If you haven’t read A Prayer for Owen Meany, by John Irving, you should. Period.
The first time I read this was almost 10 years ago at the urging of the Little Mister (long before he was the Little Mister), who had read it at the urging of his good friend and college roommate Uncle John.
The first sentence definitely gave me pause:
I am doomed to remember a boy with a wrecked voice–not because of his voice, or because he was the smallest person I ever knew, or even because he was the instrument of my mother’s death, but because he is the reason I believe in God; I am a Christian because of Owen Meany.
It’s a rather daunting opener, especially for a recovering Catholic, religiously ambivalent college student, as I was at the time. The last thing I wanted was to be preached at by some peice of Christian propoganda masquerading as a regular ole novel. (I hadn’t yet read any John Irving, so for all I knew he was the Christians’ answer to L. Ron Hubbard.) Alas, I read on, and I’m so glad I did. I loved it. It immediately became my favorite book.
Last week, I decided to re-read it, to see if it still held up to my self-induced hype. I wasn’t really surprised to find that it did.
I remembered the first 100-150 pages being slow. In fact, I’d tried to re-read it a few times over the past 9 or 10 years and just hadn’t been able to plow through the beginning. But this is John Irving. His novels are expansive — and Owen Meany is one of the broadest (at least of those I’ve read). The novel’s fodder includes at least four religions, a small town’s history, the Vietnam War, and the Iran-Contra affair — to name a few of its biggest elements. There’s questionable parentage, there’s martyrdom, there’s Irving’s characteristic inclusion of some odd and uncomfortable sexuality… there’s ALOT going on. So, sometimes the base-building for all of that requires a bit of patience from the reader… but the reason I allow it, and even applaud it, is that all of that foundation pays off in the end. Irving chooses every detail, every word with precision — and although there are many words, many many details, none are wasteful or unnecessary.
The thing about this book that gets me every time is how it makes me feel when I’m finished. I’m more than satisfied. I feel changed. Despite that first sentence, the book is not Christian propoganda. But it is a close consideration of faith, hope, belief. Owen Meany believes he is an instrument of God. He believes he knows when he’s going to die, and how, and his unwavering faith in God gives him the “knowledge” that his death is going to be important and heroic. Although noone really believes Owen, they respect and admire him. Despite his diminutive size, Owen is an extraordinarily charismatic and commanding presence. But, despite the Christ-Owen connections that are drawn throughout the novel, Owen is neither inhuman nor infallible. There are several times in the book when I just didn’t *understand* why or how Owen could do what he’s doing. He’s smarter than that. He’s got more at stake, he should know better, I would think to myself. Or else he would just act in a way that was mean, just plain mean. But Owen’s a kid. And kid’s do stupid things. They make mistakes. And that’s what makes Owen so real.
But ultimately, this isn’t a story about Owen Meany. It’s about Johnny Wheelwright, Owen’s best friend and the novel’s narrator, who unlike Owen doesn’t believe in much of anything. Johnny lacks any real religious, ethical, or moral conviction. In one of the book’s most hilarious and important passages, Johnny is cast (by Owen, no less) as Joseph in the Episcopal Church’s annual Christmas pageant. And Johnny says of himself, “I am only a Joseph. It’s all I’ve ever been and all I ever will be.” Meaning, he is a bystander. He is not a major player. He doesn’t make the important decisions, but he goes along with what happens, with those decisions that are made for him. Whether you take issue with this view of the Biblical Joseph, it shouldn’t really matter. The point is that Johnny is vanilla. He is everyman. He is critical of Americans and American policy, but despite spending a great many years in Canada, he’s as American as they come. He’s a devout Anglican, but he’s still as faithless as ever. He believes in one thing: Owen Meany. He believes in Owen’s miracle and that miracle gives him faith, or so he says, in God.
For me, that’s the real meat of the book. What is faith? What does it mean to have faith? This book demands of its reader that you believe miracles are possible. That’s what Owen demands of his friends. But just as its hard for us to suspend our disbelief, it is near impossible for Owen’s friends to believe that he’s not a little crazy. Until he proves them wrong. Then they believe, then they are faithful… and I wonder, how valid is that faith if it is only based on having some proof? But we are all Johnny Wheelwrights — all waiting for some proof. Otherwise, why would be so worried about whether or not there are remains of Jesus in some cave somewhere? Why would we be so concerned about Jesus’ secrets? Why would the Da Vinci Code still be selling like hotcakes? We all want something tangible. And we’re usually willing to take what we can get. And we’ll stand around with our thumbs hooked into our belts, staring mutely off into nowhere, till we get it.
And what about Owen? What makes Owen’s faith so strong? Visions, dreams and stories that he’s held onto since he was a boy. Owen believes he’s going to be a hero. He doesn’t have any tangible proof — and so his faith seems stronger. But does that make faith easier — believing your pre-ordained for greatness? Or is that the story that a physically unfortunate boy needs to believe? And does it matter, either way, if that belief leads a person to lead a life of purpose with great conviction?
Either way, when I finish this book, I am reminded of the importance of faith, of the need to hope for miracles — and of how difficult both of those are to really achieve. The first time I read it, I just came away feeling moved. Reading it a second time revealed these layers of questions. Ultimately, I believe that what Owen Meany teaches is that is less important what you believe, but that you believe something — and that you live your life as if it has a consequence beyond yourself. It is a lesson that so many of us could stand to have repeated.
The movie Simon Birch is based off this book. Have you seen it?
i have. and i thought it was terrible. probably because, as with most book to move conversions, it couldn’t come close to the breadth, depth, and complexity of the book. and my biggest complaint with it was that, because its so difficult to actually age the small, strange-voiced (Owen/Simon), they just didn’t do it. Simon’s heroics happen when he’s a child, before the story is really able to build up its full power.
John Irving actually disowned this adaptation, going so far as to request that all of the characters’ names be changed for the film version. I think the only adaptation that got his full stamp of approval was cider house rules, and that’s because he wrote (and won an oscar for) the screenplay. i wasn’t thrilled with it… but it was far far better than Simon Birch. I think my favorite Irving adaptation was The Door in the Floor, which was an adaption of the beginning (first 200 pages, max) of A Widow for One Year. To me, that’s the only way to go with an Irving novel… they’re just too big and broad to really do justice with a beginning to end adaptation.