Finally finished. It would have been a four star if it were about 400 pages shorter. Good story but too much extra that was completely unnecessary and boring.

"Until I Find You" is 820 pages of what I think is John Irving's most personal and heartfelt book (at least from those that I've read). Irving guides us through the life of Jack Burns, a famous actor who was raised by a single mother. We see his life starting at the age of four when he and his mother travel to Europe in search of his father. All the memories are Jack's. We are told early on that four-year-old Jack has the memory retention and understanding of linear time of an eleven-year-old.

We then spend the rest of the first half or so of the book watching Jack grow up--going to different private schools which are seemingly funded by different benefactors close to his mother. Jack's childhood is far from ideal, being sexually abused at a young age. He is also heavily influenced by older women and doesn't have many masculine role models. We see Jack train as an actor and become seemingly normal as he grows older, even though his once close relationship to his mother dissolves as he ages.

The second half of the book makes us re-learn all we learned about Jack and who he really is. While we feel for Jack in the first half of the book, he becomes a truly sympathetic character in the second half of the book.

Jack is too rich and too authentic to not have some (if not a lot) of Irving in him. It just feels like this story is personal to Irving. And while much of this story has a sad tone, it truly ends on a happy note for Jack. The book may be 820 pages, but it felt much shorter and felt like not a single word was wasted. The dedication, which is simultaneously sad and warm, became heartbreaking and incredibly loving after I read the book: "For my youngest son, Everett, who made me feel young again. With my fervent hope that when you're old enough to read this story, you will have had (or sill be in the midst of) an ideal childhood--as different from the one described here as anyone could imagine."

I would have liked this book more, I think, but I read it wrong. Because the first half of the book is both tedious and horrifying, I should have read it all in one or two long sessions, but instead, because it was tedious and horrifying, I read it 30 pages at a time only a couple of times a week, stopped to read something else, and then finally powered through the last half over the course of a couple of days, and the last half is where the payoff is.

This is the story of Jack Burns, who we meet at age four and follow through to middle-age. At the beginning of the novel, Jack's mother Alice is dragging him through several Baltic and North Sea ports, looking for the father who abandoned him and who stays one step ahead of them the entire time. The search ends abruptly and Alice takes Jack to Toronto and enrolls him in a girls school, where he spends the next few years being molested by several older girl students and his middle-aged baby-sitter. By this time, Alice has become life partners with Leslie, the mother of Emma, who was the first girl to molest Jack, and who he now regards as a sister, albeit one who likes to hold his penis. Eventually, Emma and Jack end up living together in Los Angeles, she a successful novelist, he an Academy-Award nominated actor and movie star who specializes in transvestite roles.

At this point, I had to stop and read something else. Because, come on.

But then Irving does something interesting. He turns the novel on its head. After the death of a couple of important people in Jack's life, he learns that what he believed and thought he remembered of his childhood may not be true. He continues to drift along for a few years, with continued career success, winning the 2000 Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay (in fact, it was Irving himself who won that year for his adaptation of The Cider House Rules), but barely escaping scandal after various run-ins with predatory and disturbed women. Eventually, he enters therapy with Dr. Garcia, who tells him to tell his story in chronological order. "Begin with that awful trip you took with your mother ... Don't tell me what you now know about that trip. Tell me what you thought happened at the time. Begin with what you first imagined were your memories. And try not to jump ahead more than is absolutely necessary. In other words, go easy on the foreshadowing, Jack."

And that is precisely what the first half of this novel is. It's what Jack thought happened at the time he was four or five or ten; it's the truth but filtered through a child's perception and understanding of what he was told. It's what accounts for the slightly off quality of the dialogue and incomprehensible actions of the characters that so irritated me as I was slogging through the novel's beginning. The rest of the novel concerns what happens once Jack realizes that much of his life has been based on lies told to him by virtually everyone who ever knew him, but there's no way to talk about it without spoiling the ending.

Irving has said that this is his most autobiographical novel (he was molested at age 11 and he didn't know who his father was until about ten years ago), and I think that accounts for the messiness of Until I Find You. It lacks his usual precision in construction; there are events that seem to come out of nowhere, as well as future events that are hinted at but that never materialize. The characters are not as finely drawn as they usually are either; you get the sense that Emma, for example, is based on an actual person in Irving's life, but out of deference to whoever she was, all of her edges have been blunted. If anything, she reminds me of a more disturbed yet also more watered-down version of Hester (the non-molester) from A Prayer for Owen Meany. I kind of think Irving would have done as well to work all this out in private therapy rather than in novel form, but ultimately, this is a book worth reading, so long as you don't drag it out for a month the way that I did.

"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.

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.

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.

Faultless

Are lives predestined or do people have the choice to determine their futures? Are we bound to follow in the steps of one or both of our parents and have neither the powers nor abilities to change or even influence the ultimate outcome? What our early beliefs are tainted with deceit? Will this have an influence on our eventual futures? These and other questions are asked, explored and sometimes even answered or was Jack the lover his father supposedly was or was it a question of androgyny that couldn’t have been altered? A mother’s deceit inflicts devastating wounds…… perception and perspective is everything.
I The North Sea
When Alice, Jack’s mother, took him on a winter tour of the Scandinavian countries and the Netherlands in search of his run-away father, I was intrigued. The small world of the tattooist is exposed and revealed in a way I never expected. As the book continues, Jack matures. This is only natural but the life he is exposed to and the influences that shape Jack the man can only be deemed unique. On a side note, the topographical and social descriptions of the countries along the eastern coast of the North Sea are almost spot on.
II The Sea of Girls
At first glance one would think Jack lucky to gain admittance to the highly regarded girl’s school of St. Hilda. From a female perspective what safer environment could Alice desire for Jack? From a male perception going to a girls school would be akin to dying and going to heaven. The lack of male peer contact and interaction play a major role in his social development. Alice could have obviated any problems by enrolling Jack in a normal school. I find myself in complete empathy with Jack and have compassion for his struggle toward maturity.
III Lucky
After completing the fourth grade, Jack had to say goodbye to St. Hilda and was shipped off to Redding, a private all boys middle school in Maine. He takes up wrestling for the purposes of self defense. High school at Exeter Academy broadens his scholastic and social worlds and keeps him far from his mother and home. Upon graduation he attends the University of New Hampshire and struggles through relationships, classes and summer stock. He took the advice of Horace Greeley and went west to the Mecca of film, Hollywood (the fact that Emma, his lifelong sister/lover/confident was there played no small role).
IV Sleeping in the Needles
Jack loses his life pillar, reacquaints himself with his youth and spreads his literary wings to soar into his future. Facts, as well as views and perceptions of his youth are shattered, leaving him with an empty slate and an empty void. He was at a complete loss of what to write or how to fill the void that was once his life. His only recourse is to start again; at the beginning.
V The Garcia
Success has a price and your life as a child influences your life as an adult. Jack is a Hollywood success but emotionally he is a wreck waiting to happen. Dr. Garcia, a Hollywood psychiatrist used to treating the stars of the silver screen, is Jacks one lifeline and only hope of escaping the dark abyss that threatens him and his sanity. John Irving includes many famous film stars to his cast of characters and found myself wondering how they experienced their new roles. When you finally reach the last chapter and you think back to the opening chapters, it feels like years have passed (instead of 11/2 weeks) because so much information has been passed from page to brain. In the end I felt for Jack, I felt for Alice and for Emma, Leslie, Heather and John. In other words I felt for all those characters lost in life and maimed by deceit.
Until I Find You is one of the most enigmatic novels I have ever read. It is also the most sexually dominated, literary non-sexual tale I ever seen in print. It is an equivocal work on a number of planes. This massive book of over a thousand pages seems to be either a complete hit or miss with reviewers. You either love or hate it. I must admit that I had doubts when I started but soon I was caught up in Jack Burns’ world. After looking at the many reviews of Until I Find you, I think it is like Joseph Heller’s Catch 22 and the readers either love or hate it. It has a plethora of emotion, action and love; the life of a man haunted by his past and unsure of his future. On the cover of this book is written, “Wonderfully sustained and very funny voice… with vivid, eccentric, memorable characters… in the manner of Dickens” I think if Dickens would read Until I Find You, he would be turning summersaults in his grave. This statement doesn’t in any way mean or even suggests that I don’t like the books characters, they are full, warm and very memorable. Nevertheless John Irving’s characters are as far apart from those of Charles Dickens as can be imaginable. There doesn’t seem to be much of a middle-ground with this story. I generally keep reviews short and to a minimum of words and thoughts but with Until I Find You I feel that an (almost) thousand word review is appropriate for a thousand page-plus novel.

Long. So long. So, so long.

The opening quote by William Maxwell about memory, or “mis-memory”, gives this book its purpose. It ties the first 120-ish pages (the best part of the book) to what is learned 400 pages later.

What happens in between, not to mention for 200 pages after that? A lot. So, so much about tattoos…and organs…and Jack’s penis. The most tedious being the explanations of Jack’s theatre & movies plus Emma’s books. Not to mention the 1000’s (I’m not sure if this is even an exaggeration) of characters. By the time we get to Jack’s pop, I just want it to be over with.

Also…the casual inclusion of molestation is disturbing.

Best quote: “In her previous life, she may have been a dead person.”

I don't think I can read John Irving anymore. At least not a book of this girth. Despite the colorful characters, it plods for 800 + pages. We follow the steps of the oh-so-human protagonist through his twisted childhood and then travel with him some more as he retraces those steps to get at the Truth. The reunion and redemption waiting for him at the end of his journey are....ah........small potatoes. How much can we care about a movie star? Even a movie star with a small penis. It's cruel but there it is. As always, Irving's prose is companionable, easy to read and his characters are what we could now call quirky. Still, there are far more skillful storytellers out there with a little more heft to the stories they are telling....in this reporter's humble opinion. I'd stick with Garp, Owen Meaney and Wilbur and the other Princes of Maine.

What an excellent writer we have in John Irving. While this was not my favorite Irving book, it is still miles above most contemporary writers' most ambitious efforts. Anyone can read the inside of a book cover and get the "plot", but suffice it to say the plot will suck you in. What will keep you thinking about the book even when you aren't reading it, or make you want to read it every second you are able, are his characters, the symbolism, his humor, and, most adoringly, the author's "voice".
The overlying themes are familiar to anyone who has read Irving: wrestlers, cross dressers, sexually agressive mothers, and absentee fathers. While this may be familiar ground, it still makes for a beyond captivating read and one that will stick with you.
Yes, this book could have been about 200 pages shorter, but it was worth the journey. Don't start here with Irving, but work your way there and you will be glad you did.

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.

n  "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."n