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…[A]nd I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes [Joyce, 1922, p. 783].
In 1921 James Joyce completed the last lines of his magnum opus Ulysses. The manuscript had taken 8 years in preparation. In it he captured, within 783 pages of densely written prose, the kaleidoscopic transformations of a single day—June 16, 1904—of his native Dublin. It was, on the surface, an uneventful day. Yet after the reader has successfully traversed, endured, and absorbed the 18 sections of this novel, he has undergone a psychological experience transcending passing detail.
Such experience is elusive. Much has been written about