A Literary Life

A Confederacy of Dunces (John Kennedy Toole)

“When a true genius appears in the world, you may know him by this sign, that the dunces are all in confederacy against him.” - Jonathan Swift

I have no idea how to begin describing this book. Perhaps that is why is has been finished for nine days now and I have yet to review it, letting 1.5 books accumulate behind it in the queue. I think I must begin with a few simple words to get the ball rolling: irreverent, witty, grotesque, farcical, erudite. I would compare it to a book of Thomas Aquinas and a MAD magazine, both left under a boy’s bed to grow mold and develop patches of stickiness until they gel into one unit of random, insightful and tragi-comic ramblings.

These ramblings are the work of a character named Ignatius Rielly. An over-educated and under-motived slob and medievalist. A slave to the workings of his “valve” and the food that bloats him up to monumental proportions. Lazy, badly dressed and arrogant, Ignatius lists through life, living in his mothers house, living to yell obscenities at daytime television. That is, until he is almost arrested for appearing “suspicious,” which stresses his mother, who drags them into a dive on Bourbon Street, where they get quite drunk and offend the establishment, after which his mother drives drunk into a stranger’s house, that causes a little problem with the money for reparations, which makes Ignatius venture forth into the workplace and attempt to change the world. All in the first few pages, of course.

The rest is about this interaction between the world of Ignatius and the world reality. I think we begin to love Ignatius, repulsive as he is, for how he doesn’t fit in, doesn’t want to fit in, and blindly plows through his oddball antics with true courage–that is, the courage to not give a damn whether your world makes sense to anyone else or not. Incredibly funny and often very incisive, Confederacy of Dunces should be standard reading for every high school in America. Would definitely be a jumping off point for further literary ventures. I think this book could bridge the gap for non-bookies, proving to them that literature, even “classic” literature, can be more entertaining than sex. Okay, not sex. Television, though? I hope?

The innate tragedy of the novel, however, is the story of it’s author, John Kennedy Toole. This novel was published 11 years after he committed suicide, partially because of his failure as a writer and partially because he was a writer (you know how moody we can be, right?). It was his mother and a professor she recruited that lobbied for the book’s publication in 1980. It won the Pulitzer Prize, posthumously, obviously, in 1981. I suppose that knowing this information in advance, the novel reads out some of Toole’s angst against a society that doesn’t recognise genius and yet, simultaneous, pokes fun at the oddity, grotesque quality, and stupidity of that genius.

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars = Buy the hard cover

Catch-22 (Joseph Heller)

“There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one’s own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr [the main character's room mate] was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn’t, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn’t have to; but if he didn’t want to he was sane and had to. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle.”

This classic tragi-comedy by Joseph Heller epitomizes the oxymoronic nature of military intelligence and the violent meaninglessness of war to the poor, vulnerable soldier on the ground. The ones who have to face their own death every day for intangible ideals that have nothing to do with their lives, their blood. Soldiers like Yossarian, who appears naked to roll call so as not to have to accept a medal (because there was no where to pin it on, see?). Orr, who has apple cheeks from the crab apples he like to keep inside of them. Major Major, who his officers can only see if he’s out–if he’s in, they will have to wait until he goes out and then leave again when he returns.

Or Dunbar, who lives his life based on the principle that anything boring makes time go slower and therefore makes your life longer, or seem longer:

“You’re inches away from death every time you go on a mission. How much older could you be at your age? A half a minute before that you were stepping into high school, and an unhooked brassiere was as close as you ever hoped to get to Paradise. Only a fifth of a second before that you were a small kid with a ten-week summer vacation that lasted a hundred thousand years and still ended too soon. Zip! They go rocketing by so fast. How the hell else are you ever going to slow time down?” Dunbar was almost angry when he finished.

“Well, maybe it is true,” Clevinger conceded unwillingly in a subdued tone. “Maybe a long life does have to be filled with many unpleasant conditions if it’s to seem long. But in that event, who wants one?”

“I do,” Dunbar told him.

“Why?” Clevinger asked.

“What else is there?”

I tried to watch the movie based on this novel a while ago and failed. It simply didn’t compare to the deft word play and tricks with time that Heller pulls off in writing. This is one classic that is a breeze to read and will have you laughing out loud, hopefully not on an airplane as I was during this last re-reading. People kinda look at you funny.

Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars = A hard cover book club selection

The Brothers Karamozov (Fyodor Dostoevky)

Okay, so my classic reading spree has gone a skosh too far and I am over the deep end in pages over my head. That and it’s not fun anymore. Unlike the Joyce attempt, this book was not obfuscated or as hard to follow as breadcrumbs at an aviary. No. Dostoevsky has a great, detailed story-telling style full of ripe, psychological dialog. It’s just frickin long and I don’t have the patience right now. Plus, it’s due at the library and I’m only on page 246 of 720. I think Dostoevsky, much like a foreign language, must be part of a class’ instruction. You’ll never get through it on your own unless you buy the audio tapes.

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars = Unfinished business

Lady Chatterley’s Lover (D.H. Lawrence)

You know, I am usually one that objects to the four letter word that starts with a C that describes female genitalia. Hell, I’ll say it–Cunt. Yes, cunt is not my favorite word by far, mostly because of the bitchy, rather dirty connotation it has taken on. A cunt is not a thing you make love to–it is for pure fucking, one night stands, and for women that wouldn’t let you get even close to theirs. Yet, Lady Chatterley’s Lover has recast the word in my eyes.

“Tha’art good cunt, though, aren’t ter? Best bit o’ cunt left on earth… Fuck is only what you do. Animals fuck. But cunt’s a lot more than that. It’s thee, dost see: an’ tha’rt a lot besides an animal, aren’t ter? even ter fuck! Cunt! Eh, that’s the beauty o’ thee, lass.”

Ah, the subtleties of language one learns in literature. (Have you ever heard the penis called a ‘cod?’)

This novel is, yes, very sexually charged. It was banned for any sort of pubication in the United States, even by mail from Europe (the postmaster got involved to halt it). But it’s literary merit brought it through to the public and brought the pubic delights of Lady Chatterley into daylight. If you are looking for a purely erotic novel, look elsewhere–something about pirates with Fabio on the cover will usually do, in my opinion. This story is mainly a tale of how industrialization, especially in England where the story is set, changes the nature of man. Sex is a huge part of this because, as men and women become mechanized, how do they define themselves as men and women? D.H. Lawrence believes that the self-worth that people had in the pre-industrial age is lost as they become cogs in an assembly line. In order to by happy and express themselves, then, they buy things. Money, money, money. So a bunch of sexless beings roam the planet, unable to truly love without shame.

I’m sure we can all agree when we look upon the general populace or the dating scene we see a lot of people that don’t really qualify as “men.” Modernized, shameful, gonadless men. So too with some women, who use sex to gain what they want and often don’t crave it themselves, misleading their men and then shaming them for their own desires. Even after the sexual revoltion, do you think we have human sexuality quite right yet, quite wholly natural? Therefore when a man and a woman are able to truly love one another, in every way, it is truly a magical and rare thing.

I really enjoyed the ideas that Lawrence, shall we say, arouses in the novel. Ideas that I believe are still very apt for these times, when we often discuss the isolating effects of technology and the inhumanizing aspects of airbrushed models in magazines and television. Where, then, is the Mellors to awaken every lost, searching (but for what?) Lady Chatterley? Or, as these characters name their, hmmm, nether regions in the book: John Thomas and Lady Jane. Lady Jane? That’s going to be my new analogy for the vagina. I think I still prefer that to the word cunt.

Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars = A hardcover book club selection

The Old Man and the Sea (Ernest Hemingway)

Short novel. Short sentences. Short words with few syllables. Such is the work of Hemingway and The Old Man and the Sea is no exception. I like how fluid Hemingway is to read and I realize that this is one of his most famous works. In fact, it’s the piece that won him his Pulitzer Prize in 1953. But I personally don’t think it is one of his strongest books. The Sun Also Rises is the one that struck me the hardest. It was a book that delved a bit deeper into humanity, I believe, than this story.

Ah, yes, I should probably tell you about the story. This is the tale of an aging Cuban fisherman, down on his luck, who hasn’t caught a fish in more than 80 days. His apprentice forced to leave him for greener pastures, he is alone on the sea when he encounters and battles the largest Marlin he has ever seen. The finest points lie in the relationship between humans and nature, man and fish. Who has the right to kill who, who literally is killing who. And where is the meaning in a life so close to completion. This story is also a testament for Hemingway’s time in Cuba, where he lived out the end of his life. Weighing in at about 130 pages, it’s a nice weekend read or a good introduction to Hemingway for the novice.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars = Book club selection

Catcher in the Rye (J.D. Salinger)

Ah, Holden. How nice to meet up with you again. It’s always an eye-opener to become reacquainted with you, with adolescence, with my teenage self, with the part of all of us that will never grow up and wants to curse at the “goddamn” world. Who wants to break all the windows and smoke all the cigarettes and watch the kids go ’round and ’round on the carousel. I find something new whenever I return to Holden. This time it is the repetition that strikes me. How Salinger crafts these redundant thoughts with such purpose. The technique makes Holden’s voice both smart and young–he is struggling to find the words to elaborate on a thought but comes up dry. So he then repeats himself and asks the reader to make the leap he is too inarticulate to pin down exactly, sometimes with a direct question to the audience. Plus, all the slang that is heavy with meaning–”That kills me,” “That knocks me out,” “It’s kinda funny,” “all those phonies.” And here it is from Holden himself:

“That’s the whole trouble. You can’t ever find a place that’s nice and peaceful, because there isn’t any. You may think there is, but once you get there, when you’re not looking, somebody’ll sneak up and write “Fuck you” right under your nose. Try it sometime. I think, even, if I ever die, and they stick me in a cemetery, and I have a tombstone and all, it’ll say “Holden Caulfield” on it, and then what year I was born and what year I died, and then right under that it’ll say “Fuck you.” I’m positive, in fact.”

Well, in a way I hope there is a day when I don’t relate to Holden. When I have a plan and don’t feel like the weight of my purpose (What’s your purpose? What do you want to be? Why can’t you apply yourself?) like an anvil tied to the cuff of my pants. When I don’t feel like just taking off into the distance with a single suitcase and hitch a ride into transparency. Here’s a good plan. “Just so people didn’t know me and I didn’t know anybody. I thought what I’d do was, I’d pretend to be one of those deaf-mutes. If anybody wanted to tell me something, they’d have to write it down on a piece of paper and shove it over to me. They’d get bored as hell doing that after a while, and then I’d be through with having conversations for the rest of my life.”

Such a pleasure to reread a good book. And, well, I need to get to library.

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars = Buy the hard cover (Ha! As if Catcher in the Rye could be anything but a paperback!)

Ulysses (James Joyce)

I am utterly ashamed. I hang my rose-blushed cheeks, my chin on chest. Beaten. Battered. Bashed in what I thought were my brains.

In other words, I cannot get through this. I have had it in my purse for five days an have finished 46 pages. Joyce has some brilliant language but, well, the stream of consciousness (SOC) is too much for me. I like SOC, I do. Have read it before and, yes, it is a struggle to get used to but, once you are inside of the author’s world, it usually becomes easier. Not here. At least, not for me. Part of it is the use of outdated allusions, I think. To the Bible or Irish folk songs. In Latin, in Italian, French and other languages. Also, he skips between and within time without transition so the past and the present are both overlapping ghosts. And lastly, and most tangibly, the quotation punctuation is all screwy. For instance, Joyce writes a quote like this:

–Thanks, old chap, he cried briskly. That will do nicely. Switch off the current will you?

This is a basic example from the first page but it gets worse when the speaker’s action, the actual words and the main character’s thoughts get all together with no “quotes.” I guess that little dash is not enough for my pea-sized brain to decode. I surrender, Joyce. I hope, I hope to pick this up again one day and find that it makes sense. That I can swim through it. Maybe I’m just too lazy right now or maybe I just need some sort of Rosetta Stone. Anyone got one for sale? Seen one up on E-bay? “The James Joyce Secret Society Decoder Ring.”

No, no, excuse me.

–The James Joyce Secret Society Decoder Ring, she said. I wonder where I could find one?

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars = Unfinished business

Atlas Shrugged (Ayn Rand)

1200 pages. Let me write out the numbers to give the weight of that justice: Twelve Hundred pages, One Thousand and Two Hundred pages. If I bought another copy, I could use them to do bicep curls but, well, that’s an expensive and not very durable (paperback) dumbell. I must say that Rand does keep a reader on a short leash through that Grand Canyon of a trek. The world she creates feels to me like like being inside an Art Deco/Avante Garde painting. Everything is speed, motion, smooth bright color, commerce, technology, man-made machines, all in aerodynamic lines celebrating man’s glory, his capacity for glory, the glory of man’s mind and man’s spirit. If it is a painting, then, it is an overly symbolic one where each object or tone/color is of the utmost importance, a philosophic work that struggles to fit the art form to an entire life view like stretching a tapestry over a wood and metal frame. Yes, that metaphor is apt because sometimes the tapestry (the art of the novel) wears thin with the insistant poking of the philosophic framework from under the surface.

To outline the plot, you should meet the cast of characters, all of whom are perfect examples of Ubermenschen. They are not only incredibly intelligent (they carry on conversations that could never exist in the real world, even between Nobel Laureates) but also beautiful, their muscles carved of marble, their hair of silk, their expressive eyes of various gemstones. I’m exaggerating here but only slightly–I was a bit frustrated and, okay, attracted by this. I mean, how do some of them stay so gorgeous when they are described as doing nothing but sitting in an office to over-work for 12 hours days? Recipe for obesity if you ask me. But I digress. This cast of sexy supermen and women is pitted against the world at large, a world that wants to only get by, take what it can and work what it has to. I think that Rand taps into any reader’s feeling on this point. We all have been in a situation where we feel that we are working harder and/or smarter than those around us yet our work is benefitting them just as much, if not more. Rand believes that modern society is made up of these intellectual and financial “looters” who rob the talented and the virtuous of their work to make the rest of un-talented and un-working society function. These superpeople are Atlas, holding the world on their shoulders because they have been brought up to believe it is their moral responsibility. But what would happen if Atlas Shrugged?

The back cover describes the novel as “part action-adventure” and the plot about this struggle can be classified that way, though it is not frenetic enough for Bruce Willis to ever get involved in the film-version (which would be, what? 6-8 hours long?). The action is slowed, and rightly so I think, to insert the philosophic converations, thoughts, ephiphanies. I like how this gives real world examples to the theories, concrete expressions of her lofty ideas. It gets tiresome, however, during the 60 page speech by one of the main heroes that basically repeats all the theories that had been related already but with different metaphors. Rand tries to break it up for the eye by chunking the text into lots of paragraphs but nobody is being fooled. 60 pages. And this was the hardest part of the book for me–get on with it! She is going to fall in love with him, and that guy is going to find out the truth, and the bad guy is about to step into this trap and, twiddle dee dee, I need to read this 60 pages before the plot progresses!

Upon completion of my task, I can say that I liked the novel. I can see why it is considered a classic. I like the philosophy behind the novel, too, though I think parts of it are a bit dated. One can always strive to enact this world view in their personal life. In fact, I have often been thinking about it when reading or watching other stories, how her theory could relate to different character and circumstances. But economically, I don’t know. I don’t know if the free Capitalism she espouses would be wise or even feasible to enact. I think a lot of it stemmed from her own childhood experience with Communism and perhaps her ideas would have changed along with the rest of the world’s post 1989. But business is not my forte so I shall stay out of it all together.

A fantastic read. I will agree with another friend, who warned me before starting Atlas Shrugged. He said, “I wanted to do nothing but read this book. I wanted to call in sick to work to read this book.” And no, that’s not exaggeration.
Rating: 5 out of 5 stars = Buy the hard cover

The Winter of Our Discontent (John Steinbeck)

Winter of Our Discontent, meaning either:
1) That season when we were so discontented.
2) The end of the era of our discontent, quickly to be renewed with a spring of happiness

Who knows. I think that Steinbeck purposefully wants his reader to ponder that notion when reading about Ethan Hawley, a man of prestigious descent but with the humble job of shopkeeper and a family who craves more. If success is monetary and success is “good,” then why are Ethan’s “good” deeds not bringing him prosperity? Shouldn’t he then do the “bad” things to be the “good” guy? A story for anyone who enjoys pondering such questions, such questions where it is not the answer that is important but only the asking. A story for anyone who wondered what it would be like, just how would it feel, how would it be accomplished, to rob a bank. Shhh. Don’t give it away now.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars = Book club selection