Raising the Wind 16 June 2004 has now come and gone, the centenary of Bloomsday marked by celebrations throughout the world ranging from modest gatherings in pubs and bars to the spectacular street carnivals of Bloomsday 100 in Dublin. Even Google, the on-line search engine, temporarily altered its trademark logo for the day to weave in Joyce and his fictional creations—as sure a testament to the international popularity of Ulysses as I can imagine. Several small academic conferences were held in the United States and elsewhere, and the International James Joyce Symposium was packed to the rafters by over nine hundred registered participants who heard in excess of five hundred papers. Elegant and generous plenary addresses were delivered by Seamus Heaney, John Banville, and Eavan Boland that all acknowledged the potency of both Joyce's imagination and its enduring legacy for contemporary writers. Even Dublin's most congested thoroughfare, O'Connell Street, was closed twice to host Bloomsday events in the shadow of the General Post Office: once for a street breakfast that claimed to feed 10,000 and again for an open-air pageant entitled "Parable of the Plums." The latter provided perhaps the most surreal experience of the week's festivities, beginning with the return of Nelson to his pillar. Making his way across the stage to the crane that would hoist him in the air, this Edwardian ghost was greeted by a chorus of jeers led, it seemed, less by the somewhat blasé Dubliners than by the crowds of Joyceans. In a gesture that seemed to proclaim Ireland's modernity as well as its integration into the European Union, the theatrics reached their climax with a parade of African and Brazilian dance troops—neither of which I could quite connect to Stephen's story of two old pit-spitting women. Such disorientation, however, proved to be a regular feature of the week's events and was provoked in many of us by the massive changes the city of Dublin itself has undergone in the last decade. Although the plenaries and other major events were held in the stately Georgian precincts around Stephen's Green, the Symposium itself was staged in the newly opened National College of Ireland, a gleaming metal and glass structure erected amid what used to be the poverty-blighted North Quays. Moving back and forth between these venues was both fascinating and a little depressing, making visible as it did the ambiguities and anxieties of Ireland's rapid entry into a modernity Joyce could not have imagined when he last sailed down the Liffey. The shock of this experience, however, was moderated by the usual Bloomsday events, ranging from the readings of Ulysses staged atop the Martello Tower throughout the day to the parade of characters in Edwardian drag who thronged Davy Byrne's and ate countless pounds of gorgonzola. At the National Library of Ireland, the "James Joyce and Ulysses" exhibit was, for me, the highlight of the week, with the newly acquired notebooks and other rare treasures visible not only under glass but on remarkable computer touch-screens that allowed one to turn the manuscript pages by pulling a finger across the image. This is as close as digital technology can likely come to simulating the experience of reading a book, and it added a welcome degree of interactivity that fascinated everyone from younger children dragged along by their parents to seasoned scholars in awe of these totemic objects. There is, of course, a great deal more to say, and the next issue of JJQ will contain both the usual conference reports as well as a review of the "Joyce in Art" exhibition mounted at the Royal Hibernian Academy. This issue opens with the first comprehensive list of annotations compiled for Stephen Hero. Meticulously researched by Marc A. Mamigonian and John Noel Turner (with an assist at the last minute from John Smurthwaite), these provide readers and scholars alike with the kind of navigational tools that we have long used in reading and teaching all of Joyce's other major works. As they note in their introduction, Stephen Hero is by no means among Joyce's greatest accomplishments, but it does contain the origins of both A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and the ironic mode of writing that would distinguish Joyce's mature canon. If recent issues of the JJQ can be used to take a rough gauge of the interest in this book, it would be fair to say that the fragmentary manuscript has generated little interest over the last few decades. This is largely due to the fact, no doubt, that it is not a fully realized novel, and we will likely never know as much about its full shape and structure as we might like. Nevertheless, like A Portrait and Dubliners, it too can be a relatively dense text for both new readers and for those who have not committed Thom's Directory, the Ellmann biography, and a full map of Dublin to memory. These annotations draw heavily on such sources as well as many others to produce a comprehensive list not only of names, places, and events mentioned in the text, but of the various passages that were reworked as Joyce transformed Stephen Hero into A Portrait. Mamigonian and Turner summarize their methods this way: "anything we did not understand automatically got a note (even if this meant acknowledging that we did not understand what Joyce meant); anything that seems likely to be unclear to the well-informed general reader of Stephen Hero got a note; and anything in the text we thought would benefit from additional information or explication got a note (for example, the frequent parallels to passages in A Portrait)." This does, as they acknowledge, sometimes blur the boundary between simple annotation and critical interpretation, but the result is a rich and valuable source of information that will help both readers and scholars alike rediscover the richness of this early text. The very helpful index to these annotations was created by Carol Kealiher and should provide a quick and efficient way of moving through the diverse array of entries. The three articles that follow these annotations tease out key cultural and intellectual structures underwriting Joyce's aesthetics. In "SHORT BUT TO THE POINT: Newspaper Typography in 'Aeolus,'" Stephen Donovan looks carefully at turn-of-the-century newspapers and discovers that what we have long called the headlines or captions of "Aeolus" are, in fact, crossheads—a feature newly evolved at the end of the nineteenth century and designed to make the contents of articles more attractive and more easily digestible. Donovan then uses this key historical insight to introduce a nuanced reading of "Aeolus" in which the hostile satire of newspaper conventions many critics have noted gives way to a more humane and more complex understanding of commercial and popular culture. In pulling down from Bloom's fictional shelf Gustav Freytag's Soll und Haben, Erwin R. Steinberg and Christian W. Hallstein also examine the cultural minutia of Joyce's text, but for far different reasons. After examining briefly some of the questions the presence of this book in Bloom's library provokes, "Probing Silences in Joyce's Ulysses and the Question of Authorial Intention" goes on not to offer a definitive answer, but instead demands that we become far more wary of any attempt to resolve such mysteries. Steinberg and Hallstein remind us that we cannot know Joyce's intentions and that because those intentions often changed over time any attempt to appeal to the author as a final arbiter of truth runs the risk of diminishing the text and closing the interpretive act in on itself. The final long piece in this issue is a translation by Corinna del Greco Lobner of Gianna Manzini's "La moglie del sordo." This short story, which Joyce brought to the attention of Nino Frank in 1940, was mistitled when Valery Larbaud translated it into French, sparking a train of confusing mistakes and misidentifications that carried over even into Ellmann's biography. Properly translated as "The Wife of the Deaf," the piece is fascinating modernist narrative that shares a variety of enticing parallels with some of Joyce's own work. This is the first translation of any of Manzini's work into English, and we are now confident that story and author alike have, at last, been properly identified. This issue of JJQ contains, in addition to these critical and scholarly works, an unusually diverse range of book reviews—a section of the journal that will swell considerably over the next few numbers as we struggle to accommodate the monographs and collections that were published in conjunction with the Bloomsday centenary. Bill Brockman's "Checklist" will, I suspect, undergo a considerable expansion as well, and I urge those of you who may have come across particularly obscure pieces on Joyce this last June to pass a note to Bill. Commentary on the Dublin conference will appear in the next issue, but we publish here a brief report on the opening of the ReJoyce celebrations as well two tributes to Robert Kellogg. The photograph on the cover as well as the short narrative provided by Richard Nickson offers a tribute of a different sort to a seemingly warm and welcoming Nora Joyce emerging in the wake of her husband's growing post-war fame. Finally, after a brief hiatus, Sweets of Sin returns and begins to build toward its shocking climax. News and Notes It should come as little surprise that the copyright in Ulysses and the rights of the Estate weighed somewhat heavily on the Bloomsday celebrations. The organizers, after all, were asked to put together a celebration of the book, yet were under strict injunction not to quote or perform any portion of it in public (with the sole exception of the public readings at the Martello Tower). The delegates arrived in Dublin, however, to discover not only that they could indeed drink wine with Joyce's image on the label (as a result of a case the Estate lost), but that a new edition of Ulysses was at hand (being hawked, in fact, in the street outside Davy Byrne's on 16 June). A slightly revised edition of Danis Rose's original Readers' Edition of Ulysses, the work was published by the Houyhnhnm Press in Cornwall. The first edition had been the subject of a protracted copyright battle that ended up turning upon Rose's decision to make some relatively minor changes based upon copyrighted manuscript materials. These changes have now been reversed, the punctuation Rose added to "Penelope" has been removed, and a lengthy new "Preface" has been added. The book cannot be purchased in the United States, and there has been no word, as yet, about whether or not the Estate intends to take up this rather daringly thrown gauntlet. The Estate's rights and practices were also the subject of discussion by the International James Joyce Foundation, and the board of trustees empanelled a fact-finding commission charged with determining the Estate's past practices and current policies in licensing rights in Joyce's work. The committee is chaired by Paul Saint Amour and includes Carol Shloss, Michael Groden, and Robert Spoo. They have requested that scholars, artists, writers, and others who have had dealings with the Estate contact them with information about what kinds of requests have been made, what limits have been set, and what kind of fees were requested. For more details, please see the announcement that immediately follows this "Raising the Wind." The materials and memorabilia which Sotheby's auctioned in July raised eyebrows as well as substantial funds when one of the so-called "dirty letters" went for the astounding sum of £240,800 (or nearly half a million dollars)—a record at auction for a twentieth-century letter. The other items available were equally dear, ranging from £112,000 for Stanislaus's autographed first edition copy of Ulysses to a mere £84,000 for a proof copy of the 1910 Maunsel edition of Dubliners. By contrast, a first edition of Darwin's Origin of Species autographed to his daughter commanded a measly £42,000—not even enough to buy a few sentences in Joyce's hand. In all cases, the buyers have chosen to remain anonymous, though it appears that Michael Flatley acquired a good deal of the material objects (glasses, a singing medal, etc.) that were auctioned. Though 16 June has come and gone, additional Joyce conferences and events are still in the works. The Poetry Collection at the University of Buffalo, State University of New York has mounted a centennial exhibition that will be on display through the end of September. Sam Slote, James Joyce Scholar in Residence, organized the affair, and a handsomely produced catalog is available. From 7-9 October, the Hungarian James Joyce Society will conduct their annual conference in Szombathely. Details can be obtained by emailing LZA@freemail.hu. I have also just learned that the 2005 meeting of the International Association for the Study of Irish Literatures will be held in conjunction with the Prague Joyce Colloquium from 25-28 July 2005. Details can be found on the IASIL website at http://www.iasil.org. Finally, though it is generally not the practice of this column to note new publications on Joyce, I cannot resist calling your attention to a rather substantial, albeit obscure, article that has just crossed my desk. Apparently seized by the Bloomsday bug, The American Fly Fisher, the official organ of the American Museum of Flyfishing (located in Manchester, Vermont) published in its spring number a lengthy article by Robert H. Boyle entitled "'Flies Do Your Float': Fishing in Finnegans Wake." Some may remember a much smaller version of this piece appearing on the back page of the New York Times Sunday Book Review a few years ago, but this substantive article is now lengthy enough to pass the hours waiting for the fish to bite. Sean Latham University of Tulsa