This is the book that almost broke my book club. John Kennedy Toole’s A Confederacy of Dunces is as famous for its back-story as it is for its content. It was published posthumously in 1980, over a decade after Toole ended his own life by carbon monoxide poisoning. Despite having been earlier rejected by publishers, the book went on to win the Pulitzer Prize. A Confederacy of Dunces is a rambling, aimless, comedic novel centered on Ignatius J. Reilly, a buffoonish overweight man-child with poor fashion sense, worse social skills, and deplorable hygiene. Through 400 pages – which is relatively long for a book in which nothing happens – we follow Ignatius through various minor misadventures: Ignatius goes to a bar; Ignatius gets a job at Levy Pants and attempts to unionize the factory; Ignatius sells hotdogs; Ignatius – in what passes for a large set piece – attempts to use a gay soiree as a political rally. Comedy is all about personal, subjective reactions. Thus, any artistic medium that relies heavily on comedy is likely to engender varied responses. For my book club, at least, those responses were all passionate. It was my buddy Colin who picked the book. He’d loved it as an eighteen year-old; now, fourteen years later, he thought it a propitious time to revisit it. Rule 1 of Book Club – at least our book club – is that the person picking the book has to have read it before. He is then forced to “defend” the book at our bimonthly meeting. In his opening statement, Colin declared his undying love. A hilarious romp with an indelible central character. The salvos came fast and fierce. The group was roughly split on loving or hating the book, and responses lived at those two extremes. Colin was the chief defender. I was his chief inquisitor. No one at our meeting had an indifferent response. Eventually, the others got tired, their attention drawn by the frozen pizza and beer. The debate came down to Colin and me battling away over the inherent worth of A Confederacy of Dunces while the others looked for a way to exit quietly. I’ll tell you what I told him. I hated it. Hate is a pretty strong word. Perhaps a bit imprecise as well. Overall, I strongly disliked the book. But I hated everyone in it. Based on the epigram by Jonathan Swift, it is clear that Toole’s title refers to Ignatius’s worldview: that his inflated sense of intelligence, his delusions of grandeur, and his unrelenting condescension has created a paradigm in which he believes that every other person in this world is an idiot. And what is more, he thinks this idiot-filled world is in league against him. I took the title differently. I assumed it to be Toole’s worldview. His evident intelligence, his publishing failures, and his depression clearly combined to lead him to his unfortunate end. Reading this book, I got the sense that Toole really thought himself a genius – one destined to be misunderstood. To that end, the “confederacy of dunces” consists of us – the hapless, clueless world. There is a strong disgust for humanity permeating every page. There is not a single likeable character. There is not a single person walking the streets of Toole’s New Orleans who shows a flash of wit, warmth, or love. The pro-Dunces members of my book club pointed out that I have a tendency towards “likeable” characters. I considered the possibility, and though there is a grain of truth, I don’t think it’s entirely accurate. It was not the characters’ un-likability that struck me; it was their creator’s disdain. Toole appears to despise his own characters. How could I feel otherwise? Ignatius is a tiresome, boorish person to follow. He is disruptive, dishonest, and frankly disgusting. His interactions with others are marked by a tendency towards sociopathy. He is written for laughs – or so I am told, by those who found him funny – but he is clearly suffering from undiagnosed mental illnesses. But rather than seeing him to a hospital, we have to follow him as he plods and farts his way through each day, griping about his “valve,” unable to reach the tiniest bit of insight. The side characters are just as bad. Ignatius’s widowed mother Irene is an alcoholic enabler – and so immensely irritating that I nearly defenestrated my copy of this book on several occasions. Ignatius’s long-distance “girlfriend” – for lack of a better word – Myrna is a sex-crazed New York beatnik who attempts to solve Ignatius’s problems by analyzing his sex life. (To be fair, her correspondence with Ignatius is fairly hilarious). Mr. Gonzalez, the manager at Levy Pants, is a clueless bungler who doesn’t realize that Ignatius is filing things in the trash. The owner of Levy Pants, Gus Levy, is dumb, indifferent, and put upon by his wife, a trite, do-it-yourself psychoanalyst. Patrolman Angel Mancuso seems to have a decent enough heart, but he is such an inept milquetoast that it’s impossible to care about him. The one character with a semblance of actual (rather than perceived) aptitude is Burma Jones, a black porter at the club Night of Joy. He works there for Lana Lee and puts up with her unpleasantness so that he isn’t arrested for vagrancy. Burma rises above the crowd with his ability – not to be taken lightly in this novel – to accurately observe life as it swirls around him. He is, in other words, relatively sane. But even this character is marred by the black stereotypes and tropes he is forced to carry. Honestly, I sometimes enjoy trashing a book. Especially a trashy book that deserves it. I don’t feel that way in this instance. For one, the background – Toole’s publishing woes, his death – is sad. For another, he was a man of obvious talent. A Confederacy of Dunces is a masterpiece in that it absolutely achieves – with great skill – exactly what it sets out to achieve. I simply did not like it. After our book club disassembled, I didn't hear from Colin for awhile. I wondered if I hadn’t assaulted his favorite book a bit too hard. Books are personal. Sharing them is a risk. (Especially with our book club. We don’t stab in the back; we stab in the front). I almost texted him to apologize. But his wife was also expecting a baby any day, so it occurred to me that he had other things on his mind. Then, the other night, I was taking an evening stroll when I ran into him and his wife as they walked around, trying to jumpstart labor. I was going to ask them about baby-related stuff, but Colin cut me off immediately. “I’ve been thinking about A Confederacy of Dunces,” he said. “I’m more certain than ever that you’re completely f---ing wrong. It’s a great book. It changed my life.”“Did it really change your life?” I asked. “Well, no. But it’s really damn funny.” So, there you have the dissenting opinion. I didn't care for A Confederacy of Dunces. But maybe I’m just completely f---ing wrong.
A weird and wonderful book. Truly, I've never read anything like it. This novel has some of the crispest, most well-painted characters I've ever read, and although I wasn't "laughing out loud" as much as the reviewers on the back cover promised, it is definitely funny as hell, and a completely cringe-worthy story. The character of Ignatius Reilly will haunt me. We all know people like this -- the over-educated, miserable, socially dysfunctional outcast who is so cut off from the world that he manages see everyone else through some sick, distorted prism in which he is only sane person, and everyone else is simply beneath him. In this case, the character also weighs 300 pounds, and alternates between selling hotdogs, screaming at his mother, and lying around on stained, mildewy sheets as he writes his manifesto besmirching the modern world. Wow. The real sadness is the story of the author, who wrote this book and never showed it to a soul before committing suicide when he was 32. His mom discovered it, and later gave it to an English professor who got it published. In 1980, it won the Pulitzer. Poor guy. I'm very curious about how close this book was to his own life, as you could not draft these characters without some very specific models.I wouldn't recommend this book to just anyone, but if you have a sense of humor and an appreciation for New Orleans culture, crazy characters, or super-dorks, you may love it. I am definitely glad I read it.
What do You think about A Confederacy Of Dunces (1994)?
Dear Reader,Fortuna evidently was smiling upon my being when I endeavored to undertake the consumption of this philosophical masterpiece. How amusing to stumble upon a comic homage to Boethius's Consolation of Philosophy, an homage that not only mirrors its source of inspiration in both content and structure, but moreover employs said source as a plot device of the most humorous kind. Certainly it was no mere accident; indeed it must have been a result of afflatus imparted by the goddess herself in collaboration with the muses Thalia and Calliope. Oh, what genius has the world lost with the tragic demise of John Kennedy Toole?Through his quixotic anti-hero, Ignatius J. Reilly, Toole is disposed to explore the ideas of predestination and game theory. Is Rielly a misunderstood genius, surrounded by intellectual inferiors and thus a victim of their nescience? Or is it his own distorted reality, paranoid delusions, and ineptitude that is the impetus of his misfortune? It is for you, dear reader, to decide.I found the descriptions of New Orleans particularly diverting. Such a cast of eccentric and delightful characters could only be found within the borders of the Crescent City (or Stars Hollow). Like Proust's madeleine, the wonderful references to NOLA summoned to my mind memories of a happier, pre-Katrina time in one of my favorite municipalities.I must say that the numerous references to various and sundry bodily emissions offended my delicate feminine sensibilities somewhat. Perhaps this was the plan of some devious alpha-male, to thus corrupt the otherwise sheltered and virginal innocence of my mentality. As Ignatius said, "This subject deserves the attention of a profound thinker who has a certain perspective on the world's cultural development."(If any perceptive film producers are interested in buying the movie rights to this Review, I might here make a note about the filming of this critique. A song performed by The Preservation Hall Jazz Band would provide excellent background accompaniment. Perhaps the actress playing your humble reviewer could be seated at a table at the Cafe du Monde, enjoying a cafe au lait and plate of beignets.)
—Sarah Null
Am I being unduly harsh giving this a mere “It’s OK”? Maybe. To hear some people describe it (even people I usually correlate well with), this book is a laugh-scream riot. Hopes grow even higher when you hear the story about Toole’s mother who, after his suicide, finally gets the thing published, then sits back to watch the prizes pour in. What I viewed as a miss may have been because the bar was so high. It could be, too, that I’m just not predisposed to dysfunctional characters, all bloated with self-importance. The protagonist (or antagonist depending on how you see him) is Ignatius J. Reilly. He’s decidedly offbeat, which is all well and good, but I just didn’t think he was funny. Not all guys with yinged-out hair are brilliant physicists either, much as we might surmise.That’s just my opinion. Plenty of people disagree. It was a long time ago that I read it, so factor that in as well. Maybe guys like George Costanza have now gotten me used to whiny, self-centered anti-strivers as sources of humor.I sometimes wonder why certain works are so polarizing. In this case I think lots of people saw a big misanthropic id running roughshod and had to laugh. Others of us were just annoyed. (Do I sound like a terrible curmudgeon right now? I just did a check on my sense of humor and found that it generally goes for sarcasm, irony, and even shtick. Must just have been this brand where I didn’t.)
—Steve
First things first: this book isn't quite the hilarious masterpiece everyone would have you believe. Is it funny? Yes. Is it smart? Unquestionably. Are the characters interesting and well-developed? I'd say yes. However, is it as funny and smart and are the characters as interesting and well-developed as people will tell you? No.While reading this book in semi-public places, I had no less than 3 different people come up to me and tell me how hilarious the book was (why do people do that anyway?
—Patrick
