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مرد زنجبیلی
شخصیت اصلی داستان، «سباستین دنجرفیلد» یکی از بی‌نظیرتری� و دوست‌داشتنی‌تری� «بی‌شعور»ها� ادبیات قرن بیستم محسوب می‌شو�.
شخصیت‌پرداز� دنجرفیلد در مرد زنجبیلی تا حدود زیادی یاغی‌گری‌ها� قضاوت‌ها� بی‌قیدی‌ه� و بذله‌گویی‌ها� تلخ و تاریک شخصیت «هولدن کالفیلد» در «ناطور دشت» جی. دی. سالینجر را در ذهن تداعی می‌کن�.
شخصیت‌پرداز� دنجرفیلد در مرد زنجبیلی تا حدود زیادی یاغی‌گری‌ها� قضاوت‌ها� بی‌قیدی‌ه� و بذله‌گویی‌ها� تلخ و تاریک شخصیت «هولدن کالفیلد» در «ناطور دشت» جی. دی. سالینجر را در ذهن تداعی می‌کن�.
498 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1955
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About the author
J.P. Donleavy
46books187followersJames Patrick Donleavy was an Irish American author, born to Irish immigrants. He served in the U.S. Navy during World War II after which he moved to Ireland. In 1946 he began studies at Trinity College, Dublin, but left before taking a degree. He was first published in the Dublin literary periodical, Envoy.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 707 reviews
May 4, 2022
While reading Ginger Man I was literally mesmerised by its magically artistic language � it has never occurred to me that the words could be so kinematic.
And it was my first black humour trip to boot. And it was the book that made me fall in love with postmodernism for good.
Life of every incorrigible dreamer is a riot � dreamers never cease to revolt against reality.
She went down the steps. Paused, turned, smiled. Key. Green door. Few seconds. A light goes on. Shadow moves across the window. Hers. What sweet stuff, sweeter than all the roses. Come down God and settle in my heart on this triangular Friday.
And it was my first black humour trip to boot. And it was the book that made me fall in love with postmodernism for good.
Someday you’ll show up when I’m back where I belong in this world. When I have what I ought to have. My due. And when you do. My gamekeepers will drive you out and away for good. Out. Away. Out.
Life of every incorrigible dreamer is a riot � dreamers never cease to revolt against reality.
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October 22, 2018I'd seen hanging around various bookshops for years but avoided a direct encounter until recently. That was probably a wise intuition as I'm quite certain that Sebastian Dangerfield, the ginger man of the title, would have driven my younger self to some extreme act such as burying the book in a deep hole after the first twenty pages. But if I had done that, I’d have thrown away a collection of curious artefacts. Donleavy's book is like the archeological site of literary Dublin and this review is an attempt at an excavation of that site. You won’t discover much about the plot or the characters here, just a comment on each find I unearthed, at least the ones I was able to identify.
So, this way the museyroom, folks, and don’t forget to clean your boots goan out!*
Although the terrain of is strewn with appropriations from other works, their titles are never mentioned so the reader has quite a bit of digging to do to assemble them in a recognisable form. Fortunately, this reader has been getting lots of practice at that activity while tagging similar unattributed artefacts in Joyce’s so scraping through the clay of Donleavy's book was easier and more rewarding than it might otherwise have been.
The practice of not citing his references is but one of the parallels with Joyce’s work; fragments from all of Joyce’s writing are generously strewn about Donleavy’s worksite. Sebastian Dangerfield not only shares Stephen Daedalus� initials but he also shares the surname Dangerfield plus some other unsavory attributes with the scurrilous villain of Sheridan Le Fanu’s , a nineteenth century tale set in the Chapelizod area of Dublin and which Joyce built into the foundations of , also set in Chapelizod. However, the Hill of Howth in the north of the city, is even more central to the historical themes in Finnegans Wake. And where does Donleavy begin his tale? On the Hill of Howth, a great place for the history, as Dangerfield bluntly puts it. He also meditates on the 'coincidence of contraries', a pet theory of sixteenth century philosopher, , which along with his writings on metempsychosis, greatly influenced Joyce in both and .
opens with talk of tubs, and it’s difficult not to be reminded of Jonathan Swift’s which Joyce refers to frequently in Finnegans Wake. ends with Dangerfield eating a mutton kidney exactly as Leopold Bloom is doing on the 16th of June, 1904, when we first meet him in Ulysses. In between there are many other allusions to literary Ireland, almost as if the Irish Tourist Board had commissioned the book as an advertising gimmick. Or perhaps not; the narrative is set in the late 1940s, a time when Dublin was home to an entire pubfull of literary men, more than one of whom had drinking talents to rival the Ginger Man, men such as , , and . The group used to meet in a pub called McDaid's in the city centre and when they were particularly short of funds, some of them lived in an infamous basement called The Catacombs where they continued their drinking and carousing. Both McDaid's and The Catacombs feature in along with practically every other pub in the Dublin of the period. Guinness and Gold Label whiskey have starring roles too: When I die I want to decompose in a barrel of porter, Dangerfield intones from the bottom of his whiskey glass.
Certain sections of this book reminded me very much of Anthony Cronin's memoir, , written much later than Dunleavy's book: There were some Americans, ex-service men who had come to Ireland originally to be Trinity students under the G.I. Bill and remained on when its bounty was exhausted, among them J. P. Donleavy, then supposed to be a painter but meditating a big book about Ireland to be called, I seem to remember, ‘Under The Stone'; and Gainor Crist, who was to provide the original for that book, subsequently called The Ginger Man (a curiously transformed and lessened portrait)... Most of this company assembled in McDaid’s every day...and almost every night the entire assemblage moved on to the Catacombs. These and what went on there have been described so often now, in works of apparent fiction like The Ginger Man, or alleged fact such as Ulick O'Connor’s Biography of Brendan Behan. The whole place smelt of damp, decaying plaster and brickwork, that smell of money gone which was once so prevalent in Ireland. Off the corridor leading out of the kitchen were various dark little rooms. Mine had, I think once been a wine-cellar. There was hardly space for a bed in it, and none for anything else except a few bottles and books.
Sebastian Dangerfield is a student in Trinity College when we first meet him, busily drinking up his G.I. money; he describes The Catacombs in similar terms to Cronin’s: A smell of damp walls and cavities. A feeling of long corridors and hidden rooms, tunnels in the earth, black pits and wine cellars filled with mouldy mattresses. In these corridors he meets a character called Barney Berry, a thinly disguised but hilarious double for Brendan Behan. Other characters may be based on real life people too, perhaps even Cronin himself, but if so the portraits are better disguised. I wondered if Dangerfield’s sidekick Kenneth O’Keefe, another Irish American G.I., was a portrait of the Dunleavy himself. O'Keefe exits the novel at one point to go and achieve his ambition of being a 'writer' in Paris; Dunleavy wrote partly in Paris.
Among the other curious items found while excavating the site of were some odd narrative strategies. Who is the narrator, we wonder in the early pages, and then it slowly dawns on us that the narrator is in fact the main character: Dangerfield sometimes speaks in the first person and sometimes in the third so that the reader gets nicely confused. The strategy is a little like the spider walk described on page 209 : I've been trying to perfect it for some time. You see, every two steps you bring the right foot across from behind and skip. Enables one to turn around without stopping and go in the opposite direction.
Songs and rhymes are threaded through the narrative as in Finnegans Wake, and Donleavy often concludes a chapter with a haiku-type verse, sometimes shaped like its subject:
In
Algeria
There is a town
Called
Tit
There are lots of religious references and an odd preoccupation with the days of the week: Come down God and settle on my heart on this triangular Friday
And: I’ve known Mondays come on a Friday
Much of the narrative is written in a kind of telegraphic style almost like stage directions but there are more eloquent lines too: Where is the sea high and the wind soft and moist and warm?
Or: clusters of men hunched in black overcoats sucking cigarettes, spitting and mean. With tongues of shoes hanging out like dogs' hungry mouths.
And this: Wednesday, a grey dreariness general over the city, reminding us of the last lines of Joyce’s , snow was general all over Ireland..
If it sounds like I’m complaining about such appropriation, I’m not. When you’ve read a book without echoes, a book of bare space and rough hewn furniture as I did recently, finding one which is full of rich furnishings from its author’s reading life, is very welcome.
Any writer who sets his novel in Dublin city must find it exceedingly difficult to avoid the shadow of the great authors who’ve gone before. Perhaps Donleavy is simply offering homage, not only to Joyce and the others he alludes to, but to the very practice of appropriation.
* Finnegans Wake, page 10
So, this way the museyroom, folks, and don’t forget to clean your boots goan out!*
Although the terrain of is strewn with appropriations from other works, their titles are never mentioned so the reader has quite a bit of digging to do to assemble them in a recognisable form. Fortunately, this reader has been getting lots of practice at that activity while tagging similar unattributed artefacts in Joyce’s so scraping through the clay of Donleavy's book was easier and more rewarding than it might otherwise have been.
The practice of not citing his references is but one of the parallels with Joyce’s work; fragments from all of Joyce’s writing are generously strewn about Donleavy’s worksite. Sebastian Dangerfield not only shares Stephen Daedalus� initials but he also shares the surname Dangerfield plus some other unsavory attributes with the scurrilous villain of Sheridan Le Fanu’s , a nineteenth century tale set in the Chapelizod area of Dublin and which Joyce built into the foundations of , also set in Chapelizod. However, the Hill of Howth in the north of the city, is even more central to the historical themes in Finnegans Wake. And where does Donleavy begin his tale? On the Hill of Howth, a great place for the history, as Dangerfield bluntly puts it. He also meditates on the 'coincidence of contraries', a pet theory of sixteenth century philosopher, , which along with his writings on metempsychosis, greatly influenced Joyce in both and .
opens with talk of tubs, and it’s difficult not to be reminded of Jonathan Swift’s which Joyce refers to frequently in Finnegans Wake. ends with Dangerfield eating a mutton kidney exactly as Leopold Bloom is doing on the 16th of June, 1904, when we first meet him in Ulysses. In between there are many other allusions to literary Ireland, almost as if the Irish Tourist Board had commissioned the book as an advertising gimmick. Or perhaps not; the narrative is set in the late 1940s, a time when Dublin was home to an entire pubfull of literary men, more than one of whom had drinking talents to rival the Ginger Man, men such as , , and . The group used to meet in a pub called McDaid's in the city centre and when they were particularly short of funds, some of them lived in an infamous basement called The Catacombs where they continued their drinking and carousing. Both McDaid's and The Catacombs feature in along with practically every other pub in the Dublin of the period. Guinness and Gold Label whiskey have starring roles too: When I die I want to decompose in a barrel of porter, Dangerfield intones from the bottom of his whiskey glass.
Certain sections of this book reminded me very much of Anthony Cronin's memoir, , written much later than Dunleavy's book: There were some Americans, ex-service men who had come to Ireland originally to be Trinity students under the G.I. Bill and remained on when its bounty was exhausted, among them J. P. Donleavy, then supposed to be a painter but meditating a big book about Ireland to be called, I seem to remember, ‘Under The Stone'; and Gainor Crist, who was to provide the original for that book, subsequently called The Ginger Man (a curiously transformed and lessened portrait)... Most of this company assembled in McDaid’s every day...and almost every night the entire assemblage moved on to the Catacombs. These and what went on there have been described so often now, in works of apparent fiction like The Ginger Man, or alleged fact such as Ulick O'Connor’s Biography of Brendan Behan. The whole place smelt of damp, decaying plaster and brickwork, that smell of money gone which was once so prevalent in Ireland. Off the corridor leading out of the kitchen were various dark little rooms. Mine had, I think once been a wine-cellar. There was hardly space for a bed in it, and none for anything else except a few bottles and books.
Sebastian Dangerfield is a student in Trinity College when we first meet him, busily drinking up his G.I. money; he describes The Catacombs in similar terms to Cronin’s: A smell of damp walls and cavities. A feeling of long corridors and hidden rooms, tunnels in the earth, black pits and wine cellars filled with mouldy mattresses. In these corridors he meets a character called Barney Berry, a thinly disguised but hilarious double for Brendan Behan. Other characters may be based on real life people too, perhaps even Cronin himself, but if so the portraits are better disguised. I wondered if Dangerfield’s sidekick Kenneth O’Keefe, another Irish American G.I., was a portrait of the Dunleavy himself. O'Keefe exits the novel at one point to go and achieve his ambition of being a 'writer' in Paris; Dunleavy wrote partly in Paris.
Among the other curious items found while excavating the site of were some odd narrative strategies. Who is the narrator, we wonder in the early pages, and then it slowly dawns on us that the narrator is in fact the main character: Dangerfield sometimes speaks in the first person and sometimes in the third so that the reader gets nicely confused. The strategy is a little like the spider walk described on page 209 : I've been trying to perfect it for some time. You see, every two steps you bring the right foot across from behind and skip. Enables one to turn around without stopping and go in the opposite direction.
Songs and rhymes are threaded through the narrative as in Finnegans Wake, and Donleavy often concludes a chapter with a haiku-type verse, sometimes shaped like its subject:
In
Algeria
There is a town
Called
Tit
There are lots of religious references and an odd preoccupation with the days of the week: Come down God and settle on my heart on this triangular Friday
And: I’ve known Mondays come on a Friday
Much of the narrative is written in a kind of telegraphic style almost like stage directions but there are more eloquent lines too: Where is the sea high and the wind soft and moist and warm?
Or: clusters of men hunched in black overcoats sucking cigarettes, spitting and mean. With tongues of shoes hanging out like dogs' hungry mouths.
And this: Wednesday, a grey dreariness general over the city, reminding us of the last lines of Joyce’s , snow was general all over Ireland..
If it sounds like I’m complaining about such appropriation, I’m not. When you’ve read a book without echoes, a book of bare space and rough hewn furniture as I did recently, finding one which is full of rich furnishings from its author’s reading life, is very welcome.
Any writer who sets his novel in Dublin city must find it exceedingly difficult to avoid the shadow of the great authors who’ve gone before. Perhaps Donleavy is simply offering homage, not only to Joyce and the others he alludes to, but to the very practice of appropriation.
* Finnegans Wake, page 10
July 16, 2022
The main protagonist, Sebastian Dangerfield, is a feckless, highly articulate, poetic drunkard who somehow has a roguish charm about him (though you wouldn't want to be saddled with the spiteful ne'er-do-well; he's best viewed from afar).
The Irish badinage is indecorously funny and the 'stream-of-consciousness' prose is masterly.
Those readers whose sensibilities are easily offended by make-believe misogyny in a fictional novel might want to give it a wide berth. : )
The Irish badinage is indecorously funny and the 'stream-of-consciousness' prose is masterly.
Those readers whose sensibilities are easily offended by make-believe misogyny in a fictional novel might want to give it a wide berth. : )
September 25, 2012
I'd hazard a guess that this is one of Shane McGowan's favourite books. Personally, I found the wife-punching, baby-smothering, lying, stealing gobshite of the title utterly charmless. Reading the reviews, however, he's apparently a delightful comic rapscallion. Perhaps this sort of thing was daring and bawdy back in the uptight 1950s.
If, like me, Dangerfield's sozzled transatlantic blarney leaves you cold, you are left with the world's most unconvincing sex-machine (with the possible exception of Reg Varney in On The Buses). Sure, Dangerfield wins all his fights, outwits all his pursuers and beds all the women, but only because of Donleavy's benevolence. Suspension of disbelief is one thing, but we're away with the fairies as far as plausibility goes here. And the book simply reeks of misogyny. There are only so many times women (who, it seems, are only good for one thing) can be hit, verbally abused or get covered in excrement before your eyes start to roll uncontrollably in your head.
If, like me, Dangerfield's sozzled transatlantic blarney leaves you cold, you are left with the world's most unconvincing sex-machine (with the possible exception of Reg Varney in On The Buses). Sure, Dangerfield wins all his fights, outwits all his pursuers and beds all the women, but only because of Donleavy's benevolence. Suspension of disbelief is one thing, but we're away with the fairies as far as plausibility goes here. And the book simply reeks of misogyny. There are only so many times women (who, it seems, are only good for one thing) can be hit, verbally abused or get covered in excrement before your eyes start to roll uncontrollably in your head.
May 29, 2013
Review � The Ginger Man � 28 May 2013
“When you get back Kenneth, I’ll walk naked wearing a green bowler to greet you at the boat. With a donkey cart flying green streamers and green shamrocks imported from Czechoslovakia and a band of girl pipers blowing like mad. Did you know that they imported the English sparrow into America to eat horseshit off the streets?�
Who else, but an Irish writer, and a zany one at that, could possibly have written that?
It’s interesting to know, however, that when “The Ginger Man� was published in Paris in 1955, it was simultaneously banned in Ireland. It was considered obscene at the time and it typically took the all-embracing French to appreciate it for its sensual and literary worth.
Yes, I did find it slightly risqué when I first read it but then that was twenty or so years ago and so returning to “The Ginger Man� after this gap, has been a shock, to put it mildly, to my system. I recall that previously I sailed through it, appreciating it for the Irish dry sense of humor, the nonchalant air of the poverty-stricken protagonist, Sebastian Dangerfield, and the atmosphere of Dublin in the late forties. I was so impressed by it in fact that I immediately purchased another five of his books:
“The Onion Eaters�
“A Singular Man�
“Meet My Maker the Mad Molecule�
“The Saddest Summer of Samuel S�
“The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B�
They were all pretty comical and wacky, especially “The Onion Eaters� but basically the best one was “The Ginger Man�. Why is it, I ask myself, that so many authors write a magnificent first novel and then the following ones never seem to live up to the initial expectations?
But now, reading this book, I’m viewing it completely differently; if anything it’s more the style as opposed to the plot which really cannot be called too exciting and which regrettably doesn’t enthrall me to turn the page, and read and read, without putting it down until the end. It has a writing style, however, that is quite unique, and I would imagine very difficult to do, that of swinging from the first to the third person and back via the main character, Sebastian Dangerfield. That is either very clever or extremely foolish but it suits the style of this book.
An example is:
“O’Keefe sauntered sadly off and disappeared down this gray dark street called Seville Place. Dangerfield walked back across Butt Bridge, a finely divided rain falling. My body has blue joints. Ireland is heaven bound with this low weather...And clusters of men hunched in black overcoats sucking cigarettes, spitting and mean. With tongues of shoes hanging out like dogs� hungry mouths. I’d give anything for a drink now.�
Who but J. P. Donleavy could have started his book with the first three mini paragraphs:
“Today a rare sun of spring. And horse carts clanging to the quays down Tara Street and the shoeless white faced kids screaming.
O’Keefe comes in and climbs up on a stool. Wags his knapsack around on his back and looks at Sebastian Dangerfield.
Those tubs are huge over there. First bath for two months (note from me: let me stay a mile from him � I imagine that he would be “well cooked�). I’m getting more like the Irish every day. Like going on the subway in the States, you go through a turnstile.�
Strange turns of phrase run throughout the book but what a helter-skelter of a ride has this turned out to be. One moment I think that Sebastian is a ghastly fellow. He appears to be such an unsavory, unclean, unreliable, Irish-American, who really doesn’t seem to know which country he belongs to � Ireland or America; who is constantly on the lookout for sexual pursuits and imbibing copious amounts of alcohol. Worst of all, he’s a liar to all intents and purposes. Then a few paragraphs or chapters later on, he becomes funny, gentle, endearing, picaresque, full of the blarney and a pleasure to read. There’s a certain mockery about him too and yet also a poignant side.
I feel for his long suffering wife Marian, who tries so hard to make a go of this marriage but our dear Sebastian had no idea how to behave with her and even fantasizes and thinks of another woman, Ginny Cupper, when he’s making love to her. Ah yes, she “took me in her car out to the spread field of Indiana�.
I actually think I would have tossed him out with a flea in his ear!
To help their financial problems, Miss Lilly Frost comes to live with them. Marion finally, however, gives up on her husband’s feckless behavior and takes the child Felicity back to Scotland. Does Dangerfield appear to miss her? Not really, just the convenience of having her around, like a well-heeled shoe.
His attitude towards money counts for naught. What decent man who has been left money by his wife to pay the bills, would spend it and in addition hock their fire.
His well-spoken American friend, Kenneth O’Keefe, with delusions of grandeur, also deserves a boot up the backside. Such a clever, amusing, unclean, complex individual and also thoroughly unlikeable but then he also turns up trumps in that he’s so amusing from time to time. What a contradictory book this is turning out to be. He constantly admonishes Sebastian about his bad drinking habits:
“This, Dangerfield, is your blood for which your family will starve and which will finally send you all to the poor house. Should have played it cozy and married strictly for cash. Come in drunk, have a quick one and whoops, another mouth to feed…�
Other girls/women such as Chris, Mary and Miss Frost all love him to death, feed him, not only by giving him their food or money but also physically. He’s a taker and the remarkable thing is that he gets away with it; his stealth in his creepy, sly way of getting into Miss Frost’s bed and the guilt after the event. Her wish to confess to the priest because this sexual act was a mortal sin.
And yet the hypocrisy:
“Lilly, why did you want me to do it this way?�
“O Mr Dangerfield, it’s so much less of a sin.�
“And fun too.�
Still Sebastian always manages to extricate himself from his involved, convoluted relationships with women and yet he goes off to London with Mary and �.well that’s for you to find out.
And finally, on being viewed by other people:
“On O’Keefe’s head a brown dirty tweed cap. Women in this lounge looking at the two of them with their legs stretched all over the place. And they were cocking their white ears to hear that bearded man go on about such fantastic things with that awful accent of his and who is that man with his haughty ways and county voice, flicking his fingers exquisitely and rolling back his head to belch laughter. So sure of themselves.�
In conclusion, am I pleased that I reread this book? Well, yes and no. There’s a strange kind of brilliance to it that I didn’t feel the first time around but the criticism I do have, of myself anyway, is my ambivalent feeling here. This was definitely the best of all his books but nevertheless I think my reading style is now going in a different direction. I’m more into a good plot, sensitivity in the writing style, one that flows but with a touch of exotic spices and flavors thrown in, combined with musical elements that enthrall me; a book to entice and whet the appetite; to try and venture out and experience all; laughs and thrills too I guess. But the most important aspect is that of unexpected anticipation� That says it all. Whatever one says about this book, it certainly remains in the mind and I’m intrigued to know for how long.
“When you get back Kenneth, I’ll walk naked wearing a green bowler to greet you at the boat. With a donkey cart flying green streamers and green shamrocks imported from Czechoslovakia and a band of girl pipers blowing like mad. Did you know that they imported the English sparrow into America to eat horseshit off the streets?�
Who else, but an Irish writer, and a zany one at that, could possibly have written that?
It’s interesting to know, however, that when “The Ginger Man� was published in Paris in 1955, it was simultaneously banned in Ireland. It was considered obscene at the time and it typically took the all-embracing French to appreciate it for its sensual and literary worth.
Yes, I did find it slightly risqué when I first read it but then that was twenty or so years ago and so returning to “The Ginger Man� after this gap, has been a shock, to put it mildly, to my system. I recall that previously I sailed through it, appreciating it for the Irish dry sense of humor, the nonchalant air of the poverty-stricken protagonist, Sebastian Dangerfield, and the atmosphere of Dublin in the late forties. I was so impressed by it in fact that I immediately purchased another five of his books:
“The Onion Eaters�
“A Singular Man�
“Meet My Maker the Mad Molecule�
“The Saddest Summer of Samuel S�
“The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B�
They were all pretty comical and wacky, especially “The Onion Eaters� but basically the best one was “The Ginger Man�. Why is it, I ask myself, that so many authors write a magnificent first novel and then the following ones never seem to live up to the initial expectations?
But now, reading this book, I’m viewing it completely differently; if anything it’s more the style as opposed to the plot which really cannot be called too exciting and which regrettably doesn’t enthrall me to turn the page, and read and read, without putting it down until the end. It has a writing style, however, that is quite unique, and I would imagine very difficult to do, that of swinging from the first to the third person and back via the main character, Sebastian Dangerfield. That is either very clever or extremely foolish but it suits the style of this book.
An example is:
“O’Keefe sauntered sadly off and disappeared down this gray dark street called Seville Place. Dangerfield walked back across Butt Bridge, a finely divided rain falling. My body has blue joints. Ireland is heaven bound with this low weather...And clusters of men hunched in black overcoats sucking cigarettes, spitting and mean. With tongues of shoes hanging out like dogs� hungry mouths. I’d give anything for a drink now.�
Who but J. P. Donleavy could have started his book with the first three mini paragraphs:
“Today a rare sun of spring. And horse carts clanging to the quays down Tara Street and the shoeless white faced kids screaming.
O’Keefe comes in and climbs up on a stool. Wags his knapsack around on his back and looks at Sebastian Dangerfield.
Those tubs are huge over there. First bath for two months (note from me: let me stay a mile from him � I imagine that he would be “well cooked�). I’m getting more like the Irish every day. Like going on the subway in the States, you go through a turnstile.�
Strange turns of phrase run throughout the book but what a helter-skelter of a ride has this turned out to be. One moment I think that Sebastian is a ghastly fellow. He appears to be such an unsavory, unclean, unreliable, Irish-American, who really doesn’t seem to know which country he belongs to � Ireland or America; who is constantly on the lookout for sexual pursuits and imbibing copious amounts of alcohol. Worst of all, he’s a liar to all intents and purposes. Then a few paragraphs or chapters later on, he becomes funny, gentle, endearing, picaresque, full of the blarney and a pleasure to read. There’s a certain mockery about him too and yet also a poignant side.
I feel for his long suffering wife Marian, who tries so hard to make a go of this marriage but our dear Sebastian had no idea how to behave with her and even fantasizes and thinks of another woman, Ginny Cupper, when he’s making love to her. Ah yes, she “took me in her car out to the spread field of Indiana�.
I actually think I would have tossed him out with a flea in his ear!
To help their financial problems, Miss Lilly Frost comes to live with them. Marion finally, however, gives up on her husband’s feckless behavior and takes the child Felicity back to Scotland. Does Dangerfield appear to miss her? Not really, just the convenience of having her around, like a well-heeled shoe.
His attitude towards money counts for naught. What decent man who has been left money by his wife to pay the bills, would spend it and in addition hock their fire.
His well-spoken American friend, Kenneth O’Keefe, with delusions of grandeur, also deserves a boot up the backside. Such a clever, amusing, unclean, complex individual and also thoroughly unlikeable but then he also turns up trumps in that he’s so amusing from time to time. What a contradictory book this is turning out to be. He constantly admonishes Sebastian about his bad drinking habits:
“This, Dangerfield, is your blood for which your family will starve and which will finally send you all to the poor house. Should have played it cozy and married strictly for cash. Come in drunk, have a quick one and whoops, another mouth to feed…�
Other girls/women such as Chris, Mary and Miss Frost all love him to death, feed him, not only by giving him their food or money but also physically. He’s a taker and the remarkable thing is that he gets away with it; his stealth in his creepy, sly way of getting into Miss Frost’s bed and the guilt after the event. Her wish to confess to the priest because this sexual act was a mortal sin.
And yet the hypocrisy:
“Lilly, why did you want me to do it this way?�
“O Mr Dangerfield, it’s so much less of a sin.�
“And fun too.�
Still Sebastian always manages to extricate himself from his involved, convoluted relationships with women and yet he goes off to London with Mary and �.well that’s for you to find out.
And finally, on being viewed by other people:
“On O’Keefe’s head a brown dirty tweed cap. Women in this lounge looking at the two of them with their legs stretched all over the place. And they were cocking their white ears to hear that bearded man go on about such fantastic things with that awful accent of his and who is that man with his haughty ways and county voice, flicking his fingers exquisitely and rolling back his head to belch laughter. So sure of themselves.�
In conclusion, am I pleased that I reread this book? Well, yes and no. There’s a strange kind of brilliance to it that I didn’t feel the first time around but the criticism I do have, of myself anyway, is my ambivalent feeling here. This was definitely the best of all his books but nevertheless I think my reading style is now going in a different direction. I’m more into a good plot, sensitivity in the writing style, one that flows but with a touch of exotic spices and flavors thrown in, combined with musical elements that enthrall me; a book to entice and whet the appetite; to try and venture out and experience all; laughs and thrills too I guess. But the most important aspect is that of unexpected anticipation� That says it all. Whatever one says about this book, it certainly remains in the mind and I’m intrigued to know for how long.
March 23, 2018
"The lyrical quality of money is strange."
- J.P. Donleavy, The Ginger Man
(
It is like J.P. Donleavy lifted Harold Skimpole out of Hard Times and made a whole whore of a novel of him as a young law student in Dublin. There are novels about drinking and there are novels about being shitfaced. This is a shitfaced novel. It ranks right up there with Lowry's Under the Volcano. Except insead of meszcal, there is plenty of stout and Irish whiskey. The prose is distilled three times: once with food, once with f#cKing, and once with irreverant flippancy (maybe once too for finances, but that would ruin my trinity of distilation image).
But the prose? Dear God, Mary and the baby Modern Library, J.P. Donleavy can write crazy post-Joyce juice. He was rock and roll before rock and roll. His sentences hit you like Mick Jagger dancing on John Bonham third drum stick. It doesn't seem like a long novel, but requires slow, devoted reading. You have to put it down and sober up every few pages. More than 80 pages in one sitting will leave you shitfaced with veins breaking and uncontrolled shaking of the hands.
Go easy my friends, and enjoy drowning in the softness.
- J.P. Donleavy, The Ginger Man
(It is like J.P. Donleavy lifted Harold Skimpole out of Hard Times and made a whole whore of a novel of him as a young law student in Dublin. There are novels about drinking and there are novels about being shitfaced. This is a shitfaced novel. It ranks right up there with Lowry's Under the Volcano. Except insead of meszcal, there is plenty of stout and Irish whiskey. The prose is distilled three times: once with food, once with f#cKing, and once with irreverant flippancy (maybe once too for finances, but that would ruin my trinity of distilation image).
But the prose? Dear God, Mary and the baby Modern Library, J.P. Donleavy can write crazy post-Joyce juice. He was rock and roll before rock and roll. His sentences hit you like Mick Jagger dancing on John Bonham third drum stick. It doesn't seem like a long novel, but requires slow, devoted reading. You have to put it down and sober up every few pages. More than 80 pages in one sitting will leave you shitfaced with veins breaking and uncontrolled shaking of the hands.
Go easy my friends, and enjoy drowning in the softness.
August 23, 2016
Beautiful.
For all those 1 and 2 star reviewers on here who "hated" the book for its "misogyny" and the "unpleasantness" of Sebastian, I quote the following:
"He sat there elbows on his thighs hands hanging from his wrists.
Dreaming out this sunset. Tacked up on a cross and looking down. A cradle of passive, mystifying sorrow. Flooded in tears. Never be too wise to cry. Or not take these things. Take them. Keep them safely. Out of them comes love.
Miss Frost stepped from the door shyly. Her head a little bent and red spreading under the flesh of her temples. There was a small spot middle way up her nose. Her lashes dark and flickering, the wandering skin around her eyes. Some lines of her hair and her age of thirty four. The vulnerable steep bottom of her skull. Never to turn around and look at our backs, or as we are walking away. But her feet stepping with red toes. The part of her that was her falling arches, the sway bent ankles which put a tender part in her eyes. For women are lonely people, lonelier with women and with men, enclosed by sunless children and the little vanishing things that go away during the years of waiting. And hearts. And how was love so round.
If
There's a bell
In Dingle
And you want to say
How sorry you are
I'm gone
Ring it
And make it go
Ding dong. "
I made the mistake, you see, of reading some of those reviews out of curiosity. Apparently the following sentences on page 29 were sufficient to turn many against the book:
"“He drove his fist into Marion’s face. She fell backward against the cupboard. Dishes crashing to the floor. In tattered underwear he stood at the nursery door. He kicked his foot through and tore off the lock to open it. Took the child’s pillow from under its head and pressed it hard on the screaming mouth.
“I’ll kill it, God damn it, I’ll kill it, if it doesn’t shut up.�
I am at a loss to see why. Unless one believes that the fact that an author includes such a scene in a novel means that he must condone it. Or that such events should be read in isolation from what comes before and after. Or that novels should not have unpleasantness in them. I dont know.
Anyway. If my first quote appealed, and my second did not have you crying "won't somebody think of the children!?!", then you should check this dirty old bugger out.
For all those 1 and 2 star reviewers on here who "hated" the book for its "misogyny" and the "unpleasantness" of Sebastian, I quote the following:
"He sat there elbows on his thighs hands hanging from his wrists.
Dreaming out this sunset. Tacked up on a cross and looking down. A cradle of passive, mystifying sorrow. Flooded in tears. Never be too wise to cry. Or not take these things. Take them. Keep them safely. Out of them comes love.
Miss Frost stepped from the door shyly. Her head a little bent and red spreading under the flesh of her temples. There was a small spot middle way up her nose. Her lashes dark and flickering, the wandering skin around her eyes. Some lines of her hair and her age of thirty four. The vulnerable steep bottom of her skull. Never to turn around and look at our backs, or as we are walking away. But her feet stepping with red toes. The part of her that was her falling arches, the sway bent ankles which put a tender part in her eyes. For women are lonely people, lonelier with women and with men, enclosed by sunless children and the little vanishing things that go away during the years of waiting. And hearts. And how was love so round.
If
There's a bell
In Dingle
And you want to say
How sorry you are
I'm gone
Ring it
And make it go
Ding dong. "
I made the mistake, you see, of reading some of those reviews out of curiosity. Apparently the following sentences on page 29 were sufficient to turn many against the book:
"“He drove his fist into Marion’s face. She fell backward against the cupboard. Dishes crashing to the floor. In tattered underwear he stood at the nursery door. He kicked his foot through and tore off the lock to open it. Took the child’s pillow from under its head and pressed it hard on the screaming mouth.
“I’ll kill it, God damn it, I’ll kill it, if it doesn’t shut up.�
I am at a loss to see why. Unless one believes that the fact that an author includes such a scene in a novel means that he must condone it. Or that such events should be read in isolation from what comes before and after. Or that novels should not have unpleasantness in them. I dont know.
Anyway. If my first quote appealed, and my second did not have you crying "won't somebody think of the children!?!", then you should check this dirty old bugger out.
December 14, 2019
وقتي از مرد زنجبيلي حرف ميزنيم يعني از كتابي حرف ميزنيم كه در زمان خودش از سوي تقريبا ٣٠ ناشر به دليل محتواي جنسي و نحوه زندگي قهرمان كتاب رد شد و در اخر اين انتشارات "المپيا پرس"، يعني همان انتشارات مشهور فرانسوي اثار پورنوگرافيك بود كه حاضر به چاپ ان شد.المپيا پرس در همان سالها كتاب مشهور ديگري را نيز منتشر كرده بود؛ لوليتاي ولاديمير ناباكوف
اما من قصد ندارم تنها با بازگو كردن تاريخچه ي اثر شما را تشويق يا تحريك به خواندن كتاب كنم..
پشت جلد كتاب (چاپ فارسي) شخصيت سباستين دنجرفيلد، قهرمان اين اثر را تداعي كننده هولدن كالفيلد ناميده..به شدت با اين نظر مخالفم زيرا اين دو كاراكتر از دو مسلك متفاوت هستند..يكي دغدغه مند و ديگري فراري از دغدغه ها
سباستين دنجرفيلد يك جوان امريكايي بيست و هفت ساله است كه با بورسيه ي دولت امريكا مشغول تحصيل حقوق در كالج ترينيتي دوبلين است.او نمونه ي بارز مردي ست كه كوچكترين مسئوليتي را به گردن نميگيرد و گويي عذاب وجداني هم ندارد كه به او گوشزد كند در برابر برخي كارهايي كه در گذشته كرده بايد مقيد و متعهد باشد..تمام فكر و ذكر او نوشيدن الكل، خوابيدن با زنها و فرار از قيود است..
سباستين وقعي به همسرش، ماريون كه گويي فقط براي دستيابي به پول با او ازدواج كرده نميگذارد.او اهميتي به نوزادش فليسيتي نميدهد..تمام تلاش او اين است كه اندكي پول (غالبا كثيف) بدست بياورد تا بتواند هزينه ي مشروب و سيگار خودش و كمترين خورد و خوراك خانواده را بپردازد.او زندگي اش را با اميد به مرگ پدر ثروتمندش طي ميكند تا به ارثيه اش دست پيدا كند.
سباستين همه چيز را در زندگي اش ميخواهد؛ خانه، درامد بالا و هم پياله شدن با ثروتمندان ولي بدون انكه براي انها تلاش كند..
سباستين دنجرفيلد در يك كلام فردي ست دروغگو، متقلب، خيانتكار، دزد، چرب زبان، زن ستيز، خيالپرداز،هوسران، اغواگر، كلاه بردار..
او مردي ست كه ميتواند با لاف و گزاف و چُسي امدن از زنان مجرد گرفته تا فروشندگان را تحميق كند..
باز هم بر خلاف متن پشت جلد كتاب، سباستين دنجرفيلد انساني دوست داشتني نيست.در واقع دوست داشتن او سخت است و دانليوي هم انتظار ندارد كسي پروتاگونيست اثرش را دوست بدارد.او بدون شك يكي از منفورترين شخصيت هاي ادبي ست.هر چند لحظاتي وجود دارند كه شما ناخوداگاه در طرف سباستين مي ايستيد.
دانليوي در طراحي كاراكتر او موفق ميشود به انچه ميخواهد دست بيابد. او انسان با نمكي ست ولي نه موقر..او انسان اگاهي ست ولي نه متشخص..
سباستين دنجرفيلد نمونه ي انسان معاصري ست كه با گذار از دوران ويكتوريايي و دفع ان سنتهاي رنگارنگ از ان طرف بام مي افتد.خصوصيات اخلاقي او خارج از معيارهاي ثابت جامعه و عرف است.او يك شورشي ست كه اجازه نميدهد هيچ چارچوب و قاعده اي محدودش كند.او به خود اين اجازه را ميدهد كه هر كاري دلش خواست انجام دهد و هر حرفي كه به مخيله اش راه مي يابد بر زبان بياورد.از جايي به بعد متوج�� ميشويد قرار نيست سباستين اصلاح شود.چون موضوع اين نيست.موضوع ماهيت انسانهاست.
اخرين جمله ي كتاب اين است:
"رحمت خداوند ارزاني اين موجود رام نشدني"
اما اين شخصيت اصلا و ابدا كاراكتري نا اشنا يا عجيب و غريب نيست.بسياري از ما به همسران يا معشوقه هايمان خيانت ميكنيم يا ارزوي دستيابي به زن يا مرد زيبايي را ميكنيم كه ميبينيم..حتي اگر اين اتفاق هم نيفتد لحظات بسياري وجود دارند كه خود نميتوانيم توضيح مناسبي براي دليل پايبند بودن در رابطه مان را بدهيم..بسياري از ما به ضرب و زور خانواده يا شرايط جامعه تحصيل ميكنيم..بسياري از ما مذهب را به نفع خودمان مصادره ميكنيم.بسياري از ما از ازدواج يا بچه دار شدنمان پشيمانيم و اين فقط يك تعهد لعنتي ست كه ما را مجبور به ادامه دادن ميكند.اما هيچكدام از ما شهامت سباستين را نداريم تا حداقل نزد خود اقرار كنيم.در جايي سباستين دنجرفيلد ميگويد:
نوزادان نتيجه خشم خداهستند كه بر ما نازل ميشوند.خشم خدا از گناه مقاربت
او بي پرده و بدون كاتاليزور يا فيلتر به دنيا نگاه ميكند و مثل انسانهاي عادي سعي در منطقي و موجه نشان دادن اعمالش نميكند.
درباره رفتار نيك ميگويد:
"ميگويند هر كسي مقداري نيكي در وجودش دارد.البته اگر فرصت بروز انرا در اختيارش قرار دهيد و البته يك اردنگي جانانه به ماتحتش"
درباره ي رابطه اش با دختري بنام كريس اينگونه فكر ميكند:
"شهوت..ما دو نفر را به هم رساند.اما شهوت كلمه ي كريهي ست.بهتر است بگويم عشق..اما مگر ان چيست كه شبها ما را از خود بيخود ميكند"
او زندگي ميكند براي هيجانات زندگي..در مقوله ازدواج و داشتن رابطه جنسي چنين نظري دارد:
"ماري با هر كس و ناكسي ميخوابه تا ستاره سينما بشه..ايستگاه به ايستگاه..همينطور كه بعضي ها اينكار را ميكنند تا ازدواج كنند و بعضي ها به خاطر فقر..عده ي كمتري بخاطر ثروت و عده ي خيلي كمتري بخاطر عشق..و البته بعضي ها هم هستند كه اينكار را بخاطر هيجان لعنتيش ميكنند.خدا را شكر كه هنوز هستند كساني كه بخاطر زندگي اينكار را ميكنند."
و لازم نيست توضيح بدم كه سباستين به چه دليلي اينكار را انجام ميده..
او خودش را فريب نميدهد و از همه زيبايي ها و لذتهاي زندگي سهم ميخواهد..جهنم را براي ادمهاي فقير ميداند و مثل بقيه درد را با لذت تحمل نميكند.او معتقد است تا وقتي يك شيشه مشروب در دستانش داشته باشد از پس كشيشها بر ميايد.
كتاب هر چه رو به پايان ميرود بيشتر حالت سوررئال يا حتي ماليخوليايي پيدا ميكند.گويي او با بد شدن وضعش دچار زوال عقل ميشود. دار و دسته ي دوستان سباستين من را ياد دار و دسته ي باگ مورن در خداحافظ گاري كوپر مي اندازد و بخش ساز زدن در خيابانهاي لندن هم ادم را به ياد طبل حلبي گونتر گراس مي اندازد.
اما درباره نثر كتاب بايد بگويم كه مرد زنجبيلي اثري خوش خوان است كه مملو از جملات كوتاه و مقطع است.دانليوي با كمك نبوغش روايتي دوگانه خلق كرده كه تا بحال شبيه انرا در هيچ اثري نديده بودم.روايت تلفيقي از دو راوي اول شخص و سوم شخص است.ولي نه فصل به فصل..بلكه پاراگراف به پاراگراف و جمله به جمله..دانليوي براي نشان دادن ضمير قهرمان اثرش از روايت جريان سيلان ذهن استفاده ميكند تا خواننده بخوبي با تمايلات و درونيات سباستين اشنا شود.البته در ابتداي كتاب ممكن است كمي سخت با ان ارتباط برقرار كنيد ولي نگران نباشيد و ادامه دهيد.
با وجود محتواي كتاب ميتوان كيفيت ترجمه را قابل قبول دانست
رضا اسكندري موفق به دراوردن لحن غير مودبانه سباستين شده
اما طبيعي ست كه چنين اثري متوجه سانسور زيادي شود..قسمتهايي از بخشهايي از كتاب كه سانسور شده است را به همراه ترجمه براي شما مينويسم تا هم كيفيت ترجمه را ببينيد و هم بدانيد كه چه بخش هايي از كتاب حذف شده اند؛
Miss Frost moved her arm towards the voice and curved her wrist over the edge of the bed. And his fingers closed around her hand. I was a little boy and wet the bed because I thought I was out with a lot of other kids playing in a swamp and could piss anywhere. To touch Miss Frost seems safe and sad. Because I guess I pull her into my own pit For company or the bones in her hand. Fingernails and knuckles. But I can tell she's tightening her grip. Her muscles tugging at my bones. Now I'm on my knees. And elbows on her bed. Her head trembling. Hair splayed gray and dark. Sighs of her mouth. Feel her sad hands around my back. Let me get in under these covers. Got her tongue touching my ear. Juice. Open the buttons, warm my cold chest with hers. Miss Frost. O Miss Frost
She put up her back. And I'll pull down your pajamas. Throat of birth weeping. Kiss all the tears away. All gone. You've been lonely in the dark.
They lay side by side. Miss Frost held her hand to her brow. Sliding back into her pajamas.
Goes to the bathroom.
دوشيزه فراست دستش را به سوي صدا دراز كرد، مچش را كمي پيچاند و انگشتانش به دور دست سباستين پيچيد.
بچه كه بودم جايم را خيس ميكردم چون خواب ميديدم با بچه هاي ديگر براي گردش بيرون رفته ام و توي يك مرداب بازي ميكنم و هر جا كه دلم خواست ميتوانم جيش كنم.بودن در كنار دوشيزه فراست، حالتي امن و غمناك به من ميدهد.چون در اين فكر هستم كه او را به داخل كنامم بكشانم تا كمي همراهي ام كند.آخ ناخن ها و مفاصل دستم.متوجه ميشوم كه دستم را كم كم فشار ميدهد.عضلاتش به استخوانهاي دستم فشار وارد ميكنند و..
كمي بعد دوشيزه فراست از جايش بلند شد و به دستشويي رفت."
همانطور كه مشاهده ميكنيد مترجم در قسمتي "لمس خانم فراست بي خطر و غم انگيز بود" را به "بودن در كنار دوشيزه فراست حالتي امن و غمناك به من ميدهد" ترجمه ميكند.
و در نهايت قسمتهايي را كه دو شخصيت با يكديگر در هم مي اميزند و سباستين لباس خانم فراست را در مي اورد حذف شده است.
“Mary slung back on her straight arms. White legs and knees. Pathos of her pins. I can't go on when all I really want is your white bare legs scissored around my throat, crushing out fond gasps. And I'm standing on a deep rug with books for a setting. And assault with the weapon of the flat hand.�
"ماري عقب عقب چهار دست و پا از سباستين فاصله ميگرفت.
چه پاها و زانوهاي سفيدي دارد.و سنجاق قفلي هاي روي لباسش چه ترحم برانگيزند.نميتوانم اينطور به كتك زدنش ادامه بدهم انهم در حالي كه دوستش دارم"
ترجمه كامل:
نميتوانم اينطور به كتك زدنت ادامه بدم وقتي همه چيزي كه واقعا ميخوام پاهاي لخت و سفيد توئه كه دور گردن من حلقه زده..
September 12, 2014
I truly enjoyed this book -- and I'm a woman. I don't know why so many people seem to be so appalled by the protagonist Sebastian Dangerfield. Sure, I don't personally agree with many of Dangerfield's actions (his often offensive behavior seems to be the sole reason as to why some people slam The Ginger Man).
I don't read literature to find examples of characters who never commit a sin, however. I read selective fiction, for the most part, to be engaged in an entertaining tale. Donleavy more than delivered my craving for a raucous and thought-provoking fictional ride. This literary feat was accomplished all through the lens of a character who may not be the most stand-up guy, but one who I surprisingly found myself rooting for in the end.
After reading many of the other reviews, a lot of readers compare The Ginger Man to The Tropic of Cancer. I have also read the latter and while I do see some comparisons between the protagonists here, I absolutely detested Miller's work. I didn't dislike Tropic of Cancer because of the offensive material, but rather because I thought it was base just for the sake of being base. I also just thought it was an unenjoyable read. As for the comaprison of the two, I don't think Donleavy was chasing the shock appeal that Miller may have sought.
I found The Ginger Man to be quite a well-written and engaging story. My only criticism would be that around the last third of the book or so, the stream-of-consciousness scenarios became a little difficult to follow and not as tight as the earlier anecdotes.
I don't read literature to find examples of characters who never commit a sin, however. I read selective fiction, for the most part, to be engaged in an entertaining tale. Donleavy more than delivered my craving for a raucous and thought-provoking fictional ride. This literary feat was accomplished all through the lens of a character who may not be the most stand-up guy, but one who I surprisingly found myself rooting for in the end.
After reading many of the other reviews, a lot of readers compare The Ginger Man to The Tropic of Cancer. I have also read the latter and while I do see some comparisons between the protagonists here, I absolutely detested Miller's work. I didn't dislike Tropic of Cancer because of the offensive material, but rather because I thought it was base just for the sake of being base. I also just thought it was an unenjoyable read. As for the comaprison of the two, I don't think Donleavy was chasing the shock appeal that Miller may have sought.
I found The Ginger Man to be quite a well-written and engaging story. My only criticism would be that around the last third of the book or so, the stream-of-consciousness scenarios became a little difficult to follow and not as tight as the earlier anecdotes.
April 25, 2015
Before starting this novel, it would be helpful to review two definitions:
1. Satire: the use of humor, irony, exaggeration, or ridicule to expose and criticize people's stupidity or vices, particularly in the context of contemporary politics and other topical issues.
2. Picaresque: of or relating to an episodic style of fiction dealing with the adventures of a rough and dishonest but appealing hero.
I started reading The Ginger Man without reviewing those principles and nearly quit in disgust. Even after getting those concepts clear in my head, I was able to merely tolerate the main character. Sebastian Dangerfield is truly a bastard, totally consumed with drinking, smoking, eating, and seducing women, all while doing absolutely no work (or study) and paying as few bills as possible. In other words, I had great difficulty with seeing him as an appealing main character.
You’ve probably run into one of these characters at some point in your life—if he would just put as much effort into a job as he puts into avoiding getting a job, he would have the money that he so desperately desires. Those of us who live responsible lives watch these cads with fascination and revulsion—most of us wouldn’t be able to withstand the mental strain that they navigate on a daily basis, leading me to believe that they are either narcissists or sociopaths, who simply don’t feel the responsibilities of civilized life in the way that most of us do. [Wikipedia informs me that this book is reputedly semi-autobiographical for Donleavy, making me wonder what kind of person he is].
I’ve also read a later book of Donleavy’s, The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B, which is somewhat different in tone. Balthazar is a somewhat more sympathetic character, portrayed as a confused victim in life, manipulated by those around him (somewhat like O’Keefe in The Ginger Man). But Balthazar’s friend Beefy is another version of Dangerfield. I’m also curious about the title, The Ginger Man. It is never explained and Dangerfield doesn’t refer to himself as the ginger man until page 255 and not again until the very last page. If the cover is any indication, it refers to Dangerfield’s hair colour, as he is illustrated as a red head. So that remains a bit of a question in my mind.
Part of my issue, I am sure, is that I am female and tend to identify with the women in the novel. I was frustrated with their behaviour as well. Why in the world would his wife leave Sebastian a forwarding address the first time she left him? And those single women whom Sebastian seduces—what in the world do they see in him? I want to shake each and every one of them!
One of my female friends recommended Donleavy’s writing to me and I chose this book because it was on the Modern Library’s list of 100 top novels. Obviously other people find it amusing and worthwhile to read. I cannot count myself among them, however, despite the skillfulness of the writing. I think this is the last Donleavy work that I will read. There are too many books that I’m sure I will enjoy to spend my valuable reading time on this author.
1. Satire: the use of humor, irony, exaggeration, or ridicule to expose and criticize people's stupidity or vices, particularly in the context of contemporary politics and other topical issues.
2. Picaresque: of or relating to an episodic style of fiction dealing with the adventures of a rough and dishonest but appealing hero.
I started reading The Ginger Man without reviewing those principles and nearly quit in disgust. Even after getting those concepts clear in my head, I was able to merely tolerate the main character. Sebastian Dangerfield is truly a bastard, totally consumed with drinking, smoking, eating, and seducing women, all while doing absolutely no work (or study) and paying as few bills as possible. In other words, I had great difficulty with seeing him as an appealing main character.
You’ve probably run into one of these characters at some point in your life—if he would just put as much effort into a job as he puts into avoiding getting a job, he would have the money that he so desperately desires. Those of us who live responsible lives watch these cads with fascination and revulsion—most of us wouldn’t be able to withstand the mental strain that they navigate on a daily basis, leading me to believe that they are either narcissists or sociopaths, who simply don’t feel the responsibilities of civilized life in the way that most of us do. [Wikipedia informs me that this book is reputedly semi-autobiographical for Donleavy, making me wonder what kind of person he is].
I’ve also read a later book of Donleavy’s, The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B, which is somewhat different in tone. Balthazar is a somewhat more sympathetic character, portrayed as a confused victim in life, manipulated by those around him (somewhat like O’Keefe in The Ginger Man). But Balthazar’s friend Beefy is another version of Dangerfield. I’m also curious about the title, The Ginger Man. It is never explained and Dangerfield doesn’t refer to himself as the ginger man until page 255 and not again until the very last page. If the cover is any indication, it refers to Dangerfield’s hair colour, as he is illustrated as a red head. So that remains a bit of a question in my mind.
Part of my issue, I am sure, is that I am female and tend to identify with the women in the novel. I was frustrated with their behaviour as well. Why in the world would his wife leave Sebastian a forwarding address the first time she left him? And those single women whom Sebastian seduces—what in the world do they see in him? I want to shake each and every one of them!
One of my female friends recommended Donleavy’s writing to me and I chose this book because it was on the Modern Library’s list of 100 top novels. Obviously other people find it amusing and worthwhile to read. I cannot count myself among them, however, despite the skillfulness of the writing. I think this is the last Donleavy work that I will read. There are too many books that I’m sure I will enjoy to spend my valuable reading time on this author.
August 27, 2016
A truly dreadful book. I quit reading on page 29 of 347, and here’s why:
From the blurb from the back cover:
“…wildly funny, picaresque classic novel of the misdaventures of Sebastian Dangerfield, a young American ne’re-do-well�.�
And this, from the fateful page 29:
“He drove his fist into Marion’s face [his wife]. She fell backward against the cupboard� In tattered underwear he stood at the nursery door. He kicked his foot through and tore off the lock to open it. Took the child’s pillow from under its head and pressed it hard on the screaming mouth.
“I’ll kill it, God damn it, I’ll kill it, if it doesn’t shut up.�
“Wildly funny�? Anyone who thinks that’s wildly funny is not someone I’d want as a friend. I’m not even sure I want him/her free to walk the streets.
From the blurb from the back cover:
“…wildly funny, picaresque classic novel of the misdaventures of Sebastian Dangerfield, a young American ne’re-do-well�.�
And this, from the fateful page 29:
“He drove his fist into Marion’s face [his wife]. She fell backward against the cupboard� In tattered underwear he stood at the nursery door. He kicked his foot through and tore off the lock to open it. Took the child’s pillow from under its head and pressed it hard on the screaming mouth.
“I’ll kill it, God damn it, I’ll kill it, if it doesn’t shut up.�
“Wildly funny�? Anyone who thinks that’s wildly funny is not someone I’d want as a friend. I’m not even sure I want him/her free to walk the streets.
August 4, 2022
Do you ever feel like you might not measure up to reviewing a particular novel? That is where I am with The Ginger Man. I do not dislike books where the subject matter or characters do not align with my personal values and beliefs. In fact, I love to really dislike a character. However, Sebastian Dangerfield in The Ginger Man I could neither like nor dislike. At times I was charmed by him. Certainly, I felt no attraction to or admiration of his lifestyle, but I have met characters with much more despicable values and morals and still really enjoyed the book. For me, that is a big part of reading, seeing aspects of the world and life that you would otherwise never encounter.
Upon initial publication The Ginger Man was banned in both Ireland and the United States for obscenity. However, it has sold 45 million copies worldwide and has never been out of print. In 1998 it was named one of the 100 Best Novels of the 20th Century by Modern Library. The narration moves frequently back and forth between 3rd person and 1st person. It uses a stream of consciousness style that makes one feel you are running down a steep hill the entire time.
And yet.... nothing much really happens in the novel. There is no transformation of character, no learning from experience. None of the characters appear to evolve into anything different. In reading critics' reviews, the novel, set in 1947, is commentary on a way of life and of values that are no longer relevant. I can see this, perhaps. And yet... the writing is lyrical, crisp and mesmerizing all at the same time. The novel was a unique experience if not for me a thoroughly enjoyable one.
Upon initial publication The Ginger Man was banned in both Ireland and the United States for obscenity. However, it has sold 45 million copies worldwide and has never been out of print. In 1998 it was named one of the 100 Best Novels of the 20th Century by Modern Library. The narration moves frequently back and forth between 3rd person and 1st person. It uses a stream of consciousness style that makes one feel you are running down a steep hill the entire time.
And yet.... nothing much really happens in the novel. There is no transformation of character, no learning from experience. None of the characters appear to evolve into anything different. In reading critics' reviews, the novel, set in 1947, is commentary on a way of life and of values that are no longer relevant. I can see this, perhaps. And yet... the writing is lyrical, crisp and mesmerizing all at the same time. The novel was a unique experience if not for me a thoroughly enjoyable one.
February 4, 2019
Senryu Review:
Baddest rogue in Eire
screws landlords wenches and self
in this boozed-up romp
Baddest rogue in Eire
screws landlords wenches and self
in this boozed-up romp
June 20, 2017
REVIEW:
Chaucer
"O scathful harm, condition of poverte!
With thirst, with cold, with hunger so confounded,
To asken helpe thee shameth in thin herte,
If thou non ask, so sore art thou ywounded
That veray nede unwrappeth al thy wound hid."
Down and Out in Paris and Dublin
Manning Clark talked about sex, religion and alcohol as the three great comforters. In “The Ginger Man�, JP Donleavy seems determined to prove that you can get by with at least two: sex and alcohol, if you add the occasional brawl, fist fight, punch or slap with your rivals, your peers, your mates or your wife, partner or mistress.
Manning Clark’s reference to comfort begs the question: for what are we receiving comfort? It doesn’t seem that parenthood, marriage or relationships are particularly stressful, at least for the “ginger man�, Sebastian Dangerfield. His greatest source of stress is his desperate poverty, which he seems to share with most of his Irish friends, even though he is a law student at Trinity College, Dublin (a Protestant from the USA), and most of them are poorly paid manual workers (Catholics or micks). With poverty comes the need to rent a home, and the inability to pay the landlord, so Dangerfield is continually hounded by his landlord, the dreaded Egbert Skully, who doubles as his own debt collector and haunts him like a troll.
Lilly, Rose, Mary and the Jack of Hearts
If Dangerfield has one more source of comfort, it’s his way with words. He hasn’t “got looks, but brains and wit�. He has a vulgar charm about him, even if he is always out to seduce the nearest woman:
“Being the sort of person I am, I make life pleasant for everybody. I’m not hard to live with. No bad breath or secret vulgarities.�
Only he (a serial adulterer, rogue and scoundrel) seems instead to be an agent of chaos for the women in his life, intent only on fucking them and extorting money out of them (he robs them of both their virtue and their savings), both being skills at which he proves particularly adept.
The Adoration of the Calvinist Prod
Donleavy seems to adore Dangerfield, as he did the model for the character, Gainor Crist. Dangerfield gets the best lines, while Donleavy habitually switches from third person to first person narrative, as smoothly and imperceptibly as a pint of Guinness going down after a hard day's work. Donleavy often writes in short, abbreviated, staccato sentences, which create an urgency of motion or emotion, especially when the protagonists are embedded. He also resorts to modest alliteration, which delights as much as finding a sixpence in your pudding at the pub.
"Today a rare sun of spring. And horse carts clanging to the quays down Tara Street and the shoeless white faced kids screaming."
"The sun of Sunday morning up out of the sleepless sea from black Liverpool. Sitting on the rocks over the water with a jug of coffee. Down there along the harbour pier, trippers in bright colours. Sails moving out to sea. Young couples climbing the Balscaddoon Road to the top of Kilrick to search out grass and lie between the furze. A cold green sea breaking whitely along the granite coast. A day on which all things are born, like uncovered stars."
"Hide? What am I? A scoundrel, a sneak? Not a bit. Face her. You're lovely. Absolutely lovely. Put my face on your spring breasts. Take you to Paris and tie your hair in knots with summer leaves."
"A light goes on. Shadow moves across the window. Hers. What sweet stuff, sweeter than all the roses. Come down God and settle in my heart on this triangular Friday."
"Tightly she held his hand. Thinking happiness. The windows low down beneath the grates. People collected in the cellars around red specks of fire, grey heads on grey chests. Most of Dublin dead."
"It's such a long pleasant night. I hope I can remember this when I am suffering. Her gentle fingers. Sweet substances of girl, alone and damp and loving me and moving over me, over me and over, covered safe with her heart and each other's thighs, my head gone away, tickling teasing, curling hairs and hood of smells and flesh and salt taste like swimming."
"Be my guest. We'll have dinner with Miss Frost. Be nice. I think she gives, Kenneth. Might be worthwhile looking into it. Wouldn't you like a bit of that thing they do in the dark?"
"She led him slowly and carefully to her bedroom. Lowering him to the edge of the bed. He sat there elbows on his thighs, hands hanging from his wrists."
Howth Harbour, Dublin, the sun of Sunday morning, December, 2016
ORANGE VERSES:
[Mostly in the Words of JP Donleavy]
Ophelia
Once
In Dublin
Some girl let him
Remove her blouse
And feel her
Tit.
Ode to Tits
I'll tell you what I want
And it's all that I want:
I want a woman
With awful big tits.
The biggest tits in whoredom
Would rescue me from boredom.
If I had a woman
With an awful big pair,
I'd be as happy as sin,
We'd spend all night in bed
And all day in the tub,
You'd not see me in the pub.
Oh the tits, oh the tits!
They're my favourite bits!
Ode to Arses
Mary Maloney's got
A beautiful arse
If she won't let
Me grab it,
Maybe perhaps
I could handle
A little bit
Of largesse
Instead.
A Bottom Felt
[In the words of JP Donleavy]
When I've felt
A bottom,
Like hers, I
Won't forget
Too fast
Or ever.
SOUNDTRACK:
Bob Dylan - "Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts"
Bob Dylan - "Up to Me"
"Everything went from bad to worse, money never changed a thing
Death kept followin�, trackin� us down, at least I heard your bluebird sing
Now somebody’s got to show their hand, time is an enemy
I know you’re long gone, I guess it must be up to me"
RTE Radio - "The Catacombs (Dublin Night Club)"
'The Catacombs' was a night club that operated from the basement of 13 Fitzwilliam Place, in the centre of Dublin, in the late 1940's. The Catacombs attracted a bohemian crowd. A number of young aspiring writers such as Brendan Behan, Patrick Kavanagh, JP Donleavy and Anthony Cronin were regulars. The Catacombs featured in 'The Ginger Man.'
This is a fascinating documentary and well worth listening to, if you're interested in youth subcultures.
February 13, 2017
Chaucer
"O scathful harm, condition of poverte!
With thirst, with cold, with hunger so confounded,
To asken helpe thee shameth in thin herte,
If thou non ask, so sore art thou ywounded
That veray nede unwrappeth al thy wound hid."
Down and Out in Paris and Dublin
Manning Clark talked about sex, religion and alcohol as the three great comforters. In “The Ginger Man�, JP Donleavy seems determined to prove that you can get by with at least two: sex and alcohol, if you add the occasional brawl, fist fight, punch or slap with your rivals, your peers, your mates or your wife, partner or mistress.
Manning Clark’s reference to comfort begs the question: for what are we receiving comfort? It doesn’t seem that parenthood, marriage or relationships are particularly stressful, at least for the “ginger man�, Sebastian Dangerfield. His greatest source of stress is his desperate poverty, which he seems to share with most of his Irish friends, even though he is a law student at Trinity College, Dublin (a Protestant from the USA), and most of them are poorly paid manual workers (Catholics or micks). With poverty comes the need to rent a home, and the inability to pay the landlord, so Dangerfield is continually hounded by his landlord, the dreaded Egbert Skully, who doubles as his own debt collector and haunts him like a troll.
Lilly, Rose, Mary and the Jack of Hearts
If Dangerfield has one more source of comfort, it’s his way with words. He hasn’t “got looks, but brains and wit�. He has a vulgar charm about him, even if he is always out to seduce the nearest woman:
“Being the sort of person I am, I make life pleasant for everybody. I’m not hard to live with. No bad breath or secret vulgarities.�
Only he (a serial adulterer, rogue and scoundrel) seems instead to be an agent of chaos for the women in his life, intent only on fucking them and extorting money out of them (he robs them of both their virtue and their savings), both being skills at which he proves particularly adept.
The Adoration of the Calvinist Prod
Donleavy seems to adore Dangerfield, as he did the model for the character, Gainor Crist. Dangerfield gets the best lines, while Donleavy habitually switches from third person to first person narrative, as smoothly and imperceptibly as a pint of Guinness going down after a hard day's work. Donleavy often writes in short, abbreviated, staccato sentences, which create an urgency of motion or emotion, especially when the protagonists are embedded. He also resorts to modest alliteration, which delights as much as finding a sixpence in your pudding at the pub.
"Today a rare sun of spring. And horse carts clanging to the quays down Tara Street and the shoeless white faced kids screaming."
"The sun of Sunday morning up out of the sleepless sea from black Liverpool. Sitting on the rocks over the water with a jug of coffee. Down there along the harbour pier, trippers in bright colours. Sails moving out to sea. Young couples climbing the Balscaddoon Road to the top of Kilrick to search out grass and lie between the furze. A cold green sea breaking whitely along the granite coast. A day on which all things are born, like uncovered stars."
"Hide? What am I? A scoundrel, a sneak? Not a bit. Face her. You're lovely. Absolutely lovely. Put my face on your spring breasts. Take you to Paris and tie your hair in knots with summer leaves."
"A light goes on. Shadow moves across the window. Hers. What sweet stuff, sweeter than all the roses. Come down God and settle in my heart on this triangular Friday."
"Tightly she held his hand. Thinking happiness. The windows low down beneath the grates. People collected in the cellars around red specks of fire, grey heads on grey chests. Most of Dublin dead."
"It's such a long pleasant night. I hope I can remember this when I am suffering. Her gentle fingers. Sweet substances of girl, alone and damp and loving me and moving over me, over me and over, covered safe with her heart and each other's thighs, my head gone away, tickling teasing, curling hairs and hood of smells and flesh and salt taste like swimming."
"Be my guest. We'll have dinner with Miss Frost. Be nice. I think she gives, Kenneth. Might be worthwhile looking into it. Wouldn't you like a bit of that thing they do in the dark?"
"She led him slowly and carefully to her bedroom. Lowering him to the edge of the bed. He sat there elbows on his thighs, hands hanging from his wrists."
Howth Harbour, Dublin, the sun of Sunday morning, December, 2016
ORANGE VERSES:
[Mostly in the Words of JP Donleavy]
Ophelia
Once
In Dublin
Some girl let him
Remove her blouse
And feel her
Tit.
Ode to Tits
I'll tell you what I want
And it's all that I want:
I want a woman
With awful big tits.
The biggest tits in whoredom
Would rescue me from boredom.
If I had a woman
With an awful big pair,
I'd be as happy as sin,
We'd spend all night in bed
And all day in the tub,
You'd not see me in the pub.
Oh the tits, oh the tits!
They're my favourite bits!
Ode to Arses
Mary Maloney's got
A beautiful arse
If she won't let
Me grab it,
Maybe perhaps
I could handle
A little bit
Of largesse
Instead.
A Bottom Felt
[In the words of JP Donleavy]
When I've felt
A bottom,
Like hers, I
Won't forget
Too fast
Or ever.
SOUNDTRACK:
Bob Dylan - "Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts"
Bob Dylan - "Up to Me"
"Everything went from bad to worse, money never changed a thing
Death kept followin�, trackin� us down, at least I heard your bluebird sing
Now somebody’s got to show their hand, time is an enemy
I know you’re long gone, I guess it must be up to me"
RTE Radio - "The Catacombs (Dublin Night Club)"
'The Catacombs' was a night club that operated from the basement of 13 Fitzwilliam Place, in the centre of Dublin, in the late 1940's. The Catacombs attracted a bohemian crowd. A number of young aspiring writers such as Brendan Behan, Patrick Kavanagh, JP Donleavy and Anthony Cronin were regulars. The Catacombs featured in 'The Ginger Man.'
This is a fascinating documentary and well worth listening to, if you're interested in youth subcultures.
February 13, 2017
June 11, 2018
کتاب مرد زنجبیلی نوشته ی دانلیوی و با ترجمه ی خوب رضااسکندری، کتابی است برای نمایش دادن یا شاید بهتر است بگویم طعنه به زندگی. شخصیت اول رمان سباستین دنجرفیلد، نجیب زاده ای آمریکایی می باشد که در دوبلین دانشجوی حقوق است. مردی 27 ساله که از نظر یاغی گری ها و بی قیدی ها طعنه به شخصیت «هولدن فیلد» در ناطور دشت می زند و از نظر بی شعوری و سادگی شاید به شخصیت «ایگنیشیس رایلی» رمان اتحادیه ابلهان.
دنجرفیلد مردی است زنباره و الکلی که تمام زندگی اش در شکم و زیر آن خلاصه شده است ولی با این حال او غیر از این زندگی به چیزی اعتقاد ندارد و طوری رفتار می کند که انگار همین مسیر، مسیر زندگی است و نویسنده به خوبی نشان می دهد که انگار تمام آدم های دور و بر دنجرفیلد نیز خواستار همین زندگی هستند، زندگی براساس دروغ و فریب و خیانت، که در آن برای رسیدن به اهداف به هر کاری می توان دست زد، حتی می توان ازدین و مسیح مصلوب نیز استفاده کرد.
انگار که دنجرفیلد نماینده ایست از بشر رام نشدنی امروزین که به قول جمله ی نهایی رمان:
رحمت خداوند
ارزانی این موجود رام نشدنی،
مرد زنجبیلی.
دنجرفیلد مردی است زنباره و الکلی که تمام زندگی اش در شکم و زیر آن خلاصه شده است ولی با این حال او غیر از این زندگی به چیزی اعتقاد ندارد و طوری رفتار می کند که انگار همین مسیر، مسیر زندگی است و نویسنده به خوبی نشان می دهد که انگار تمام آدم های دور و بر دنجرفیلد نیز خواستار همین زندگی هستند، زندگی براساس دروغ و فریب و خیانت، که در آن برای رسیدن به اهداف به هر کاری می توان دست زد، حتی می توان ازدین و مسیح مصلوب نیز استفاده کرد.
انگار که دنجرفیلد نماینده ایست از بشر رام نشدنی امروزین که به قول جمله ی نهایی رمان:
رحمت خداوند
ارزانی این موجود رام نشدنی،
مرد زنجبیلی.
March 18, 2011
I became aware of this book after recently reading a Hunter S. Thompson biography, wherein it describes how Hunter discovered the book in New York, and did his best to imitate Dangerfield's lifestyle. After reading the Ginger Man it became apparent that Hunter had at last found a hard act to follow in terms of womanising, alcohol abuse and empty promises.
Apparently the Ginger Man was turned down by something like 40 publishers before finding it's way to the mainly pornographic publishers Olympia Press in Paris. Despite turning out mostly smut, Olympia owner Maurice Girodias also published some early works by the likes of Samuel Beckett, William Burroughs, Henry Miller and Jean Genet amongst other rising literary talents of the time.
I mention the publication as it's interesting to note that Donleavy entered into 20 plus years of litigation with the publishing house. He eventually won the case and subsequently owns Olympia Press.
But anyway, the book. It is, for better or worse, very real. The "hero" Sebastian Dangerfield is a reluctant family man and a reluctant student of law. He just doesn't care about the things which we assume he should care about. He is constantly in a state of scheming his way into the next free drink, or getting into the knickers of an easily led girl. He has no morals, nor does he feel that he should have. He is banking on an inherited wealth which will be his once his sick father dies.
The style of the book is modern for the time of it's writing. Donleavy uses both the first person narrative and the third person narrative to illustrate his main character. This can be confusing at first, but I found that after a few chapters, it adds to the urgency/pace (first person) and the backgrounds (third person) as he switches between the two different types of narration. This could not be achieved by sticking to either one of the disciplines.
The plot is quite simple, as a character novel should be. The backdrop is Dublin and then later London. Both are described well.
The dialogue is at times simply brilliant. One of the few books where you find yourself laughing aloud, and re-reading passages in an attempt to recall lines and slip them into a conversation at some point in the future. It is so easy to see why this book has since been turned into a stage production. I would imagine that the theater would be in fits of giggles.
I would recommend this book to anyone who is interested in the development of modern literature. And for that matter anyone with an open mind and a good sense of humour. It is in many ways one of the best novels of the 20th century
Apparently the Ginger Man was turned down by something like 40 publishers before finding it's way to the mainly pornographic publishers Olympia Press in Paris. Despite turning out mostly smut, Olympia owner Maurice Girodias also published some early works by the likes of Samuel Beckett, William Burroughs, Henry Miller and Jean Genet amongst other rising literary talents of the time.
I mention the publication as it's interesting to note that Donleavy entered into 20 plus years of litigation with the publishing house. He eventually won the case and subsequently owns Olympia Press.
But anyway, the book. It is, for better or worse, very real. The "hero" Sebastian Dangerfield is a reluctant family man and a reluctant student of law. He just doesn't care about the things which we assume he should care about. He is constantly in a state of scheming his way into the next free drink, or getting into the knickers of an easily led girl. He has no morals, nor does he feel that he should have. He is banking on an inherited wealth which will be his once his sick father dies.
The style of the book is modern for the time of it's writing. Donleavy uses both the first person narrative and the third person narrative to illustrate his main character. This can be confusing at first, but I found that after a few chapters, it adds to the urgency/pace (first person) and the backgrounds (third person) as he switches between the two different types of narration. This could not be achieved by sticking to either one of the disciplines.
The plot is quite simple, as a character novel should be. The backdrop is Dublin and then later London. Both are described well.
The dialogue is at times simply brilliant. One of the few books where you find yourself laughing aloud, and re-reading passages in an attempt to recall lines and slip them into a conversation at some point in the future. It is so easy to see why this book has since been turned into a stage production. I would imagine that the theater would be in fits of giggles.
I would recommend this book to anyone who is interested in the development of modern literature. And for that matter anyone with an open mind and a good sense of humour. It is in many ways one of the best novels of the 20th century
June 21, 2011
JPD launched a storied literary career with a masterpiece in The Ginger Man. Sebastian, which means "venerable," is a man perpetually on the brink of utter madness brought largely upon himself. He is a Trinity College Dublin man whose condition is given to "staving off starvation" and whose only option when things always get worse is to "cheer-up or die." When you consider that JPD was first a painter, it's understandable that his writing style is pointillistic. The syntax like Dangerfield is non-traditional presented like life itself in fragments of which to make sense. His little lines of stacked type at the end of each chapter are works of art in themselves: "All the way/From the land/Of Kerry/Is a man/From the dead/Gone merry./ This man/Stood in the street/ And stamped his feet/ And no one heard him." Here the work winds from prose to poetry to create an endearing human quality and even tenderness that enables us to forgive the ginger man for his outrageousness. What would he and his poor as Pozzo crones do with a lot of money? Drink at every pub from College Green to Kerry over the course of a year and then "I'll arrive on Dingle Peninsula walk out on the end of Slea Head, beat, wet and penniless. I'll sit there and weep into the sea." Very Dylan Thomas. A touch Kafkaesque. Joycean. JPD's Ginger Man is worthy of a higher position on Random House's "Best Novels of the 20th Century." His body of work, including "Darcy Dancer," "Balthazar B," "The Singluar Man," "The Onion Eaters," "Wrong Info at Princeton" and "Samuel S." is astonishing in its lyric virtuosity, power and originality. When will the mavens of Hollywood treat us to tales by JPD that shimmer and dance upon the silverscreen? And when will the good people in Stockholm see the light on JPD's vast, rich, enduring, literary legacy?
January 29, 2019
Zencefil Adam sevilmesi zor bir kitap. Arka sayfa tanıtım yazısında söylendiği gibi 20. yüzyılın en çok okunan ve tartı��ılan kitaplarından olmadığı kanaatindeyim. Kitap II. Dünya Savaşı sonrası Amerika kökenli bir İrlanda’lı olan Sebastian Dangerfield ile karısı Marion ve arkadaşı O’Keefe arasında İrlanda’da geçer. Kahramanımız Trinity Koleji'nde hukuk okumaya çalışmakta, ancak genelevler ve kadınlar onun için her zaman daha ön plandadır. Parası olduğunu düşündüğü için evlendiği karısıyla devamlı kavga halindedir. Ağlamadan duramayan bir de kızları vardır. En yakın arkadaşı ile zıt karakterde olmalarına rağmen ortak noktaları beş parasız olmaları ve bir baltaya sap olamamalarıdır.
Kitapta ilgi çekici tek yön bence bu üç kişi arasındaki bakış açılarının aynı kişi, yer ve olaylar karşısında farklı eşzamanlı olarak bilinç akışı şeklinde verilmeleridir. Ancak bunu yaparken yazar, tekrarlara düşmekte, diyalogları sıkıcı hale getirmektedir böylece kitabın okunurluluğuna sekte vurmaktadır.
Mizahi bir dille yazılmış olmasına karşın ben bu dili ergen mizah anlayışı veya soğuk İngiliz espirileri nedeni ile sevmedim, komik de bulmadım. Müstehcen bulunmuş olması da seksist sahnelerin ergen ağzıyla yazılmış olmasından sanırım, estetik açıdan çok zayıf çünkü.
Kitapta İrlanda-İngiltere çekişmesini sıklıkla görüyoruz, keza Amerika’da yaşamış Dangerfield’in aksanının onu İrlanda’da bir adım öne çıkartması da ilginç. Kurgusu ilginç ama ben bu kitabı sevemedim. Buna gelene kadar okunacak öyle güzel kitaplar var ki....
March 26, 2013
A great big stream of consciousness slice of life book about the boozing, lazy, nasty, cruel, selfish Sebastian Dangerfield, an American in Dublin who is supposed to be studying law at Trinity but instead drinks all day, chases women and exchanges abuse with his wife.
To be sure, Sebastian is an unpleasant character, but that doesn’t bother me. I was simply bored by the events of the novel. I didn’t find it, as all the blurbs promised, an exuberant, witty, wildly comic escapade. Donleavy’s writing style is good and his language is rich (and the book contains amazingly graphic sex scenes for its time), but I wasn’t interested in what he was writing about. And, as with , the same nothings seemed to happen again and again: Sebastian avoids creditors. Sebastian beds women. Sebastian gets drunk and waxes outrageous and lyrical. Okay, but must there be so much of it?
To be sure, Sebastian is an unpleasant character, but that doesn’t bother me. I was simply bored by the events of the novel. I didn’t find it, as all the blurbs promised, an exuberant, witty, wildly comic escapade. Donleavy’s writing style is good and his language is rich (and the book contains amazingly graphic sex scenes for its time), but I wasn’t interested in what he was writing about. And, as with , the same nothings seemed to happen again and again: Sebastian avoids creditors. Sebastian beds women. Sebastian gets drunk and waxes outrageous and lyrical. Okay, but must there be so much of it?
July 2, 2017
طرح اندامت را در آن ژاکت خاکستری میبینم.وای که این تکه نان گرم چه بویی دارد.خدایا،گمانم ما دونفر تصادفا سر راه هم قرار گرفتیم.دلم یک تکه نان بزرگ میخواست.آنقدر بزرگ که میشد بروم داخلش.و جای امنی باید باشد،داخل یک قرص نان.دوشیزه فراست،کاش میشد مرا داخل یک قرص نان بزرگ بگذاری.کالبد نحیفم را که از ترس مردم به لرزه افتاده افتاده،همچون آوارگان.بی صدا تا کنی و داخل یک قرص نان غول پیکر بگذاری.مراقب باش بدنم را همراه نان توی اجاق نسوزانی.فقط قهوه ای و کمی برشته ام کن.بگذار تا مثل کیک پف کنم و صبح که شد از توی اجاق بیرونم بیاور و روی میز بگذار.و آن وقت تکه تکه ام کن و برای صبحانه بخور
...
.غرولند کردن های سباستین دنجرفیلد شبیه هولدن کالفیلد و کاراکترهای داستانهای بوکوفسکی،آزاردهنده و احمقانه ولی دوست داشتنی بود
روایتگر یک زندگی تقریبا فقیرانه ی اروپایی در ایرلند و شخصی کاهل که که تمام مبلغ بورسیه اش را در بارهای ایرلند صرف خریدن آبجو میکند و هیچ .توجهی به همسر و دختر کوچکش ندارد
...
.غرولند کردن های سباستین دنجرفیلد شبیه هولدن کالفیلد و کاراکترهای داستانهای بوکوفسکی،آزاردهنده و احمقانه ولی دوست داشتنی بود
روایتگر یک زندگی تقریبا فقیرانه ی اروپایی در ایرلند و شخصی کاهل که که تمام مبلغ بورسیه اش را در بارهای ایرلند صرف خریدن آبجو میکند و هیچ .توجهی به همسر و دختر کوچکش ندارد
June 11, 2015
How important is it for the reader to like the central protagonist of a novel? Obviously if one is going to spend hundreds of pages in � or around � a character’s head, then it is preferable to empathise with him or her. However there are some books, Dostoyevsky’s ‘Notes From Underground� say, where clearly we are not supposed to like the central character and yet the passion of the prose is such that we can’t help but admire the work anyway.
These thoughts were high in my mind as I read ‘The Ginger Man�. Sebastian Balfe Dangerfield is an American with an English accent who drinks, carouses and swindles his way through Dublin and London. His behaviour is mostly atrociously selfish and sometimes seems to spring from a deep-set maliciousness, and yet (sort of Spoiler Alert!) he faces no great comeuppance at the end and one gets the impression that if his story was picked up a year later it would be much the same. He staggers, shagging and arguing, from one grim situation to the next, leaving a trail of gullible women injured in his wake. And are we supposed to like him for this? Are we supposed to be amused by his exploits and smile at what an uncontrollable rogue he is? Or, if we are occasionally amused by the set-pieces which arise from his actions, do we chuckle with a little shudder? Do we congratulate ourselves on (hopefully) never having run into such a person?
To be fair it is brilliantly written and there are some laugh out loud moments within these pages. But whereas a book like ‘Notes From Underground� is a character study where the reader is supposed to dislike the character, I think ‘The Ginger Man� wants the reader to be on Dangerfield’s side. And if you’re not in Dangerfield’s side then it is like looking through a window at some dreadfully reprehensible party and being immensely glad that you’re not part of it.
These thoughts were high in my mind as I read ‘The Ginger Man�. Sebastian Balfe Dangerfield is an American with an English accent who drinks, carouses and swindles his way through Dublin and London. His behaviour is mostly atrociously selfish and sometimes seems to spring from a deep-set maliciousness, and yet (sort of Spoiler Alert!) he faces no great comeuppance at the end and one gets the impression that if his story was picked up a year later it would be much the same. He staggers, shagging and arguing, from one grim situation to the next, leaving a trail of gullible women injured in his wake. And are we supposed to like him for this? Are we supposed to be amused by his exploits and smile at what an uncontrollable rogue he is? Or, if we are occasionally amused by the set-pieces which arise from his actions, do we chuckle with a little shudder? Do we congratulate ourselves on (hopefully) never having run into such a person?
To be fair it is brilliantly written and there are some laugh out loud moments within these pages. But whereas a book like ‘Notes From Underground� is a character study where the reader is supposed to dislike the character, I think ‘The Ginger Man� wants the reader to be on Dangerfield’s side. And if you’re not in Dangerfield’s side then it is like looking through a window at some dreadfully reprehensible party and being immensely glad that you’re not part of it.
May 5, 2008
Sometimes I am absolutely baffled as to why certain books are on the Modern Library Top 100 book list. This is certainly one of those. Sebastian Dangerfield is an American studying law at Trinity College in Dublin just after WWII, married and with a daughter, and with a serious drinking problem and a really, really bad attitude. He is a 100% unredeemable character, beating and humiliating his wife and trying to smother his daughter in one of his rages. He very occasionally studies or goes to his classes, but more often is found at the local pubs and fighting with others like him. He has no money, his house is a horror, he sleeps with other women and lies to every one who comes in contact with him.
I don't enjoy characters who feel a sense of entitlement, and Sebastian clearly feels he deserves more than he is willing to work for. Somehow the women in his life are completely entranced by him and keep coming back - his wife is probably the smartest of them all, but even she stuck around entirely too long. Sebastian Dangerfield is the same sort of character as Ignatius Reilly in A Confederacy of Dunces, another book which is hailed as being "brilliant" that I could not stand. I expect characters in books to have some sort of quality that I would hope to find in a real person. Even if they are disgusting creatures throughout most of the novel, at some time there should be a learning experience, a turning point, in which the character tries to improve his life. I do not feel Sebastian reached that point, which makes me feel that the 347 pages' worth of time I put into it were entirely wasted.
On a fun note, however, the copy of this book I purchased (luckily for only a buck at Half Price Books) has names, addresses and phone numbers of people in the front and back covers. I like to think that the person this copy originally belonged to was staying at a hostel and met some interesting folks with whom he planned on communicating later, ranging from Montreal to Maine to the United Kingdom. I hope he/she wrote these numbers down before selling their book. And I hope after I sell it back to the store it doesn't fall into the hands of a stalker, because this would be a gold mine for someone of that nature.
I don't enjoy characters who feel a sense of entitlement, and Sebastian clearly feels he deserves more than he is willing to work for. Somehow the women in his life are completely entranced by him and keep coming back - his wife is probably the smartest of them all, but even she stuck around entirely too long. Sebastian Dangerfield is the same sort of character as Ignatius Reilly in A Confederacy of Dunces, another book which is hailed as being "brilliant" that I could not stand. I expect characters in books to have some sort of quality that I would hope to find in a real person. Even if they are disgusting creatures throughout most of the novel, at some time there should be a learning experience, a turning point, in which the character tries to improve his life. I do not feel Sebastian reached that point, which makes me feel that the 347 pages' worth of time I put into it were entirely wasted.
On a fun note, however, the copy of this book I purchased (luckily for only a buck at Half Price Books) has names, addresses and phone numbers of people in the front and back covers. I like to think that the person this copy originally belonged to was staying at a hostel and met some interesting folks with whom he planned on communicating later, ranging from Montreal to Maine to the United Kingdom. I hope he/she wrote these numbers down before selling their book. And I hope after I sell it back to the store it doesn't fall into the hands of a stalker, because this would be a gold mine for someone of that nature.
August 27, 2008
I couldn't help but think of the fine British comedy Withnail And I while reading this. Much like the dialogue in that film, Donleavy's witty, loosely constructed vignettes might be a bit disorienting at first bit they grow on you and you find yourself chuckling more and more especially in the more bizarre stream of consciousness moments (kangaroo costumes, public transportation "wardrobe malfunctions"). The other point of reference for me was Tropic Of Cancer as the narrator is also an "anti hero" on uninhibited instinct. However, Sebastian here can come across much nastier as he has a wife and child to provide for (unlike Henry Miller who was all by himself in Paris) and he instead drinks constantly and even beats them pretty early on in the book. Sebastian represents the best and worst of human nature and as such is not always traditionally likable as he is both the hero and villain of the book. But his less than savory adventures are written with the kind of imaginative energy and surprisingly subtle wit that makes you wonder (love him or hate him) what will happen next and keeps you turning the pages. Likely a grower for many readers, but I recommend it highly.
July 30, 2024
©
📚 مرد زنجبیلی - جی. پی. دانلیوی
کتاب ماجراهای شورانگیز و عیاش‌وا� جوانی آمریکایی را در ترینیتی کالج دوبلین بعد از جنگ جهانی دوم روایت می‌کن� و در یک جمله میتونم بگم که مرد زنجبیلی مرد نفرت انگیزی است که می شود دیوانه وار عاشقش شد.
جی. پی. دانلیوی با نگارش اولین داستانش، مجموعه‌ا� را خلق کرد که در طول بیش از نیم قرن گذشته با عناوینی مانند توهین‌آمیز� مستهجن، ضد اخلاقی و حتی ضدزن از طرف واتیکان تا گروه‌ها� فمینیستی و جراید محکوم و طرد شده است.
ته نوشت : لازم می‌دون� اینم بگم که عبارات ناپسند در اینکتاببه‌وفو� یافت می‌شون�.
📚 مرد زنجبیلی - جی. پی. دانلیوی
کتاب ماجراهای شورانگیز و عیاش‌وا� جوانی آمریکایی را در ترینیتی کالج دوبلین بعد از جنگ جهانی دوم روایت می‌کن� و در یک جمله میتونم بگم که مرد زنجبیلی مرد نفرت انگیزی است که می شود دیوانه وار عاشقش شد.
جی. پی. دانلیوی با نگارش اولین داستانش، مجموعه‌ا� را خلق کرد که در طول بیش از نیم قرن گذشته با عناوینی مانند توهین‌آمیز� مستهجن، ضد اخلاقی و حتی ضدزن از طرف واتیکان تا گروه‌ها� فمینیستی و جراید محکوم و طرد شده است.
ته نوشت : لازم می‌دون� اینم بگم که عبارات ناپسند در اینکتاببه‌وفو� یافت می‌شون�.
March 8, 2008
I wonder if neuroscientists will ever be able to analyse tears that contain the byproducts of great happiness and great sadness at the same time. And what is such an intense feeling called? Even to think of this book brings a tear to my eye, and reading it I cry buckets. This horrible, loveable, picaresque hero and antihero, this moonchild of Irish imagination. Wow
November 15, 2014
#99 on the Modern Library Board's List. Published in 1955. If there's a reason people don't succeed in working through the Modern Library backwards, it's probably this. "The Ginger Man" is a novel for no one, except perhaps sociopathic poser intellectuals who find bawdy antipathy entertaining.
I'll start with Donleavy's prose style, the only redeeming thing about the novel. "The Ginger Man" swerves wildly between the first and third person, an interior monologue one moment and a systematic sketching of contextual details the next. Since I'm not particularly well-read, and since the novel is set in Dublin, I'm going to make the easy mistake of seeing this as the influence of James Joyce. Donleavy's actual stylistic inspirations are almost certainly subtler than that.
So the writing is fine. The problem is Sebastian Dangerfield, our antihero. He's supposed to be a loathsome, drunken rogue. Success! He stumbles through the novel's 300 pages drinking, womanizing, committing acts of petty larceny and domestic violence, and bumming money off of other unlikeable characters. And that's about it.
Appparently it's supposed to be funny. In one crucial scene, referenced throughout the remainder of the novel, Dangerfield accidentally rides a train with his penis hanging out of his pants. Hilarious.
Maybe "The Ginger Man" had a place in 1955. Maybe it inspired later works of dark comedy and contributed to a stylistic evolution in Irish and American literature. Maybe I'm just completely missing something. But I'm glad to be moving on.
I'll start with Donleavy's prose style, the only redeeming thing about the novel. "The Ginger Man" swerves wildly between the first and third person, an interior monologue one moment and a systematic sketching of contextual details the next. Since I'm not particularly well-read, and since the novel is set in Dublin, I'm going to make the easy mistake of seeing this as the influence of James Joyce. Donleavy's actual stylistic inspirations are almost certainly subtler than that.
So the writing is fine. The problem is Sebastian Dangerfield, our antihero. He's supposed to be a loathsome, drunken rogue. Success! He stumbles through the novel's 300 pages drinking, womanizing, committing acts of petty larceny and domestic violence, and bumming money off of other unlikeable characters. And that's about it.
Appparently it's supposed to be funny. In one crucial scene, referenced throughout the remainder of the novel, Dangerfield accidentally rides a train with his penis hanging out of his pants. Hilarious.
Maybe "The Ginger Man" had a place in 1955. Maybe it inspired later works of dark comedy and contributed to a stylistic evolution in Irish and American literature. Maybe I'm just completely missing something. But I'm glad to be moving on.
September 24, 2009
I have to be careful when I talk about this book. Especially with women. Most women despise The Ginger Man. Actually, what they despise is the Sebastian Dangerfield character for he is a drunken, misogynistic, lecherous scoundrel, the very kind of man they are terrified that their daughters might someday meet. The more open minded among them, however, appreciate the quality of Donleavy's rendering, the richness and inventiveness of the language and the out and out hilarity of the story.
I love women to the point of reverence and on every real world level find The Ginger Man despicable. But the Ginger Man is not the real world. It's fiction. It's a fabulously written book with a fabulously flawed character. One doesn't accuse a fan of The Silence of the Lambs of being a proponent of cannibalism, right? So lighten up ladies. Read this book for what it is. It's a caricature. We know they are out there, maybe in our own family, probably not to this extreme, but they are there. And they can be funny in the way that ne'er-do-wells have always been.
And give it to your daughters. For amusement. And as a warning.
I love women to the point of reverence and on every real world level find The Ginger Man despicable. But the Ginger Man is not the real world. It's fiction. It's a fabulously written book with a fabulously flawed character. One doesn't accuse a fan of The Silence of the Lambs of being a proponent of cannibalism, right? So lighten up ladies. Read this book for what it is. It's a caricature. We know they are out there, maybe in our own family, probably not to this extreme, but they are there. And they can be funny in the way that ne'er-do-wells have always been.
And give it to your daughters. For amusement. And as a warning.
February 1, 2008
this is # 99 on my list of 100. i received the greatest joy when i read the last page and didn t have to spend any more time with ,sabastian. is this a great novel cause donleavy describes in great detail one of the worst characters in literature ? he is cruel to women and yet they keep coming back to him. he doesn t work, barely studies his law books, has no redeeming qualities. he reminds me of the college drunks who wasted their education in college. there are so many bad books on this list of 100 that i might stop reading the list.
Read
June 11, 2014The Ginger Man took up more time than I thought it would: I’ve tried to read it twice before but never managed to get to grips with it. This time I persevered, and now I never have to read it again. We all have books that, for some reason or another, fail to connect with us. For me, The Ginger Man seems destined to remain one of those, but at least I’m no longer nagged by my failure to finish it.
April 29, 2014
In a moment of what I took to be lucidity, I realised that the so-called 'Irish branch' of modernism, based in large part on the interior monologue, is very similar in form to being regaled at the bar by a brilliant and vociferous drunk. Self-deprecating, stubborn, scatalogical, obtuse, perverse and grandstanding. Beckett in spades. The narrative turns in on itself, runs out of steam, picks up again, perhaps when the next round of drinks gets in. It plays hard-and-fast with its own conventions and yours, revelling in its carefree lack of what we might term grounding. It is a flight of fancy, intellectual and earthy, gallows humour to the fore.
The Ginger Man makes liberal use of it, while flitting between 1st and 3rd person. We watch Sebastian Dangerfield, then we get to "be" him for a while, then we watch him again in the aftermath of whatever transgression came last. This promiscuous narration, maddening for some, allows Donleavy to watch his character, based on a fellow student from Trinity, while also letting his imagination come to us "first-hand". The effect is to give poetry to thuggery, to be intimate and also shine a queasy light on the dirty doings of a cad.
Many people comment on the fact they hate Dangerfield and go so far as to question the need for a character to be "likeable". But in fact, the beauty of The Ginger Man is that this split perspective allows Donleavy to revel and judge at once. Sebastian Dangerfield is thus both appealing and repellent. We can imagine how he might be great company and how we might shake our heads at his exploits. In truth, Dangerfield is all about fear: he's frightened of the war, of his family, of the university and the other students, of responsibility, of his own wife, of the need to be a father, indeed of the need to meet any expectations at all. He thus resorts to drink and dropping out, chasing working-class girls with the last vestiges of his supposedly well-heeled future. Donleavy knows what he is doing: he even dresses Dangerfield in a girl's blouse.
I started reading The Ginger Man when I was at school, but fitfully, distractedly, unable to "get" the flow. Some parts I remember indelibly. Others I know I never got to, whatever I might have thought. It makes sense now, coming back to it all these years later, to draw something of a line from Henry Miller, passing through Beckett to Donleavy to Hunter S. Thompson. Irish-American lineage indeed. The wild abandon of language married to wild abandon, full stop. The Ginger Man does occasionally drag, it's true, but then comes a zinger of a piece of a dialogue or a brilliant description to slap you across the face and force you back in. As a first novel it is indeed extraordinarily sure-handed, and its estimated 45 million sales (and counting) are testimony to the ability of this wilfully self-obsessed navel-gazing to reach into a million hearts and ears.
Donleavy, still alive as I write and nearing 90, living 'like a pauper' (says a piece in the Independent from 2010) in a picturesque but shambolic pile in Ireland, wrote other successful novels and would dearly love to see The Ginger Man made into a film. Indeed, Johnny Depp has been circling around it fruitlessly for a decade. Whether it happens or not, I have a feeling that in the same way that Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas couldn't translate its manic charms successfully to celluloid, The Ginger Man, in which the poetry is as vital as, indeed more vital than, the hi-jinks, would have a similar problem. Because while Donleavy gets to have his cake and eat it too, giving his fearful drunk context and flights of rhapsody, the film would just give us a drunk, hectoring and sweet talking by turns, prowling like a pussycat with pretensions around the lower reaches of the Dublin night.
The ending of the novel is truly haunting. Sebastian Dangerfield's self-loathing has reached its zenith, externalised into a beating of the good-heartedly sensual girl who loves him because she has found work as a model/actress. He is wandering across a London bridge, probably the Albert Bridge, remembering the pounding of hooves in his head made by "horses on a country road...running out to death" with their "eyes... mad and teeth out". Plenty could draw further conclusions than the paralysis of fear, heading on into schizophrenia and the like. Or simply alcoholism. Either way, rather than simply recoil at the doings of a cad, we are given a brief sober moment of personal pain, such as early morning walks across London bridges when the city feels empty are wont to give. It's a stark note that places the "wild / Ginger Man" in a perspective that recolours the whole novel and its flights of double-edged poetic glee.
The Ginger Man makes liberal use of it, while flitting between 1st and 3rd person. We watch Sebastian Dangerfield, then we get to "be" him for a while, then we watch him again in the aftermath of whatever transgression came last. This promiscuous narration, maddening for some, allows Donleavy to watch his character, based on a fellow student from Trinity, while also letting his imagination come to us "first-hand". The effect is to give poetry to thuggery, to be intimate and also shine a queasy light on the dirty doings of a cad.
Many people comment on the fact they hate Dangerfield and go so far as to question the need for a character to be "likeable". But in fact, the beauty of The Ginger Man is that this split perspective allows Donleavy to revel and judge at once. Sebastian Dangerfield is thus both appealing and repellent. We can imagine how he might be great company and how we might shake our heads at his exploits. In truth, Dangerfield is all about fear: he's frightened of the war, of his family, of the university and the other students, of responsibility, of his own wife, of the need to be a father, indeed of the need to meet any expectations at all. He thus resorts to drink and dropping out, chasing working-class girls with the last vestiges of his supposedly well-heeled future. Donleavy knows what he is doing: he even dresses Dangerfield in a girl's blouse.
I started reading The Ginger Man when I was at school, but fitfully, distractedly, unable to "get" the flow. Some parts I remember indelibly. Others I know I never got to, whatever I might have thought. It makes sense now, coming back to it all these years later, to draw something of a line from Henry Miller, passing through Beckett to Donleavy to Hunter S. Thompson. Irish-American lineage indeed. The wild abandon of language married to wild abandon, full stop. The Ginger Man does occasionally drag, it's true, but then comes a zinger of a piece of a dialogue or a brilliant description to slap you across the face and force you back in. As a first novel it is indeed extraordinarily sure-handed, and its estimated 45 million sales (and counting) are testimony to the ability of this wilfully self-obsessed navel-gazing to reach into a million hearts and ears.
Donleavy, still alive as I write and nearing 90, living 'like a pauper' (says a piece in the Independent from 2010) in a picturesque but shambolic pile in Ireland, wrote other successful novels and would dearly love to see The Ginger Man made into a film. Indeed, Johnny Depp has been circling around it fruitlessly for a decade. Whether it happens or not, I have a feeling that in the same way that Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas couldn't translate its manic charms successfully to celluloid, The Ginger Man, in which the poetry is as vital as, indeed more vital than, the hi-jinks, would have a similar problem. Because while Donleavy gets to have his cake and eat it too, giving his fearful drunk context and flights of rhapsody, the film would just give us a drunk, hectoring and sweet talking by turns, prowling like a pussycat with pretensions around the lower reaches of the Dublin night.
The ending of the novel is truly haunting. Sebastian Dangerfield's self-loathing has reached its zenith, externalised into a beating of the good-heartedly sensual girl who loves him because she has found work as a model/actress. He is wandering across a London bridge, probably the Albert Bridge, remembering the pounding of hooves in his head made by "horses on a country road...running out to death" with their "eyes... mad and teeth out". Plenty could draw further conclusions than the paralysis of fear, heading on into schizophrenia and the like. Or simply alcoholism. Either way, rather than simply recoil at the doings of a cad, we are given a brief sober moment of personal pain, such as early morning walks across London bridges when the city feels empty are wont to give. It's a stark note that places the "wild / Ginger Man" in a perspective that recolours the whole novel and its flights of double-edged poetic glee.
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