This is no shock, of course. John Irving could write Vogon poetry and I'd love it.This book from him is feeling rather last-book-ish. It's a what you'd get if you put Owen Meany, Cider House Rules, The Fourth Hand and Son of the Circus in a bag and shook it really hard. He says it's the most autobiographical book he's written yet, and it's interesting now to learn what parts of his other books are from his life by reading this one.
Anyway, I like it. The story revolves around tattoos. The kind of tattoos I've always wanted and will never have the balls to get. I'm only 1/4 of the way through. I'll let you know if it stays good.