I say that for all this talk of Ulysses, one can scarcely see any resemblance to that age old epic. The tale of the search for home against all odds supposedly runs parallel to this story of a man already home, but it just does not appear in point of fact. Although this unique form of writing should be addressed. As a story to be brought to the masses it is one of a highly relatable.   Just a walk through the day of any ordinary educated man, but told in such a way that life does impede upon the page. For a person may scarcely finish one thought before their mind may take them on a different tangent. Only when the end of a thought has been reached do people manage to trudge their way back to the original idea. It is quite a grand way to write a novel I must say. However one might be able to do without Mr. Joyce’s description of the private affairs of privy’s.

My attention in Mrs. Dalloway was inextricably drawn to this man Septimus. While it does my heart good to see another man who has answered the greatest of our motherland’s calls, it also pains me to see him in such a state. That he would be struck with this affliction confounds the physician in me. I have seen such confusion before, but it lies still out of my grasp an answer for this problem. Thus maybe a solution lies in the paranormal side of life. Perhaps a healer of some description my bring relief to such a troubled countenance.

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