There are few books in the 20th century American literary canon as mythic as "A Confederacy of Dunces." While the story itself is an entertaining romp through 1960s New Orleans, the journey of author John Kennedy Toole is a more curious affair, both reflective of the "never give up" mentality that authors continually face and the tragedy of never seeing your success come to fruition. Over a decade after committing suicide, the book was published, presenting the author with acclaim and recognition that had been rejected continually, possibly leading to several mental health problems. Thanks to a passionate mother, it finally got into the hands of Walker Percy ("The Moviegoer") and change was made. But still, one has to wonder what would've happened if this happened in Toole's lifetime, able to be recognized for his perceived brilliance.
Because it is easy to see both sides of the argument. On the one hand, his book has a deft control of prose that is compulsory and entertaining. It's also deceptively complex, requiring the audience to empathize with a physically repugnant protagonist named Ignatius Riley and tackle such unflattering stories as sex work and disgruntled hot dog vendors. So much of the book is challenging you to like it, and the irony is the greater commentary. This is a story about someone who lacks value socially trying to find it. At times it may seem like Ignatius is doomed to live in his mother's house, falling victim to her alcoholic tendencies. He's far from perfect but, in its own strange way, Toole makes you like him by the end. All it required was patience and faith that he wasn't given in his own life. It's the epitome of dramatic irony, of a success that could never be built upon.
From the early pages, Ignatius can be read as an awful character. He is a character with a strangely modern sensibility in that he's a self-righteous 30-year-old male who thinks his opinion is better than everyone else's. There's no sense that he wants to better his life, choosing to go to cinemas only to complain about what he's watching. Everyone knows who he is. They roll their eyes as the rotund, unkempt figure walks in. Who would want to spend any time with him? He is a blight on society, and Toole's choice to make him the protagonist is bold because of how unpleasant those early chapters are. For a man of 30, there's so much that should've been achieved by this point. If anything, he seems closer to being disabled than fully healthy, at times conveying traits that are neurodivergent and asexual, finding no interest in sex or picking up on social cues. He is racist, misogynist, and everything that is awful.
But, in some strange turn of events, he's also a harmless kind of awful. He's not the villain of the piece in part because he doesn't set out to destroy anything. For as annoying as his internal monologue is, he is more of a tragic figure, someone who is trapped in a way of thinking with a body that feels like it rejects physical effort. Even his "valve" keeps shutting, making it difficult to ever move forward in life. That is why when he finally gets work that leads to its own series of mishaps, it's designed more of a learning curve which, even then, Toole doesn't make into some grand statement. This is near anti-narrative at points, more observing characters existing in New Orleans. It's a cross-section of conflicts ranging from police officers to businesses failing to stay afloat.
The colorful cast of characters embodies a perspective unique to the bayou area. Every character speaks with their region-specific cadence that in itself injects the story with personality, reflecting a moment that was on the verge of change. The counterculture was starting up and the conservatism of the past was paving the way for a freer time. It may be what makes Ignatius particularly interesting. In a time when ideals were being questioned, what was it like to be in stasis? How could one possibly survive in this environment? Quite cleverly, Toole manages to address them all without making them essays. They're almost background details, in need of closer observation from the reader as their protagonist flippantly writes it off. There's something compelling about how he makes it all happen, creating a snapshot of a moment that manages to overcome its hurdle of making a repugnant figure into something more sympathetic and symbolic.
"A Confederacy of Dunces" should've been the start of a greater career. Even the prose with which Toole writes feels like an angry young man, so full of ideas that would be honed with time. This is the spark of a career to come, in desperate need of centralizing ideas in a manner that would become more profound. That may be the book's greatest achievement and tragedy. It's entertaining and so full of ideas, but none of them got to be worked on in any meaningful way. It's an ode to the scattered characters usually at the edges of these type of novels. Here they get to express how they truly feel and, in that way, it perfectly captures an ode to the underclass who simply try to survive, whether financially with businesses or even Ignatius with his own body. Everyday is a struggle and some are more maddening than others, but all that one has to do is keep trying even if it doesn't end how you want it to.
No comments:
Post a Comment