Enderby is a poet who parps a lot. He’s basically the early British prototype for Ignatius J. Reilly. He has no love except that of poetry which he composes on the toilet. When he finds himself first courted by those in charge of a literary prize and then by the editor of a women’s magazine, his world starts to come apart at the seams. It all ends in an asylum.
Along the way, Burgess uses his creation to satirise poetry, literature, Italians, Catholicism, love and the meaning of life. It’s an often amusing read, but although Burgess penned no fewer than three further novels based on Enderby, I don’t really have the inclination to pursue a character whose most memorable feature is farting.