The people who read this blog regularly will know of my conflicted feelings about James Joyce. I respect him as one of the parents of post-modern literature, but I think Ulysses is one of the most horrible excuses for literature ever created. But I guess (other than knowing a few factoids like how Bloomsday is celebrated on the day of his first date with his wife) I never thought much about him as a person.
And now I wish I never had.
I stumbled upon the letters the dashing Jim wrote to his wife, Nora, while he was away on business in 1909. It turns out that Joyce is a perv. Now, I’ve got nothing wrong with people having their kinks. Most folks do, and as long as they’re between consenting adults, that’s totally cool. But my understanding has it’s limits. For example, I will never be able to fathom the “furry” thing–where people are sexually turned on by anthropomorphic animal-human hybrids.
And then there’s the whole getting turned on by poop thing.
Guess what James Joyce’s kink is?
Oh, wait, you don’t have to guess, because it’s all in the letters he wrote to his wife Nora. The first two are pretty standard stuff, “be my whore,” blah blah blah. But then he gets into his poop fetish. I guess Nora was a lot more understanding than I am, or maybe she really, really loved the creepy bastard. Because his love letters to her included such gems as:
…so that when I bend down over you to open them and give you a burning lustful kiss on your naughty bare bum I can smell the perfume of your drawers as well as the warm odour of your cunt and the heavy smell of your behind.
Okay, not too bad. But then….
At every fuck I gave you your shameless tongue came bursting out through your lips and if a gave you a bigger stronger fuck than usual, fat dirty farts came spluttering out of your backside. You had an arse full of farts that night, darling, and I fucked them out of you, big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole. It is wonderful to fuck a farting woman when every fuck drives one out of her. I think I would know Nora’s fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women. It is a rather girlish noise not like the wet windy fart which I imagine fat wives have. It is sudden and dry and dirty like what a bold girl would let off in fun in a school dormitory at night. I hope Nora will let off no end of her farts in my face so that I may know their smell also.
The two parts of your body which do dirty things are the loveliest to me. I prefer your arse, darling, to your bubbies because it does such a dirty thing. I love your cunt not so much because it is the part I block but because it does another dirty thing. I could lie frigging all day looking at the divine word you wrote and at the thing you said you would do with your tongue. I wish I could hear your lips spluttering those heavenly exciting filthy words, see your mouth making dirty sounds and noises, feel your body wriggling under me, hear and smell the dirty fat girlish farts going pop pop out of your pretty bare girlish bum and fuck fuck fuck fuck my naughty little hot fuckbird’s cunt for ever.
So after she doesn’t write back for a while, and he amends:
Are you offended, dear, as what I said about your drawers? That is all nonsense, darling. I know they are spotless as your hearth. I know I could lick them all over, frills, legs and bottom. Only I love in my dirty way to think that in a certain part they are soiled.
I guess all was well, because his next and final business trip letter says:
I got your hot letter tonight and have been trying to picture you frigging your cunt in the closet. How do you do it? Do you stand against the wall with your hand tickling up under your clothes or do you squat down on the hole with your skirts up and your hand hard at work in through the slit of your drawers? Does it give you the horn now to shit? I wonder how you can do it. Do you come in the act of shitting or do you frig yourself off first and then shit? It must be a fearfully lecherous thing to see a girl with her clothes up frigging furiously at her cunt, to see her pretty white drawers pulled open behind and her bum sticking out and a fat brown thing stuck half-way out of her hole. You say you will shit your drawers, dear, and let me fuck you then. I would like to hear you shit them, dear, first and then fuck you. Some night when we are somewhere in the dark and talking dirty and you feel your shite ready to fall put your arms round my neck in shame and shit it down softly.
So, yeah, I came across these on the internet and I am pretty sure I won’t sleep tonight. I keep thinking back to that scene in Ulysses in which Leopold Bloom kisses his wife’s “plump mellow yellow smellow melons of her rump, on each plump melonous hemisphere, in their mellow yellow furrow.” And I think, “I should have known.”