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Nick Offerman, Talene Monahon, and Anita Gillette in A Confederacy of Dunces. (Photo: T. Charles Erickson) |
John Kennedy Toole’s novel
A Confederacy of Dunces, published in 1980, more than a decade after Toole’s suicide, and awarded a posthumous
Pulitzer Prize, has a reputation as one of the great Southern novels (its setting is New Orleans in the early 1960s). But I confess to being a
non-believer; for me, a little of Toole’s self-conscious wit and literary braggadocio goes a long way. I might find it less of a slog with a different
protagonist, but Ignatius J. Reilly, the overfed misanthrope who lives off his indulgent mama until he’s thirty and then, landing a position at a pants
company that he turns, through a combination of deviousness and perverseness and the stupidity of his supervisor, Mr. Gonzalez, into little more than a
sinecure and an excuse for undermining his employer, doesn’t strike me as either especially clever or even slightly sympathetic. The book’s point of view
seems to be that the world around Reilly is so infested with dunces that it deserves what it gets; the title is from 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 Toole may also intend some link to Pope’s
literary-satirical
Dunciad. The novel has a happy ending because, try as he may, Reilly can’t do any real damage in a community of idiots. For this
sort of idea, I much prefer Kaufman and Hart’s great 1930 hard-boiled comedy
Once in a Lifetime, where the target is Hollywood at the dawn of sound
and the hero who keeps landing on his feet, George, is a blissful dope himself. Reilly’s high-flown pronouncements about the decline of the western world
(some of them delivered as he sits through the fare at his local movie house) didn’t make me laugh; they put me in a sour mood.