I was thrilled to learn that one of my favourite authors of all time, the inimitable John Irving, had released a new novel for the first time in seven years – if somewhat intimidated by The Last Chairlift's size (910 pages).
Irving has written some of the most acclaimed books of our time, among them my favourites and probably his best, The World According to Garp, The Cider House Rules, and A Prayer for Owen Meany.
For avid Irving fans, reading The Last Chairlift will feel like coming home, hearing his distinctive voice again, recognising his style, and dipping back into his peculiar, wonderful wit.
A tome of nine-hundred and ten pages is undeniably long, and many critics rightfully commented on the indulgent length and the fact that a good edit might have improved it. But I was undeterred, as there’s surely no such thing as too much Irving.
In a tale that spans more than 80 years, the novel brims with typically Irvinesque subtle social commentary on subjects varying from sexual tolerances and US politics to literature, films, life choices, and (naturally) wrestling and skiing.
The story kicks off in 1941 in Aspen, Colorado, where young Rachel Brewster, a slalom skier, takes part in the National Downhill and Slalom Championships. Little Ray, as she is called, finishes nowhere near the podium but does manage to fall pregnant. Back home, in New England, Little Ray gives birth to a son, Adam (the love and joy of her life), and becomes a ski instructor. Adam grows up in a family that defies conventions and evades questions concerning the past. Among the many people in Adam’s life, we meet his grandmother, who reads Moby Dick to him from a very young age, his mute grandfather, cranky aunts, jovial uncles, his favourite cousin Nora and her girlfriend Em, and his stepfather, the delightful Mr Barrow. Many years later, looking for answers about his biological father, Adam, now a novelist and a screenwriter, returns to Aspen, where he encounters some ghosts in the Hotel Jerome, where he was conceived.
The Last Chairlift may very well warrant a 50-page essay and, needless to say, can’t be done justice in a short review. All I will say is it is very typically Irving, filled with idiosyncratic characters, some of whom hark back to his past work, including mutes, physically tiny people, trans people, and other castaways – each in some way representing a minority crying out for tolerance and acceptance.
It is, all at once, a coming-of-age tale, a ghost story, a romantic comedy, and a family saga, all wrapped up in a multigenerational portrait that is as colourful and varied as it is complex and quirky, paying homage to the 80-year-old author’s rich literary history.
Ultimately, my bias won’t allow me to know whether The Last Chairlift lives up to his past glories. It is simply more ‘Irving’, and what’s not to enjoy about that?
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