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Irish Times
18-06-2025
- Health
- Irish Times
Frank McNally on the Bloomsday fitness progamme (and why Virginia Woolf will never be as popular as Joyce)
An underappreciated aspect of James Joyce's literary legacy - one that might surprise the man himself - is the extent to which he encouraged healthy living, including dietary restraint and aerobic exercise. Well, he encouraged it one day a year, at least. After filing the Bloomsday 'colour' piece for this newspaper on Monday, I checked the health app on my iPhone to find it had clocked up an impressive 21,792 steps (15.4km) since morning: well above the 10,000 benchmark for the Fitbit generation. That didn't include a Dublin Bike trip from Dorset Street - scene of my unsuccessful attempts to find a mutton kidney - out to Glasnevin Cemetery and back. So I wondered in passing if Joyce scholars had ever worked out how many steps Leopold Bloom walked on 16th June 1904. But is the Pope a Catholic? Yes, of course they had. READ MORE The first person I asked, Trinity College English Professor Sam Slote, had retraced Bloom's trajectory ('some suppositions involved') and counted 22,203 steps. Which was gratifyingly close to my total, although I hadn't tried to follow the whole route. Further investigation led me to a study, conducted from Kentucky in 2012, on 'the physical fitness of Leopold Bloom'. This was in general unremarkable (the fitness, not the study). As readers of Ulysses will know, Bloom had a bit of a belly, was called 'lardface' in Barney Kiernan's pub, and at 38 – although young by today's standards – was a man of advanced middle aged in 1904, when male life expectancy was a mere 47.8 years. On the other hand, the study's author Jeff McClung calculated that given his reported height of 5ft 9½ (176.5cm) and weight of 11 stone 4 (71.8kg), Bloom had a Body Mass Index of 23.0, still exemplary in 2025. By McClung's count, the hero of Ulysses walked 8.99 miles (14.48 km) on 16th June 1904, slightly less than I did last Monday; although he went to Sandymount Strand, unlike me, and spent a lot longer wandering around the red-light district. Perhaps the standout finding, however, was that Bloom's calorific intake for the day came to a mere 1200 kcal. Or 1400, 'if he ate the second Bunbury cake that he bought to feed the birds'. Considering the 3,009 kcals he is estimated to have burned, that still left a deficit of at least 1609kcals. Sure the poor man was starving. *** A literary commemoration you heard a lot less about this week, I'm guessing, was Dalloway Day, or 'Dallowday' as some have suggested calling it. Named for Mrs Dalloway, from the 1925 book of that title by Virginia Woolf, it even had a centenary going for it this year. Yet despite describing the events of a single day in June, more than a century ago, and using the same stream-of-consciousness style Joyce pioneered, it doesn't appear to have lent itself to the sort of fancy dress re-enactment that makes Bloomsday a niche tourist attraction at home and a cultural export worldwide. Woolf had very mixed feelings about Joyce's masterpiece. She liked the start of it, up to and including the 'Hades' episode (set in Glasnevin). But overall, she looked down her perfectly formed high-society nose at both the author and his work: 'An illiterate, underbred book it seems to me: the book of a self-taught working man, & we all know how distressing they are, how egotistic, insistent, raw, striking, & ultimately nauseating.' Still, in Mrs Dalloway, she paid a kind of homage to Ulysses. And writing style aside, even her life mirrored Joyce's. She was born a week before he was in 1882 and died (albeit a self-inflicted death) only two months after him in 1941. In an article for the Guardian back in 2016, 'It's Time We Celebrated Dallowday', one of her more devoted fans pondered why Woolf's book couldn't be commemorated in the same way Joyce's is in Dublin and around the world. One reason may be that it lacks the epic quality of Ulysses. Or perhaps, conversely, it doesn't have enough fine detail, including a specific date. It's set on a Wednesday in mid-June, while literary detectives say the year had to be in 1923. Based on the calendar for that year, this reduces possibilities to the 13th or 20th, and historic weather reports make the 13th more likely. Even so, this year's main centenary commemoration in London was held - indoors, in a library theatre - on the 18th. Maybe Woolf was too well bred to bother with such vulgar detail. Whatever the reason, she kept the timing vague: 'For it was the middle of June. The War was over, except for some like Mrs Foxcroft at the Embassy last night eating her heart out because that nice boy was killed and now the old Manor House must go to a cousin…It was June. 'The King and Queen were at the Palace. And everywhere, though it was still early, there was a beating, a stirring of galloping ponies, tapping of cricket bats; Lords, Ascot, Ranelagh, and all the rest of it…' Yes, Royal Ascot was happening in her book too. But unlike Bloom, Mrs Dalloway didn't accidentally tip the 20-1 winner of the Gold Cup. For that and other shortcomings, she will never be truly loved.
Irish Times
16-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Times
Bloomsday: Aficionados enjoy a Full Joyce for breakfast then devour extra helpings of Ulysses
It was the usual high-cholesterol Bloomsday in Dublin, with at least half a dozen venues offering the Full Joyce for breakfast, complete with inner organs of beasts and fowls. For a man who spent most of his life on mainland Europe, James Joyce, the author of Ulysses, did little to popularise the continental petit-déjeuner. As licensed by his greatest creation, the breakfast fry-up remains the supreme choice of Joyceans everywhere. Mind you, on Monday you would have been hard pressed to find a mutton kidney in modern-day Dorset Street, where Leopold Bloom bought his on June 16, 1904, in the epic novel. Moses Dlugacz's butcher's shop – fictional to start with – is now a dentist's. But in other victuallers along the Dublin street, a pork kidney was the nearest I could find. READ MORE At Brady's, on the corner with Belvedere Road, a man with an east European accent said the mutton variety was an old-fashioned taste now, although if I was desperate for one, he thought there was a place over on Thomas Street that might still do them. In general, despite its prominent role in Ulysses, Dorset Street is still a Bloomsday-free zone. The nearby Belvedere College, where a Grecian blue carpet was rolled out on the front steps for the occasion, is one of the big breakfast venues, hosting for the Joyce Centre just down the way from it. But, as in 1904, Dorset Street is still too busy being Dorset Street to celebrate its immortalisation in literature. [ In pictures: Bloomsday 2025 - Bright colours, fine clothing and lots of smiles as Dublin comes alive for Joycean celebrations ] Bloomsday 2025 was an occasion for straw hats, in every sense. Unfortunately, those are the only items of Edwardian apparel that suited a sweltering June day in Dublin, with unbroken sunshine and temperatures in the 20s. Dundalk-born Philip Mullen, one of those attending breakfast at the Silk Road cafe in Dublin Castle, recalled that the colourful striped jacket he wore was originally a gamble on the fashion of the New Romantics, circa 1980, catching on in his native town. Instead, he was worn it for 'every Bloomsday since 1982'. But combined with the obligatory waistcoat and the rest of the ensemble, wearing it was sweaty work even before the sun climbed over the castle parapets. John O'Connell, meanwhile, among those Joyceans who had chosen a black suit and bowler hat for the day, was suffering a bit too. And that was even before he decided which of his pack-of-six false moustaches to put on. But mourning gear is part of the price of having to attend the annual funeral of Paddy Dignam, a man who since 1954, when Ulysses re-enactments began, has been ritually buried almost as often as Mayo football. As usual, the biggest Bloomsday attendances per square centimetre were in the diminutive Sweny's Pharmacy, where capacity attendances (about 17 at a time) squeezed in to buy lemon soap or to participate in readings and song. From outside, it looked and sounded like mass in very small chapel in 20th-century Ireland as the readings and hymns leaked out to crowds standing around the door and beyond, some of them smoking. The smokers included Katia Farias Rodriguez from Amsterdam, dressed in Molly Bloom-style blouse, skirt, and hat (also hard work in the balmy temperatures). As a precocious teenager reader once, she used to be challenged by her father: 'Why do you bother with those books? There's only one that matters.' He meant Ulysses, so when that turned up on the reading list for her last year in school, she finally plunged in. Her teacher wasn't pleased, 'because that meant she had to read it too'. Then it turned out that her father hadn't read it at all. Katia ended up having to tell him what it was about. Across the road in Kennedy's pub, Polish ambassador Artur Michalski told me he has attempted it twice without success, although he had earlier read the opening section at the Joyce Tower at Sandycove, so this may be third time lucky. Vastly improving the pub's average readership of the book, meanwhile, was Ana Dahlberg, from Portugal via Sweden. An ex-teacher turned food-and-beverage manager, she has devoured Ulysses five times now, with ever-increasing levels of engagement. Her copy is densely transcribed and complete with an explosion of colour-coded page tags, like confetti at a wedding. Over on Duke Street, at lunchtime, Davy Byrnes was as busy as ever, still benefiting from Bloom's historic change of mind in having a cheese sandwich and glass of wine there in 1904. But there's no such thing as bad publicity in Ulysses, as the revival of the adjacent Burton Tavern testifies. Having first thought of having lunch at the Burton, Bloom instead gave it the sort of the review that might have closed it down had it not been shut already by the time Ulysses was published. Sumptuously recreated last year, the venue now celebrates the link with Joyce. After a long delay, it was at last thrown temporarily open for this year's Bloomsday. The full unveiling is expected next month.
Extra.ie
16-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Extra.ie
Today is Bloomsday but what is it?
Every year on June 16, people in Dublin and elsewhere celebrate the life of James Joyce and his classic book Ulysses. Bloomsday, named after the book's protagonist Leopold Bloom, sees people dress as characters from the book, act out parts of the story and retrace the characters' journey across Dublin. Here's everything you need to know about Bloomsday. James Joyce and Ulysses Bloomsday celebrates the life of James Joyce and his most well-known book, Ulysses. Joyce is considered one of the most important literary figures of the 20th century. He was born in 1882 in Rathgar, Dublin. Studying English, Italian and French in UCD, he went on to write many books. In Ulysses, we follow the protagonist Leopold Bloom as he meanders through Dublin during the course of an ordinary day, June 16, 1904. James Joyce in 1930. Pic:GettyImages Bloomsday The first Bloomsday celebration took place in 1954, the 50th anniversary of the book's events. Since then, year after year, people have organised a festival to commemorate the book and June 16 became known as Bloomsday. Public readings and reenactments are common throughout the city, especially at locations featured in the book. James Joyce lookalikes during a world record attempt for the largest gathering of James Joyces lookalikes in one location as part of Bloomsday celebrations in 2013, Dun Laoghaire, Dublin. Pic:Collins One popular activity people undertake is to retrace Leopold Bloom's journey through Dublin city. The journey starts in Sandycove and finishes on Eccles Street, right behind the Mater Hospital. John Shevlin dressed as James Joyce during Blomsday celebrations in 2013 at the James Joyce Centre, Dublin. Pic: Collins People would visit all the famous landmarks from the book along the way, many of which are still around, like Davy Byrne's pub. Some die-hard fans have also undertaken a marathon reading of the book, lasting as long as 36 hours! Atmosphere at 'A Bloomsday Breakfast in Bryant Park', the part of 'Imagine Ireland', Culture Ireland's Year of Irish Arts in America in 2011 on June 16, 2011 in New York City. Pic:GettyImages and the James Joyce Tower and Museum organise a range of activities for this time of the year.
Irish Independent
16-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Independent
Bloomsday: Never-before-seen music for key love song in James Joyce's ‘Ulysses' recovered from Titanic wreckage
Today at 21:30 Today is Bloomsday – and an exclusive picture released to the Irish Independent echoes the main theme of James Joyce's Ulysses, acclaimed as the greatest novel of the 20th century. The music and lyrics of Love's Old Sweet Song resonate through Ulysses protagonist Leopold Bloom's life on June 16, 1904, as he realises his singer wife Molly Bloom is about to be unfaithful to him.
Irish Post
13-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Post
Ten Minutes with... Leopold Bloom
AHEAD of Bloomsday this June 16 — the annual celebration of James Joyce's Ulysses — The Irish Post is delighted to present a remarkable find: a long-lost interview with none other than Leopold Bloom himself. Or so it appears. The yellowing typescript, mysteriously unsigned and dated June 1904, was recently uncovered in the bottom drawer of a desk on in Northampton. It said in very faded writing The Molumby Archive. Whether it's a work of early fan fiction, an unauthorised parody, or some kind of proto-stream-of-consciousness journalism, we can't say for sure. What we do know is that it reads uncannily like Dublin's most famous literary everyman — the quiet, kind-eyed, kidney-loving Mr Bloom, who on a single day in 1904 wandered from funeral to pub to beach, and in doing so became one of literature's most enduring modern figures. Presented here, lightly edited and with apologies to the Joyce estate, it certainly appears to be what a Q&A with Leopold Bloom might have looked like — had anyone thought to ask. On love, soup, art, cheese sandwiches and the meaning of everything — a Q&A with Joyce's wandering soul, in honour of Bloomsday... What are you up to? Walking mostly. Thinking too much. Looking in shop windows. Buying kidneys. Today I had an ould cheese sandwich in Davy Byrne's. Gorgonzola I think it might have been. Washed it down with a glass of burgundy. Tomorrow, who knows? Maybe Eccles Street. Or Sandymount. Or Mars. Which piece of music always sends a shiver down your spine? Anything by Molly, singing in the parlour, throat open, full-throated, the way she used to when she thought no one was listening. I was. Always am. The neighbours are coming round for dinner. What's on the menu? Oh, something light. Nutty gizzards maybe. Giblet soup. To die for. Although people don't really say that as yet. What are your Irish roots? Born in Clanbrassil Street, Dublin. My father was a Jew from Hungary, came here with a different name and left me with his thirst and a fondness for drink I try to avoid. My mother was from Tipp. Come on Tipperary! She was a Higgins. Common name. You'd never rise to high office with a moniker like that. But this dichotomy in my upbringing has left me to wonder what it means to be Irish. What is your favourite place in Ireland? My kitchen, when it's quiet, and there's bread in the bin. Which book has really moved you? And Scheherazade — a woman who understood the importance of storytelling and survival. Joyce knew what he was doing picking that for me. Sorry, that probably doesn't make much sense But then that's Ulysses for you. Have you a favourite singer / band? Besides Molly? John McCormack, I suppose. Or the blind street fiddler near the Shelbourne. You don't need to see to move a man's heart. But all that traditional music, the ould fiddling an' whatnot — that'll be gone in a few years. Goodbye to the diddly-aye. Which living person do you most admire? Stephen Dedalus, though he doesn't believe it. A stubborn young lad with too many thoughts in his head and not enough meat on his bones. Which person from the past do you most admire? Odysseus. Very well got. He wandered, he wept, he lied, he loved. And still he came home. No better man. What would be your motto? Love loves to love love. Or: Think slowly, act kindly. Have you a favourite quote from the movies? Haven't seen many pictures — the last was a magic lantern show with poor resolution. But I'm not really into quotes, if you please O no thank you not in my house stealing my potatoes and the oysters 2/6 per doz going out to see her aunt if you please common robbery type of thing. Yes, well I kind of see what you mean. So, what books are on your bedside table at the minute? A pamphlet on Turkish baths, and the Bible, more for the language than the morals. Oh, and a Catholic prayer book. Mostly for the Latin. In terms of inanimate objects, what is your most precious possession? Molly's letter, the one with the pressed flower. Smells faintly of lemon soap and regret. And grief. Infidelity. Recrimination. And unmet longing. What's best thing about where you live? The familiarity. The echo in the hallway. The indentation in the armchair where I always sit. You can build a life in the smallness of a home. . . . . and the worst? The silence when Molly's not singing. What's the greatest lesson life has taught you? That nothing is ever really over. Not love. Not loss. It all loops around in the end, like a day — or a book. Oh, and don't let good bread grow stale. What do you believe in? Possibility. Warm bread. Forgiveness. The kindness of strangers. That the soul has a weight. That we walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-law. But always meeting ourselves. What do you consider the greatest work of art? A woman's 'yes'. Who/what is the greatest love of your life? Molly. Always Molly. Even when I doubted. Even when she sang for someone else. That voice still finds me.
