Tuesday, February 05, 2008
A corpulent, flatulent medievalist with a hard-on for Boethius is forced to get a job when his mother crashes drunkenly into a wrought iron porch and has to pay its owner for repairs. What follows never fails to make me laugh, and vigorously. I mean great rolling guffaws and tears and knee-slapping--the whole works.
Toole lampoons everyone in this epic, this supreme tour de farce. I don't often re-read books, but Confederacy of Dunces will continue to get periodic visits.