Book Report: “A Confederacy of Dunces,” by John Kennedy Toole

A Confederacy of Dunces is frequently listed among the greatest American novels, but I hadn’t heard of it until I was handed a hard-bound copy by a friend. He insisted I read it and promised I’d love it.

I did and I do. Written in the 1960s, it is the story of Ignatius J. Reilly—an amoral, slovenly buffoon whose depravity is equaled only by the size of his intellect and wit. In order to pay off a debt incurred by an embarrassing driving error committed by his nagging, alcoholic mother, Ignatius takes a series of jobs for which he is both woefully over and under-qualified. The results are hysterical.

In one instance, while serving as a weenie vendor and being forced by his employer to wear a pirate outfit (!?), Ignatius stumbles upon an art display filled with sub-standard work. Like Don Quixote himself, he attacks the artists with his plastic cutlass: “I am the avenging sword of taste and decency!” And this is just one example of many entertaining Ignatius-against-the-world moments.

What’s fascinating about the novel is the story behind the story. Its author, John Kennedy Toole, penned it early in his life and labored for years to get it published. Prospective publishing companies were impressed by Toole’s wit, his description of New Orleans as the backdrop, and the fascinating detail of Reilly’s intellectual inner world. They also thought, however, that while funny, the novel served no point. So they passed.

This constant rejection wore Toole down, leading to a break with reality and his suicide in 1969. His devoted mother spent the next 10 years trying to get the book published on her son’s behalf. She was successful only after forcing her way into noted author Walker Percy’s office to demand he read it. To stop her constant harassing, Percy read the manuscript, but was forced by its quality to do something with it. After being published at his request, Confederacy became an instant classic, and Toole was awarded the Pulitzer Prize posthumously.

What critics who passed on the book seemed not to understand is that not every novel has to have a point. A good story is just that: a good story. It’s filled with interesting characters who make you think, laugh, roll your eyes, and occasionally throw up. I learned nothing from this book, but I can’t stop thinking of what life must be like for Ignatius J. Reilly. What must it be like to have a pyloric valve that opens and closes at will? What must it be like to be surrounded by idiots who don’t appreciate your genius? (At the suggestion that he see a psychiatrist, Ignatius forcefully protests, “Do you suppose that some stupid psychiatrist could even attempt to fathom the workings of my psyche?”)

On this question, it’s hard not to think that Ignatius’ story isn’t the story of Toole himself. Neither character was recognized for his genius. In one case it’s funny. In the other it’s tragic beyond belief.

Far from having no point, A Confederacy of Dunces reminds me that the world really is filled with oafish, mis-directed people who—apart from some manner of salvation—have no hope for genuine happiness. The world really is a confederacy full of dunces. I suspect I might be one of them. I just hope that, unlike Mr. Reilly (and maybe Mr. Toole), I have the humility to recognize it, and get the help I need before my novel ends.

-MRH (December 2018)