Life Changing? Not for me.
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Having greatly enjoyed `The World According to Garp' I was looking forward to `A Prayer for Owen Meany `which has the reputation of being Irving's best book. But I was sadly disappointed and remain somewhat baffled by the praise heaped on this novel - it is not dreadful, but not wonderful either.
I didn't warm to Owen, while at times intriguing I found him increasingly annoying as the book progressed. THE DECISION TO HAVE ALL OF HIS SPEECH IN CAPITALS DOESN'T HELP AS IT FEELS LIKE HE IS SHOUTING & LONGER PASSAGES ARE DIFFICULT TO READ. John Wheelwright the narrator is bland and dull, only distinguished by his love of Owen. Which leaves only the supporting character to add interest, I'd have liked more of Johns', Mother, Grandmother & his cousin Hester.
My second problem is that the book is too long by at least 200 pages. The basic plot elements would make a decent novella. Once Owens fate is mostly revealed, about half way through, narrative & character getting lost in a long wade through dull and often repetitive diversions on religion, Vietnam, contras, Johns boring life in Canada. Before we finally get anywhere near a conclusion. I was tempted to give up about 2/3rd through, only carrying on in hope of a revelatory ending.
My biggest problem though is that while Irving seems to be trying to make points about faith and religion. It isn't clear what they are, and the whole thing becomes increasing turgid. Some claim this book as life changing (though without saying how their lives have changed). They are I think reading it as an endorsement of faith, but I'm not sure if that is the intention. Irving twice quotes Thomas Hardy on `living in a world where nothing bears out in practice what it promises incipiently' and the underwhelming nature of the key `revelations'' here (Johns father, the detail of Owens fate) seem to fit with that view. But it is such a mess of ideas it is difficult to know what Irving intended.
A novel I will remember, but couldn't recommended.
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Takes your breath away
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Every few months I take time out from my work and sit and read these reviews on Amazon, just to remind me of this wonderful book and to bring back my experience of reading it for the first time. Five minutes into reading the reviews and I'm silently weeping.
It's a utter privelidge to have had the opportunity to read such a book.
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Beautiful Owen
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I read this a few weeks ago and half-way through it I thought it was a bit over-long. It's a great story and the characters are superb - Owen has to be one of the best characters of all time. But it's a bit of a marathon of a book and as I read it I just wanted to finish it - not because it was boring but because I'm always eager to read my next book. However, as I got towards the end a strange thing happened. The closer I came to finishing it the more I didn't want it to end. The more you get to know Owen the more you want him to be part of your life forever. And you know what? I think he will be. A truly great book. Long... but you might end up wishing it was longer.
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Against the tide
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This was the first book by John Irving I've read and I found it rather too drawn out for its own good.I can't believe I've read the same book as the other reviewers or is the Irving publicity machine so convincing as to warp the literary sensibilities of a large part of the educated population.
As soon as I picked the book up and saw the location (New England) I knew I was in trouble,I don't go a bundle on the intellectually aspirational type people who write from that neck of the woods,they seem to write for sewing cicles and coffee mornings in my mind,but maybe I'm just bitter and twisted.Its just too comfortable for me ,like being smothered with expensive cushions or drowning in warm beer.But maybe thats what the general public wants it obviously sells in vast quantities.
To sum up I think I was too impressed by the shining accolades bestowed upon it.It obviously touched many people and I suppose these will be among his loyal fans, mainly made up of spiritually retarded sentimental dreamers with unrealised literary ambitions,but I guess I'm being a tad cruel and reactionist now.
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Who can forget Owen Meany?
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Every now and then, about once a year or so, I take this book down from the shelf and just look at it for a while without opening it. You see, I am doomed to remember a boy with a wrecked voice. I read the opening lines; again I am instantly captivated and find myself thinking of Owen Meany.
INTO PARADISE MAY THE ANGELS LEAD YOU
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