Good catch, Connor.
You know what the ironic part is? By creating this quote, all of those enigmas and puzzles are rendered moot. We know exactly what you meant; to confuse us so you’d be talked about for eons. And now that we know that, you WON’T be talked about for eons. Because you told us what you really meant.
Way to destroy your own immortality, Joyce.
Exactly! It encompasses everything I hate about literary criticism. Study for the stake of study, enigma for the sake of being vague; English studies can be one of the richest, most rewarding experience an academic-minded person can pursue, but Joyce isn’t interested in creating a rewarding experience for the reader, he merely wants to immortalize himself in text that plays to the weaknesses of the professors. He contributes to the idea that English studies is some stuffy, self-contained ideal that chases some abstract meaning. I mean, read Heart of Darkness! Read Slaughterhouse V! Those works have not only changed the way I think about writing, they’ve changed the way I perceive the world! Good writing, that is, writing that exists on the boundaries of our expectations of literature, can have the same experience as learning that the elements that make up star are the same components of all life on Earth, even us! But is Joyce training to attain some sort of literary nirvana? NOPE! He exploits the establishment of academic literature and, in doing so, exposes his own dickishness. For shame, Joyce, you over-compensating Irish bastard, I hope the next generation of literary critics can’t even remember your name.