A Confederacy of Dunces

by John Kennedy Toole

As Ignatius was considering the delight which the little baseball game afforded humanity, the two sad and covetous eyes moved toward him through the crowd like torpedoes zeroing in on a great woolly tanker.

Why did I highlight this? Who knows...maybe it was the description of him as a great, woolly tanker.

“I hardly suspected that I was boring you. After all, that bus ride was one of the more formative experiences of my life. As a mother, you should be interested in the traumas that have created my worldview.”

No, we just want you to move out and keep making progress.

The luminous years of Abélard, Thomas à Beckett, and Everyman dimmed into dross; Fortuna’s wheel had turned on humanity, crushing its collarbone, smashing its skull, twisting its torso, puncturing its pelvis, sorrowing its soul. Having once been so high, humanity fell so low. What had once been dedicated to the soul was now dedicated to the sale.

“I do not know why you are in here now, as a matter of fact, or why you have this sudden compulsion to invade my sanctuary. I doubt whether it will ever be the same after the trauma of this intrusion by an alien spirit.”

Reminds me of when my daughter said, "well, I don't really want to drink blood, but I have no choice when people come into my room at night." I put it on Twitter. No one laughed.

Anyway, it is inconceivable that I should get a job. I am very busy with my work at the moment, and I feel that I am entering a very fecund stage.

Again, relatable from several points.

“You better be glad I’m giving you a chance, boy,” Lana Lee said. “There’s plenty colored boys looking for work these days.” “Yeah, and they’s plenty color boy turnin vagran, too, when they see what kinda wage peoples offerin. Sometime I think if you color, it better to be a vagran.” “You better be glad you’re working.” “Ever night I’m fallin on my knee.”

An example of the white small business owner vernacular.

“You got a new jig, huh?” The boy looked out at Jones through his swirls of oiled hair. “What happened to the last one? He die or something?”

Jig is a shortened form of a derogatory word for black people.

“You better tell your little ofay kid friend move along.” Jones blew some smoke on the two. “I ain takin no insult with this kinda job.”

Apparently ofay is a derogatory term for white people. I have never heard of it.

“Ignatius, honey, I’m going.” “All right,” Ignatius replied icily. “Open the door, babe, and come kiss me goodbye.” “Mother, I am quite busy at the moment.” “Don’t be like that, Ignatius. Open up.” “Run off with your friends, please.” “Aw, Ignatius.” “Must you distract me at every level. I am working on something with wonderful movie possibilities. Highly commercial.”

The original sweatshop has been preserved for posterity at Levy Pants. If only the Smithsonian Institution, that grab bag of our nation’s refuse, could somehow vacuum-seal the Levy Pants factory and transport it to the capital of the United States of America, each worker frozen in an attitude of labor, the visitors to that questionable museum would defecate into their garish tourist outfits. It is a scene which combines the worst of Uncle Tom’s Cabin and Fritz Lang’s Metropolis; it is mechanized Negro slavery; it represents the progress which the Negro has made from picking cotton to tailoring it. (Were they in the picking stage of their evolution, they would at least be in the healthful outdoors singing and eating watermelons [as they are, I believe, supposed to do when in groups alfresco].) My intense and deeply felt convictions concerning social injustice were aroused.

“Do I hear a strain from Scarlatti?” Ignatius asked finally. “I thought I was whistling ‘Turkey in the Straw.’”

How come God has to make it so tough for you?” “We must not question His ways,” Ignatius said. “Maybe not, but I still don’t get it.” “The writings of Boethius may give you some insight.” “I read Father Keller and Billy Graham in the paper every single day.” “Oh, my God!” Ignatius spluttered. “No wonder you are so lost.”

OK, this is amusing

We may thank God that this boy has turned to food for an outlet. Had he not, I might have been raped right there on the spot.”

Darlene put the cage on the bar and uncovered a huge, scrofulous rose cockatoo that looked, like a used car, as if it had passed through the hands of many owners. The bird’s crest dipped, and it cried horribly, “Awwk.”

I worried about this poor bird throughout the novel. Fortunately, the bird seemed fine by the end.

I knew that it was a reactionary project, but it at least showed that you were developing some political consciousness. Please write to me about the matter. I am very concerned. We need a three-party system in this country, and I think that day by day the fascists are growing in strength. This Divine Right Party is the sort of fringe-group scheme that would syphon off a large part of the fascist support.

Interesting

Mancuso felt sorry for the guy and felt obliged to read what he had written. So far he had only covered about twenty pages and was beginning to wonder whether this Boethius was something of a gambler. He was always talking about fate and odds and the wheel of fortune. Anyway, it wasn’t the kind of book that exactly made you look up to the brighter side.

You was stuck home with that crazy boy every night until Santa come along. Right? Now listen to Santa, precious. You don’t wanna end up all alone with that Ignatius on your hands. This old man looks like he’s got him a little money. He dresses neat. He knows you from somewhere. He likes you.” Santa looked Mrs. Reilly in the eye. “This old man can pay off your debt!”

“Stop that, you big slob. You ain’t crippled.” “Not completely as of yet. However, various small bones and ligaments are beginning to wave a white flag of surrender. My physical apparati seem to be preparing to announce a truce of some sort. My digestive system has almost ceased functioning altogether. Some tissue has perhaps grown over my pyloric valve, sealing it forever.”

At these rare moments when Lana Lee grew sentimental or even religious, she thanked God for His goodness in forming a body that was also a friend. She repaid the gift by giving it magnificent care, expert service and maintenance that was given with the emotionless precision of a mechanic.

But his resentment and jealousy of me are increasing daily; no doubt they will ultimately overwhelm him and destroy his mind. The grandeur of my physique, the complexity of my worldview, the decency and taste implicit in my carriage, the grace with which I function in the mire of today’s world—all of these at once confuse and astound Clyde.

delusional, or just extreme insecurity being masked?

“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.”

“Of course not. Never become involved in an altercation with a pauper.”

Good grief. How many of the military leaders of the world may simply be deranged old sodomites acting out some fake fantasy role? Actually, this might be quite beneficial to the world. It could mean an end to war forever. This could be the key to lasting peace.”

Yeah, right.

He and his friends hadn’t done that in a long time, driving along in someone’s souped-up car and splattering whatever jigs were stupid enough to be standing out on the sidewalk.

See this garbage???

“Aw, she was good,” Santa said. “I remember that picture where she played the dummy who got herself raped.” “Lord, I’m glad I didn’t go see that show.” “Aw, it was wonderful, babe. Very dramatic. You know? The look on that poor dummy’s face when she got raped. I’ll never forget it.” “Anybody want more coffee?” Mr. Robichaux asked.

WTF! was the author's opinion of these women formed by his own mother and her acquaintances?

You could tell by the way that he talked, though, that he had gone to school a long time. That was probably what was wrong with him. George had been wise enough to get out of school as soon as possible. He didn’t want to end up like that guy.

“They would try to make me into a moron who liked television and new cars and frozen food. Don’t you understand? Psychiatry is worse than communism. I refuse to be brainwashed. I won’t be a robot!”

“Of course he was running down the street naked. His skin could not bear any more of that Dacron and nylon clothing that was clogging his pores. I’ve always considered Mr. Becnel one of the martyrs of our age.

Why did I highlight this? I guess it was for the mention of plastic-based fibers.

Troublesome old relatives would be chained in the carport. Their hands would be released only once a month so they could sign over their Social Security checks. Manacles and chains could build a better life for all. I must give this some space in my notes and jottings.”

Ugh!

There Ignatius stood like the boy on the burning deck. The music rose from the tabernacle once again. Dorian fled to speak with a group of his guests, actively ignoring Ignatius, as was everyone else in the room. Ignatius felt as alone as he had felt on that dark day in high school when in a chemistry laboratory his experiment had exploded, burning his eyebrows off and frightening him. The shock and terror had made him wet his pants, and no one in the laboratory would notice him, not even the instructor, who hated him sincerely for similar explosions in the past.

Interesting phenomenon which could explain things about the main character.

He said nothing. A policeman was a policeman. It was always best to ignore them unless they bothered you.

George was pasting the article in the Junior Achievement scrapbook that was one of his mementos from his last semester at school.

I never heard of Junior Achievement until my kids were in high school and I still don't know what it is, really. They did not participate.

Mr. Levy listened to her snoring and watched the Monrovian freighter moving out into the harbor and turning downstream toward the Gulf.

I liked this line.

Mr. Levy watched the freighter cross the mouth of the Industrial Canal. Mrs. Levy would be on a ship soon, destination San Juan. She could visit her mother on the beach, laughing and singing and dancing. Mrs. Levy wouldn’t really fit into the Levy Shorts plan.

Nice!

Like any celebrity, Ignatius had attracted his fans: his mother’s jinxed relatives, neighbors, people Mrs. Reilly had not seen for years. They had all telephoned.

I misread this as he attracted all these negative people in his life to begin with, but now I realize he just meant in the typical way when people are attracted to a persons misfortune, and call up to get the details.

“What do all of these lachrymose clichés mean?” Ignatius asked suspiciously. “Why are you suddenly pleasant? Don’t you have some old man to meet somewhere?”

This amused me.

“It’s so strange to find your mother gone. She used to be around here all the time.” Myrna hung her guitar on a bedpost and stretched across the bed. “This room. We used to have a ball in here, exposing our minds and souls, composing anti-Talc manifestos. I guess that fraud is still hanging around that school.”

So were people aware of the carcinogenic properties of asbestos laden talc even then?

“Ho hum,” Ignatius yawned. “Perhaps my mother has done me a great favor by planning to remarry. Those Oedipal bonds were beginning to overwhelm me.” He threw his yo-yo into the bag. “Apparently you had safe passage through the South.”

I don't think there was anything Oedipal here, but they go on another racist rant, which I feel is the author's attempt to call it out, but I don't really know and that's the problem.

You’re going into a whole new and vital phase. Your inactivity is over. I can tell. I can hear it. Just think of the great thought that is going to come streaming out of that head when we’ve finally cleared away all the cobwebs and taboos and crippling attachments.”

All a mother really wants for her grown child still living at home is for them to get out and live their own life.