The entire time I was reading this book, I questioned myself over and over-"why do you like this" or "why do you keep reading." But I couldn't put it down. I finished it about a week ago, and have been thinking about it since. I despised all of the characters and could find very little motivation for any of their actions. At the same time, they are all unforgettable. Irving has never been an especial favorite of mine, but A Widow for One Year has left me in a conundrum. Do I love this book, or do I hate it?

I don't think my emotions are as strong as love and hate, I am more ambivalent than anything. I'm glad I read the book, but it hasn't brought me to any new level of thought. I am merely struck by what I see as a hopeless soap opera wrung through a literary grinder. Ted and Marion Cole were normal people. Once. Then their sons died. They never got over it. He's an artist and a philanderer, probably not in that order. She's a mother (since she put her aspirations to be a writer behind her). The reader is somehow supposed to think that because they are grieving artists, the havoc they wreak on their daughter Ruth and the young Eddie O'Hare is somehow justified.

It's not. Both Ruth and Eddie grow into disfigured adults. Eddie cannot get past his adolescent adoration of the beatific Marion; and Ruth cannot come to terms with a dysfunctional family when she doesn't have access to most of the story (until she meets Eddie).

And then, there are Ruth's novels. It is interesting to watch a writer explaining the artistic methods of other writers, but this much analysis overwhelms the flow of Irving's work. Ruth is consumed with the belief that her novels are truly works of fiction (no matter how often Hannah's sing-song "Ruth character, Hannah character, bad boyfriend" are repeated). Because of this contention, the reader is told to not pay attention to her stories but rather her actions. . . .

[DO NOT READ THE NEXT BIT IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THE BOOK. MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD]

. . . By the end of the book, however, her happiness with Harry is consummated because of the overlap between her life and her work.

[OKAY, YOU CAN JUMP BACK IN NOW.]

Maybe I read to quickly. Maybe I didn't read critically enough. Maybe I should let this story settle a bit longer in my cerebrum before I start to write about it. Maybe I should read the book again. I will not do any of these things, however. A Widow for One Year made me think, but only to determine what about the book got on my nerves. It wasn't the flowing language (Hemingway meets Atwood-crazy, huh?), and it wasn't the overwhelming feeling that there is something to this book. What bothers me so much is that the feeling is unrequited. This is a story of some messed up people doing some messed up things, but of course it's okay at the end of the hour.





Recommended: Yes