The Hard life : an exegesis of squalor

Brian O'Nolan produced a great body of Irish literature in the last century, hiding as he did behind several pen names due to his public service as a civil servant not permitted officially to publish. Some of his work may thus have been lost due to lack of proper ascription. This late work, unlike other earlier extraordinary writings, keeps both feet firmly on the ground, as if itself a victim of an overdose of Gravid Water, while ever maintaining tongue firmly in cheek. Those of Irish ascendency nevertheless appreciate deeply the preservation of patterns of speech, culture and conversation which carries this twisted tale of one man's obsession with bringing blessed relief stations to women walking publicly, the lack of same proving fatal to his wife. Though this work begins in a desperately delightful Dickensian mode, much as Episode three in the great novel Ulysses (Gabler Edition), much as this novel, it quickly transcends such feeble nonsense by parody and mocking the hollow, manipulative form. Some who claim to prefer this author's At Swim-Two-Birds due to its exhuberant and multi-layered complexity admit in effect they has despaired of reading it, and cast it aside unfinished, and yet claim that reading preferable to this, for this later novel remains accessible to all readers, while indicative of the greater depths. Any novel requiring annotation, as this one may well profit, is sufficiently esoteric for any such elevated reader. Meanwhile this novel is fully satisfactory for every reader, much in the way of Beckett's tragicomic Waiting for Godot: A Bilingual Edition: A Tragicomedy in Two Acts (English and French Edition). Get over yourselves, people, and enjoy the read for once! So this old obsessed gentleman, despairing of the city corporation doing anything for his pet project, the one which might have saved his wife, brings it to the court of last resort, the highest in the world. You find no over-riding element of delightful Irish bull in this chronicle of that odyssey? The conversational patterns recorded are brilliant, and nearly journalistic in their accuracy, while ever parody. Here we remain upon terra firma, unlike the also-absolutely-must-read Third Policeman. A recommended course in reading this wonderful and rewarding writer, in this order: The Hard Life The Poor Mouth: A Bad Story About the Hard Life The Third Policeman (Harper Perennial Modern Classics) At Swim-Two-Birds [AT SWIM-2-BIRDS (R)] The Dalkey Archive (Harper Perennial Modern Classics) At War (Lannan Selection) You will not regret it, but draw from this great comforting relief, and a blessed rest from Mr. Joyce . . .

If you are not familiar with Brian O'Nolan (Flann O'Brien), then please do become acquainted before venturing into the sarcastic, comic work which is The Hard Life. Upon a cold read, it may be difficult to realize that the social critiques here are meant to make you life, not cry or ponder. Afterall, a main character is named "Father Fahrt" by no accident. However, please do give it credit for a more refined sense of humor. O'Brien lays into Irish Catholocism, early medicine, social organizing, self-serving public service and so on... It's a great, fast read and very enjoyable...

In this inconsequential novella by Flann O'Brien, two orphans of the gormless, Finbarr and Manus, grow up next to their guardian Mr. Collopy's prodigious crock. They chafe under the old man and plot their escape. Manus dreams of cash, Finbarr of auburn hair. As part of their unconventional education, they listen with muffled groans to disputations between Collopy and regular visitor Father Fahrt on subjects theological and heretical. Guy Fawkes a hero for the ages? Aquinas a right chancer? Saints and sinners dangle from their hooks. Though dismissed by critics, this late work never fails to produce a chuckle. Its author certainly lends credence to Fahrt's contention that "a degraded social climate is essential to inspire great men to achievement in the arts," even if that climate is some dark snug a Liffey's width from the Custom House.

This novel is the anti-bildungsroman. In the typical development/coming-of-age novel, the characters have some great epiphany about life, the universe, God, and everything. O'Brien subverts that, however: the last line reads, "There, everything inside me came forth in a tidal surge of vomit." O'Brien's characters typically don't learn a damn thing about life, continue in their idleness, but somehow come through victorious (or near enough) in the end. For those of you who have tired of Joyce, this is a more visceral and accurate portrayal of the Irishman in the days leading up to their independence. Well worth it.