Check out my tribute to John Irving on my literary blog!

http://worldofmygreenheart.wordpress.com

I know that John Irving is a human being. I’ve seen him in person; therefore I know that he is human, which is to say, flawed. I accept that. What I have not accepted—until reading “The Fourth Hand”—is that he is a flawed writer. As a MASSIVE John Irving fan, I have genuinely loved every novel he published prior to this one, from the middle-aged suburban angst of “The 158-Pound Marriage” to the exotic lunacy of “A Son of the Circus” (which required three attempts before I could actually even make it past page 50 or so).

Most of Irving’s novels are saturated in his signature style, which is one of the features that I positively love about an Irving novel. But this one, well, it’s certainly not his best effort. It lacks his style and tone. If I hadn’t read his name on the front cover of the book, I would have had a difficult time believing that he is the author. The protagonist, although he does experience some redemption and growth throughout this relatively brief—for Irving—novel, is just not very likeable. Perhaps that was Irving’s point—he’s a TV news personality who’s lost his left hand in a bizarre lion attack, and that odd fate makes him more curious than sympathetic. He falls in love with the woman who donates her recently deceased husband’s hand as a transplant. And bizarre romantic lunacy ensues. Or maybe it was supposed to.

And that’s just it—in an Irving novel, a huge part of the enjoyment of the story is going along for the narrative ride. Although it’s usually impossible to tell where Irving is going with a story, I have always been confident that he knew what he was doing, and I was truly comfortable ceding narrative vision to him as a master storyteller. That vision is absent from “The Fourth Hand.” It pains me to say that this is the first John Irving novel that I do not truly love. But that will not stop me from reading the ones he’s written after this one, and the ones he’s yet to write.

Years from now, when Irvingonian scholars are studying his novels, this will be euphemistically classified as a "lesser work." That's because although the typical quirky humor is there, this book never gets off the ground. Only one character is developed and that not very well; he came off more like William Hurt in "Broadcast News", a kind of shallow-thinking, wishy-washy individual who'd happened to get his hand bitten off by a lion. We never know what Mrs. Clausen is thinking and evryone else is pretty flat, except for maybe Angie, the make-up girl, who i could appreciate. Slightly entertaining but not much more.

I rank several of Irving's other novels among my favorite -- he spins a great yarn. But something about this one just didn't grab me. It's strange, because now that I am no longer reading it, I kind of miss reading it. Irving is that kind of writer. But he set out to write a shorter novel, and I think he did so at the expense of fully developing his characters. There's a lot of telling rather than showing going on, and none of the characters felt authentic. This is particularly true for the majority of women in the novel, who all feel like a "type." I was kind of uncomfortable with some of the representations of women, to be honest, as they came off as crude stereotypes.

I'd read Hotel New Hampshire or The World According to Garp instead, if I wanted to read Irving.

Irving is a great storyteller and his books always keep my interest. This just wasn't one of his better stories. Still worth the read if you like his writing.

I think Irving could write a grocery list and I would enjoy reading it... I love the way he creates and develops, and then follows the growth of his characters. I love the completeness, the wholeness he creates with his outrageously hilarious and thought-provoking stories. The way he strings words together on the page... so great!

Great read. 4.5

For the standard that is John Irving, this book was so disappointing. I don't think he had much of a story and was depending on his characteristic literary traits to hold the story together, but unfortunately it backfired and instead of sustaining a mediocre story, turned all the things I loved about him into clichés and far-stretched half baked ideas. Do not judge Irving by this book, he is so much better than this!

Is this a Carl Hiaasen novel?? Lol l. But I still enjoyed it.

Awful. Like Irving was sick and his adolescent son sent this manuscript in to keep Irving in good stead with his publisher. Not an Irving book by any stretch of the imagination.

Dở. Celebrate my new shelf “dropped”. Why didn’t I have it before?

Romanzo molto spassoso e con una critica assai condivisibile nei confronti della meschinità e della superficialità di un certo modo di intendere l’informazione. Tuttavia, rispetto ad altre opere dello stesso autore quali Il mondo secondo Garp, Le regole della casa del sidro, Preghiera per un amico oppure Figlio del circo, tanto per fare degli esempi, mi è parso di livello decisamente inferiore.