The Last Chairlift, John Irving’s 15th novel, is 11 shy of 900 pages long. And boy, did I feel every one of those pages.
The Last Chairlift follows the life of Adam Brewster, born in Exeter to a ski instructor mother (a deranged, semi-incestuous nymphomaniac, although I think she was supposed to come across as “kooky”) and an (at least initially) unknown father.
Into the mix Irving pours a raft of cliched characters, including “harridan” aunts, chucklingly good-natured uncles, an inspiring, nay, saintly English teacher-cum-stepfather/mother, and huge, bossy, heart-of-gold lesbians.
Alongside these is a baffling amount of weak literary explication and juvenile political opining. All Republicans seem to be gun-toting assholes, while supposedly likable characters “scream” at CNN in rage. We’re given a summary, as well as numerous interpretations, of Moby-Dick, including what I guess to be Irving’s own take on the inclusion of the titular hyphen (a drawn-out joke on possible misinterpretations of “Dick” ensues). Dickens is quoted at length, while similarities are drawn between a character and Jane Eyre.
Beauty & the Beast review: On the way home, younger audience members re-enact scenes. There’s no higher recommendation
Matt Cooper: I’m an only child. I’ve always been conscious of not having brothers or sisters
A Dublin scam: After more than 10 years in New York, nothing like this had ever happened to me
Patrick Freyne: I am becoming a demotivational speaker – let’s all have an averagely productive December
The most notably shoehorned element (and there are many, including the ghosts that irritatingly scamper throughout) is the inclusion of excerpts of Adam’s film script – so unnecessary and ill-advised in this already flabby book, it’s difficult not to wonder if this might have been a rejected love-project of Irving’s. Later in the novel, Adam says that “an unmade movie never leaves you”, to which I thought, “ah, if only this one could have!”
The truly discomfiting aspect of this book, though, has to be the hyper-sexualisation of the female characters therein. Early on, a young woman’s loud orgasm is described or referenced, by my count, 16 times. Yes, Irving could argue that this is told from a teenage boy’s perspective, and thus that focusing on all things arousing is only natural. But these leering and, again, endlessly repeated descriptions, read more like the errant mental wanderings of a horny older man than the thoughts of a pubescent boy.
There is so much more I could’ve written (such as the fact that The Last Chairlift of the title is not, as one might assume, a metaphor, but an actual chairlift taken by a corpse), but thankfully, unlike Irving, I have a word count to consider.
