By John Irving
The cider house rules, it turns out, are rules that are
perfectly sensible in the abstract, but that have to be applied in a context
where it may not be sensible to follow them – or at least, where people don’t
follow them because they are too troublesome. This is the paradigm that shapes
the key conflicts in the story – people who don’t want to do abortions but find
that many women have a real need for an abortion. Surprisingly, for a story
about abortion, orphans and repressed love, the story is great fun to read.
It’s full of humour, delightful characters, imaginative situations and a plot
that keeps moving and shifting so that although the overall story arc seems
pre-ordained, a reader never knows what to expect.
The story’s protagonist, Homer Wells – like several of
Dickens’ protagonists – seems quietly passive a lot of the time, letting things
happen to him while others around him are driving the action of the plot. He’s
attracted to Melony, who is charismatic in a negative way, but he lets her define
their relationship initially. Even his ultimate fate is set up by others and after
some resistance he finally decides to accept it. However, he does make the
decisions that he has to at key points – to stand by his principles, and to re-evaluate
them when he has to. Homer chooses to pursue his love even though it leads to unhappy
compromises. It seems to me that this is how most of us get by, doing the best
we can as long as we can, and adapting when we find that our thinking no longer
matches our reality. Is this why the protagonist is named Homer? He’s adrift through
his life, facing extraordinary challenges until he finally makes it home?
Dr Larch is another interesting character. A father figure
to Homer, he is driven and rigidly committed to his objectives. He cares deeply
for Homer, and recognizes that Homer will have to break away from him to make
his own choices. But Dr Larch is a very thoughtful and kind man, both to the
women that he provides medical services to and to the orphans in the St. Cloud’s
home. His nightly reading of Dickens novels to the children, and his good-night
to the boys – “Good night, you princes of Maine, you Kings of New England” –
offers them a sense of pride and a future. His distressing early history sets a
path for his life that is almost saintly in its selflessness and commitment, in
spite of his addiction to mind-altering ether. So it’s appropriate that he
lives in St. Cloud’s.
As I write this, I think that there’s a parallel to Greek
drama as much as there is to Dickens’ novels. The characters struggle with
morality and fate and with their own personal flaws. They have to made
decisions where the choices are complex and the outcomes are unclear. They face
the fundamental situations of human life: birth and death, love and longing,
and ultimately the search for meaning. While telling the tale, Irving comments
on their situation as a Greek chorus might. (His frequent asides about the
lives and longings of orphans seem a bit questionable at times, while they show
a compassionate way of thinking about people who face emotional and material
challenges.) But of course Irving rolls out this story with humour and a
lightness that has a very different tone from Greek drama.
I loved the big, complex plot line and Irving’s descriptions
of rural Maine. I’m sure I’ll look back on the characters and the story with
pleasure for some time. Although the debates around abortion will move on (I
hope), Irving’s exploration of how the characters deal with life questions will
remain relevant for the future.
