A Fairy Tale of New York

A Fairy Tale of New York

J. P. Donleavy

Language: English

Pages: 348

ISBN: 0871132648

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

A Fairy Tale of New York is a funny, lusty, and sad novel of comic genius. Returning from study abroad, Cornelius Christian enters customs with his luggage and his dead wife. His first encounter in New York is with a funeral director, with whom he reluctantly takes employment to pay for the burial expenses. In the course of his duties he meets the beautiful Fanny Sourpuss over her millionaire husband's dead body. However, his over-enthusiastic handling of his first corpse lands him in court. Cornelius Christian wanders through the great sad cathedral that is New York, examining the human condition in all its comic pathos and lonely absurdity. Whether lingering in the Automat drinking from half empty coffee cups and stealing baked beans from the plates of customers who go looking for ketchup, or finding love on a street corner only to end up fighting his way out of a hooker's fists, Cornelius Christian, heroic anti-hero, sings of life's goodness in the wake of disaster.



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nobody liked me. A woman stared at me all the way down the aisle with hatred when I was making my first holy communion. Kept looking down at my white shoes that were a little grey at the time. I know I poured sugar in her husband’s gas tank and that she could never prove it. But any kid does that. Really put his engine on the blink. And she begrudged me for it. I don’t want to sound self pitying.” “O no you don’t sound self pitying, not at all. Kids around here are always doing that kind of

blue water filled with combs. Jar of petroleum jelly. Basins and mirrors. Walls and floors of tiles. Water splashing in the big blue green expanse of swimming pool. Naked men and others wrapped in towels. Fanny said she saw her first pair of balls on her father and even though he was so sweet they disgusted her. And then she said but I like your balls. They glisten when I squeeze them tight. And Cornelius why don’t you give me a surprise. Something precious. That makes me feel loved. Think of

Deliver you a catastrophic fuck. From your local supplier. Saunter up the winding path to the top of this stone hill. Hands folded behind back. Sun warm on my face. Silent men cluttered around the concrete chess tables. Fingers tapping, lips pursing over the death and slaughter drenched chess boards. And sitting there ready to checkmate a sour opponent, the man who valued me as a gentleman as I sat in the automat. Enveloped in my doom. In a sea of silent suffering. One little word of comfort

right price, I buy. And I don’t care what kind of head you got the brains in. Don’t get nervous, your head’s all right Christian. But a head, black, white, square, ten feet high or like a ping pong ball is all right so long as it works. But don’t let me sound like a king. So I think you have a future, Christian. Now what about the past.” “Steve I’ve been through his past with him.” “Once more fast won’t hurt, Howard.” “Thought we could get around to it later. Past’s fine.” “I’m interested. At

Elmhurst, a whole bunch of rubes with their little nicy nice wives patting their little baby’s asses with talcum powder out in the sticks.” “Queens has some very favoured residential districts.” “It has shit.” “I thought you liked it the day I took you to Rockaway.” “Cornelius, I did, I did. But then god damn it. What do you want me to say when you start calling out Marigold in your sleep.” “That’s a flower.” “That’s a god damn girl’s name too. Let Glen drive you.” “I can go on the

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