Newsgroup: it.cultura.libri
Titolo: UNA BANDA D'IDIOTI...pareri

L'ho letto più di un anno fa, ma oggi l'ho ripreso fra le mani. Si tratta
del bellissimo libro di John Kennedy Toole "Una banda d'idioti" edito da
Marcos y Marcos. Lo trovo geniale. Un po' John Fante ed un po' Salinger.
Qualcuno che l'ha letto può dirmi il suo parere?
Grazie, amici ed amiche.

"Boh!" ha scritto:

Molto poco Fante e pochissimo Salinger. Giusto l'uso della lingua inglese, e
poco altro.
Forse la megalomania di Bandini - non certo la prosa efficacissima di Fante -
ma Salinger? Cosa ti ha ricordato Salinger nella prosa abborracciata - non
dimentichiamo che il libro è stato messo assieme dopo il suicidio dell'autore
- di Toole ? La lettura di Una banda di idioti, terminata giusto per
quell'impulso di cui ha parlato Julia in un precedente thread, mi aveva
stancato dopo una cinquantina di pagine. Il seguito l'ho letto maledicendo il
compilatore della quarta di copertina e un recensore che non ricordo, che ne
avevano parlato talmente bene da convincermi all'acquisto. Cosa ti ricorda
Salinger in quel monotono guazzabuglio? Forse l'antisimmetrica irrealtà dei
personaggi: quelli di Salinger sono troppo 'perfetti' per essere veri, il
ciccione scorreggioso e farneticante troppo 'imperfetto', e quindi parimenti
irreale...
Kiko

 wrote in message
3875E355...@giustizia.it...


 sono riuscita a leggerlo poco piu' di meta', forse non e' il mio genere
ciao

 retta a Kiko. E' notorio che di letteratura non capisca un benemerito cazzo.
Caro *amico*,
chi segue con attenzione e da un po' di tempo questo newsgroup già conosce la
tua somma e indiscutibile (non discutibile - pena lo scatenarsi di
inestinguibili flame) competenza e la tua inarrivabile temperanza. Ben se ne
ricorda Giovanna, che a suo tempo (l'anna scorsa, per riprendere una tua
espressione) fu fatta oggetto di un attacco assolutamente fuori contesto e
vergognoso per i suoi toni, perchè, ritengo, ti eri piccato del fatto che lei
adottasse - lesa maestà - un tono irriverente nei tuoi confronti. Allora non
intervenni, se non altro perchè mi sembrava che tutto fosse inelegantemente OT,
e da ascriversi alla psicopatologia. Ora so: la fonte di quella intemperanza era
nient'altro che il buon Ignatius, del quale hai ricalcato gli equilibrati
ragionamenti e argomenti.
Nello specifico dell'attuale thread, vedo che oltre ad insultare gratuitamente,
mantieni l'abitudine di andare fuori dal seminato. Probabilmente è notorio (a
te) che io non capisca un cazzo, ma mi pare che in questo mex e in altre
occasioni, i tuoi interventi non vadano al di là della banale affermazione delle
tue idee (banali anch'esse, i'm sorry) senza entrare nello specifico delle mie
affermazioni. Io sostengo, ed in parte lo conferma lo stesso Boh! nella replica
al mio mex, che il libro di Kennedy Toole ha poco a che vedere con Fante e
Salinger. Tu, lungi dal produrre qualcosa che smentisca ciò che io dico,
sostieni che il libro in questione è un capolavoro e che, nella confusione del
tuo stato mentale, a distanza di un anna (sic) continui a ricordare (così
lontano è arrivato lo spirito di emulazione) i tic eccetera...(scusa, mi sono
addormentato rileggendoti)...di quel "gigante di inchiostro" (grande immagine,
sono senza parole). Beh, che Dio ti benedica, la vita è bella perchè è varia
(inanello banalità per essere compreso da te) ma che relazione c'è con
l'affinità tra Toole e gli altri? A me quel libro non è piaciuto (non sono il
solo, mi pare) e a te si, amen. Con il tuo giudizio poco motivato sulle mie
presunte (in)competenze, giudizio immotivato come tutte le cose che hai scritto
del resto, ti qualifichi e riveli ancora una volta la pochezza delle tue
argomentazioni. Non mi stupisce più l'originalità forzosa dei tuoi giudizi: data
la tua notoria, questa si, incapacità a cogliere il contesto di quello che
leggi, a cominciare dai mex nel newsgroup, qualsiasi eccentricità non può
sorprendere...
Saluti

 wrote in message
3878E374...@giustizia.it...


Ciao,
sono nuova qui e non vorrei provocare le ire di nessuno dicendo che a
me 'Una banda di idioti' e' piaciuto moltissimo. Sara' che ho un debole
per i ciccioni indolenti (tipo Oblomov, per intenderci)e per le storie
un po' surreali.
Qualcuno ha scritto che questo libro e' stato messo insieme dopo la
morte di Toole. Da quanto so io, lo scrittore l'ha inviato a molti
editori quando era ancora in vita, quindi penso la stesura finale fosse
pronta prima della sua morte. Invece quello che non aveva voluto
pubblicare e' 'La bibbia al neon'. Ho letto anche questo, un romanzo
molto diverso dalla 'Banda' ma che fa capire quanto Ignatius sia
principalmente un emarginato dalla societa', cosi' come si sentiva
Toole stesso. Penso che leggere entrambi i libri aiuti a capire meglio
sia l'uno che l'altro.
Solo la mia modesta opinione, tutto qua!
Mascherina
Sent via Deja.com 
http://www.deja.com/
Before you buy.

 wrote in message
85f4qm$teb$1...@nnrp1.deja.com...


 Grazie.


 Solo la mia modesta opinione, tutto qua!
Credo che tu faccia riferimento a qualcosa che ho scritto io in un
precedente mex. Può darsi che tu abbia ragione, però nelle note
biobibliografiche sulla copertina di "Una banda di idioti" viene riferito
che "Bibbia al neon" fu pubblicato negli anni cinquanta, quando l'autore
era appena sedicenne (!), mentre il manoscritto di "Una banda di idioti" o
quello che era, perchè continuo ad avere qualche dubbio (ma è un'opinione)
sul fatto che Toole avesse finito e rivisto il romanzo, fu proposto dalla
madre dell'autore, dopo il suicidio di quest'ultimo (anni dopo...), ad un
gran numero di editori, prima di essere accettato e pubblicato...
Saluti
Kiko

 gran numero di editori, prima di essere accettato e pubblicato...
Ho letto, ma non saprei dire dove, che il manoscritto fu accettato da un
editore importante che impose una serie di modifiche che Toole mai si
risolse a fare.
Ciao, Marco

 Kiko


 Ciao, Marco
grazie per la tua informazione. Cosa dire? Che spesso i curatori dei volumi sono
poco *informati* (per usare un eufemismo) ?
Kiko

 libri di Toole!
evidentemente i curatori hanno fatto un po' di confusione. Io mi riferisco
alla  versione pubblicata recentemente da Marcos y marcos (che comunque
andrò a ricontrollare)...Magari, se ritrovi la fonte delle tue
informazioni, mandami il riferimento...
Ciao
Kiko

Ciao Kiko,
sull'internet ho trovato questo articolo e penso racconti la vita di
Toole abbastanza bene:
http://hale.pepperdine.edu/~tflynn/biotoole.htm
Scott, Liz. "The Making of a Classic." New Orleans, May 1993: 64-68.
 (Page 64) It is, after all, a novel about a fat guy who belches a lot
and plays with himself. Not every mother would see brilliance in it,
even if it was produced by her only son, the genius.
But Thelma Toole did. And Thelma Toole, mother of Pulitzer Prize winner
John Kennedy Toole, was the model of hat-and-gloves gentility.
Eccentric gentility. After her son died in 1969, Mrs. Toole (few would
dare to call her Thelma) would not rest until she had his "Confederacy
of Dunces" published. Later, she would tell the story, over and over,
of her first reaction to the manuscript. "... I started to guffaw. When
I laugh heartily, I become nauseated. So I had to stop. I thought I
might vomit." Eccentric. The manuscript gave her life purpose. And she
not only got it published, she saw it become a best-seller and win the
1981 Pulitzer. She lived out her days in the glow of celebrity -
chatting away with Johnny Carson while the nation watched, signing
autographs, summoning reporters to press conferences, even insisting
they sing along from sheet music while she played the piano. And they
didn't refuse. Because this book was a sensation. New Orleanians either
loved it or were offended. But none could deny that Toole got their
city right: the accent, the attitude, the tackiness, the goodness of
heart, the odd juxtaposition of the ludicrous and the unspeakably sad.
And the characters were universally recognizable. Laughter and praise
rolled in from across the country. From all accounts, John Kennedy
Toole was a thoroughly likeable man. He was also, according to standard
I.Q. tests, a genius. Or so his mother insisted. But she insisted a lot
of things. She insisted that at birth, he was as beautiful and alert as
a six-month old, that every nurse in Touro Infirmary's maternity ward
came to her room to comment on this amazing fact. As he grew older, she
dubbed him "a prodigy." Her pride was never constrained by mere
reality. Some of it was understandable. She was 37 when he was born,
after doctors had assured her she would never have children. And her
husband, John Toole, had not lived up to her expectations. He sold
cars, and didn't earn much money at it either. Her son would be the
shining light of her life.
He breezed through McDonogh #14 Elementary and Fortier High School
(then considered one of the city's best) and won a four-year
scholarship to Tulane University. He graduated with a Phi Beta Kappa
key, a major in English, and the intention of becoming an author, and
went on to get his master's degree at Columbia University on a Woodrow
Wilson Fellowship.
But he wasn't just smart; he was funny, a natural mimic. He wrote a
humor column for his high school paper and was a cartoonist for the
Tulane Hullabaloo. Still, he was something of a loner. John Geiser,
who'd known him in their nursery school and kindergarten days, was a
headline writer for the Hullabaloo. He never saw Ken Toole there, not
once. Toole evidently dropped off his cartoons and left. He wasn't
athletic, which delighted his mother, who considered sports beneath
him, and disappointed his father, who set a lot of stock in such
things. The Tooles (Page 65) weren't socially inclined-Thelma Toole
declared that such activities were a waste of time. That may have been
because the Tooles couldn't afford a social life. Mrs. Toole gave
private elocution lessons as long as it was fashionable, but by the
1960s, nobody much cared about proper pronunciation and expression, and
business trailed off.
"Mrs. Toole spoke the King's English," remembers Imelda Ruhlman, her
son's kindergarten teacher. "It was 'Wee are going to thee storre,'
every word distinct. We should all talk like that, instead of slurring
our words and cutting off the ends. It's a shame."
The difference between his mother's enunciation and those of the people
around him provided fodder for "Confederacy.'" So did the after-school
jobs he took to bring in extra money. He was a hot dog vendor at Tulane
stadium. lgnatius J. Reilly, "Confederacy's" protagonist, sold hot
dogs. Toole worked in Haspel Brothers clothing factory; the ficticious
[SIC] Reilly took a job at a pants factory.
All his life, Toole had lived with his parents close to whichever
school he was attending. They rented on Webster Street when he was in
grade school, moved to Sycamore Street when he went to Fortier, and to
Audubon Street when he entered Tulane. He didn't leave them until it
was time to go to Columbia.
At Tulane he'd met and begun to fall in love with Ruth Lafranz, a
classmate who seemed as brilliant as he was. She too went on to
Columbia, and together they explored New York. He completed
requirements for his degree in a year, she would take two years. He
remained nearby, teaching at Manhattan's Hunter College. Hunter was a
women's college, and students tended to be one of a kind -intellectual,
Jewish, and liberal. Everybody had a cause or was looking for one.
Toole was amused. "Every time the elevator door opens at Hunter, you
are confronted by 20 pairs of burning eyes, 20 sets of bangs, and
everyone waiting for someone to push a Negro," he remarked.
And so the stage was set for fiery Myrna Minkoff of the Bronx, Ignatius
Reilly's girlfriend.
A year later, when Ruth returned to New Orleans, Toole found a job at
the University of Southwestern Louisiana in Lafayette. And there he
discovered the person whose oddities he would transplant to Ignatius
Reilly. He was English teacher Bobby Byrne. He was 10 years Toole's
senior, but the two had a lot in common. Byrne is also from New
Orleans, had attended McDonogh #14 and Tulane University. (Page 66)
Byrne and Ignatius also have a lot in common. Byrne is a big man, and
he gives little thought to fashion. "I wear what's comfortable," he
says. ''Maybe I'll wear a green shirt and red pants, I don't care."
When Toole knew him, Byrne habitually wore a cap with ear flaps -much
like the cap that Ignatius made infamous. But, Byrne points out, his
cap was red, not green. ''It was actually a quilted red rain hat," he
says. ''I only wore it when it rained. But Ken thought it was
hilarious. "
"He took things I said. I would talk about somebody getting his
theology and geometry mixed up. And there it is in the book." And like
Ignatius, Byrne ranted against tastelessness in movies and played the
lute.
Of course, Byrne worked for a living. He taught English at USL for some
27 years before his retirement in 1985. He is a true intellectual, not
a ranting buffoon. And, ironically, Byrne was one to whom Toole would
turn during the last tortured weeks of his life.
In 1961, healthy young men had little choice about going into the
military. If they were drafted, they went, or they broke the law. Toole
was drafted after he'd taught at USL for a year. He went, but not
before he and Ruth ended their romance. Ruth went on to marry someone
else, and Toole went to Puerto Rico where he was assigned to teach
English as a second language to Spanish-speaking recruits. He managed
to get private quarters, and used the time to write his book. He
submitted to Simon and Schuster and received an encouraging letter from
an editor named Robert Gottlieb, suggesting a few revisions. He
finished his military stint, moved back home with his parents, and took
a teaching position at St. Mary's Dominican College, a few blocks away.
He was marking time until his book was published.
But it was not to be. Gottlieb demanded revision after revision after
revision, and finally announced he didn't see any point in publishing
the work after all. Toole was devastated.
Back when he was 16 years old, he'd spent a summer writing his first
novel, "The Neon Bible.'' He entered it in a literary contest and it
lost. Toole, like many to whom success comes easy, took failure hard.
He put the book away and never, ever showed it to anyone again.
Now his second novel, the one that was to launch his brilliant literary
career, had been ruthlessly dissected and then rejected. He didn't
search for another publisher, didn't seek out an agent. He shoved the
manuscript on top of the old armoire in his bedroom. Might as well just
forget the whole thing and start work on his doctorate.
At Dominican, he was, as usual, well-liked by his faculty peers. A nun
who worked with him there remembers him as gracious and witty, always
charming, always the gentleman.
"But his humor -he had a wry sense of humor -tended to go straight over
the heads of his students. Especially the freshmen. They didn't
understand him. One even asked me if he was a Communist."
He was deliberately aloof from those he taught -a wise policy for a
young man teaching even younger women -although he was unfailingly
courteous.
Anne Miller was 18 or 19 when she was in his class. "He was so quiet
and so meticulous, always in his tie and coat. When I read the book
years later, I was surprised that it was so humorous. We didn't see
much of that side of him."
He evidently kept a lot of things to himself. Thelma Toole would later
blame her son's depression and suicide on his book's rejection. But,
although he concealed it from her, Toole was already experiencing
symptoms of the mental illness that would cause him to take his life.
He saw himself as persecuted. People were spying on him, plotting
against him, even reading his thoughts electronically.
He confided in a few friends; drove to Lafayette and talked things over
with Bobby Byrne. Byrne assured him he was fantasizing. ''He was
paranoid. My little brother was here, and we were both shocked at what
he said. I told him to move out of that house. That wasn't good for
him, living with two old people. It was overwhelming him."
Certainly Toole's home life and the rejection of his book didn't help
his state of mind. But a psychologist could have told Toole that his
symptoms were consistent with both paranoid schizophrenia and manic
depression, illnesses which result from chemical imbalances in the
brain, and not from reversals of fortune. Byrne remembers that Toole
did see a psychoanalyst, but doesn't know whether he was diagnosed.
In January he abruptly resigned from Dominican. Then he got in his car
and drove away from home, desperately fleeing his imaginary pursuers.
He didn't tell his parents good-bye. Thelma Toole was frantic. A few
days later she received a letter saying that he was visiting friends in
Lafayette. He evidently did, but he didn't return home after that. He
drove around the country for almost two months. Then he stopped his car
near Biloxi, Mississippi, ran a hose from his exhaust pipe into his
window, stretched out in the back seat, and let his life end.
Thelma Toole went into seclusion for two years. Then she packed up the
manuscript, or what Walker Percy would describe as a "smudged carbon
copy" and began submitting it to every publisher she could think of.
They all sent it back.
Her husband died. She broke an arm, and spent months in hospitals and
in a nursing home. Finally she moved into her brother's tacky little
pre-fab house on Elysian Fields Avenue, along with her grand piano and
the manuscript. She kept on submitting it.
And then - the happy ending -11 yers (SIC) after her son's death. it
happened, the ironic twist that would have delighted him. She pressed
the manuscript on novelist Walker Percy. She was so insistent, he
couldn't refuse without being actually rude, and he was too Southern to
be rude to a lady. He read it, was enthralled, and convinced Louisiana
State University Press to publish it. And the rest is history.
Her goal was accomplished. Thelma Toole could relax. And she did, a
little. But she spent a lot of time promoting the book, undaunted by
the fact that she now had to use a walker to get around.
After a while, she dusted off "The Neon Bible," talked about having it
published, then changed her mind. Her son's immortality was assured.
Why risk besmirching his name with something he dashed off as a
teenager? Besides, she wasn't her son's sole heir. Under Louisiana law,
her husband's brother and his children were co-owners of the
manuscript. They had relinquished their rights to "Confederacy" when it
was still in the carbon copy stage. But they wouldn't make that mistake
again. They'd collect half the royalties -after all her work. Well,
Thelma Toole wasn't going to let them get one single cent. She'd block
publication.
When she died in 1984, at the age of 82, her passing made The Times-
Picayune's front page. (Her son's death in 1969 got three paragraphs on
page 12.)
Her will expressly forbade publication of "The Neon Bible." But the
other heirs contested the will and ultimately prevailed. So John
Kennedy Toole's efforts at the age of 16 became a book. A remarkable
book. Not a Pulitzer Prize winner, but far beyond what could be
expected of a 16 year-old, or even someone much older.
And Thelma Toole was vindicated once again. Her son was, as she had
always insisted, a prodigy.



Grazie per le informazioni. Dopo aver inoltrato il precedente mex ero
andato a visitare i tre siti da te indicati in precedenza, e quindi avevo
trovato lo stralcio che tu riporti, ma cmq grazie
Ciao
Kiko