The World According to Garp (©1976)

John Irving is quite possibly one of the most poignant writers I've ever read. Admittedly I'm a lazy reader, and don't read a lot of really "serious" writers. But then again from what I gather, the really serious critics don't have much time for Irving.

Garp is a story I've known about for years and years. My dad read this ages ago, and there was a movie I haven't seen. A year ago my little sister gave this to me for my birthday, and it sat on my desk for several months before I finally cracked it open.

The story is strangely disjointed and is a tragedy of the first order. From very early on you know that this isn't going to be a fairy tale, but as the story progresses and grows deeper and deeper emotional roots, you can't help but think that just maybe, the author was having you on, and things would actually work them selves out and the hero would ride off into the sunset.

Not an easy novel to put in an egg cup and describe in fifty words or less. Here goes ...

(start counting).

It all starts with a young woman who doesn't like men, but wants a child, so she has one and calls him Garp. She raises her son, and her son grows up. He wants to write. But his mom writes a book first. Garp writes anyway, then gets writers block, gets unblocked, his mom dies, then dies.

Trust me, if you've not read this and want to go for one hell of a ride, this is a keeper. Of course for those who've known all along are just shaking their heads at this point.

Hey, I'm slow but I get there in the end.

Reviewed August 2003

The Fourth Hand (©2001)

The Fourth Hand was a surprisingly shallow book. I'm not saying that this is a stinker or anything, it's just lacking the depth of story telling I've experienced with Irving's other work. Who knows, maybe old John decided to forgo all of the weird shit and just tell a story on a single level and give the reader a simple story.

Simple of course is relative with Mister Irving, the guy's imagination is a wickedly wonderful playground. The Fourth Hand is a story that reads so quickly it's over before you know it which is a shame. At its core this is a story about love and the redeeming power of finding peace and allowing yourself to love others (I think it is anyway, what do I know, I'm a reader not a freakin' English major who looks for hidden meaning in everything).

So here's the story in a nutbar, er nutshell. Meet Patrick Wallingford. He's a happy go lucky, gets lucky lots kind of guy. Naturally he's a television journalist. While on assignment in India he has his hand nibbled off by a lion while on camera. Meanwhile a surgeon named Dr. Zajac and his son Rudy and their shit eating dog named Medea (what you think I could make this up?) are trying to develop a father and son bond, while the housekeeper who is obsessed with said Doctor looks on.

Even more meanwhile let's meet Mr. and Mrs. Clausen. Mrs. Clausen writes Dr. Zajac and offers him her husband's hand as a potential transplant for Patrick should the occasion ever arise where Otto Clausen didn't need it anymore. Well before you can say "Give me a vowel" Otto shoots himself by accident in his beer truck after his beloved Packer loose the Super Bowel. So let's all give Patrick a hand, Otto just did. Well, here's the twist, Mrs. Clausen, Doris gives the hand up, but there are a couple of catches - first she wants to be able to visit the hand, and second is a surprise. Of course there's a lot of stuff that goes on, so not to spoil anything for the reader, let's just say that the dog eventually overcomes her eating disorder.

This was a really fun read, and wasn't overly taxing. If you're looking for a light read with some fun characters this is fun stuff.

Reviewed February 22, 2004