John Irving... bucket list item checked
Encounters with writers: 7
I know I’ve talked about my love for John Irving’s novels before, but what happened last week deserves special mention and its own post. But first, a little context.
As I think I’ve mentioned before in these posts, for a writer with nine novels under his belt, I came late to fiction. In my early twenties, I was reading mostly nonfiction, usually biography, history, politics, even economics. I was working in politics at the time and it consumed me. When I left the world of politics and moved to public affairs consulting with a large multi-national communications agency, I realized I needed to start reading fiction to fill that void in my cultural understanding, and you know, just try to become a more well-rounded reader. After a few false starts (e.g. the 1990 Booker Prize shortlist)—tough sledding for a fiction newbie—I found Robertson Davies and Mordecai Richler and threw myself into their novels. I loved nearly all of them. Then, I read an article somewhere about John Irving wherein he mentioned his love for Robertson Davies. So I gave Irving a try, and my life as a reader changed.
As ridiculous as it sounds, I really had never read novels that took me from the heights of hilarity to the very depths of despair—sometimes in the same page. Irving made me “feel” what I was reading. I confess I didn’t know novels could do that until I read Irving. (I know, I know. I should have understood this long before I turned 30, but there you go.) Emotionally, reading A Prayer for Owen Meany nearly broke me. And it made me want to write. It made me want to be a writer. Today, 33 years after reading Owen Meany, it remains my favourite novel. Not my favourite Irving novel. My favourite novel, period.
Last Monday night, John Irving appeared as the closing event in the Book Drunkard Festival in Uxbridge, Ontario to discuss his latest novel, The Last Chairlift. And here’s the surreal part. I spent half an hour with him in the green room beforehand along with Deborah Dundas, the Toronto Star’s Book Editor who would soon be interviewing him on stage. Then I introduced him from the podium. Finally, when it was all over, Shelley, Deborah, John Irving, my wife Nancy Naylor, and Scott Sellers (Vice President and Associate Publisher at Penguin Random House, John’s—and my—publisher) enjoyed a quiet dinner at a restaurant that opened late last night just for us. Yes, as a matter of fact, I am still pinching myself!
At 7:00 p.m., the three of us made our way from the green room through the crowd of more than 200 to the stage. Then, after my friend Shelley Macbeth, owner of the wonderful Blue Heron Books and creator of the Book Drunkard Festival introduced me, I introduced John Irving, the writer I’d revered—perhaps more than any other—for more than 35 years.
Here’s how I introduced John Irving:
“Shelley knows how I feel about John Irving’s novels and so she kindly invited me to introduce him this evening. I accepted before she’d even finished asking me. I wondered whether I’d be able to construct complete sentences when the moment arrived, as it now has. So far so good, but we’ll see. I’m not done yet.
When I first drafted the introduction, it was about an hour and a half long. I exaggerate. It was only about an hour and ten minutes. So, I decided I should try not to make this about John Irving and me, but just about John. I’ve tried valiantly to do that, but I doubt it’s been a complete success.
I know all of you are loyal Irving fans, so you don’t really need me to enumerate his 15 novels and all of his accolades, the wonderful films, his academy award for best adapted screenplay. You likely don’t need me to tell you that he attended the coveted Iowa Writers Workshop where he was taught by Kurt Vonnegut and other literary luminaries. Some of you may already know that after living much of his life in Vermont, he and his wife Janet, a Canadian, moved to Toronto and that in 2019, John became a Canadian citizen for which we are all grateful. In short, Canadian Literature now includes John Irving.
I suspect that most of us are here because of how John’s novels make us feel. I was late not just to John Irving’s novels, but to fiction in general, and it wasn’t until I was in my late twenties that I started reading his books, like Hotel New Hampshire, Garp, Cider House Rules, and the rest, all of which I loved. Then I read Owen Meany a year after it was released in 1989. Now, 33 years later, it remains my favourite novel—not just my favourite John Irving novel, my all-time favourite novel. I read Owen Meany 16 years before I wrote my first novel.
It's quite possible that I’d never have written a novel, let alone nine, had I not read John Irving.
John, I have a confession to make. For years now, I’ve been telling audiences at writers festivals, book clubs, and library readings that “John Irving is my mentor.” Everyone gasps with surprise and wonder. I quickly tell the audience, “I’m not surprised you didn’t know, even John Irving doesn’t know.”
But it is true that I have always thought of John Irving as my mentor for I have learned so much about writing—about my writing—from his extraordinary novels. In particular, the way, John, you juxtapose humour and pathos, sometimes rubbing them right against one another so those two nearly opposite feelings each become more potent and powerful for their close proximity.
Reading John Irving made me want to write.
My first novel was already under my belt when Last Night in Twisted River was released in 2009. I came to see you, John, at Harbourfront to hear you speak about the novel and read from it. I remember it all as if it were yesterday. It had such an impact on me as a, then, new writer, that I actually gave the pleasure of that same experience to the narrator of my seventh novel, Albatross, perhaps just so I could relive it myself.
So, John, I thank you for all that you, through your novels, have taught me as a writer.
Let me close with a brief anecdote. John, I know Douglas Gibson is a friend of yours. Well, Doug was my editor for my first six novels, and about six years ago, he and I were driving up here to Uxbridge coincidently, to do an event together with Shelley and Blue Heron Books. In the car, Doug turned to me and asked, “What are you and Nancy doing this Saturday night?” I explained that we had to be in St. Catharines where our younger son was playing the lead role in a musical at Brock University. When I asked why, Doug explained that John Irving and his wife Janet were coming over to their home for dinner that night and they thought that six around the table might be more fun than four. I very nearly drove into the ditch. But as loving parents, we did the right thing and spent the weekend in a less than stellar St. Catharines motel attending our son’s musical.
So, this may help explain why it is such a privilege and an honour to be here tonight celebrating The Last Chairlift and introducing “my mentor.” Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in welcoming CanLit royalty, John Irving.”
Thankfully, people laughed in all the right places, including the guest of honour. When I’d finished and the welcoming applause for John began, he looked at me and mouthed “thank you.” Then I bid a hasty retreat and watched the proceedings from the back of the room. In his hour-long interview with Deborah Dundas, John was warm and funny, thoughtful, and incredibly articulate discussing his new novel, The Last Chairlift and many other topics that ranged from US politics to his writing process and how much he’s enjoying living in Toronto. The audience was rapt and so was I.
As the audience Q&A was wrapping up, I returned to the podium to thank John and Deborah, and close out the evening. We then escorted John through the crowd (there was no book signing at the event) and out to his car and driver.
Twenty minutes after the event, Nancy and I arrived at Tin, a lovely little restaurant in Uxbridge. John was already there and Deborah Dundas, Scott Sellers, and Shelley Macbeth arrived shortly thereafter. The restaurant was not open to the public so the six of us were the only customers.
The dinner was fantastic, surpassed only by the three hours of wide-ranging, thought-provoking conversation as John Irving held court. He told some wonderful stories about some very well known people. We solved most of the problems in U.S. politics, a topic that John alternately finds engaging and enraging. Time slipped by unnoticed. When we finally broke up to go our separate ways, it was midnight with still an hour’s drive back to Toronto ahead of us. Nancy and I talked all the way home about what a truly singular evening it had been.
I confess I’m still processing the whole event. But I can say that, despite all those warnings we often hear about meeting your heroes, in this case, it could not have been a more rewarding evening. And now, I have the distinct pleasure of diving into The Last Chairlift accompanied by echoes of our evening with John Irving. I’m still a little giddy.
By the time this post is released, Nancy and I will be in Paris for a week of wandering around the left bank, as we like to do. I’ll also be researching and confirming some final details around my upcoming novel, A New Season. So, stay tuned for a Paris post a couple weeks from now.
Thank you for sharing this wonderful experience Terry. It was the perfect way to start a Sunday morning !
Goosebumps Terry. Thanks