Hate. Death. Fire.
I cannot even fathom the words needed to describe the detestation I felt for this book. And, to be completely fair and honest, I must admit, I did not finish the novel. I did, however, come very close; close enough for me to feel comfortable sharing my opinion of the book. I had high hopes for this novel as it was recommended to me by the same person who encouraged me to read I Am a Genius of Unspeakable Evil and I Want to be Your Class President. I thought I could trust him, but he has betrayed me. Now, any time he recommends a band, a television program, a breath mint… I am forever going to be plagued with the memory of A Confederacy of Dunces and I will be forced into smiling politely while I shift my feet, hoping he doesn’t realize that I will not be taking his advice.
Ignatius J. Reilly is the “hero” of this story, if he can really be lumped in with Atticus or a Greek god. He is lazy, deceitful, disgusting, abhorrent, and any other repugnant adjective in the English language. Much of the book consists of his inability to relate to society and his refusal to comply with authority, topped with some absolutely unnecessary scenes such as a particularly descriptive masturbation scene in the first 50 pages of the book. (Caveat: While I am not a fan of scenes relating to sex, I understand the literary importance of them and will not judge a book unfairly by their appearance. The Ice Storm, for example, would not be as striking and representative of the 1970s if the sexual encounters were removed. The Lovely Bones, on the other hand, would have flourished without the protagonists’ reincarnated, underage romp. I must stress the total and complete lack of necessity this scene and others played in this novel.)
How The Confederacy of Dunces won a Pulitzer Prize is beyond my ability to comprehend. Don’t read this book. And if you had a different experience with this novel, please comment.
-Harper
No comments:
Post a Comment