Once again, I have finished a
John Irving novel, but instead of feeling
gorged on a literary feast, I feel
unsatiated.
The Hotel New Hampshire
has been heralded by many critics, and it has sold very well, to the tune of
some 350,000 copies, but I cannot find myself in agreement with the majority's zeal; from start to finish I tried to love the
book, but I could not. However, I
encourage you, if you have not already, to read the book; my criticism lies
mostly in literary quirks that prevented me from fully enjoying the novel.
The book's premise is surprisingly simple; the parents of the Berry family
try to fulfill their dreams by owning and operating a hotel. Of course, the
plot is much more complicated than that, as it deals with sobering issues such
as rape, suicide, and incest. The plot, however, introduced several
problems that lead to my dislike of the story. Irving often used rape as a
tool to advance the plot, and I cannot help but feel that he used it rather
carelessly. That issue is but a minor problem that leads to even bigger ones.
Irving tried to introduce the illusion of chaos into the plot in order
to promote its advancement, but I cannot help but feel that he failed
miserably. The blatant acts of plot development overshadowed the natural
progression of the story. The death of Iowa Bob, the plane crash, and the
Viennese terrorists were all far too coincidental; these obvious attempts to
rush the plot along prevented me from suspending my disbelief. I desperately
wanted to become absorbed in the story, but Irving kept on making his presence
very clear, as he loomed over every chapter as an all-seeing, all-knowing,
all-powerful god who could alter the course of events to precisely
match his agenda for the book. John Kennedy Toole's A Confederacy of Dunces makes Irving's attempts at introducing chaos painfully obvious; the events that Irving created did not mesh with the reality of the rather mundane
universe in which the Berry family lives.
On a similar note, John Irving's abuse of his characters for the promotion
of theme bothered me quite a bit. Minor characters--Iowa Bob, the mother,
Egg, the rape victims, the police officer--were all horribly misused for
the sole purpose of making the plot slowly lumber along. The death and
misfortune that all of these minor characters faced once again contradicted
the reality of the story. The worst tragedies occured when Irving interfered
with major characters. Frank became a homosexual with all associated
stereotypes; Lilly's external weakness was matched by internal weakness,
causing her to kill herself; Susie the bear altered her seemingly concrete
sexuality and fell in love with John. Irving forced John to stop being the
quiet observer and made him take on the role of a hero, but the drastic changes
that John needed to make were short-lived and out of character: his weight
training, the deceiving of his father for the old man's sake, and his
compassion that allowed him to love Susie the bear. Franny suffered the worst
fate at the author's hands, however; she often went from being a strong, young
woman to a weak, little girl. The most memorable of these transformations, for
me, occured around Ernst the pornographer. Her stern, chaste--toward men,
at least--attitude broke around him, leading her to sleep with him. Although an
argument could be made that these disparities are merely character flaws, I
cannot agree; when Irving needed for a character to do something for the
advancement of his desired plot, the character did it regardless of personality and prior actions.
Finally, one of the most annoying aspects of the novel had to deal with the
excess of everything. Sex frequently dominated large portions of the book,
and that could be forgivable, seeing as the story is one of coming of age.
But the amount and detail of the sexual scenes was overbearing. The number of
deaths and disasters, coupled with their severity, also echoed the exaggeration
flowing throughout the book. Characters did not merely die, they died in the
most fantastic and unlikely ways. The tragedies cast upon characters were
equally implausible. And of course, there was the incest. The incest scene
wouldn't have bothered me so much if not for the detail. To be honest, I even
grinned a little at how silly the hours upon hours of passionate love-making
seemed, but when the comment about whose blood was on the sheets arose, my
amusement faded. I am not a prudent person, but that little detail was one
step over what I was prepared to read. Yes, I know that it was Irving's intent
to offend, but good taste was violated in the worst kind of way.
I saved the one thing that affected me in the book for last: Franny's
rape. The urgency, the hopelessness, and the despair permeated an entire chapter,and it was real to me. I actually felt sick after finishing the
chapter, but in a good way. I knew that Irving had touched me in a way that few
books ever will; the scene thoroughly disturbed me, moreso than any gorey or
morbid description of murder ever would. And with that thought, I have
finished.