In this his 13th novel, John Irving has not lost his touch (pun intended). Once again he pursues a fantastic premise to its improbable conclusion, in this case the transplant of a hand and with it something of the personality of the diseased donor along with the transplanted affection of the donor’s wife.
But is this science fiction or an elaborate metaphor of how we seek to change ourselves by the example of others and how we seek in those we love some aspects of those we have lost.
The fourth hand is not the original two or the transplant, which eventually fails, but the stump, which comes to serve adequately enough and to be lovable enough by two people who have matured enough.