A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole (1980)

"Optimism nauseates me. It is perverse. Since man's fall, his proper position in the universe has been one of misery.” - Ignatius J. Reilly

The title of this book comes from a quote by Jonathan Swift - 'When a true genius appears in the world, you may know him by this sign, that the dunces are all in confederacy against him' - and its publication is one that you cannot help but have mixed feelings about. After all it is considered one of the greatest works of comedy ever created, winning none less than the Pulitzer Prize on its wild and weird journey. However, as you may or may not know, none of this happened during the lifetime of John Kennedy Toole. 

Amid a tide of relentless rejection, he took his own life in 1969 at the age of 31. Indeed it was only due to the maniacal persistence of his mother that this book saw the light of day at all, eventually being published in 1980 - 11 years after its author's death. This in itself is a terrible tragedy and, as a result, the world was sadly deprived of one of its most unique and hilarious voices. 

The legacy left behind is this novel, which centres around one Ignatius J. Reilly - a 30 year old gigantic unemployed slob who lives with his mother and considers himself a gifted scholar of 'taste and decency', despite existing seemingly on the very lowest rung of society's totem pole. Ignatius has a degree in Medieval History which serves him absolutely no use as he navigates the booze-drenched neon bustle of New Orleans. He is continuously pre-occupied by three things: the ancient goddess Fortuna (famous for her 'wheel of fortune'), Myrna Minkoff (an old college mate now living in New York) and his valve. What function his valve actually performs within his body is never made clear but it is a constant irritant dependent on his varying levels of stress. The values Ignatius holds dear are that of theology and geometry and his view of almost everything in the modern world is somewhere between aghast and absolute outrage. If Ignatius existed in real life, I'm not sure you'd want to have a beer with him but he absolutely sparkles on the page and is a source of constant hilarity.  

Ignatius is the protagonist here, but the brilliance of this novel is how it weaves a seemingly endless litany of wild and weird characters together in a rich tapestry that somehow perfectly encapsulates New Orleans. You could even argue that the city itself is the true star of the show. Toole spent his entire life in and around the city and the story is teeming with all the texture, feel and that dirt under the fingernails sensation that only a true local can provide. There are no brass bands or Mardi Gras, this is a place occupied by a gaggle of reprobates scratching out an existence, constantly in orbit of each other. 

If Ignatius is the book's barking larynx, then his mother is it's central nervous system. She is melodrama personified and seems to be trapped in a bizarre cycle of love/hate/dependence/fear/dread with her son. Many of their scenes together are almost pure dialogue, giving them the feel of a play, and I'm not ashamed to say that I almost spat my drink out on more than one occasion. You see, not many books are funny. Even fewer are laugh out loud hilarious. But this somehow absolutely glistens with life, humour, absurdity, chaos, on every single page. Barely a moment goes by where there isn't some example of comic genius on display. There are too many to even begin to list them but every character has their moment, which is a rare and delightful thing to behold. 

“I suspect that I am the result of particularly weak conception on the part of my father. His sperm was probably emitted in a rather offhand manner.”

This book is so richly vibrant that it is hard to really attempt to give it an overview but we'll give it a go. For me what makes this story, if you could call it that, so compelling is that it is ultimately about humans. It has no discernible plot but provides that one magical thing that so many great pieces of art do, doing so in this case almost effortlessly, and that is a window into a world you would never otherwise experience. The characters depicted are so vivid that you have a hard time imagining them as anything other than real. The level of detail and idiosyncrasy on display is masterful. No matter how far out there a lot of them are, they are multi-faceted and feel like living, breathing, people. But what really separates the excellent from the timeless, for my money, is the ability to stick the landing. If you have a great ending, it makes all that proceeded it all the more engaging and this is where this book truly shines. For all it's bluster, craziness, hilarity and seemingly endless conveyer belt of grim situations, there is - at the centre of it all - love. It throbs at the centre of everything and it all comes together at the end in a way that, perhaps bizarrely, makes me emotional every time. It shouldn't do, because Ignatius is essentially dreadful, yet you cannot help but love him. The same goes for all of the other characters encountered. 

Ultimately this book is one that leaves you feeling a number of things but sadness is, unfortunately, probably the overarching emotion. The fact that someone so young could write something so brilliant, hilarious, so full of life, and then commit suicide is a tough thing to come to terms with. You cannot help but think of the potential of what he would've achieved next. But maybe that's the point. Maybe some people's light burns so bright that it simply cannot sustain. Who knows? What I do know is that this book is a masterpiece that gets better, funnier, and sadder with every read. May its memory long live on. 

★★★★★

JB