About two years ago, I was writing a piece where I wondered if my creativity had gone out. Perhaps, I speculated, I had become nothing more than a “keeper of the flame” that burned back in the day, editing my old pieces of writing, planning to publish my older work, etc.

But then I was struck by the thought that my creativity hadn’t left me at all. I was writing so many new, creative things still, especially when it came to explicating Finnegans Wake. Why couldn’t scholarly writing be considered creative as well?

I’m not tending a flame, I thought. I’m the kindling. The fire burns from inside me, not unlike a phoenix.

This post looks at this idea in HCE’s speech in II.3, where he defends the Russian General.

This post looks at a connection between a passage in I.8 and the very beginning and end of Finnegans Wake.