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Friday, March 29, 2024

Avenue of Mysteries: a rambling, messy, truthful read

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THERE are many instances of the Philippines being mentioned in novels by non-Filipinos, sometimes positively, more often not.

 

Remember that time Dan Brown called Manila “the gates of hell” in his book “Inferno” because of the city’s “six-hour traffic jams [and] suffocating pollution,” prompting an out-of-tune defense from then-MMDA chairman Francis Tolentino?

Then there’s “My Hollywood” by Mona Simpson, which tells the story of Lola, a Filipino nanny, juxtaposed against that of her wealthy white employer Claire, and the disparities between them.

Now comes John Irving’s “Avenue of the Mysteries.” I saw it on display last April at Fully Booked Power Plant, and, flipping through it, was surprised to find it was partly set in Manila. Published in November 2015, it seems to have gone under the radar, perhaps in part because of the muted reviews it got.

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Here’s one: New York Times’ Dwight Garner called it “an exhausting novel” of “magic ordealism” that reminded him “of an advisory from William S. Burroughs: ‘If, after being exposed to someone’s presence, you feel as if you’ve lost a quart of plasma, avoid that presence.”

John Irving’s earlier novels—among them “The World According to Garp” (1978), “The Cider House Rules” (1985), and “A Prayer for Owen Meany” (1989)—reaped popular acclaim. Five of his books were made into movies, including these three (the latter as “Simon Birch,” 1998).

The “Avenue of Mysteries” is convoluted and complex. Juan Diego and his sister Lupe are “niño de la basura” who grew up in a dump in Mexico. The New York Times’ Tayari Jones calls the dump “a forlorn setting, like hell with children.” 

Lupe can read minds and predict the future; her speech is garbled and can only be understood by Juan Diego, a child prodigy who rescues books from the dump and taught himself to read in two languages, Spanish and English.

After the dump owner runs over his foot with a truck, Juan Diego walks with a limp. Later he is adopted by ex-Jesuit trainee priest Edward and his transvestite partner Flor. The three move to Iowa.

Forty years later, Juan Diego, now a successful writer pushing 60, fulfills a long-ago promise he made to a hippie draft dodger he met in Oaxaca and visits the Philippines. There he reminisces about his childhood, the people he has met, the tragedies in his life, and other experiences that define his identity and sense of self. We also meet and not-meet his sex partners, mother-and-daughter tandem Miriam and Dorothy who fade in and out of sight and whose images do not appear in mirrors and photographs.

There are copious references to the Catholic Church, prostitutes, sex, AIDS, death, poverty, and prescription medicines, particularly Viagra and the beta-blocker Lopressor that Juan Diego claims affects his memory. It is the latter, perhaps, that triggers his trip to the past over 460 pages.

“Avenue of Mysteries” is dense with tiny details that pad out the lengthy narrative. The scenes set in Manila refer to actual places. Sofitel is described as being “in the Pasay City part of Manila—even from his slumped-over position in the limo’s rear seat, Juan Diego noticed the bomb-sniffing dogs.”

His driver Bienvenido says, “It’s the buffet you have to worry about…that’s what I hear about the Sofitel.” “What about the buffet?” Juan Diego asks, but Bienvenido meanders on for several paragraphs until they drive away “without Juan Diego setting foot inside the place.”

They make for the other hotel recommended to them—the Ascott. “It’s in Glorietta, back in Makati City,” sighs Bienvenido, who now has to turn them around. “The Ayala Center is right there—you can get anything there.” There is a paragraph about the mall, another on how to access the Ascott from an elevator at street level, and a reference to the cancellation of a reservation “at the Makati Shangri-La.” And so on.

It’s a lengthy slog and not for light reading, but if you like name-checking, then there many Philippine places mentioned—Bohol, Panglao Bay, Palawan, El Nido, Lio Airport—it goes on. It’s tempting to highlight them in the text just to see how many there are.

There are also the now-usual references to poverty, beggar children, pollution, exhausted women, loitering men—“usual” in the sense that these are things Westerners notice and include in their stories about the country.

It’s a rambling, tumbling, mess of a story, like something an old man will tell in his maudlin moments. But truths are hidden in it, like gems in garbage, and will reward the patient reader.

Avenue of Mysteries by John Irving. Simon & Schuster, 2016. Paperback, 460 pages.

Dr. Ortuoste is a California-based writer. Follow her on Facebook: Jenny Ortuoste, Twitter: @jennyortuoste, Instagram: @jensdecember, @artuoste

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