PanThe Irish Times (IRE)John Irving’s 15th novel is 11 shy of 900 pages long. And boy, did I feel every one of those pages ... a baffling amount of weak literary explication and juvenile political opining ... 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 ... 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, but thankfully, unlike Irving, I have a word count to consider.
Isabel Allende
PanThe Irish Times (IRE)[Allende] has received the Presidential Medal of Freedom and the National Book Foundation’s Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters...These are eye-watering achievements, and they belong to a woman more capable, more exceptional, than the series of trivialities, unsubstantiated claims and half-baked ideas making up The Soul of a Woman would suggest ... My strongest impression upon reading it has been one of distaste, not for Allende but for her publishers, who, she says herself within the text, \'don’t try to influence my work\'. Presumably they know that no matter what she produces, it will sell more than enough to justify the printing and distribution. Yet it seems lacking the requisite respect with which an artist like Allende ought to be treated to allow such a book to see the light of day ... One feels, reading it, that someone should have been looking out for her, editing her, and ensuring that rushed, weak contributions to her oeuvre like this are not released into the public domain ... So shocked was I to read this almost absurdly poor offering by such a renowned literary figure that I immediately went back and read her first, perhaps most acclaimed novel, The House of the Spirits, as well as an earlier nonfiction offering, My Invented Country. Both remain captivating: gorgeously, even lusciously written, they provide clear proof of the deservedness of her reputation. They made me want to read more of her, but also made The Soul of a Woman appear all the more incomprehensibly weak in comparison ... There are, as is inevitable with a writer of Allende’s abilities, fleeting moments of brilliance and a born storyteller’s flair for detail...Beyond that, it is difficult to find much positive to say.
