ABSTRACT
The cant phrase of judgment upon Mr. Joyce's magnum opus has been launched by a French critic. ‘With this book,’ says M. Valéry Larbaud, ‘Ireland makes a sensational re-entrance into high European literature.’ [See No. 118.] Whether anyone, even M. Larbaud himself, knows what is meant by the last three words, we cannot tell. A phrase does not have to be intelligible in order to succeed, and we already hear echoes of this pronouncement. Ulysses somehow is European; everything else is not.
