A Comprehensive Analysis of Literary Protagonists - Sykalo Evgen 2023

Blazes Boylan - “Ulysses” by James Joyce

Okay, so let’s talk about Blazes Boylan. Yeah, that guy from James Joyce’s "Ulysses." The one who waltzes in like he owns the joint (or, more specifically, owns Molly Bloom). He’s not exactly the kind of literary character you’d put on a pedestal, but—and here’s the twist—maybe that’s precisely why he’s worth dissecting. Because, let’s face it: Boylan isn’t the hero, the anti-hero, or even the tragic figure. He’s more like the human embodiment of the cringe emoji, wrapped in a shiny suit and set loose on Dublin. And yet… he’s unforgettable. Which—ugh—is kind of the point.

First, can we talk about how Blazes Boylan practically reeks of performative masculinity? He’s the guy who’d make an entrance at a party just to make sure everyone knows he’s there. Swagger? Check. Charm turned up to eleven? Double check. But scratch beneath the surface, and what do you get? Not much, honestly. He’s all surface: a walking Pinterest board of what men in 1904 thought women wanted—or, at least, what Boylan thinks they want. Confidence (borderline cockiness), good looks, and a bit of devil-may-care attitude. And yeah, maybe that worked for him, but isn’t there something… hollow about it? Like, his whole vibe is curated—a TikTok thirst trap, but analog.

Yet here’s the thing: Joyce doesn’t just hand us Boylan on a platter, all neat and tidy with a bow on top. No. We see Boylan mostly through the eyes of others, particularly Leopold Bloom. And, let’s be real, Bloom is not exactly an unbiased narrator. To Bloom, Boylan isn’t just some guy; he’s that guy. The one Molly’s having an affair with. The one who represents everything Bloom thinks he isn’t: virile, confident, larger than life. Boylan’s existence is like an Instagram feed full of yacht pics and six-pack abs when you’re sitting in sweatpants eating cold pizza. Painfully aspirational. Or aspirationally painful?

But let’s not give Boylan too much credit. He’s not some Machiavellian villain scheming to destroy Bloom’s life. Honestly, he probably doesn’t think about Bloom much at all. Boylan’s world revolves around Boylan. He’s a character who moves through life with the unshakeable confidence of someone who’s never had to second-guess himself. Does that make him evil? Nah. Just… obnoxious. And maybe that’s worse? Because at least evil can be compelling. Boylan’s just kind of a walking punchline, but without the self-awareness to realize it.

And yet (here comes the contradiction—buckle up), Boylan serves an essential function in "Ulysses." He’s not just there to be Bloom’s foil. He’s a reminder of how much of our lives—and our self-worth—is shaped by comparison. Bloom’s fixation on Boylan isn’t just about jealousy; it’s about insecurity, about the stories we tell ourselves about who we are and who we’re not. Boylan’s presence forces Bloom to confront his own fears and failures, to wrestle with what it means to be a husband, a man, a human being. And honestly? That’s kind of brilliant. Because how often do we let our "Boylans" (literal or metaphorical) live rent-free in our heads, dictating how we see ourselves?

Also, can we talk about how Boylan’s a bit of a meta-character? Like, he’s almost too perfect as Bloom’s nemesis. It’s as if Joyce plucked him straight out of a stock character lineup and then set him loose to wreak havoc. He’s the handsome rogue, the charming cad, the guy who’s somehow always in the right place at the right time (or, in Bloom’s case, the wrong place at the wrong time). But—and here’s where Joyce gets sneaky—Boylan’s lack of depth is kind of the point. He’s not supposed to be a fully fleshed-out human being. He’s a symbol, a catalyst, a plot device with great hair. And that’s okay, because "Ulysses" isn’t about him. It’s about the people whose lives he impacts, the ripples he creates just by existing.

Now, if we’re being honest, Boylan’s not the kind of character who inspires fan fiction or deep emotional attachment. He’s not Mr. Darcy. He’s not even Heathcliff. He’s… Blazes Boylan. The name alone sounds like it belongs to a B-list actor in a 90s soap opera. But maybe that’s part of the genius of "Ulysses": it’s not just a novel about extraordinary people doing extraordinary things. It’s about the mundane, the messy, the irritatingly human. And Boylan? He’s as human as they come. Flawed, frustrating, and—let’s admit it—we’ve all met a Boylan or two in our lives. Maybe we’ve even been one (ouch).

So, where does that leave us? Is Boylan a villain? A hero? A cosmic joke? Probably all of the above, depending on the lens you’re using. But here’s the thing: "Ulysses" doesn’t ask us to like Boylan. It doesn’t even ask us to understand him. It just asks us to look at him—really look—and maybe see a reflection of something uncomfortable, something true. And isn’t that what great literature does? Forces us to confront the messy, unfiltered reality of being alive, one cringe-worthy character at a time.