He was a good companion, a relisher and raconteur of life, a font of humour, a blasphemer, a drinker of mythological stature. I think it should just say The Life of, but since it doesn't one can make a case for the voluminosity and the genius. The voluminosity was because so many volumes of his son's work were made out of his life. His genius lay not in the normal interaction between the brain and the mouth, it lay in the bounty.
Enough quantity makes quality to some extent.
John Joyce's children and people who met him couldn't really take it either. Couldn't take him. Again, they wouldn't use the word bounty - the fact that he never shut up because he didn't really care about other people's suffering. John Joyce knew jolly well that he was the most important person in the world, in his world, and didn't mind who knew it. If that fellow was dropped in the middle of the Sahara he'd sit, begod, and make a map of it,'' his father said.