John Iriving has been my favorite author for at least a decade. Before that, I think I liked a lot of authors but never had a real favorite, I’m just too particular. My favorite book of all time (of course by Irving) has been A Prayer for Owen Meany, followed closely by The World According to Garp (yep, also Irving) for as long as I can remember. I’ve read them both a dozen times. My least favorite of his books is his memoir, The Imaginary Girlfriend, because I guess I just didn’t want to know that much about him. Like the way a guy must feel in the morning after taking home a one-night stand and finding out she takes the short bus or something. The whole thing feels a bit tainted. But I hung in there, after all I am a long-time fan.
Last year when I was forcing myself to rest, I read all of the Irving books I have here in the house, back-to-back. Big mistake, because it left me feeling a bit over-exposed, for lack of a better expression. I didn’t like Garp as much, I was totally annoyed by the dad in Until I find You, as well as with Doris in The Fourth Hand. And I was suddenly unwilling to believe that teenagers would flock to Hester the Molester’s music in A Prayer for Owen Meany. What was the matter with me, that I was no longer left with a warm fuzzy feeling after reading an Irving book? I do still love Owen Meany, but maybe I’ll read it a bit less often (which is to say, once every 5 years rather than every 2).
I just find it pompous (on Irving’s part) to assume that the rest of the world (OK, just the characters in the world of the book) would continue to basically WORSHIP the characters in the book for YEARS, decades even – usually the main character, but sometimes not. Pretty much whoever ends up kicking the bucket. I think I used to find it endearing, even hopeful. But now I find it utterly unrealistic. It makes me roll my eyes. Am I becoming a cynic? Eek. So rather than just realizing Irving is human, combined with the memoir, I just don’t like him as a person anymore. And how can he be my favorite if I don’t even like him?
Now I have to go about finding a new favorite author. I just can’t let Irving have the title anymore, I’m afraid. I like the Harry Potter series by JK Rowling. I admit, I’m addicted, even though until October of last year I thought Potterheads were wack-jobs and swore I’d never read a Harry Potter book or see a Harry Potter movie. Basically I’m just anti anything that mainstream. Although, I am glad it’s gotten kids back into reading books, but that doesn’t mean I have to read them. But my sister lent me books 1-6 and after reading 1-4 back to back, I had to pace myself and just finished reading 5. I’m itching to read 6 but I’ve got so much stuff to DO! And, I’m already sad that there are only 2 left. So Rowling sounds like a contender, right, but I can’t go with her – I have to know how she writes other characters. Maeve Binchy used to be one of my favorites, but I just read The Whitethorn Woods and although it was a good read, I just wasn’t that into it. I like Gregory Maguire (of his I’ve read Lost, Wicked, Son of a Witch, Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister) but I made the mistake of re-reading Wicked and Son of a Witch back to back and there are too many glaring errors to have him be a favorite. You’d think HE would have re-read Wicked before writing Son of a Witch so that he didn’t make so many fumbles in the story line.
Ooooooh, actually I think it’s a tie between Maya Angelou and David Sedaris. Hmmm. I think I’ll have to have a read-off and figure out which one comes out on top.
