But if it makes easy sense when we learn that after the ground clearing achieved in the early publications Joyce sets to work on an enormous new fictional venture, guesses about new preoccupations and the leaving behind of old collapse in face of the reality of Ulysses, for in it we read, among a thousand turnings and an wanderings, of a single day, the sixteenth of June nineteen hundred and four, in Dublin, and how two characters, separately and together, live out that day among the welter of their acquaintance, their needs and deeds and thoughts, their places of refuge and of risk, and if one of these two, Leopold Bloom, is new, the other is Stephen Daedalus, and Dublin is everywhere in the novel, almost to the point where everywhere is Dublin.