I felt a need to post because while I admire his craftsmanship, I resent the casual way in which he dismisses anyone that might see things differently than he does. Most of the novel has no clear political point of view, but in the last third or so, some venom starts creeping in. It begins with some withering commentary from a character that was at first secondary but takes a central position in the later stages of the story. The character is meant to be cantankerous so I plowed on and ignored the direction that I could see coming. As modern events creep into the plot of the story, it shifts focus from the wild set up and side trips we have been taking, and goes in a very distinct political direction.
Having invested as much time in the writing at this point that I had, I continued. I am sure that Irving would argue that these are the views of his characters and must therefore be respected as they have been earned by the travails they have suffered through or because of the innate wisdom of these souls. Most of it though comes out like a sucker punch, unrelated to what has gone on before and only relevant because the writer has made it so. Balance is not required by a fictional character, they are what the story makes them, but this story does not make these views relevant. I am sure that many readers dislike hearing themselves referred to in truly ugly ways. The writer is entitled to his vision, but that does not mean that it is correct or that it is appropriate.
There is no reason that a character in fiction should mirror the readers thoughts on the issues of the story, but neither is it necessary to attack those with whom one disagrees. If it starts as a satire, and then becomes a political tome, at least you know what you are getting into. I enjoyed ninety percent of the book, but the remaining ten had little to do with the story and it robbed me of my pleasure. Some would say that is the purpose of a novel like this, to slap us in the face for our beliefs when we are finally listening. Unfortunately, John Irving's book feels like a suicide bomber. It comes into your life, smiles at you and maybe even engages in friendly behavior. It's real purpose however is to explode all over you and take you down with it. I am just a stupid American, one who continues to invite an intellectual terrorist into my home because I like the way he writes and the stories he tells.
