How many times must a man be considered “overlooked” or recalled as a “forgotten genius” before it must become apparent to even the meanest inteligence that he can no longer sensibly be considered “forgotten” or “overlooked”?
This is something worth observing in the case of Brian O’Nolan, better known to you perhaps as Flann O’Brien and, to the true cognoscenti, as Myles na Gopaleen too. What with an official stamp available as of this very day, the centenary of his emergence in bonny Strabane, a lengthy piece by Fintan O’Toole to say nothing of puffery in the New Yorker and the Guardian and lord knows where else, you cannot credibly say the old fella has been forgotten.
Needless to say, the authors of each of these articles (of faith) will not mind if you clap a hand brow-wards and exclaim, Why gosh and were it not for this sagacious (if suspiciously well-read) fellow reminding me, I’d have clean forgotten about the Man. ‘Tis kind of your newspaperman to permit me membership of his Guild of Perception. Thank you. Thank you most kindly.
I dares say I’ve done this meself and no mistake. There you go. Nevertheless with all this flummery and Flannery (with Kevin Myers striking a conventionally predictable counter-note) I do not think you may ever again complain that Brian and Flann and Myles have been under-looked.
As I’ve had occasion to mention before and so may as well again, the novels are entertainments for the kinds of people who enjoy that kind of thing but the column remains the thing. That and the Poor Mouth which preceded and destroyed the misery-fraudlence of the Angela’s Ashes crew long before they infested decent bookshops everywhere. I fancy Myles would not have been impressed by modern Ireland either. Mind you, a good number of the columns could be republished as contemporary commentary too. Sic transit gloria Hiberniae or whatnot.
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