Schultz, Sigmund Franz, Impresario, producer of flops in London's West End.
A walking or sometimes chauffeur-driven and often boot-propelled disaster area. Which disasters are often indulgently plotted by his aristocratic partners His Amazing Grace Basil Nectarine and the languid Binky. But more frequently caused by Schultz's desperate need to seduce as many beautiful women as is humanly possible and then more.
Meanwhile fighting furiously in the battle for bachelordom and in an unquenchable quest for the soothing balm of box-office riches embellished by a beautiful woman who will sock him in the spiritual solar-plexus...
James Patrick Donleavy was an Irish American author, born to Irish immigrants. He served in the U.S. Navy during World War II after which he moved to Ireland. In 1946 he began studies at Trinity College, Dublin, but left before taking a degree. He was first published in the Dublin literary periodical, Envoy.
An introspective novel akin to 'The Catcher in the Rye' except with lasciviousness and vulgarity put on nitro. The titular character is revolting, but the oddly endearing characters like Binky, Lord Nectarine, and Magillicurdy allow for a small siesta from his exhausting internal monologue. 'Schultz' is not for the faint of heart; it's fast-paced, deplorable, but somehow renders you unable to put it down. For better or for worse.
I found Donleavy at an impressionable age and even though those days are long gone I still have a place in my heart for either rambunctious or melancholy, (but always zestfully incorrect), Donleavy. I guess most people know "The Ginger Man", and quite a few know "A Singular Man" and "Fairy Tale of New York", but there are many more novels out there, although their appeal and quality starts to become a little dicier. (Try to find "The Onion Eaters", though.)
I think of "Schultz" as high middlin'. It could be longer or it could be shorter. Its hero wanders around a lot and you could add a few more scenes, characters, and heroines, or drop a few. Episodic though it may be it still sparkles from time to time with Donleavy's magical, bawdy, stream of consciousness, funny/desperate madness. Many times Donleavy puts most of his effort into his lead character and slights the supporting crew. This book stands out because while our hero Schultz is one of his best, the characters who surround him are strong and appealing in their own rights. This gives the book a little more heft, and allows for more funny business.
So, I hope there is renewed interest in Donleavy, and that he be remembered and celebrated for more than just "The Ginger Man". This book seems a perfectly fine way to be introduced to him, but an even better way to get to know him and enjoy his work beyond his classic.
Donleavy has a marvelous talent for keeping me on the edge of my seat, gripped in suspense, as I watch his characters trying to keep all their plates spinning when the crash seems increasingly inevitable. Though I think I like "Are You Listening Rabbi Low" a little better, this is still a solidly written and engaging novel. I wish I had known about it and read it before the sequel. I would probably have enjoyed both even more. Still, this is a book I had a great time reading. There is so much more to Donleavy than just "The Ginger Man."
All I can do is refer you to other reviewers. I put this in his top 20% personally, but people seem to either adore or dislike JPD's writing. Put me in the adore column...I enjoy even his "weakest" work. Just listing a few of my favorites off the top of my head: Unexpurgated Code, Rabbi Low, Onion Eaters, his short stories (some are very short!) like "Samuel S" and "Balthazar B", Fairy Tale of New York. De Alfonce Tennis is a strange and wondrous work too.
(I treasure this and all my other hardcover Donleavy; I chose this edition for my collection since it shows what the dust jacket actually looks like.)
Sort of cheating here, but here's a longer piece I wrote about this book (published 1979) and its "sequel" (1988) "Are You Listening Rabbi Loew" since I've just re-read them both. I'm copying most of this review that I used for that entry.
Since this is 2020 let me get this out of the way now: these novels contain a shocking amount of misogynistic, racist, and anti-Semitic language and unparliamentary behavior. You have to read them with that in mind and not the current norms of acceptable behavior and discourse. Furthermore I will disclose as a reviewer I am over 60 and brought up on Henry Miller, D.H. Lawrence, etc. It's probably ageist of me to say it, but sometimes I think reviewers should at a minimum disclose their ages (although I know this leads to the slippery slope of requiring disclosure of a reviewer' gender, ethnic and educational background, etc.)
That said, I am hopeless biased towards all Donleavy's works. I think they strike a wonderful balance between pathos and hilarity. You'll either love or hate his style, but I think it's worth sticking with. Also his style evolves, from the early days of The Ginger Man and The Onion Eaters to his later more polished works, with the oddball but indispensible The Unexpurgated Code in there as well.
The basic scenario has Sigmund Schultz as a struggling London theatrical impresario. Born in America to a hard working Jewish clothing merchant, through dint of good looks, a good education, exasperating charm, and inability to take no for an answer, he is battling to finally get one successful production mounted after a string of flops. The other thing about Schultz is that he is pure id. He cannot resist a pretty woman, married, unattainable, high or low born and basically always follows where his gonads lead. The results are inevitably and increasingly disastrous in unforeseen ways.
I do see a line from Donleavy's early masterpiece The Ginger Man to Schulz, but they are worlds apart in the maturity of Donleavy's style, the scenario and milieu.
Schultz is surrounded by a carnival of theater people, chief among which are his two partners: the mysterious and fabulously wealthy Lord Basil Nectarine and equally wealthy and urbane Binky Sunningdale, who basically keep Schultz around for entertainment. The story revolves around Schultz' increasingly desperate and manic attempts to fund and produce his latest project "Kiss It, Don't Hold It, It's Too Hot".
But this is not just a novel of pratfalls and desperate sex; there are sections when Schultz attempts to make sense of his inner life and his past that are achingly poignant.
In the second book, the production has actually succeeded and after a slow start, Schultz and his investors are reaping huge profits. With this of course, Schultz' contretemps take on even more colossal and spectacular dimensions. He occasionally mentally invokes Rabbi Loew, an imaginary totem out of his Middle European Jewish ancestry for advice or just to use as a personal Greek chorus. The ending seems idyllic but the book ends on an unsettling note.
Obviously I love these books. For weeks after I read Donleavy I end up speaking and writing in his style. I think most of his books are treasures and I recommend both of these. They are of course not perfect, and often you think: Schultz what the hell is wrong with you? as he keeps putting what I will euphemistically refer to his foot in it romantically, without regard for the inevitable disaster that will ensue.
I think Rabbi Loew is more exquisitely written with more depth, but both are highly recommended if you like this sort of thing.
Not Donleavy's best. In fact it just feels like a cheap imitation of ... himself. A kind of weirdly misogynistic fiction that just can't exist anymore, or shouldn't. Schultz is the kind of repulsive rapscallion that would drive people away, but somehow in this fantasy world he beds every woman he meets. Not to say that there weren't some humorous scenes, but it all feels too ridiculous. The Magilicurdy character is brilliant, probably the only recurring bright spot in the novel.
There's no invention or charm left in Donleavy's fractured prose. He might have done himself, he certainly would have done his readers, a mercy if only he'd rested on his early - much deserved - laurels.
Could read this, hated it. I loved The gingerman but this I thought to be contrived rubbish. Maybe I didn't persevere but I always finish books I have started but I felt this was a waste of good reading time. I am now reading "Reading in the Dark" by Seamus Deane. What a difference, magical.
A bawdy read from many years ago. Mr. Well-hung can't seem to find Ms. Right and can't keep his pants on either. About all I remember for names is Lady Lullabybaby. Semi-porn. Date read is a guess.