Like Barbara, I’m champing at the bit to get into a deeper discussion about Ignatius J. Reilly, the outrageous, larger-than-life buffoon protagonist of A Confederacy of Dunces. But I find that in order to understand him, the other characters in the book, and what happens (and doesn’t happen) to all of them, that I have to put the book into some kind of context within the literary world.
I’m talking, of course, about calling the book a fable. A few definitions of “fable” include…
“A story about legendary persons and exploits.” (American Heritage Dictionary)
“A feigned story or tale, intended to instruct or amuse; a fictitious narration intended to enforce some useful truth or precept; an apologue.” and “Any story told to excite wonder.” (Webster’s Revised Unabridged Dictionary)
“A deliberately false or improbable account.” (Word Net, Princeton University)
Is that how you see the book? And if so, does that make a difference for you in terms of how you see the characters -- not to mention how you feel about them -- and account for what happens in the story? Or do you see the book differently? What would you call it, or how would you describe it?
Thinking of the book as a fable -- a surreal account, if you will, where all the laws that apply to us in real life don’t necessarily impinge upon the book’s characters -- enables me to make sense of certain things, perhaps foremost among them what seemed to be the absence of any real threat of serious harm or death befalling the book’s characters.
As meanly as he treated some people -- his mother, Myrna, Abelman (to whom he wrote the forged letter from Levy Pants), among others (well, okay, among… everybody, I guess!) -- I never had the impression that Ignatius posed any true danger to them. Bumps and bruises were suffered, certainly, and tears were shed from one character's mistreatment of another, but no one was killed or, I felt, ever really in danger of being killed. (Not to mention, in keeping with the idea of the story as a fable and fables tending to offer life lessons, that what justice was meted out certainly seemed deserved; most characters, by the end, got their comeuppance. But I'd like to wait until tomorrow, perhaps, to go fully into Toole's motivations for writing this book, and what "lessons" he hoped to pass along by it, if any; for now, I'd prefer we focus on the "what", rather than the "why".) It seems to me that no one was ever hurt by anything Ignatius did or failed to do, with the obvious exception, of course, of himself.
Seeing the book as a fable is also, I think, why I had less of a problem going along for the ride with Ignatius J. Reilly than some of the rest of us did. It’s an interesting matter to try to puzzle through: How can characters who are so “larger-than-life” also seem, in certain important ways, so true to life? This is where I think Mr. Toole earns that posthumous Pulitzer of his. What a fine line that is to walk!
For instance, he shows an uncanny ear for dialogue and dialects and yet, at the same time, he puts in his characters’ mouths speeches that are nothing if not theatrical -- overblown, exaggerated, melodramatic. Yes, certainly, in some part, that’s who these characters are: eccentrics, every one of them, given to hyperbole. But still, I marvel at Toole’s ability to totally suspend my disbelief from the beginning, draw me into the company of these characters, and compel me to take this journey with them wherever it would lead, without ever really stumbling over the overt theatricality of the dialogue.
If you’re buying into the idea of Dunces as fable, any other examples you’d like to offer of how Toole successfully bridges the gap between fantasy and reality would be most welcome. And, of course, if you reject characterizing the book as a fable, and see it as something else, I’d love to hear your take on it -- 'cause my opinion is just that, an opinion, and I'm frankly more interested in yours.
