A Confederacy of Dunces

I suppose if everyone has confederated against me as the (possibly) only GRMBCFM member who truly, wholeheartedly (or maybe only openly) enjoyed the book (does Jake's post count as a high endorsement?), and provided the rest of the club might be somehow classified as dunces (not likely in this crowd, but maybe someone could make the case), I think, using Swift's test, a true genius may have appeared. Yes. You may now line up to congratulate me. In return, I offer my consolations.

Granted, I found a few parts slower than others. But I suppose we might have expected as much from a Pulitzer Prize winner (anybody read The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay? Good, but long.) In the immortal (?) words of Randy Jackson, "For me, for [it], for me" the length was appreciated, since I enjoyed the tangled web of characters and events which had me curious about how they'd eventually intertwine and conclude.

In anticipation of sharing my thoughts (finally), I have pulled out my copy to peruse anew. Seeing certain choice parts again--the searing letter to pants distributer I. Abelman, Mongoloid, Esq. ("Our loyal and dependable outlets can vend any trouser bearing the Levy label no matter how abominable their design and construction. You are apparently a faithless people."), the notebook signings from "Gary, your Militant Working Boy"/"Darryl, Your Working Boy"/"Tab, Your Pacifist Working Boy," and the deeply weird correspondence between Myrna and Ignatius--I'd like to reread the whole thing. I loved the New Orleans setting, the bizarre happenings, the oddly realistic characters. The Hungarian missionary in me appreciates the Night of Joy boy's line about Ignatius "flouncing around the streets like some sort of Hungarian Joan of Arc." He continues, "That earring. It's so Magyar." Yeah: I've met about a million Hungarians, but I could not tell you what a Magyar earring looks like. Still . . . .

As a teacher of British literature, I loved the references to medieval literature and art (although much of it was over my head.) And considering Ignatius's letters, I hope I'll never receive a one from "Zorro" informing me that "[my] total ignorance of that which [I] profess to teach merits the death penalty." But hearing such a line directed at others just makes me laugh. I wish I had a cold Dr. Nut right now. I'd just sit and sip its almondy goodness and snicker.