Download A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole PDF
By John Kennedy Toole
A Confederacy of Dunces is an American comedian masterpiece. John Kennedy Toole's hero, one Ignatius J. Reilly, is "huge, overweight, fractious, fastidious, a latter-day Gargantua, a Don Quixote of the French area. His tale bursts with entirely unique characters, denizens of recent Orleans' reduce depths, awfully true-to-life discussion, and the zaniest sequence of low and high comedian adventures" (Henry Kisor, Chicago Sun-Times).
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Extra resources for A Confederacy of Dunces
Now this is a very subtle tie. . " He taught m e the principal classifications: rep tie, neat tie, paisley tie. And the tie I wore for the job interview at the company o n the mezzanine w a s one he had pulled from a doorknob: it was made of a silk that verged o n crepe, and its pattern was composed of very small oval shapes, each containing a fascinating blob motif that seemed inspired by the hungry, pulsating amoebas that absorbed excess stomach acid in Rolaids' great dripping-faucet commercial, and w h e n you looked closely you noticed that the perimeter of each oval w a s made of surprisingly garishly colored rectangles, like suburban tract houses; a border so small in scale, however, that those instances of brightness only contrib uted a secret depth and luminosity to the overall somber, old-masters color ation of the design.
Right w h e n I suddenly h a d m o r e blue sky in front of m e t h a n green truck, I remembered that w h e n I was little I used to be very interested in the fact that anything, no matter h o w rough, rusted, dirty, or otherwise discredited it was, looked good if you set it d o w n o n a stretch of white cloth, or any kind of clean background. The thought came to m e with just that prefix: " w h e n I w a s little," along with the sight of a certain rusted railroad spike I h a d found a n d placed on an expanse of garage concrete that I h a d carefully swept smooth.
S apartment. I w a s extremely cheerful, and after a few m i n u t e s of reading, I stood u p with the decision that I w o u l d clean m y r o o m . , or the depressed w o m a n at work, did next. They swept. In the kitchen closet I found a practically n e w b r o o m (not o n e of the contemporary designs, with synthetic bristles uniformly cut at a n angle, but one just like the kind I h a d g r o w n u p with, with blond smocked twigs b o u n d to a blue h a n d l e by perfectly w r a p p e d silver wire) that o n e of m y h o u s e m a t e s h a d bought.