Reading-induced pain

Yesterday, I finally finished A Confederacy of Dunces after frequent starts and stops. This book is 'modern' in its treatment of people and is easy to read. It's one of those books that people either love or hate. I would vote for the latter with my eyes closed.

The antihero of the story, Ignatius J. Reilly, is a corpulent, hypocritical, disgusting creature with a distinctive green hunting cap and lofty moral standards. Other colorful characters include an undercover policeman in ballerina costumes and Hawaiian shirts who is relegated to bathroom duty in a bus stop, a dumb exotic dancer wannabe with a giant bald eagle, and a drunken and slovenly mother who finds new meaning in life by way of the bowling alley. The weird, the ugliness, and the downright crappyness of life can all be found in this melodrama of sorts.

A major problem is that not only is the antihero difficult to identify with, so are the rest of the characters. The least offensive character is a flunky who hates the pants factory that he inherited. I am not against ugliness or uselessness or stupidity, but every page of this book is saturated with the filth of New Orleans and its inhabitants.

Ironically, Toole writes extraordinary well, excelling in providing the reader with vivid descriptions (perhaps another reason why the book is so unsavory). He also ties up loose ends nicely in the last few pages of this drama, though for what purpose, I'm not certain. The writing is excellent, and the scenarios are clever and imaginative, but why use that talent to write a story about utter depravity and squalor?