head and diplomacy skills at the

end of “Circe,” Bloom displays courage in a different way than,

say, someone who is quick to draw his sword.

There are indications that Joyce, through his portrayal of

Bloom and other male characters, was aware of the pressure placed

on men to adhere to cultural ideals of manliness. This is

cleverly pointed out in the “Nausicca” episode when Gerty,

referring to a young man who had, at one point in her life, shown

romantic interest in her, says:

Strength of character had never been Reggie Wylies strong

point and he who would

woo and win Gerty McDowell must be a man among men…a manly

man with a strong

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quiet face who had not found his ideal, perhaps his hair

flecked with grey…(351).

Harry Blamires, in his Ulysses reader’s guide, comments that while

enjoying Bloom’s gaze upon her, Gerty recalls “pent up longings

and unrealized girlhood dreams; the suffering dream-husband in

need of a woman’s comfort; the powerful male seeking a womanly

woman to crush to himself in his arms” (137).

This traditional concept of manliness appears again and

again in the story. One brief illustration appears in a scene

near the end of the “Wandering Rocks” episode. The pre-teenaged

son of the deceased Pat Dignam, returning from his father’s

funeral passes a by a poster in a store window advertising a

boxing match.

He stood looking in at the two puckers stripped to their

pelts and putting up their props.

From the sidemirrors two mourning Masters Dignam gaped

silently. Myler Keogh,

Dublin’s pet lamb, will meet sergeant-major Bennett, the

Portobello bruiser, for a purse

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of fifty sovereigns, God that’d be a good pucking match to

see. (250)

This passage reveals a version of masculinity that is different

from Bloom’s; the forceful and aggressive athlete in the fighters

themselves, and the young male character’s attraction to, and

fascination with the sport. The advertised boxing match between

the Irish Keogh and the English sergeant-major Bennett comes up

again in the “Cyclops” section, a chapter that perhaps more than

any other demonstrates the focus of this essay, as it places

Bloom in a pub with several other males. The conversation,

despite Bloom’s attempts to be civil, cerebral, and diplomatic,

becomes confrontational, even potentially violent, as a result of

the narrow-mindedness of some of the other patrons, particularly

the Citizen. Picture a modern day male, who is not that

interested in sports, attempting to engage in a conversation

about opera at a sports bar.

It has been suggested that by calling Bloom’s advisory in

the “Cyclops” chapter simply Citizen provides him with, not only

anonymity, but also the possibility that he could represent any

character that is a diametrically opposing male type to Bloom.

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However, one of the other men in the pub, Joe, refers to Citizen

as “the man…that made the Gaelic sports revival. There he is

sitting there” (316). In his Ulysses Annotated, Don Gifford proposes

that Citizen is “Modeled on Michael Cussak (1847-1904) founder of

the Gaelic Athletic Association (1884), which was dedicated to

the revival of Irish sports…”(342). Gifford goes on to mention

that Cussak was in the habit of introducing himself as “Citizen

Cussak.” Whether Gifford is correct that Joyce had this in mind

is not so important for our purposes. But it is likely that

Joyce wanted it to be clear to his readers that Citizen is

physically strong and athletic, even remarking that, at least at

one time, as Joe says, he “[was] champion of all Irland at

putting the sixteen pound shot,” to which Bloom responds “Yes…

that’s well known” (316) It interesting that Bloom would know

this, and in a way, be somewhat admiring of Citizen’s athletic

achievement, given their confrontation at the end of the chapter.

Unfortunately, in the very next paragraph Joyce reminds us of how

characteristically bumbling, (stereotypically) unmanly, yet

sincere Bloom is. During part of the conversation among the

other men about sports and physical activity, he seems compelled

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to point out that if a “fellow had a rower’s heart violent

exercise was bad” (316). Bloom is constantly misunderstood.

While simply trying to be part of the conversation, and even pass

on some knowledge, the narrator complains that if one were to

point to a straw on the floor, Bloom would “talk about it for an

hour” (316).

Immediately following this exchange, in one of many

stylistic changes in the narrative typical of this episode, a

parody of a newspaper account recalls a debate focusing on the

aforementioned Gaelic sports revival. Those in favor of the idea

argue that it would “revive the best traditions of manly strength

and power…” (317). However, it is implied in the parody style

that Bloom, “having espoused the negative,” brings the debate to

a close. Soon after, not in the parodied article, but in actual

conversation, another of the men, Alf, brings up the boxing match

mentioned earlier. It is revealed that Boylan “made a cool

hundred quid over it,” thereby illuminating the contrast between

Boylan and Bloom, as the former is a man who is, not only at this

very moment in Bloom’s house with Molly, but also appears

interested in, and wagers on, sporting events which Bloom does

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not. Furthermore, the entire chapter takes place in a pub. All

the other men in the room are drinking, whereas Bloom abstains,

only adding to their contempt for him. One could argue that

Bloom’s ability to resist joining in a drink with the others, in

an Irish pub, and his ability to stand his ground alone later in

an argument, takes more strength, albeit mental strength, than he

gets credit for.

Near the end of the “Cyclops” chapter a more political

discussion comes up and Bloom feels he needs to defend both his

Irish loyalty and his Jewish background in hopes of convincing

the other men that they, the Irish and the Jews, share a common

problem. This is where the contrast between Bloom and the other

men really becomes clear. In trying to explain his position on

the persecution of the Jews, saying they have been “Robbed…

Plundered. Insulted.

Persecuted.” Citizen responds by asking, “Are you talking about

the new Jeruselem?” Bloom replies, “I’m talking about injustice”

(332). Another bystander, John Wyse, chimes in with “Stand up to

it then with force like men.” Again, the feminine side of Bloom

comes out and tries to persuade the other men in the pub by

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saying that when combating injustice, “it’s no use…Force, hatred,

history, all that. That’s not life for men and women, insult and

hatred” (333). He finishes by saying that love, the opposite of

hatred, is a better way to resolve disagreements. Predictably,

Bloom’s position is openly mocked by Citizen. Not much later,

Bloom’s masculinity is again brought into question when the

others are talking about him behind his back in reference to his

family, specifically his nurturing behavior towards Molly during

her pregnancy with their son Rudy. Citizen asks spitefully, “Do

you call that a man?” and the narrator calls Bloom “One of those

mixed middlings…” (338), which Blamires explains means half man,

half woman.

This is a complex novel, and similarly, Bloom is a complex

character. There is plenty of evidence to suggest that Bloom,

despite possessing what one can observe as a well developed

feminine side that he seems comfortable with, still struggles

with his culture’s view on what constitutes masculinity, and is

aware he does not quite fit that view. One brief moment of this

insight comes while Bloom is sitting with Stephen at a cabman’s

shelter in the “Eumaeus” episode. Keep in mind, this chapter

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comes after Bloom’s confrontation with Citizen in “Cyclops,” his

erotic fantasy on the shore while ogling Gerty in “Nausicca,” and

the masculine/feminine role reversal hallucinations at the

brothel in “Circe.” Not using inner monologue, but instead

employing more conventional narration, Bloom is observed

listening to an argument taking place between two other

characters, regarding Irish men serving in the English military,

as well as the ethics of resorting to criminal activity in the

pursuit of Irish Nationalism, and the often negative consequences

suffered by those who do. Joyce writes of Bloom:

[H]e disliked those careers of wrongdoing and crime on

principle. Yet, though such

criminal propensities had never been an inmate of his bosom

in any shape or form, he

certainly did feel, and no denying (while inwardly remaining

what he was), a certain

kind of admiration for a man who actually brandished a

knife, cold steel, with the

courage of his political convictions, though personally, he

would never be a party to

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any such thing…(642)

Notice the glaring contradictions. He “disliked…crime on

principle,” and crime “had never been an inmate of his bosom,”

but did “feel” admiration for the man who “brandished a knife…

with the courage” of a type which he apparently disapproved.

Sounds like the words of a man who is inwardly conflicted. What

might explain this conflict, again, is the issue of the cultural,

or social, expectations that existed concerning gender roles of

the period. Vike Martina Plock addresses this issue in his essay

“A Feat of Strength in ‘Ithica’: Eugen Sandow and the Physical

Culture in Joyce’s Ulysses.”

Eugen Sandow was the Jack Lelane of his time and place,

specifically the UK of the late 1800s to the early 1900s.

Between 1850 and 1918 Plock says Sandow [was the] turn-of-the-

twentieth- century’s most famous strongman, performer, and

publisher” (129). Plock’s article makes several connections

between the culture of male physical fitness during this period,

and passages in Ulysses, more often in the “Ithica” chapter than

others, in ways that are rather complicated, to the point of

saying that,

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Given this historical setting that blends physical culture,

idealized masculinity, the

question of Jewish muscularity, and Zionism, the suggestion

that Sandow’s body cult

and his fitness vocabulary come into view predominately in

Ulysses’ chapter of

homecoming cannot be unexpected. (135)

Plock’s research is more extensive than my own, so perhaps for me

to say that statement sounds like a stretch is perhaps unfair.

However, the reason Plock’s essay is relevant here is because he

points out that Sandow’s book Physical Strength and How to Obtain It

appears in the catalogued list of books on Bloom’s shelf in the

“Ithica” episode. Later in the chapter, while looking through a

drawer of odds and ends, Bloom comes across “a chart of

measurements of Leopold Bloom compiled, before, during and after

2 months of consecutive use of Sandow-Whiteley’s pully exerciser”

(721). Earlier in the novel, during Bloom’s inner monologue in

the “Calypso” episode, he mentions that he feels fatigued and

says to himself “Must begin again those Sandow exercises” (61).

Lastly, again in “Ithica,” while contemplating how life would be

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if he were poverty stricken, thinks that one of the indignities

suffered would be “the contempt of muscular males” (725). If we

were discussing a novel written today, talk of a physical

exercise book on a male character’s shelf, and use of it would

not warrant the theory that he was struggling with his

masculinity, as the health craze of contemporary society is as

popular, and socially taken for granted as appropriate for both

men and women.

All this is to show that with Bloom, Joyce created a unique

and complicated character.

That he would place him in role of a hero to parallel Homer’s

Odysseus seems an odd choice. It is possible Joyce’s intention

was to place in the public consciousness the idea that Bloom’s

type of masculinity, his manliness, which relies more on

conscientiousness, diplomacy, cognitive skill and empathy towards

women was a legitimate alternative to the more popular, accepted

norm of masculinity which relied on a more “might makes right”

perspective. Bloom’s type of masculinity goes against his

culture’s understanding of it, and even he, at times, struggles

with it within himself. However, despite what Tim Conley says in

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his essay published in James Joyce Quarterly that “[t]he Bloom-Boylan

struggle for Molly is, in a sense a competition…[and] it is

Boylan who actually has the four o’clock date” (528), like

Odysseus before him, in the end, Bloom gets the girl.

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Works

Cited

Blamires, Harry. The New Bloomsday Book: A Guide through Ulysses. 3rd ed.

London: Routledge. Reprinted 2009. Print.

Brown, Donald. “Enjoy(c)ing Cultures.” Poetics Today. Vol. 22,

No.3. Duke University Press.

Fall 2001. Project Muse. Web. 2010.

Conley, Tim. “Win a Dream Date With James Joyce.” James Joyce

Quarterly. Vol. 44, No. 3.

University of Tulsa. Spring 2007. Project Muse. Web. 2010.

Gifford, Don and Robert Seidman. Ulysses Annotated: Notes for James Joyce

Ulysses. Revised

and Expanded Edition. University of California Press. 1988.

Print.

Joyce, James. Ulysses. First Vintage International Edition. Random

House. Print.

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Mason, Ellsworth. “James Joyce: Moralist.” Twentieth Century

Literature. Vol. 1, No. 4.

Hofstra University. January 1956. JSTOR. Web. 2010.

Plock, Vike Martina. “A Feat of Strength in ‘Ithaca’: Eugen

Sandow and Physical Culture in

Joyce’s Ulysses.” Journal of Modern Literature. Vol. 30, No. 1.

Indiana University.

Fall 206. Project Muse. Web. 2010.

Rado, Lisa. “’Hypsos’ or ‘Spadia’? Rethinking Androgeny in

Ulysses with Help from

Sacho-Masoch.” Twentieth Century Literature. Vol.42, No. 2.

Hofstra University.

Summer 1996. JSTOR. Web. 2010.

Thwaites, Tony. “Circuits of Meeting an Telling: Joyce,

Psychoanalysis, and Narration.”

James Joyce Quarterly. Vol. 44, No 4. University of Tulsa.

Summer 2007. Project Muse. Web. 2010.