So when everybody began praising A Confederacy of Dunces, around the fall of 1980, my junior year in college, I wasn't interested.
But they kept up. Spectacular! A masterpiece! A classic! The greatest novel ever (except for Ulysses).
Plus, like all "great novels," it had an interesting origin story. John Kennedy Toole (1937-1969), a gigantic mass of flab, an aspiring writer, a literary wit, a permanent student who never finished his Ph.D. (although he was much smarter than his professors), an avid heterosexual stymied by constant "just friends' speeches from girls (maybe cut back on the cake?), an anti-Catholic teaching at a Catholic college, a prude who railed against the vulgarity of the 1960s co-eds who filled his classes, finally couldn't take it anymore, and committed suicide at the age of 31.While cleaning out his things, his mother found a carbon copy of a novel called A Confederacy of Dunces (the original had been rejected by some publishers and finally destroyed). She contacted writer Walker Percy, who at first refused to read it -- who needed another Truman Capote, especially a heterosexual one? But eventually he gave in, loved it, and after 11 years managed to get it into print. The rest was history: Stupendous! Colossal! A masterpiece!
Prey to peer pressure, I bought a copy, read a few pages, and threw it out, not so much offended as disgusted, like when you touch a door handle and there's something gross and sticky on it. 40 years later, I don't remember what the problem was. I remember that it featured a bulbous jerk who hated everybody and everything except Boethius, but why the visceral disgust? Why does it come back every time I hear about Confederacy.
So I found a preview on Amazon and read the first few pages.
Page 1: In a godforsaken small town in the South, no doubt somewhere near Yoknapatawpaw County, the bulbous Ignatius waits for his mother to finish shopping and criticizes the fashion choices of passersby (Ignatius is O'Toole. I get it). He's wearing a hunting cap and boots too small for his bulbous feet. He's so fat that movement is difficult.
Page 2: The town turns out to be New Orleans (not that small). More about how fat he is: when he tries to move, "in his lumbering elephantine fashion," he sends "waves of flesh rippling." Even his boots are swollen to bursting from his swollen fat feet. (This guy isn't just fat, he's a disgusting bloated white caterpillar with a nearly human face.. That's what caused the disgust! I feel my gorge rising even now!).
Plowing on: the bloated white caterpillar is upset because his favorite game at the arcade is missing, which we hear about for several paragraphs. (Boring, but it beats hearing how fat he is again).
Page 3: More about the arcade game. A police officer, seeing his bag of sheet music and spare string for his lute, saunters up and asks him for an ID. Ignatious objects, complaining that the city is full of criminals, like sodomites and lesbians. Why not target them instead? (And he's blathering homophobe! Help!)
Page 4: Meanwhile, Mom is buying macaroons and cakes. More about how fat her son is. She talks to a friend, who complains about her feet (More about feet! Was Mr. Toole a bit of a foot fetishist?). They discuss the fact that Ignatius isn't married, and how he gets nasty when she doesn't provide enough cake (he's nightmarishly fat -- I get it).
Page 5: Back on the street, people are gathering around in defense of Ignatius, and the cop threatens to arrest them, particularly when they imply that he might be a "comuniss." Fortunately, Mom comes to the rescue, macaroons and wine cake in hand (I'm never eating a piece of cake again. I may never eat again, period).
According to wikipedia, I'm not missing much plot. Confederacy seems to be mostly episodic, minor adventures with various colorful characters, in fact, just about everyone from his opening-cop diatribe, including a sodomite, lesbians, strippers, onanists, and so on. Meanwhile, Ignatius discusses how vulgar modern society is, and how much he likes Boethius. The only major events: Mom decides to get married, and to commit Ignatius to a mental hospital (good!)There's a statue of Ignatius on Canal Street in New Orleans, to scare away the tourists. He looks rather svelte for a bloated white caterpillar.
Oddly, I have no problems with chubs or even superchubs in real life. I find them rather attractive. But the bloated white caterpillar was disgusting. And homophobic.
He hates all sexuality. I read it as an out gay teen and I couldn't believe what I was reading. Some of the chapters were pretty funny, and Ignatius' lack of self-awareness is what motivates the stories. His homophobia just made me feel sorry for the gay characters in the book. But I also thought: how lucky he was to be around then and not now, or he'd be even more appalled about what kind of garbage had become popular (this was the late 1990s, one of the worst eras of popular music that I can recall).
ReplyDeleteHe reminded me of Rorschach. At least Rorschach has a history of child abuse to explain why he kills prostitutes. (His mother, a prostitute, beat him.) Under that sad pathetic man is an even sadder, more pathetic man. Here it's what, again?
DeleteYeah, the thing is, the 80s and early 90s had good music, but the late 90s were strictly formula.
I wouldn't know. The last time I listened to pop music regularly was in 1991, during my semester in Nashville. Nothing since, except what I hear accidentally at the gym or on a tv show.
DeleteYou're missing out. The novel was a little too depressing for me to read in my just out 20 y.o. self, but when I reread it at 35, I've kept rereading it. My mother, an avid reader, still can't. We are both from New Orleans and both ate wine cake from D.H. Holmes on Canal Street. The novel is beat jazz, with New Orleans flair. Its commentary on society and the South and New Orleans and pretentious white trash academia is genius. I've grown up with and am related to every character in that book. Ignatius does eventually overcome his homophobia and decide that turning all militaries gay could be an end to war. I enjoy your blog.
ReplyDeleteI say replace war with politicians dueling.
DeleteNever heard of wine cake outside the book, but I don't eat anything with an alcoholic beverage as an ingredient (even though the alcohol itself is gone, I still know that it was there).
DeleteI never read it - a film might be made if you have a actor who sees the role as Oscar bait
ReplyDeleteMy (at the time) boss gave me that book. I got about as far as you did. After several attempts and decades later, I sold my copy to a used book store. I immediately felt cleansed via purging.
ReplyDelete