John Irving's new book "Last Night in Twisted River" has driven me to give up on him. I say it here and now, I am unlikely to ever purchase or read another Irving book. I've read everything the man has written and claimed him as my favourite author pretty much since the beginning. After 'Widow for a Year", he was down-graded to being called one of my favourite authors and now, well, I'll still recommend the older stuff, but I will not let him indulge in his obsessive need to explore the stuff he explores in almost every book at my expense anymore. No more with the wrestling, running, bears, farting dogs, one big strong woman, one cranky, opinionated man, etc. I'm done. Move on already I say. He has explored this to death as far as I'm concerned.
To add insult to injury, the autobiographical tid-bits in this book are blatant and obvious and Irving says, according to the Toronto Star, that they are "...deliberately a little mischievous." Well, you know what? I think that's just too self-serving.
Now, here's the rub - I can't say he isn't a good writer, if I'd hadn't read any of his other books, I'd probably like this book but I have, so I don't. 'Nuff said. Well almost, one more thing - my friend Angela gave up on him years ago, she was right!