Every once in a while I read a book because I’m supposed to, whether because it won the Pulitzer or Nobel or Booker, or some other prestigious prize, or it’s just old enough to have been granted “classic” status.
Usually, the book turns out to be just as good, or at least just as notable, as it is supposed to be.
With John Kennedy Toole’s “Confederacy of Dunces,” though, I’ve found that I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to think about it, let alone what I’m supposed to think about it.
There’s no doubt that it’s brilliant. From the first sentence (“A green hunting cap squeezed the top of the fleshy balloon of a head.”), the pages drip with colorful language, signs of a masterful command of the English language. Witty, cynical, sarcastic, and, again, witty, the writing is a delight to read.
But what is it? Is it satire? Is it comedy? I admit, as soon as I finish here I’m going to go pick up a literary review or two by someone who knows what they’re talking about, someone who can tell me what the book means. Because, like driving by a really bad multivehicle accident, at first glance it’s not clear what’s going on or how it happened. And, when were watching the dunces that are the main characters, it’s hard not to see it as a car accident about to happen, or happening.
Or rather, what it means, what the commentary is, on race, on gays, on the sixties, on New Orleans…or if it’s even commentary at all.
At the very least, or perhaps most, the book made me laugh, smile and cringe, sometimes all at once. Why exactly it won the Pulitzer I couldn’t say, but it was worth the read.
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