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A Singular City #1
La dame qui aimait les toilettes propres: Chronique d'une des plus étranges histoires colportées dans les environs de New York
Jocelyn Guenevere Marchantière Jones, quarante-deux ans, milieu huppé, résidence superbe près de New York, est plaquée par son mari, ignorée par ses enfants et ruinée par son homme d'affaires, qui dilapide la coquette pension de son divorce. C'est le début d'une implacable spirale.Brièvement serveuse, elle envisage de devenir prostituée ou nonne, puis caresse l'idée du suicide. Élevée par sa grand-mère pour demeurer une "dame" en toutes circonstances, elle est obsédée par l'idée de se soulager uniquement dans des toilettes immaculées. Par une extraordinaire ironie du destin, c'est dans un établissement funéraire aux toilettes divines que sa vie bascule...
144 pages, Pocket Book
First published January 1, 1995
14 people are currently reading
515 people want to read
About the author
J.P. Donleavy
48 books207 followersJames Patrick Donleavy was an Irish American author, born to Irish immigrants. He served in the U.S. Navy during World War II after which he moved to Ireland. In 1946 he began studies at Trinity College, Dublin, but left before taking a degree. He was first published in the Dublin literary periodical, Envoy.
See also http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J.P._Don...
See also http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J.P._Don...
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 142 reviews
October 31, 2022
J.P. Donleavy is back to form. He is pitiless and murderous once again.
She is divorced… She is a recluse… She’s celebrating her forty-third birthday… The tube is on…
She is exquisitely educated. She is so refined. She’s into arts. She’s into culture…
She sells her big house for a heap of money… She makes bold financial decisions… She is left penniless… She finds a work as a waitress… She gets fired… One night her old friend comes to visit her… He’s full of sexual intents… But she’s a lady…
Pretentiousness and mental instability may carry one really far.
She is divorced… She is a recluse… She’s celebrating her forty-third birthday… The tube is on…
…she clicked off the safety, aimed the Purdey at mid-screen and let off the no. 4 cartridges in both barrels. And she said to herself over and over again as the sparks and flames erupted from the smoke.
‘Revenge is what I want. Nothing but pure unadulterated revenge. But my mother brought me up to be a lady.’
She is exquisitely educated. She is so refined. She’s into arts. She’s into culture…
But now in her long lonely attrition of feeling discarded she had at least learned ways of coping, especially giving herself an interest in art nouveau architecture and her current usual twice monthly whole day of contentment looking at her favourite paintings down in the city. And except for her distaste in not finding suitably clean rest rooms, these forays were saving her life, with culture providing the best self preservative and refuge.
She sells her big house for a heap of money… She makes bold financial decisions… She is left penniless… She finds a work as a waitress… She gets fired… One night her old friend comes to visit her… He’s full of sexual intents… But she’s a lady…
Clifford bent over his half zipped up fly as he made from the sitting room to the staircase landing tripping on the rug as he went. She did not know what on earth made her pull the trigger but it felt so appropriate to just ease her finger back on the curved piece of steel. His untidy retreat made her nearly laugh and the bullet passing his ear seemed to add speed to his departure. It also felt so damn good as the gun went off and the acrid smoke ascended up her nose.
Pretentiousness and mental instability may carry one really far.
November 12, 2019
You should have seen her with her head held high
Now what do pretty girls do?
She used to be the apple of his eye
Now what do pretty girls do?
Well they get older just like everybody else
She never thought she'd have to take care of herself *
Jocelyn Jones' comfy but dull life has been disrupted - her husband has left her for a younger, more dynamic woman. Now she's facing life alone for the first time, and it's more difficult than she'd ever have imagined.
"Revenge is what I want. Nothing but pure unadulterated revenge. But my mother brought me up to be a lady."
She's finding her reduced circumstances to be a trial, and a bore, and fiscal responsibility to be an alien concept. And, then there's the loneliness . . .
Should she now regret not having divorced her husband and dearly made him recompense alimony at least for every year she worked for him as a wife. It did not pay to be a lady. And wake, if she slept, to ask the walls of her bedroom, how do I get through this day. And if I don't, who's going to come to my funeral?
This is a trifle of a short story, and probably not one of Donleavy's best, but I enjoyed it. Old Jocelyn is not a particularly likable character, but I found myself rooting for her. Donleavy's writing is tart, and trenchant, and I frequently
When she having moved the living room furniture around a bit which she knew would be to Steve's dislike, she'd stand there and say if the fucking son of a bitch comes home from his trip and moves that ashtray back exactly one inch to the left again as he did last week and all the weeks previous, I'll hit him over the god damn fucking head with a hatchet . . .
Yep. Been there,
*What Do Pretty Girls Do? by Kirsty MacColl & Peter Wilfred Glenister
November 10, 2008
it is both charming and vulgar. not a bad combo.
June 25, 2013
And young I once was when once the world was out there and into it you were supposed to daintily step, yellow gardenias in your hair, crinoline aswirl about your feet and as you fox trotted across the ballroom it was only to amuse while waiting until all your dreams came true.
Two-thirds of the way through this slim work, I wondered what it meant to be. Was it merely a satire of manners, poking fun at pretentious wealth? Or was it, instead or additionally, a portrayal of the unraveling of a woman’s mind?
Jocelyn Jones, of Southern pedigree, has her Scarsdale existence rocked by her husband’s infidelity and announcement of divorce. She keeps the Art and the House and a lump sum payment which she breezes through in a few short years. Her circumstances change. Soon she must sell the house, the cars, the art. She is no longer desired at the country club. Friends do not return phone calls. And looking up outside at night she sees a young girl in the next door house’s upper window. The girl raises her handcuffed wrists.
She shoots things, mostly televisions.
She hits a nadir, perhaps, when a very drunk male acquaintance knocks late at night. But a wonderful dialogue between them ensues, including this snippet:
”Why don’t you go home to your wife?”
“Hey, gee, Joy, I don’t want to sound trite this time of night but it’s the god damn truth, she doesn’t understand me.”
“And you think I do. Well, you’re right I do. But you won’t be flattered to hear it, especially expressed in an unbiased opinion.”
Yet through it all she retains her mother’s advice:
”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.”
This caution, apparently a family legacy, found voice in her grandmother as well:
”My dear, if you really have to, only clean, very clean rest rooms will do.
This advice, consistently heeded, even in the descent into madness, proves to have salutary results in a redeeming ending which I found utterly delightful. DEE-LIGHTFUL.
Two-thirds of the way through this slim work, I wondered what it meant to be. Was it merely a satire of manners, poking fun at pretentious wealth? Or was it, instead or additionally, a portrayal of the unraveling of a woman’s mind?
Jocelyn Jones, of Southern pedigree, has her Scarsdale existence rocked by her husband’s infidelity and announcement of divorce. She keeps the Art and the House and a lump sum payment which she breezes through in a few short years. Her circumstances change. Soon she must sell the house, the cars, the art. She is no longer desired at the country club. Friends do not return phone calls. And looking up outside at night she sees a young girl in the next door house’s upper window. The girl raises her handcuffed wrists.
She shoots things, mostly televisions.
She hits a nadir, perhaps, when a very drunk male acquaintance knocks late at night. But a wonderful dialogue between them ensues, including this snippet:
”Why don’t you go home to your wife?”
“Hey, gee, Joy, I don’t want to sound trite this time of night but it’s the god damn truth, she doesn’t understand me.”
“And you think I do. Well, you’re right I do. But you won’t be flattered to hear it, especially expressed in an unbiased opinion.”
Yet through it all she retains her mother’s advice:
”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.”
This caution, apparently a family legacy, found voice in her grandmother as well:
”My dear, if you really have to, only clean, very clean rest rooms will do.
This advice, consistently heeded, even in the descent into madness, proves to have salutary results in a redeeming ending which I found utterly delightful. DEE-LIGHTFUL.
October 9, 2018
This is the first J.P. Donleavy fiction that I've read since The Ginger Man - read when I was in college many years ago. It was good to see (read) that Mr. Donleavy hadn't lost his sense of grace and style.
Jocelyn Guenevere Marchantiere Jones moves toward madness and does some foolish things during the course of this novella, but she is never a fool. I liked that and her.
I also liked Elliott Banfield's accompanying drawings, and Mr. Donleavy's dedication: To Maria Theresa Von Stockert Sayle Who Wore Her White Gloves In The Garden.
I have no idea whether the dedication is real or a put on. I hope that it's real, but it works for me either way.
Jocelyn Guenevere Marchantiere Jones moves toward madness and does some foolish things during the course of this novella, but she is never a fool. I liked that and her.
I also liked Elliott Banfield's accompanying drawings, and Mr. Donleavy's dedication: To Maria Theresa Von Stockert Sayle Who Wore Her White Gloves In The Garden.
I have no idea whether the dedication is real or a put on. I hope that it's real, but it works for me either way.
February 14, 2018
No one yet could have sat on this toilet seat today. One's thoughts have got so bizarre as one enjoys the marvelous relief to pee.
Bizarre would be a good word for this novella by J.P. Donleavy. Humorous and snarky would also fit for this tale of an upper-class female who loses her husband, home, money, and perception fairly quickly. It's also an ode to New York City and its suburbs. Grand Central Station is a a sacred cathedral of worship in a city populated by pretzel carts and genteel bag ladies.
Where the foundations of the skyscrapers go deep down into the stone on this island bourse, where the so many rich can lurk secret in their doormen guarded bastions.
At first I didn't want anything to do with the lady of the title. Then I went back and read some pages again, which is not something I normally do with a book. Suddenly I was rooting for this woman who loses everything she thinks is important but really isn't. I looked forward to her walks through Manhattan and her train rides home. I looked forward to her thought process, as she starts to observe things she never did before, such as the homeless.
Life had shrunk, keeled over and collapsed.
Was Donleavy making fun of the stereotypical Bryn Mawr lady who marries big only to spend her life at parties and art events? It seemed more than that. He takes on Americans (conquered the world with jeans, Coca-Cola & cigarettes) and their smugness. He takes on men who leave their wives to get jiggy with younger bimbos. He takes on the work-obsessed who don't see what's happening in their own city. Yet, there is love in the pages. A love for NYC. A love for clean restrooms.
But she had carefully picked out her available options of all those rest rooms which she made a habit of to attend.
For anyone starting this book, give it a chance and slow down. It'll purr on you.
Book Season = Autumn (in New York)
Bizarre would be a good word for this novella by J.P. Donleavy. Humorous and snarky would also fit for this tale of an upper-class female who loses her husband, home, money, and perception fairly quickly. It's also an ode to New York City and its suburbs. Grand Central Station is a a sacred cathedral of worship in a city populated by pretzel carts and genteel bag ladies.
Where the foundations of the skyscrapers go deep down into the stone on this island bourse, where the so many rich can lurk secret in their doormen guarded bastions.
At first I didn't want anything to do with the lady of the title. Then I went back and read some pages again, which is not something I normally do with a book. Suddenly I was rooting for this woman who loses everything she thinks is important but really isn't. I looked forward to her walks through Manhattan and her train rides home. I looked forward to her thought process, as she starts to observe things she never did before, such as the homeless.
Life had shrunk, keeled over and collapsed.
Was Donleavy making fun of the stereotypical Bryn Mawr lady who marries big only to spend her life at parties and art events? It seemed more than that. He takes on Americans (conquered the world with jeans, Coca-Cola & cigarettes) and their smugness. He takes on men who leave their wives to get jiggy with younger bimbos. He takes on the work-obsessed who don't see what's happening in their own city. Yet, there is love in the pages. A love for NYC. A love for clean restrooms.
But she had carefully picked out her available options of all those rest rooms which she made a habit of to attend.
For anyone starting this book, give it a chance and slow down. It'll purr on you.
Book Season = Autumn (in New York)
October 27, 2009
Interesting short novella. I thought I was reading a book published in the 20s or 50s when it was actually published in the mid-90s. The Irish author's use of long sentences and an almost stream-of-consciousness style gave the book an old-fashioned appeal. This book reminds me of the kind of writing you would find in The New Yorker decades ago.
There's a big surprise at the end of the book and an even bigger surprise with how she deals with the surprise. I actually liked the ending although it is a very un-American ending; from a Hollywood perspective, that is.
It was a nice short read and I would recommend this book to anyone with a flair works combining snobbery, the fractured lives of the well-to-do, Ivy-league schools and the New York City of old, but with a contemporary twist.
There's a big surprise at the end of the book and an even bigger surprise with how she deals with the surprise. I actually liked the ending although it is a very un-American ending; from a Hollywood perspective, that is.
It was a nice short read and I would recommend this book to anyone with a flair works combining snobbery, the fractured lives of the well-to-do, Ivy-league schools and the New York City of old, but with a contemporary twist.
February 25, 2018
Picked this one based on the title. How could I resist it? It was an odd, short story. The feel of it read like it was set in the early 1900's, but it was actually more modern than that. The vulgar language sometimes took me by surprise but only because I kept thinking it was older.
The story is about a rich woman whose husband leaves her, her grown kids forget about her and are probably ashamed of her, and her society friends and acquaintances slowly shun her away. The fact that she's no longer a young, fresh 20yr old, doesn't help matters. She loses the little her husband left her with way too quickly. So while sad, I couldn't help thinking she brought it upon herself. In one hilarious scene, she is called upon late at night by an old friend who she used to have an affair with. At first annoyed by his uncalled-for visit, she turns it into an opportunity to sell her services to him. Oh, my! Both her guest and this reader are shocked that this "classy" lady has come to such low depths, but it's one of the wittiest dialogues in the book.
This is one I picked it up for its interesting title and wasn't too disappointed by it.
The story is about a rich woman whose husband leaves her, her grown kids forget about her and are probably ashamed of her, and her society friends and acquaintances slowly shun her away. The fact that she's no longer a young, fresh 20yr old, doesn't help matters. She loses the little her husband left her with way too quickly. So while sad, I couldn't help thinking she brought it upon herself. In one hilarious scene, she is called upon late at night by an old friend who she used to have an affair with. At first annoyed by his uncalled-for visit, she turns it into an opportunity to sell her services to him. Oh, my! Both her guest and this reader are shocked that this "classy" lady has come to such low depths, but it's one of the wittiest dialogues in the book.
This is one I picked it up for its interesting title and wasn't too disappointed by it.
July 28, 2019
I can’t remember the last time I was so entertained by a book!i didn’t actually read the description, I just loved the title and cover art but it was oddly in conjunction with my life, to a degree, but much funnier. Its very short, I just took my time reading it’s hilarity.
June 24, 2022
Un livre totalement inattendu, ajouté à ma liste de livres à lire principalement pour son titre énigmatique (mais excellent), et voilà que le livre ne correspond pas du tout à ce qu'on pourrait imaginer.
J'ai eu un peu de mal à suivre au début: l'histoire paraît partir un peu dans tous les sens, la chronologie n'est pas claire. Mais au fur et à mesure l'écriture chaotique se laisse attraper, se laisse suivre (de loin quand même), prend plus de sens.
Et ça y est une fois que j'ai accroché, l'histoire et le personnage sont là, et je réalise que c'est bien foutu, triste mais prenant, et puis aussi très drôle, et que l'écriture colle finalement très bien aux sentiments exprimés, aux aléas de la vie tels qu'ils se présentent, et puis tout simplement on est dans la tête du rôle titre, et depuis quand les pensées sont linéaires?
J'ai eu un peu de mal à suivre au début: l'histoire paraît partir un peu dans tous les sens, la chronologie n'est pas claire. Mais au fur et à mesure l'écriture chaotique se laisse attraper, se laisse suivre (de loin quand même), prend plus de sens.
Et ça y est une fois que j'ai accroché, l'histoire et le personnage sont là, et je réalise que c'est bien foutu, triste mais prenant, et puis aussi très drôle, et que l'écriture colle finalement très bien aux sentiments exprimés, aux aléas de la vie tels qu'ils se présentent, et puis tout simplement on est dans la tête du rôle titre, et depuis quand les pensées sont linéaires?
September 18, 2017
Esta pequeña (por su tamaño) novela ha sido todo un descubrimiento. Yo era reacia a la novela corta pero después de leer esta y Sabor a Chocolate, otro descubrimiento de este año, he cambiado de opinión.
Es fresca y divertida, incluso en los peores momentos de Jocelyn, que son los mejores para el lector.
La vida de Jocelyn, una mujer que pasa de los cuarenta, da un giro de ciento ochenta grados cuando su marido decide abandonarla por una jovencita de veinticinco, y sus hijos, que están estudiando lejos, tampoco van a verla. Así que Jocelyn está sola. Pero aún le quedan algunos ahorros y la mansión, con la que pretende mantener su status.
Cuando la pierde, se van con ella también sus supuestas amigas (un nido de víboras) y debe enfrentarse a la cruda realidad. Todo ello sin dejar de ser una mujer con clase, lo que para ella implica que no puede hacer pis en cualquier sitio, no. Solo en los hoteles, Museos y locales más exclusivos de Nueva York. Pero debe ir cambiando de sitio, para que no la descubran. Eso la lleva a situaciones extrañas.
Una noche su jardinero, a quien había “reutilizado” como chófer, la invita a una cerveza, que ella rechaza por el protocolo. ¿Una mujer de su clase tomando una cerveza en una taberna con su jardinero? Ella nunca olvida el lema de su abuela: “Has sido educada para ser una verdadera dama”.
Pero su vida se convierte en tal desastre que hasta esa proposición termina por parecerle una buena idea, lástima que no la aceptara.
Lo mejor de la novela, para mí, llega cuando está tan desesperada, sin un céntimo, que se propone vender su cuerpo por dinero. La escena con el supuesto cliente, un conocido casado, es hilarante, rozando lo absurdo.
El final tampoco tiene desperdicio, pero no voy a desentrañarlo, porque no voy a hacer spoilers. Solo diré que el karma actúa a favor de Jocelyn.
Es fresca y divertida, incluso en los peores momentos de Jocelyn, que son los mejores para el lector.
La vida de Jocelyn, una mujer que pasa de los cuarenta, da un giro de ciento ochenta grados cuando su marido decide abandonarla por una jovencita de veinticinco, y sus hijos, que están estudiando lejos, tampoco van a verla. Así que Jocelyn está sola. Pero aún le quedan algunos ahorros y la mansión, con la que pretende mantener su status.
Cuando la pierde, se van con ella también sus supuestas amigas (un nido de víboras) y debe enfrentarse a la cruda realidad. Todo ello sin dejar de ser una mujer con clase, lo que para ella implica que no puede hacer pis en cualquier sitio, no. Solo en los hoteles, Museos y locales más exclusivos de Nueva York. Pero debe ir cambiando de sitio, para que no la descubran. Eso la lleva a situaciones extrañas.
Una noche su jardinero, a quien había “reutilizado” como chófer, la invita a una cerveza, que ella rechaza por el protocolo. ¿Una mujer de su clase tomando una cerveza en una taberna con su jardinero? Ella nunca olvida el lema de su abuela: “Has sido educada para ser una verdadera dama”.
Pero su vida se convierte en tal desastre que hasta esa proposición termina por parecerle una buena idea, lástima que no la aceptara.
Lo mejor de la novela, para mí, llega cuando está tan desesperada, sin un céntimo, que se propone vender su cuerpo por dinero. La escena con el supuesto cliente, un conocido casado, es hilarante, rozando lo absurdo.
El final tampoco tiene desperdicio, pero no voy a desentrañarlo, porque no voy a hacer spoilers. Solo diré que el karma actúa a favor de Jocelyn.
November 19, 2014
An expectedly charming, and surprisingly crude little novella.
I rather enjoyed it...
Here are my three favorite bits. One is charming, the other two a bit crass.
Page 56
"She also knew and knew both these husbands knew and were thinking that along with her wearing chaste cashmere twin sets and a string of real pearls, that she could give them the best of blow jobs, to set bells ringing in their ears. Which practice had made perfect and which blow jobs, were regarded as a diplomatic way of remaining a virgin at Bryn Mawr."
(LOL)
Page 87
"O god if one could only concentrate, concentrate on just the very simplest of things there could be no end to the pleasures of life."
Page 23
"I hope you'll forgive me for suggesting that I rarely make noise and simply on that premise hope that I may be forgiven that which I have clearly just made."
"You're forgiven, Ma'am. But just let's have a quiet night."
"And you gentlemen I hope will advise those creeps across the road to mind their own fucking business."
"At your service, Ma'am."
I rather enjoyed it...
Here are my three favorite bits. One is charming, the other two a bit crass.
Page 56
"She also knew and knew both these husbands knew and were thinking that along with her wearing chaste cashmere twin sets and a string of real pearls, that she could give them the best of blow jobs, to set bells ringing in their ears. Which practice had made perfect and which blow jobs, were regarded as a diplomatic way of remaining a virgin at Bryn Mawr."
(LOL)
Page 87
"O god if one could only concentrate, concentrate on just the very simplest of things there could be no end to the pleasures of life."
Page 23
"I hope you'll forgive me for suggesting that I rarely make noise and simply on that premise hope that I may be forgiven that which I have clearly just made."
"You're forgiven, Ma'am. But just let's have a quiet night."
"And you gentlemen I hope will advise those creeps across the road to mind their own fucking business."
"At your service, Ma'am."
August 27, 2022
I really, really didn't like this book. If it were any longer, I wouldn't have finished it. It was too painfully obvious that this woman was written by a man. From saying she would beg to be raped to refusing to be independent when her marriage went south, J.P. Donleavy doesn't seem to think much of women. And a lady would never just give up a connection with her kids that easily! Especially if the relationship to their father was the way he described. She would cling to them as they are all she had left. "The Lady Who Liked Clean Rest Rooms" was awful.
°°°°°°°°°°°°°
★☆☆☆☆
°°°°°°°°°°°°°
"And it's all amazing. Albeit on a lighter note. How when one is able to indulge the luxury of beginning one's life again.
All one thinks
To do
Is end it"
-J.P. Donleavy, "The Lady Who Liked Clean Rest Rooms"
°°°°°°°°°°°°°
°°°°°°°°°°°°°
★☆☆☆☆
°°°°°°°°°°°°°
"And it's all amazing. Albeit on a lighter note. How when one is able to indulge the luxury of beginning one's life again.
All one thinks
To do
Is end it"
-J.P. Donleavy, "The Lady Who Liked Clean Rest Rooms"
°°°°°°°°°°°°°
January 12, 2022
Tijdens mijn studentenjaren had ik 3/4de van het werk van J.P. Donleavy gelezen... hij was een van mijn lievelingsauteurs. Nu, zo veel jaren later, kom ik bij hem terug om de rest van zijn werk te lezen en ik ben begonnen met deze novelle. En ja, alles is er nog... ik voel me als ondergedompeld in een warm bad, een waterval van woorden, bij momenten een uiting van gedachten en gebeurtenissen in een stream-of-consciousness. Ook al is het verhaal op zich bijna banaal te noemen - rijke dame moet scheiden en verliest alles, staat op de rand van de prostitutie en heeft zelfmoordgedachten, ... - toch maakt Donleavy er een relaas van dat je ademloos in één monumentale slok tot je neemt... en van geniet.
April 2, 2023
Ta ženská byla nesnesitelná! :D
Ale to bylo výchovou a prostředím asi. Pak, když se dostane do jiných poměrů, je úplně mimo.
Zajímavá sonda do duše zhrzené snobky. Poslechla jsem audio, takže jsem se vyhla případným překlepům v knize. A jako audio se to i dalo. Ona i kniha je to krátká, takže neurazí sáhodlouhým vyprávěním.
Ale to bylo výchovou a prostředím asi. Pak, když se dostane do jiných poměrů, je úplně mimo.
Zajímavá sonda do duše zhrzené snobky. Poslechla jsem audio, takže jsem se vyhla případným překlepům v knize. A jako audio se to i dalo. Ona i kniha je to krátká, takže neurazí sáhodlouhým vyprávěním.
February 26, 2021
The author managed to get several of the best on almost 70 pages. The book is one of the most boring "stories," featuring one of the "most annoying" main characters, and probably has the least believable conclusion I've ever read. Wtf? One * for the imaginative title that insidiously made me open this book.
November 21, 2024
Perhaps the 5th star comes from a rather lackluster runs of books prior to this. Perhaps.
A most engaging character and Donleavy only occasionally pushes his lampoon to the realms of the unbelievable.
And “the lady” and others are worth our compassion.
A most engaging character and Donleavy only occasionally pushes his lampoon to the realms of the unbelievable.
And “the lady” and others are worth our compassion.
January 10, 2024
I loved this book so much! Sure, the writing “style” is a bit weird, but so are some of my favorite films. I felt like it was worth settling in and letting the author steer the show.
I’ve always enjoyed Irish writers. The wordplay is an art of its own. Imagine knitting a complex project that you can see becoming a lush and beautiful piece. Now pretend instead of yarn, you’re using words.
Recommended!
I’ve always enjoyed Irish writers. The wordplay is an art of its own. Imagine knitting a complex project that you can see becoming a lush and beautiful piece. Now pretend instead of yarn, you’re using words.
Recommended!
July 8, 2011
Found this little gem during my first visit to Maxwell's House of Books in La Mesa, California.
TLWLCRR's heroine, Jocelyn Jones, is an extraordinary character who shares many characteristics with Edward Gorey's protagonists: older, distinguished, in decline. Lines like "The more empty rooms you had to go into to and get depressed the more depressed you got" call Mr. Earbrass of The Unstrung Harp to mind, and coming from me that's no small praise. I'm tempted to call her unforgettable. I can't recall another character from a novel or story I've read in the last few years with a personality as forceful as Ms. Jocelyn "Don't Call Me Joy" Jones. (I suppose it would be prudent to check back in a year and see just how unforgettable she is.)
J.P. Donleavy strikes me as a Gorey-esque figure, an American with Edwardian obsessions. Both are New Yorkers who were clearly born on the wrong continent. Whereas Gorey belongs on the moors, Donleavy would thrive as an extra in James Joyce's milieu, one of of Buck Mulligan's cronies. There's the obligatory overlarge house, an odd neighboor who stands naked in darkened windows shining a flashlight on her sex, and fussily strained social situations with an undercurrent of sex running throughout. All that's missing is a stuffed fantod. However, there's a scene near the end where Jocelyn discovers an Edward Gorey original, so the fantod can't be ruled out.
What sets Jocelyn apart from other high society ladies on the verge of becoming matrons, dames or what have you, is her sailor mouth, overactive libido, and penchant for blowing televisions away with a shotgun. Think John Cheever's The Swimmer with a dash of Molly Bloom. For a character study, TLWLCRR's has a diabolically good plot that just keeps getting better and better with twists I didn't see coming but now seem fairly obvious in retrospect. The less said about these the better.
That said, as much as I admired its protagonist, TLWLCRR is a poorly put together book. Jocelyn's story is told in chronological fashion but at times it reads too much like a character study in which events are summarized and compressed and opportunities for drama or suspense missed. Some of the set pieces sprinkled in go on for far too long, including an exchange with a drunk fellow who makes an unannounced bootie call, which doesn't sit well with Ms. Jocelyn Jones. And then there's the decision to shift from third person close to first person stream of consciousness (and back again) about two-thirds of the way through the book. While the writing is often top-notch ("The sleeping pills were collected"), the storytelling is a mess.
Entertaining and instructive, but flawed. The shame of it is that not only are these lapses easily fixable, but Jocelyn Jones is deserving of a book that showcases her spirit, not detracts from it. This could have been Donleavy's late-career Seize the Day, instead it's like a warty fantod: a stuffed curiosity worthy of dusting off but whose fate is to be hidden away.
TLWLCRR's heroine, Jocelyn Jones, is an extraordinary character who shares many characteristics with Edward Gorey's protagonists: older, distinguished, in decline. Lines like "The more empty rooms you had to go into to and get depressed the more depressed you got" call Mr. Earbrass of The Unstrung Harp to mind, and coming from me that's no small praise. I'm tempted to call her unforgettable. I can't recall another character from a novel or story I've read in the last few years with a personality as forceful as Ms. Jocelyn "Don't Call Me Joy" Jones. (I suppose it would be prudent to check back in a year and see just how unforgettable she is.)
J.P. Donleavy strikes me as a Gorey-esque figure, an American with Edwardian obsessions. Both are New Yorkers who were clearly born on the wrong continent. Whereas Gorey belongs on the moors, Donleavy would thrive as an extra in James Joyce's milieu, one of of Buck Mulligan's cronies. There's the obligatory overlarge house, an odd neighboor who stands naked in darkened windows shining a flashlight on her sex, and fussily strained social situations with an undercurrent of sex running throughout. All that's missing is a stuffed fantod. However, there's a scene near the end where Jocelyn discovers an Edward Gorey original, so the fantod can't be ruled out.
What sets Jocelyn apart from other high society ladies on the verge of becoming matrons, dames or what have you, is her sailor mouth, overactive libido, and penchant for blowing televisions away with a shotgun. Think John Cheever's The Swimmer with a dash of Molly Bloom. For a character study, TLWLCRR's has a diabolically good plot that just keeps getting better and better with twists I didn't see coming but now seem fairly obvious in retrospect. The less said about these the better.
That said, as much as I admired its protagonist, TLWLCRR is a poorly put together book. Jocelyn's story is told in chronological fashion but at times it reads too much like a character study in which events are summarized and compressed and opportunities for drama or suspense missed. Some of the set pieces sprinkled in go on for far too long, including an exchange with a drunk fellow who makes an unannounced bootie call, which doesn't sit well with Ms. Jocelyn Jones. And then there's the decision to shift from third person close to first person stream of consciousness (and back again) about two-thirds of the way through the book. While the writing is often top-notch ("The sleeping pills were collected"), the storytelling is a mess.
Entertaining and instructive, but flawed. The shame of it is that not only are these lapses easily fixable, but Jocelyn Jones is deserving of a book that showcases her spirit, not detracts from it. This could have been Donleavy's late-career Seize the Day, instead it's like a warty fantod: a stuffed curiosity worthy of dusting off but whose fate is to be hidden away.
November 13, 2016
Donleavy's always a pleasure to read, given that you're almost certainly guaranteed to never find anyone else who writes the way he does. This is his second novella, and is the first of his '90s books I've read. I believe the previous book I read by him came out in 1976, so I was curious to see if his style had changed at all. I don't think it has, which is a testament to how unique a writer he is, I think. There was noticeably less of his trademark third- and first-person blending, with that—from what I remember—only appearing after the first third or so. Since this is only a novella, it's possible his most recent novel—which came out a couple years after this one—features more of the perspective blending and more of the interspersed poems he's known for.
March 11, 2013
I found this book (novella?) in our neighborhood clubhouse library. The title caught my eye and I couldn't resist. This book is wonderfully strange. It is at once hilarious and sad. I don't think I've ever read a book with as many words I've never heard before.....dictionary, here I come. I could have done without some of the vulgar language and the author's writing style takes a little getting used to. The book cover says it best....."This is Donleavy at his best -- witty, biting, decidedly scatological, eccentrically punctuated, inspiring laugh-out-loud fun."
February 14, 2014
This book is incredibly bizarre. There are no chapters or section breaks. The jacket describes The Lady Who Liked Clean Restroom as "eccentrically punctuated." This is a drastic understatement in my opinion. Some reviewers below seem to be confused as to whether the writing is terrible or a deliberate style. I feel like it has to be the latter, otherwise how did it get published? I guess some people enjoyed it, but I wasn't one of them.
It was hard work to read, and while the story line was enjoyable and interesting enough, it wasn't worth it for me in the end.
It was hard work to read, and while the story line was enjoyable and interesting enough, it wasn't worth it for me in the end.
October 5, 2015
I read that Brendan Behan broke into Donleavy's home and saw his manuscript for The Ginger Man. Behan then began making edits and writing notes. Looking at this book, which is pretty mediocre, and thinking back to how much I loved The Ginger Man, one can understand my conclusion that Behan's meddling is essential to Donleavy's greatness. Which is why this is so mediocre. Not bad, not a waste of time, but certainly not great.
March 9, 2009
Didn't actually read this book because I hated it from the start. The sentance structure was horrible and I had to really, really concentrate to figure out what the author was trying to say. After starting the book over twice, I gave up.
April 7, 2016
This is one of those books that makes me angry for all the wonderful writers I know who haven't gotten a book deal. I gave up after struggling through about 1/3 of it, trying to explain to myself how so many ridiculously poorly constructed sentences were allowed to live.
February 11, 2018
Really compelling story told in stream-of-consciousness style from the POV (for the most part) of a divorced forty-something living in New York. I read it in one go after picking it up on a whim...it totally sucked me in. It's funny and crass and melancholic. Definitely would recommend and I would like to read Donleavy's other works now!
The main character, Jocelyn, seems to sink deeper and deeper into suicidal depression as her bank account balance shrinks. Her ex leaves her for "fresh flesh" and her children push her away, essentially branding her as crazy. Her attempts to find a new husband are unsuccessful, though I'm not sure if we can blame the men entirely - she seems to have a pretty cynical view of love and sex. It completely reminded me of watching my own mother stumble after her divorce was finalized. Both women were raised to "be a lady" and to expect a comfortable life - not necessarily one of leisure, but at least one where they could raise their children in peace and expect their husband to look after them. When the rug is pulled out from under their feet, though, the world seems to come tumbling down around them. Jocelyn, at least, has her mother and grandmother's soothing advice to carry her through, not least of all: "...when you’re away from your own trusted lavatory, only go to the cleanest of places to take a pee..." and "...if you really have to, only clean, very clean rest rooms will do."
Jocelyn Jones' behavior becomes erratic and her financial investments fall through. Her life seems to become a series of shenanigans that are at the same time hilarious (to the point of unrealistic) and heart-breaking. What really was striking, though, was the fact that about 20 pages before the end the narration changed; while it had all been first-person string-of-consciousness, it changed to third person, though we are still hearing Jocelyn's thoughts and reactions to the world around her. She seemed to have reached the end of her line. The mentions of sleeping pills seemed to get closer together. While she might be "saved" financially, almost magically, I don't actually think this book has a happy ending as some reviews have mentioned on other sites...which is what made me like the book even more. The ending is realistic. After all is said and done, when your heart is broken and hardened by lost love and a broken heart, no amount of money is enough salve to heal that wound.
The main character, Jocelyn, seems to sink deeper and deeper into suicidal depression as her bank account balance shrinks. Her ex leaves her for "fresh flesh" and her children push her away, essentially branding her as crazy. Her attempts to find a new husband are unsuccessful, though I'm not sure if we can blame the men entirely - she seems to have a pretty cynical view of love and sex. It completely reminded me of watching my own mother stumble after her divorce was finalized. Both women were raised to "be a lady" and to expect a comfortable life - not necessarily one of leisure, but at least one where they could raise their children in peace and expect their husband to look after them. When the rug is pulled out from under their feet, though, the world seems to come tumbling down around them. Jocelyn, at least, has her mother and grandmother's soothing advice to carry her through, not least of all: "...when you’re away from your own trusted lavatory, only go to the cleanest of places to take a pee..." and "...if you really have to, only clean, very clean rest rooms will do."
Jocelyn Jones' behavior becomes erratic and her financial investments fall through. Her life seems to become a series of shenanigans that are at the same time hilarious (to the point of unrealistic) and heart-breaking. What really was striking, though, was the fact that about 20 pages before the end the narration changed; while it had all been first-person string-of-consciousness, it changed to third person, though we are still hearing Jocelyn's thoughts and reactions to the world around her. She seemed to have reached the end of her line. The mentions of sleeping pills seemed to get closer together. While she might be "saved" financially, almost magically, I don't actually think this book has a happy ending as some reviews have mentioned on other sites...which is what made me like the book even more. The ending is realistic. After all is said and done, when your heart is broken and hardened by lost love and a broken heart, no amount of money is enough salve to heal that wound.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
November 7, 2020
This is a must unusual story.
Jocelyn Guenevere Marchantiere Jones was a child of two who threw away their heritage for love. She talks of spending time with a Grandmother who disparages her daughter who married 'wrong.' Mrs. Jones did not do so well, either. Her Mother wants to be in the Social Register, but her daughter married poorly, so it is marked against the parents, as well. Then Mrs. Jones' marriage goes to pieces, and she is divorced, getting a bit of a savings account, and the house in Scarsdale.
She is not up to dealing with money, and budgets, and what not for herself, even though she graduated from Bryn Mawr. She is on a downward spiral, and can not stop herself. She has no friends to help her adjust to her new life. She spends or loses her money, and the house, and has to drop her membership to the Scarsdale Country Club.
She does like to go the museums and art gallerias, but dreads using the toilets – some are not cleaned properly – so she scopes out ones she finds reasonably clean, and so gets to know where the likely clean ones are when she is here or there or somewhere else.
She has no income, so she ends up in a tenement, where by the end of the story she has gotten so poor, she tries to get money from an old schoolmates husband, who has stopped by after a night on the town, and would like to have sex. It is sad, and she has a bottle of pills of some sort to try to commit suicide, but she has a note from a lawyer she does not know to stop by to discuss something. She goes there before committing suicide. Here is where the story gets interesting.
Jocelyn Guenevere Marchantiere Jones was a child of two who threw away their heritage for love. She talks of spending time with a Grandmother who disparages her daughter who married 'wrong.' Mrs. Jones did not do so well, either. Her Mother wants to be in the Social Register, but her daughter married poorly, so it is marked against the parents, as well. Then Mrs. Jones' marriage goes to pieces, and she is divorced, getting a bit of a savings account, and the house in Scarsdale.
She is not up to dealing with money, and budgets, and what not for herself, even though she graduated from Bryn Mawr. She is on a downward spiral, and can not stop herself. She has no friends to help her adjust to her new life. She spends or loses her money, and the house, and has to drop her membership to the Scarsdale Country Club.
She does like to go the museums and art gallerias, but dreads using the toilets – some are not cleaned properly – so she scopes out ones she finds reasonably clean, and so gets to know where the likely clean ones are when she is here or there or somewhere else.
She has no income, so she ends up in a tenement, where by the end of the story she has gotten so poor, she tries to get money from an old schoolmates husband, who has stopped by after a night on the town, and would like to have sex. It is sad, and she has a bottle of pills of some sort to try to commit suicide, but she has a note from a lawyer she does not know to stop by to discuss something. She goes there before committing suicide. Here is where the story gets interesting.
June 1, 2020
"This stylish novella tells the tale of Jocelyn Guenevere Marchantiere Jones, whose Scarsdale life comes to an abrupt end when her husband goes in search of a bit of 'fresh flesh.' Soon she is fending for herself in New York City, where finding a clean restroom will prove to be the least of her concerns."
~~back cover
Sort of stream of consciousness, which was never my favorite style. Ms. Jones proves to be quite inept at managing her life, let alone her money, with the result that she falls from a million dollar mansion in Scarsdale to a flat that's practically a bedsit in Yonkers, where she saves up sleeping pills to commit suicide, and generally wanders aimlessly, understanding that she's running out of money & is about to become homeless but unable to do anything to change the situation. And then there's the deux ex machina, which I always dislike as the coward's way out of ending a novella or a novel or even a short story.
~~back cover
Sort of stream of consciousness, which was never my favorite style. Ms. Jones proves to be quite inept at managing her life, let alone her money, with the result that she falls from a million dollar mansion in Scarsdale to a flat that's practically a bedsit in Yonkers, where she saves up sleeping pills to commit suicide, and generally wanders aimlessly, understanding that she's running out of money & is about to become homeless but unable to do anything to change the situation. And then there's the deux ex machina, which I always dislike as the coward's way out of ending a novella or a novel or even a short story.
September 8, 2024
Very bizarre—simultaneously charming and vulgar. This is the sort of book that makes me want to write again. How strange that I read it semi-simultaneously as the Beautiful & the Damned. Donleavy's book is a shorter, arguably more graceful and spicy version. There was a deliciousness in Jocelyn's unexpurgated thoughts, and the juxtaposition between her ladylike upbringing and later activities/ruminations. I love the interplay of inner and outer life. The gun was a great symbol, as well as Chagall himself whose exhibition she ultimately misses, I suppose. I loved all the discourse around class and 'ladylikeness" that the book spins. Despite its briefness, there was a quality to the writing that built such a fleeting yet fabulous portrait of New York. Perhaps because I lived on the Upper East/East Harlem side myself during my brief stint in the city.
September 12, 2024
The Woman Who Liked Clean Rest Rooms is J.P. Donleavy's final statement on a topic recurring in his work, the role of wealth and class in the pursuit of ultimate happiness. This one has a (quite endearing) female protagonist, a departure for the author. A bawdy rags to riches tale; a farce. Wodehouse with sex and firearms. Eccentric and rife with gallows humor. The book's brevity is to its benefit - effectively highlighting a charm that may have been lost in a longer work. Speaking of charm, the novella is illustrated throughout with drawings by Elliott Banfield that can only be described as 'sophisticated' (they really add to the overall experience.)
The novelette ends on a successfully ambiguous note, punctuated by one of Donleavy's trademark little poems. This is the next to last work of fiction that was published during the author's lifetime.
The novelette ends on a successfully ambiguous note, punctuated by one of Donleavy's trademark little poems. This is the next to last work of fiction that was published during the author's lifetime.
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