Oh, how I wanted to love The Last Chairlift by John Irving. I’m one of those readers who was totally knocked out by The World According to Garp decades ago, and have been hoping for an echo of that greatness. Having been disappointed several times, I retained my optimism when I received a copy of The Last Chairlift, purportedly Irving’s last “big” novel. (And it IS pretty big: 450+ pages). 

The protagonist, Adam, is the son of a single mother who was a ski instructor. In classic Irving style, the family is unconventional and close-knit, but not forthcoming enough to provide Adam with the answers he seeks when he returns to Aspen (where he was conceived). So far, so good. 

Then it kind of all fell apart for me when Adam met some ghosts in the Hotel Jerome. I don’t know, maybe it was just me. But I just didn’t care enough. TBH, I may have skimmed some (OK, a lot) and while I still admire Irving’s style and skill as a storyteller and chronicler of dysfunctional families, I didn’t love this one. Three stars.