Note: John Irving will speak at Town Hall, this Thursday, at 7 p.m.
Slightly shocking, discomforting and utterly wonderful: these words describe every book John Irving has written, some more than others. And if you check the literary components chart under Irving’s name in Wikipedia, you’ll note that nearly all of the author’s repeat images and themes recur in his newest, In One Person. We could make a good argument for Uncle Bob as the bear and others as possible “sex workers” as well (no spoilers here). Readers will find references to literature, drama, wrestling, writing and, of course, the big one in this novel: sexuality.
In One Person is a coming-of-age story about Billy Abbott, a young man who struggles with what he calls “crushes on the wrong people” – gender identity. That his first infatuation is for Miss Frost, the town librarian with a big not-so-secret secret, who applies lavish amounts of literature to Billy’s (she calls him William) quandary, instantly endeared him to this librarian! The microcosm in which he lives – the small town of First Sister, Vermont – is a tough place to grow up different: lots of people who’ve known Billy from birth weigh in on his self-image. And in First Sister, each person is an individual opportunity for Irving’s/Billy’s comic observation and a story.
Billy’s big question, who am I and why do I have these urges, is obliquely answered by the characters and the roles they play. The insertion of not one, but two theater production groups in the story, offering the plays of Ibsen (chosen by a choleric Norwegian director) and Shakespeare (directed by Billy’s stepfather and starring several family members) provide another stage for some of the book’s larger themes and presage both comedy and tragedy ahead. Like Shakespeare’s work, In One Person plucks out thorny issues, wrestles them to the mat and lets the reader decide who wins.
Billy’s casual first-person voice and wry observations about his own inadequacies and the foibles of others invite us to fall into the role of an audience to be merely entertained. Irving, a master of everyday comedy, makes you laugh, as in the whoop out loud and people stare at you and you don’t care kind of laugh! It will come unexpectedly, as will the sadness that’s inevitable in a story about sexuality, vulnerability and love. The literary references, masterful plot construction, immediacy of voice and metaphorical hints at larger themes are subtle and easily digested: Irving is not obsessed, as so many literary authors are, with his own cleverness. He invites his readers to put themselves into the drama: to remember our own teen years, revisit the AIDS ‘80s and to consider Billy’s (and our) normalcy.
If you loved Owen Meany, you will love Billy Abbott. Prepare yourself!
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