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Until I Find You
Every major character in Until I Find You has been marked for life – not only William Burns, a church organist who is addicted to being tattooed, but also William's son, Jack, an actor who is shaped as a child by his relationships with older women. And Jack's mother, Alice – a Toronto tattoo artist – has been permanently damaged by William's rejection of her. This is a novel about the loss of innocence, on many levels.
820 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2005
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9,286 people want to read
About the author
John Irving
153 books15.5k followersJOHN IRVING was born in Exeter, New Hampshire, in 1942. His first novel, Setting Free the Bears, was published in 1968, when he was twenty-six. He competed as a wrestler for twenty years, and coached wrestling until he was forty-seven.
Mr. Irving has been nominated for a National Book Award three times—winning once, in 1980, for his novel The World According to Garp. He received an O. Henry Award in 1981 for his short story “Interior Space.” In 2000, Mr. Irving won the Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay for The Cider House Rules. In 2013, he won a Lambda Literary Award for his novel In One Person.
An international writer—his novels have been translated into more than thirty-five languages—John Irving lives in Toronto. His all-time best-selling novel, in every language, is A Prayer for Owen Meany.
Avenue of Mysteries is his fourteenth novel.
Mr. Irving has been nominated for a National Book Award three times—winning once, in 1980, for his novel The World According to Garp. He received an O. Henry Award in 1981 for his short story “Interior Space.” In 2000, Mr. Irving won the Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay for The Cider House Rules. In 2013, he won a Lambda Literary Award for his novel In One Person.
An international writer—his novels have been translated into more than thirty-five languages—John Irving lives in Toronto. His all-time best-selling novel, in every language, is A Prayer for Owen Meany.
Avenue of Mysteries is his fourteenth novel.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,728 reviews
November 13, 2007
I have very much enjoyed the other novels by John Irving I have read (Garp, Owen Meany, Widow for One Year), but I did NOT in any way enjoy "Until I Find You." All the classic Irving tropes are here (wrestling, prostitutes, New Hampshire, older women, people of small stature), but all are deployed in an absolutely forced, joyless, airless manner. The best thing I can say about this novel is that Irving's prose is typically readable. That is also the ONLY positive thing I can think to say about the book. The entire text feels like an exercise in expanding the relatively banal post-modern quote that prefaces the text, except that the quote (generally about the fallibility of memory and storytelling) is about four lines long, and the novel is 820 seemingly endless pages. And at the end of the text, I didn't feel that the quote had been the slightest bit illuminated or developed or enriched. (I don’t want to spoil anything, but the prevailing feeling I have about the novel is: that’s IT??)
The story hangs together on contrivance and uninspiring, unsurprising "twists." Previous Irving books create worlds where unbelievable acts of fate or outlandish characters become truly believable. Irving follows the old professorial dictum to "make the familiar strange and the strange familiar." Yet the world created in "Until I Find You" fails to cohere. The characters never sound real when they speak; no one’s actions ever make sense to us, nor do we (the audience) believe that they even make sense to the characters themselves. Never at any point did I truly care about a single character in this novel, and no one ever achieved anything other than the sketchiest inner life or set of motivations. Managing to keep each and every character a two-dimensional functionary within a novel so enormous is actually an accomplishment, though a dubious one, to be sure. With prose so fluid, I found myself turning page after boring, contrived, unbelievable page, waiting for something – ANYthing – to hook me, for some coincidence to startle me, for some connection to be revealed to me. But page after page (after page after page…) disappointed. There was simply no depth, no truth, no emotion.
I recently read Anna Karenina, and was shocked at the amount of activity that takes place within each and every chapter, and to each and every character. Every person in Tolstoy’s novel has a rich inner life and wonderfully nuanced viewpoints; those were 1200 pages that felt like 200. "Until I Find You" is the polar opposite: you could convince me that I have been reading that book nonstop for the last three years. It could be 800 pages or 8,000.
There’s really very little else to say about this lifeless cinderblock of a book. I enjoyed almost nothing about it, and can only reiterate my surprise and sadness at being so utterly disappointed by a book I had been so excited to read, written by a novelist I had previously enjoyed so much. What a sad waste.
The story hangs together on contrivance and uninspiring, unsurprising "twists." Previous Irving books create worlds where unbelievable acts of fate or outlandish characters become truly believable. Irving follows the old professorial dictum to "make the familiar strange and the strange familiar." Yet the world created in "Until I Find You" fails to cohere. The characters never sound real when they speak; no one’s actions ever make sense to us, nor do we (the audience) believe that they even make sense to the characters themselves. Never at any point did I truly care about a single character in this novel, and no one ever achieved anything other than the sketchiest inner life or set of motivations. Managing to keep each and every character a two-dimensional functionary within a novel so enormous is actually an accomplishment, though a dubious one, to be sure. With prose so fluid, I found myself turning page after boring, contrived, unbelievable page, waiting for something – ANYthing – to hook me, for some coincidence to startle me, for some connection to be revealed to me. But page after page (after page after page…) disappointed. There was simply no depth, no truth, no emotion.
I recently read Anna Karenina, and was shocked at the amount of activity that takes place within each and every chapter, and to each and every character. Every person in Tolstoy’s novel has a rich inner life and wonderfully nuanced viewpoints; those were 1200 pages that felt like 200. "Until I Find You" is the polar opposite: you could convince me that I have been reading that book nonstop for the last three years. It could be 800 pages or 8,000.
There’s really very little else to say about this lifeless cinderblock of a book. I enjoyed almost nothing about it, and can only reiterate my surprise and sadness at being so utterly disappointed by a book I had been so excited to read, written by a novelist I had previously enjoyed so much. What a sad waste.
August 14, 2008
This is the most personal book I have read of Irving's and I am a huge fan. I've read everything save one book, the one that was a very successful movie.
"Until I Find You" is a tough book to get into. The first few chapters are painstaking and seem laborious but you cannot put the book aside. Then in a single moment it becomes essential to know the story, know what happens to this little boy, because you care about him in his over-the-top quirky yet very sad yet oblivous existence.
For an Irving reader this is an oddity because though his empathy, poignancy and humor are all there, and you do laugh and cry aloud, his usual snarky and wonderful laugh mechanisms are not in this book. There is plenty to laugh at but the humor is softer, sweeter, more mindful. You get the sense that he is not creating laughter as armor to defend someone from harming him; rather he is using it to make you love these characters even more.
I loved "...Own Meany" best before I read "Widow for One Year," but now I am unsure Irving can top this very personally felt and lovingly written book.
"Until I Find You" is a tough book to get into. The first few chapters are painstaking and seem laborious but you cannot put the book aside. Then in a single moment it becomes essential to know the story, know what happens to this little boy, because you care about him in his over-the-top quirky yet very sad yet oblivous existence.
For an Irving reader this is an oddity because though his empathy, poignancy and humor are all there, and you do laugh and cry aloud, his usual snarky and wonderful laugh mechanisms are not in this book. There is plenty to laugh at but the humor is softer, sweeter, more mindful. You get the sense that he is not creating laughter as armor to defend someone from harming him; rather he is using it to make you love these characters even more.
I loved "...Own Meany" best before I read "Widow for One Year," but now I am unsure Irving can top this very personally felt and lovingly written book.
September 22, 2009
Help! Some hack has kidnapped John Irving and is publishing novels under his name! As so many, many have said: I've loved John Irving's work for years, but this book is a mess (were there no editors? Or - and here's a scary thought - is this actually the edited version?). Irving is getting up there in years (he was 63 when Until I Find You was published), but one still wouldn't have imagined he'd be capable of writing such a joyless, tic-ridden, self-indulgent, slightly icky-minded shambles of a novel. And not even early-onset Alzheimer's could explain the endless repetition of catch phrases and character details (I'll say it again -- were there no editors?) that become so freaking irritating you want to scream. Why was Irving not embarrassed to write such clumsy attributions as "'Blah blah blah,' Alice said, maybe." As if that "maybe" was supposed to make us go all mushy inside because of his amateur, cloddish attempt to limn the transient nature of memory. I mean, come on, John. I didn't go to Exeter like you, but I managed to figure out a thing or two in life. All of this is a shame, most of all. Much of the press around the book seems to focus on its autobiographical nature and on Irving's effort to mine personal experiences, a strategy that has served him well in his previous novels but which falters miserably here. This is the sort of book Irving should have written for therapy (if he needed to) and then burned; it's nothing strangers needed to read. I hope he's got more books in him, but I pray to god that work like Until I Find You is out of his system for good.
February 28, 2008
"Until I Find You" is repetitious, overwritten, overlong and untrusting of the reader. Almost no important detail, key anecdote, phrase in a foreign language, or memorable line is used just once, and few are used just twice or even three times. Even the uninspired elements get repeated again and again. (Inexplicably, however, the occasional detail -- Emma's moustache, for example -- is heavily emphasized, and then completely dropped without being resolved or mentioned again.)
It's been a while since I've read a John Irving novel, but I don't remember him being this poor a writer. This must be an Irving book because all the typical Irving obsessions -- wrestling, cross-dressing, boarding schools, adultery and exceptional children -- are here, but I remember him being a better storyteller. Even the novel's point of view has problems, with Irving seemingly unsure whether to stay the whole time with the main character Jack Burns -- is it the third-person narrator or Jack, an Oscar-winning movie star and screenwriter, who doesn't remember the names of well-known Hollywood films? -- and whether Jack's view of the world is reliable. (There's a big reveal halfway through the book that Jack's early memories were incorrect, but what are we to make of the events we see through his eyes later in the book?)
It doesn't help that Jack is an incredibly bland character, with few opinions and little internal life. This is acknowledged in the course of the novel, but even such an acknowledgement doesn't make the book any easier to get through, as its main character is so uninteresting.
Perhaps Irving's previous books had better editors. I can think of no other reason why this one pales so miserably in comparison. Somewhere in this 850-page, flabby mess of a book, I suspect, is a good if not great 350-page novel.
It's been a while since I've read a John Irving novel, but I don't remember him being this poor a writer. This must be an Irving book because all the typical Irving obsessions -- wrestling, cross-dressing, boarding schools, adultery and exceptional children -- are here, but I remember him being a better storyteller. Even the novel's point of view has problems, with Irving seemingly unsure whether to stay the whole time with the main character Jack Burns -- is it the third-person narrator or Jack, an Oscar-winning movie star and screenwriter, who doesn't remember the names of well-known Hollywood films? -- and whether Jack's view of the world is reliable. (There's a big reveal halfway through the book that Jack's early memories were incorrect, but what are we to make of the events we see through his eyes later in the book?)
It doesn't help that Jack is an incredibly bland character, with few opinions and little internal life. This is acknowledged in the course of the novel, but even such an acknowledgement doesn't make the book any easier to get through, as its main character is so uninteresting.
Perhaps Irving's previous books had better editors. I can think of no other reason why this one pales so miserably in comparison. Somewhere in this 850-page, flabby mess of a book, I suspect, is a good if not great 350-page novel.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
August 24, 2019
“Penis, penis, penis—” Jack chantedSeriously, this book has much more to offer than penises, although, I have to admit, that penis is probably the one word that sticks out the most… oh, and tattoo too.
“That about covers it”
(pg.312)
Can't blame any reader if they throw in the towel sometime in the first half. The life and story of Jack Burns can get under your skin pretty fast. From the books I read by John Irving this is probably the most lugubrious one. It was my second reading and I realized what little I remembered of the plot from my first encounter, or remembered falsely.
Funny old thing: memory.
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October 12, 2011
I have read many many many John Irving books and this one is unequivocally my favorite. It's also the John Irving book that seems to incite the most vitriol. And I don't know why. It's a simple story about a man, a man searching for his father, and searching for himself. It's a road novel, back and forth and back and forth over Europe and America the mother and son characters move. It's also about the history of tattoos and you get to learn all the nifty language and parlance and colloquialisms of a fasciating sub-culture. But most of all it is about how our memories decieve us, they lie to us. And how our parents lie to us and decieve us. And how when we're young, when you're innocent and green and wide-eyed and naive you aren't aware of the wierdness that surrounds you. That surrounds your parents. You think it's normal. This huge sprawling novel reminds me of one line from Alan Moore's Lost Girls.
"You see, there's the way things seem and the way things actually are, and one is so often the total reverse of the other."
"You see, there's the way things seem and the way things actually are, and one is so often the total reverse of the other."
October 19, 2007
if you're not into john irving or if you've never read him before, i wouldn't start with this one. but if you're an irving lover, definitely go for it.
no matter what the critics say, for me, irving can do no wrong. reading his books actually take me out of my life. i'm running out of ones i haven't read. maybe i'll have to start rrrrerrrreading.
also, irving can always be counted on for good author photos.
no matter what the critics say, for me, irving can do no wrong. reading his books actually take me out of my life. i'm running out of ones i haven't read. maybe i'll have to start rrrrerrrreading.
also, irving can always be counted on for good author photos.
July 24, 2008
This is a case for me of a pure gut/emotional reaction, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.
First of all, this book has totally sold me on John Irving. I read "A Prayer for Owen Meany", and had the hardest time getting into it. I really liked about the last hundred pages, but getting there was a chore, to be quite honest.
But this book, this book had me from the first line to the last. And it is directly because of all of the personal parallels. You have the musician (I'm a musician, a pianist actually) you have the tattoo addiction (4 of my own at last count, the last one being a true test of iron will, but it is freakin SWEET!) The single boy and his single mother, father estrangement, the feeling of a rudderless life, everything.
And at the end, when Jack has discovered certain key people of his life (if you've read, you know what I mean, if not, go read!)I was a puddle! This was the polar opposite of my experience with "Suttree". That novel was a cold masterpiece that at the end had me feeling academic but cold. This one chimed every emotional cord (or chord) in me.
First of all, this book has totally sold me on John Irving. I read "A Prayer for Owen Meany", and had the hardest time getting into it. I really liked about the last hundred pages, but getting there was a chore, to be quite honest.
But this book, this book had me from the first line to the last. And it is directly because of all of the personal parallels. You have the musician (I'm a musician, a pianist actually) you have the tattoo addiction (4 of my own at last count, the last one being a true test of iron will, but it is freakin SWEET!) The single boy and his single mother, father estrangement, the feeling of a rudderless life, everything.
And at the end, when Jack has discovered certain key people of his life (if you've read, you know what I mean, if not, go read!)I was a puddle! This was the polar opposite of my experience with "Suttree". That novel was a cold masterpiece that at the end had me feeling academic but cold. This one chimed every emotional cord (or chord) in me.
April 16, 2022
Объемный роман посвящен вроде бы важной теме – чувствам cына, выросшего без отца, его взросления и становления как личности. Но… Роман маскируется под роман взросления, но на самом деле это роман не просто полового созревания, а развращения 9 летнего мальца прожженными проститутками, подругами матери, зарабатывающей на жизнь татуировками. Первая треть романа только об этом. Остальная часть примерно об этом же уже через призму актерской карьеры, и поисками и встречей с отцом. Язык плоский, повествование линейно, бедность идей и, в целом, примитивность личности главного героя и других персонажей характеризуют этот роман. Весьма посредственно.
November 9, 2007
I have read 10 of John Irving's books: his first 9, and this one. Clearly, he does something that I keep going back for. Maybe it's no coincidence that I also read all of Dickens' novels in chronological order, back in my twenties. The two are very different -- Dickens is much funnier, for instance -- but they have much in common. It doesn't surprise me to read others' mention of the links between them:
Of the scope, the sheer heft factor of their books, many complain. I like it. It's hard not to like a character, Jack Burns for one, when, after 800 pages, you feel you've known him his whole life. I think incomplete knowledge and hasty summation of others is at the root of human conflict.
I am a sucker for writers who are both essentially compassionate and unequivocally outraged by human cruelty, especially if they don't just wring their hands, but leap from their armchairs, sprint after the offenders, smash out their tail-lights and put them on notice, a la T.S. Garp.
Irving also is a tonic to me because I feel understood when an author writes frankly about sexuality. I don't have to share a character's particular predilections to enjoy the reading, and I feel respected when things aren't whitewashed 'for my protection.' I concur that cruel sex isn't immoral because of the sex, but because of the cruelty. I believe that *any* morality that's used for superiority, used to judge or condemn others, is really just tarted-up cruelty. For these reasons, Irving is right up my street.
Both Irving and Dickens zero in on the invisible-because-conventionally-unregarded strings that most of us are still dancing at the ends of, with the other ends tethered to our childhoods. Most of us throw our hands up about our pasts, stamp 'history' on the whole bundle, and close the door upon it. If we're like sailing ships, our history is the wind, beyond our control, still pushing at us; it takes skill and tenacity to steer the present, consciously, against this wind, and most of us don't have the grit for it. Both Irving and Dickens have troubled to regard childhood, to steep themselves in it, and their writing about childhood rings with this truth as a result: childhood is magical, yes, but more Pan's-Labyrinth-magical than Pinocchio-Blue-Fairy magical; it's magical because ordinary human actions can be transformed, distorted, elevated to myth, when perceived by a child. A single instance of loss, of gratitude, of injustice, all parts of the passing parade of human experience as understood by adults, can become -- or as mysteriously not become -- lifelong, permanent, and defining for a child. As a former child, present parent, and future feature of my childrens' memories, it helps me to remember this, and reading these authors gets me there.
As for 'Until I Find You,' in particular? Well, it's not Irving's tightest work, and Irving's tightest work is none too tight. I have to conclude that he's serving a purpose other than spare, lean writing. It has a different effect on the reader than saying, "So Jack and his mom went to a succession of major Scandinavian cities, met assorted tattooers, and stayed in various hotels," to have to go through the somewhat circular experience, the full theme-and-variations, with Jack. It pays off when he has to refactor his memories, because we have them too, and they were so many pages ago that they feel like *our* childhood memories. In many respects, reading the book is more like living life than like experiencing a finely-crafted, precision-engineered storytelling. Mrs. McQuat almost gets to serve as a needed counter-weight, but dies too early; Claudia's daughter comes and goes with Jack seeming to sleepwalk through both the experience and the ramifications; the bat exhibit and The Wurtz; I could make a long list of the dangling threads that just keep dangling. Irving has no regard whatever for Chekhov's gun (look up 'Chekhov's gun' in Wikipedia), and I guess I don't either.
Of the scope, the sheer heft factor of their books, many complain. I like it. It's hard not to like a character, Jack Burns for one, when, after 800 pages, you feel you've known him his whole life. I think incomplete knowledge and hasty summation of others is at the root of human conflict.
I am a sucker for writers who are both essentially compassionate and unequivocally outraged by human cruelty, especially if they don't just wring their hands, but leap from their armchairs, sprint after the offenders, smash out their tail-lights and put them on notice, a la T.S. Garp.
Irving also is a tonic to me because I feel understood when an author writes frankly about sexuality. I don't have to share a character's particular predilections to enjoy the reading, and I feel respected when things aren't whitewashed 'for my protection.' I concur that cruel sex isn't immoral because of the sex, but because of the cruelty. I believe that *any* morality that's used for superiority, used to judge or condemn others, is really just tarted-up cruelty. For these reasons, Irving is right up my street.
Both Irving and Dickens zero in on the invisible-because-conventionally-unregarded strings that most of us are still dancing at the ends of, with the other ends tethered to our childhoods. Most of us throw our hands up about our pasts, stamp 'history' on the whole bundle, and close the door upon it. If we're like sailing ships, our history is the wind, beyond our control, still pushing at us; it takes skill and tenacity to steer the present, consciously, against this wind, and most of us don't have the grit for it. Both Irving and Dickens have troubled to regard childhood, to steep themselves in it, and their writing about childhood rings with this truth as a result: childhood is magical, yes, but more Pan's-Labyrinth-magical than Pinocchio-Blue-Fairy magical; it's magical because ordinary human actions can be transformed, distorted, elevated to myth, when perceived by a child. A single instance of loss, of gratitude, of injustice, all parts of the passing parade of human experience as understood by adults, can become -- or as mysteriously not become -- lifelong, permanent, and defining for a child. As a former child, present parent, and future feature of my childrens' memories, it helps me to remember this, and reading these authors gets me there.
As for 'Until I Find You,' in particular? Well, it's not Irving's tightest work, and Irving's tightest work is none too tight. I have to conclude that he's serving a purpose other than spare, lean writing. It has a different effect on the reader than saying, "So Jack and his mom went to a succession of major Scandinavian cities, met assorted tattooers, and stayed in various hotels," to have to go through the somewhat circular experience, the full theme-and-variations, with Jack. It pays off when he has to refactor his memories, because we have them too, and they were so many pages ago that they feel like *our* childhood memories. In many respects, reading the book is more like living life than like experiencing a finely-crafted, precision-engineered storytelling. Mrs. McQuat almost gets to serve as a needed counter-weight, but dies too early; Claudia's daughter comes and goes with Jack seeming to sleepwalk through both the experience and the ramifications; the bat exhibit and The Wurtz; I could make a long list of the dangling threads that just keep dangling. Irving has no regard whatever for Chekhov's gun (look up 'Chekhov's gun' in Wikipedia), and I guess I don't either.
November 16, 2010
John Irving is an inspirational author and I use many of his books as examples on how to write a good book. A Widow for One Year is in my Top 10 books of all time.
Until I Find You is far from brilliant. It's tedious, self-indulgent and boring.
As much as I like to see authors making money and winning Oscars (The Cider House Rules), I'm not in favour of the power they weild afterwards. No first-time author would be indulged in this way.
Typical John Irving characters. I was hoping for more typical John Irving writing as well. It's not there.
This book falls flat on its 800 page face. In today's instant gratification society, 800 pages is seen as a commitment. If I'm going to invest that kind of time in a book, I really expect to be dazzled and entertained.
The story is told only from the child who becomes an actor, Jack's viewpoint, and I suspect this may be part of the problem.
It's difficult to sustain interest in 1 character for 800 pages. I would like to see John Irving put aside his own father/son issues for his next novel.
Until I Find You is far from brilliant. It's tedious, self-indulgent and boring.
As much as I like to see authors making money and winning Oscars (The Cider House Rules), I'm not in favour of the power they weild afterwards. No first-time author would be indulged in this way.
Typical John Irving characters. I was hoping for more typical John Irving writing as well. It's not there.
This book falls flat on its 800 page face. In today's instant gratification society, 800 pages is seen as a commitment. If I'm going to invest that kind of time in a book, I really expect to be dazzled and entertained.
The story is told only from the child who becomes an actor, Jack's viewpoint, and I suspect this may be part of the problem.
It's difficult to sustain interest in 1 character for 800 pages. I would like to see John Irving put aside his own father/son issues for his next novel.
October 25, 2023
"It's better than a sore penis," Jack said. — From Until I Find You.
Well, maybe not ...
One of John Irving's longest novels also takes the longest to become interesting — if it ever does; I bailed before getting close to page 820, all ambition sapped from me by this strangely uninvolving work that, by my limited reckoning, never would have been published if submitted by an unknown. While containing familiar Irving elements (don't they all?), there is an utter lack of verve and momentum. It's as though the work were ghosted by an Irving replacement; like series Westerns or action-detective novels that are "A (known author name here) novel by (fill-in writer here)." I can see it: "Just throw in some prostitutes, child sexual abuse, talk about penises, have characters go back repeatedly to red light districts with lots of prostitutes, add some wrestling — how are you on bears?"
The early part of the novel contains Irving's typical scene-setting and history. Usually, his novels perk up at some point, and suddenly you realize you're "in" the tale, and it's smooth sailing from there. A Son of the Circus (a much better, and really underrated novel) was like this; about 100 pages of interesting yet not completely engrossing exposition, then you're suddenly off and running. Not here.
In the early part of the tale, 4-year-old Jack Burns is taken by his mother hither and yon in search of his tattoo-obsessed, church organ-playing father, whom Jack had never met. Oslo, Helsinki, Stockholm; Alice, a tattoo artist, visits whorehouse after whorehouse talking to prostitutes, visits church after church and listens to their organs; talks to tattoo artist after tattoo artist, most with "Tattoo" in their names. Almost nothing of interest happens in the book's first part. Oh, there's a vintage Irving moment in which a housekeeper and young Jack put their bodies against each other, hold their breath and let their hearts beat together. "You must be alive." "You must be alive, too." That's darling, and it's early; after that, it's tough sledding. Irving has Jack GIVING A MAN A TATTOO at 4 years old. This isn't funny (a 16-month old doing it might be; or a 7-year-old); it's just dumb. The only other real relief from traipsing around Europe pointlessly is a scene in which Jack is saved from the ice by a tiny soldier, who of course later has sex with Jack's mother (not everything is tiny).
Preceding the novel itself is a blurb from William Maxwell's So Long, See You Tomorrow (a much better novel; this mention actually is what made me decide to give the book a read) about memory, that it's "a form of storytelling that goes on continuously in the mind and often changes with the telling." This implies that what we see through 4-year-old Jack's eyes isn't necessarily what happens. Irving never develops this during the reading I did before tossing the book aside; but the way he handles it, if that's what he's doing, is not even interesting. Perhaps, later, much good happens and Irving rights this listing ship. I'll never know. But if a writer expects people to read an 820-page book, he simply MUST find a way to keep them interested in the first quarter of the novel. I hate bailing on books, particularly those from authors I've loved in the past, but I will if a writer does this to me.
If Irving were trying something completely different, I'd be more forgiving. He's not. It's like Rod Stewart going from a rocker who could do no wrong on his own and with the Faces from 1970-73 to completely losing it and later doing crappy show tunes — except Irving is throwing in the same elements he always does, but without making them the slightest bit interesting. Unlike Rod, he's not abandoning what he does best; he's simply doing what he always does very badly and at excruciating length.
I gave up on Until I Find You (better title: Until I Toss You in the Trash), picked up the new Tim Powers novel, started reading, and it felt as if I were awakening from a sleepwalk. Enough. I've spent more words on Irving's book than it deserves.
Well, maybe not ...
One of John Irving's longest novels also takes the longest to become interesting — if it ever does; I bailed before getting close to page 820, all ambition sapped from me by this strangely uninvolving work that, by my limited reckoning, never would have been published if submitted by an unknown. While containing familiar Irving elements (don't they all?), there is an utter lack of verve and momentum. It's as though the work were ghosted by an Irving replacement; like series Westerns or action-detective novels that are "A (known author name here) novel by (fill-in writer here)." I can see it: "Just throw in some prostitutes, child sexual abuse, talk about penises, have characters go back repeatedly to red light districts with lots of prostitutes, add some wrestling — how are you on bears?"
The early part of the novel contains Irving's typical scene-setting and history. Usually, his novels perk up at some point, and suddenly you realize you're "in" the tale, and it's smooth sailing from there. A Son of the Circus (a much better, and really underrated novel) was like this; about 100 pages of interesting yet not completely engrossing exposition, then you're suddenly off and running. Not here.
In the early part of the tale, 4-year-old Jack Burns is taken by his mother hither and yon in search of his tattoo-obsessed, church organ-playing father, whom Jack had never met. Oslo, Helsinki, Stockholm; Alice, a tattoo artist, visits whorehouse after whorehouse talking to prostitutes, visits church after church and listens to their organs; talks to tattoo artist after tattoo artist, most with "Tattoo" in their names. Almost nothing of interest happens in the book's first part. Oh, there's a vintage Irving moment in which a housekeeper and young Jack put their bodies against each other, hold their breath and let their hearts beat together. "You must be alive." "You must be alive, too." That's darling, and it's early; after that, it's tough sledding. Irving has Jack GIVING A MAN A TATTOO at 4 years old. This isn't funny (a 16-month old doing it might be; or a 7-year-old); it's just dumb. The only other real relief from traipsing around Europe pointlessly is a scene in which Jack is saved from the ice by a tiny soldier, who of course later has sex with Jack's mother (not everything is tiny).
Preceding the novel itself is a blurb from William Maxwell's So Long, See You Tomorrow (a much better novel; this mention actually is what made me decide to give the book a read) about memory, that it's "a form of storytelling that goes on continuously in the mind and often changes with the telling." This implies that what we see through 4-year-old Jack's eyes isn't necessarily what happens. Irving never develops this during the reading I did before tossing the book aside; but the way he handles it, if that's what he's doing, is not even interesting. Perhaps, later, much good happens and Irving rights this listing ship. I'll never know. But if a writer expects people to read an 820-page book, he simply MUST find a way to keep them interested in the first quarter of the novel. I hate bailing on books, particularly those from authors I've loved in the past, but I will if a writer does this to me.
If Irving were trying something completely different, I'd be more forgiving. He's not. It's like Rod Stewart going from a rocker who could do no wrong on his own and with the Faces from 1970-73 to completely losing it and later doing crappy show tunes — except Irving is throwing in the same elements he always does, but without making them the slightest bit interesting. Unlike Rod, he's not abandoning what he does best; he's simply doing what he always does very badly and at excruciating length.
I gave up on Until I Find You (better title: Until I Toss You in the Trash), picked up the new Tim Powers novel, started reading, and it felt as if I were awakening from a sleepwalk. Enough. I've spent more words on Irving's book than it deserves.
June 24, 2008
What a shame when a decent story idea is mangled by diarrhea writing and non-existent editing. I plowed through all 800-some pages of this book, hoping that Irving would somehow redeem himself in the end. No such luck. It managed to even get worse at the end - quite a feat. This book was a real disappointment, and I give it two stars only because the basic story itself was intriguing; it was the execution of the story that fell far short.
February 3, 2009
Jack Burns!
I can't hear the name without the exclamation point in my head. He leads an interesting life. John Irving weaves his childhood, teen years, and adult life into a strange and fascinating tale. Much of what John Irving writes about revolves around sex, especially for Jack Burns. I've read two of Irving's novels, the other being A Widow For One Year and he has a few consistencies. Taboo sex is a major factor in the lives of the main characters, for instance, a middle aged woman and a teenage boy. He follows the life of the main character (or characters) from their formative years well into their adult life, and he shows the change and growth the character goes through, especially in relation to the strange experiences they went through as children. Families are dysfunctional in a very refreshingly unique sort of way. And there is a love of stories.
In both novels, there is at least one creative character who writes books, or movies. He tells these stories within his own story as well. In A Widow For One Year, there are four writers, and he gives details about the plots to each of their books. One of the authors, Ted Cole, writes children's books, and he actually tells the full stories of three of them. He has since published one of these children's stories, A Sound Like Someone Trying Not To Make A Sound, which I look forward to reading.
In Until I Find You, the main characters best friend writes screenplays, and the main character is an actor in movies, and he goes into detail about the plots of these films as well.
In both books, Irving also goes off into tangents. It is especially in prevalent in Until I Find You, where he seems unable to finish a sentence without being reminded of some event in the characters future or past, or some interesting tidbit about the place where the current scene is taking place. He goes into detail on these tangents to the point where you forget what story he was originally telling, and then he brings you right back into it without whiplash to your brain and sinks you right back into his fascinating story. I don't know how he does this without making me want to put the book down...I've rather grown to like this ability he has. It's bad story telling, put to a very good use. I wouldn't trust anyone else to be able to pull it off, but he does so splendidly.
Read John Irving, unless you're morally uptight, and be enriched.
Also, see A Door In The floor, the Focus Film adaptation of A Widow For One Year. It is the best book-to-film I've ever seen. It completely captures the spirit and feel of the novel, though it only covers the first half of the book, when the main characters are young. The second half of the novel goes into their adult life, which is not addressed in the movie...sequel?...I doubt it, but would love it.
John Irving is now of one of my top favorite authors.
I can't hear the name without the exclamation point in my head. He leads an interesting life. John Irving weaves his childhood, teen years, and adult life into a strange and fascinating tale. Much of what John Irving writes about revolves around sex, especially for Jack Burns. I've read two of Irving's novels, the other being A Widow For One Year and he has a few consistencies. Taboo sex is a major factor in the lives of the main characters, for instance, a middle aged woman and a teenage boy. He follows the life of the main character (or characters) from their formative years well into their adult life, and he shows the change and growth the character goes through, especially in relation to the strange experiences they went through as children. Families are dysfunctional in a very refreshingly unique sort of way. And there is a love of stories.
In both novels, there is at least one creative character who writes books, or movies. He tells these stories within his own story as well. In A Widow For One Year, there are four writers, and he gives details about the plots to each of their books. One of the authors, Ted Cole, writes children's books, and he actually tells the full stories of three of them. He has since published one of these children's stories, A Sound Like Someone Trying Not To Make A Sound, which I look forward to reading.
In Until I Find You, the main characters best friend writes screenplays, and the main character is an actor in movies, and he goes into detail about the plots of these films as well.
In both books, Irving also goes off into tangents. It is especially in prevalent in Until I Find You, where he seems unable to finish a sentence without being reminded of some event in the characters future or past, or some interesting tidbit about the place where the current scene is taking place. He goes into detail on these tangents to the point where you forget what story he was originally telling, and then he brings you right back into it without whiplash to your brain and sinks you right back into his fascinating story. I don't know how he does this without making me want to put the book down...I've rather grown to like this ability he has. It's bad story telling, put to a very good use. I wouldn't trust anyone else to be able to pull it off, but he does so splendidly.
Read John Irving, unless you're morally uptight, and be enriched.
Also, see A Door In The floor, the Focus Film adaptation of A Widow For One Year. It is the best book-to-film I've ever seen. It completely captures the spirit and feel of the novel, though it only covers the first half of the book, when the main characters are young. The second half of the novel goes into their adult life, which is not addressed in the movie...sequel?...I doubt it, but would love it.
John Irving is now of one of my top favorite authors.
May 22, 2007
What John Irving does best- creates a very detailed history, starting with Jack as a young boy and taking you with him into adulthood. But the childhood portion of this book is told from the perspective of his memory, which will have you having all sorts of bits of nostalgia in relating to the way Jack remembers things and reasons he mis-remembers them. It's especially heartbreaking because as an adult he is searching for his father he never knew, and discovers that some memories he has involve his father, which he was not aware of when they were actually occurring. He has equally revelatory moments about memories involving his mother. In any case Irving's insight into how children see and interpret events and life in general is pretty amazing.
And, like his other books, you get so involved in the world he creates, that when this book ends it is depressing to leave the North Sea and Baltic Sea Ports. This book pretty much made me want to move there. Irving's stories usually take place in New England, and a portion of this book does, but it was really beautiful to read his descriptions of Northern Europe in Until I Find You. As a side note, there is also lots of tattoo art history in this book, as Jack's mother is a tattoo artist. And I have to end this with a quote from the beginning of the book by William Maxwell, which pretty much sums it up-
"What we refer to confidently as memory...is really a form of storytelling that goes on continually in the mind and often changes with the telling. Too many conflicting emotional interests are involved for life ever to be wholly acceptable...In any case, in talking about the past we lie with every breath we draw."
And, like his other books, you get so involved in the world he creates, that when this book ends it is depressing to leave the North Sea and Baltic Sea Ports. This book pretty much made me want to move there. Irving's stories usually take place in New England, and a portion of this book does, but it was really beautiful to read his descriptions of Northern Europe in Until I Find You. As a side note, there is also lots of tattoo art history in this book, as Jack's mother is a tattoo artist. And I have to end this with a quote from the beginning of the book by William Maxwell, which pretty much sums it up-
"What we refer to confidently as memory...is really a form of storytelling that goes on continually in the mind and often changes with the telling. Too many conflicting emotional interests are involved for life ever to be wholly acceptable...In any case, in talking about the past we lie with every breath we draw."
April 18, 2010
This book is either the culmination of John Irving's life's work of the result of a bar bet. Those are the only two explanations I can come up with for a book where the protagonist is 4 years old at the start and yet the word "penis" is used at least once on every page. This book really should be called, "I Love My Penis" because that is the driving theme of every chapter.
This should not come as a shock to anyone who has read anything written by John Irving before but the degree of passion for the body part and the word itself has never reached such dizzying heights as it does here.
Irving has also reached new heights of hating women and portraying them in a boundless array of unflattering roles. The mother/prostitute is nothing new but the overweight, penis-holding sister/lover with the broken vagina is a new addition to the pantheon.
Having read this book, I believe I will stop reading any more Irving and hang on to the memories of the older novels I enjoyed.
This should not come as a shock to anyone who has read anything written by John Irving before but the degree of passion for the body part and the word itself has never reached such dizzying heights as it does here.
Irving has also reached new heights of hating women and portraying them in a boundless array of unflattering roles. The mother/prostitute is nothing new but the overweight, penis-holding sister/lover with the broken vagina is a new addition to the pantheon.
Having read this book, I believe I will stop reading any more Irving and hang on to the memories of the older novels I enjoyed.
March 2, 2009
Interesting story. Way too long. Not my favorite Irving.
March 7, 2020
I have enjoyed quite a few of Irving's novels over the years, and mostly read them through in a few days of full immersion, about 300 pages per day, if not more, but this one dragged out over almost a month - mostly because I had lots of other things to do. So this might have affected the impression a little. Obviously Irving is doing everything he is so good at here as well. Weird, but likable characters, plot twists, memorable scenes. Humour and awkward erotics. We get to revisit the red light district of Amsterdam (cf A Widow for One Year) and many European cities, though not Vienna this time. And toward the end of the book even a concept starts to shine through the whole thing that makes it beautifully human as Irving's best work has always been. But something is still missing. Perhaps there is a bit too much penis-holding and too little of the concept. Perhaps the twists and turns do not move so much as they used to. Perhaps the awkward erotics become boring after a while. So, although it is not at all bad, it does not stand on my shelf next to A Prayer for Owen Meany or even The World According to Garp. If you are new to Irving, don't start with this. Then again, if you start with Owen Meany, all other books might well turn out to be disappointments.
December 29, 2018
Briefly, all I can say is that I absolutely fell in love with this book.
November 3, 2007
"When he is four years old, Jack travels with his mother Alice, a tattoo artist, to several North Sea ports in search of his father, William Burns. From Copenhagen to Amsterdam, William, a brilliant church organist and profligate womanizer, is always a step ahead – has always just departed in a wave of scandal, with a new tattoo somewhere on his body from a local master or “scratcher.”
Alice and Jack abandon their quest, and Jack is educated at schools in Canada and New England – including, tellingly, a girls’ school in Toronto. His real education consists of his relationships with older women – from Emma Oastler, who initiates him into erotic life, to the girls of St. Hilda’s, with whom he first appears on stage, to the abusive Mrs. Machado, whom he first meets when sent to learn wrestling at a local gym.
Too much happens in this expansive, eventful novel to possibly summarize it all. Emma and Jack move to Los Angeles, where Emma becomes a successful novelist and Jack a promising actor. A host of eccentric minor characters memorably come and go, including Jack’s hilariously confused teacher the Wurtz; Michelle Maher, the girlfriend he will never forget; and a precocious child Jack finds in the back of an Audi in a restaurant parking lot. We learn about tattoo addiction and movie cross-dressing, “sleeping in the needles” and the cure for cauliflower ears. And John Irving renders his protagonist’s unusual rise through Hollywood with the same vividdetail and range of emotions he gives to the organ music Jack hears as a child in European churches. This is an absorbing and moving book about obsession and loss, truth and storytelling, the signs we carry on us and inside us, the traces we can’t get rid of.
Jack has always lived in the shadow of his absent father. But as he grows older – and when his mother dies – he starts to doubt the portrait of his father’s character she painted for him when he was a child. This is the cue for a second journey around Europe in search of his father, from Edinburgh to Switzerland, towards a conclusion of great emotional force."
An audiobook that I didn't finish. I found the developing sexuality of Jack (at least 6 discs long) to be much too perverted and boring to continue through. Characters felt cold and unreal.
Alice and Jack abandon their quest, and Jack is educated at schools in Canada and New England – including, tellingly, a girls’ school in Toronto. His real education consists of his relationships with older women – from Emma Oastler, who initiates him into erotic life, to the girls of St. Hilda’s, with whom he first appears on stage, to the abusive Mrs. Machado, whom he first meets when sent to learn wrestling at a local gym.
Too much happens in this expansive, eventful novel to possibly summarize it all. Emma and Jack move to Los Angeles, where Emma becomes a successful novelist and Jack a promising actor. A host of eccentric minor characters memorably come and go, including Jack’s hilariously confused teacher the Wurtz; Michelle Maher, the girlfriend he will never forget; and a precocious child Jack finds in the back of an Audi in a restaurant parking lot. We learn about tattoo addiction and movie cross-dressing, “sleeping in the needles” and the cure for cauliflower ears. And John Irving renders his protagonist’s unusual rise through Hollywood with the same vividdetail and range of emotions he gives to the organ music Jack hears as a child in European churches. This is an absorbing and moving book about obsession and loss, truth and storytelling, the signs we carry on us and inside us, the traces we can’t get rid of.
Jack has always lived in the shadow of his absent father. But as he grows older – and when his mother dies – he starts to doubt the portrait of his father’s character she painted for him when he was a child. This is the cue for a second journey around Europe in search of his father, from Edinburgh to Switzerland, towards a conclusion of great emotional force."
An audiobook that I didn't finish. I found the developing sexuality of Jack (at least 6 discs long) to be much too perverted and boring to continue through. Characters felt cold and unreal.
September 3, 2019
I almost relented and gave this one two stars in honor of ' A Prayer for Owen Meany' but it was such a waste of too many hours time . In one word : Shite . I mainly picked it up because I was researching
' The Halifax Explosion ' , yes Rebecca ,McNutt , this one's on you . Anyway the pages on the tragedy was less than 1% of the book , which was tragically written to begin with . In the interest of transparency , I skimmed the 200+ pages after the Halifax chapter , but even that was painful .
' The Halifax Explosion ' , yes Rebecca ,McNutt , this one's on you . Anyway the pages on the tragedy was less than 1% of the book , which was tragically written to begin with . In the interest of transparency , I skimmed the 200+ pages after the Halifax chapter , but even that was painful .
February 6, 2022
Negaliu sakyt, kad nepatiko, ar patiko labiau nei nepatiko ir kaskaip taip....
Man pasirode, kad tai super asmenine istorija...gal reikejo pasidomet, bet...
Man tai buvo sunki knyga (979psl 😬), ne savo apimtimi, o savo istorija...
Sunki, ziauri, bjauri, slyksti ir vis tiek itraukianti ir nepaleidzianti...
Po kiekvieno perskaityo puslapio norejos tiesiog mest ta knyga salin, bet ir vel imdavau i rankas, nes norejosi tiket, kad nesvarbu kokia bjauri/ziauri pradzia...veliau bus geriau, issispres ir galbut nebus nukentujusiu... Bet...
Pabaiga-liudnai laiminga...
3.5⭐
Man pasirode, kad tai super asmenine istorija...gal reikejo pasidomet, bet...
Man tai buvo sunki knyga (979psl 😬), ne savo apimtimi, o savo istorija...
Sunki, ziauri, bjauri, slyksti ir vis tiek itraukianti ir nepaleidzianti...
Po kiekvieno perskaityo puslapio norejos tiesiog mest ta knyga salin, bet ir vel imdavau i rankas, nes norejosi tiket, kad nesvarbu kokia bjauri/ziauri pradzia...veliau bus geriau, issispres ir galbut nebus nukentujusiu... Bet...
Pabaiga-liudnai laiminga...
3.5⭐
July 10, 2022
⭐️⭐️
This is the first time I’ve been disappointed with a John Irving novel.
The storyline was interesting for about the first 50 or 60 pages and then it bogged down for the next 750 pages. A really long slog through a book that is largely the life history of Jack Burns beginning when he was four years old and ending when he was 38. Sexual innuendos and deviancy plus a mother who is a tattoo artist. I started this book in April and could not push myself past five or ten pages a day. John Irving really missed the boat this time around. I recommend you stay away from this one.
ATY Goodreads Challenge - 2022
Prompt #47- A book with handwriting on the cover
This is the first time I’ve been disappointed with a John Irving novel.
The storyline was interesting for about the first 50 or 60 pages and then it bogged down for the next 750 pages. A really long slog through a book that is largely the life history of Jack Burns beginning when he was four years old and ending when he was 38. Sexual innuendos and deviancy plus a mother who is a tattoo artist. I started this book in April and could not push myself past five or ten pages a day. John Irving really missed the boat this time around. I recommend you stay away from this one.
ATY Goodreads Challenge - 2022
Prompt #47- A book with handwriting on the cover
August 11, 2015
One thing I like about John Irving is that even though his protagonists are male, he seriously considers the women in his stories. Women are always more than objects, even when they are not The Subject.
This time, Jack Burns is the protagonist, but at first, his mother's life is front and center. Alice Stronach is so heartbroken and angry after William Burns leaves her that it distorts her personality. At times, I wasn't sure if she loved William, Jack, both, or neither. And by the way--Jack bears an uncanny resemblance to William.
Jack is only four years old at the beginning of this novel, so it goes without saying that what he thinks he remembers and knows about his parents is inaccurate. And this will be the meat of the plot: eventually, Jack seeks out people from his past and uncovers the facts about what really happened all those years ago between his parents.
When Alice and William stop communicating, the story follows Jack's life through school and then his career as an actor and movie star. Bad things happen along the way, and several adults in his life do things that are not even close to being okay. At first, when Alice sends Jack off to boarding school, it seems that Jack is being deprived of parental attention, love, and supervision. Here, Irving is reminding us that a woman's life can be irrevocably changed by an unplanned pregnancy. If she decides to go on with her life the same way a man could, other people might judge her...
Jack's strange childhood notwithstanding, he manages to grow up to be a decent person at heart. He certainly has emotional problems, and does not always show the best character. He knows this. One of the few long-lasting relationships in his life is the one he has with his therapist. His most important relationship is with Emma, the daughter of his mother's lover. Jack and Emma's friendship is both sibling-like and--rather sexual. (They'd both disagree with that assessment, though.) There is also an important girlfriend, Claudia, but Jack is too emotionally damaged for that to last. Each relationship is developed in detail, as part of Jack's story.
In his late thirties, Jake is alone and lost; he has no sense of who he is and where he belongs. Some parts of Jack's narrative do go on a bit long. His journey of self-discovery involves traveling to several countries and at times it felt like I was reading Frommer's Scandinavia. But then, this would not be a proper John Irving novel without subplots and extra information.
And then, just when Jack finds who he needs to find--the story ends. Honestly, I would have enjoyed reading a bit more more at this point, perhaps an epilogue. But then, I suppose I don't actually need more information!
I'd recommend this to John Irving fans. For many people, it might be too long-winded, but I enjoyed it very much.
This time, Jack Burns is the protagonist, but at first, his mother's life is front and center. Alice Stronach is so heartbroken and angry after William Burns leaves her that it distorts her personality. At times, I wasn't sure if she loved William, Jack, both, or neither. And by the way--Jack bears an uncanny resemblance to William.
Jack is only four years old at the beginning of this novel, so it goes without saying that what he thinks he remembers and knows about his parents is inaccurate. And this will be the meat of the plot: eventually, Jack seeks out people from his past and uncovers the facts about what really happened all those years ago between his parents.
When Alice and William stop communicating, the story follows Jack's life through school and then his career as an actor and movie star. Bad things happen along the way, and several adults in his life do things that are not even close to being okay. At first, when Alice sends Jack off to boarding school, it seems that Jack is being deprived of parental attention, love, and supervision. Here, Irving is reminding us that a woman's life can be irrevocably changed by an unplanned pregnancy. If she decides to go on with her life the same way a man could, other people might judge her...
Jack's strange childhood notwithstanding, he manages to grow up to be a decent person at heart. He certainly has emotional problems, and does not always show the best character. He knows this. One of the few long-lasting relationships in his life is the one he has with his therapist. His most important relationship is with Emma, the daughter of his mother's lover. Jack and Emma's friendship is both sibling-like and--rather sexual. (They'd both disagree with that assessment, though.) There is also an important girlfriend, Claudia, but Jack is too emotionally damaged for that to last. Each relationship is developed in detail, as part of Jack's story.
In his late thirties, Jake is alone and lost; he has no sense of who he is and where he belongs. Some parts of Jack's narrative do go on a bit long. His journey of self-discovery involves traveling to several countries and at times it felt like I was reading Frommer's Scandinavia. But then, this would not be a proper John Irving novel without subplots and extra information.
And then, just when Jack finds who he needs to find--the story ends. Honestly, I would have enjoyed reading a bit more more at this point, perhaps an epilogue. But then, I suppose I don't actually need more information!
I'd recommend this to John Irving fans. For many people, it might be too long-winded, but I enjoyed it very much.
April 21, 2012
John Irving has a new novel coming out in May, 2012: In One Person. Since I had fallen behind on his releases, I took the plunge on this long novel. The general consensus, according to readers' stars and critics, seems to be that Irving's last two novels were not up to snuff. I disagree.
Granted, it would be hard to top Cider House Rules or A Prayer From Owen Meany. Somehow, ever since I read The World According to Garp about 18 years ago, I have felt a kindred spirit in John Irving. I'm not confident I could even articulate it, but I always get what he is creating in his novels. In some ways he is as oriented to contemporary issues as Jodi Picoult (of whom I am NOT a fan), but no matter the issue, I feel John there in his novels. He is no mere spectator of modern life. He loves the odd misfit people as much as do Anne Tyler or Ann Patchett, while he writes like a modern Charles Dickens.
Jack Burns is a fatherless child. According to Alice, his mother, William Burns abandoned Alice and Jack; therefore he must never be forgiven. Amidst tattoo parlours and a long list of older sexually abusive women, Jack grows up deciding that no one can be forgiven. Although he becomes a famous actor, the guiding beacon for his existence is that missing father.
I agree with some that the story bogs down at times, though if it weren't for all the detail about tattoo artists, Scandinavia, whores, organists and Hollywood, I would have continued through life blissfully ignorant in those areas.
Basically I don't care about the flaws. This is an almost unbelievable story about lots of unbelievable stuff that does go on in the world. It is also a cautionary tale to parents as we commit unbelievably damaging sins against our children. John Irving has shown that the adult me is an unreliable narrator about my early life, that learning the truth about one's parents is painful but essential, and that forgiveness is the healing for unquiet hearts. I have learned these things in other ways, but being the fiction lover that I am, learning them again in Until I Find You was the best. The tears I shed at the end were as freeing as anything else I have tried.
May 15, 2022
John Irving’s writing is a joy to read. With each book I am amazed anew at his skill in weaving a wide spectrum of people, locales, dialects, nationalities, and situations together in ways that take readers through the gamut of emotion that ends with not just satisfaction, but a lingering love for the flawed but endearing characters that he has expertly brought to life. While this book has some of his most unusual and eccentric characters, the story is compelling and fun and heartwarming and heart-wrenching from start to finish. This isn’t for the prudish, but otherwise I would heartily recommend it.
November 19, 2016
I enjoyed the first section of this book, which seems almost like a return to the Irving of 'The World According to Garp' or 'The Hotel New Hampshire', about the young Jack and his tattooist mother wandering through assorted European cities searching for his elusive father. However, I feel the book deteriorates disastrously after that - the writing style seems to go downhill and there is a lot about child abuse which I just didn't want to go on reading.
January 22, 2022
On a cold day in 2014, I walked into a local establishment, ordered something warm for lunch, and began reading "A Prayer for Owen Meany." So began one of the greatest reads of my life, and a lifelong affection for John Irving.
Which is mostly why I finished this long, rambling, decent-in-places, problematic, complicated book.
This is actually the first review I've written for GoodReads (at least, in awhile.) I don't plan to write lengthy ones usually, but this one may be a little longer because the book, and my feelings about it, were so complex.
The main character is Jack Burns, who is born to a woman named Alice. Jack's father, William, has left before their marriage, and Alice and Jack spend the first part of the book wandering about Europe to find Jack's father. When they can't find him, they head to Toronto.
The first part -- wandering around Europe -- was repetitive and dull. Ultimately quite important, but repetitive and dull. I would have quit on page 50 but for the fact it was written by John Irving, and seriously quitting around the 100th page, but then realized that part one was almost over and maybe there would be hope Part II would get better.
And it did. In the next chunk of the book, we follow Jack through elementary, middle and high school. Irving's narrative soars. I laughed! I turned pages! I hurled!
Wait, what?
So, in addition to the spoiler warning, I'm going to provide a trigger warning for child sexual abuse, a courtesy Irving never really does.
In some ways, Irving's reporting of these molestations (which are never physically aggressive nor appearing particularly unwelcome) is much as a child would receive them. But, at the end of the day, there is a scant acknowledgment once or twice that he had been molested. While we will spend much of the rest of the book watching Jack deal with the fallout from this, "showing and not telling" is doing an awful lot of work here.
Unsurprisingly, Jack's life is full of ramifications. He When he moves to California to become a movie star,
Rampant.
I was thinking maybe I was not sophisticated enough to deal with all this. Perhaps Irving just needed to put his hero, and his audience, through all of this, in relatively graphic detail, to explain to us why Jack has such a hard time coping with life. Then, I noticed that "Publisher's Weekly" described the "incessant, graphic sexual abuses [as] gratuitous."
What they said. Seriously.
It was literally so much I chose to deduct a full star. And my giving of stars is not some Olympic-criteria thing...it's usually all based on the narrative. But, seriously. One whole star deducted for the gratuitous, incessant, graphic, sexual abuse.
But wait! There's another deduction! And though this was somewhat shorter, it was no less offensive, and required me to remove ANOTHER star.
Full disclosure: My wife and sister-in-law are both blind. I have a lot of blind friends. John Irving clearly doesn't.
I'm putting this in shouty caps for a reason.
NO BLIND PERSON. I HAVE EVER MET. FEELS. OTHER. PEOPLE'S. FACES.
Seriously.
I'm not saying no one ever has. I'm not saying no one ever will. I'm just saying that I've met a lot of blind people, and not one of them has ever said, "Hi, Michael! Nice to meet you! Mind if I feel your face?" Literally not one.
So, when a minor blind character, upon meeting Jack's girlfriend, starts feeling around her hips, waist and breasts, yeah, I had a problem with that. The following it up with the gratuitous line of "a blind woman's audacity is like no other's, maybe" was what made me decide to deduct YET ANOTHER star. Second star I've ever deducted, right after the first.
Say what you will about that John Irving, the man does things others can't.
The narrative moves on. Remember, Jack still doesn't know where his father is, and we can't just leave that thread hanging, can we? So now, he embarks in search of his father in...Europe.
Well, not quite. There's another problematic twist. It turns out -- I have to spoiler this one because it's kind of a major plot twist --
Jack, in pursuit of his father, will have to revisit the haunts in Europe and I, perhaps unsurprisingly, found the narrative slowing and it harder to move through. However, by now, I was reminded of a high school teacher's description of Wuthering Heights: "It's not particularly good, but the characters are so screwed up, you kind of want to know what happens to them, so you suffer through it." In this case, 845 pages of it.
If you are planning to read this, perhaps this review will convince you not to. If it hasn't, do me a favor, and please read "A Prayer for Owen Meany" at least first, and preferably instead. That one was so good, it almost makes this one forgivable.
Almost.
Which is mostly why I finished this long, rambling, decent-in-places, problematic, complicated book.
This is actually the first review I've written for GoodReads (at least, in awhile.) I don't plan to write lengthy ones usually, but this one may be a little longer because the book, and my feelings about it, were so complex.
The main character is Jack Burns, who is born to a woman named Alice. Jack's father, William, has left before their marriage, and Alice and Jack spend the first part of the book wandering about Europe to find Jack's father. When they can't find him, they head to Toronto.
The first part -- wandering around Europe -- was repetitive and dull. Ultimately quite important, but repetitive and dull. I would have quit on page 50 but for the fact it was written by John Irving, and seriously quitting around the 100th page, but then realized that part one was almost over and maybe there would be hope Part II would get better.
And it did. In the next chunk of the book, we follow Jack through elementary, middle and high school. Irving's narrative soars. I laughed! I turned pages! I hurled!
Wait, what?
So, in addition to the spoiler warning, I'm going to provide a trigger warning for child sexual abuse, a courtesy Irving never really does.
In some ways, Irving's reporting of these molestations (which are never physically aggressive nor appearing particularly unwelcome) is much as a child would receive them. But, at the end of the day, there is a scant acknowledgment once or twice that he had been molested. While we will spend much of the rest of the book watching Jack deal with the fallout from this, "showing and not telling" is doing an awful lot of work here.
Unsurprisingly, Jack's life is full of ramifications. He When he moves to California to become a movie star,
Rampant.
I was thinking maybe I was not sophisticated enough to deal with all this. Perhaps Irving just needed to put his hero, and his audience, through all of this, in relatively graphic detail, to explain to us why Jack has such a hard time coping with life. Then, I noticed that "Publisher's Weekly" described the "incessant, graphic sexual abuses [as] gratuitous."
What they said. Seriously.
It was literally so much I chose to deduct a full star. And my giving of stars is not some Olympic-criteria thing...it's usually all based on the narrative. But, seriously. One whole star deducted for the gratuitous, incessant, graphic, sexual abuse.
But wait! There's another deduction! And though this was somewhat shorter, it was no less offensive, and required me to remove ANOTHER star.
Full disclosure: My wife and sister-in-law are both blind. I have a lot of blind friends. John Irving clearly doesn't.
I'm putting this in shouty caps for a reason.
NO BLIND PERSON. I HAVE EVER MET. FEELS. OTHER. PEOPLE'S. FACES.
Seriously.
I'm not saying no one ever has. I'm not saying no one ever will. I'm just saying that I've met a lot of blind people, and not one of them has ever said, "Hi, Michael! Nice to meet you! Mind if I feel your face?" Literally not one.
So, when a minor blind character, upon meeting Jack's girlfriend, starts feeling around her hips, waist and breasts, yeah, I had a problem with that. The following it up with the gratuitous line of "a blind woman's audacity is like no other's, maybe" was what made me decide to deduct YET ANOTHER star. Second star I've ever deducted, right after the first.
Say what you will about that John Irving, the man does things others can't.
The narrative moves on. Remember, Jack still doesn't know where his father is, and we can't just leave that thread hanging, can we? So now, he embarks in search of his father in...Europe.
Well, not quite. There's another problematic twist. It turns out -- I have to spoiler this one because it's kind of a major plot twist --
Jack, in pursuit of his father, will have to revisit the haunts in Europe and I, perhaps unsurprisingly, found the narrative slowing and it harder to move through. However, by now, I was reminded of a high school teacher's description of Wuthering Heights: "It's not particularly good, but the characters are so screwed up, you kind of want to know what happens to them, so you suffer through it." In this case, 845 pages of it.
If you are planning to read this, perhaps this review will convince you not to. If it hasn't, do me a favor, and please read "A Prayer for Owen Meany" at least first, and preferably instead. That one was so good, it almost makes this one forgivable.
Almost.
May 25, 2020
Trys žvaigždutės - tik Irvingo knygų kontekste. Lyginant bendrai, net tiesiog su mano perskaitytomis knygomis, ją kelčiau kur kas aukščiau.
Na, tai kas, sakytumėte, netiko?
Pradėjau ją labai optimistiškai - paimi į rankas tą kone 1000 psl. pliauską su besivartančiais puslapiais ir galvoji: tai kažin per kiek dekadų aš ją įveiksiu? O ji, kaip koks lipnus sakas musę - vis labiau ir labiau įtraukia, slysta, plaukia - padėt negali. Taip buvo iš pradžių.
Ir na, taip gal ir turėjo būti - su labai daug (sakyčiau, išskirtinai daug, lyginant su kitomis jo knygomis) dalykų šioje knygoje galėjau tapatintis asmeniškai, juos suprasti ir išjausti.
Kita vertus, tas tūkstantis puslapių vėliau ėmė klaidinti ir kone mulkinti. Apie ką, galų gale, yra ši knyga? Taip taip, tatuiruotoja su keturmečiu sūnumu išvyksta į Europą ieškoti savo skradžiai žemę prasmegusio vyro, jo neranda, jis bėga, jie grįžta, sūnus mokosi mergaičių mokykloje, jį visos mergos tvirkina, tada viskas apsiverčia, čia ji, pasirodo, yra blogietė, o tėtis kone Jėzus, o keturmetis sūnus išauga į aukštos prabos aktorių ir vyksta oskarai ir dieve mano dieve mano, dar kiek visko vyksta. Kaip ir visuose kūriniuose, taip ir čia Irvingas yra overthinkeris: nė viename skaitytame jis neapsiriboja tik viena siužeto linija ar tik vienu pagrindiniu veikėju. Tačiau čia man jau buvo šiek tiek persistengta ir, mano subjektyvia nuomone, jai pritrūko griežto redaktoriaus.
Taigi "Kol tave rasiu" kol kas (tikiuosi, kad ne) stoja į menkiau rekomenduojamų Irvingo knygų lentyną, nors, sakoma, ji pati biografiškiausia autoriaus knyga. Ir vis tiek ji gera.
Na, tai kas, sakytumėte, netiko?
Pradėjau ją labai optimistiškai - paimi į rankas tą kone 1000 psl. pliauską su besivartančiais puslapiais ir galvoji: tai kažin per kiek dekadų aš ją įveiksiu? O ji, kaip koks lipnus sakas musę - vis labiau ir labiau įtraukia, slysta, plaukia - padėt negali. Taip buvo iš pradžių.
Ir na, taip gal ir turėjo būti - su labai daug (sakyčiau, išskirtinai daug, lyginant su kitomis jo knygomis) dalykų šioje knygoje galėjau tapatintis asmeniškai, juos suprasti ir išjausti.
Kita vertus, tas tūkstantis puslapių vėliau ėmė klaidinti ir kone mulkinti. Apie ką, galų gale, yra ši knyga? Taip taip, tatuiruotoja su keturmečiu sūnumu išvyksta į Europą ieškoti savo skradžiai žemę prasmegusio vyro, jo neranda, jis bėga, jie grįžta, sūnus mokosi mergaičių mokykloje, jį visos mergos tvirkina, tada viskas apsiverčia, čia ji, pasirodo, yra blogietė, o tėtis kone Jėzus, o keturmetis sūnus išauga į aukštos prabos aktorių ir vyksta oskarai ir dieve mano dieve mano, dar kiek visko vyksta. Kaip ir visuose kūriniuose, taip ir čia Irvingas yra overthinkeris: nė viename skaitytame jis neapsiriboja tik viena siužeto linija ar tik vienu pagrindiniu veikėju. Tačiau čia man jau buvo šiek tiek persistengta ir, mano subjektyvia nuomone, jai pritrūko griežto redaktoriaus.
Taigi "Kol tave rasiu" kol kas (tikiuosi, kad ne) stoja į menkiau rekomenduojamų Irvingo knygų lentyną, nors, sakoma, ji pati biografiškiausia autoriaus knyga. Ir vis tiek ji gera.
June 26, 2021
Hvis man ikke har læst John Irving før, er Indtil jeg Finder Dig nok et helt udmærket sted at starte. Hvis man har læst ham før, specielt Verden Ifølge Garp og Vandmetoden, vil store passager i den nok virke til det gentagende grænsende genkendeligt. Det gjorde det så afgjort for mig, og det endda årtier efter, at jeg læste de to andre.
Men den er bestemt god. Den tone John Irving fortæller i, tager sig rigtig godt ud på side op og side ned. For handlingens skyld kunne der sådan set godt have været nogle hundrede sider færre, men jeg skulle ikke kunne pege ud, hvad det skulle være for nogle, der så ikke skulle med.
Jeg kan godt lide slutningen. Jeg synes, den lander et godt sted. Rart. Okay, det er nok en feelgood-slutning. Hvis man tager de overordentligt rigelige mængder af snak om tissemænd og kopulation(er) i betragtning, er det egentlig utroligt så decideret uerotisk den her bog samtidigt er. Men det kan også noget.
Men den er bestemt god. Den tone John Irving fortæller i, tager sig rigtig godt ud på side op og side ned. For handlingens skyld kunne der sådan set godt have været nogle hundrede sider færre, men jeg skulle ikke kunne pege ud, hvad det skulle være for nogle, der så ikke skulle med.
Jeg kan godt lide slutningen. Jeg synes, den lander et godt sted. Rart. Okay, det er nok en feelgood-slutning. Hvis man tager de overordentligt rigelige mængder af snak om tissemænd og kopulation(er) i betragtning, er det egentlig utroligt så decideret uerotisk den her bog samtidigt er. Men det kan også noget.
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