Constant Conversation: The Many Voices of Stephen's Mind

Although the concept of interior monologue is intrinsically connected to the notion of talking to oneself, Stephen’s particular internal style both emphasizes and complicates this notion of a one man—or one mind—conversation.

Since my primary section (from “SHORT BUT TO THE POINT” to “A DISTANT VOICE”) and our shared group section (from “CLEVER, VERY” to “OMINOUS—FOR HIM!”) contain the majority of Stephen’s participation in this chapter, I spent a great deal of time considering when, where, and why Stephen might be reverting into his interior thoughts. Although I had noticed the stylistic differences between Bloom’s thoughts and Stephen’s throughout our class readings, this close-reading project exposed the grammatical and rhetorical structures that distinguish the two. (For a closer look, check out Graham’s “Bloom & Stephen (Un)Arranged” post).

I was first struck by Stephen’s curious use of pronouns and perspective. Unlike Bloom, who consistently uses the first person in his monologue, Stephen’s sense of self seems connected to both the first (I/me) and second (you) person. While many of his musings begin by referring to himself in the first person, as in “Speaking about me. What did he say?” (“A MAN OF HIGH MORALE”), his thoughts also often feature a response, as in “Would anyone wish that mouth for her kiss? How do you know? Why did you write it then?” (“CLEVER, VERY”). This second person “you” seems just as aligned with Stephen’s self as the first person, creating an internal call-and-response conversation between the two.

The effect of this structure is two-fold: conceptually, it aligns with Stephen’s character as a self-reflective, self-critical, coming-of-age artist. However, it also complicates the notion of individual voice, even in a space as seemingly self-contained as an inner thought. This oscillation between call-and-response and first-and-second forces the reader (especially the close-reader, attempting to color-code for voice) to consider the fact that there may be other voices entering and impacting Stephen’s thoughts. For example, Stephen’s musing about what Professor Magennis may have said (“Speaking about me. What did he say? What did he say? What did he say about me?”) concludes with the command, “Don’t ask.” I initially read this as Stephen’s self-reprimand of his own increasingly obsessive questions. However, these two words could just as reasonably be colored for objective action or potentially even free indirect discourse. Interestingly, Stephen doesn’t even have an opportunity to show whether or not he will heed that advice, since the objective action of the scene shifts sharply away from Professor Magennis toward another example of rhetorical eloquence.

The origin and attribution of voice within Stephen’s mind is even further complicated by the use of literary and historical reference/quotation continually filtering throughout his mind. In this chapter alone, Stephen recalls lines of Dante, Shakespeare, and St. Augustine. While these sources can be attributed, it is more difficult to determine which character, narrator, or “arranger” presence is bringing them into this text.

While strong cases could be made for multiple speakers—or thinkers—it is perhaps more interesting to consider what this concept of constant conversation between individual character (Stephen), artist (Stephen/Joyce), text (Ulysses), and inter-text says about the number of voices that are inevitably present every time we write, read, or even think.