what would it mean to be liked by thenAmerican humorist? What would thenwords “I love you” mean if he who spokenthem truly loved everyone equally? Hownshould we ever know w-hat it means tonsing well if some of us, Pavarotti andnFreni for instance, did not sound veryndifferent than others? If every singernpossessed precisely the same talent, wenwould never be conscious of the beautynof the human voice. Simply put, meaningnis inseparable from hierarchicalnstructures.nTo Ryan, of course, this kind of argumentnis anathema. He takes the positionnthat distinction of merit cannot in principlenever be made because there existsnno precise instrument of measure. Butndiscriminations do not depend upon ann”objective” instrument; they are madenThe Imagination FreaknJohn Irving: The Hotel New Hampshire;nE. P. Dutton; New York.nby Betsy ClarkenOomewhere between Peyton Placenand Animal House stands The HotelnNew Hampshire, symbol of vision innblindness, order in chaos, dream innreality, comedy in tragedy. The possibilities,nlike John Irving s new novel,nseem endless.nPursuing these of life’s puzzles in thenthree hotels so named are the dreamernWin Berry, his long-suffering (andndoomed) wife, five children, relatives,nvarious friends, enemies and animals.nFather attempts three times to run anhotel with that “proper combinationnof class and democracy,” each try endingnwith failure and sometimes devastation.nFather’s quest sends the Berrys fromnNe%v Hampshire to “Vienna to New Yorknto Maine, during which time they comento terms with prostitution, incest,nMiss Clarke is a frequent contributor tonChronicles.n10nChronicles of Culturenpossible by human judgment, or morenproperly, by educated and experiencednhuman judgment. Such judgment is admittedlynfallible, but it is not arbitrary.nFew men or women of culture have contestednthe greatness of Dostoyevsky andnMann, Bach and Beethoven, Raphaelnand Rembrandt. True, errors of judgmentnhave been made and reputationsnhave been won and lost, but there hasnbeen remarkable accord over the yearsnconcerning many creative artists, justnas there has been with respect to standardsnof human conduct. To deny thencapacity of men to make reasoned, authoritativenjudgments about thosenthings that are good, true and beautifulnis to deny that thinking is possible—itnis to embrace nihilism, the ideology ofnbarbarism. Dnhomosexuality, violence, love and death.nWhat is a person to make of it all?n”Sorrow floats.” offers John, the middlenchild and narrator, “There are nonhappy endings,” Father observes. Beingnstuffed is “the next best thing to beingnalive,”, intones Frank, the oldest sonnand a homose’xual who later adds thatnreligion is just another fo/m of taxi-nJohn Irving is an admirer of imaginationnfor its own sake. Says sister Lillynof Susie, an unattractive woman whongoes through life as a bear, “It may benstupid to go through life as a bear . . .nbut you’ll have to admit it takes imagination.”nMaybe so. But imagination isn’tninspiration, nor is it vision. A readernmay reasonably e.xpect more from a late-n20th-century novelist than the childishn(and old) kicking-the-wrong-person-under-the-tablengags. The worn-out caricaturesnhave returned as well. Blacksnare simple, good-natured and athletic.nJews are wily and enterprising. Texansnare monied and loud. And the Berrynfamily? As complicated and well-intentionednas any Wasp family, though,nnaturally, troubled. Otherwise, Irving’sncharacters comprise a cacophony ofnspecial-interest groups: gays, feminists,nblacks, radicals, the physically handicapped,nthe mentally ill..Those whonworship at the altar of pluralism deformednfor the liberal culture’s use willnfeel right at home here.n”Everything is a fairy tale,” Lilly, anwriter and suicidal dwarf would say, andnJohn comes to believe it. True, The HotelnNew Hampshire incorporates bothnthe fantasy and the violence characteristicnof that genre. But unlike Pinocchio,nfor example, Irving’s novelntravels no moral terrain. The madcapn”Only an oaf or a meanie could not be touched by a novel as eager and bumptiousnand cuddly as John Irving’s THE HOTEL NEW HAMPSHIRE … It warms thenmind, tickles the funnybone, squeezes the heart . . .”n^ — Village Voicen