New Orleans, sometime in the late 60s. Wild by reputation, mad in its heart, even New Orleans is no match for one Ignatius Jacques Reilly. A profoundly obese fellow living in a decrepit home with his alchohol adoring mother, Reilly stalks the rain-spattered avenues of the French quarter, his favorite green hunter’s cap always placed squarely on his head, looking for activities to occupy his prodigious, if unfocused, mind. Content to sip soft drinks and scribble on an epic philosophical treatise while living on his deceased father’s pension, Ignatius’s comfortable world is disrupted when his mother wraps a car around a vintage patio and is stuck with the repair bill. Suddenly, Ignatius is forced into work…and the world discovers it is woefully underprepared for the phenomenon of Ignatius finding gainful employment.
A very old-fashioned novel in some respects, borrowing an awful lot from the meandering, picaresque exploits of such as Don Quijote, I found my interest in Reilly’s exploits very much dependent on the particulars of his comic episodes. See, Reilly himself has nothing so banal as a character arc, or a change in habits. He starts big, bold, narcissistic and, well, not a little despicable (he treats his mother quite horrifically, for example). The people around him may change, necessarily, or risk getting crushed under both a literal frame and a figurative ego…but Reilly is as he is. That is, I get it, sort of the point. He is manifestly unchangeable, so if you dig Falstaffian rogues who refuse to compromise, damn the consequences, then you’ll love Ignatius. Me, I felt, at times, a little poorly for the folks around him. Many, true, are douchebags (and it is a trait of narratives such as this that the world at large is portrayed as just as ridiculous as their protagonists…allowing for more comedy while also excusing the hero’s more selfish qualities), but many are just trying to do their best in crappy circumstances. I must credit the novel for it’s portrayal of a very specific time and place, for New Orleans comes alive under Toole’s prose, and many of his characters are absolutely vivid (though he does fall into the trap of caricature and lazy stereotyping for a few communities…most notably the queer and black denizens of New Orleans).
Unafraid to be unique, though at times a tough read because of it, I cannot deny that this is a rather boisterous and entertaining read. You will likely be exhausted by Ignatius Jacques Reilly, but you’ll never forget him. Me like books.
Me Like Books 