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Until I Find You
Every major character in Until I Find You has been marked for life – not only William Burns, a church organist who is addicted to being tattooed, but also William's song, Jack, an actor who is shaped as a child by his relationships with older women. And Jack's mother, Alice – a Toronto tattoo artist – has been permanently damaged by William's rejection of her. This is a novel about the loss of innocence, on many levels.
1039 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published January 1, 2005
933 people are currently reading
9584 people want to read
About the author
John Irving
159 books16.2k followersJOHN IRVING was born in Exeter, New Hampshire, in 1942. His first novel, Setting Free the Bears, was published in 1968, when he was twenty-six. He competed as a wrestler for twenty years, and coached wrestling until he was forty-seven.
Mr. Irving has been nominated for a National Book Award three times—winning once, in 1980, for his novel The World According to Garp. He received an O. Henry Award in 1981 for his short story “Interior Space.” In 2000, Mr. Irving won the Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay for The Cider House Rules. In 2013, he won a Lambda Literary Award for his novel In One Person.
An international writer—his novels have been translated into more than thirty-five languages—John Irving lives in Toronto. His all-time best-selling novel, in every language, is A Prayer for Owen Meany.
Avenue of Mysteries is his fourteenth novel.
Mr. Irving has been nominated for a National Book Award three times—winning once, in 1980, for his novel The World According to Garp. He received an O. Henry Award in 1981 for his short story “Interior Space.” In 2000, Mr. Irving won the Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay for The Cider House Rules. In 2013, he won a Lambda Literary Award for his novel In One Person.
An international writer—his novels have been translated into more than thirty-five languages—John Irving lives in Toronto. His all-time best-selling novel, in every language, is A Prayer for Owen Meany.
Avenue of Mysteries is his fourteenth novel.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,760 reviews
November 13, 2007
I have very much enjoyed the other novels by John Irving I have read (Garp, Owen Meany, Widow for One Year), but I did NOT in any way enjoy "Until I Find You." All the classic Irving tropes are here (wrestling, prostitutes, New Hampshire, older women, people of small stature), but all are deployed in an absolutely forced, joyless, airless manner. The best thing I can say about this novel is that Irving's prose is typically readable. That is also the ONLY positive thing I can think to say about the book. The entire text feels like an exercise in expanding the relatively banal post-modern quote that prefaces the text, except that the quote (generally about the fallibility of memory and storytelling) is about four lines long, and the novel is 820 seemingly endless pages. And at the end of the text, I didn't feel that the quote had been the slightest bit illuminated or developed or enriched. (I don’t want to spoil anything, but the prevailing feeling I have about the novel is: that’s IT??)
The story hangs together on contrivance and uninspiring, unsurprising "twists." Previous Irving books create worlds where unbelievable acts of fate or outlandish characters become truly believable. Irving follows the old professorial dictum to "make the familiar strange and the strange familiar." Yet the world created in "Until I Find You" fails to cohere. The characters never sound real when they speak; no one’s actions ever make sense to us, nor do we (the audience) believe that they even make sense to the characters themselves. Never at any point did I truly care about a single character in this novel, and no one ever achieved anything other than the sketchiest inner life or set of motivations. Managing to keep each and every character a two-dimensional functionary within a novel so enormous is actually an accomplishment, though a dubious one, to be sure. With prose so fluid, I found myself turning page after boring, contrived, unbelievable page, waiting for something – ANYthing – to hook me, for some coincidence to startle me, for some connection to be revealed to me. But page after page (after page after page…) disappointed. There was simply no depth, no truth, no emotion.
I recently read Anna Karenina, and was shocked at the amount of activity that takes place within each and every chapter, and to each and every character. Every person in Tolstoy’s novel has a rich inner life and wonderfully nuanced viewpoints; those were 1200 pages that felt like 200. "Until I Find You" is the polar opposite: you could convince me that I have been reading that book nonstop for the last three years. It could be 800 pages or 8,000.
There’s really very little else to say about this lifeless cinderblock of a book. I enjoyed almost nothing about it, and can only reiterate my surprise and sadness at being so utterly disappointed by a book I had been so excited to read, written by a novelist I had previously enjoyed so much. What a sad waste.
The story hangs together on contrivance and uninspiring, unsurprising "twists." Previous Irving books create worlds where unbelievable acts of fate or outlandish characters become truly believable. Irving follows the old professorial dictum to "make the familiar strange and the strange familiar." Yet the world created in "Until I Find You" fails to cohere. The characters never sound real when they speak; no one’s actions ever make sense to us, nor do we (the audience) believe that they even make sense to the characters themselves. Never at any point did I truly care about a single character in this novel, and no one ever achieved anything other than the sketchiest inner life or set of motivations. Managing to keep each and every character a two-dimensional functionary within a novel so enormous is actually an accomplishment, though a dubious one, to be sure. With prose so fluid, I found myself turning page after boring, contrived, unbelievable page, waiting for something – ANYthing – to hook me, for some coincidence to startle me, for some connection to be revealed to me. But page after page (after page after page…) disappointed. There was simply no depth, no truth, no emotion.
I recently read Anna Karenina, and was shocked at the amount of activity that takes place within each and every chapter, and to each and every character. Every person in Tolstoy’s novel has a rich inner life and wonderfully nuanced viewpoints; those were 1200 pages that felt like 200. "Until I Find You" is the polar opposite: you could convince me that I have been reading that book nonstop for the last three years. It could be 800 pages or 8,000.
There’s really very little else to say about this lifeless cinderblock of a book. I enjoyed almost nothing about it, and can only reiterate my surprise and sadness at being so utterly disappointed by a book I had been so excited to read, written by a novelist I had previously enjoyed so much. What a sad waste.
August 14, 2008
This is the most personal book I have read of Irving's and I am a huge fan. I've read everything save one book, the one that was a very successful movie.
"Until I Find You" is a tough book to get into. The first few chapters are painstaking and seem laborious but you cannot put the book aside. Then in a single moment it becomes essential to know the story, know what happens to this little boy, because you care about him in his over-the-top quirky yet very sad yet oblivous existence.
For an Irving reader this is an oddity because though his empathy, poignancy and humor are all there, and you do laugh and cry aloud, his usual snarky and wonderful laugh mechanisms are not in this book. There is plenty to laugh at but the humor is softer, sweeter, more mindful. You get the sense that he is not creating laughter as armor to defend someone from harming him; rather he is using it to make you love these characters even more.
I loved "...Own Meany" best before I read "Widow for One Year," but now I am unsure Irving can top this very personally felt and lovingly written book.
"Until I Find You" is a tough book to get into. The first few chapters are painstaking and seem laborious but you cannot put the book aside. Then in a single moment it becomes essential to know the story, know what happens to this little boy, because you care about him in his over-the-top quirky yet very sad yet oblivous existence.
For an Irving reader this is an oddity because though his empathy, poignancy and humor are all there, and you do laugh and cry aloud, his usual snarky and wonderful laugh mechanisms are not in this book. There is plenty to laugh at but the humor is softer, sweeter, more mindful. You get the sense that he is not creating laughter as armor to defend someone from harming him; rather he is using it to make you love these characters even more.
I loved "...Own Meany" best before I read "Widow for One Year," but now I am unsure Irving can top this very personally felt and lovingly written book.
September 22, 2009
Help! Some hack has kidnapped John Irving and is publishing novels under his name! As so many, many have said: I've loved John Irving's work for years, but this book is a mess (were there no editors? Or - and here's a scary thought - is this actually the edited version?). Irving is getting up there in years (he was 63 when Until I Find You was published), but one still wouldn't have imagined he'd be capable of writing such a joyless, tic-ridden, self-indulgent, slightly icky-minded shambles of a novel. And not even early-onset Alzheimer's could explain the endless repetition of catch phrases and character details (I'll say it again -- were there no editors?) that become so freaking irritating you want to scream. Why was Irving not embarrassed to write such clumsy attributions as "'Blah blah blah,' Alice said, maybe." As if that "maybe" was supposed to make us go all mushy inside because of his amateur, cloddish attempt to limn the transient nature of memory. I mean, come on, John. I didn't go to Exeter like you, but I managed to figure out a thing or two in life. All of this is a shame, most of all. Much of the press around the book seems to focus on its autobiographical nature and on Irving's effort to mine personal experiences, a strategy that has served him well in his previous novels but which falters miserably here. This is the sort of book Irving should have written for therapy (if he needed to) and then burned; it's nothing strangers needed to read. I hope he's got more books in him, but I pray to god that work like Until I Find You is out of his system for good.
October 12, 2011
I have read many many many John Irving books and this one is unequivocally my favorite. It's also the John Irving book that seems to incite the most vitriol. And I don't know why. It's a simple story about a man, a man searching for his father, and searching for himself. It's a road novel, back and forth and back and forth over Europe and America the mother and son characters move. It's also about the history of tattoos and you get to learn all the nifty language and parlance and colloquialisms of a fasciating sub-culture. But most of all it is about how our memories decieve us, they lie to us. And how our parents lie to us and decieve us. And how when we're young, when you're innocent and green and wide-eyed and naive you aren't aware of the wierdness that surrounds you. That surrounds your parents. You think it's normal. This huge sprawling novel reminds me of one line from Alan Moore's Lost Girls.
"You see, there's the way things seem and the way things actually are, and one is so often the total reverse of the other."
"You see, there's the way things seem and the way things actually are, and one is so often the total reverse of the other."
February 28, 2008
"Until I Find You" is repetitious, overwritten, overlong and untrusting of the reader. Almost no important detail, key anecdote, phrase in a foreign language, or memorable line is used just once, and few are used just twice or even three times. Even the uninspired elements get repeated again and again. (Inexplicably, however, the occasional detail -- Emma's moustache, for example -- is heavily emphasized, and then completely dropped without being resolved or mentioned again.)
It's been a while since I've read a John Irving novel, but I don't remember him being this poor a writer. This must be an Irving book because all the typical Irving obsessions -- wrestling, cross-dressing, boarding schools, adultery and exceptional children -- are here, but I remember him being a better storyteller. Even the novel's point of view has problems, with Irving seemingly unsure whether to stay the whole time with the main character Jack Burns -- is it the third-person narrator or Jack, an Oscar-winning movie star and screenwriter, who doesn't remember the names of well-known Hollywood films? -- and whether Jack's view of the world is reliable. (There's a big reveal halfway through the book that Jack's early memories were incorrect, but what are we to make of the events we see through his eyes later in the book?)
It doesn't help that Jack is an incredibly bland character, with few opinions and little internal life. This is acknowledged in the course of the novel, but even such an acknowledgement doesn't make the book any easier to get through, as its main character is so uninteresting.
Perhaps Irving's previous books had better editors. I can think of no other reason why this one pales so miserably in comparison. Somewhere in this 850-page, flabby mess of a book, I suspect, is a good if not great 350-page novel.
It's been a while since I've read a John Irving novel, but I don't remember him being this poor a writer. This must be an Irving book because all the typical Irving obsessions -- wrestling, cross-dressing, boarding schools, adultery and exceptional children -- are here, but I remember him being a better storyteller. Even the novel's point of view has problems, with Irving seemingly unsure whether to stay the whole time with the main character Jack Burns -- is it the third-person narrator or Jack, an Oscar-winning movie star and screenwriter, who doesn't remember the names of well-known Hollywood films? -- and whether Jack's view of the world is reliable. (There's a big reveal halfway through the book that Jack's early memories were incorrect, but what are we to make of the events we see through his eyes later in the book?)
It doesn't help that Jack is an incredibly bland character, with few opinions and little internal life. This is acknowledged in the course of the novel, but even such an acknowledgement doesn't make the book any easier to get through, as its main character is so uninteresting.
Perhaps Irving's previous books had better editors. I can think of no other reason why this one pales so miserably in comparison. Somewhere in this 850-page, flabby mess of a book, I suspect, is a good if not great 350-page novel.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
August 24, 2019
“Penis, penis, penis—” Jack chantedSeriously, this book has much more to offer than penises, although, I have to admit, that penis is probably the one word that sticks out the most… oh, and tattoo too.
“That about covers it”
(pg.312)
Can't blame any reader if they throw in the towel sometime in the first half. The life and story of Jack Burns can get under your skin pretty fast. From the books I read by John Irving this is probably the most lugubrious one. It was my second reading and I realized what little I remembered of the plot from my first encounter, or remembered falsely.
Funny old thing: memory.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.
October 19, 2007
if you're not into john irving or if you've never read him before, i wouldn't start with this one. but if you're an irving lover, definitely go for it.
no matter what the critics say, for me, irving can do no wrong. reading his books actually take me out of my life. i'm running out of ones i haven't read. maybe i'll have to start rrrrerrrreading.
also, irving can always be counted on for good author photos.
no matter what the critics say, for me, irving can do no wrong. reading his books actually take me out of my life. i'm running out of ones i haven't read. maybe i'll have to start rrrrerrrreading.
also, irving can always be counted on for good author photos.
July 24, 2008
This is a case for me of a pure gut/emotional reaction, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.
First of all, this book has totally sold me on John Irving. I read "A Prayer for Owen Meany", and had the hardest time getting into it. I really liked about the last hundred pages, but getting there was a chore, to be quite honest.
But this book, this book had me from the first line to the last. And it is directly because of all of the personal parallels. You have the musician (I'm a musician, a pianist actually) you have the tattoo addiction (4 of my own at last count, the last one being a true test of iron will, but it is freakin SWEET!) The single boy and his single mother, father estrangement, the feeling of a rudderless life, everything.
And at the end, when Jack has discovered certain key people of his life (if you've read, you know what I mean, if not, go read!)I was a puddle! This was the polar opposite of my experience with "Suttree". That novel was a cold masterpiece that at the end had me feeling academic but cold. This one chimed every emotional cord (or chord) in me.
First of all, this book has totally sold me on John Irving. I read "A Prayer for Owen Meany", and had the hardest time getting into it. I really liked about the last hundred pages, but getting there was a chore, to be quite honest.
But this book, this book had me from the first line to the last. And it is directly because of all of the personal parallels. You have the musician (I'm a musician, a pianist actually) you have the tattoo addiction (4 of my own at last count, the last one being a true test of iron will, but it is freakin SWEET!) The single boy and his single mother, father estrangement, the feeling of a rudderless life, everything.
And at the end, when Jack has discovered certain key people of his life (if you've read, you know what I mean, if not, go read!)I was a puddle! This was the polar opposite of my experience with "Suttree". That novel was a cold masterpiece that at the end had me feeling academic but cold. This one chimed every emotional cord (or chord) in me.
April 16, 2022
Объемный роман посвящен вроде бы важной теме – чувствам cына, выросшего без отца, его взросления и становления как личности. Но… Роман маскируется под роман взросления, но на самом деле это роман не просто полового созревания, а развращения 9 летнего мальца прожженными проститутками, подругами матери, зарабатывающей на жизнь татуировками. Первая треть романа только об этом. Остальная часть примерно об этом же уже через призму актерской карьеры, и поисками и встречей с отцом. Язык плоский, повествование линейно, бедность идей и, в целом, примитивность личности главного героя и других персонажей характеризуют этот роман. Весьма посредственно.
September 25, 2025
Until I Find You is an intriguing and abnormal read. The story is a coming of age novel that involves taboos and unworldly family lifestyle. The themes and incidents are pretty graphic. Irving seems to break the wall on normal narrative and delves into really insane story narratives in this novel.
November 9, 2007
I have read 10 of John Irving's books: his first 9, and this one. Clearly, he does something that I keep going back for. Maybe it's no coincidence that I also read all of Dickens' novels in chronological order, back in my twenties. The two are very different -- Dickens is much funnier, for instance -- but they have much in common. It doesn't surprise me to read others' mention of the links between them:
Of the scope, the sheer heft factor of their books, many complain. I like it. It's hard not to like a character, Jack Burns for one, when, after 800 pages, you feel you've known him his whole life. I think incomplete knowledge and hasty summation of others is at the root of human conflict.
I am a sucker for writers who are both essentially compassionate and unequivocally outraged by human cruelty, especially if they don't just wring their hands, but leap from their armchairs, sprint after the offenders, smash out their tail-lights and put them on notice, a la T.S. Garp.
Irving also is a tonic to me because I feel understood when an author writes frankly about sexuality. I don't have to share a character's particular predilections to enjoy the reading, and I feel respected when things aren't whitewashed 'for my protection.' I concur that cruel sex isn't immoral because of the sex, but because of the cruelty. I believe that *any* morality that's used for superiority, used to judge or condemn others, is really just tarted-up cruelty. For these reasons, Irving is right up my street.
Both Irving and Dickens zero in on the invisible-because-conventionally-unregarded strings that most of us are still dancing at the ends of, with the other ends tethered to our childhoods. Most of us throw our hands up about our pasts, stamp 'history' on the whole bundle, and close the door upon it. If we're like sailing ships, our history is the wind, beyond our control, still pushing at us; it takes skill and tenacity to steer the present, consciously, against this wind, and most of us don't have the grit for it. Both Irving and Dickens have troubled to regard childhood, to steep themselves in it, and their writing about childhood rings with this truth as a result: childhood is magical, yes, but more Pan's-Labyrinth-magical than Pinocchio-Blue-Fairy magical; it's magical because ordinary human actions can be transformed, distorted, elevated to myth, when perceived by a child. A single instance of loss, of gratitude, of injustice, all parts of the passing parade of human experience as understood by adults, can become -- or as mysteriously not become -- lifelong, permanent, and defining for a child. As a former child, present parent, and future feature of my childrens' memories, it helps me to remember this, and reading these authors gets me there.
As for 'Until I Find You,' in particular? Well, it's not Irving's tightest work, and Irving's tightest work is none too tight. I have to conclude that he's serving a purpose other than spare, lean writing. It has a different effect on the reader than saying, "So Jack and his mom went to a succession of major Scandinavian cities, met assorted tattooers, and stayed in various hotels," to have to go through the somewhat circular experience, the full theme-and-variations, with Jack. It pays off when he has to refactor his memories, because we have them too, and they were so many pages ago that they feel like *our* childhood memories. In many respects, reading the book is more like living life than like experiencing a finely-crafted, precision-engineered storytelling. Mrs. McQuat almost gets to serve as a needed counter-weight, but dies too early; Claudia's daughter comes and goes with Jack seeming to sleepwalk through both the experience and the ramifications; the bat exhibit and The Wurtz; I could make a long list of the dangling threads that just keep dangling. Irving has no regard whatever for Chekhov's gun (look up 'Chekhov's gun' in Wikipedia), and I guess I don't either.
Of the scope, the sheer heft factor of their books, many complain. I like it. It's hard not to like a character, Jack Burns for one, when, after 800 pages, you feel you've known him his whole life. I think incomplete knowledge and hasty summation of others is at the root of human conflict.
I am a sucker for writers who are both essentially compassionate and unequivocally outraged by human cruelty, especially if they don't just wring their hands, but leap from their armchairs, sprint after the offenders, smash out their tail-lights and put them on notice, a la T.S. Garp.
Irving also is a tonic to me because I feel understood when an author writes frankly about sexuality. I don't have to share a character's particular predilections to enjoy the reading, and I feel respected when things aren't whitewashed 'for my protection.' I concur that cruel sex isn't immoral because of the sex, but because of the cruelty. I believe that *any* morality that's used for superiority, used to judge or condemn others, is really just tarted-up cruelty. For these reasons, Irving is right up my street.
Both Irving and Dickens zero in on the invisible-because-conventionally-unregarded strings that most of us are still dancing at the ends of, with the other ends tethered to our childhoods. Most of us throw our hands up about our pasts, stamp 'history' on the whole bundle, and close the door upon it. If we're like sailing ships, our history is the wind, beyond our control, still pushing at us; it takes skill and tenacity to steer the present, consciously, against this wind, and most of us don't have the grit for it. Both Irving and Dickens have troubled to regard childhood, to steep themselves in it, and their writing about childhood rings with this truth as a result: childhood is magical, yes, but more Pan's-Labyrinth-magical than Pinocchio-Blue-Fairy magical; it's magical because ordinary human actions can be transformed, distorted, elevated to myth, when perceived by a child. A single instance of loss, of gratitude, of injustice, all parts of the passing parade of human experience as understood by adults, can become -- or as mysteriously not become -- lifelong, permanent, and defining for a child. As a former child, present parent, and future feature of my childrens' memories, it helps me to remember this, and reading these authors gets me there.
As for 'Until I Find You,' in particular? Well, it's not Irving's tightest work, and Irving's tightest work is none too tight. I have to conclude that he's serving a purpose other than spare, lean writing. It has a different effect on the reader than saying, "So Jack and his mom went to a succession of major Scandinavian cities, met assorted tattooers, and stayed in various hotels," to have to go through the somewhat circular experience, the full theme-and-variations, with Jack. It pays off when he has to refactor his memories, because we have them too, and they were so many pages ago that they feel like *our* childhood memories. In many respects, reading the book is more like living life than like experiencing a finely-crafted, precision-engineered storytelling. Mrs. McQuat almost gets to serve as a needed counter-weight, but dies too early; Claudia's daughter comes and goes with Jack seeming to sleepwalk through both the experience and the ramifications; the bat exhibit and The Wurtz; I could make a long list of the dangling threads that just keep dangling. Irving has no regard whatever for Chekhov's gun (look up 'Chekhov's gun' in Wikipedia), and I guess I don't either.
November 16, 2010
John Irving is an inspirational author and I use many of his books as examples on how to write a good book. A Widow for One Year is in my Top 10 books of all time.
Until I Find You is far from brilliant. It's tedious, self-indulgent and boring.
As much as I like to see authors making money and winning Oscars (The Cider House Rules), I'm not in favour of the power they weild afterwards. No first-time author would be indulged in this way.
Typical John Irving characters. I was hoping for more typical John Irving writing as well. It's not there.
This book falls flat on its 800 page face. In today's instant gratification society, 800 pages is seen as a commitment. If I'm going to invest that kind of time in a book, I really expect to be dazzled and entertained.
The story is told only from the child who becomes an actor, Jack's viewpoint, and I suspect this may be part of the problem.
It's difficult to sustain interest in 1 character for 800 pages. I would like to see John Irving put aside his own father/son issues for his next novel.
Until I Find You is far from brilliant. It's tedious, self-indulgent and boring.
As much as I like to see authors making money and winning Oscars (The Cider House Rules), I'm not in favour of the power they weild afterwards. No first-time author would be indulged in this way.
Typical John Irving characters. I was hoping for more typical John Irving writing as well. It's not there.
This book falls flat on its 800 page face. In today's instant gratification society, 800 pages is seen as a commitment. If I'm going to invest that kind of time in a book, I really expect to be dazzled and entertained.
The story is told only from the child who becomes an actor, Jack's viewpoint, and I suspect this may be part of the problem.
It's difficult to sustain interest in 1 character for 800 pages. I would like to see John Irving put aside his own father/son issues for his next novel.
October 25, 2023
"It's better than a sore penis," Jack said. — From Until I Find You.
Well, maybe not ...
One of John Irving's longest novels also takes the longest to become interesting — if it ever does; I bailed before getting close to page 820, all ambition sapped from me by this strangely uninvolving work that, by my limited reckoning, never would have been published if submitted by an unknown. While containing familiar Irving elements (don't they all?), there is an utter lack of verve and momentum. It's as though the work were ghosted by an Irving replacement; like series Westerns or action-detective novels that are "A (known author name here) novel by (fill-in writer here)." I can see it: "Just throw in some prostitutes, child sexual abuse, talk about penises, have characters go back repeatedly to red light districts with lots of prostitutes, add some wrestling — how are you on bears?"
The early part of the novel contains Irving's typical scene-setting and history. Usually, his novels perk up at some point, and suddenly you realize you're "in" the tale, and it's smooth sailing from there. A Son of the Circus (a much better, and really underrated novel) was like this; about 100 pages of interesting yet not completely engrossing exposition, then you're suddenly off and running. Not here.
In the early part of the tale, 4-year-old Jack Burns is taken by his mother hither and yon in search of his tattoo-obsessed, church organ-playing father, whom Jack had never met. Oslo, Helsinki, Stockholm; Alice, a tattoo artist, visits whorehouse after whorehouse talking to prostitutes, visits church after church and listens to their organs; talks to tattoo artist after tattoo artist, most with "Tattoo" in their names. Almost nothing of interest happens in the book's first part. Oh, there's a vintage Irving moment in which a housekeeper and young Jack put their bodies against each other, hold their breath and let their hearts beat together. "You must be alive." "You must be alive, too." That's darling, and it's early; after that, it's tough sledding. Irving has Jack GIVING A MAN A TATTOO at 4 years old. This isn't funny (a 16-month old doing it might be; or a 7-year-old); it's just dumb. The only other real relief from traipsing around Europe pointlessly is a scene in which Jack is saved from the ice by a tiny soldier, who of course later has sex with Jack's mother (not everything is tiny).
Preceding the novel itself is a blurb from William Maxwell's So Long, See You Tomorrow (a much better novel; this mention actually is what made me decide to give the book a read) about memory, that it's "a form of storytelling that goes on continuously in the mind and often changes with the telling." This implies that what we see through 4-year-old Jack's eyes isn't necessarily what happens. Irving never develops this during the reading I did before tossing the book aside; but the way he handles it, if that's what he's doing, is not even interesting. Perhaps, later, much good happens and Irving rights this listing ship. I'll never know. But if a writer expects people to read an 820-page book, he simply MUST find a way to keep them interested in the first quarter of the novel. I hate bailing on books, particularly those from authors I've loved in the past, but I will if a writer does this to me.
If Irving were trying something completely different, I'd be more forgiving. He's not. It's like Rod Stewart going from a rocker who could do no wrong on his own and with the Faces from 1970-73 to completely losing it and later doing crappy show tunes — except Irving is throwing in the same elements he always does, but without making them the slightest bit interesting. Unlike Rod, he's not abandoning what he does best; he's simply doing what he always does very badly and at excruciating length.
I gave up on Until I Find You (better title: Until I Toss You in the Trash), picked up the new Tim Powers novel, started reading, and it felt as if I were awakening from a sleepwalk. Enough. I've spent more words on Irving's book than it deserves.
Well, maybe not ...
One of John Irving's longest novels also takes the longest to become interesting — if it ever does; I bailed before getting close to page 820, all ambition sapped from me by this strangely uninvolving work that, by my limited reckoning, never would have been published if submitted by an unknown. While containing familiar Irving elements (don't they all?), there is an utter lack of verve and momentum. It's as though the work were ghosted by an Irving replacement; like series Westerns or action-detective novels that are "A (known author name here) novel by (fill-in writer here)." I can see it: "Just throw in some prostitutes, child sexual abuse, talk about penises, have characters go back repeatedly to red light districts with lots of prostitutes, add some wrestling — how are you on bears?"
The early part of the novel contains Irving's typical scene-setting and history. Usually, his novels perk up at some point, and suddenly you realize you're "in" the tale, and it's smooth sailing from there. A Son of the Circus (a much better, and really underrated novel) was like this; about 100 pages of interesting yet not completely engrossing exposition, then you're suddenly off and running. Not here.
In the early part of the tale, 4-year-old Jack Burns is taken by his mother hither and yon in search of his tattoo-obsessed, church organ-playing father, whom Jack had never met. Oslo, Helsinki, Stockholm; Alice, a tattoo artist, visits whorehouse after whorehouse talking to prostitutes, visits church after church and listens to their organs; talks to tattoo artist after tattoo artist, most with "Tattoo" in their names. Almost nothing of interest happens in the book's first part. Oh, there's a vintage Irving moment in which a housekeeper and young Jack put their bodies against each other, hold their breath and let their hearts beat together. "You must be alive." "You must be alive, too." That's darling, and it's early; after that, it's tough sledding. Irving has Jack GIVING A MAN A TATTOO at 4 years old. This isn't funny (a 16-month old doing it might be; or a 7-year-old); it's just dumb. The only other real relief from traipsing around Europe pointlessly is a scene in which Jack is saved from the ice by a tiny soldier, who of course later has sex with Jack's mother (not everything is tiny).
Preceding the novel itself is a blurb from William Maxwell's So Long, See You Tomorrow (a much better novel; this mention actually is what made me decide to give the book a read) about memory, that it's "a form of storytelling that goes on continuously in the mind and often changes with the telling." This implies that what we see through 4-year-old Jack's eyes isn't necessarily what happens. Irving never develops this during the reading I did before tossing the book aside; but the way he handles it, if that's what he's doing, is not even interesting. Perhaps, later, much good happens and Irving rights this listing ship. I'll never know. But if a writer expects people to read an 820-page book, he simply MUST find a way to keep them interested in the first quarter of the novel. I hate bailing on books, particularly those from authors I've loved in the past, but I will if a writer does this to me.
If Irving were trying something completely different, I'd be more forgiving. He's not. It's like Rod Stewart going from a rocker who could do no wrong on his own and with the Faces from 1970-73 to completely losing it and later doing crappy show tunes — except Irving is throwing in the same elements he always does, but without making them the slightest bit interesting. Unlike Rod, he's not abandoning what he does best; he's simply doing what he always does very badly and at excruciating length.
I gave up on Until I Find You (better title: Until I Toss You in the Trash), picked up the new Tim Powers novel, started reading, and it felt as if I were awakening from a sleepwalk. Enough. I've spent more words on Irving's book than it deserves.
June 24, 2008
What a shame when a decent story idea is mangled by diarrhea writing and non-existent editing. I plowed through all 800-some pages of this book, hoping that Irving would somehow redeem himself in the end. No such luck. It managed to even get worse at the end - quite a feat. This book was a real disappointment, and I give it two stars only because the basic story itself was intriguing; it was the execution of the story that fell far short.
February 3, 2009
Jack Burns!
I can't hear the name without the exclamation point in my head. He leads an interesting life. John Irving weaves his childhood, teen years, and adult life into a strange and fascinating tale. Much of what John Irving writes about revolves around sex, especially for Jack Burns. I've read two of Irving's novels, the other being A Widow For One Year and he has a few consistencies. Taboo sex is a major factor in the lives of the main characters, for instance, a middle aged woman and a teenage boy. He follows the life of the main character (or characters) from their formative years well into their adult life, and he shows the change and growth the character goes through, especially in relation to the strange experiences they went through as children. Families are dysfunctional in a very refreshingly unique sort of way. And there is a love of stories.
In both novels, there is at least one creative character who writes books, or movies. He tells these stories within his own story as well. In A Widow For One Year, there are four writers, and he gives details about the plots to each of their books. One of the authors, Ted Cole, writes children's books, and he actually tells the full stories of three of them. He has since published one of these children's stories, A Sound Like Someone Trying Not To Make A Sound, which I look forward to reading.
In Until I Find You, the main characters best friend writes screenplays, and the main character is an actor in movies, and he goes into detail about the plots of these films as well.
In both books, Irving also goes off into tangents. It is especially in prevalent in Until I Find You, where he seems unable to finish a sentence without being reminded of some event in the characters future or past, or some interesting tidbit about the place where the current scene is taking place. He goes into detail on these tangents to the point where you forget what story he was originally telling, and then he brings you right back into it without whiplash to your brain and sinks you right back into his fascinating story. I don't know how he does this without making me want to put the book down...I've rather grown to like this ability he has. It's bad story telling, put to a very good use. I wouldn't trust anyone else to be able to pull it off, but he does so splendidly.
Read John Irving, unless you're morally uptight, and be enriched.
Also, see A Door In The floor, the Focus Film adaptation of A Widow For One Year. It is the best book-to-film I've ever seen. It completely captures the spirit and feel of the novel, though it only covers the first half of the book, when the main characters are young. The second half of the novel goes into their adult life, which is not addressed in the movie...sequel?...I doubt it, but would love it.
John Irving is now of one of my top favorite authors.
I can't hear the name without the exclamation point in my head. He leads an interesting life. John Irving weaves his childhood, teen years, and adult life into a strange and fascinating tale. Much of what John Irving writes about revolves around sex, especially for Jack Burns. I've read two of Irving's novels, the other being A Widow For One Year and he has a few consistencies. Taboo sex is a major factor in the lives of the main characters, for instance, a middle aged woman and a teenage boy. He follows the life of the main character (or characters) from their formative years well into their adult life, and he shows the change and growth the character goes through, especially in relation to the strange experiences they went through as children. Families are dysfunctional in a very refreshingly unique sort of way. And there is a love of stories.
In both novels, there is at least one creative character who writes books, or movies. He tells these stories within his own story as well. In A Widow For One Year, there are four writers, and he gives details about the plots to each of their books. One of the authors, Ted Cole, writes children's books, and he actually tells the full stories of three of them. He has since published one of these children's stories, A Sound Like Someone Trying Not To Make A Sound, which I look forward to reading.
In Until I Find You, the main characters best friend writes screenplays, and the main character is an actor in movies, and he goes into detail about the plots of these films as well.
In both books, Irving also goes off into tangents. It is especially in prevalent in Until I Find You, where he seems unable to finish a sentence without being reminded of some event in the characters future or past, or some interesting tidbit about the place where the current scene is taking place. He goes into detail on these tangents to the point where you forget what story he was originally telling, and then he brings you right back into it without whiplash to your brain and sinks you right back into his fascinating story. I don't know how he does this without making me want to put the book down...I've rather grown to like this ability he has. It's bad story telling, put to a very good use. I wouldn't trust anyone else to be able to pull it off, but he does so splendidly.
Read John Irving, unless you're morally uptight, and be enriched.
Also, see A Door In The floor, the Focus Film adaptation of A Widow For One Year. It is the best book-to-film I've ever seen. It completely captures the spirit and feel of the novel, though it only covers the first half of the book, when the main characters are young. The second half of the novel goes into their adult life, which is not addressed in the movie...sequel?...I doubt it, but would love it.
John Irving is now of one of my top favorite authors.
May 22, 2007
What John Irving does best- creates a very detailed history, starting with Jack as a young boy and taking you with him into adulthood. But the childhood portion of this book is told from the perspective of his memory, which will have you having all sorts of bits of nostalgia in relating to the way Jack remembers things and reasons he mis-remembers them. It's especially heartbreaking because as an adult he is searching for his father he never knew, and discovers that some memories he has involve his father, which he was not aware of when they were actually occurring. He has equally revelatory moments about memories involving his mother. In any case Irving's insight into how children see and interpret events and life in general is pretty amazing.
And, like his other books, you get so involved in the world he creates, that when this book ends it is depressing to leave the North Sea and Baltic Sea Ports. This book pretty much made me want to move there. Irving's stories usually take place in New England, and a portion of this book does, but it was really beautiful to read his descriptions of Northern Europe in Until I Find You. As a side note, there is also lots of tattoo art history in this book, as Jack's mother is a tattoo artist. And I have to end this with a quote from the beginning of the book by William Maxwell, which pretty much sums it up-
"What we refer to confidently as memory...is really a form of storytelling that goes on continually in the mind and often changes with the telling. Too many conflicting emotional interests are involved for life ever to be wholly acceptable...In any case, in talking about the past we lie with every breath we draw."
And, like his other books, you get so involved in the world he creates, that when this book ends it is depressing to leave the North Sea and Baltic Sea Ports. This book pretty much made me want to move there. Irving's stories usually take place in New England, and a portion of this book does, but it was really beautiful to read his descriptions of Northern Europe in Until I Find You. As a side note, there is also lots of tattoo art history in this book, as Jack's mother is a tattoo artist. And I have to end this with a quote from the beginning of the book by William Maxwell, which pretty much sums it up-
"What we refer to confidently as memory...is really a form of storytelling that goes on continually in the mind and often changes with the telling. Too many conflicting emotional interests are involved for life ever to be wholly acceptable...In any case, in talking about the past we lie with every breath we draw."
April 18, 2010
This book is either the culmination of John Irving's life's work of the result of a bar bet. Those are the only two explanations I can come up with for a book where the protagonist is 4 years old at the start and yet the word "penis" is used at least once on every page. This book really should be called, "I Love My Penis" because that is the driving theme of every chapter.
This should not come as a shock to anyone who has read anything written by John Irving before but the degree of passion for the body part and the word itself has never reached such dizzying heights as it does here.
Irving has also reached new heights of hating women and portraying them in a boundless array of unflattering roles. The mother/prostitute is nothing new but the overweight, penis-holding sister/lover with the broken vagina is a new addition to the pantheon.
Having read this book, I believe I will stop reading any more Irving and hang on to the memories of the older novels I enjoyed.
This should not come as a shock to anyone who has read anything written by John Irving before but the degree of passion for the body part and the word itself has never reached such dizzying heights as it does here.
Irving has also reached new heights of hating women and portraying them in a boundless array of unflattering roles. The mother/prostitute is nothing new but the overweight, penis-holding sister/lover with the broken vagina is a new addition to the pantheon.
Having read this book, I believe I will stop reading any more Irving and hang on to the memories of the older novels I enjoyed.
March 2, 2009
Interesting story. Way too long. Not my favorite Irving.
December 29, 2018
Briefly, all I can say is that I absolutely fell in love with this book.
March 7, 2020
I have enjoyed quite a few of Irving's novels over the years, and mostly read them through in a few days of full immersion, about 300 pages per day, if not more, but this one dragged out over almost a month - mostly because I had lots of other things to do. So this might have affected the impression a little. Obviously Irving is doing everything he is so good at here as well. Weird, but likable characters, plot twists, memorable scenes. Humour and awkward erotics. We get to revisit the red light district of Amsterdam (cf A Widow for One Year) and many European cities, though not Vienna this time. And toward the end of the book even a concept starts to shine through the whole thing that makes it beautifully human as Irving's best work has always been. But something is still missing. Perhaps there is a bit too much penis-holding and too little of the concept. Perhaps the twists and turns do not move so much as they used to. Perhaps the awkward erotics become boring after a while. So, although it is not at all bad, it does not stand on my shelf next to A Prayer for Owen Meany or even The World According to Garp. If you are new to Irving, don't start with this. Then again, if you start with Owen Meany, all other books might well turn out to be disappointments.
April 30, 2025
well...I can say that I loved this book, it's going straight to my favourites. Some stories captivate you right from the start, others gradually... I loved the complexity of the relationships between the characters, I loved the boy, teenager and actor (Jack Burns)... I cried, I laughed, I got excited, I felt a bit of everything...
what an impressive job with the characters (each one of them), Alice, Emma, Mrs. Machado, Wiliam Burns... and others...what intensity... taboo, forbidden seductions... love, loss of innocence, the tatoo atmosphere... friendship... this story has it all... and trauma...
For me 10 stars! ;)
what an impressive job with the characters (each one of them), Alice, Emma, Mrs. Machado, Wiliam Burns... and others...what intensity... taboo, forbidden seductions... love, loss of innocence, the tatoo atmosphere... friendship... this story has it all... and trauma...
For me 10 stars! ;)
November 3, 2007
"When he is four years old, Jack travels with his mother Alice, a tattoo artist, to several North Sea ports in search of his father, William Burns. From Copenhagen to Amsterdam, William, a brilliant church organist and profligate womanizer, is always a step ahead – has always just departed in a wave of scandal, with a new tattoo somewhere on his body from a local master or “scratcher.”
Alice and Jack abandon their quest, and Jack is educated at schools in Canada and New England – including, tellingly, a girls’ school in Toronto. His real education consists of his relationships with older women – from Emma Oastler, who initiates him into erotic life, to the girls of St. Hilda’s, with whom he first appears on stage, to the abusive Mrs. Machado, whom he first meets when sent to learn wrestling at a local gym.
Too much happens in this expansive, eventful novel to possibly summarize it all. Emma and Jack move to Los Angeles, where Emma becomes a successful novelist and Jack a promising actor. A host of eccentric minor characters memorably come and go, including Jack’s hilariously confused teacher the Wurtz; Michelle Maher, the girlfriend he will never forget; and a precocious child Jack finds in the back of an Audi in a restaurant parking lot. We learn about tattoo addiction and movie cross-dressing, “sleeping in the needles” and the cure for cauliflower ears. And John Irving renders his protagonist’s unusual rise through Hollywood with the same vividdetail and range of emotions he gives to the organ music Jack hears as a child in European churches. This is an absorbing and moving book about obsession and loss, truth and storytelling, the signs we carry on us and inside us, the traces we can’t get rid of.
Jack has always lived in the shadow of his absent father. But as he grows older – and when his mother dies – he starts to doubt the portrait of his father’s character she painted for him when he was a child. This is the cue for a second journey around Europe in search of his father, from Edinburgh to Switzerland, towards a conclusion of great emotional force."
An audiobook that I didn't finish. I found the developing sexuality of Jack (at least 6 discs long) to be much too perverted and boring to continue through. Characters felt cold and unreal.
Alice and Jack abandon their quest, and Jack is educated at schools in Canada and New England – including, tellingly, a girls’ school in Toronto. His real education consists of his relationships with older women – from Emma Oastler, who initiates him into erotic life, to the girls of St. Hilda’s, with whom he first appears on stage, to the abusive Mrs. Machado, whom he first meets when sent to learn wrestling at a local gym.
Too much happens in this expansive, eventful novel to possibly summarize it all. Emma and Jack move to Los Angeles, where Emma becomes a successful novelist and Jack a promising actor. A host of eccentric minor characters memorably come and go, including Jack’s hilariously confused teacher the Wurtz; Michelle Maher, the girlfriend he will never forget; and a precocious child Jack finds in the back of an Audi in a restaurant parking lot. We learn about tattoo addiction and movie cross-dressing, “sleeping in the needles” and the cure for cauliflower ears. And John Irving renders his protagonist’s unusual rise through Hollywood with the same vividdetail and range of emotions he gives to the organ music Jack hears as a child in European churches. This is an absorbing and moving book about obsession and loss, truth and storytelling, the signs we carry on us and inside us, the traces we can’t get rid of.
Jack has always lived in the shadow of his absent father. But as he grows older – and when his mother dies – he starts to doubt the portrait of his father’s character she painted for him when he was a child. This is the cue for a second journey around Europe in search of his father, from Edinburgh to Switzerland, towards a conclusion of great emotional force."
An audiobook that I didn't finish. I found the developing sexuality of Jack (at least 6 discs long) to be much too perverted and boring to continue through. Characters felt cold and unreal.
July 10, 2022
⭐️⭐️
This is the first time I’ve been disappointed with a John Irving novel.
The storyline was interesting for about the first 50 or 60 pages and then it bogged down for the next 750 pages. A really long slog through a book that is largely the life history of Jack Burns beginning when he was four years old and ending when he was 38. Sexual innuendos and deviancy plus a mother who is a tattoo artist. I started this book in April and could not push myself past five or ten pages a day. John Irving really missed the boat this time around. I recommend you stay away from this one.
ATY Goodreads Challenge - 2022
Prompt #47- A book with handwriting on the cover
This is the first time I’ve been disappointed with a John Irving novel.
The storyline was interesting for about the first 50 or 60 pages and then it bogged down for the next 750 pages. A really long slog through a book that is largely the life history of Jack Burns beginning when he was four years old and ending when he was 38. Sexual innuendos and deviancy plus a mother who is a tattoo artist. I started this book in April and could not push myself past five or ten pages a day. John Irving really missed the boat this time around. I recommend you stay away from this one.
ATY Goodreads Challenge - 2022
Prompt #47- A book with handwriting on the cover
September 3, 2019
I almost relented and gave this one two stars in honor of ' A Prayer for Owen Meany' but it was such a waste of too many hours time . In one word : Shite . I mainly picked it up because I was researching
' The Halifax Explosion ' , yes Rebecca ,McNutt , this one's on you . Anyway the pages on the tragedy was less than 1% of the book , which was tragically written to begin with . In the interest of transparency , I skimmed the 200+ pages after the Halifax chapter , but even that was painful .
' The Halifax Explosion ' , yes Rebecca ,McNutt , this one's on you . Anyway the pages on the tragedy was less than 1% of the book , which was tragically written to begin with . In the interest of transparency , I skimmed the 200+ pages after the Halifax chapter , but even that was painful .
February 6, 2022
Negaliu sakyt, kad nepatiko, ar patiko labiau nei nepatiko ir kaskaip taip....
Man pasirode, kad tai super asmenine istorija...gal reikejo pasidomet, bet...
Man tai buvo sunki knyga (979psl 😬), ne savo apimtimi, o savo istorija...
Sunki, ziauri, bjauri, slyksti ir vis tiek itraukianti ir nepaleidzianti...
Po kiekvieno perskaityo puslapio norejos tiesiog mest ta knyga salin, bet ir vel imdavau i rankas, nes norejosi tiket, kad nesvarbu kokia bjauri/ziauri pradzia...veliau bus geriau, issispres ir galbut nebus nukentujusiu... Bet...
Pabaiga-liudnai laiminga...
3.5⭐
Man pasirode, kad tai super asmenine istorija...gal reikejo pasidomet, bet...
Man tai buvo sunki knyga (979psl 😬), ne savo apimtimi, o savo istorija...
Sunki, ziauri, bjauri, slyksti ir vis tiek itraukianti ir nepaleidzianti...
Po kiekvieno perskaityo puslapio norejos tiesiog mest ta knyga salin, bet ir vel imdavau i rankas, nes norejosi tiket, kad nesvarbu kokia bjauri/ziauri pradzia...veliau bus geriau, issispres ir galbut nebus nukentujusiu... Bet...
Pabaiga-liudnai laiminga...
3.5⭐
April 25, 2025
...three stars, adding a half for some exquisite moments in the book...
April 21, 2012
John Irving has a new novel coming out in May, 2012: In One Person. Since I had fallen behind on his releases, I took the plunge on this long novel. The general consensus, according to readers' stars and critics, seems to be that Irving's last two novels were not up to snuff. I disagree.
Granted, it would be hard to top Cider House Rules or A Prayer From Owen Meany. Somehow, ever since I read The World According to Garp about 18 years ago, I have felt a kindred spirit in John Irving. I'm not confident I could even articulate it, but I always get what he is creating in his novels. In some ways he is as oriented to contemporary issues as Jodi Picoult (of whom I am NOT a fan), but no matter the issue, I feel John there in his novels. He is no mere spectator of modern life. He loves the odd misfit people as much as do Anne Tyler or Ann Patchett, while he writes like a modern Charles Dickens.
Jack Burns is a fatherless child. According to Alice, his mother, William Burns abandoned Alice and Jack; therefore he must never be forgiven. Amidst tattoo parlours and a long list of older sexually abusive women, Jack grows up deciding that no one can be forgiven. Although he becomes a famous actor, the guiding beacon for his existence is that missing father.
I agree with some that the story bogs down at times, though if it weren't for all the detail about tattoo artists, Scandinavia, whores, organists and Hollywood, I would have continued through life blissfully ignorant in those areas.
Basically I don't care about the flaws. This is an almost unbelievable story about lots of unbelievable stuff that does go on in the world. It is also a cautionary tale to parents as we commit unbelievably damaging sins against our children. John Irving has shown that the adult me is an unreliable narrator about my early life, that learning the truth about one's parents is painful but essential, and that forgiveness is the healing for unquiet hearts. I have learned these things in other ways, but being the fiction lover that I am, learning them again in Until I Find You was the best. The tears I shed at the end were as freeing as anything else I have tried.
May 15, 2022
John Irving’s writing is a joy to read. With each book I am amazed anew at his skill in weaving a wide spectrum of people, locales, dialects, nationalities, and situations together in ways that take readers through the gamut of emotion that ends with not just satisfaction, but a lingering love for the flawed but endearing characters that he has expertly brought to life. While this book has some of his most unusual and eccentric characters, the story is compelling and fun and heartwarming and heart-wrenching from start to finish. This isn’t for the prudish, but otherwise I would heartily recommend it.
November 10, 2014
Ok. I'm not really sure how I feel about this book. I like John Irving's writing style. I think it is just that the characters were a bit quirky. It was kind of annoying how the mother kept secrets from her son, and he had to go to such lengths to find out the truth. In the end, all seemed to turn out well for Jack. He found his father and discovered that his dad had seen him throughout his life, even if he had no direct contact with him for all those years. It was just sad that Jack spent most of his life not even knowing much about his dad because his mom kept him away.
November 19, 2016
I enjoyed the first section of this book, which seems almost like a return to the Irving of 'The World According to Garp' or 'The Hotel New Hampshire', about the young Jack and his tattooist mother wandering through assorted European cities searching for his elusive father. However, I feel the book deteriorates disastrously after that - the writing style seems to go downhill and there is a lot about child abuse which I just didn't want to go on reading.
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