Sometimes, I venture into the canon of literature to keep it real. Gots to get my learn on so I can make informed judgments in my reviews, after all. But sometimes keepin’ it real goes wrong.
As some may know, I’ve been desperately slogging through the Modern Library’s top 100 20th century novels list since it was published in 1999, and I only have nine left. Now granted, it’s taken 12 years and I haven’t finished yet, but in my defense, to call the list a top 100 is somewhat deceptive, dear readers, since quite a few of the novels on the list are trilogies or quartets (Studs Lonigan, USA, the Alexandria Quartet, Dance to the Music of Time, Parades End, to name a few). And one of the remaining tomes is Ulysses, which would take anyone the better part of a decade to complete.
That said, I continue to soldier on, albeit slowly, with my latest foray into the list, The Ginger Man by J.P. Donleavy. The basic premise is an ex-pat American named Sebastian Dangerfield is living in Dublin and “studying” at Trinity College. Studying is in quotes because Sebastian spends the bulk of his time boozing and avoiding work, which has led to mountains of debt and constant capers to hustle cash, usually from women he’s bedding or trying to bed. And there you have it. That’s about all that goes down.
Allegedly, Dorothy Parker thought the book was hilarious and a groundbreaking example of comic writing. I thought it was the book version of The Pogues’ “Fairytale of New York,” just far more forgettable. (Note, there’s good reason to link the book to the Pogues, since another of Donleavy’s books is called the Fairy Tale of New York and is the basis for the song. Which also leads me to believe that Donleavy is a one trick pony with a consistent theme of Irish drunkenness running throughout all his works.)
In parts, it could be amusing, particularly scenes of Sebastian ducking and hiding from a former landlord who’s been stiffed on months of rent. And I also rather enjoyed parts where Sebastian knicks furniture and other odds and ends from the furnished apartments he rents to sell them at the pawn broker for enough scratch to get wasted. That was sort of punk rock. There’s also a scene where Sebastian’s plumbing fails and tears through the flooring, causing his morning deuce to fall on his wife’s head one level down – if you’re into the more ribald potty humor thing.
As with every book list, the Modern Library has hits and misses. There are some works that I have absolutely loved, but would never have sought out were they not on this list – Portnoy’s Complaint, An American Tragedy, Zuleika Dobson, Ragtime, Scoop and the Prime of Miss Jean Brody are all shining examples. At the end of the day, The Ginger Man falls squarely into the category of mildly interesting, but totally unmemorable. But it has some good company on the list. For the life of me, I couldn’t tell you a single plot point from The Heart of the Matter, Pale Fire, The Death of the Heart or Sons and Lovers, even though I know I read them. But at least it wasn’t as painful as I, Claudius, The Wapshot Chronicles or A Bend in the River, all of which were sheer torture to slog through. And there’s still Ulysses to get through.
