A book with a reputation that precedes it and sets up readerly expectations that it surely cannot live up to: John Kennedy Toole's A Confederacy of DuA book with a reputation that precedes it and sets up readerly expectations that it surely cannot live up to: John Kennedy Toole's A Confederacy of Dunces is a delightful, dark, disturbing, dextrous, deftly done comic tragedy. It's vestiges lurk among the great works of even more contemporary socially-conscious litterateurs like David Foster Wallace, from the absurd humor, the deplorably-captivating cast of character, even to the vocabulary deployed--eructations and hirsute being words I learned from DFW and found in bounty in Toole's posthumous Pulitzer-izer.
What's to say not already said? Ignatius J. Reilly, a revile-able and revolting protagonist carries us through this tale of the seedier side of Narlins, and includes, but is not limited to, hot dog vending, pants-maker revolutions, a political party for gays only, a secret pornography ring, a red scare debonaire mother swooner, a Karen next door, fictions within fictions, a frame job, swashbuckling, and more.
I described it as a tragedy earlier, but I do wonder, is Ignatius a tragic character? Sure, tragic events befall him at every turn, but he often is the spoiler of his own Fortuna. Is it tragic to be such a manic bumbler that you fuck everything up that you touch? There's a point in the novel toward the end where (view spoiler)[Ignatius's neighbor details how he was never the same after his beloved dog dies, but is the death of a beloved dog enough for us to forgive his mania? (hide spoiler)] But does Ignatius ever warrant our empathy? Or is his tragedy merely comedy for us as readers? And why do we relish in such tragedy as farce? Many thoughts I'm left with after finishing this one, which, despite the shadow of its reputation, was still a real blast to read....more
Incisive, captivating, and intriguing, these brief novels from Nathanael West present the terse, hard-boiled quality of serious fiction at the time. TIncisive, captivating, and intriguing, these brief novels from Nathanael West present the terse, hard-boiled quality of serious fiction at the time. The darkness spews in it like black ink as West targets New York and L.A. in each of these two pieces.
In Miss Lonelyhearts a newspaper advice columnist struggles with the weight of sadness in the letters he receives daily—the horrific abuse at home, the loneliness of city life, the deep disconnect humans have, as they seek solutions from an anonymous source. Miss Lonelyhearts, the only name we ever know the protagonist by, becomes more and more affected by the letters and can no longer phone things in—his emotional investment in the lives within these letters prevents him from feeling qualified to even begin advice, much less present a reasonable solution to their authors. Meanwhile, Lonelyhearts engages in some nefarious behavior of his own, engaging in affairs and causing some of the chaos that would make fodder for someone’s letter to Miss Lonelyhearts to begin with.
As Lonelyhearts seeks for answers beyond him, especially through religion, he finds only emptiness in his wake. A really darkly comic thing, short, sweet but maybe a little too brisk to have fully developed.
However, it’s in The Day of the Locust that West’s acerbic critique unfolds, and establishes his voice as a preeminent writer worthy of our attention. Written amidst Hollywood’s golden age, and as West himself was breaking into the business with screenwriting work, this novel pulls up the rug on America’s wicked dream to examine the filth lurking beneath. Full of twisted and desperate people, The Day of the Locust is a twisting narrative of a woman who seeks to climb a social ladder while being pursued relentlessly by seedy and unscrupulous men. As the world spirals downward, sinking into a moral decrepitude of people debasing themselves in service of chasing the American Dream of Hollywood stardom, West’s piercing, biting text exposes the basest elements of our humanity, a humanity beyond moral and simply of survival, lust and desire.
The novel is dark, and darkly disturbing, while having some the bleakest comedy of the time in its pages. In West’s short career, these two novels represent a pinnacle of an American voice that never got to sing full-throated, and one can’t help wonder where his acid-sharp satires wouldn’t have taken us in a post-war era, where black humor found new footing amidst the madcap threat of human extinction at the press of a button by men in uniforms. The satire in West’s novels is so successful because it’s apolitical and rooted in the worst of our human urges, intimately tied to what makes us this particular species in this particular country in this particular era. West’s novels are mirror that reflects blackly back at its viewer, showing what could be, or what we live amongst. With a Hollywood that is as ever invested in its veneer of do-gooders and critically responsible individuals, these novels remind us of the filth and squalor and darkness that underlies it, that feeds it and makes it possible....more
Perhaps a victim of its reputation, I found Ursula K. Le Guin’s seminal The Left Hand of Darkness to be a fairly mixed novel that felt more like missePerhaps a victim of its reputation, I found Ursula K. Le Guin’s seminal The Left Hand of Darkness to be a fairly mixed novel that felt more like missed opportunities than anything. The novel centers on Genly Ai landing on the planet Winter, home of sexless androgynes who, once a month, physically morph into any one of two sexes to procreate. Ai, an envoy from a group of humanoid species scatters across the stars, comes to Winter in order to get the people of the planet to join the alliance. Part political thriller as Ai works to convince political leaders in two different nations on the planet of 1) his legitimacy as an alien who comes in peace, and 2) that joining the alliance would be of benefit to the Winterrans. It’s also part journey novel as Ai and his closest ally on the planet, Estraven, make a months-long, nearly 1,000 mile trek across the frozen landscape of the planet.
Le Guin’s style has a kind of anthropological interest where Winter’s folklore is woven into the novel, more heavily in the first half than the latter. This successfully puts the reader in the perspective of Ai as he learns about the history and culture of the ice world inhabitants. However, a lot of this fades away in the second half of the novel as Ai and Estraven begin their ice-coated journey, where the story takes a more interpersonal focus.
Largely, the plot unfurls in a predictable way, without many twists or surprises, meanwhile, there’s some interesting analysis of gender, especially when Ai and Estraven are in isolation together on their journey through the tough climate, however, the novel lacks some deeper working of the gender question that you’d hope for with such an interesting concept. While Ai spends some of the narrative thinking about the differences between them, the impact that a genderless society has on how they operate culturally, politically, etc., there isn’t much depth to the insight beyond, “they are so different without gender.”
Perhaps the best section of the novel, though, is the sojourn across the harshest winter of the alien world. At times, this section reminded me of John Williams’s Butcher’s Crossing when the men struggle to survive a devastating winter storm on the plains. Le Guin illustrates the arduousness of such a journey, bringing Winter fully to life, vividly conjuring a snow-blind earth that sets a chill to your bones as you read. However, it rarely feels like the two protagonists are ever a threat to the elements with the safety and protection of their miraculous tent, but you still feel the strain of having to haul a sledge of provisions hundreds and hundreds of miles in the worst conditions imaginable.
I really went into this novel expecting to like it a lot more than I did. I feel like it’s uneven in execution and would have benefited maybe from a bit more of the anthropological study as well as a deeper exploration of the impacts of gender on Winter society, and how its potential effects on the wider Ekumenical order that Ai represents. I think there is also more to be explored about the order of a society with no gender. Overall, it feels a bit like “wouldn’t it be neat if there’s these humans that can change into either sex once a month, but are otherwise without sex?” And reading it, I’m kind of surprised the novel is as popular as it seems to be. I didn’t hate it, but I was left assertively underwhelmed by the book. ...more
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