I procrastinated and procrastinated on this review. Almost as long as I would procrastinate on a Bukowski or Hemingway review. I just don’t need to read the male characters in books by these authors, or their attempts to write female characters, if they even try. At least Donleavy’s “greatest” novel, The Ginger Man, had the honor of being banned upon publication. I’m always down to check out a banned book or author.
I don’t remember what instigated my initial reading of this book. It might have been a comment by Griffin Gonzales of No Reply Press that he considered the Thornwillow Press edition of the text to be one of the jewels in the Thornwillow oeuvre, in particular of the Prague era of the Press. And, in fact, his offer to loan me his copy is what made this review possible. Needing to give it back before the statute of limitations ran out or Griffin threatened to withhold my next No Reply book is what finally got me of my ‘arse,’ as Donleavy would say. (But I was still hampered by problems with my website that were above my paygrade and kept me from posting until now.)
Back when this book was brought to my attention, I read the paperback edition to see what I was in for. That paperback, checked out from the library, was essentially a facsimile of the Thornwillow edition. Although the storyline was interesting and the twist at the end inventive, I didn’t love Donleavy’s style, and while Jocelyn was an intriguing protagonist, the people around her were, for the most part, cretins.
Even blue-blooded South Carolina Grandma sounds suspect in her advice to Jocelyn:
“My dear, anticipation makes you stop looking back in regret but meanwhile, don’t believe all this equality rubbish, your snobberies are the most preciously valuable asset you will ever have in life, cherish them well. Avoid unbrave men and when you’re away from your own trusted lavatory, only go to the cleanest of places to take a pee.”
Just to make sure that I wasn’t missing something on the Donleavy boat, I read his first novel too. The Ginger Man is was cited as “one of the 100 best novels of the 20th century.” But it did not make me like him any more. And, of course, just because it may be one of the best novels of the 20th century doesn’t mean I am going to like it or want it sitting in my library.
I say if you’re going to kiss a pig, it might as well have lipstick on. That’s how I feel about Bukowski’s Ham on Rye in the Prototype Press edition, and also this book, probably the best by Donleavy that I’ll ever read. So, I read it again, this time in the actual Thornwillow edition. And it was better because the book is so beautiful and well-done. The lipstick definitely helped.
Thornwillow published this as their first publication of a new work of fiction 40 years after the writer made a splash with The Ginger Man. The pairing of the text with Elliot Banfield’s illustrations was certainly a great decision, as they do a great job of supporting the novel, and are works of art in and of themselves. They are beautifully printed on the same handmade Cardinal Mill paper as the text. One of my favorite things about the paper is the very pronounced deckle edge. And the soft, creamy feel of it as the pages are turned is a big plus for me.
The letterpress printing is very even and aligned nicely for the most part. I wouldn’t even have said “for the most part” with my layman’s eyes until Griffin told me a couple of things he looks for when evaluating the skill of the printer: (1), do the lines of text on the front and the back of the page line up on top of one another, and, (2), when you push the verso and recto pages a little together, do the lines of text line up. I have forgotten what the printer’s terms are for those two things. Register, maybe? And I haven’t found the terms in any of my few books on books and printing. Either of those things would have to be seriously off for my eyes to pick it up and for it to bother me. My eyes do appreciate the generous margins, especially at the bottom of the pages. This made the actual Thornwillow edition easier on the eye and to read than the facsimile.
Also of note are the handmade paste-papers for the front and back boards that lend additional elegance to the goatskin leather quarter-binding. This also means that, like marbling, no two covers are the same.
AVAILABILITY: Obviously long out of print in and edition of 175 copies, I have not run across a copy on the secondary market. But I would be tempted to acquire one just for the beauty of the book as an object and for its standing in the Thornwillow Press oeuvre. But then, according to my own self-imposed rules, I would have to intend to read it again, so…
This review was made possible through the kindness (and patience) of Griffin Gonzales of No Reply Press, whose book this is.
Donleavy is like haggis (I know the dish is Scottish and the author is Irish-American, but I think the analogy is still valid)—either you like it or you’d rather go hungry. I bought a Franklin Library edition of The Ginger Man when it slipped in on the Modern Library’s 100 best list, and could not finish it. I rarely give up on a book a third of the way through but at my age I can’t wait until the very end to suddenly discover why some consider it a masterpiece. I need to be interested from the beginning, as I was in the Irish author Brian O’Nolan’s The Third Policeman, which from the first pages I suspected was something memorable, and when I got to the revelation at the end, was convinced it was a masterpiece. Your review of The Lady Who Liked Clean Restrooms has pretty much convinced me that a taste for Donleavy is like a taste for haggis—best left to those who have a palate which can appreciate the ingredients.
And a private press edition is like haggis at a table with Waterford crystal, Wedgewood plates, and silver service!