Until I Find You: The story of one boy's penis

I find John Irving to be a wholly inconsistent writer. His early works are hit or miss for me: I HATED The Water Method Man but enjoyed The World According to Garp. Most of books written in the center of his career, like The Cider House Rules, A Prayer for Owen Meany, and The Hotel New Hampshire, are great. His more recent novels (The Fourth Hand, A Widow For One Year) are at best only ok. I'm currently reading his latest, Until I Find You, which I received as a birthday present.

One of the traits I admire about Irving as a writer is his willingness to tackle controversial subjects. In Cider House Rules he took on abortion, and in Hotel New Hampshire he deftly introduced an incestuous but sympathetic brother and sister. In Until I Find You child molestation is the subject. No novel that I've read has so many references to a child's sexual organs, nor does any other book I'm familiar with have so many women grabbing a little boy's crotch. Jack Burns is the boy in question and the reader is treated to the story of his life, complete with descriptions of every woman who has ever touched, held, fondled, sucked, etc., his penis. I'm only mildly exaggerating when I say that the word "the" appears only slightly more frequently than the word "penis" in this book.

In between anecdotes about Jack's weenie, Irving introduces some of his favorite themes. As with so many of his previous novels, a missing parent is a driving force in Until I Find You. Another favorite theme, gender bending, is not only present but overpowering. Given the many, many references to how feminine Jack is and how his penis is really rather small, it's as though Irving is trying to make him as much like a female as possible while still having his character remain male. From a plot perspective, Jack's gender bending is first introduced through his acting career. Against all logic, Jack is cast in the lead female role in almost all the school plays (this, despite going to a mostly girl's school where actresses abound and actors to fill the male roles are scarce). This casting trend continues even to Hollywood as Jack becomes a professional actor.

I can make my peace with whimsy and a lack of logic if they are in the service of a great plot or otherwise moving story. Unfortunately, in this case, the story is not so much moving as it is maddening. Irving suggests throughout that Jack is somehow asking for this attention. His eyelashes--which are particularly seductive--and any knowledge of his father's ladies' man status seem to be all the justification the women in Irving's book need to molest the child. The connection Irving makes between Jack's clearly feminine stature and appearance and the way so many women can't keep their hands off him also raises several dubious and ridiculous ideas. Does Irving want to believe that all women are lesbians (two of the three main female characters are; the other suffers from a physical ailment making her incapable of sleeping with men)? Does he believe that Jack's femininity is what's attractive to women, even while they go for "the little guy" in his pants? Or, more troubling, is Irving trying to make some connection to his protagonist being something of a girl and thus deserving the abuse he receives?

Irving misses several opportunities in this book. First, we're never given a real emotional connection to Jack's abuse. Irving presents it all as offensively matter of fact. He writes about the awful contradictory feelings Jack has (affection for his abuser while wanting it to end, etc.) without us feeling any of the fear, anger, comfort, love, etc., that Jack is supposed to be feeling himself. Irving also misses the chance to make the reader feel a bit of discomfort. Just where should adults draw the line with children--is climbing in bed with a child to comfort him after a nightmare appropriate? How much hugging and holding should be done? Irving could have explored gray areas about just what is and isn't appropriate in a physical relationship and when consent can truly begin but instead makes every woman a tiny-penis loving cartoon.

When not talking about Jack's peepee, Irving actually has a somewhat interesting story going on. Jack has never known his father and comes to question everything his mother said about him. Irving raises questions about the reliability of memories, the unscrupulous ways love can motivate a person, and how parents mold their children. Without hundreds of pages of crotch grabbing, this could have been a good read.

Admittedly, I'm only about 550 pages into this 800+ page book. Though I doubt it, perhaps something in the final third will win me over. Without some amazing redemption, though, this book is a bust.