ABSTRACT
An important event in Paris this week has been the appearance, long-heralded and joyfully acclaimed, of Mr. James Joyce's Ulysses. Mr. Joyce is a young Irishman who is better known in the United States than in his native country, and better known in Paris perhaps than in either. When the early portents of Ulysses broke upon a dazed and incredulous world of very wide-awake and credulous young men, in the pages of the defunct Little Review, there was one very occasional reader of that publication who read the first instalments of this astonishing work very carefully five times, and then pressed firmly on the button labelled ‘Literary Censorship and Public Morals.’ Whereupon a squad of six large Irish policeman sprang up kinema-fashion from their porterhouse-steak breakfasts and sallied forth to suppress. . . .
