Actually, my enthusiasm is creeping back, as I write these entries. I'm getting excited about re-reading and eventually tackling the last chapter.
Anyways, now I think this unease is a response to Bloom's inaction anent his wife's affair. --Haha. Definitely stole "anent" from Joyce. -- I think I don't like the self-abnegation. I feel like, as with Nietzsche's disdain for Judeo-Christian morality, I don't want him to suppress this, to turn the other cheek. He's spent the whole day thinking of it; it unsettles him that she slept with Boylan during the day. Boylan, too, though Bloom imagines him as a nice enough guy, is kind of a douche. Shouldn't Leopold say something to Molly? Confront her? He doesn't have to be forceful (which he disdains) or violent (certainly not, though he considers violence fleetingly). Just assertive, expressive. He needs to take care of himself, I think, in the same way he cares for Stephen and cares for (and patronizes) Molly. The model human being, apropos of Odysseus, he is not. I ask not for a massacre, slaughter in the hall, but do think truthfulness between he and his wife is not too much to ask.
The last chapter serves to further develop all facets of Bloom's personality, but what's uncomfortable about it is that it reveals his selfish imagination compared with his selfless actions. Is he to be admired as a man who can only dream? Maybe so. He seems comfortable enough.
I can feel my own prejudices coloring my perception of the book. I sit in judgement, polyphemian, when I should (normative?) be learning to see Bloom with two eyes open. But can I be critical? Of course! Right? Ugh.
I still need to read it again.
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