Thursday, February 16, 2012
The waiting isn't the hardest part
By Edward Copeland
Glenn Close's fascination with the story of Albert Nobbs began in 1982, the same year she made her film debut in The World According to Garp where she vividly brought John Irving's character of Jenny Fields to cinematic life and was robbed of an Oscar for her efforts by Jessica Lange's win for Tootsie, when Lange wasn't even the best supporting actress in Tootsie. Before I watched the film of Albert Nobbs, I hadn't heard many complimentary things about the movie but it surprised me. Much of Albert Nobbs, especially in the earlygoing, plays more as a comedy and a solid ensemble brings its canvas of characters to entertaining life, most notably Oscar nominee Janet McTeer. To be sure, Albert Nobbs contains flaws and, ironically, its biggest weakness lies in the performance of the actress whose perseverance got the film made in the first place.
For those unfamiliar with the story of Albert Nobbs, it began life as a short story by Irish novelist George Moore called "The Singular Life of Albert Nobbs" in 1918 about a woman who lives disguised as a man for 30 years in 19th century Ireland in order to find work. Nobbs finds employment as a waiter at an upscale Dublin hotel and hopes to save enough money to open his/her own shop. A chance meeting with a painter leads Albert to discover another woman who lives as a man and has taken a wife as well, giving Albert the idea that perhaps she should take a bride when she makes her escape as well, setting her sights on a young maid who is having a torrid affair with another worker with plans to escape to America.
Simone Benmussa adapted the short story into a play and directed Close in the starring role in the summer of 1982 in a production presented by the Manhattan Theatre Club at Stage I of New York's City Center. Close won an Obie Award for her performance. In the nearly 30 years that followed, Close made it her mission to play the part on film. Close met one of her co-producers, Bonnie Curtis, on the film The Chumscrubber where Close handed Curtis a draft of a screenplay for Albert Nobbs and told her, "I must play this part on the big screen before I die." Now that she finally has achieved that dream, she not only plays Nobbs, Close also co-produced and co-wrote the film as well as the lyrics for an original song sung by Sinead O'Connor over the film's credits.
Albert Nobbs almost came to the screen first under the guidance of Hungary's great director Istvan Szabo (Mephisto) who directed Close in the 1991 film Meeting Venus. She gave Szabo a copy of Moore's short story and soon he handed her the first treatment for an Albert Nobbs movie so he still receives screen credit (though not on the Inaccurate Movie Database) for the treatment along with Moore for his story and Close, John Banville and Gabriella Prekop for screenplay.
In the majority of her duties on Albert Nobbs, Close seems to have performed well. She earned an Oscar nomination for best actress, but a lot of mediocre performances have been nominated (and won) before. Close's take on Albert Nobbs comes off as so stilted and mannered when compared to the performances of everyone else in the cast that she acts as if she's in a different movie. It's only accentuated because the actors and actresses that surround her carry themselves with such ease and that goes for seasoned vets such as Pauline Collins as the hotel's owner, Brenda Fricker as on, Brendan Gleeson, Phyllida Law and newer discoveries such as Mia Wasikowska and Aaron Johnson (the young John Lennon in 2010's Nowhere Boy).
Now, it isn't merely because Close portrays a woman pretending to be a man in the 19th century and Albert Nobbs isn't a comedy, though it does contain a fair amount of humor in it, because Janet McTeer also plays a woman pretending to be a man and she's brilliant. I was fortunate enough to see McTeer live on Broadway as Nora in the 1997 revival of A Doll's House and she was spectacular (and deservedly won the Tony). She wowed again when she earned a lead actress Oscar nomination for her role in the 1999 film Tumbleweeds directed by Gavin O'Connor when he made interesting movies before he turned to junk such as Warrior.
In the lead paragraph, I brought up Tootsie (in a different context admittedly) but Dustin Hoffman's work as Dorothy Michaels in that film is so great because after awhile, you not only forget that it's Hoffman, you believe it's a woman. I wouldn't go that far with McTeer, but I find it more believable that her character of Hubert Page could pass for a man in 19th century Dublin than I could Close's Albert Nobbs. Hell, I'm not sure Nobbs would pass for a human.
You would think when the main character turns out to be a film's major deficit, the film itself would be doomed, but miraculously I enjoyed Albert Nobbs in spite of Albert Nobbs. Somehow, the rest of the cast, the script and the surefooted direction by Rodrigo Garcia (Mother and Child) more than compensate for Close's performance. (It's somewhat ironic because Close gave the only great performance in Bille August's awful 1993 all-star adaptation of Isabel Allende's The House of the Spirits that featured the rare bad Meryl Streep performance and a cast that also included Jeremy Irons, Winona Ryder and Vanessa Redgrave.)
I do sense that significant sections of the film were edited out based on the presence of actor Jonathan Rhys Meyers. He plays a viscount who checks into the hotel with his wife. We see one brief scene that shows a naked man waking up in his bed in the morning and then we don't see him again until he and his wife check out. Something must have been left on the cutting room floor. It didn't add anything, so they might as well have cut out all those scenes.
Much of the behind-the-scenes work succeeds at a high level including cinematography by Michael McDonough (Winter's Bone), production design by Patrizia von Brandenstein (Oscar winner for Amadeus) and costumes by Pierre-Yves Gayraud.
Albert Nobbs always will mystify me. I can think of major problems with the film, but I can't dispute the fact that I enjoyed it anyway. In a way, it's sort of a corollary to my idea that the purest test as to whether a movie works for you or not is if your mind wanders and you get bored. Albert Nobbs held my interest and I didn't have an unpleasant time watching it, even if a lot of Glenn Close's acting choices made me cringe. It's sad. I'm surprised that no one has mentioned that when Close loses come Oscar night, that will make her 0 for 6, tying her with Deborah Kerr and Thelma Ritter among actresses with the most nominations without winning (though Kerr's were all in lead and Ritter's were all in supporting while Close splits hers evenly three in each category).
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Labels: 10s, Awards, Deborah Kerr, Dustin Hoffman, Fiction, Glenn Close, Irving, J. Lange, Jeremy Irons, Oscars, Streep, Theater, Thelma Ritter, Vanessa Redgrave, Winona
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Tuesday, January 27, 2009
John Updike (1932-2009)
"At the moment when Mary Pickford fainted, the Rev. Clarence Arthur Wilmot, down in the rectory of the Fourth Presbyterian Church at the corner of Straight Street and Broadway, felt the last particles of his faith leave him. The sensation was distinct — a visceral surrender, a set of dark sparkling bubbles escaping upward."
From In the Beauty of the Lilies by John Updike
By Edward Copeland
For a long time, a friend and I had an agreement: When the unfortunate day arrived that the great Pulitzer Prize-winning writer John Updike died, we would drop whatever we were doing and make a pilgrimage to his funeral to honor him. Sadly, my condition, a severed friendship and the evil practices of the trucking industry prevent that, but I can still at least pay tribute to the late, great man here.
I purchased my first John Updike novels when I was in the seventh grade. He'd just won his first Pulitzer Prize for Rabbit Is Rich so I bought the entire trilogy at once. Alas, even though I was slightly advanced for my age, I wasn't ready for the brilliant,
deep prose of Rabbit, Run yet, and I put the books aside. When I was a junior in high school and my English teacher told us to select a novel for a five paragraph essay, I wanted to do a John Irving, but she said no, calling him "a cheap knockoff of Kurt Vonnegut." I substituted The Witches of Eastwick, which I had purchased knowing a Jack Nicholson movie version was forthcoming (The movie and the book have very little to do with one another). It was a revelation as I was then ready for Updike. Every sentence, every paragraph was a wonder to behold. That summer, I had my wisdom teeth pulled, and as I recovered, read the Rabbit trilogy back to back. In a way, I think that's the best way to do it, because you can see Updike's gifts actually growing since they were written 10 years apart dating back to around 1960. The novels and the artist get better. Hungry for more, my friend Jennifer loaned me her copy of his short novel Of the Farm, a lovely little chamber piece and I was hooked and Updike held a permanent place as my favorite author that he still holds, though he eventually shared the title with Philip Roth.This isn't to say that Updike was perfect. He was a much better writer than he was a novelist and I have to admit that there were some that I just didn't finish. However, they were few and the glorious ones way outnumbered them: A Month of Sundays, Couples, Marry Me and one of my very favorites, the undervalued In the Beauty of the Lilies. Of course, I can't forget that there was a great fourth Rabbit book, Rabbit at Rest, which won him a second Pulitzer Prize and many fine short stories, essays and works of criticism.
I even listened to him read some of his own novels on tape and after that I couldn't read anything by him without hearing his voice in my head. Because of frequent headaches, I can't read books as fast as I used to, so lying on my nightstand happens to be his final novel, The Widows of Eastwick. Somehow, it seems appropriate that my life with Updike starts and ends in Eastwick and there is a little comfort knowing that I have one novel left.
RIP Mr. Updike. I can't possibly add up the hours of joy you've given me over the years.
"Maybe the dead are gods, there's certainly something kind about them, the way they give you room. What you lose as you age is witnesses, the ones who watched from early on and cared, like your own little grandstand."
From Rabbit Is Rich
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Labels: Awards, Books, Fiction, Irving, Jennifer, Nicholson, Obituary, Roth, Updike, Vonnegut
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Sunday, August 10, 2008
To all the posts I didn't write
"In the world according to her father, Jenny Garp knew, we must have energy. Her famous grandmother, Jenny Fields, once thought of us as Externals, Vital Organs, Absentees, and Goners. But in the world according to Garp, we are all terminal cases."
By Edward Copeland
Energy is something I've sadly lacked for most of the year, one that prevented me from celebrating the 30th anniversary of the publication of John Irving's The World According to Garp in April. My computer access was further hampered in May when I was hospitalized, where I remain today. Thanks to my contributors, particularly Josh and Jeffrey, who have helped keep the blog breathing during my health crisis. I'm sparing you the details because I don't want to make this a pity party. I just want to talk about what I didn't get to write.
What caused me the most pain wasn't the anniversaries I missed or the reviews I didn't get to write, but the appreciations I was unable to do. The first hospital I was in finally got tired of my complaining about their inadequacies and coughed up a laptop for me to borrow, so I was able to post on Sydney Pollack and Harvey Korman.
Unfortunately, a little more than a week later I was transferred to a long-term care hospital that not only didn't have computers, the building didn't even have WiFi. The death that caused me the most anguish was George Carlin, my favorite comic since high school. I'm not ashamed to admit that for about a week after his death, every time I saw a clip of him on TV I would burst into tears. Of course I'm such an emotional basketcase, I do the same thing when that Sarah McLachlan ASPCA commercial comes on. I wish
I could have acknowledged the passing of Don S. Davis, better known as Major Briggs on Twin Peaks. He also played Scully's dad on The X-Files. This piece alone took me so long to finish that Estelle Getty, Bernie Mac, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn and Isaac Hayes fell through the cracks. Of course, this blog survives mostly on reviews, reviews I've been unable to provide. The last film I saw in a movie theater, perhaps the last film I'll ever see in a theater, was The Counterfeiters, which won this year's Oscar for foreign language film. It was very good. At the first hospital where I was imprisoned, they also tried to buy my silence by bringing a DVD player in my room, so I was almost able to write my 60th anniversary appreciation of Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein and my 30th anniversary piece on the movie Grease. The most ambitious project that fell through was my 25th anniversary of the U.S. release of Fanny and Alexander as well as comparing it to the longer version Ingmar Bergman made (and preferred) for television.I also regret not writing about the 20th anniversary of Die Hard, the 30th anniversary of National Lampoon's Animal House and the 25th of Risky Business. While I am back (sort of), my posts will be infrequent and I don't know what form they will take since I won't have access to things to review. I'm just grateful to be back in cyberspace.
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Labels: Abbott and Costello, Books, Carlin, Fiction, Foreign, Ingmar Bergman, Irving, Misc., Sydney Pollack, Twin Peaks
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Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Philip and John: My two favorite writers
By Edward Copeland
Whenever anyone asks me who my favorite writer is, I generally have two answers. For writing alone, no one stands above John Updike for me. However, if the subject is broadened to novelists, then Philip Roth takes the prize. As luck would have it, both authors recently released new novels, a short tome called Everyman by Roth and a novel called Terrorist by Updike. I figured the occasion was a good enough reason for me to explore my reading relationships with both greats.
PHILIP ROTH
My reading relationship with Philip Roth got off to a rocky start. My first exposure to him came in high school when I read Portnoy's Complaint, which I found silly and immature. I never read anything else by him for several years, but about the time American Pastoral started earning acclaim, I decided to give Roth another chance — and boy was I glad that I did. He really grabbed me with American Pastoral and it encouraged me to seek out his older works. Soon, I was immersed in the many worlds of Nathan Zuckerman through the main trilogy, The Ghost Writer, Zuckerman Unbound and The Anatomy Lesson, onto the many other works in which Roth's writer surrogate would appear. Some of my favorite Roths turned out to be ones that didn't involve Zuckerman at all — especially Sabbath's Theater, which may well be my favorite Roth novel, and the incredibly original and hard to describe Operation Shylock and the true-life memoir of his relationship with his aging and dying father, Patrimony. Roth is a great writer — he doesn't have the prose brilliance of Updike, but something about him just grabs you. Sure, some of his books that I've read have bored me, but I've completed every single one I've started. The same can't be said for Updike. What's most amazing to me is how he seems to keep getting better and better. When you think of his recent output such as American Pastoral, The Human Stain and The Plot Against America, it's quite amazing. As for his most recent novel, Everyman, it's a short, good exploration of mortality and a failing body, but it didn't grab me the way many of his other works have. Here is a list of the Roths I've read to completion, along with a three-grade assessment of fair, good or great. I'm not rating Portnoy's Complaint, because I feel I need to give it another chance and I never have.
Goodbye, Columbus: Good.
Portnoy's Complaint: Not rated.
The Breast: Fair
My Life As a Man: Good.
The Professor of Desire: Fair.
The Ghost Writer: Great.
Zuckerman Unbound: Great.
The Anatomy Lesson: Great.
The Counterlife: Great.
Deception: Great.
Patrimony: Great.
Operation Shylock: Great.
Sabbath's Theater: Great.
American Pastoral: Great.
I Married a Communist: Good.
The Human Stain: Great.
The Dying Animal: Fair.
The Plot Against America: Great.
Everyman: Good.
JOHN UPDIKE
My first brush with Updike came when he won the Pulitzer for Rabbit Is Rich. I was in junior high and I rushed out and bought the entire trilogy in paperback: Rabbit, Run, Rabbit Redux and Rabbit Is Rich. I attempted to start Rabbit, Run, but I guess I wasn't ready for it at that age yet. The next Updike I picked up was The Witches of Eastwick in high school. I bought the book because I knew a movie version with Jack Nicholson was forthcoming and because my junior English teacher rejected my choice of John Irving's The World According to Garp for a paper. It might be the biggest favor a teacher ever did for me. Once I read Witches, my thirst for Updike came to life. Around the same time, I ended up layed up (I think it was with wisdom teeth, but memory gets fuzzier with age) and my dearly missed friend Jennifer loaned me her copy of Updike's short novel Of the Farm, a beautiful chamber piece that really tossed me into the Updike universe unabated. His writing was a revelation — I don't remember ever reading a writer before him that made me gasp so frequently at the sheer power of his prose. Sometimes, he seemed to overreach, but mostly the sentences he constructed were things of wonder. After that, I threw myself back into the Rabbit Angstrom trilogy and I read all three in quick succession — a fascinating experience. Updike was great from the beginning, but by reading the three books, each written about a decade apart, in short order, you could really watch as his power as a prose stylist took hold. The trilogy, later joined by the fourth and final book, Rabbit at Rest, are considered Updike's crowning achievements and it's hard to argue with that. The four books really mark his most successful merging of his ample writing talent with his novelistic skills, which are sometimes lacking. With five Updike novels under my belt, I was a true Updike obsessive — and this was before Philip Roth had re-entered my reading life. If you've never had a chance, it's worth reading Nicholson Baker's fun book U & I, which describes his reading relationship with Updike and in many ways mirrors my own. He admits that there are some Updike novels he's just never finished and the same is true for me. His writing always is great, but some of the novels just don't hold you the way they should. There are some other great ones such as Couples, A Month of Sundays, Marry Me: A Romance (a personal favorite) and what I think may be his most underrated novel, which I worship, In the Beauty of the Lilies. In the Beauty of the Lilies represents a trend in Updike's work — the need to experiment with different subjects and forms. In the case of Lilies, it works magnificently. In other novels, such as The Coup or Toward the End of Time, I just couldn't get through them. I had intended to hold this post until I completed Terrorist, but that is taking longer than I expected due to circumstances in neither my nor Updike's control. So far, I like it. His prose is sterling as usual, though there are some digressions I've read already that don't quite seem to fit to me. I expect this is an Updike novel I'll finish, not one I abandon and once I do, I'll probably do a separate post just on it. Now, like with Roth, I'm gonna rate the Updike novels I've tried. I'm not including the myriad short story collections or books of criticism or poetry, I'm limiting it to the novels. He's just too damn prolific to go further, though technically the Bech books are collections. One other curious thing I'd like to note when comparing Updike and Roth: While Roth's characters are frequently writers, Updike seems to avoid them like the plague, aside from the Bech books. I wonder what that says about each of them.
Rabbit, Run: Great
The Centaur: Good
Of the Farm: Great
Couples: Great
Bech: A Book: Good
Rabbit Redux: Great
A Month of Sundays: Great
Marry Me: A Romance: Great
The Coup : Unfinished
Rabbit Is Rich: Great
Bech Is Back: Good
The Witches of Eastwick: Good
Roger's Version: Good
S. : Unfinished
Rabbit at Rest: Great
Memories of the Ford Administration: Fair
Brazil : Unfinished
In the Beauty of the Lilies: Great
Toward the End of Time : Unfinished
Bech at Bay: Good
Gertrude and Claudius: Fair
Seek My Face: Fair
Villages: Fair
Terrorist: I'll let you know
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Whenever anyone asks me who my favorite writer is, I generally have two answers. For writing alone, no one stands above John Updike for me. However, if the subject is broadened to novelists, then Philip Roth takes the prize. As luck would have it, both authors recently released new novels, a short tome called Everyman by Roth and a novel called Terrorist by Updike. I figured the occasion was a good enough reason for me to explore my reading relationships with both greats.
My reading relationship with Philip Roth got off to a rocky start. My first exposure to him came in high school when I read Portnoy's Complaint, which I found silly and immature. I never read anything else by him for several years, but about the time American Pastoral started earning acclaim, I decided to give Roth another chance — and boy was I glad that I did. He really grabbed me with American Pastoral and it encouraged me to seek out his older works. Soon, I was immersed in the many worlds of Nathan Zuckerman through the main trilogy, The Ghost Writer, Zuckerman Unbound and The Anatomy Lesson, onto the many other works in which Roth's writer surrogate would appear. Some of my favorite Roths turned out to be ones that didn't involve Zuckerman at all — especially Sabbath's Theater, which may well be my favorite Roth novel, and the incredibly original and hard to describe Operation Shylock and the true-life memoir of his relationship with his aging and dying father, Patrimony. Roth is a great writer — he doesn't have the prose brilliance of Updike, but something about him just grabs you. Sure, some of his books that I've read have bored me, but I've completed every single one I've started. The same can't be said for Updike. What's most amazing to me is how he seems to keep getting better and better. When you think of his recent output such as American Pastoral, The Human Stain and The Plot Against America, it's quite amazing. As for his most recent novel, Everyman, it's a short, good exploration of mortality and a failing body, but it didn't grab me the way many of his other works have. Here is a list of the Roths I've read to completion, along with a three-grade assessment of fair, good or great. I'm not rating Portnoy's Complaint, because I feel I need to give it another chance and I never have.
My first brush with Updike came when he won the Pulitzer for Rabbit Is Rich. I was in junior high and I rushed out and bought the entire trilogy in paperback: Rabbit, Run, Rabbit Redux and Rabbit Is Rich. I attempted to start Rabbit, Run, but I guess I wasn't ready for it at that age yet. The next Updike I picked up was The Witches of Eastwick in high school. I bought the book because I knew a movie version with Jack Nicholson was forthcoming and because my junior English teacher rejected my choice of John Irving's The World According to Garp for a paper. It might be the biggest favor a teacher ever did for me. Once I read Witches, my thirst for Updike came to life. Around the same time, I ended up layed up (I think it was with wisdom teeth, but memory gets fuzzier with age) and my dearly missed friend Jennifer loaned me her copy of Updike's short novel Of the Farm, a beautiful chamber piece that really tossed me into the Updike universe unabated. His writing was a revelation — I don't remember ever reading a writer before him that made me gasp so frequently at the sheer power of his prose. Sometimes, he seemed to overreach, but mostly the sentences he constructed were things of wonder. After that, I threw myself back into the Rabbit Angstrom trilogy and I read all three in quick succession — a fascinating experience. Updike was great from the beginning, but by reading the three books, each written about a decade apart, in short order, you could really watch as his power as a prose stylist took hold. The trilogy, later joined by the fourth and final book, Rabbit at Rest, are considered Updike's crowning achievements and it's hard to argue with that. The four books really mark his most successful merging of his ample writing talent with his novelistic skills, which are sometimes lacking. With five Updike novels under my belt, I was a true Updike obsessive — and this was before Philip Roth had re-entered my reading life. If you've never had a chance, it's worth reading Nicholson Baker's fun book U & I, which describes his reading relationship with Updike and in many ways mirrors my own. He admits that there are some Updike novels he's just never finished and the same is true for me. His writing always is great, but some of the novels just don't hold you the way they should. There are some other great ones such as Couples, A Month of Sundays, Marry Me: A Romance (a personal favorite) and what I think may be his most underrated novel, which I worship, In the Beauty of the Lilies. In the Beauty of the Lilies represents a trend in Updike's work — the need to experiment with different subjects and forms. In the case of Lilies, it works magnificently. In other novels, such as The Coup or Toward the End of Time, I just couldn't get through them. I had intended to hold this post until I completed Terrorist, but that is taking longer than I expected due to circumstances in neither my nor Updike's control. So far, I like it. His prose is sterling as usual, though there are some digressions I've read already that don't quite seem to fit to me. I expect this is an Updike novel I'll finish, not one I abandon and once I do, I'll probably do a separate post just on it. Now, like with Roth, I'm gonna rate the Updike novels I've tried. I'm not including the myriad short story collections or books of criticism or poetry, I'm limiting it to the novels. He's just too damn prolific to go further, though technically the Bech books are collections. One other curious thing I'd like to note when comparing Updike and Roth: While Roth's characters are frequently writers, Updike seems to avoid them like the plague, aside from the Bech books. I wonder what that says about each of them.
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Labels: Books, Irving, Jennifer, Nicholson, Roth, Updike
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Saturday, December 24, 2005
From the Vault: Trying to Save Piggy Sneed by John Irving
This collection by the author of The World According to Garp seems to have sneaked into stores quite soon after the release of his most recent novel, A Son of the Circus.
Then again, since most of this new book consists of things written and published elsewhere, there wasn't much of a need for the tremendous wait John Irving subjects his readers to between new works.
Trying to Save Piggy Sneed is divided into three parts: Memoirs, Fiction and Homage. Combined with the author's notes after each piece, this really serves as the closest Irving has ever come to writing his autobiography.
The three parts of the Memoirs section offer insight into the influences that have affected Irving through the course of his life. The longest autobiographical piece, "The Imaginary Girlfriend," tells the most about his growth as a writer, wrestler and man — though this long work does contain a little bit more wrestling recollections than any fan needs.
The short stories of the Fiction section vary in degrees of interest and worth and include "The Pension Grillparzer," best known as the fictional T.S. Garp's first work. Irving includes it here since Garp divides the story up and he wishes it to be read in one sitting. Of the short stories, my personal favorite is "Interior Space," which Irving admits in his notes is his second-favorite short story he's ever finished.
The final section contains two appreciations of Charles Dickens and one on Gunter Grass and these three give as much insight to Irving as it hands to the authors he admires. For fans of Irving, Trying to Save Piggy Sneed is essential reading. For others, only about half of the short stories included here will hold much interest.
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Then again, since most of this new book consists of things written and published elsewhere, there wasn't much of a need for the tremendous wait John Irving subjects his readers to between new works.
Trying to Save Piggy Sneed is divided into three parts: Memoirs, Fiction and Homage. Combined with the author's notes after each piece, this really serves as the closest Irving has ever come to writing his autobiography.
The three parts of the Memoirs section offer insight into the influences that have affected Irving through the course of his life. The longest autobiographical piece, "The Imaginary Girlfriend," tells the most about his growth as a writer, wrestler and man — though this long work does contain a little bit more wrestling recollections than any fan needs.
The short stories of the Fiction section vary in degrees of interest and worth and include "The Pension Grillparzer," best known as the fictional T.S. Garp's first work. Irving includes it here since Garp divides the story up and he wishes it to be read in one sitting. Of the short stories, my personal favorite is "Interior Space," which Irving admits in his notes is his second-favorite short story he's ever finished.
The final section contains two appreciations of Charles Dickens and one on Gunter Grass and these three give as much insight to Irving as it hands to the authors he admires. For fans of Irving, Trying to Save Piggy Sneed is essential reading. For others, only about half of the short stories included here will hold much interest.
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Labels: Books, Dickens, Fiction, Irving, Nonfiction
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From the Vault: A Son of the Circus by John Irving
The wait between new John Irving novels seems to grow longer and longer. It has taken five years for A Son of the Circus to follow A Prayer for Owen Meany.
Unfortunately, despite plenty of positive aspects, Irving's latest ends up being the most disappointing novel of his post-Garp era.
Circus tells the story of Dr. Farrokh Daruwalla, an orthopedic surgeon from Bombay, India, who resides most of the year in Toronto. No matter where he is, Daruwalla always feels as if he's a foreigner, but during his yearly trips back to Bombay, he gets involved in intrigue worthy of the detective screenplays he secretly writes.
Unlike most Irving works, Circus starts out very slowly. In the early going, as it flashes between different time periods, it bogs the reader down. About 80 pages in though, the novel's central mystery takes over and the reader's pace increases.
Later, the novel moves in more fits and starts as it digresses into points-of-views not belonging to Daruwalla and delves deeper into subplots which, for the first time in an Irving novel, don't really enhance the entire book. The other thing that separates A Son of the Circus from other Irving novels is that the characters fail to spring to life as they usually do.
Though the writing style differs a bit from his preceding novels, plenty of common themes survive ranging from faith to writing, orphans to transsexuals. A particularly amusing moment occurs when it's mentioned that Daruwalla hates Charles Dickens when any Irving fan knows what a disciple Irving is of the late, great author.
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Unfortunately, despite plenty of positive aspects, Irving's latest ends up being the most disappointing novel of his post-Garp era.
Circus tells the story of Dr. Farrokh Daruwalla, an orthopedic surgeon from Bombay, India, who resides most of the year in Toronto. No matter where he is, Daruwalla always feels as if he's a foreigner, but during his yearly trips back to Bombay, he gets involved in intrigue worthy of the detective screenplays he secretly writes.
Unlike most Irving works, Circus starts out very slowly. In the early going, as it flashes between different time periods, it bogs the reader down. About 80 pages in though, the novel's central mystery takes over and the reader's pace increases.
Later, the novel moves in more fits and starts as it digresses into points-of-views not belonging to Daruwalla and delves deeper into subplots which, for the first time in an Irving novel, don't really enhance the entire book. The other thing that separates A Son of the Circus from other Irving novels is that the characters fail to spring to life as they usually do.
Though the writing style differs a bit from his preceding novels, plenty of common themes survive ranging from faith to writing, orphans to transsexuals. A particularly amusing moment occurs when it's mentioned that Daruwalla hates Charles Dickens when any Irving fan knows what a disciple Irving is of the late, great author.
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