J. P. Donleavy

I don't know much about J. P. Donleavy, but I do know one thing: his Ginger Man is an exceptional novel. Set in Ireland in the aftermath of the Second World War, this is a lewd, lascivious book; it's one brimming with humor and jest, but it's also one full of violence and poverty. The Ginger Man hit me like a ton of bricks -- largely because it's so successful in its attempt to chart a path down the ladder, to show how beholden we are to money, and how committed we remain, despite our penury, to a sense of humanity. For me, Ginger Man was part Down and Out in London, and part Tropic of Cancer: there was that element of want and anger captured by Orwell, and yet, at the same time, there was an equal focus the sexuality and physical impulse made famous by Miller. The result is a novel which moves with unrelenting speed, which dares levity in the face of darkness, and which depicts, I'm sure, a representative image of Dublin following the war. This is a novel to be wrestled with, yes. But mostly, it's a novel to be savored and enjoyed.