a prayer for good books

I am halfway through a re-read of John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany, suggestion courtesy of my friend-who-I-don’t-know-what-to-call-him (do I dare go for the Joe? Will I implode if I call a former teacher by his first name?). It’s been so long since I read Owen Meany that I remember NOTHING about it, so it’s like reading a brand new book that I know I’ll love. Talk about staying in your comfort zone. I was intrigued by the Amazon review comparing it to Robertson Davies’ Deptford trilogy; I count Davies among my favorite authors and have read each of his books several times. Now I need to reread Fifth Business. This pleasant rediscovery of Irving opens up the delightful possibility of re-reads of all the Irving books I’ve read before, loved, and remember nothing about – Hotel New Hampshire (all I recall is some incest, and bears, and circuses – but hey we’re talking John Irving here, so that’s pretty standard); Garp (although I’ve seen the movie – one of the few almost as good as the book it was made from - within the past two years, so I remember a lot of it); Cider House Rules (which I remember simply loving; hopefully it stands up to this memory). I’m so excited! Irving’s more recent stuff – A Widow for One Year, the execrable Fourth Hand – I am not so keen on, but I am going to give Irving’s new one, Until I Find You, due out in July, a shot. (Of course I do have a soft spot for Irving anyway due to his reserving Our Mutual Friend for his deathbed reading. I love anyone whose brain works like that.)
And what’s with this? John Irving has succumbed to the horrible trend of adult authors making children’s/young adult books (and I do remember this part of his adult novel; it was particularly spooky…). I was about to add, “Who’s next, Stephen King?” when I realized that alas, the creepy Kingman already has succumbed. God help us. When Tom Wolfe puts out a children’s book, I’ll have seen everything. If he manages to incorporate the phrase “Peel yo’ scalp” in it, I’ll be mightily impressed. Although I liked Bonfire of the Vanities, I have no use for the strange and creepy Mr. Wolfe. As I mentioned once before, A Man in Full is the only book I have ever thrown away. I was reading it on an airplane, and it was so god-awful that I could not even justify leaving it in the seatback pocket for some poor unsuspecting soul to pick up – it went into a garbage can, to make the world a safer place. Bentley, have you read I Am Charlotte Simmons yet? (President Bush *claims* he has.) Every time I go to the library, walking past that huge ugly volume is like walking past a car wreck – I *have* to look at it and imagine reading it. I can’t just ignore it, much as I’d like to. It holds a bizarre fascination for me. And neatly tying up this entry by coming full circle, apparently John Irving thinks Wolfe sucks too.