[In] his most recent book, The Unexpurgated Code: A Complete Manual of Survival and Manners (1975), [as in his preceding works, Donleavy's] chief interest lies in exploiting for humorous effect the circumstances of the unpedigreed but desperately eager individual who seeks to join the ranks of the social elite…. Indeed, The Unexpurgated Code is the kind of book that the zany, non-conforming protagonist of The Ginger Man, Sebastian Dangerfield, very well might have written … had he decided, in rakish middle age, to reveal the rules by which he has managed not only to survive but also to prosper in a cutthroat society. (p. 210)

[Donleavy] uses his burlesque book of etiquette primarily as a vehicle for the expression of his great scorn for all elements in society—both "high" and "low." The society he depicts—usually British in its demarcations of caste but sometimes suggesting an American milieu—is a freakish and sardonic distortion of the one we know, a cruelly comic caricature of the conventional social world….

Donleavy's anger and disgust, which have always been a part of his humor, recurrently manifest themselves here in an impulse to scourge and satirize, though the impulse lacks intellectual discipline and consistency and is, therefore, not fully realized. The bizarre social arena of the book mirrors a number of the follies and vices of humankind, and Donleavy concentrates his attack especially on those that either result from or help to preserve distinctions of class and rank. Moreover, his comic distortions are meant to reflect not only the anxiety that torments the socially inept but also the urge to dominate that so frequently underlies the desire for social prominence. (p. 211)

Quite clearly, and with gleeful malice aforethought, he has turned the standard book of etiquette on its head. Instead of treating distinctly proper matters with delicacy, in a manner that reflects well-received opinion, Donleavy examines subjects that range from the mildly sleazy to the utterly abominable and expresses, with arch disdain, attitudes about these seamy topics that harshly ridicule conventional society.

In its own terms, as a work of satiric low comedy, The Unexpurgated Code often succeeds marvelously well. It has laughter-provoking passages that display Donleavy's considerable powers as a sharp-eyed observer of human folly with a unique gift for creating droll scenes and funny dialogue. The pseudo-solemnity with which he approaches his deliberately inane or offensive material, and the modulations in tone that he manages to extract from this basic stance, in themselves demonstrate that this book issues from talent of a fairly high order. But in many instances the humor of The Unexpurgated Code flatly misses the mark and sharply disappoints.

One of the reasons is that Donleavy's comic routines have become too repetitious…. [The Unexpurgated Code is] a digest (randomly, randily set down) of the anxious antics that make it possible for Sebastian Dangerfield, George Smith (the protagonist of A Singular Man), Beefy (Balthazar's alter ego in The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B), and Cornelius Christian (the central figure in A Fairy Tale of New York) to stay alive and preserve a sense of dignity or style in a vicious world. (pp. 212-13)

A second reason for serious shortcomings in the humor of The Unexpurgated Code is Donleavy's uncritical acceptance of inferior elements in his work. Too often he rests content with sophomoric jokes, uninspired name-calling, and rambling or irrelevant remarks on "problems" or situations that do not easily lend themselves to comic rendering (meditation, body odor, throwing food, dandruff, and the like). Naturally anything at all might be made amusing, but Donleavy's characteristic lack of intellectual detachment from or control over his material—that is, his failure to depend on the rational perception of limitations beyond which an action or gesture ceases to be funny—sometimes produces flat, heavy-handed attempts at humor that have no more wit or cleverness than the smirking solemnities of Ann Landers. His commentary on visiting the chiropodist or robbing banks, for instance, strains clumsily toward witty casualness but remains dull and inert.

The driving energy and originality, as well as the therapeutic rage and vulgarity, of The Ginger Man have never been equalled in Donleavy's later productions, quite possibly because he tends to rely on the fading impulses and feelings that inform that novel rather than on fresh experiences or new ideas. He has, however, matched its high level of performance in many chapters and scenes of succeeding books and has written three other generally excellent works of fiction: A Singular Man, The Saddest Summer of Samuel S, and The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B, the last of which shows weaknesses only in the monotonously passive nature of the protagonist and in the excessive length of many sections of stream-of-consciousness narration that focus on his character. Deftness and control, clarity and restraint, and a sense of proportion—all implying esthetic and intellectual distance—are not the most salient or essential features of Donleavy's art. But the obvious need for a greater measure of these qualities in each book since Balthazar (The Onion Eaters, A Fairy Tale of New York, and, to a lesser degree, The Unexpurgated Code), without some wondrous inspiration like the one that shapes The Ginger Man, predictably means trouble for a writer whose forte is comedy. (pp. 213-14)

Donleavy normally proceeds by means of instinct, inspiration, and intuition—the tools of a romantic artist. He aims to produce belly laughs and (in the fiction) a sympathetic response to his chief characters; he does not set out to impose order and rationality on experience. And instead of elevated language (which he often parodies quite effectively), he records with great skill an earthy vernacular full of both comic and lyric possibilities.

But even on the level of farce and slapstick, and even with his taste for fictionalizing the chaotic Dionysian urges in preference to a spirit of Apollonian serenity, such aesthetic properties as clarity, formal control, and restraint qualify as artistic assets. If the first novel is buoyed up by an intensity of emotion and a matchless sense of discovery that make it consistently lively and explosively funny, the works that follows show signs of flagging energy and reveal an unfortunate habit of repeating its successful formulas. Since his art evolves primarily from feelings, which cannot always be held at a genuinely creative pitch, rather than ideas or concepts, which are longer-lasting if less immediately inspiring, this kind of literary entropy might well be inevitable. (pp. 214-15)

[This latest] uneven book will be read with a mixture of admiration and exasperation, for its flaws grow out of Donleavy's typical unwillingness to excise the amateurish portions of his writing…. If his talent is not to degenerate into self-parody, Donleavy would do well to acknowledge the need for a more rigorous critical attitude toward his future work and perhaps to consider whether or not he has exhausted the store of feeling and sensibility so richly present in The Ginger Man. (p. 215)