Inside Mr. Enderby

Enderby #1

by Anthony Burgess

Inside Mr. Enderby [paperback] Burgess, Anthony [Jan 01, 1984]

Genres: Fiction, Humor, Literature, British Literature, 20th Century, Audiobook, Literary Fiction

207 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1963

About the author

Librarian Note: There is more than one author in the Goodreads database with this name.

Seriocomic novels of noted British writer and critic Anthony Burgess, pen name of John Burgess Wilson, include the futuristic classic A Clockwork Orange (1962).

He composed also a librettos, poems, plays, screens, and essays and traveled, broadcast, translated, linguist and educationalist. He lived for long periods in southeastern Asia, the United States of America, and Europe along Mediterranean Sea as well as England. His fiction embraces the Malayan trilogy ( The Long Day Wanes ) on the dying days of empire in the east. The Enderby quartet concerns a poet and his muse. Nothing like the Sun re-creates love life of William Shakespeare. He explores the nature of evil with Earthly Powers , a panoramic saga of the 20th century. He published studies of James Joyce, Ernest Miller Hemingway, Shakespeare, and David Herbert Lawrence. He produced the treatises Language Made Plain and A Mouthful of Air . His journalism proliferated in several languages. He translated and adapted Cyrano de Bergerac , Oedipus the King , and Carmen for the stage. He scripted Jesus of Nazareth and Moses the Lawgiver for the screen. He invented the prehistoric language, spoken in Quest for Fire . He composed the Sinfoni Melayu , the Symphony (No. 3) in C , and the opera Blooms of Dublin .

Reviews

[Glenn Russell]

Inside Mister. Enderby - A lively, amusing sidesplitter by one of the greatest novelists who ever lived. Yet there are only fifty reviews here on Goodreads. No doubt about it, folks, our global community of booklovers has rolled a gutterball.

In contradistinction, thanks mostly to the 1971 blockbuster film based on his novel, Clockwork Orange racks up over 650,000 ratings and 15,000 reviews. Just goes to show the impact of popular culture.

What's striking is how similar these two Anthony Burgess novels are in many ways. We have a main character as outsider who breaks society's rules and is then subjected to extreme corrective measures by that society, the goal being to create a 'normal' individual.

Inside Mr. Enderby revolves around Enderby who is age forty-five, single and eccentric, a man who has been living off his stepmother's inheritance all his adult life, not a fortune but enough so Enderby can continue to write his poetry full-time for occasional publication.

Enderby lives in the English seaside city of Hove and writes while sitting and shitting and farting on the toilet. Other than frequenting neighborhood bars, Enderby keeps to himself. Women don't play a part in his life – Enderby is impotent (Enderby blames his odious stepmother, a woman he despised). Enderby rarely washes (discarded drafts of his poems fill his tub) and he nearly never bothers cleaning up. By any standard of polite society, Enderby can be judged a complete slob. Doesn't bother Enderby. The only things that matter for Enderby are art and poetry, his identity as a poet and his retreating to the lavatory to compose his poems.

This is surely a framework an outstanding British satirist like Tom Sharpe could employ to great comic effect. However, Inside Mr. Enderby counts as something special since we're talking Anthony Burgess here, as in that special something (language) skyrocketing his novel to another dimension. As MJ Nicholls remarked in his review of this Burgess blaster, “explosive comedic romp is bursting with monstrous wordplay and that simply spectacular bounce and rhythm that beshits the best of Burgessian prose.”

Oh, yes, the novel's language, friends, makes all the difference. Recall the fabulous linguistic gusto author Anthony injected into his Orange Clockwork. Well, it's on display here, only the vocab is a bit more current dayish. Sidebar: To gain a greater appreciation for Enderby language, I occasionally read paragraphs aloud. I also listened to the audio featuring narrator John Sessions. Extraordinary.

To share a direct linguistic hit, here's an example of the king on his throne: "He scratched his bare leg and read, thoughtfully, the confused draft he was working on. Pffrumpff. It was an attempt at allegory, a narrative poem in which two myths were fused - the Cretan and the Christian. A winged bull swooped from heaven in a howling wind. Wheeeeee. The law-giver's queen was ravished. Big with child, called whore by her husband, she went incognita to a tiny village of the kingdom, there, in a cheap hotel, to give birth to the Minotaur."

Further on we learn the poem's title will be The Pet Beast but Enderby recognizes much work had to be done, "symbols clarified, technical knots unravelled. There was the disinterested craftsman, Daedalus, to be brought into it, the anti-social genius with the final answer of flight." Hint: as we move deeper into the novel, it becomes clear Enderby himself takes on the role of the anti-social genius Daedalus in flight.

But Enderby's life of isolated equilibrium is about to come in for a jolt of diabolical disequilibrium, beginning when the poet travels to London to receive a literary award - the Goodby Gold Medal for Poetry. At the grand ceremonial occasion, Enderby being Enderby, he unwittingly offends the givers of the award and winds up doing his own giving, that is, giving the award money back to his benefactors.

Even a more profound part of his London jaunt, Enderby meets a thirty-year-old widow by the name of Vesta Bainbridge, editor of a woman's magazine - Fem. For some inexplicable reason, perhaps the aftershock of losing her racing car driver husband in a speedway crash, perhaps as part of a plan to snare a second husband engaged in a less dangerous occupation than racing cars, Vesta asks Enderby to write reader-friendly poetry for her magazine. Shortly thereafter, all of Dante's hell breaks loose.

Inside Mr. Enderby is a very funny novel. I roared with laughter on nearly every page. Mr. Burgess places Enderby in a plethora of preposterous pickles and we watch as the poet attempt to extract himself.

I'll let Anthony Burgess have the last words. This when a Mr. Walpole confronts Enderby since, via a comedy of errors, Enderby wrote bawdy love poems, on behalf of a friend, to Mr. Walpole's wife:

'Oh, I'll be quick,' said Walpole, 'very quick. What I want to say is that I won't have you writing poetry to my wife.'
Enderby saw rush and then fade a quite unreasonable possibility. Then he smiled and said, 'I don't write poetry to anybody's wife.'
Walpole drew from his raincoat pocket a carefully folded and smoothed sheaf of sheets. 'This poetry,' he said. 'Look at it carefully and then tell me whether or not you wrote it.'
Enderby looked at it quickly. His handwriting. The Thelma poems. 'I wrote these, yes,' he said, 'but not on my own behalf. I wrote them at the request of another man. I suppose you could call him a client, really. You see, poetry is my profession.'
'If it's a profession,' said Walpole in all seriousness, 'does it have what you might call rules of professional etty kwett? More important than that, in a way of speaking, does it have a union?'


British author Anthony Burgess, 1917 - 1993

[MJ Nicholls · Rating 4 out of 5]

Publishing the first edition under the pseudonym Joseph Kell allowed Burgess to review himself in The Yorkshire Post: “This is, in many ways, a dirty book. It is full of bowel-blasts and flatulent borborygyms, emetic meals (‘thin but over-savoury stews,’ Enderby calls them) and halitosis. It may well make some people sick, and those of my readers with tender stomachs are advised to let it alone. It turns sex, religion, and the State into a series of laughing-stocks. The book itself a laughing-stock.” This manoeuvre itself is worthy of four stars, however, Burgess’s explosive comedic romp is bursting with monstrous wordplay and that simply spectacular bounce and rhythm that beshits the best of Burgessian prose. Enderby, a grotesque self-portrait, is an unlikeable egomaniacal hack with a deep distrust and fear of women. Anyone who has read Roger Lewis’s book on Burgess can attest to how accurate a self-portrait is this Enderby fellow.

[Sve · Rating 3 out of 5]

Приятно изненадана съм от тази книга, която по стил напомня писането на Александър Макол Смит. Хубав английски хумор и оптимизъм струят от нея, чете се леко и е идеална за мрачно време.

[W.D. Clarke · Rating 3 out of 5]

Thoroughly, even compulsively at times, readable, if nowhere near A-list Burgess (that'd be Earthly Powers, and Little Wilson & Big God, I'd say, for starters).

The character (an impoverished, dead-stepmother-obsessed, timidly-scatological poet) is a quite interesting version of a common type --the midlife kinda sorta failure type. Lotsa Burgessian high-falutin vocabulary flying around too, YMMV, but mainly I just could not get into Enderby's poetry, and I did try.

The novel itself ends like a Victorian serial—not an ending at all, of course, so you have to read the sequel(s). And I will.

[Joselito Honestly and Brilliantly · Rating 4 out of 5]

It is no secret here at goodreads that I am not very fond of sci-fi and dyspeptic novels. This one, however, may be one of the rare exceptions to the latter.

First of all, it has an admirable forthrightness. No long build-up of any imaginary world. Its very first paragraph, going straight into the heart of the matter, simply reads:


"P F F F R R R U M M M P."


followed by someone wishing the principal protagonist Mr. Enderby a happy new year (how apropos that I am reviewing this as 2012 is ending!).


That, by the way, is not the sound of fireworks or of music. But I consider it as THE universal language. Not music as many say. How can music be the universal language when, as experience shows, we do not like, or even at least understand, each other's music (for one, I am sure I will never learn to like metallic rock or the monotonous ululations in African songs)? It is the fart, the wind from the anus, which may be considered a universal language. Whether you're African, American, European, Arabian, Asian or Australian a fart is a fart is a fart as Gertrude Stein might have said. Regardless of race, color or creed it is the same putrefaction inside, the same gaseous buildup, which eventually lead to this familiar methane explosion recognized by all since the beginning of time. The sound created differs only depending on the ass's situation when the momentous decision to fire is made. Or maybe the amount of exertion spent (violent or shy), or the type of inner turbulence the person is suffering from at that time. They all sound the same, however, regardless of how big or small the person is, his religious beliefs, male or female, white, brown or black, rich or poor, commoner or royalty. The reaction is also universal: hilarity or disgust, depending on the circumstances of its delivery.

Second, the underlying motif of this novel isn't a word, or a phrase, or a sentence. It is not even in the dictionary (whether under "p" or "b"). Yet, as I said earlier, it is universally understood. It does not need (as it does not have) any translation. What else, in all known languages, can boast of this astounding characteristic?

Lastly, the poetry in creates is pitch-perfect. It sings! Hear, hear the other joyous emanations from Mr. Enderby's sphincter--

1. "p e r r r r p" - on page 13;

2. "q u e r p k p r r m p" - on page 14;

3. "b o p p e r l o p" - on page 16;

4. "p o r r i p i p o o p" - also on page 16;

5. "b r r r r b f r r r " - on page 19;

6. "p r r r r f" - on page 19;

7. "b r r r r p" - also on page 19;

8. "p r r r r r r r r p" (without an e) - on page 20;

9. "b r e r r r r p" (with an e) - on page 28;

10. "p e r r r p f" (with a f) - on page 49;

11. " g r e r r r b r o g h a r r r g a w w w w p f f f f f h" (Mr. Enderby, after taking a bicarbonate solution) - at page 82;

12. "e r r r r r r r r p" (Mr. Enderby, just married, in a small lavatory feeling sick) - at page 105;

13. "b o r r r r p h h h" - at page 127;

14. "f f f f f r r r r r e r r r r r p s h h h h h" - at page 166; and

15. these hallucinations and a fearful apparition after Mr. Enderby--funny as a literary funnyman can be, tried to kill himself by ingesting a whole bottle of aspirin:


"A fanfare of loud farts, a cosmic swish of lavatory-flushings....There she was, welcoming him in, farting prrrrrp like ten thousand earthquakes, belching arrrrp and og like a million volcanoes, while the whole universe roared with approving laughter. She swung tits like sagging moons at him, drew from black teeth an endless snake of bacon-rind, pelted him with balls of ear-wax and snuffled green snot in his direction. The thrones roared and the powers were helpless. Enderby was suffocated by smell: sulphuretted hydrogen, unwashed armpits, halitosis, faeces, standing urine, putrefying meat--all thrust into his mouth and nostrils in squelchy balls. 'Help,' he tried to call. 'Help help help.' He fell, crawled, crying, 'Help, help.' The black, which was solid laughter and filth, closed on him. He gave one last scream before yielding to it." (page 179).


Even near death one shall hear the music of the spheres! Ah, flatulence, where is thy sting?

[Monty Milne · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is on Boxall’s 1001 list, along with Clockwork Orange. The list puts up what seem to me some strange anomalies. I can fully understand the presence of Clockwork Orange, which is a significant work, but this is far less worthy, and I am mystified as to why it was included instead of much better Burgess works such as the hugely entertaining Earthly Powers.

Nevertheless, although not vintage Burgess, there is much here which I enjoyed. How funny you will find it depends on how amused you are by farting. Like many of us, I still find this innately amusing, although I am mindful of the remark made by the captured U Boat Captain in Dad’s Army:

“Ah, you English and your jokes about farting. To us it is merely a bodily function, to you it is ze basis of an entire national culture.”

Trying to hold in an incipient rumbling eructation, Enderby “looked up at a baroque ceiling with many fat arsed cherubim in evidence. This did not help.” Curiously, I was once in an exactly similar situation.

The portrayal of Enderby’s horrific, coarse, obese and flatulent stepmother is, I think, extremely funny. But there is also something alarming about this novel. If Enderby really is a portrayal of the author – as many critics think – he must have been simultaneoulsy extremely funny, utterly disgusting, and disturbingly misogynistic. Many of those who knew him would agree that he ticked all those boxes.

[Marguerite Kaye · Rating 4 out of 5]

I read the complete Enderby about 15 years ago, so this was a reread, and it didn't disappoint. Funny the perspective age gives you though, Enderby is 45 in this book and I remember thinking he was old - now I'm thinking how young he was!

Burgess doesn't make his prose an easy read. His vocubulary is extensive, his poetry takes some unpicking, and he loves to play on words and make obscure literary references. I found this a bit difficult to get into as a result, bit it was so worthwhile. Some scences are hliarious - the evangilcal communist who makes Enderby get down on his knees to pray had me laughing out loud - and some are really quite bathetic. Enderby is rby turns epulsive, endearing, infuriating, amusing and pathetic, but what he is at all times is an enthralling literary creation.

I have the other two still in the original book and I plan to read them, but I'm pacing myself. Really excellent re-read, and I reckon better the second time around.

[John Vogel · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is the first of the Enderby Triology and introduces us to the main character, 45-year-old poet Mr. Enderby.

I'm now onto book number two, Enderby Outside, where Enderby (now called Hogg as part of his rehabilitation from this book) loses his Muse only to regain her.

I see some ongoing themes throughout this series and A Clockwork Orange that make me want to read about Anthony Burgess as a person. Both Enderby and Alex go through a period of being delinquint (for Enderby by being a slovenly poet, and for Alex by performing a little of the old ultraviolence), then institutionalized and "rehabilitated" (by societies standards), suicidal and then rehabilitated into his old self. The order is a little different in both stories, but the concept is really similar.

The funny thing about this story, though, is the fact that people are trying to cure him of his writing and not being a "productive" member of society. It's the same argument that probably every creative person goes through, trying to balance out work and art, money and free time, but it's told with such an absurd and playful language that I find it really entertaining to read. You can really get a sense that he's completely removed from pop culture, as well.

I don't know. I think everyone should read this series, but I know you probably won't. However, just so that someone can clip a nice word out of this for promotional reasons (for a book that's 40 years old and not getting reprinted any time soon), I'm going to throw this at you: Delightful!

[João Reis · Rating 4 out of 5]

Quite funny in the first half, and lukewarm in the second part, to say the least. Don't get me wrong, the book is not bad, but it aged badly. Burgess's best trait as an author is his excellent command of the English language. An interesting and sometimes funny, though not great, book. Anyway, still better than 99% of what's being published nowadays.

[Lukasz Pruski · Rating 4 out of 5]

Anthony Burgess is mainly known as the author of A Clockwork Orange , which I reviewed here on Goodreads, and which owes a large part of its popularity to the outstanding film adaptation by Stanley Kubrick. While Inside Mr. Enderby (1963) may not convey equally powerful artistic vision, it is still a remarkable novel and, to me, it deserves almost as high a rating.

A truly magnificent chapter opens the novel. Children from the future, on their Educational Time Trip, visit a great poet of the past, a Mr. Enderby, who is sleeping in his rented flat. They explore his body and also his bedroom, kitchen, and - most importantly - his bathroom: this the only place where Mr. Enderby is able to create poetry. The Muse visits him only when he sits on his "poetic seat."

After this remarkable introduction we follow events in Mr. Enderby's life in a relatively linear fashion, beginning with him receiving a notice of winning a small poetry prize. The award ceremony is an unforgettable scene, with its speeches and poetry readings punctuated by Mr. Enderby's emissions of wind. He meets a journalist from a women's magazine; she will play a significant role in his later life. We follow comical adventures related to Mr. Enderby's inebriation in London, a wonderfully demented story that concludes Part 1 on the novel. Two other parts take place mainly in other locations: in Italy and in the north of England. The ending is in a way similar to that of Clockwork Orange, as improbable as it may seem.

While this is a very funny novel - I was laughing out loud many, many times - it is also extremely dark. It offers a pessimistic view of contemporary culture (contemporary in 1963, but then we only went downhill thanks to TV and Internet), yet the main message seems to be the damage that broken childhoods inflict on people. Mr. Enderby had been traumatized by his stepmother, from whose intimidating specter he has been trying to escape all his life.

It is Mr. Burgess' prose, though, that I find the main value of the novel. From its breathtaking beginning through many unforgettable passages - for instance, Mr. Enderby's horrific experiences in Castel Gandolfo - I have been savoring the author's writing. The text is richly sprinkled with fragments of poetry, mostly of Mr. Enderby's authorship. Many passages are truly hilarious like the one where the poet is trying to ascertain whether he is in command of his male qualities:

"He stealthily felt his way down to find out what was his body's view of this constatation, but all was quiet there, as though he were calmly reading Jane Austen."

On the other hand, I am not a particular fan of Mr. Enderby's (or perhaps the author's) severe obsession with the non-decorative aspects of human physiology: burps, farts, dandruff, urine, belching, boil-scars, vomit, ear wax, teeth-picking and the like, which permeate the novel. Yet Mr. Burgess' brilliance in handling the language, the syntax, the sound, and the vocabulary are so masterful that they can carry whatever content is thrown there, even the ugly detritus of our body works.

Three and three quarter stars.

[Габриела Манова]

– Имам предвид, че вече не съм способен да пиша поезия. Опитвам неспирно, но нищо не излиза, няма резултат. Можете ли да разберете какво означава това?
– О, да - докторът, усмихнат, застана нащрек. – Напълно разбирам. На ваше място не бих се тревожил твърде. Има и други неща в живота, нали? Слънцето грее, дечицата си играят. (...) Искам да кажа, животът не се изчерпва с писането на поезия, нали? Непременно ще намерите какво друго да вършите. Животът все още е пред вас. Най-хубавото тепърва предстои.
– Каква – попита го Ендърби – е целта на живота?
При този въпрос на доктора му олекна. Беше още млад, затова разполагаше с отговори, ясно запомнени от времето на студентските спорове през кълбетата дим.
– Целта на живота – отвърна той с готовност – е да го живеем. Животът сам по себе си е цел. Животът е тук и сега, животът е онова, което можем да измъкнем от живота. Животът е, за да се живее всяка минута – и пълноценно. Целта му е самият живот. Животът е какъвто си го направиш. Знам какво говоря, вярвайте ми. В края на краищата нали съм доктор – той се усмихна на нещо, окачено на стената в рамка: дипломата му.

[Tim · Rating 5 out of 5]

When I think of Anthony Burgess, the phrase "brilliant loon" comes to mind. On You Tube I found an old interview with him conducted by Dick Cavett. One can see Cavett eyeing him warily, aware of his guest's mercurial, sarcastic, and contrary temperament, unsure of what direction he could spring in next. This book is a great expression of that kind of character. It is, to my knowledge anyway, a unique conglomeration of qualities - humor both high and low, dreary images of lower middle class English life, satirical views of romance and other human relations, and throughout, a wacky verbal dexterity that is second to none.

The story does not really matter here; it is just a framework for Burgess to entertain us with his lexemic wit and funny situations, but the narrative focuses on a man's life, and the man is a misanthropic poet named Enderby. He lives in a small, rented flat in a unposh seaside town, where he struggles with intestinal gas, drinks at a local pub, and works on some unusual, but very interesting poems. His talent draws some admirers to him, to his distress. In one hilarious scene, he accepts a poetry award but manages to insult his benefactors and make such an ass of himself that it seems unlikely that any more awards will come his away. A suave female editor becomes fascinated with him and the two begin a romance which (not surprisingly) ends up going awry. He butts heads with a frenemy, an egoistic, alcoholic poet named Rawcliffe, who has written something that was turned into a successful sci-fi horror film.

This reader chuckled a lot, and shook his head in wonder at many of the unique phrases that Burgess concocts. Highly recommended.

[Laura · Rating 4 out of 5]

From BBC radio 4 Extra:
Enderby, mediocre poet sans pareil, bursts onto an unsuspecting world, scattering bread crumbs and bad verse.

Misadventures abound as Enderby becomes the bemused recipient of the attentions of the lovely Vesta Bainbridge.

Classic 1960s acerbic comedy by Anthony Burgess.

Enderby .... Philip Glenister
Vesta .... Valerie Edmond
Rawcliffe .... Russell Dixon
Harry .... David Fleeshman
Stepmother ...... Ann Rye
Mrs Meldrum .... Pauline Jefferson
Walpole .... Malcolm Raebum
Nurse .... Liz Stooke

All other parts played by members of the cast.

Dramatised in two parts by Jim Poyser.

Director: Polly Thomas

First broadcast on BBC Radio 4 in March 2003.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m000...

[Bob · Rating 4 out of 5]

Reading Burgess is like nothing else. If you prize verbal invention of the crazier kind, English humour at its dirtiest and darkest, and a splashing crashing energetic presence on the page, look no farther.

[Bettie · Rating 4 out of 5]

Mr Enderby you are wonderfully revolting and I shall be actively seeking you out.

---

Acerbic 60s comedy about a mediocre poet who is thrust upon an unsuspecting world.

`Inside Mr Enderby` is a the first volume of the Enderby series, a quartet of comic novels by the British author Anthony Burgess.

The book was first published in 1963 in London by William Heinemann under the pseudonym Joseph Kell. The series began in 1963 with the publication of this book, and concluded in 1984 with `Enderby's Dark Lady`, or `No End to Enderby` ( after a ten year break following the publication of the third novel in the series, `The Clockwork Testament`, or `Enderby's End` ).

[Jonfaith · Rating 3 out of 5]

My wife droveback from Chicago, excited to have her brother visiting us in our new home. Given the conversation was in Serbian, I was left to devouring most of this during the tour, laughing aloud often at the beginning, less so later in the book.

[Realini Ionescu · Rating 4 out of 5]

Inside Mr. Enderby by Anthony Burgess

Another version of this note and thoughts on other books are available at:

- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...


I have not been overwhelmed by Mr. Enderby.
It is after all somewhat absurd and Eugene Ionesco, The Chairs and absurd works are not my cup of tea.
Not exactly.

But then again…I might be wrong and this novel makes perfect sense, with its jocular tone, for everyone else.

Anthony Burgess, with A Clockwork Orange is one of my favorite authors and I even try to read books from his list of 99 favorite books…
You can consult and read from it here:

- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ninety-...

At the start, Mr. Enderby is a gardener.
Then he says he is actually a poet.

At a different, later stage he is again a gardener…

- Make up your mind man- I wanted to say to him
- But then this is a shortcoming- once I lose contact with a work that I read, the attention is gone

There are some funny moments.

Enderby tells a friend about something he is writing.

- The queen is ravished and escapes to a village
- But what about Prince Philip
- No, no…it is not this queen…
- Oh…

Then she gives birth in a manger…

- Oh, you mean Jesus…I know the story
- No, no, no…not Jesus
- …
- She gives birth to the minotaur

I enjoyed this part, which I seem to dig.
But I did not get the fear of nuns.

Then this was an adaptation and not the unabridged book.

[sskkaa · Rating 4 out of 5]

PFFFRÚÚÚÚÚ!
PRRRRRP!
PRRRRRÚÚÚÚÚPFFFRRRRRR!
Imádom az olyan regényeket, amelyekből természetszerűen folyik a szar, a büfögés és hasonlók. Most képzeljétek el, mennyivel hitelesebb sztori lenne mondjuk a twilight vagy valami hasonló tini cucc, ha Bella, vagy mondjuk Jacob vérfarkasként átváltozva, a harmadik részben a sátras jelenetnél a forró ölelések helyett teleszarná a sátrat, Edward pedig még jobban elsápadna… azt hiszem imádnám. Bár kétlem, hogy ezzel bármit is megragadtam volna Burgess regényének értelméből, de az tény, hogy amennyire jól indult ez a regény, annyira lett szar a vége. Pedig minden adott volt: Enderby és Vesta Bainbridge kiváló karakterek, Burgess humora pedig egyszerűen fasza. De a végére valami nagyon BRRRRPFFFFFF!

[George · Rating 4 out of 5]

A humorous, wacky novel about a couple of years in the life of Mr. Enderby, in his mid 40s. Mr. Enderby is a bald, toothless, flatulent poet. He works in his apartment lavatory where his poems and uncompleted works are left lying in various parts of the bathroom. He has a desk type set up in his bathroom for writing.

Vesta Bainbridge of Fem magazine, is an admirer of Enderby’s poems and offers him two pounds per week for a weekly poem written by Enderby, that would be published in her magazine. Enderby is fortunate in having a small inheritance that allows him to live independently. He wins a prize of 50 pounds for his poetry and goes to London to accept an award.

Enderby is an obnoxious, undiplomatic individual who is unpredictable in what he will say next, especially after having consumed alcohol.

There are plenty of comic situations and oddball characters to provide for an entertaining reading experience.

This book was first published in 1963.

[Mauro · Rating 4 out of 5]

We watch Enderby from the inside of our voluntary concentration camps, while he - the last and boldest misogynist soldier in the battle against women who want to civilize, socialize, educate, maturate and finally kill man's inner child - goes on writing poetry in his toillet seat.

[Christina Packard · Rating 3 out of 5]

A fast read. I just never got into Mr Enderby which kept me liking the book maybe as I should have.

[Neale · Rating 4 out of 5]

F. X. Enderby is Anthony Burgess’s greatest comic creation, a character of Dickensian proportions, and ‘Inside Mr Enderby’ is the best extended fart-joke in literature.

It has been pointed out that the plot of ‘Inside Mr Enderby’ is basically the same as that of ‘A Clockwork Orange’, which was written at the same time – but Mr Enderby’s crime against society is not ultraviolence and an unhealthy love of Beethoven but the desire to write poems on the lavatory in his seedy Brighton flat.

The satire is shamelessly broad and all of Burgess’s prejudices are on display, but as long as the lapsed and flatulent Mr Enderby is front and centre much is forgiven.

I would thoroughly recommend the audiobook version read by English comic actor John Sessions: his grumbling outrage is perfectly tuned, and the way that he declaims Enderby’s poems – like the elderly Betjeman – is priceless…

(I would love to see a copy of Burgess's unproduced film treatment of the first two Enderby books, appropriately titled 'Blasts From The Smallest Room'. Now that's a film that deserves to be resurrected from development hell...)

[John Yeoman · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a wonderful example of 'narrative voice', exhibited by a master of dialogue. The first chapter is redolent of word-play and clever metaphors. It has a rolling ludic cadence. This, we feel, is Burgess himself at his most playful. (Yes, its fascination with bodily orifices may offend some but they bring to mind Hieronymus Bosch. Or perhaps that time when we peered too closely in our own mirror...)

The next chapter is written in the pov of Enderby himself, a scrofulous poet. The diction is more crude, the cadences awkward. Enderby, we conclude from his mindset, is not much of a poet. The shift between voices is exquisitely done.

I confess I haven't (yet) read far beyond chapter 2. Burgess is like a rich fruit cake. He must be rationed to one thin slice per day :)

[Arukiyomi · Rating 3 out of 5]

Enderby is a poet who parps a lot. He’s basically the early British prototype for Ignatius J. Reilly. He has no love except that of poetry which he composes on the toilet. When he finds himself first courted by those in charge of a literary prize and then by the editor of a women’s magazine, his world starts to come apart at the seams. It all ends in an asylum.

Along the way, Burgess uses his creation to satirise poetry, literature, Italians, Catholicism, love and the meaning of life. It’s an often amusing read, but although Burgess penned no fewer than three further novels based on Enderby, I don’t really have the inclination to pursue a character whose most memorable feature is farting.

For more reviews and the 1001 Books Spreadsheet, visit http://arukiyomi.com

[Leon · Rating 5 out of 5]

I listened to this whilst abusing my body back into shape on a treadmill over a couple of weeks this February. I should imagine most of the references in this book will pass readers of a certain age by and need to be heavily glossed. I, however, enjoyed every minute, especially the lapidary language and the whole sending up of minor poets; the coarse and profane mixed with the gloriously sybaritic mellifluous hyperbole of the whole thing. It had me laughing out loud in several places. It did strike me how similar the novel was, at the end, to A Clockwork Orange written a year earlier.

[Anne Johnson · Rating 5 out of 5]

Perhaps my favorite book by my favorite author, Inside Mr. Enderby is the epitome of literary humor by and for writers. There is a dark twistedness in the world built for Enderby, yet a sweet oafishness and moving pride in his character. Burgess might be offended by that comment, but I hold it to be true. And most glorious of all is that Burgess language, which stretches into the farthest corners of English on its quest for the perfect expression and perfect wit.

[Ryan Murdock · Rating 4 out of 5]

It's the only book I know of that opens with a fart.

In fact, much of the novel is one long, stiffly punctuated posterior riposte from Mr. Enderby. A lavatorial writer inspired by the cool clasp of porcelain and a well-polished wooden seat, the hot breath of the muse singes out of him in sulphurous jets that delight the ear, even as they scald the nostrils and encrust the soft palate. May his poetry ferment on library shelves long after the rhymes have lost their pungency.

[Melissa Reiner · Rating 4 out of 5]

Odd but amusing. As usual, Burgess' command of language and superhuman vocabulary makes one weep with admiration (and a soupçon of envy). And yet the satire prevents it all from becoming mordant and heavy. If only there were more living authors like Anthony Burgess, the world would be a brighter, more inspiring place.

[Wendy · Rating 5 out of 5]

A wonderful book, about the connection between the divine afflatus and the less divine versions of afflatus in the human body. Is there any writer who can produce prose like this today? If so, I'd like to be informed of it. Incredibly funny and totally serious. Burgess at the top of his form!

[Godly Gadfly · Rating 2 out of 5]

Review of a dramatized audio version (2.5 stars)

This 1963 novel was written by Anthony Burgess, more well known for his famous dystopian work Clockwork Orange. But he wrote a lot of comic work, which in this case is about the poet Enderby, who slowly unravels and ends up being committed to an asylum. I listened to a dramatized audio version of this (dramatized by Jim Poyser and directed by Polly Thomas, broadcast on BBC4 in 2001), which was very well done as such; this review is based on that.

It's hard to know what to make of Enderby, because he's not exactly a sympathetic character. He makes a lot of bad decisions, often as a result of just not being in touch with society around him. So we feel sorry for him, and yet not entirely, especially in the moments where he seems rather disturbed, e.g. his response to his new wife's unsuccessful attempts to seduce him in order to consummate their marriage. He especially has deep rooted fears surrounding Catholicism and his step-mother, both linked to his childhood.

Enderby writes poetry while on the toilet, and generally does a miserable job of living his life. But when one of his poems ends up going to the wrong address, the editor of a women's magazine, Vesta Bainbridge, sees some of his potential and ends up marrying him. The marriage quickly becomes a fiasco, and Enderby even gets to the point where he attempts suicide, while asking questions about the purpose of life.

The book is considered to satirize things like poetry, sex, religion, love, and the meaning of life, and turning them into sources of laughter. But there are times it becomes disrespectful, profane, blasphemous, and even vulgar. It's clever and amusing in some ways, but dark in others, and it's hard to take seriously in any way. On a serious level it's hard to know what to make of it, and perhaps it doesn't aim to do anything but make us smile. But I'm not sure it was worth all the darker and vulgar bits in the end.