
My rating: 2 of 5 stars
It was with the greatest joy that I finally drove myself over the finishing line in this book. Lent it by a friend, I felt obliged to give it my best shot, but despite its brevity (just over 200 pages, many of which have massive footnotes) I found myself wanting to throw it away – literally – at times.
Flann O'Brien's novel was rejected in his own lifetime. It was written around 1940, and if you can imagine Joyce mixed with Dali you might have the picture. The story – such as it is – is narrated by someone who has (I think) jointly committed a murder, then runs into two bizarre policeman. These policemen won't give straight answers to questions, answering 'no' most of the time, and they lecture the central character on the philosophy of bicycles. At times, the latter take on semi-human characteristics. I thought the book might be allegorical, but I gather it's not particularly.
Yet the book is funny – exceptionally so at times – especially in the footnotes, where a whole subtext about the works of a writer called "de Selby" are analysed, including commentaries from equally amusing names such as Hatchjaw (apologies to any readers with either of these names). These footnotes are a wonderfully satirical take-off of the academic style. But in the end, it's not funny enough to justify an entire novel, and in truth the book's a bit of a one-trick pony. Well, maybe two tricks, but no more. My wife would give this no stars if she could, and she's actually read it twice!
I gather this languished unread for long enough until it it got a boost from the showing of "Lost" some years back, after which it attained an undeserved cult status. The edition I read had a publisher's note at the end which explained the key to the story. Neither my wife nor I would have worked it out otherwise, which tells it all.
It might have been all right as a longish short story. Now I've earned the right to read something I can enjoy.
TRUST ME I'M TRYING TO BE POSITIVE HERE...
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