Wednesday, October 5th, 2011
I write this on
the centenary of the birth of the funniest man ever to put pen to paper: Brian
O’ Nolan, more widely known in the literary community as Flann O’Brien, author,
and/or Myles na gCopaleen, columnist for the Irish Times. Actually, to call him
funny might detract a little from his worth as a writer because, as we all
know, to be funny does not equate with literary ability. Or so the received
wisdom goes. It’s drivel, of course. ‘At Swim-Two-Birds’ is an astonishing
literary achievement, resonant and thought-provoking. ‘The Third Policeman’
is a novel of mystery and enchantment,
as well as a weird whodunnit. The fact remains that they are both extremely
funny, too.
His column in
the Irish Times, ‘The Cruiskeen Lawn’, written under the name of Myles na
gCopaleen, and published widely now in various collections, is full of writing
that actually and genuinely makes me laugh out loud. That’s not a feat easily
achieved. Some of the first volume of Clive James’s ‘Unreliable Memoirs’ did it
too, but precious few others have. Recurring features like The Brother, The
Plain People of Ireland, and Keats and Chapman, are greeted with the same
pleasure one reserves for old friends. His excoriation of Bores and Cliches is
brilliant. Oh yes, I can take a lot of Mr. O’Brien/ na gCopaleen.
You can keep
your PG Wodehouse. He’s good; funny enough. But couldn’t lace O’Brien’s boots.
I can only read so much of Wodehouse at a time before the woofling, chortling
toodloo-ery of it all gets under my skin. I never feel that with O’Brien. Read
him.
As for my own
writing, I have worked on ‘Grand Guignol’ all week. It has now more than
doubled in size and threatens to do even more. I will let it have its head; see
where it takes me. I’m conscious too of having undertaken to write a story
called ‘Gogl Mogl’ in competition with my Twitter amigo, Roman Tsivkin. Before
the end of this month! Next week’s trip to Bath should afford me the time to
let ideas simmer. (I have one or two). And then maybe I can just write it on my
return.
Because of Bath,
there will be no posting next week. But I hope to have several good anecdotes
(and a fine audio book) to tell you about, the week after that.
Till then - May
the bird of paradise fly up your nose.
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