Concerning the Eccentricities of Cardinal Pirelli

by Ronald Firbank

This is Firbank's last novel, published posthumously, and it contains some of his best writing. It is set in Spain, and the Cardinal's 'eccentricities' include the baptism of pet dogs in his cathedral and a passion for choir-boys.

Genres: Classics, Gay, Fiction, Literature, LGBT, 20th Century

74 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1926

About the author

British novelist Ronald Firbank was born in London, the son of society lady Harriet Jane Garrett and MP Sir Thomas Firbank. He went to Uppingham School, and then on to Trinity Hall, Cambridge. He converted to Catholicism in 1907. In 1909 he left Cambridge, without completing a degree.
Living off his inheritance he travelled around Spain, Italy, the Middle East, and North Africa. Ronald Firbank died of lung disease while in Rome.

Reviews

[Justin Evans · Rating 5 out of 5]

An interesting test-case for how much your really care about literary innovation and modernism: Firbank, like other modernists, eliminates much of the traditional novel. There's no plot, there's little attempt to unify anything, he doesn't bother helping the reader understand what's going on. If you want to know what's going on, pay attention. He won't spoon feed you.

On the other hand, Firbank is utterly unlike any other modernist, because rather than deal with THE WASTE LAND or model himself on Homer, he writes fripperies. The Eccentricities really is about what its title suggests. The bit question in the book is whether the Cardinal will be removed from his diocese for baptising his rich parishioner's puppies. Plot spoiler: yes. He is not interested in boiling his prose down to hard diamond like nuggets. He stuffs as many words as he can into his sentences, particularly adverbs and adjectives. He always chooses the word order that sounds best (or perhaps oddest), never the one that makes matters clearer. Consider: "Returning however no answer she moved distractedly away." (McElroy gets a lot of praise for this lightly punctuated kind of thing; Firbank, of course, doesn't write about big political themes).

So, dear reader, do you really care for interesting, different, odd artworks? If so, Firbank is for you. It's best to read his novels as you would look at a painting; any plot is implicit, the characters are only ever their surface appearances; they are arranged in space, rather than narrative time. We love that in paintings; why not try it in prose?

On the other hand, if you're like me, and you like modernism mainly because of its ideas, or like aesthetically progressive literature because it's left wing, Firbank will be quite a challenge.

[Cody · Rating 3 out of 5]

Really a trifle, this very short bauble is especially fun for all us Catholics that enjoy the sport of, ‘Oh, look how fucking terrible we really, truly are!’

[Jacob Howard · Rating 4 out of 5]

bizarre and incomprehensible

[Karl Kraus · Rating 4 out of 5]

English recusancy meets English homo- and ephebophilia (practicing or otherwise) meets English modernism -- not *too* redundant, as Judy Tenuta would say. So many literary figures at or near the intersection of the three, Fr. Rolfe and Ronald Firbank being the two most obvious. (One is tempted to add Father Hopkins to the list; I won't, but I'm sure Harry Ploughman would vouch for his inclusion.) Now no doubt Rolfe and Firbank would've loathed each other, familiarity breeding contempt and all that. But strip away Rolfe's faux-antique neologisms and Georgian punctuation, and add a touch of the aphoristic, and one gets Firbank. Well, almost. Has anyone commented on the sobriety, even desolation that lies beneath all the decadent tittering that goes on in *Pirelli*? It's not for nothing that at the end of the penultimate chapter we have the Muslim servant girl Muley's fervent wish that the cathedral -- originally a mosque and now regularly desecrated by the Catholic aristocrats for paid masses and dog sacraments -- be restored to its original faith. And isn't there something absurd, desperate, miserable, and desolate -- and, if one is in a charitable mood, even pitiable -- in the way the elderly Pirelli pursues, and lets himself be played by, a boy? This is something Rolfe would celebrate and mythologize, of course.

Oh, and yes, there's no plot to speak of. *Pirelli* is much more a snapshot of a decadent society teetering on catastrophe: the possibility of revolution is hinted at once, and it's worth noting that Firbank wrote *Pirelli* several years before the proclamation of the Spanish Republic and the ensuing civil war. This is mirrored by Pirelli's own imminent demise, both physically and in terms of his stature, as we see him preparing for a trip to Rome that will no doubt culminate in a reprimand by the Supreme Pontiff.

True, the reading isn't always easy going. While reading the accounts of the social gatherings in chapters 5 and 7 one is sorely tempted to regard all those high-society types as largely interchangeable, and one hardly knows which of them are worth making mental notes of until much later. But perhaps this is sufficient cause for rereading this little gem, in addition, of course, to its exquisite prose, which by the way is much more ironic than campy.

Four stars, at least.

[Kyle C]

Flamboyant, decadent, recherché, Firbank's novella is a zany and chaotic tragi-comedy about an impious Spanish cardinal who baptizes a dog, chases after choir-boys, allegedly gives benediction with his left foot, and ultimately dies naked in the cathedral on a quixotic romp. Its style has the satirical blasphemy of F.R. Rolfe, the ironic quipping of Evelyn Waugh, and the opulent prose of Walter Pater, with precise descriptions of exotic fabrics, Spanish couture, Grecian architecture, and Moorish garments, interspersed with French and Spanish phrases. It is a whirlwind tableau of histrionic damsels, lusty dowagers, frivolous marquesses, ribald counts and an oblivious pope addressing his pet squirrel and teasingly tormenting his lackeys.

[Mario G · Rating 3 out of 5]

No plot here, reads as advertised: satire about the Catholic Church and the titular Cardinal’s unconventional tastes (little boys, dog baptisms). Postmodern, complete with ridiculous names (Pope Innocent IV , Cardinal Tertiary II), irreverent situations and lavish wording. Humourous stuff, ultimately minor in ambition but fun and expertly written.

[María Frutilla · Rating 1 out of 5]

Aburridísimo. Pensé que iba a ser algo como La venus de las pieles de Sacher-Masoch o el manual para jovencitas de Louys, orgías obispales, algo así, pero supera con creces a lateros de cuidado como Huysmans o Villiers de l'Isle.

[Carlos · Rating 4 out of 5]

Irreverente y transgresora en cada línea; un sutileza irónica portentosa; un gran libro

[sch · Rating 2 out of 5]

Not recommended. If you read one Firbank, go with THE FLOWER BENEATH THE FOOT.

[Mark Cooley · Rating 3 out of 5]

Delicious wordplay; no plot. File under: Impossible to rate.

[Seg · Rating 4 out of 5]

Как сладкий, текущий по искусанным губам сок тамарилло Фербенк растекается потоками Нила в сердце читателя. Садящееся солнце покрывает город бархатными одеялом, на которой падающие тени оставляют свой след. Оставьте ваши мысли о привычном сюжете, которые вы читали до сего приемлемым, но отцвел, да здравствует случайность и игра фантазии.
Из многих книг, порожденных пером и движением руки эта более всех соотносима с понятием искусства, живущего ради себя. Искусства ради искусства. Что нужно вам кроме эстетики, кроме мысли, полета птицы, красочных бликов витражей. Не ищите ничего за прекрасной обложкой, наслаждайтесь ее узором. Светило сияло недосягаемо в небе разбросанных облаков, Quercus petraea шумел своей листвой.

[Patrick Cook · Rating 2 out of 5]

Well, that was odd. I knew before reading it that this was a late example of Decadent literature, and not much happened in it. That's fine, not much happens in À rebours either. But À rebours has a fascinating central character and is filled with vivid and memorable images. That's not really true of Concerning the Eccentricities of Cardinal Pirelli . It reads basically like bad fanfiction for the decadent movement.

[Ernie Wide · Rating 1 out of 5]

I've read 3 of Firbanks books. All under 100 pages but seem like 'The Brothers Karamazov' when reading them. I read they were all self published and this is no great surprise as they are well below standard in every aspect. Nothing happens, nothing follows from any prior events. You drift off while reading and realise you've missed nothing. Comparing Firbank to Wilde and Wodehouse is like comparing Barbara Cartland to Tolstoy.

[Gris · Rating 3 out of 5]

Algunas escenas y personajes se graban a fuego en la memoria. No obstante, el argumento flaquea hasta derrumbarse, frustrando así lo que pudo ser una obra grandiosa.

[Valentina López · Rating 2 out of 5]

1.5

[Natalie · Rating 1 out of 5]

The concept sounded interesting and weird, but that was not a good use of my time.

[Abbey S. · Rating 2 out of 5]

Paying no mind to my digital footprint, this reads like gay Faulkner. My professor will probably enlighten me tonight during class, but I'm not exactly looking forward to that.

[Caitlin · Rating 3 out of 5]

Didn’t love it or hate it! I need to reread it again to actually understand it more!

[Liam Ostermann · Rating 5 out of 5]

How do you understand, let alone judge a novel like this? Is there, as was said in another context, any there, there? There are a dozen brilliant reviews on goodreads which attempt to sum up its varied nature, there are even some which get into a lather over its incredibly minimal pederastic elements - I love those reviews because their prissy, spoil sport, puritanism, reminds me why works like this are so important - they are like the rococo lush, elaborate, intricate, defying any sense or reason, completely useless and defying anything so banal as form following function. It is of the 'modern' in the same way as 'The Wasteland' is 'modern' but does not in anyway suggest a funtionality or purpose.

I read this novel, in this very edition (another one I have owned and lost over the years) back in the 1980's and have reread it subsequently when it appeared in various anthologies. It is one of those books that are utterly superfluous thus completely necessary. The parallels with very early Waugh, particularly 'Vile Bodies' are inescapable and more relevant than with F.R. Rolfe who despite the a similar over-ripe prose style is far more prolix than Firbank all of whose oeuvre can fit comfortably into a corner of 'Hadrian VII'.

I can't recommend Firbank as being a novelist it is necessary to read but trying to justify him is beside the point, can you justify Johann Melchior Dinglinger's "The Royal Household at Delhi on the Occasion of the Birthday of the Grand Mogul Aureng-Zeb"* on any rational or aesthetic grounds? But would the world be an infinitely poorer place without it? Of course, and the same must be said of Ronald Firbank.

*If you do not know who or what I mean by this then you must google it immediately and simply consume as many images as possible of this extraordinary, object(s)? display? tableau? I don't know what to call it because there are no words.

[Joe]

El título es elocuente, uno espera extrañeza y asombro y eso es lo que obtiene.
Además de prosa sensual, sugestiva y una oscura y oblicua dosis de erotismo.

Una historia que se fuga, que se escurre, que se muestra a penas. Provocativa forma de abordar el tema...

Puede decirse que esta lectura es una recomendación de Sergio Pitol como el enorme lector que es.
Este librito es una muestra de su trabajo como traductor, el Pirelli forma parte de la colección "Sergio Pitol traductor" de la Universidad veracruzana.

A jalapeño le gusta lo extraño, lo original, lo extravagante, lo que renueva,
lo que refresca, lo que deconcierta, lo subversivo.
La colección es una jo- yita,

[Lucy · Rating 1 out of 5]

A thoroughly nasty little book. I don't so much mind the smut but this is dirty old man territory. The blurb on the back of my Penguin edition has a Guardian review calling it 'comically improper': improper is too dignified, and comic is plain wrong. Avoid this book.

[Avis Black · Rating 1 out of 5]

Firbank takes 'esoteric' right over the literary cliff to a messy splat below. Avoid him.

[Henry · Rating 5 out of 5]

W.H Auden once said that “a person who dislikes Firbank may, for all I know, possess some admirable quality, but I do not wish ever to see him again.” I wholeheartedly agree.