a cover is not the book

I love to read. Unfortunately, I don't have nearly enough time to do so anymore. Years ago, when I used to take the train to work, I read a lot. An awful lot. I used to go through several books a month. I read so much, that I tried to have several books lined up, so when I finished the current book I was reading, I could start right in on the next one uninterrupted.

I was always looking for books to read. I began by reading classics — books I was supposed to read in high school but just never got around to it. I remember when I read The Catcher in the Rye — a favorite of serial killers —  nobody would ever sit next to me on the train, a rarity in the busy, early-morning rush hour. I read I, The Jury — my first exposure to the 1950s hard-boiled detective genre. I enjoyed the book, but couldn't help but feeling that I was reading a MAD magazine parody. I honestly couldn't get through The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, but I loved The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll. I was surprised by how much descriptive story and suspense was built up, despite its abbreviated length. I felt the same about the many novels I read by Edgar Allan Poe.

There was one book that was regularly recommend to me by my wife's cousin Jerzy. He often gushed about one book in particular, extolling its satirical wit, its off-the-wall humor and its biting social commentary. Jerzy would bring this book up almost every time I saw him. So, after years of prodding, I purchased a second-hand copy of Jerzy's favorite book — John Kennedy Toole's A Confederacy of Dunces — to read on the train.

John Kennedy Toole

New Orleans native John Kennedy Toole taught English Literature at Columbia University after his graduation from Tulane, which he attended on a scholarship. He was drafted into the army in 1963 where he taught English to Spanish-speaking recruits in Puerto Rico. That's where be began writing A Confederacy of Dunces. He would finish the novel in his parents' home after his discharge. Upon its completion, Toole shopped the novel to various publishers. It was rejected by each one, including two different editors at Simon & Shuster, when it was deemed "pointless." Depressed and paranoid, Toole took his own life in 1969 at the age of 31. While going through his personal belongings, Toole's mother Thelma, with whom he had a close but tumultuous relationship and who served as the inspiration of the main character's overbearing mother in the novel, found her son's manuscript (in carbon copy form, no less!). Thelma was determined to have her son's book published. She literally pestered author Walker Percy to read the manuscript. He relented and loved it. In 1980, seventeen years after Toole typed the final words and over a decade after he committed suicide, A Confederacy of Dunces was published by LSU Press. Amid high praise, it won the Pulitzer Prize the following year.

Ignatius J. Reilly

Early one morning, I boarded the train to work, found a seat and cracked open my brand-new used copy of A Confederacy of Dunces. Almost immediately I was introduced to the likes of Ignatius J. Reilly, the slovenly, lazy, delusional, idealistic anti-protagonist of the story. Ignatius is educated but without ambitions. He has contempt for the world around him and the people who inhabit it. He perceives himself as a superior member of society. He is at odds with his mother, his reluctant girlfriend, the local police officer and his employers at several positions he is forced to take. He's a glutton, a pervert who points out the perverse actions of others, and a ne'er-do-well who blames his long run of bad luck solely on the work of an ancient deity — not his own decisions (or lack of). Ignatius's improbable interactions with the book's supporting characters were only somewhat amusing. To me, however, they were downright infuriating and eerily familiar.

As I continued to read A Confederacy of Dunces, I was nagged by an underlying feeling. I felt I had heard — even witnessed — the adventures of  Ignatius J. Reilly before. But, this was a silly thought. Ignatius J. Reilly was a fictional character. After a few more days and a few more chapters... it hit me. It hit me as to why I was not enjoying this book. It occurred to me who exactly Ignatius J. Reilly was. His antics. His "blame the world for my troubles" attitude. His "I am above everyone" ego. His skewed, "know-it-all" view on reality. Ignatius J. Reilly was... was... a member of my family. A particular member of my family. A member of my family whose personality and demeanor mirrors that of Ignatius J. Reilly's to a T. A member of my family with whom I have had a contentious relationship for years. A relationship that has exponentially deteriorated with each new audacious action he exercises. He is lazy, like Ignatius J. Reilly. He's unambitious, like Ignatius J. Reilly. He's unrealistic, like Ignatius J. Reilly. He's a buffoonish elitist, like Ignatius J. Reilly. He's an asshole, like Ignatius J. Reilly

I cannot — and will not — elaborate. If you know me, you know to whom I am alluding. If you don't know me personally, just know that I was not able to fully enjoy A Confederacy of Dunces to the level that Jerzy did. It's just one more thing that this particular family member has ruined for me.

I should really start reading again. It's a distraction.

Usually.

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