John Irving - In One Person

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In One Person: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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A compelling novel of desire, secrecy, and sexual identity,
is a story of unfulfilled love—tormented, funny, and affecting—and an impassioned embrace of our sexual differences. Billy, the bisexual narrator and main character of In One Person, tells the tragicomic story (lasting more than half a century) of his life as a “sexual suspect,” a phrase first used by John Irving in 1978 in his landmark novel of “terminal cases,” The World According to Garp.
His most political novel since
and
, John Irving’s
is a poignant tribute to Billy’s friends and lovers—a theatrical cast of characters who defy category and convention. Not least, In One Person is an intimate and unforgettable portrait of the solitariness of a bisexual man who is dedicated to making himself “worthwhile.” * * *
“This tender exploration of nascent desire, of love and loss, manages to be sweeping, brilliant, political, provocative, tragic, and funny—it is precisely the kind of astonishing alchemy we associate with a John Irving novel. The unfolding of the AIDS epidemic in the United States in the ’80s was the defining moment for me as a physician. With my patients’ deaths, almost always occurring in the prime of life, I would find myself cataloging the other losses—namely, what these people might have offered society had they lived the full measure of their days: their art, their literature, the children they might have raised.
is the novel that for me will define that era. A profound truth is arrived at in these pages. It is Irving at his most daring, at his most ambitious. It is America and American writing, both at their very best.”
— ABRAHAM VERGHESE “
is a novel that makes you proud to be human. It is a book that not only accepts but also loves our differences. From the beginning of his career, Irving has always cherished our peculiarities—in a fierce, not a saccharine, way. Now he has extended his sympathies—and ours—still further into areas that even the misfits eschew. Anthropologists say that the interstitial—whatever lies between two familiar opposites—is usually declared either taboo or sacred. John Irving in this magnificent novel—his best and most passionate since
—has sacralized what lies between polarizing genders and orientations. And have I mentioned it is also a gripping page-turner and a beautifully constructed work of art?”
— EDMUND WHITE

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“Well, if you’ll excuse me, Kittredge, I should find my bra and put it on before my parents come home—you should go, too, Billy,” Elaine said to me, but she never took her eyes off Kittredge. Neither of them looked at me.

It was not yet eleven o’clock when Kittredge and I stepped into the fifth-floor hall of the dorm; the Bancroft boys who were loitering in the hall, or gawking at Kittredge from the open doorways of their rooms, were clearly shocked to see him. “Did you win again?” some kid asked him. Kittredge just nodded.

“I heard the wrestling team lost,” another boy said.

“I’m not the team,” Kittredge told him. “I can only win my weight-class.”

We went down the stairwell to the third floor, where I said good night to him. Dorm check-in—even for seniors, on a Saturday night—was at eleven.

“I suppose Richard and your mom are out with the Hadleys,” Kittredge said, matter-of-factly.

“Yes, there’s a foreign film in Ezra Falls,” I told him.

“Humping in French, Italian, or Swedish,” Kittredge said. I laughed, but he wasn’t trying to be funny. “You know, Nymph—you’re not in France, Italy, or Sweden. You’ve got to be more careful with that girl you’re humping, or not humping.”

At the moment, I wondered if Kittredge might be genuinely concerned for Elaine’s “reputation,” as he’d referred to it, but you could never tell with Kittredge; you often didn’t see where he was going with what he said.

“I would never do anything to hurt Elaine,” I told him.

“Listen, Nymph,” he said. “You can hurt people by having sex with them and by not having sex with them.”

“I guess that’s true,” I said cautiously.

“Does your mom sleep naked, or does she wear something?” Kittredge asked me, as if he hadn’t suddenly changed the subject.

“She wears something,” I told him.

“Well, that’s mothers for you,” he said. “Most mothers, anyway,” he added.

“It’s almost eleven,” I warned him. “You don’t want to be late for check-in.”

“Does Elaine sleep naked?” Kittredge asked me.

Of course, what I should have told him was that my desire never to do anything to hurt Elaine prevented me from telling the likes of Kittredge whether she slept naked or not, but in truth I didn’t know if Elaine slept naked. I thought it would be perfectly mysterious to say to Kittredge, which I did, “When Elaine’s with me, she’s not asleep.”

To which Kittredge simply said: “You’re a mystery, aren’t you, Nymph? I just don’t know about you, but I’ll figure you out one day—I really will.”

“You’re going to be late for check-in,” I told him.

“I’m going to the infirmary—I’m going to get this mat burn checked out,” he said, pointing to his cheek. It wasn’t much of a mat burn, in my opinion, but Kittredge said, “I like the weekend nurse at the infirmary—the mat burn’s just an excuse to see her. Saturday night is a good night to stay in the infirmary,” he told me.

On that provocative note, he left me—that was Kittredge. If he was still figuring me out, I hadn’t yet figured him out. Was there really a “weekend nurse” at the Favorite River infirmary? Did Kittredge have an older-woman thing going? Or was he acting, as Elaine and I had been? Was he just faking it?

I HADN’T BEEN BACK in our dormitory apartment for very long, not more than a couple of minutes, before my mom and Richard came home from the movie. I’d barely had time to take Elaine’s padded bra from my Jockey briefs. (I’d no sooner put the bra under my pillow when Elaine phoned me.)

“You have my bra, don’t you?” she asked me.

“What happens to the duck?” I asked her, but she wasn’t in the mood for it.

“Do you have my bra, Billy?”

“Yes,” I said. “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “I want you to have it.” I didn’t tell her that Kittredge had asked me if she slept naked.

Then Richard and my mom came home, and I asked them about the foreign film. “It was disgusting !” my mother said.

“I didn’t know you were such a prude, ” I said to her.

“Take it easy, Bill,” Richard said.

“I’m not a prude!” my mom told me. She seemed unreasonably upset. I had been kidding. It was just something I’d heard Elaine say to Kittredge.

“I didn’t know what the movie was about, Jewel,” Richard said to her. “I’m sorry.”

“Look at you!” my mom said to me. “You look more wrinkled than an unmade bed. I think you should have that conversation with Billy, Richard.”

My mom went into their bedroom and closed the door. “ What conversation?” I asked Richard.

“It’s about being careful with Elaine, Bill,” Richard said. “She’s younger than you are—it’s about being sure you’re protecting her,” Richard told me.

“Are you talking to me about rubbers ?” I asked him. “Because you can only get them in Ezra Falls, and that asshole pharmacist won’t give condoms to kids.”

“Don’t say ‘asshole,’ Bill,” Richard said, “at least not around your mom. You want rubbers ? I’ll get you rubbers.”

“There’s no danger with Elaine,” I told him.

“Did I see Kittredge leaving Bancroft as we were coming home?” Richard asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Did you?”

“You’re at a . . . pivotal age, Bill,” Richard told me. “We just want you to be careful with Elaine.”

“I am careful with her,” I told him.

“You’d better keep Kittredge away from her,” Richard said.

“Just how do I do that?” I asked him.

“Well, Bill . . .” Richard had started to say, when my mother came out of their bedroom. I remember thinking that Kittredge would have been disappointed by what she was wearing—flannel pajamas, not at all sexy.

“You’re still talking about sex, aren’t you?” my mom asked Richard and me. She was angry. “I know that’s what you were talking about. Well, it’s not funny.”

“We weren’t laughing, Jewel,” Richard tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t let him continue.

“You keep your pecker in your pants, Billy!” my mom told me. “You go slowly with Elaine, and you tell her to watch out for Jacques Kittredge—she better watch out for him! That Kittredge is a boy who doesn’t just want to seduce women—he wants women to submit to him!” my mother said.

“Jewel, Jewel—let it rest,” Richard Abbott was saying.

“You don’t know everything, Richard,” my mother told him.

“No, I don’t,” Richard admitted.

“I know boys like Kittredge,” my mom said; she said it to me, not to Richard—even so, she blushed.

It occurred to me that, when my mother was angry at me, it was because she saw something of my womanizing father in me—perhaps, increasingly, I looked like him. (As if I could help that !)

I thought of Elaine’s bra, which was waiting for me under my pillow—“more a matter of habiliment than anything organic,” as Richard had said about Ariel’s gender. (If that small padded bra didn’t fit the habiliment word, what did?)

“What was the foreign film about?” I asked Richard.

“It’s not an appropriate subject for you, ” my mother told me. “Don’t you tell him about it, Richard,” my mother said.

“Sorry, Bill,” Richard said sheepishly.

“Nothing Shakespeare would have shied away from, I’ll bet,” I said to Richard, but I kept looking at my mom. She wouldn’t look at me; she went back inside her bedroom and closed the door.

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