 Sweet Finney McVallon McFay, it's Finnegan's Wake by James Joyce. Welcome back lads and lassies. I hope you enjoy this selection. This is how big the book is and we're going toward the end, toward the end, toward the end of this book. Okay, just gonna read. You know, I've been searching this book for the affluent genius that abounds but it isn't easy to find. Much of it is talked about so pithily and succulently that it will elude our first grasps at comprehension. Absolutely. Guaranteed. Tell me. You try reading this book and figure out what it's all about and tell me. Not an easy task. Not an easy task at all. No, Finnegan's Wake is not a book you just read. It's not a book you just read, folks. You don't just pick it up and read it. You'll be repelled. Guaranteed. Try it. I dare you to try to just pick it up cold without knowing anything about it. Even if you've read other James Joyce books like Ulysses and appreciated them. If you don't know anything about Finnegan's Wake and you try reading it, you're gonna be repulsed. You're gonna hate it. You're gonna think it's a trash heap, essentially. It's a total trash heap. But I've been mining it for veins of opals and gold nuggets and pockets of rubies and sapphires throughout. This book is one of the most rewarding books for the literature-loving types. You know, the poetic types and artistic types. That type of people. But like I said, it doesn't matter who, what type of person you are. You don't know anything about it and you go to it. You're not gonna like it. But you might like some readings from it. So here we go. Stop. Did a stir? No. Is fast. On to bed. So is, so he is. It's only the wind on the road outside for to wake all shivering shanks from snoring. But, um, God is a villain. Who will he be? This matrimon, some king of the yeast, and his crimsy-grade brunswig with the snow in his mouth and the Caspian asthma. So bulk of build, relics of fire and Levite, Dick Gill, Tan Wang, or McFinnon's cruel harring. He has only his head-crossy casket on and his woezy shirt-pliss with peace-god doublet. Also his feet-wear doublet, doubled-width socks, for he always must to ensure warm sleep between a pair with fully-fleeced bankers like a finock in a cowl. Can thus be miss, mishthra, norkman that keeps our hotel? Begore, Mr. Osorgman, you're looking right well. Heckler's champion, ethnicist, how deft as a fuchsia showers, doft as a fish. He's the dibble's own doge's for doublin' ex-existence. But a jolly fine decent from of one word. He's trembling up on his family. Wrong. He's rounding up on his family. And who is the bodicam by him, sir? You Velsevelse, with ebbs and zabs? Her tricksy strail is tripping her. Vop. Luck at the way. For the luke of smoke she's looping the lamp. Why, that's old misness. Wipe them dry. Well, well, wells, oh wells. Dono-water. Artic, our dechikas, me, with her half-bend, as proud as a peahen, alabal me, and her trabeck quiver-lipe, ninyananya, and her steppziojadznya, kondir-bosul. Happy tea area, naughty gay through, selling sunlit soaps, to washed-out winches, and rain-cold droughts, to the props of his pubs. She tired lipping the swells at Ponte d'Élys, d'Él, till she jumped the boom at Bronomouth. Now she's boread his head under Hatesbury's hatch, and loaned his fate to Old Love Lane. And she's just the same old haphorth of dripping. She's even Brent for hair. Which route are they going? Why, Angel, Sitter, or Amen Corner, Norwood's Southwalk, or Euston Waste? The solvent man in his upper gambesan with not a breath against him, and the we-wiping woman-housey. They're coming, tarog the diamond wedding tour, Giants, Inchley, Elfkins, El, vesting their characters, vixen of development, Andence, Allaire, Arthur's heir, our first-day man, and your dresser, and mine, that Luxemburger, Avec, Cetahys al-Vet, Coney Glick, Shire, with his quench, lintess, Stepney's shipchild, with the waif of his bosom, Dunmau's flitcher with duck on the rock, down the scales, the way they went up, under-talls, and threading tormentors, shunning the star-traps, and slipping in sliders, risking a runaway, ruling reveals from elder, arbor, to la purée, Eskipping the clockback crystal in carbon, swith-heartedly, hot and cold, and electricery, with attendance and lounge, and promenade free, in spite of all that science, could boot or art could ec, bolt the grinden, cave and catam, single-rex for the week, double-axe for the mail, and quick-quack-quack for the radios. Renove that Bible, you will never have post in your pocket unless you have brass on your plate, Begards outdoor, goat to the enth, thou slow-guard, mind the monks and door, mind the monks and their grasps, scrape your souls, commit no miracles, postpone no bills, respect the uniform, hold the robbers for the cunning his plethoron, let leash the doos to the coup in her coins, hate not, have not, share the wealth and spoil the wheel, peg the pound to torn the devil, my time is on draft, bottle your own, love my label like myself, earn before eating, trudge after drink, credit label like myself, credit tomorrow, follow my dealings, fetch my price, buy not from dives, sell not to froind, hear now chuck English and learn to pray plain, lean on your lunch, no cods before me, practice preaching, practice preaching, think in your stomach, import through the nose, buy faith alone, seasons weather, Gomorrah, salong, let's feed from my tide table, oil's wells in our lands, let ear-wiggers, wivable, teach you the dance, now their laws assist them and ease their fall, now there's a little snippet from Finnegan's Wake, if you liked it, well I've got a whole playlist called Finnegan's Wake that you can explore with lots of talks and other resources as well from other channels, so please do make sure to subscribe and let me know what you think, I'd love to hear what you think and share my video as well, let's help get over this negative algorithm, so how did you like Finnegan's Wake today, one of the hardest books in the world, thank you.