I can't say I really wanted to read this, but it's been on my literary bucket list for a long time. This isn't because of its status as a masterpiece of modernist literature, although that is hard to ignore. But I couldn't really go through life without reading what is arguably one of the most significant novels ever written, due to my strong family ties to Ireland and my love of the country. James Joyce is, of course, one of Ireland's famous sons. And so, with the turn of the new year, I began to slog my way through Dublin on June 16th, 1904.

I wasn't sure what to expect, except that I knew it would be challenging. And it was. Parts of it lost me completely. Other parts I engaged in a great deal. Although it isn't easy to get through, in the end, I absolutely found it rewarding and worth the time.