From Library Journal
This novella by the author of the classic The Ginger Man bills itself as a humorous fairy tale, but it's hard to sustain irony with a 19th-century prose style and a sophomoric plot. The life of Jocelyn Guenevere Marchantiere Jones has taken a dive. She is divorced and has lost all her money to bad investments. Her children no longer come to see her; her friends avoid her on the street. After losing her house, her upscale car, her downscale car, her job as a gift-wrapper, and her job as a waitress (as well as a few bullets to obnoxious guests and one recalcitrant TV), the elegant Mrs. Jones must resort to high-class whoring. Menopause and the geriatric scrap heap are next. The nicest things about Donleavy's book are the original illustrations by Elliott Banfield and the old-fashioned design. Not recommended.?Doris Lynch, Monroe Cty. P.L., Bloomington, Ind.Copyright 1997 Reed Business Information, Inc.


The New York Times Book Review, Nina Sonenberg
...[a] rich, ribald and touching creation...


From Booklist
Readers of Donleavy's best-seller of 40 years ago, The Ginger Man, may be clamoring for this work; they'll find a moderately effective satire on an insipid, absurd, money-driven world. The story is told in first and third person from the point of view of the ironically named Jocelyn "Joy" Jones. After her husband leaves for a younger woman, she becomes increasingly isolated and angry at the world, and, of course, her fate worsens: her college kids want no part of her; bills mount; she sells her large Scarsdale house, but her financial investor loses all the proceeds. Then her appreciation for clean rest rooms, the great legacy of her grandmother, lands her in a funeral home on one of her day trips to Manhattan museums, where her casual signing of a ledger leads to a multimillion-dollar inheritance from a total stranger, an absurd reversal that cannot undo her suicidal fatigue with the emptiness money had once concealed from her. Jim O'Laughlin


From Kirkus Reviews
The famed author of The Gingerman shows--in this angst-and-arsenic-laced little bonbon- -that there's plenty of wit and heart in the writer yet. At 42, beautiful Mrs. Steve Jones lives a splendid life indeed in her fine mansion at number 17 Winnapoopoo Road in Scarsdale--or does, that is, until husband Steve leaves her for a bimbo: at which time Mrs. Jones, who's been born, bred (in a southern state), and educated always and only to be the finest and most tasteful and discriminating of ladies, washes her hands of him for keeps in exchange for the mansion itself and a cool hundred-sixty-five thousand. And? Well, a downward spiral follows, sadly, as inept and dishonest brokers lose huge gobs of Jocelyn's money (full name, if needed for reference: Jocelyn Guenevere Machantiere Jones), as classy neighbors begin to snub her, as she starts to drink more, and as she feels increasingly like the mad girl across the road who appears at the window from time to time, in handcuffs. Selling the mansion (after first shooting her TV set with a priceless shotgun) gives her money enough to survive by moving to an apartment in a lesser neighborhood--then to another in a still lesser neighborhood--and to continue doing the only thing she really wants, which is to make train trips into the city to visit the art museums and find clean bathrooms to pee in. One clean bathroom she knows of happens to be in a funeral parlor and--by now she's falling into true, suicidal despair--her chancing to use it at just a certain moment will have a huge effect (and at the same time none at all) on her fate. A brilliantly brief, gloriously irreverent, perfectly raunchy, wonderfully hilarious--and sad, melancholy, tearful look at one woman's life. (Eight illustrations by Elliot Banfield are just as good as the book.) -- Copyright ©1997, Kirkus Associates, LP. All rights reserved.


Review
"Fans of J.P. Donleavy-and newcomers to his antics-can rejoice at his latest, rich, ribald, and touching creation." --The New York Times Book Review

"A charming, irrelevant novella." --American Way

"Donleavy has created a character of enormous force and dignity...It cheers me up, this book. It is not conventional." --Los Angeles Times

"[A] marvelously sophisticated, scatological, acerbic, and entertaining novella." --The Washington Times



Book Description
Not since The Gingerman has J.P. Donleavy succeeded in both delighting and irking his readers as he has with The Lady Who Like Clean Restrooms. This stylish novella tells the tale of Jocelyn Guenevere Marchantiere Jones, whose Scarsdale life comes to an abrupt end when her husband goes in search of a bit of "fresh flesh." Soon she is fending for herself in New York City, where finding a clean restroom will prove to be the least of her concerns.

FROM THE PUBLISHER

Jocelyn Guenevere Marchantiere Jones is an elegant forty-two, living a comfortable life despite being married to a strong, silent man, who is neither strong nor silent, but a bore. One day the bore comes home and announces he's leaving Joy for a bit of "fresh flesh." Joy, ever the lady, divorces in style without groveling or revenge only to find her financial resources quickly dwindling. Alone in her oversized Scarsdale home, depression sets in. Bottle of Polish vodka in hand, she takes a shotgun to the TV, drives her lawnmower round the garden at midnight, and otherwise scandalizes her neighbors. And so she sells her home, moves to a smaller apartment, and settles into a new, frugal lifestyle. However, tighter finances mean she must find thrifty pastimes. Joy couldn't have found a more perfect activity than spending her days exploring the city's fine museums. There is one slight hitch - the facilities of the Met, the Frick, etc., are not up to Joy's standards. Being a lady, Joy always follows one of her grandmother's truisms: "Ladies should only take a pee in clean rest rooms." This leads her into some of Manhattan's most distinguished rest rooms, including one in a funeral home - where she finds her fortunes turned on end.

FROM THE CRITICS

Kirkus Reviews

The famed author of "The Ginger Man" shows—in this angst-and-arsenic-laced little bonbon—that there's plenty of wit and heart in the writer yet.

At 42, beautiful Mrs. Steve Jones lives a splendid life indeed in her fine mansion at number 17 Winnapoopoo Road in Scarsdale—or does, that is, until husband Steve leaves her for a bimbo: at which time Mrs. Jones, who's been born, bred (in a southern state), and educated always and only to be the finest and most tasteful and discriminating of ladies, washes her hands of him for keeps in exchange for the mansion itself and a cool hundred-sixty-five thousand. And? Well, a downward spiral follows, sadly, as inept and dishonest brokers lose huge gobs of Jocelyn's money (full name, if needed for reference: Jocelyn Guenevere Machantiere Jones), as classy neighbors begin to snub her, as she starts to drink more, and as she feels increasingly like the mad girl across the road who appears at the window from time to time, in handcuffs. Selling the mansion (after first shooting her TV set with a priceless shotgun) gives her money enough to survive by moving to an apartment in a lesser neighborhood—then to another in a still lesser neighborhood—and to continue doing the only thing she really wants, which is to make train trips into the city to visit the art museums and find clean bathrooms to pee in. One clean bathroom she knows of happens to be in a funeral parlor and—by now she's falling into true, suicidal despair—her chancing to use it at just a certain moment will have a huge effect (and at the same time none at all) on her fate.

A brilliantly brief, gloriously irreverent, perfectly raunchy, wonderfully hilarious—and sad, melancholy, tearful look at one woman's life.