A Widow For One Year, by John Irving.
I am not kidding, I think that Irving is perhaps thee most entertaining and engaging of authors that I have encountered in a long while.
A wonderful storyteller. I could listen to him forever.
For most true readers, Irving is not exactly a new discovery. For me, however, he is relatively a new find.
While reading this book in several coffee-shops, I’ve noticed that the majority of people that have seen its easily recognizable cover have felt the need to comment, along the lines of the following:
“Oh, that’s a good one, huh? Are you enjoying it?”
“My favorite is The Hotel New Hampshire but that one you’ve got there is good, too.”
"Owen Meany is his masterpiece, but A Widow For One Year?…. mmmm….” [followed by that universal sign of exquisiteness where the thumb and two fingers burst open in a smacky kiss as though the world’s greatest Italian chef has just pronounced the pasta al dente!]
You know what I mean?
All in all, I guess I am concluding → What kind of a person would NOT like John Irving?
Like, his books are excellent. And this one was a gem.
It is my third Irving.
It makes me want to read John Irving For One Year.
According to my research, he has ten other novels that I have not yet read.
At an average of a novel a month or thereabouts, by next year I could read all of his stuff!
But you know what?
I’m not going to do it.
Because then it would be over.
It’s good to be back online. I am still working on re-formatting my computer and I have just returned from the extremely non-religious cremation ceremonies of my old Hard-Drive!
I lost a lot of data there in that fiasco!