Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Written by the late Toole at age 16, this novel on its surface has little in common with his Pulitzer Prize-winning A Confederacy of Dunces . Whereas Dunces is, in Walker Percy's words, ``a great rumbling farce of Falstaffian dimensions'' satirizing modern society via a cast of grotesque New Orleans characters, the early novel is a lyrical attempt at realism in which social criticism is implied but not stated. Growing up in a small town in rural Mississippi, David gradually learns the painful lessons of religious, racial, social and sexual bigotry, and comes to perceive the need to defend himself, a reluctant outsider, from people; in Dunces , Ignatius Reilly, who rallies around the cause of social isolation and misanthropy, has long practiced a vigorous campaign against the evils of society. One novel chronicles an awakening, the other an uproarious and bizarre plan of action. Though interesting to read as a naive effort by a writer who later far surpassed it, The Neon Bible is a compendium of authorial first steps and missteps, from awkwardly obvious moralizing to mawkishness and improbable melodrama. (Apr.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review
This youthful novel was the only substantial writing left by Toole, who won a posthumous Pulitzer Prize in 1981 for his modern comic classic, A Confederacy of Dunces (he killed himself in 1969). Court action has finally cleared the way for publication of the present work, written when Toole was just 16 and left in pieces to his heirs. While far from the masterpiece Toole would write later in his life, this story of a poor boy growing up in a small, claustrophobic, closed-minded Southern town in the 1940s, is an astonishing accomplishment for an adolescent. Narrator David lives with his mother, who is never fully herself after his father dies in World War II, and his gaudy Aunt Mae, a bleached-blonde roadhouse singer in her 60s. The story is familiar and believable, a tantalizing reminder of the talent that has been lost. It deserves a wide audience.-- Ann H. Fisher, Radford P.L., Va. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review
Toole, the author of the classic farce A Confederacy of Dunces (1980), committed suicide before that Pulitizer Prize-winner was published. But now this sober coming-of-age novel set in rural Mississippi--written when Toole was 16--has surfaced after much bitter prepublication litigation among his heirs. Concerned particularly with religious bigotry, the tale is curiously au courant after the evangelical scandals of the past year. David, the credulous narrator, inhabits a gothic but typically southern landscape: a neon Bible lights up the sky at night, the local deacon burns Gone With the Wind because he thinks it's licentious, and the church snubs the family because Poppa can't afford dues. Aunt Mae, the book's presiding spirit, joins the family after a very minor theatrical career, and she provides a vivid contrast to small-town pettiness. She becomes David's confidante after Poppa beats Mother, and takes over the household when Poppa (and all the men) get drafted into WW II. Meanwhile, David lives through persecution by his teacher (a vile woman with halitosis) and, in a series of set pieces, most memorably evokes a revival meeting and a long public feud between the supporters of Aunt Mae, who gets a singing job, and the bigots of the local church. ""I was getting tired about what the preacher called Christianity. Anything he did was Christian and the people in his church believed it, too."" Finally, Poppa dies in the war, Momma gets autistic, Mae leaves for a gig in Nashville; and, later, David, who discovers that his mother has died, shoots a preacher who arrives (coincidentally) to take her to the state institution. David buries them both and flees on the next train. Though thin or undramatized in places, Toole's second (or, rather, first) is about as good as juvenilia can get--and eloquent testimony to the magnitude of our loss. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
