The first aim of the work is to be into the world. Listened or ignored, this speech doesn’t have a quits of proclaiming « I am ». A beacon is also there to emit its existence. Its site, its shape, its signal aim to warn, to announce « I’m here, therefore... ». However, a work without a regard put on it doesn’t exist entirely ; a signal, that no one sees, is not one. By this way and in order to considered, a work of art must be designated as such, that is to say, to be appointed « work of art » ; the attributes « even original » that constitute it must be acknowledged, listed, regulated, even by a minority. In order to be taken in counts, a beacon must be charted and use some common codes in forces. For both cases, this recognition and this denomination are the fruit of specific persons, all of them using a precise and common vocabulary. But it was not sufficient to recognise a sign as such to understand it ; it is necessary to be able to decipher the message and grasp the different implications. A work includes several levels of reading, it’s the expression of a thought and of a sensitivity which acts and takes stand according to an internal and external precise context. From then on, the understanding of this complexity asks a certain knowledge. In other words, even if the work is, by definition, strongly individualised, its degree of hermetism is proportional to the level of acquaintance of language. Finally, in both domains, this language permits the communication between the individuals of the group because it reassembles the whole terms, values and concepts used by the « tribe ».
The inner monologue is the expression of this individualism. Indeed, it’s the internal verbal formulation of the unexpressed thought (Endophasia / Endo-speech). In other words, the speech that we utter internally. In a attempt of literary rendering of internal monologue like in Joyce’s Ulysse, the writing shape is therefore very specific. It’s, in some way, an uninterrupted unfolding of thought, expressed in a speech without listener ( a stream of consciousness). The writer, appearing his presence in no case, rather tries to realise a thought which makes itself « in live », according to which all ordains. This attempt translates itself, for example, in the use of segments of sentences that have any connections between them for the reader but being the expression of the thread of the thought of the hero of the book at the present moment , sentences therefore capable of subsisting by themselves, « holosentences ».
Thought is the unification element of humanity, it’s the tie between all the individuals of our species. But it’s also the intrinsic source of our deep solitude. Thought is a polling. In spite of the words, the signs, the codes, the capture and the transcription of a thought and its stream are impossible., the communion is vain. Every thought lives in an interior exile, resident of a no man’s land. In this sense, we can see the saunter of Mr Bloom, the dubliner, like the expression of the process of a lone thought, meeting up, from time to time, other thoughts just as remote and remaining in the background.
This writing has therefore a desire of universality, in the way that it rather tries to render what is common to every human beings, Joyce says about Ulysse : « I wrote eighteen books in eighteen languages ». But it’s also the pure rendering of an essential individuality, beyond common words and beyond the form necessary to a general communication. We may wonder, from then on, if this strong expression of individuality can be communicated as such ? If we can transmit literarily without using the « words of the tribe » ? I think that the hermetism of the book , apart from the clever and passionated game of the language, is deliberate. Indeed, how, to evoke the isolation of the thinking being except in insulating the book itself ? In placing it, with the narration shape, the writing style, the stuffy sum of unknown credentials, on a unacknowledged territory, Joyce, himself exiled, makes us face that a work that banishes us. Finally, not veiling any of Bloom’s obscene thoughts, the author (consciously or unconsciously) made his book enter the absolute exclusion : censorship.