You know,
Everybody dies.
My parents died.
Your father died.
Everybody dies.
I'm going to die too.
So will you.
The thing is,
To have a life before we die.
It can be a real adventure having a life.
We should cherish every moment, explore new places, meet new people, and try new things.
Don't be afraid of failure or mistakes.
Learn from them and grow.
Make memories that will last a lifetime.
Because when we look back on our lives,
We want to be able to say that we lived to the fullest.
There are some authors who are little read or have fallen into oblivion, who are not trendy, John Irving for example.
Nevertheless, his output is quantitatively speaking fertile, and also worthy from a qualitative point of view, in my humble opinion.
John Irving is above all an unmistakable author. I believe that recognizability - and note that it's not about repeating oneself - but having a peculiar stylistic signature is a remarkable virtue for an author. In fact, his writing is recognizable. Perhaps it happens with every author, but Irving has a way of telling stories and creating fiction that undoubtedly leads back to him.
You could, for fun, open one of his novels at random, start reading a sentence in the middle of a page and immediately know who the author is, like a newborn who can hardly see around but knows how to recognize, among a thousand breasts, that one breast of the mother, or like when from a distance you recognize a dear person just by the way they walk, by their typical gait, those straight shoulders or a little hunched, that lively or dull limp, how the arms are let go or the head that bends to one side.
Another merit of Irving is knowing how to construct stories or, better yet, knowing how to sketch out characters who remain for a long time, I would say forever, engraved in the heart.
Garp, for example, or Owen in A Prayer for Owen Meany, or even the strange family in The Hotel New Hampshire, characters who have a shine that remains bright in the memories, never fading.
And yet Irving's novels are not perfect nor without flaws. They are often too long and alternate parts that tear your heart out, make you burst out laughing, and parts that it would be hygienic to skip.
But he is a master in handling the tragic and the comic with a sense of surreal lightness. For example, he manages to make the death of his characters funny, as if it were an event, one of the many that dot life and not the Event, because yes, in short, we must say that his characters die a lot in his novels, perhaps even too much and the tear and the smile continuously vie for the page.
Going back to the book The World According to Garp, it is the story of Garp, of his original mother, an icon malgré herself of the most militant and harmful feminism; it is the story of Garp's family - wife, children, attached and related lovers - and it is also the story of the struggle to be writers (yes, Garp is a writer), of how to reconcile writing with family life, of the elusive muse that is there and not there and that when it lurks must be chased like a hare by a hunting dog.
But in the novel, important themes are also touched upon - rape, the emancipation of women, the care of children, their overprotection which then doesn't serve to save them.
Garp is an eccentric, but not too much. He has a specific vision of the world, precisely the world according to Garp, but he is a very upright and methodical young man whose edges almost never smooth out. He fixes certain markers in his life and doesn't move them, rarely surpasses them, but Garp is also fundamentally a good person, and Irving's good people are never cheesy, they are real good people, I don't know how to say it.
I also read somewhere that there is a lot of sex in the book. That's not exactly the case, in fact it's not the case at all, although a non-romantic but almost grotesque and perverse sex, represented by a particular fact that will astonish very much those who read it, ends up having an important role in the economy of the story.
While a significant number of bibliophiles devoured and adored The World According To Garp during their teenage years, I was engrossed in tales of apocalypses caused by green meteorites, three-pronged killer plants, and the bomb. Reading it now, I comprehend the allure it might have held for a teenager. However, I wonder what a youngster could have truly gained from it. This is because I find myself questioning what I have taken away from this book at my current age. In fact, I even doubt the motives and the meaning of this book, if there is any at all.
The novel commences innocently enough, with a coherent voice and a semblance of reality. But as the story progresses, and indeed as Garp's life unfolds, it descends into the realm of soap opera and absurdity, which, for me, undermined the entire novel. I might be too obtuse to realize that this was the author's intention, or perhaps too dense to perceive a deeper message. Yet, it seems that this novel goes to such lengths in not taking itself seriously that I can only assume it was just a self-indulgent exercise for Irving.
I can only attempt to decipher any message the author had regarding sex, lust, and individuality by sifting through the chaos he creates. He presents farcical situations within an otherwise traditional setting and uses Garp's writing to mock the very novel it contains. Just when you begin to empathize with a character or start to glimpse a message emerging, you are confronted with an exaggerated death, fanatical killers, Tootsie-style drag, or some other contrived scenario that makes you cringe. Maybe this was the author's intention; I'm too thick to tell.
Despite my criticism of the author's motives and the story, there is still much to appreciate here. The secondary characters elicit more sympathy from me, and they were a delight to read about. Even Jenny, in her own way, was enjoyable. There is some truly excellent writing on display. It hooks you and keeps you reading, despite the fact that the main character is a selfish, bumbling, and likeable jerk.
So, I can understand why teenagers would be drawn to this story. It was like Kurt Cobain before Kurt Cobain. It's rife with extremism, sex, lust, and lost souls. Everyone serves as a symbol for something. I just wish the undermining nonsense wasn't there.
Not long ago, this book stood on my shelf as "a novel to be taken to a deserted island." I really loved it. S.T. Garp, its original beginning, its passionate mother, his endless adventures, growing up on a university campus full of reserved youngsters, falling off roofs, ears bitten by a dog (and the dog), broken limbs, lost eyes, tongues cut off by crazy feminists, the struggle with a venereal disease and a typewriter, the birth of children, erections and reserve battles, loves and betrayals, career and glory, dramas and family tragedies - as a teenager, I was thrilled by all of this and read "Garp" in a circle (similarly, "The Hotel New Hampshire" by Irving also drew me in - because his other novels were much weaker) - my copy is read to death and each page flies separately.
Refreshing all of this after years was not the happiest idea. I give only three stars out of sentiment and because it is really a well-written novel. However, it is only a novel, a domestic drama, and this time with characters that really irritate me (all of them! Just as I once loved all of them, now I can't stand any of them) and many different details that don't particularly charm me now. What a pity.