I was worried Irving wasn’t for me when Owen Meany felt a little too prescriptive and message-y, but happily, my fond memories of the movie version (and of the late Robin Williams), held up quite well. Very enjoyable, in part because of the post modern playfulness and commentary on writing, (pop) culture and its co-opting, feminism, and awkward adolescence. Despite being overt characters, this felt far more smooth going down than the “realism” attempted in Meany.

A wild ride, a dissection (or maybe vivisection?), of coming-of-age - I really doubt there’s a better effort (for my taste) from Irving. Everyone feels human, fallible, and the world chaotic and believable, yet feels like distinctly like a novel. Wonderful stuff.