A Son of the Circus

Throughout ones life, we all accumulate garbage as a by product of living. Son of the Circus is John Irvings intellectual garbage. I will forgive him for writing this piece of trash but only because I believe that by throwing out this garbage it will make room for the creative genius of Owen Meany and Garp to reappear. I have love every word he has ever written. After years of waiting Son was a tragic disappointment. My true rating would be a zero but its not an option.
It was a great relief when Widow for One Year was published. It was vindication for my belief that that Irving had not lost the touch.
To prospective readers, don't bother with this superfiscial attempt at literature. He throws everything lewd and disgusting at you as if shock value equaled true value.

As this was my first foray into the world according to Irving, I was unprepared for the hilarious torrent of sexuality, scatology, and abnormality that assaulted me from the very outset. However, as the pages turned and I grew accustomed to these oddities, I became immersed in a rich gallery of characters, set upon the backdrop of an imagined India.

For this is what makes A Son of the Circus so Dickensian and worthwhile: its characters. The gigantic hippie girl with lacerated feet, the hairless transsexual Rahul, the purple-eared film producer Gordon Hathaway, and dozens more; each is outlandish in his, or perhaps its, own right, made instantly identifiable through their physical aberrations, outrageous sexualities, or in the case of Mr. Sethna, a pathological disapproval of just about everything. The overarching story that these characters inhabit is not particularly compelling, but there is just enough impetus to support the nets of vignettes these folks always manage to fall into.

This overarching story is the poignant character study of Farokh Daruwalla, an Indian-born physician who, late in life, has come to realize he has nowhere to feel at home. However, it is the underlying tale of a detective, hot on the trail of a serial killer, which sets the wheels in motion. There are other stories here to help the vehicle along: the rise of a loathsome movie star, the mystery of an assassinated atheist, or the journey of a naif seeking to reclaim her innocence. All the while the theme of a "circus as home" figures prominently, with its dwarves and boneless girls serving to stimulate the imagination of Dr. Daruwalla and the reader. The resulting scope is admirable in its ambition, but as a whole the novel often suffers from a lack of focus, leading us to wonder whether each of these vignettes really lead anywhere?

But A Son of the Circus is still a roller coaster nonetheless: exhilarating, raucous, and often shocking. Its plot may prove too sprawling, too disconnected for some, but the indelible impression its characters will leave is well worth the price of admission.

Irving is an extremely talented writer. This is apparent in all the books I've read of his so far (Garp, Owen Meany, Son of the Circus) and he is a master at developing characters that are lively and really have human personalities. In fact, I hated A Prayer for Owen Meany because Owen was so incredibly annoying, I couldn't stand the book anytime that Owen was speaking. But A Son of the Circus has fun characters- Dhar, Daruwalla, and I really liked Daruwalla's wife as well, and I love the way Irving connects the characters and the transitions are very smooth between scenes, characters, and time gaps. The writing is very clever, and admittedly the beginning is slow, but the book is worth pushing past it.

Irving sets this story outside of his over familiar New England...and thank God! Now, Irving is associated with New Hampshire, Maine, et al., so this change of locale is a very broad variation on the book's themes of our, the human, search for identity and our need to accept ourselves for who we are. The good Dr. Daruwalla draws blood from dwarves in order to find the genetic marker that causes their stunted stature. The doctor's friend and chauffer, Vinod, such a dwarf, doesn't understand why he is making such a fuss and wishes the doctor would cease. The doctor does not. After twenty years his research has produced nothing. Characters and situations riff on the themes of identity, identification with place, nationality, sex, gender, and the blending of real identity with that as portrayed in popular culture. One last closing comment: I love this book, too, because the author chose a universal theme rather than a social concern specific to a time and place. Wonderful literature.

I try to cut authors some slack wherever possible, so I'm giving A SON OF THE CIRCUS four stars rather than three, but it's really more like three and a half. John Irving seems irresistably drawn to transsexuals, yet his portrayals of them continue to be some of the silliest and least convincing I've read. I'm not looking for political correctness, but I do appreciate characters I can believe in. Fortunately, A SON OF THE CIRCUS does have some. The protagonist, Dr. Daruwalla, is well-drawn and likeable. His informally-adopted movie star "son," John D. (a.k.a. Inspector Dhar), is intriguing. Nancy, a displaced American married to a Bombay policeman, is heartbreaking.
Among other things, this is a book about twins, and Irving uses "twinning" in interesting ways throughout the story: several characters are referred to by more than one name; the real crippled boy Ganesh is mirrored by a similar character in Dr. Daruwalla's screenplay. Dr. Daruwalla himself lives not one but two double lives -- as a respectable orthopedic surgeon and a writer of trashy cop movies; as an immigrant in Toronto and a not-quite-Indian in Bombay.
This novel disturbed me and I have found myself thinking about it quite a bit in the few days since I finished it. If you're the sort of reader who believes these are good things, you may well enjoy it too.

John Irving's 1989 novel "A Prayer For Owen Meany" is perhaps my favorite book of all time so I had hopes for this one, his first full novel since that triumph. But for some reason, Irving chose to write a lurid, trashy "Silence of the Lambs" style murder mystery involving a transsexual-prostitute serial killer and, to make it worse, pads his story out with enough extraneous details to stretch the book out to a ridiculously overlong 633 pages. Saying that this book requires patience on the part of the reader is being kind; it requires endurance. One big problem is that the main character, Dr. Daruwalla, is mostly just an observer and never really develops as a compelling character, probably because he gets lost in the convoluted narrative. To Irving's credit, there are a few interesting characters and subplots scattered throughout but its hardly worth the effort of plowing through this tiresome and at times impenetrable novel to get to them.

I would have to agree with the reviewers who call this book "tedious." I had a hard time getting into it and staying with it. It didn't have the heart and soul of The World According to Garp or The Cider-House Rules, and neither did the characters; most of them were disappointingly one-dimensional. What surprise twists? I saw at least two of the major twists coming from a mile away. This book didn't pass my "So What" test. In other words, when you get to the end of a book and want to say "So what," the book failed. Sorry, Mr. Irving! A Prayer for Owen Meany is next in my stack of books to read. Better luck with that one.

Great beginning and ending, but the middle 700 pages made me almost quit reading , which is something I rarely do. I did find the Indian culture in the book intriguing, but felt I wasted a lot of time reading this blah book.

I will never forget some citations in this book, as: The world has enough for everybody's need but not enough for everybody's greed, or: immigrants remain immigrants forever anywhere and anytime as seen by the locals. The most important thing that theses sentences work as as a summarized conclusion in every occasion in this book. And there are many of them like this. In comparison to other "Absolutists" Irwing admit on the first pages of his book: I don not know India! I think that Irwing had succeeded in writing a very nice book in describing the emotional world of many people who lives-between and in many worlds, which are categorized as my-culture and your-own-culture!

Bordering on sensory overload, John Irving enthralls readers with this excellent story of an orthopedic surgeon who is neither at home in his birthtown of Bombay, India nor his adopted residence of Toronto, Canada. Set amidst the backdrop of colorful India with its circuses, prostitutes, dwarfs, transvestites and cinema, the story is a hybrid of murder mystery, relational drama and satire.
Irving makes excellent use of flashbacks, weaving the plots and subplots with the mastery of an expert author. Despite the many characters with diverse backgrounds, one theme remains at the heart of the story: The ongoing search for identity and the importance of self-acceptance.
Fans of Irving may be tempted to compare this book to his previous works, but this book is truly in a class by itself. Readers looking for another "Garp" will be disappointed, but those simply looking for an excellent story will find "A Son of the Circus" a sheer delight.

I'm disappointed by so many really negative reviews, especially by someone calling this book "trivial" with a capital T. In some way (s)he didn't get the point. I mean, the book IS trivial indeed and that's exactly what makes it so billiant. Some combinations of trivialities are FUN, you know? To be concise: Reading A SON OF THE CIRCUS is a most DELICIOUS waste of time.

John:Why? What happened? I used to think John Irving was one of the wittiest, funniest authors of his generation... But this book is one of the most pathetic ones I have ever read in a long time. By experimenting with pulp fiction John Irving made me forget about how good his previous books are. For anyone whose picking up one of his books for the first time: please stay away from Son of a Circus or you'll never read him again!

I loved this book! Irving's best since "The Cider House Rules". You are dropped into what becomes the epicenter of the plot and the book expands from there. You go off into sub-plots that appear to have nothing to do with anything, but are part of an intricate story that is brought together at the end. Dr. Daruwalla is one of my favorite characters. He was so decent and so human that he seemed real. Even minor characters like Mr. Sethna were alive and very welcome additions. Irving somehow ties together getting blood samples from dwarves, a woman unknowingly smuggling drugs and money in an enormous dildo, separated at birth twins being reunited, the India film industry, circuses,assimilation and a serial killer into a rich story that is at times funny, desparately sad, horrifying (what is it about Irving and mutilation, either self induced or accidental?) and very telling about ourselves. I wish I could read this book for the first time

Although certainly not in the leagues of "Owen Meany" and "Cider House Rules," this frivolous frolic is an exciting and demented forray into the world of the circus. Along the way we meet transsexuals, hippies, freaks, a murderer, and a pair of twins who are both sacred and profane. This is clearly not Irving's best work--at times the narrative richochets of course, leaving readers to feel like they're trapped in a pinball machine. But stay with it, if you can, for this is an enchanting an wacky piece of carnivalia that will surely entertain those brave enough to weather it.

Like its main character, Dr Farruk Daruwalla, an orthopedist with a weird hobby of sampling dwarf blood with an aim to find a cure against nanism, the story goes on and on through India. Dr. Daruwalla, as always, hesitates whether he should return, even if I, having read the book only recently, don't. Even if the author confesses to not having spent more than one month in India, his work claims to a much more profound insight into the Indian subcontinent. Dr Daruwalla's big secret is his being the author of the screenplays for the movies about John Dhar, a hard-boiled Indian Masala Police Officer. Anyway, both end up trying to catch a possibly transsexual serial killer somewhere around Maharashtra. Immensely rewarding. Thanks, Irving. /Hansi Elsbacher Journalist Sweden [email protected]

This book is to literature what candy floss is to food.. a whole lot of nothing. I felt totally ambivalent towards the characters, the plot was superficial, the humour puerile. I learned next to nothing about India. Hotel New Hampshire (which I know is highly regarded) lies in wait on my shelf but after this I just can't bring myself to pick it up.

I have been surprised by how many people have been disappointed in this work. Like most of Irving's work, this is focussed on the ethics of the writer and the meaning of writing. The most stark and chilling incarnation of this focus is the point where parallel narratives are told about the screenwriter plotting his next film and the serial killer plotting his next murder. Astonishing, really.

Farrokh, the main character waits for his wife to pick him up on a dark corner in Toronto. It was snowing and he saw a young white woman with her little son.... She thought that Indian doctor was a pervert and was frightened. Everything he did to try making her feel safe worked in the opposite way. This part toward the end of the novel made me sob and laugh. It was a stunningly funny and beautiful prose. It shows Irving's great power of description. I believe this part alone makes the whole novel worth reading. And Farrokh also showed me the sorrow of an immigrant. (I am a new immigrant to HK.)

Very creative outing from the old master, even with all the weirdos in the plot. You'll feel like you've spent years in India after reading this. Probably his most ingenious story since Garp. Every character is a gem; villain and good guy alike

Have read plenty by John Irving. This book is untypical of him in the way that it isn't serious at its heart. It's just a fun read, written in the well-known, bizzare Irving-style but without the heaviness. If you want a fun read delivered by a master, read it.

John Irving is perhaps one of the greatest writers of this generation. Many of his previous works have been and continue to be used in college literature classes. This is not one of them. While the prose is, as always, exemplary, the story is lacking and disengaging. I found it difficult to connect with the characters and the plot lacked a strong moral element that characterizes his other books such as Cider House Rules.

Derivative, derivative, derivative. Son of the Circus is John Irving stealing from John Irving. Yes, he pulls out all his best tricks, but that's what they feel like here. In A Prayer for Owen Meany, Mr. Irving goes into your very soul and holds it up before you. It is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. Here, he manipulates your soul all throughout a great big fat book. Shame on you, Mr. Irving. I trusted you with my soul. I expect great things of you. In the end, one can't help but feel they had read or dreamed this book before.

I read this book before I travelled to India, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. After travelling to Delhi, I have a new appreciation for his explanations on the abundant cacophony of confusion. He does an excellent job describing the smells, sights and sounds. This book will leave you with a hunger of the enchantment India has to offer.

It's like Irving's body typed up this appallingly lame load of trash while his soul went on hiatus or something. Read anything else by him, but don't waste your time with this shameful waste of trees.

Unlike other reviewers, I loved this book from the moment I started. I haven't read all of Irvings others -- I admit to having problems getting into some of them, although loved Garp and Owen Meany. But A Son of the Circus has to be his best -- Irving must have the quirkiest imagination ever -- there's a little bit of everything -- drawfs, transvestites, murder, etc., along with all sorts of twists and turns -- funny, funny, funny!

I think I've enjoyed every other John Irving book I've read, however 'Son of a Circus' was a really tough read .... I honestly didn't enjoy the book at all (however, I try to finish once I start).
If you are new to John Irving - I implore you to skip this book and try one of the better books (World According to Garp, Prayer for Owen Meany, etc.).

I can only reiterate the previous reviewers position: this is a novel for the substantially minded but hedonistically oriented - I am of the MTV Generation but still believe in narrative. If you think that an innocent-savant philosophy of story telling is not contributing to literature than you are probably the kind of cranially-amputed person who would invade arab countries - I think this book does it's little, discrete part in overcoming such adolescent preoccupation. Good job.
F

I like what the previous reviewer said (the one titled "Overlong and rambling--but John Irving"). To tell the truth, I can't add anything to that review. So ditto what that one said! And be sure to cast a helpful vote for that review . . .

This is a huge, hugely self-important comedy that has all the heart and buoyancy of a shard of flint. Irving's quirkiness, which serves him so well in Garp and elsewhere, here just feels neurotic and obsessive. The book is vastly overwritten, charmless in its characterizations and story, and its heart is deader than a stone. It makes me think it's time for Irving to retire.

This was easily the worst ebook I've purchased. The punctuation was terrible and there were consistent typos throughout the entire book. It was frustrating and distracting to read such a fantastic story rewritten in such a slipshod manner. Do not waste you time and money on this edition; do youself a favor and savor this enjoyable novel in hard copy.

I loved this book! Irving's best since "The Cider House Rules". You are dropped into what becomes the epicenter of the plot and the book expands from there. You go off into sub-plots that appear to have nothing to do with anything, but are part of an intricate story that is brought together at the end. Dr. Daruwalla is one of my favorite characters. He was so decent and so human that he seemed real. Even minor characters like Mr. Sethna were alive and very welcome additions. Irving somehow ties together getting blood samples from dwarves, a woman unknowingly smuggling drugs and money in an enormous dildo, separated at birth twins being reunited, the India film industry, circuses,assimilation and a serial killer into a rich story that is at times funny, desparately sad, horrifying (what is it about Irving and mutilation, either self induced or accidental?) and very telling about ourselves. I wish I could read this book for the first time

Nothing John Irving has written since "Garp" has equalled that book's sheer brilliance, but this one comes close. A savagely funny and bizarre novel; Martin Mills is so hilariously pathetic, he has to rank as one of Irving's most unforgettable characters ever.