The Fourth Hand - Couverture souple

Chapter one

The Lion Guy

Imagine a young man on his way to a less-than-thirty-second event — the loss of his left hand, long before he reached middle age.

As a schoolboy, he was a promising student, a fair-minded and likable kid, without being terribly original. Those classmates who could remember the future hand recipient from his elementary-school days would never have described him as daring. Later, in high school, his success with girls notwithstanding, he was rarely a bold boy, certainly not a reckless one. While he was irrefutably good-looking, what his former girlfriends would recall as most appealing about him was that he deferred to them.

Throughout college, no one would have predicted that fame was his destiny. "He was so unchallenging," an ex-girlfriend said.

Another young woman, who'd known him briefly in graduate school, agreed. "He didn't have the confidence of someone who was going to do anything special" was how she put it.

He wore a perpetual but dismaying smile — the look of someone who knows he's met you before but can't recall the exact occasion. He might have been in the act of guessing whether the previous meeting was at a funeral or in a brothel, which would explain why, in his smile, there was an unsettling combination of grief and embarrassment.

He'd had an affair with his thesis adviser; she was either a reflection of or a reason for his lack of direction as a graduate student. Later — she was a divorcée with a nearly grown daughter — she would assert: "You could never rely on someone that good-looking. He was also a classic underachiever — he wasn't as hopeless as you first thought. You wanted to help him. You wanted to change him. You definitely wanted to have sex with him."

In her eyes, there would suddenly be a kind of light that hadn't been there; it arrived and departed like a change of color at the day's end, as if there were no distance too great for this light to travel. In noting "his vulnerability to scorn," she emphasized "how touching that was."

But what about his decision to undergo hand-transplant surgery? Wouldn't only an adventurer or an idealist run the risk necessary to acquire a new hand?

No one who knew him would ever say he was an adventurer or an idealist, but surely he'd been idealistic once. When he was a boy, he must have had dreams; even if his goals were private, unexpressed, he'd had goals.

His thesis adviser, who was comfortable in the role of expert, attached some significance to the loss of his parents when he was still a college student. But his parents had amply provided for him; in spite of their deaths, he was financially secure. He could have stayed in college until he had tenure — he could have gone to graduate school for the rest of his life. Yet, although he'd always been a successful student, he never struck any of his teachers as exceptionally motivated. He was not an initiator — he just took what was offered.

He had all the earmarks of someone who would come to terms with the loss of a hand by making the best of his limitations. Everyone who knew him had him pegged as a guy who would eventually be content one-handed.

Besides, he was a television journalist. For what he did, wasn't one hand enough?

But he believed a new hand was what he wanted, and he'd alertly understood everything that could go medically wrong with the transplant. What he failed to realize explained why he had never before been much of an experimenter; he lacked the imagination to entertain the disquieting idea that the new hand would not be entirely his. After all, it had been someone else's hand to begin with.

How fitting that he was a television journalist. Most television journalists are pretty smart — in the sense of being mentally quick, of having an instinct to cut to the chase. There's no procrastination on TV. A guy who decides to have hand-transplant surgery doesn't dither around, does he?

Anyway, his name was Patrick Wallingford and he would, without hesitation, have traded his fame for a new left hand. At the time of the accident, Patrick was moving up in the world of television journalism. He'd worked for two of the three major networks, where he repeatedly complained about the evil influence of ratings on the news. How many times had it happened that some CEO more familiar with the men's room than the control room made a "marketing decision" that compromised a story? (In Wallingford's opinion, the news executives had completely caved in to the marketing mavens.)

To put it plainly, Patrick believed that the networks' financial expectations of their news divisions were killing the news. Why should news shows be expected to make as much money as what the networks called entertainment? Why should there be any pressure on a news division even to make a profit? News wasn't what happened in Hollywood; news wasn't the World Series or the Super Bowl. News (by which Wallingford meant real news — that is, in-depth coverage) shouldn't have to compete for ratings with comedies or so-called dramas.

Patrick Wallingford was still working for one of the major networks when the Berlin Wall fell in November 1989. Patrick was thrilled to be in Germany on such a historic occasion, but the pieces he filed from Berlin were continually edited down — sometimes to half the length he felt they deserved. A CEO in the New York newsroom said to Wallingford: "Any news in the foreign-policy category is worth shit."

When this same network's overseas bureaus began closing, Patrick made the move that other TV journalists have made. He went to work for an all-news network; it was not a very good network, but at least it was a twenty-four-hour international news channel.

Was Wallingford naïve enough to think that an all-news network wouldn't keep an eye on its ratings? In fact, the international channel was overfond of minute-by-minute ratings that could pinpoint when the attention of the television audience waxed or waned.

Yet there was cautious consensus among Wallingford's colleagues in the media that he seemed destined to be an anchor. He was inarguably handsome — the sharp features of his face were perfect for television — and he'd paid his dues as a field reporter. Funnily enough, the enmity of Wallingford's wife was chief among his costs.

She was his ex-wife now. He blamed the travel, but his then-wife's assertion was that other women were the problem. In truth, Patrick was drawn to first-time sexual encounters, and he would remain drawn to them, whether he traveled or not.

Just prior to Patrick's accident, there'd been a paternity suit against him. Although the case was dismissed — a DNA test was negative — the mere allegation of his paternity raised the rancor of Wallingford's wife. Beyond her then-husband's flagrant infidelity, she had an additional reason to be upset. Although she'd long wanted to have children, Patrick had steadfastly refused. (Again he blamed the travel.)

Now Wallingford's ex-wife — her name was Marilyn — was wont to say that she wished her ex-husband had lost more than his left hand. She'd quickly remarried, had got pregnant, had had a child; then she'd divorced again. Marilyn would also say that the pain of childbirth — notwithstanding how long she'd looked forward to having a child — was greater than the pain Patrick had experienced in losing his left hand.

Patrick Wallingford was not an angry man; a usually even-tempered disposition was as much his trademark as his drop-dead good looks. Yet the pain of losing his left hand was Wallingford's most fiercely guarded possession. It infuriated him that his ex-wife trivialized his pain by declaring it less than hers in "merely," as he was wont to say, giving birth.

Nor was Wallingford always even-tempered in response to his ex-wife's proclamation that he was an addicted womanizer. In Patrick's opinion, he had never womanized. This meant that Wallingford didn't seduce women; he simply allowed himself to be seduced. He never called them — they called him. He was the boy equivalent of the girl who couldn't say no — emphasis, his ex-wife would say, on boy. (Patrick had been in his late twenties, going on thirty, when his then-wife divorced him, but, according to Marilyn, he was permanently a boy.)

The anchor chair, for which he'd seemed destined, still eluded him. And after the accident, Wallingford's prospects dimmed. Some CEO cited "the squeamish factor." Who wants to watch their morning or their evening news telecast by some loser-victim type who's had his hand chomped off by a hungry lion? It may have been a less-than-thirty-second event — the entire story ran only three minutes — but no one with a television set had missed it. For a couple of weeks, it was on the tube repeatedly, worldwide.

Wallingford was in India. His all-news network, which, because of its penchant for the catastrophic, was often referred to by the snobs in the media elite as "Disaster International," or the "calamity channel," had sent him to the site of an Indian circus in Gujarat. (No sensible news network would have sent a field reporter from New York to a circus in India.)

The Great Ganesh Circus was performing in Junagadh, and one of their trapeze artists, a young woman, had fallen. She was renowned for "flying" — as the work of such aerialists is called — without a safety net, and while she was not killed in the fall, which was from a height of eighty feet, her husband/trainer had been killed when he attempted to catch her. Although her plummeting body killed him, he managed to break her fall.

The Indian government instantly declared no more flying without a net, and the Great Ganesh, among other small circuses in India, protested the ruling. For years, a certain government minister — an o...

“Irving ... shows the reader the far greater value — and the inexpressible beauty — that can only flow from a loyal and enduring love.”
—The Calgary Herald

“The Fourth Hand is worth reading. It’s well told, fast-paced and provocative. It’ll seduce you”
—The Gazette

“[W]hat The Fourth Hand and most of his other novels pull the trick off proves John Irving is one of the very finest writers alive today.”
—Jeff Gunn, The Associated Press

“Irving's latest novel, The Fourth Hand, exhibits the kind of brisk, even brutal whimsy that characterizes so many of his books.”
—Annabel Lyon, National Post

“This is vintage Irving — funny, sad, touching and, like a car wreck, impossible to ignore.”
“Irving’s brilliance rests in his ability to make the odd eventually seem ordinary, the wounded no different than the rest of us. There is sorrow, but there is also deep satisfaction.”
—Winnipeg Free Press

“So weird, yes, but also funny and bracingly original. Dare we say it? Give Mr. Irving a hand.”
—Chatelaine

“A touch of the bizarre has always enlivened Irving’s novels, and here he out-does himself in spinning a grotesque incidentinto a dramatic story brimming with humour, sexual shenanigans and unexpected poignancy”
“Refreshingly slim in comparison with Irving’s previous works, and written with a new crispness, this fast-paced novel will do more than please Irving’s numerous fans — it will garner him new ones.”
—Publishers Weekly

“Using comedy, satiric social commentary and his adroit ability to tell a good yarn, Irving proffers a sweet love storywith the very serious underlying theme of human transformation”
“Marriages and fetility abound throughout this novel, characters are indeed transformed, and Irving wraps everything up, true to the comedic genre, in a neat, happy package”
—The Ottawa Citizen

"Ostensibly, Irving's intention to write a sex farce seems even more determined in The Fourth Hand; but, in fact, the novel further hones his story-telling craft . . . . Despite copious copulation, The Fourth Hand possesses the eloquent simplicity of a child's story and a gravity that anchors meaning on the froth of farce . . . . His novel entertains so hugely, one is left to ask; how did such a moving dénouement slip past all that sex?"
—The Independent

"John Irving is a wonderful god when it comes to creating a character. He breathes life into rounded, complex people whom you quickly learn to both like and loathe. He conjures up sympathy and empathy, warmth and despair, and all the time his pleasure in turning a sentence is visible. It is on the page, the words betraying their author's passion."
—The Times

"It is a testament to Irving's narrative agility that he makes the most improbable encounters seem perfectly plausible. Precis the plot and it sounds ludicrous, read it and it unfolds with its own tender logic, as though our bizarre emotional predicaments were not deviations from the norm, but the very fabric of what it is to be 'normal' . . . . Irving is too much the craftsman to sacrifice his humane warmth to the plight of any political agenda. What he in effect offers us is a vision of our inner selves as they play themselves out within the extraordinary circus that passes for reality. The joke is not that Patrick is missing a hand, but that we are all incomplete-pieces of a jig-saw desperate to be matched. The precision of Irving's voice, the raw urgency of his style, his sly interweaving of magic and mischief-all are so resoundingly present, that one barely notices just how much they are there."
—Daily Express

"Irving is, as always, hugely readable, which is the great literary virtue, without which all others are as sounding brass and tinkling cymbals (or symbols)."
—The Spectator

"Irving has a literary style similar to a snowball effect: with each novel he creates symbols and develops themes to accompany those he has already accumulated. Grief, loss, abortion, amputation, sex, children, America's political history and the power of foresight are all explored here. But The Fourth Hand is essentially character driven, and the novel is brimming with
extraordinary characters . . . "
—Observer

"A knockabout comedy that turns deceptively and disarmingly into a hymn to redemptive love . . . Irving's novels are not just page-turners. Time and again, he forces his readers to consider important social issues-war, rape, incest, the fragmentation of the family, feminism, the culture of celebrity-in a way reminiscent of Dickens. Always, he celebrates love in unlikely settings, delighting in its least expected manifestations . . . . As ever, Irving is peerless at presenting action, writing without a wasted second. His tableaux are precisely calculated for effects, and these effects tumble through the novel."
—The Guardian

"An engaging, warm-hearted novel that has much to say about the modern world's ills, yet also strikes a resounding note of hope . . . . It would certainly be hard to imagine real people quite like the ones Irving depicts. This is Irving's strength; his characters are larger than life,and while this undoubtedly makes them memorable, it also renders them perversely plausible."
—Scotland on Sunday

"No one is too incidental to warrant Irving's full attention. Every minor character is as well developed as a major one and detail is his trademark. He's also articulate, clever, quirky, more than a touch profound and very funny."
—The Mirror

"Patrick Wallingford may not be the most compelling of heroes, but he is a reminder that true beauty is found in our imperfections, not despite them. In him we glimpse once again the seam of decency that runs through Irving's fiction. We are all flawed, he seems to say, but within us all is the capacity for redemption. None of us is immune to suffering, but it is in the depths of vulnerability that we discover our deepest strengths."
—Literary Review

"The Fourth Hand is yet another well-crafted novel from an author who is known for contrasting the ordinary with the uncommon and strange."
—Women's Journal

"Irving's a wonderful story-teller, with a great appetite for life, and it's no wonder that his popularity with readers outstretches his reputation with the literary establishment."
—The Tablet

"This is Irving territory: eccentric, farcical, a little grubby and sad, and-strangely-wholly believable. Irving holds up Charles Dickens as his hero. The inspiration is obvious in the way even minor characters have their technicolour moments and in the unlikely twisting and turning towards a moral centre."
—Image

"John Irving is devoted to his people and his plots in a way that makes him unique among the most popular and widely read of the living American novelists. He has become his generation's Dickens."
—Now

"Mr. Irving is more than popular. He is a Populist, determined to keep alive the Dickensian tradition that revels in colourful set pieces and teaches moral lessons."
—The New York Times

"John Irving is never content with giving us something as meagre as a novel.... He wants us to know the whole story, everything, not just the thin slice of the world usually known as fiction."
—The Times (London)

"Irving's instincts are so basically sound, his talent for storytelling so bright and strong, that he gets down to the truth of his time."
—The New York Times Book Review