I’m roughly three hundred pages into Ulysses

And I’m realizing that I would rather take a shower, sweep the floor, eat a taco, wash dishes, clean my desk—anything that isn’t reading this book. There are occasionally very good sentences. But I think Joyce was trying way too hard to be taken seriously when he should have been making art*. Do any writers like this book, or is it only academics? Because, academically, it’s incredible—but I’m starting to feel like I’m reading through the literary equivalent of Patrick Bateman flexing his biceps during the threesome scene in the American Psycho film.

Other than J.G. Ballard’s Crash, I haven’t put a book down while reading it in over three years. I’m about to break that habit.

*A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, on the other hand, was incredible.