James Joyce

Of all the things his fists and fingers did or did not do - depending on what biography or rumour you wish to buy into (the insanity of incest with his mad daughter, a candle-stick exploration of a Jewess's anus, slipping a wedding ring with love onto Nora Barnacle's finger, wrote the artwork of the century, or a minor one of stylish excess) one thing the big-city rebel Joyce decidedly never did do, was name a book Finnegan's Wake. Instead, he plucked, like a flea from a head, that apostrophe from between the n and the s.

So what? All this is to announce, in a roundabout way, that Fist has a new purpose; a new blog.