Today beginneth a new semi-regular series of Ignatian meditations: readings from the Fifth Gospel (known to muggles as "A Confederacy of Dunces"). In today's passage, Ignatius and his mother, Irene, discuss his experience as a young scholar in the Sorbonne of the bayous:

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Yes, let us not laugh at ourselves.
OH! MY VALVE!
Confederacy is genius and brilliant. It captures the New Orleans of its day perfectly.
But Rod, you need to work on your N'Awlins accents, esp. Mrs. Reilly. Your reading is a little too flat for my taste. Get raucus!
Oh, Angie, if I tried New Orleans accents, they might sound legit to others, but people from back home would know how badly I was doing it.
Still, I need to read more slowly.
How would you imagine Ignatius tawks? Not like his mama, for sure.
Gjoe, I wonder if it would change your mind about the book's intent, if not its execution, if you knew that Toole, who committed suicide before his book could find a publisher, was satirizing himself in his Ignatius character. He was a brilliant, tormented man.
The only admirable character in the book -- by design! -- is Jones, the lousy janitor. Which is part of the satire.
Whoa! Jones rocks.
I did know the author committed suicide (from the forward), but did not know that Ignatius was self-modeled. I suppose that makes me more at ease with the author's portrayal, but I still don't like the result. I suppose in the end, this is about tastes, and I'll let it be to say it's not to my tastes.
Having said that, I've really enjoyed other things you've steered me towards, Omnivore's Dilemma most notably.
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