John Irving's novel takes the quite extraordinary stance, of being a book with a Protestant
religious subtext.
Although
permeated with his usual candour and dry sense of humour, it is a novel which focuses, in the most unusual of settings, on the ideas of destiny, spirituality, convictions and sense of place in the world far deeper than the desire for freedom, survival or the hedonistic pleasures of the modern world.
There is a huge paradox between the backdrop of mediocre quibblings between various non-conformist denominations, in a world made cynical and selfish by wealth, excess and the horrors of injustice and war and the almost biblical character of Owen Meany, who is very similar to Samuel in his utter closeness to God and complete knowledge of and peace with, his own destiny.
The book centres around two boys growing up in small town New Hampshire in the 60s and 70s, the Owen Meany of the title and his best friend John Wheelwright and the seemingly incidental occurances of a life which revolves around the importance of one's family name and the ability to attend the dominating local school of Gravesend Academy.
Fate as a personified concept is, however, introduced very early on, with the accidental killing of John's beloved mother, (portrayed almost as a gently flawed celestial being, by Irving) by Owen's freak baseball shot. The book then narrates, through the eyes of John Wheelwright, the following years together as inseperable friends, attending school and experiencing the social and sexual aspects of life for the first time. It jumps back and forth regularly between the present day (being 1988, when the book was
written) and past, placing layers of detail upon one another with precision timing and care in order to build up the complex and intriguing refences which make the finale so powerful. Indeed, the whole novel seems to run parallel with Owen's life, hinging on and being wrapped around one specific event; it is a metaphor for destiny itself.
The forensic exploration of apparently superfluous or insignificant detail (such as the identity of John's biological father being hidden in the recesses of memory, only to be revealed like a
religious teaching by Owen) and the often coarse and bizarre refences to sexual exploits and attitudes bring an altogether surreal aspect to the book; we are not occustomed to saints with a sex drive.
Foundations of forthcoming events of importance are layed within each circumstance. Owen is able to save his friend from forced conscription to Vietnam by removing two joints of his trigger finger; something he was only able to do because he was born into a granite-mining family and spent his childhood practicing carving tombstones on his father's specialised machinery.
The beauty of simplicity and sublety is emphasised by the friendship between two outsiders and the struggle with conscience between the different Christian teachings, from which both boys are spiritually aloof. The book, by the closing chapters, clearly demonstrates the reason's for one man's faith and exalts the almost monastic life of John (who remains a virgin and has only the simplest desires and pleasures, such as attending the church of his choice) in a strange contrast with the cut and thrust ehtics of today's society. However, the main focus is on the truly untarnished maryrdom of it's hero who dies in the selfless act of saving the lives of children; again, an act only made possible by his being born peculiarly small and light and gifted with the scariest of high-pitched voices (laid out when he speaks, like the will of God, due to all Owen's verbal sections being written in capitals) and the fact that he had practiced a particular catching manoeuvre so many times.
Setting out to create a protestant religious icon is an achievement, particularly since this area of Christianity is perceived to represent the worst of a banal and petty way of life, by a Western world which seeks spiritual truths in ever moontexts. Irving's novel is a broadside on stereotypes; a religious struggle away from the familiar environments of history, poverty or war or any other extreme is the subtle irony which gives the book such profundity.
That a brilliant student who foresees his own demise whilst playing the "Spirit of Christmas Yet To Come" in Dickens' A Christmas Carol, should embrace this prophecy and steer his life towards one brief moment, giving his life to preserve that of others, is not both an ending worthy of a genius, but one of the most peculiar evangelical texts set in modern times.