Week 2: A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole

Ignatius J. Reilly and his pyloric valve are deeply offended by the modern world. With a masters degree in medieval history (having spent almost as long at university as Jenn and I have), Ignatius is obese, obnoxious, unemployed and still lives at home with his mother in their New Orleans home. He is completely uninterested in finding a job; after all, he claims, he is too physically and emotionally fragile to work. Ignatius spends most of his time in his bedroom in a stained nightshirt drinking Dr Nut, masturbating and occasionally writing about the downfall of modern society. Sometimes he floats out to watch television and to eat his mother out of house and home. Several times a week he catches a taxi to the cinema to watch whatever is showing, hurl abuse at the screen, and consume popcorn by the colossal handful.


In the opening scenes, Ignatius’ elderly mother comes into debt and demands that Ignatius finally seek employment. Finding work is arduous for someone who has difficulty leaving the house before noon. It is particularly arduous for someone who is offended by most people’s ‘worldviews’. An example of his contempt for anyone and everyone is his parting note to Talc, one of his university history lecturers: “Talc: You have been found guilty of misleading and perverting the young. I decree that you be hung by your underdeveloped testicles until dead. ZORRO”


Forced to get a job, Ignatius leaves a trail of devastation in his wake. He burps and rants his way through New Orleans having uproariously disastrous effects on those with whom he comes into contact. As a cleric at Levy Pants, on the surface he injects some warmth and productivity into the business. But actually he is wreaking havoc with business partners and factory workers, who he believes should revolt. As a hotdog vendor, Ignatius cuts a menacing figure in his pirate costume. Even a job as simple as this leads him obliviously into a situation involving shifty figures from the local bar.


The digressions into other characters’ lives, such as those of Mr and Mrs Levy, became tiresome. I found myself wondering when we were going to return to the juicier and much more entertaining Ignatuis. There was, in fact, far too much happening in this story. It became a bit convoluted in the end with all the different stories meeting in a way that was smart, to be sure, but too complicated and busy. Ignatius and his mother were the shining stars in this novel, and the peripheral characters just weren’t engaging enough for me to care about them.


This is a story of hilarity revolving around a pathetic character in pretty depressing surroundings. The hilarity is thus is imbued with a sense of darkness—a gloom whose exact source cannot be identified, but which is made all the more poignant by the fact that the author, John Kennedy Toole, committed suicide in 1969—eleven years before this book was published. Knowing this leaves the reader with a bittersweet aftertaste; such a great read in the context of such tragedy.




Penguin Classics link