Meet Ignatius J. Reilly.
Residence: his mother's house
Job: several short successive blunders, including hot dog vendor
Vocabulary: pretentiously advanced
Maturity level: 12-year-old
Gastrointestinal tendencies: repulsive
John Kennedy Toole's A Confederacy of Dunces is an explosion of loud comedy. It follows one bloated and obnoxious Ignatius Reilly through New Orleans as he searches for steady work, gastrointestinal tranquility, and a total rejection of the modern age. In short, the man is looking for some "theology and geometry" in the world. I'm halfway through the book and cannot read another page.
While it is entertaining, wading through Reilly's tirades is starting to wear on me. He's like a one-trick pony. His lectures and 'letters to the reader' get old. He whines about the many social and political injustices of the world in a very high-and-mighty tone that, funny at first, grows tiresome. I don't see the book going anywhere. I've read 250 pages and he has written several letters, gone through two jobs, and met a variety of amusing people, some of whom I find more interesting than he (Jones, for instance, is pretty cool). But I don't feel anything motivating me to continue the book.
I don't often do this, but I gotta say it this time: avoid this one. It's too much of the same thing.