The Master

Many years ago I used to work in London.

Monday to Friday, I'd park at my Nan's house, walk round to the train station and exchange banter with friends before jumping on the 7.37 to Liverpool Street.

I managed to do it for four years before deciding that the work and "that" way of life wasn't for me, BUT the one saving grace was that train journey as it allowed me to rediscover my love of reading,

I ploughed through many, many books of varying degrees of quality (towards the end of my time up town I'd moved on to the classics - read The Count of Monte Cristo if you haven't already) until one day, my Dad passed me a copy of A Prayer for Owen Meany and said "I think you'll like this".

Ever one for understatement, my father had actually started me off on a literary love affair with John Irving (The Master referred to in today's title) and also inadvertently named my son. I have read a lot of books by a lot of different authors and can barely remember one of them, but Irving's are a huge part of who I am.

They are never an easy read as his plotting and narrative are as dense as those in a Dickens book (Irving openly states that Dickens made him pick up a pen), but by the time you have finished one of his tomes, those characters feel like an inherent part of your own life.

With the many distractions of the past few years: marriage, children, divorce, children, marriage, children (on the way) I've understandably not given the latest John Irving releases my time, but having just finished Last Night in Twisted River I am now well on the way to reversing that particular trend.

If you haven't read any of his novels before, I would politely suggest starting with The World According to Garp and The Cider House Rules before you get stuck in to A Prayer for Owen Meany.

Here endeth the gush.