This was my second read of this unbelievable masterpiece from John Kennedy Toole...

This was my second read of this unbelievable masterpiece from John Kennedy Toole who committed suicide 21 years before this book was rediscovered and published by his mother {he was thus the only person to receive a posthumous Pulitzer in 1981}. Ignatius P Reilly is so incredibly unforgettable. I laughed from cover to cover. The parrot on his shoulder reminded me of the Mexico episode in Bellow's Augie March {which I also loved and reviewed here}. There is never a dull moment here and the implicit criticism of American consumerism was and remains revelatory and thought-provoking. But what really clinches the book is Ignatius and his poor long-suffering, overbearing, manipulative, compulsively Catholic mother and his insane ex-girlfriend. Somewhere between Portnoy's Complaint and Don Quixote, this is a true modern masterpiece and well-worth the read.
Also, a good read now with Drumpf the tiny-handed Dunce in the White House. With a mustache and a hat with earmuffs, the resemblance with IP Reilly would be striking
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