Engaging in a conversation with the esteemed novelist John Irving is far from a quick chat; it’s an endurance event, more akin to a marathon than a sprint. To call him deliberate would be an understatement. If you’re scheduled for an interview with the 83-year-old author, prepare to dedicate not just hours, but potentially days, to the exchange.
“Be sure to clear your schedule,” advises Dr. Marty Schwartz, a Toronto-based physician and a long-standing friend of Irving’s. “When he begins to share something, you can practically witness the narrative unfolding in his mind, as if he’s writing a book on the spot.”
His words don’t gush out; instead, they emerge in a steady, deliberate flow. He invariably guides the discussion, embarking on detailed tangents filled with rich anecdotes and recollections. These extensive narratives, while fascinating, often prove challenging for concise journalistic profiles—a fact Irving himself is well aware of, especially with the release of ‘Queen Esther,’ his 16th sprawling historical novel.
“I often feel like I’m handing you a jumbled puzzle to solve later,” he remarked during a recent interview from his Toronto office.
For instance, a simple query about his next novel quickly morphed into a 45-minute soliloquy. He covered everything from his intricate research practices and encounters with tattoo artists and retired gynecologists, to his fluency in German, and a 1981 visit to Israel for the Jerusalem International Book Fair. During that trip, he vividly recalled meeting a botanist and Holocaust survivor who had ingeniously discovered how to cultivate asparagus in the desert.
Later, at his favorite local pub, he expounded on the significance of thin-soled wrestling shoes, explaining, “You’re meant to feel the mat beneath you.” Irving, whose enduring passion for wrestling has profoundly influenced both his life and his literary work—earning him a spot in the National Wrestling Hall of Fame—then transitioned into a fascinating anecdote. He recounted how, years prior, he had invited renowned dancer and choreographer Twyla Tharp to Harvard while he was volunteering as an assistant coach for the men’s wrestling team. Tharp not only observed a practice session but even joined in some drills with the lighter-weight wrestlers.
“Naturally, the wrestlers were quite amused to have a woman to spar with,” Irving chuckled. “But by the third day, she stepped onto the mat and declared, ‘Alright, I’ve learned a few things. My turn.’ True to her word, she executed a flawless double-leg takedown on one of them, hoisting him by his legs and slamming him onto his back. Their veteran coach, a wonderful man, exclaimed, ‘My goodness! She’d make an incredible 123-pounder!’”
Much like a human nesting doll, Irving mirrors his own novels: rich with layers of stories within stories, and as unwavering in his convictions as his written word.
For more than six decades, Irving has fiercely advocated for the marginalized in his narratives—characters like orphans, dwarfs, lesbians, prostitutes, addicts, and artists—championing their unique human experiences. His commitment runs so deep that he has chosen not to travel to the United States to promote “Queen Esther,” citing it as a direct protest against the former President and his administration’s policies.
“I simply could not, in good conscience, return to my native country,” Irving stated, “while an authoritarian bully occupied the White House, and while the cowardly Republicans in Congress remained complicit through their silence.”
Since 2015, Irving has made his home in Toronto with his wife, Janet Turnbull Irving, having also become a dual citizen in 2019. His condominium office boasts sweeping views that, on a clear day, offer a peek at Lake Ontario, and its walls are adorned with numerous framed photographs, many featuring his three adult children.
His office, filled with countless books, proudly displays multiple copies of “The World According to Garp.” This 1978 novel propelled Irving to literary fame, landing him on the cover of Time magazine in 1981, and cemented his reputation as a visionary champion of the marginalized. A key character, Roberta Muldoon, a former professional football player, is a transgender woman—a remarkably progressive concept for its era.
“Critics would often tell him that his characters were too bizarre and over-the-top to be believable,” Dr. Schwartz recalls. “And he’d respond, ‘You think my characters are unbelievable? Just read the daily news, you fool!’”
The Relentless Process of Creation: ‘Writing Is Rewriting and Rethinking’
Irving, still possessing the robust physique of an athlete, often sports flannel shirts and running shoes, giving the impression he’s perpetually poised for a workout. His sole magazine subscription? Amateur Wrestling News. He credits his background in high school and college wrestling with instilling the unwavering work ethic essential for his success as a novelist.
“Writing, for me, is fundamentally about rewriting and constant reconsideration,” he explains. “It’s much like learning to wrestle: you must practice relentlessly, over and over, until the movements become instinctual, a pure reflex.”
Irving adheres to a strict, seven-day-a-week routine. Unless traveling or being interviewed, he rises between 7:30 and 8:15 a.m., catches up on news over breakfast, then settles at his long desk by 9:30 a.m. for an eight-hour writing session. Though he once preferred writing by hand, arthritis in his fingers—a legacy of past wrestling injuries—now forces him to type, a change he openly dislikes.
“Technology,” he declared, “is certainly no ally of mine.”
Following his writing, he unwinds with a walk or a session on the treadmill, concluding with some weightlifting and stretching before dinner.
Novelist Ron Hansen, a friend and former student of Irving’s at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, highlights Irving’s remarkable “industry” as a hallmark of his character—a relentless discipline that has allowed him to write prolifically, even into his eighties.
Stories about Irving abound, even those he isn’t personally recounting. Years ago, he invited Hansen to watch the Super Bowl at his New York apartment. Despite the presence of his Swedish publisher, Irving spent most of the evening diligently responding to correspondence, leaving Hansen to enjoy the game with their European guest.
“He possesses a truly Dickensian ability to write amidst company,” Hansen observed. “He once confided that he trained himself to write even with his sons nearby, understanding that otherwise, his work simply wouldn’t get done.”
Another memorable incident: During Hansen’s time as a student living in Irving’s Iowa basement, a kitchen mishap caused a power outage. Irving stormed downstairs, oblivious to Hansen’s presence, and stared down the fuse box as if it had personally betrayed him.
“I JUST WANT TO WRITE!” he bellowed in frustration.
Decades later, Irving admits that the advancing shadow of mortality has reshaped his creative process. In the past decade, he’s deliberately shifted to tackling his most challenging projects first—those demanding extensive research and venturing beyond his direct experience—saving his simpler, more direct ideas for future endeavors.
He sometimes reflects on the significant time dedicated to screenplays and adaptations of his books for TV and film. These often frustrating ventures diverted him from novel writing. Even his most acclaimed adaptation, “The Cider House Rules”—which earned him an Academy Award for best adapted screenplay—saw four different directors before its 1999 release.
To this day, the movie poster for “The Cider House Rules,” prominently displayed in his office, irritates him. It features Tobey Maguire, the film’s lead, giving Charlize Theron, his on-screen love interest, a jovial piggyback ride, both beaming with Hollywood-esque smiles.
“Oh, I was furious,” Irving declared. “It’s a story about abortion, not a romance. I never wanted to see Charlize Theron frolicking on Tobey Maguire’s back; I envisioned a curette and a bloody enamel basin.”
Despite this, he currently has six of his works in various stages of film and TV development. While some might see this as a sign of continued demand, he muses, “Or, at 83, one could view it as a significant waste of precious writing time.”
Irving’s Response to Critics: ‘Getting Under Their Skin’
Some critics, however, have not been so kind to Irving’s more recent literary contributions.
For instance, The New York Times described his 2022 novel, “The Last Chairlift,” as “an unrelenting avalanche of words from which one emerges blinking and dazed—a book to be not so much read as survived.” Likewise, The Guardian found his 2015 work, “Avenue of Mysteries,” to be “meandering,” while The Times labeled it “exhausting.”
“My family sometimes attempts to shield me from negative reviews,” Irving confessed. “Even Jonathan Karp, my esteemed editor, will warn me, ‘If you’re considering picking up The New York Review of Books next week, perhaps don’t.’”
Irving then offered his rationale for ignoring such advice, drawing parallels to his coaching days. Just as he studied opponents’ tendencies in wrestling, he reads reviews to understand “who dislikes my work and why,” he explained.
He then vaguely referenced Camus—or perhaps another unimpressive French writer, he clarified—who supposedly stated that negative feedback is a sign of original work. “The core idea,” Irving reiterated, “is that if it genuinely irks them, then you must be doing something right.”
“If it gets under their skin,” Irving affirmed, “then keep at it.”
Of course, criticism is subjective, and many continue to laud Irving for his inventive spirit and his unwavering commitment—even a sense of obligation—to confront volatile subjects head-on with his full literary power.
This bold approach is evident in “Queen Esther,” where he delves into themes of Jewish identity, antisemitism, and sexuality, among others. As if to underscore his enduring fearlessness, Irving also dedicates significant portions of the novel to the historical contexts of abortion and male circumcision.
Nevertheless, his more recent works often contend with the towering legacy of his past blockbusters, making comparisons inevitable. Paradoxically, his prolific output can sometimes inadvertently work against his critical reception.
“I recalled the saying about E.M. Forster, that his reputation grew with each book he didn’t publish,” Hansen remarked. “John is the antithesis of that. He just keeps writing, embodying the wrestling ethos: you may not win every match, but you step onto the mat, give it your all, and see what unfolds.”
In stark contrast to Forster, who ceased writing novels in his 40s yet lived to 91, Irving persists in his craft—indeed, he finds himself unable to stop.
“He sits down at the same desk, at the same time, every single day, without fail, year-round, and writes,” Dr. Schwartz emphasized. “It’s simply who he is, what he does.”
Hansen views this relentless drive as a profound virtue. “He’s like a scientist perpetually engaged in experiments,” he explained. “John is continuously exploring, evolving, and refining his craft.”
Irving’s workspace itself carries a museum-like aura, filled with old books, cherished photographs—some featuring friends long passed—and even a few portraits of his younger self. Pointing to one, he mused, “Back then, I actually had an aquiline nose—how peculiar,” a bittersweet reflection on his features before wrestling reshaped them permanently.
Though still a tenacious character, he’s become marginally more amenable to compromise. He recently informed Hansen that his next novel—yes, he’s already embarked on it—is projected to be considerably shorter than his previous epics.
“Perhaps only 400 pages,” Hansen added with a hint of irony.