When I started a class in Joyce, the prof handed out to the students an article on Joyce's works. The critic maintained that although most people felt they 'should' read Joyce, he never met anyone "who actually enjoyed reading him." As a poet, people often similarly complain to me, "I don't get Poetry. I just don't understand it; it's too hard." I tell them that poetry is not to be read like prose, that it does need to be treated differently than reading a story; think of it as a translation exercise. I feel the same about Joyce. It doesn't give me the same breezy pleasure that reading Jane Austen does; I sometimes have to read several passages of Joyce's three or four times, scouring the notes and criticisms in this and other annotated editions, discuss it with other Joyce fans and do some Googling, too. But like a person training to run a marathon, climbing a mountain or exercising to lose weight at a Gym, there is a certain amount of hard work that goes into the task before one experiences the joy of succeeding. It may not be the same kind of enjoyment that one means when they say they enjoyed this book, movie or event, but there is a joy in it still. When one starts to draw all the threads of intertextual references, connotations or metaphors together in a passage, the light of understanding is a purity of joy that is greater than that of reading a book for fun and ease.
Although many people may not consider this fun and I have no desire to coerce people to read something they are not drawn to, if you are willing to work at it, then I would suggest you arm yourself with some background knowledge on the novel from reference or annotated books like this one, a friend who has struggled with this challenge themselves before and extra spare time to mull over the passages and see if figuring out what Joyce is saying brings the same rush of bliss that it does for me and you will have opened up a new avenue of understanding on one of the great writers of the 20th century.