I'm Really Not a Prude, But ...

I came across Ginger Man, by J.P. Donleavy, on the Modern Library’s list of the 100 Best English Language Novels of the Twentieth Century. I was not familiar with it previously, and have not encountered many who are familiar with it since. At this point, about a fourth of the way through it, I doubt that I will be recommending it.

The main character, Sebastian Dangerfield, is a roguish anti-hero along the lines of Shakespeare’s Falstaff, though without Falstaff’s brilliance and charisma. Of course, it’s hardly fair to compare Donleavy to Shakespeare. It’s hardly fair to compare anyone to Shakespeare, and to fault a character for falling short of one of the most brilliant characters in literature is especially out of line.

I have really struggled with this book so far. I don’t think of myself as someone who needs to like the main character in order to enjoy the book. Take Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, for example. The main character there isn’t particularly likeable, but my reaction to that book wasn’t as visceral or negative as what I’m experiencing reading Ginger Man. Or, the other book that has come to mind several times while reading Donleavy’s work is A Fan’s Notes, by Frederick Exley, where the main character is living a half-life of alcoholism and deception. Or, even Wuthering Heights, where Heathcliff and Catherine are not likeable in the least, but Bronte’s tale of passion is less distasteful to me than Ginger Man has been so far.

Maybe the difference is that there seems to be so little to redeem Sebastian Dangerfield. He is a remarkably shallow and selfish person at best, and can be remarkably cruel and violent at his worst. We only get the rarest of glimpses inside Dangerfield, for example, when he is reminiscing about a past love.

We are allowed brief examples of a more charismatic side. For example, when Dangerfield is contemplating a purchase he’d like to make with the next arrival of his G.I. Bill check: “I think a bowler hat with my next check. Simply must. Keep the dignity. Dignity in debt, a personal motto. In fact a coat of arms. Bowler hat crossed by a walking stick.”

However, those lighter looks at Dangerfield are rare. Too often, we see him physically and emotionally abusing his wife and daughter, which are the actions that I just cannot stomach. His treatment of his wife and daughter are reprehensible enough that it’s hard for me to chuckle at the rest of his wild living.

I realize how I sound when saying this, and it makes me cringe. I don’t think every work of art needs to be a moral work, and I don’t require the cruel characters to get their divine retribution in the end. That’s not what I expect out of life or literature. Still, the misogyny that Dangerfield exhibits disgusts me. If I find the sins of Falstaff more excusable because Falstaff is a more brilliant and charming, what does that say about me? It says that I’m shallow, I’m afraid.