Ireland: A singular country

by J.P. Donleavy

Worn dust jacket has some scratches to the front and is in a protective sleeve, signed by the author without dedication. Shipped from the U.K. All orders received before 3pm sent that weekday.

Genres: Ireland, Humor

Hardcover

First published April 1, 1990

About the author

James 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...

Reviews

[Liam · Rating 1 out of 5]

On the back of the dust-jacket, there is a blurb credited to The Guardian which describes J.P. Donleavy as "the world champ stage Irishman", and that may well have been true in 1990. In any case, that's as good a description of the author as is needed for the purpose of evaluating whether or not to read this book. The fact that he was an obnoxious snob who affected a really annoying mid-Atlantic accent is beside the point. Frankly, I'm fairly impressed that anyone, even a fellow diaspora Irishman, could successfully make what was apparently a substantial living off of writing this sort of clichéd, overdone and out-dated tripe. I am damned glad I didn't actually have to pay for this book. "His Nibs", indeed. In a pig's ass...

[Len · Rating 3 out of 5]

Is there really something attractive about a pretend Irishman spouting the sozzled lyricism of a bibulous Celtic bard? If I had been able to read this book when I was twenty I may have thought it very funny. I've changed – along with a lot of people since the book's publication in 1989. However, don't misunderstand me. I still enjoy innuendo, double entendres, the farce of florid-faced, sweaty sexual misbehaviour – usually involving older men and younger women, not to mention the occasional knob gag and auditory impersonation of flatulence. Crudity, like rust, can be difficult to remove.

Your Mr Donleavy sounds as if he was happiest in an admiring crowd with several bottles of champagne, a decent claret, and probably whiskey chasers to bring on a tale or three. It may be possible, in such circumstances, to slip into the fanciful telling snobbish prejudice, misogyny, and even a sneering contempt for the “ordinary” Irish – strategic laughter and conviviality can hide a caustic personality much as whitewash paints over blemishes – in print, however, so much is laid stark in black against white. The naughty little stories of sexual misconduct are OK in their naughty little way though I fancy at the bar people would be turning to each other to mutter, “Ah, god love him, your man's into telling that story again. Just keep laughing. The drinks'll keep coming.” The views of Ireland and the Irish are rarely complimentary and sometimes simply annoying.

It's a good thing, for his own safety, that he was an American and not English.