"Every life is in many days, day after day. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love. But always meeting ourselves."
See, I just rattled that off as if I've actually read Ulysses. And I haven't.
I've read and re-read Dubliners, and count it amongst my favourite Irish books; I've even acted in a number of stage adaptations of The Dead, the iconic closing story from that volume. So I can just about bluff my way through a conversation about Joyce with some modicum of composure.
But alas, I've never cracked into the Big One – like so many others who stick on straw hats and celebrate the magic of Bloomsday, I'm just a shameless pretender, banging on about Leopold Bloom, Stephen Dedalus and stately plump Buck Mulligan just to make myself look like a smart bastard.
So, as the city celebrates Ulysses, the question is: have you done the same?
Apologies if this result shatters your illusions regarding how many people have actually cracked into this tome. After all, iIt is as painful perhaps to be awakened from a vision as to be born.