![]() |
![]() |
|||||||||||||||||||||||
"The M.F.H.'s wife having lifted from the hallway floor a bright red canister upon which was plainly stated USE
UPRIGHT J.P. Donleavy from A Singular Country |
||||||||||||||||||||||||
![]() |
||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Photo by Patrick Prendergast. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||
| William Dunn. Photo © 2007 Bill Dunn. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The following article/interview first appeared in USA TODAY, Tuesday, July 17, 1990. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||
"A
singular day with J.P. Donleavy" Finally, the day comes. The hotel elevator doors part; out steps Himself, unmistakable with his trim white beard and clipped vowels. He sports a seersucker suit and waffled-sole English shoes. Shaking hands is difficult; I'm juggling two leather valises stuffed with his 16 books. We repair to a far banquette in the hotel restaurant. Best known as a novelist, Donleavy ventures into what he calls "fictionalized fact" in his mock-serious new book about a changing Ireland, A Singular Country (Norton, $18.95). "I simply give what what my instincts tell me is a reflection of the truth." Ireland, having survived famine and British occupation, now battles "bijou bungalow blight," he writes, as ancient Eire suburbanizes and meanders toward the future. The first chapter sets the stage: "In truth Ireland is from one coast to another chock a block full of fine decent people, who although they are capable of putting you accidentally to death, would never countenance doing so deliberately, and never is there any doubt that permanent harm was meant" In addition to various recognizable Irish types, the principal players include: Anglo "pukka upper crusters," upwardly mobile Irish called "Protestant Catholics,"certified authentic international very top snob celebrities," and lost American tourists, usually from Dayton, Ohio. Donleavy alternates between the eloquent and the slapstick, switching voices and accents in this fondly tough appraisal of his adopted country. Born and raised in New York of Irish immigrants, the 64-year-old writer has long lived in Ireland, where there are no taxes on writers. Now an Irish citizen, he lives in a drafty, 200-year-old castle in County Westmeath. Donleavy writes unconventional satires of manners and misadventures, usually set in Ireland. His dialogue and dialects are laser sharp and half the fun. The style is idiosyncratic and distinct, as are his characters. A frequent theme is the "rejected man that is always set aside from the world, and then comes out to redeem himself," Donleavy says. An avid sportsman, Donleavy concocted a complicated game called De Alfonce Tennis, then wrote a hilarious, convoluted book about it, De Alfonce Tennis: The Superlative Game of Eccentric Champions. It's a spoof of today's gossipy socio-psycho sports books. Currently he's working on his autobiography and a novel. There are also advanced plans to make films of his various book, including The Ginger Man. Donleavy's son, Philip, heads up the project; and investor has been found. It eventually becomes clear that Donleavy is not like his character Sebastian Dangerfield, the wild, profane, Ginger Man. Actually a droll, reserved gent, Donleavy is more like a later character of his called Darcy Dancer or wealthy George Smith, the mysterious loner and eccentric survivor of A Singular Man. Says Donleavy of himself: "I sort of tend to melancholia. I am a bit curmudgeonly. But it doesn't mean to say that I don't get great pleasures about certain aspects of my life. I'm fairly solitary." Soon, my hour interview is up. I briefly prolong the encounter by asking him to sign a few of his books. Hoping to prolong things even further, I offer to drive him to his next appointment - at National Public Radio. He agrees. Afterward, we drive back to Donleavy's hotel. He invites me in to chat more. We talk about De Alfonce Tennis, which claims 150 player worldwide. The phone rings. It's two friends coming to take Donleavy to lunch. They ask me to join them. Before the day ends, I ask Donleavy to sign one more book, De Alfonce Tennis. Finally, it really is time for me to go. We shake hands. I look at my watch; it's 4:50 p.m. I've just spent seven hours with J.P. Donleavy!!! Once alone, I pull out the inscribed books. There, in De Alfonce Tennis, Donleavy wrote;
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||
![]() |
||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
To purchase books by J.P. Donleavy, go to the Buyers' Guide. |
||||||||||||||||||||||||
Return
to
Articles |
||||||||||||||||||||||||
Home
| About This Site | News
- Miscellaneous | Donleavy - Bio Info | Donleavy
- Author | Donleavy
- Playwright | Donleavy - Artist | Donleavy - Sportsman | Donleavy Farmer | JPD - Anthologies | JPD in Periodicals | JPD - Intros - Blurbs | Book Reviews | Play Reviews | Video | Audio | Works In Progress | Interviews | Articles | JPD & Academia | JPD Buyers' Guide | JPD-Related Links | Contact the JPDC |
||||||||||||||||||||||||
![]() |
![]() |
|||||||||||||||||||||||