CONFEDERACY OF DUNCES

There’s a new comedy trend afoot – lead characters who see themselves very differently from the way the rest of the world perceives them. Seth Rogen in the recent release OBSERVE AND REPORT plays a psycho security guard who thinks of himself as an ace crime fighter. Michael of the OFFICE, Amy Poehler’s new character in PARKS AND RECREATION, the ballplayer in EASTBOUND & DOWN, all the way back to Will Ferrell’s ANCHORMAN and Ted Baxter’s anchorman.

It’s a rich comedy vein. Characters with an inflated self-importance are always funny (except for George Bush). And by far, the greatest, most hilarious example of this is Ignatius J. Reilly.

Reilly is the centerpiece of the funniest book I’ve ever read, A CONDERACY OF DUNCES by John Kennedy Toole. Ignatius J. Reilly is this highly eccentric disgusting sloth who believes everyone in the world is out of step but him. His distorted worldview is a riot and practically every sentence of this rather large tome will make you laugh. For my money, it’s a comic masterpiece.

The story behind the book is not so humorous, however. John Kennedy Toole wrote it while in the Army in 1962 at the age of 24. He then spent seven years trying to get it published with no luck. Toole was so despondent that in 1969 he killed himself. His mother continued to peddle around the huge smudged manuscript, finally getting it to author Walker Percy who reluctantly agreed to read it. Much to his amazement it was astoundingly good. With Percy as a champion the book finally got published.

And promptly won a Pulitzer Prize.

If I may be Oprah for a moment, check it out. Especially if you’re an aspiring writer with a spec script or novel and a stack of rejection letters. Don’t give up. You could be sitting on the next CONFERACY OF DUNCES. Be around to enjoy it.

Here are a couple of excerpts.

Ignatius explains what should be studied for a proper education:

"Then you must begin a reading program immediately so that you may understand the crises of our age," Ignatius said solemnly. "Begin with the late Romans, including Boethius, of course. Then you should dip rather extensively into early Medieval. You may skip the Renaissance and the Enlightenment. That is mostly dangerous propaganda. Now that I think of it, you had better skip the Romantics and the Victorians, too. For the contemporary period, you should study some selected comic books.... I recommend Batman especially, for he tends to transcend the abysmal society in which he's found himself. His morality is rather rigid, also. I rather respect Batman."

And finally, Ignatius has a run in with some women showing their art at a church. He is a hot dog vendor in New Orleans, by the way.

Ignatius lumbered over to the picket fence, abandoning the hopeless cause espoused by the wagon, and viewed the oil paintings and pastels and watercolors strung there. Although the style of each varied in crudity, the subjects of the paintings were relatively similar: camellias floating in bowls of water, azaleas tortured into ambitious flower arrangements, magnolias that looked like white windmills. Ignatius scrutinized the offerings furiously for a while all by himself, for the ladies had stepped back from the fence and had formed what looked like a protective little grouping.

"Oh, my God!" Ignatius bellowed after he had promenaded up and down along the fence. "How dare you present such abortions to the public."

"Please move along, sir," a bold lady said.

"Magnolias don't look like that," Ignatius said, thrusting his cutlass at the offending pastel magnolia. "You ladies need a course in botany. And perhaps geometry, too."

"You don't have to look at our work," an offended voice said from the group, the voice of the lady who had drown the magnolia in question.

"Yes, I do!" Ignatius screamed. "You ladies need a critic with some taste and decency. Good heavens! Which one of you did this camellia? Speak up. The water in this bowl looks like motor oil."

"Let us alone," a shrill voice said.

"You women had better stop giving teas and brunches and settle down to the business of learning how to draw," Ignatius thundered. "First, you must learn how to handle a brush. I would suggest that you all get together and paint someone's house for a start."

"Go away."

"Had you 'artists' had a part in the decoration of the Sistine Chapel, it would have ended up looking like a particularly vulgar train terminal," Ignatius snorted.

"We don't intend to be insulted by a coarse vendor," a spokeswoman for the band of large hats said haughtily.

"I see!" Ignatius screamed. "So it is you people who slander the reputation of the hot dog vendor."

"He's mad."

"He's so common."

"So coarse."

"Don't encourage him."

"We don't want you here," the spokeswoman said tartly and simply.

"I should imagine not!" Ignatius was breathing heavily. "Apparently you are afraid of someone who has some contact with reality, who can truthfully describe to you the offenses which you have committed to canvas."

"Please leave," the spokeswoman ordered.

"I shall." Ignatius grabbed the handle of his cart and pushed off. "You women should all be on your knees begging forgiveness for what I have seen here on this fence."

CONFEDERACY OF DUNCES. I wish I were you and didn’t know how it ends.