Rabbit makes another Best Novels list

Writer-editor-reviewer Robert McCrum has spent two years considering the 100 greatest novels written in English, and The Guardian recently published his final choices. Updike’s Rabbit Redux comes in at #88.

“Harry ‘Rabbit’ Angstrom, Updike’s lovably mediocre alter ego, is one of America’s great literary protagonists, up there with Huck Finn and Jay Gatsby.”

That’s pretty good company, and probably an interesting conversation to eavesdrop on if the three of them ever had to share a raft. However, Huck and Jay made McCrum’s “All Time Top 10” list—Emma, Wuthering Heights, Moby-Dick, Middlemarch, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Heart of Darkness, The Rainbow, Ulysses, Mrs Dalloway, The Great Gatsby—while Rabbit did not.

“The 100 best novels written in English: the full list”

In writing about his process, McCrum said that he selected, “where possible, the title most central to the author’s voice and vision, which is not necessarily the most famous.”

Tanenhaus on Bill Buckley . . . and John Updike

96iiRXJ1_400x400The Daily Beast today published an interview Scott Porch did with biographer Sam Tanenhaus, “Bill Buckley Gets Bigger Over Time.” In it, Tanenhaus talks about his work-in-progress but also shares a few thoughts about Updike:

“For me, Updike and Bellow and Roth are giants now; they were writing when I was young. My copy of Updike’s Rabbit Is Rich is the copy I got when I was 15 or 16 through the Book of the Month Club. It’s the only book I ever had signed by an author in all of my years at the book review. We did a long video interview with him for the website. Those figures to me are very large and important. I think of them almost like family, and some of them are still working. Bob Caro is still working. Gay Talese is still working. I saw Garry Wills at the Aspen Ideas Festival a couple of weeks ago, brilliant as ever. Those figures are really important to me.”

JUS reports its first lifetime benefactor

The new dues structure taking effect on January 1, 2016 includes a lifetime membership ($500) and lifetime benefactor membership ($1000). With The John Updike Childhood Home restoration in progress, the timing couldn’t be better for members to take advantage of these options and help the museum project move forward at the same time.

Professor Takashi Nakatani, of Yokohama City University, Japan, has generously stepped forward to become the first lifetime benefactor. Professor Nakatani has been an active member of the society since the beginning, moderating a panel at the First Biennial Conference at Alvernia and presenting papers at the Second Biennial Conference at Suffolk and the Third Biennial Conference at Alvernia. He has also taken several research trips on his own to Updike collections in Boston and Reading.

Nakatani

At the 3rd Biennial Conference pre-conference social (l to r): Yue Wang, James Plath, Carla Alexandra Ferreira, and Takashi Nakatani.

Oates essay offers Poorhouse Fair insights

Screen Shot 2015-08-13 at 7.51.57 AMIn a fascinating essay on “Inspiration and Obsession in Life and Literature” published in the August 13, 2015 issue of The New York Review of Books, writer (and former JUS conference keynote speaker) Joyce Carol Oates spends a significant amount of time discussing Updike’s debut novel, The Poorhouse Fair, partly in relation to Norman Mailer’s The Naked and the Dead and partly in the context of Toward the End of Time:

“John Updike’s first novel, The Poorhouse Fair (1959), published when the author was twenty-six, is a purposefully modest work composed in a minor key; unlike Norman Mailer’s first novel, The Naked and the Dead (1948), also published when the author was twenty-six. Where Mailer trod onto the literary scene like an invading army, with an ambitious military plan, Updike seems almost to have wished to enter by a rear door, claiming a very small turf in rural eastern Pennsylvania and concentrating upon the near-at-hand with the meticulous eye of a poet.

“The Poorhouse Fair is in its way a bold avoidance of the quasi-autobiographical novel so common to young writers: the bildungsroman of which the author’s coming-of-age is the primary subject. Perversely, given the age of the author, The Poorhouse Fair is about the elderly, set in a future only twenty years distant and lacking the dramatic features of the typical future, dystopian work; its concerns are intrapersonal and theological. By 1959 Updike had already published many of the short stories that would be gathered into Olinger Stories, which constituted in effect a bildungsroman, freeing him to imagine an entirely other, original debut work.

The Poorhouse Fair, as Updike was to explain in an introduction to the 1977 edition of the novel, was suggested by a visit, in 1957, to his hometown, Shillington, which included a visit to the ruins of a poorhouse near his home. The young author then decided to write a novel in celebration of the fairs held at the poorhouse during his childhood, with the intention of paying tribute to his recently deceased maternal grandfather, John Hoyer, given the name “John Hook” in the novel. In this way The Poorhouse Fair both is not, and is, an autobiographical work, as its theological concerns, described elsewhere in Updike’s work, were those of the young writer at the time.

“Appropriately, Updike wrote another novel set in the future near the end of his life, Toward the End of Time (1997), in which the elderly protagonist and his wife appear to be thinly, even ironically disguised portraits, or caricatures, of Updike and his wife in a vaguely postapocalyptic world bearing a close resemblance to the Updikes’ suburban milieu in Beverly Farms, Massachusetts. Is it coincidental that Updike’s first novel and his near-to-last so mirror each other? Both have theological concerns, and both are executed with the beautifully wrought, precise prose for which Updike is acclaimed; but no one could mistake Toward the End of Time, with its bitter self-chiding humor and tragically diminished perspectives, for a work of fiction by a reverent and hopeful young writer. . . .

“The confessional poets—Robert Lowell, John Berryman, W.D. Snodgrass, Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath, to a degree Elizabeth Bishop—rendered their lives as art, as if self-hypnotized. Of our contemporaries, writers as seemingly diverse as Saul Bellow, Philip Roth, and John Updike created distinguished careers out of their lives, often returning to familiar subjects, lovingly and tirelessly reimagining their own pasts as if mesmerized by the wonder of ‘self.'”

Beattie’s new collection an occasion to remember the Updike connection

1-the-state-were-in-ann-beattieWriter Ann Beattie agreed to share the keynote speaker duties at the First Biennial John Updike Society Conference at Alvernia University with her painter-husband Lincoln Perry because she was an Updike supporter and Updike was a supporter of hers.

A Vogue article about her new collection, The State We’re In: Maine Stories, reminds us of that connection. Journalist Megan O’Grady writes, “As John Updike told her when they first met, ‘You figured out how to write an entirely different kind of story.”

He was talking about what O’Grady described as her stories’ “open-ended capaciousness, so unlike the deterministic, epiphany-shaped prose that has defined the short form.”

Just as Updike’s characters aged, so have Beattie’s. They’re “mostly older and less cool these days: They order crackers from Amazon; they’ve been through divorces or estrangements and are on second or third attempts at life. They have a sense not of the ending but of an ending. The result is a newfound ephemerality—a fledgling bird found in a recycling bin, and unexpected pregnancy, an attempted suicide,” O’Grady writes.

Here’s the entire article:  “Wandering Beyond the Page: Ann Beattie on Her New Collection, The State We’re In.”

Amazon link

Man’s six-year grave tour ends with an urge to have Michael Updike carve his epitaph

Screen Shot 2015-08-10 at 8.51.30 AMWalter Skold is a poetry lover who lives in Maine. But partially inspired by John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley, he set out on a tour of poet’s graves across America. And lacking a poodle companion, he brought along a life-sized stuffed black panther he named Raisin.

Six years later that tour has come to an end, and John Updike’s tombstone, designed by his son, was one of Skold’s favorites. So much so that he asked Michael Updike to carve his own tombstone. “The last poet’s grave I find will be my own,” he wrote in an unfinished poem he worked on throughout his journey.

Here’s the full story by York Dispatch writer David Weissman:  “York native finishes six-year grave-visit tour.”

Rabbit, Run makes Esquire’s 80 Best Books list

They’re in no particular order, but there are 80 books Esquire magazine thinks every man should read, and Rabbit, Run is among them:

“Because it’s one of the few not about Updike. It’s about that guy you idolized in high school. And kitchen gadgets. And you.”

“The 80 Best Books Every Man Should Read”

Yes, Esquire is a man’s magazine, but it’s a little surprising that the authors listed are all male except for Flannery O’Connor’s A Good Man Is Hard to Find. Updike, who’s been accused of being sexist, would probably be among those to protest, Where’s Toni Morrison? Alice Walker? Eudora Welty? Ann Beattie? Jane Smiley? Louise Erdrich? Lorrie Moore?

Society launches separate JU Childhood Home website, Facebook page

The John Updike Society has launched a separate website for The John Updike Childhood Home and a separate Facebook page because “the time had come,” society president James Plath said. “This helps us as we move forward with the restoration, the acquisition of exhibit material, the forging of community relationships, and the development of a market for the house as a literary and tourist destination.”

The John Updike Childhood Home webpage is at: johnupdikechildhoodhome.com.

The Facebook page for The John Updike Childhood Home is http://www.facebook.com/johnupdikechildhoodhome.

Please bookmark the former and “like” the latter. There will be, out of necessity, some overlapping, but Updike fans will see things at the Childhood Home webpage that they can’t see on the Society home page.

 

Blogger thinks Rhinoceros, not Rabbit, will survive

Screen Shot 2015-07-31 at 7.33.00 AMBlogger Patrick Kurp, of Houston, posted an entry today titled “As Big, Perhaps, as Four Oxen” on his site, Anecdotal Evidence: A blog about the intersection of books and life.

“Handicapping literary reputations is a mug’s game,” he writes, “but if I were calculating John Updike’s odds, I’d bet on a handful of his stories, reviews and poems—especially the poems. Leave the novels alone, as readers and critics seldom did during his lifetime.”

Kurp calls Updike’s “a poetry of wit” and cites “The Menagerie at Versailles in 1775” as a prime example.

Doctorow obit quotes Updike’s negative reviews

Screen Shot 2015-07-22 at 11.25.12 AMThey say it’s impolite to speak ill of the dead, and the often decorous John Updike probably wouldn’t have had anything negative to say about the recent death of E.L. Doctorow. But Updike is no longer among us and Bruce Weber, writing for The New York Times, quoted Updike’s comparatively nasty assessment of Doctorow’s historical novels in the obituary “E.L. Doctorow Dies at 84; Literary Time Traveler Stirred Past Into Fiction”:

“Perhaps the most telling review came from John Updike, who was prominent among a noisy minority of critics who generally found Mr. Doctorow’s tinkering with history misleading if not an outright violation of the tenets of narrative literature. Updike held Ragtime in especial disdain.

“’It smacked of playing with helpless dead puppets, and turned the historical novel into a gravity-free, faintly sadistic game,’ he wrote in The New Yorker, going on to dismiss several other Doctorow books before granting their author a reprieve.

“’His splendid new novel, The March, pretty well cures my Doctorow problem,’ Updike wrote, adding, ‘The novel shares with Ragtime a texture of terse episodes and dialogue shorn, in avant-garde fashion, of quotation marks, but has little of the older book’s distancing jazz, its impudent, mocking shuffle of facts; it celebrates its epic war with the stirring music of a brass marching band heard from afar, then loud and up close, and finally receding over the horizon.

“’Reading historical fiction,’ Updike went on, ‘we often itch, our curiosity piqued, to consult a book of straight history, to get to the facts without the fiction. But The March stimulates little such itch; it offers an illumination, fitful and flickering, of a historic upheaval that only fiction could provide. Doctorow here appears not so much a reconstructor of history as a visionary who seeks in time past occasions for poetry.'”