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There is a moment in James Joyce’s Ulysses where Leopold Bloom, walking the streets of Dublin, observes the city’s surface with a peculiarly modern eye: “He passed the Irish Times office. There might be other answers lying there. Like to like. The windows of the newspaper offices were livid with the cold light of the electric bulbs. Busy getting stuff in.” This is not a romantic description of a moonlit spire or a quaint cobblestone lane. It is a record of a mind navigating a new kind of environment—one defined by information, commercial energy, and the harsh, artificial glow of…
