January 27, 2009

EL CONEJO SON MUERTE:

John Updike, Author, Dies at 76 (THE ASSOCIATED PRESS, January 27, 2009 )

John Updike, the Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist, prolific man of letters and erudite chronicler of sex, divorce and other adventures in the postwar prime of the American empire, died Tuesday at age 76.

Updike, a resident of Beverly Farms, Mass., died of lung cancer, according to a statement from his publisher, Alfred A. Knopf.


Mr. Updike was a rather mediocre novelist, but a brilliant essayist, the latter a point driven home by the collection, Hugging the Shore.

Fittingly, a hundred years from now, when his novels are long forgotten and even most of his essays and criticism are too dated to be read, there is one piece that everyone will still know, Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu (John Updike, 10/22/1960, The New Yorker)

Fenway Park, in Boston, is a lyric little bandbox of a ballpark. Everything is painted green and seems in curiously sharp focus, like the inside of an old-fashioned peeping-type Easter egg. It was built in 1912 and rebuilt in 1934, and offers, as do most Boston artifacts, a compromise between Man’s Euclidean determinations and Nature’s beguiling irregularities. Its right field is one of the deepest in the American League, while its left field is the shortest; the high left-field wall, three hundred and fifteen feet from home plate along the foul line, virtually thrusts its surface at right-handed hitters. On the afternoon of Wednesday, September 28th, as I took a seat behind third base, a uniformed groundkeeper was treading the top of this wall, picking batting-practice home runs out of the screen, like a mushroom gatherer seen in Wordsworthian perspective on the verge of a cliff. The day was overcast, chill, and uninspirational. The Boston team was the worst in twenty-seven seasons. A jangling medley of incompetent youth and aging competence, the Red Sox were finishing in seventh place only because the Kansas City Athletics had locked them out of the cellar. They were scheduled to play the Baltimore Orioles, a much nimbler blend of May and December, who had been dumped from pennant contention a week before by the insatiable Yankees. I, and 10,453 others, had shown up primarily because this was the Red Sox’s last home game of the season, and therefore the last time in all eternity that their regular left fielder, known to the headlines as TED, KID, SPLINTER, THUMPER, TW, and, most cloyingly, MISTER WONDERFUL, would play in Boston. “WHAT WILL WE DO WITHOUT TED? HUB FANS ASK” ran the headline on a newspaper being read by a bulb-nosed cigar smoker a few rows away. Williams’ retirement had been announced, doubted (he had been threatening retirement for years), confirmed by Tom Yawkey, the Red Sex owner, and at last widely accepted as the sad but probable truth. He was forty-two and had redeemed his abysmal season of 1959 with a—considering his advanced age—fine one. He had been giving away his gloves and bats and had grudgingly consented to a sentimental ceremony today. This was not necessarily his last game; the Red Sox were scheduled to travel to New York and wind up the season with three games there.

I arrived early. [...]

The afternoon grew so glowering that in the sixth inning the arc lights were turned on—always a wan sight in the daytime, like the burning headlights of a funeral procession. Aided by the gloom, Fisher was slicing through the Sox rookies, and Williams did not come to bat in the seventh. He was second up in the eighth. This was almost certainly his last time to come to the plate in Fenway Park, and instead of merely cheering, as we had at his three previous appearances, we stood, all of us—stood and applauded. Have you ever heard applause in a ballpark? Just applause—no calling, no whistling, just an ocean of handclaps, minute after minute, burst after burst, crowding and running together in continuous succession like the pushes of surf at the edge of the sand. It was a sombre and considered tumult. There was not a boo in it. It seemed to renew itself out of a shifting set of memories as the kid, the Marine, the veteran of feuds and failures and injuries, the friend of children, and the enduring old pro evolved down the bright tunnel of twenty-one summers toward this moment. At last, the umpire signalled for Fisher to pitch; with the other players, he had been frozen in position. Only Williams had moved during the ovation, switching his hat impatiently, ignoring everything except his cherished task. Fisher wound up, and the applause sank into a hush.

Understand that we were a crowd of rational people. We knew that a home run cannot be produced at will; the right pitch must be perfectly met and luck must ride with the ball. Three innings before, we had seen a brave effort fail. The air was soggy; the season was exhausted. Nevertheless, there will always lurk, around a corner in a pocket of our knowledge of the odds, an indefensible hope, and this was one of the times, which you now and then find in sports, when a density of expectation hangs in the air and plucks an event out of the future.

Fisher, after his unsettling wait, was wide with the first pitch. He put the second one over, and Williams swung mightily and missed. The crowd grunted, seeing that classic swing, so long and smooth and quick, exposed, naked in its failure. Fisher threw the third time, Williams swung again, and there it was. The ball climbed on a diagonal line into the vast volume of air over center field. From my angle, behind third base, the ball seemed less an object in flight than the tip of a towering, motionless construct, like the Eiffel Tower or the Tappan Zee Bridge. It was in the books while it was still in the sky. Brandt ran back to the deepest corner of the outfield grass; the ball descended beyond his reach and struck in the crotch where the bullpen met the wall, bounced chunkily, and, as far as I could see, vanished.

Like a feather caught in a vortex, Williams ran around the square of bases at the center of our beseeching screaming. He ran as he always ran out home runs—hurriedly, unsmiling, head down, as if our praise were a storm of rain to get out of. He didn’t tip his cap. Though we thumped, wept, and chanted “We want Ted” for minutes after he hid in the dugout, he did not come back. Our noise for some seconds passed beyond excitement into a kind of immense open anguish, a wailing, a cry to be saved. But immortality is nontransferable. The papers said that the other players, and even the umpires on the field, begged him to come out and acknowledge us in some way, but he never had and did not now. Gods do not answer letters.


A man could do worse than be remembered for that.


MORE:

    -REVIEW: of The End of Time by John Updike: John Updike, Champion Literary Phallocrat, Drops One; Is This Finally the End for Magnificent Narcissists? (David Foster Wallace, October 12, 1997, NY Observer)

"Of nothing but me … I sing, lacking another song."
-John Updike, "Midpoint," 1969

Mailer, Updike, Roth-the Great Male Narcissists* who've dominated postwar realist fiction are now in their senescence, and it must seem to them no coincidence that the prospect of their own deaths appears backlit by the approaching millennium and on-line predictions of the death of the novel as we know it. When a solipsist dies, after all, everything goes with him. And no U.S. novelist has mapped the solipsist's terrain better than John Updike, whose rise in the 60's and 70's established him as both chronicler and voice of probably the single most self-absorbed generation since Louis XIV. As were Freud's, Mr. Updike's big preoccupations have always been with death and sex (not necessarily in that order), and the fact that the mood of his books has gotten more wintery in recent years is understandable-Mr. Updike has always written largely about himself, and since the surprisingly moving Rabbit at Rest he's been exploring, more and more overtly, the apocalyptic prospect of his own death.

Toward the End of Time concerns an incredibly erudite, articulate, successful, narcissistic and sex-obsessed retired guy who's keeping a one-year journal in which he explores the apocalyptic prospect of his own death. It is, of the total 25 Updike books I've read, far and away the worst, a novel so mind-bendingly clunky and self-indulgent that it's hard to believe the author let it be published in this kind of shape.

I'm afraid the preceding sentence is this review's upshot, and most of the balance here will consist of presenting evidence/ justification for such a disrespectful assessment. First, though, if I may poke the critical head into the frame for just one moment, I'd like to offer assurances that your reviewer is not one of these spleen-venting, spittle-spattering Updike-haters one encounters among literary readers under 40. The fact is that I am probably classifiable as one of very few actual sub-40 Updike fans . Not as rabid a fan as, say, Nicholson Baker, but I do think that The Poorhouse Fair , Of the Farm and The Centaur are all great books, maybe classics. And even since Rabbit Is Rich -as his characters seemed to become more and more repellent, and without any corresponding indication that the author understood that they were repellent-I've continued to read Mr. Updike's novels and to admire the sheer gorgeousness of his descriptive prose.



    -OBIT: American writer John Updike dies (Christopher Lehmann-Haupt, January 27, 2009, NY Times)

    -OBIT: John Updike, Author, Dies at 76 (THE ASSOCIATED PRESS, January 27, 2009 )

    -OBIT: John Updike: Prolific author who captured the spirit of middle America and is best known for his Harry 'Rabbit' Angstrom series (Daily Telegraph, 27 Jan 2009)

    -OBIT: Acclaimed writer John Updike dies at 76 (Mark Feeney, 1/27/09, Boston Globe)

    -OBIT: John Updike dies: Pulitzer prize-winning novelist dies from lung cancer aged 76 (Helen Pidd, 1/27/09, guardian.co.uk)

    -OBIT: John Updike, Pulitzer Prize-winning author, dies of lung cancer at age 76 (Michelle Kerns, 1/27/09, Book Examiner)

    -OBIT: Novelist John Updike dies at 76 (Bob Hoover, 1/27/09, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette)

    -Remembrances: Pulitzer Prize-Winning Novelist John Updike Dies (Talk of the Nation, January 27, 2009)

    -

   
-



     
-The
Centaurian
(A HOME PAGE FOR JOHN UPDIKE INFORMATION AND  DISCUSSION)

    -WIKIPEDIA: John Updike

    -John Updike (kirjasto)

    -FILMOGRAPHY: John Updike (IMDB)

    -Life
& Times : John Updike (1932-- )
  (NY Times)

    -FEATURED AUTHOR: REVIEWS OF JOHN UPDIKE'S BOOKS (NY Times)

    -Literary
Research Guide: John Updike (1932 - )


    -BIO: John Updike (Academy of Achievement)

    -AUTHOR PAGE: John Updike (Random House)

    -John Updike (Bookreporter)

    -John Updike (Poets.org)

    -John Updike (2008 Jefferson Lecturer on the Humanities)

    -PORTRAIT: JOHN UPDIKE (born 1932) [Alex Katz (born 1927)]


    -ESSAY: Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu (John Updike, 10/22/1960, The New Yorker)

    -ESSAY: The Writer in Winter: A literary legend shares his greatest hope: that his last book will be his best (John Updike, November & December 2008, AARP)

    -ESSAY: This I Believe (John Updike, NPR)

    -ESSAY: The Individual (John Updike, November 2007, Atlantic Monthly)

    -ESSAY: A sage for all seasons: Walden, Henry Thoreau's classic account of life in a simple one-room cabin in New England remains, 150 years on, an anti-establishment masterpiece and a testament to individualism (John Updike, 6/26/04, The Guardian)

    -ESSAY: Extreme Dinosaurs: A bizarre gallery of Mesozoic monsters prompts John Updike to ask: What has evolution wrought? (John Updike, December 2007, National Geographic)

    -REVIEW: AN OBSTINATE SURVIVOR: Robert Hughes takes on the life of Goya. (JOHN UPDIKE, 2003-11-03, The New Yorker)

   
-ESSAY: Nineteen Forties (JOHN UPDIKE, 7/04/1965, NY Times)

    -ESSAY: Writers I Have Met (JOHN UPDIKE, 8/11/1968, NY Times)

    -ESSAY: Henry Bech Redux (HENRY BECH, 11/14/1971, NY Times)

    -ESSAY: Golf (John Updike, 6/10/1973, NY Times)

    -ESSAY: A FEW WORDS IN DEFENSE OF THE AMATEUR READER (John Updike, February 19, 1984, NY Times Book Review)

    -ESSAY: Andy Warhol: Artist, philosopher, impresario. He changed American culture. You can worship him for that. Or blame him. (JOHN UPDIKE, May 15, 2003, Rolling Stone)

    -ESSAY: The End of Authorship (John Updike, June 25, 2006, NY Times Book Review)

    -ESSAY: Smoke signals: It took John Updike two years to get his first short story published. Now, 50 years and 55 books later, he has compiled a selection of his earliest work, some of it out of print for decades. Here he reflects on the biographical echoes (John Updike, 1/10/04, The Guardian)


    -EXCERPT: First Chapter of The Terrorist

    -SHORT STORY: The Full Glass (John Updike, May 26, 2008, The New Yorker)

    -SHORT STORY: Outage (John Updike, 1/07/08, The New Yorker)

    -SHORT STORY: My Father's Tears (John Updike, 2/27/06, The New Yorker)

    -SHORT STORY: The Roads of Home (John Updike, 2/07/05, The New Yorker)

    -SHORT STORY: Elsie by Starlight (John Updike, 7/05/04, The New Yorker)

    -SHORT STORY: The Walk with Elizanne (John Updike, 7/07/03, The New Yorker)

    -SHORT STORY: Witnesses (John Updike, Bold Type)


    -POEM: Ex-Basketball Player (John Updike)

    -POEM: Venetian Candy (John Updike)

    -POEM: Returning Native (John Updike)

    -POEM: On the Road (John Updike)

    -POEM: Penumbrae (John Updike)

    -POEM: Saying Goodbye to Very Young Children (John Updike)


    -REVIEW: of Franny and Zooey by J. D. Salinger (John Updike, The New York Times Book Review)

    -REVIEW: of Aiding and Abetting by Muriel Spark (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of On Histories and Stories: Selected Essays and The Biographer’s Tale by A.S. Byatt (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of My Name Is Red by Orhan Pamuk (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of Peter J. Conradi’s Iris Murdoch: A Life (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of The Complete Works of Isaac Babel (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of Sinclair Lewis: Rebel from Main Street by Richard Lingeman (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of Atonement by Ian McEwan (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of Family Matters by Rohinton Mistry (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of Mortals by Norman Rush (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of Philip Larkin’s Collected Poems (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of Orhan Pamuk’s Snow (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of Robert Alter’s translation of The Five Books of Moses (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of Soren Kierkegaard: A Biography” by Joakim Garff and translated from the Danish by Bruce H. Kirmmse (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of Flashman on the March” by George MacDonald Frasier (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of Michel Houellebecq's The Possibility of an Island (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of The Annotated Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of Walter Isaacson’s Einstein: His Life and Universe (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of Matthew Avery Sutton’s “Aimee Semple McPherson and the Resurrection of Christian America (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: The Forgotten Man by Amity Shlaes (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of Flann O'Brien Novels (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of William Maxwell Novels (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of A Mercy by Toni Morrison (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of America, America by Ethan Canin (John Updike, The New Yorker)

    -REVIEW: of New Art City by Jed Perl (John Updike, The New York Times Book Review)


    -ESSAY: Wood v. Updike v. Baker (Sam Tanenhaus, 8/13/08, NY Times Paper Cuts)

    -ESSAY: John Updike's American Comedies (Joyce Carol Oates, Jun 11, 2003)

      -ESSAY: Feminist Critique of Updike's "A&P": Overcoming pre-assigned gender roles (Jill Douglass, Oct 15, 2008, Suite 101)

    -ESSAY: Art of the Feud (RACHEL DONADIO, November 19, 2006, NY Times)


    -INTERVIEW: with John Updike (Charlie Rose, 11/12/08)

    -INTERVIEW: John Updike: descent of man: John Updike, who has died aged 76, was interviewed last month by the Daily Telegraph's Mick Brown. In it, the author explores the subject of celebrity, recalls his first meeting with Barack Obama, and talks of the role of the writer. Here is the interview in full. (Mick Brown, 27 Jan 2009, Daily Telegraph)

    -INTERVIEW: with John Updike (The Diane Rehm Show, Jun. 5, 2006)

    -INTERVIEW: with John Updike (Fresh Air from WHYY, Oct-14-1997)

    -INTERVIEW: John Updike Explores Arab Immigrant Culture (Steve Inskeep, June 13, 2006, NPR: Morning Edition)

    -INTERVIEW: 'Did I actually write a soliloquy for a hamster?': This season's Updike is a sequel to The Witches of Eastwick, and he's already at work on the novel after next, a tale of ancient Rome. In a rare interview, he talks of women and witchcraft with Peter Conrad, before dismissing Sarah Palin as a 'bird-brain', doing a wicked impression of John McCain and endorsing Obama for President (Peter Conrad, 10/26/08, The Observer)

    -INTERVIEW: THE SALON INTERVIEW: JOHN UPDIKE: "As close as you can get to the stars" (DWIGHT GARNER, Salon)

    -INTERVIEW: Audio Interview with John Updike (Don Swain, Wired for Books)

    -VIDEO INTERVIEW: with John Updike (Spike)

    -INTERVIEW: with John Updike (Charlie Rose, 11/06/98)

    -INTERVIEW: An Interview With John Updike: In 'Terrorist,' a Cautious Novelist Takes On a New Fear (CHARLES McGRATH, May 31, 2006, NY Times)

    -INTERVIEW: Going Home Again (CHARLES McGRATH, November 19, 2000, NY Times)

    -INTERVIEW: John Updike's Latest Novel, 'Bech' Sequel, Draws on Himself (MICHIKO KAKUTANI, October 17, 1982, NY Times)

    -INTERVIEW: John Updike Completes a Sequel to 'Rabbit, Run' (HENRY RAYMONT, July 27, 1971, NY Times)

    -INTERVIEW: JOHN UPDIKE: The Art of Fiction (Interviewed by Charles Thomas Samuels, Winter 1968, Paris Review)

    -PROFILE: Animated ambitions: Before John Updike settled on writing as a career, he wanted to be a cartoonist and badgered his heroes to send him signed copies of their work. Jeet Heer recently uncovered one letter, sent to the creator of Little Orphan Annie, when Updike was 15 (Jeet Heer, 5/20/04, The Guardian)

    -PROFILE: Sunshine and shadows: A child of the Depression, John Updike wanted to be a cartoonist. Now an acclaimed and prolific literary writer, his novels and short stories reflect America's transition over half a century. He is innately conservative, with a deep religious faith, and his richly explicit prose is marked by compassion and humour. Next weekend he appears at the Guardian Hay Festival (James Campbell, 5/22/04, The Guardian)

    -PROFILE: Updike, laureate of lewd, backs sex on your mobile (John Harlow, 12/14/08, Times of London)

    -PROFILE: Writing too enjoyable for John Updike to consider retirement (JOHN MARK EBERHART, 1/03/09, The Kansas City Star)

    -PROFILE: Old Master in a Brave New World (Lev Grossman, May. 28, 2006, TIME)

    -PROFILE: John Updike on Religion (Benedicta Cipolla, November 19, 2004 , Religion & Ethics)

    -PROFILE: Updike and the Women: The Witches, The Widows, and the ambiguous bliss of misogyny (Emily Nussbaum, Oct 19, 2008, New York)

    -ESSAY: Among the reviewers: John Updike and the book-review bugaboo (By Wyatt Mason, December 2007, Harper's)

    -ESSAY: John Updike's literary via negativa (Christian Century, May 24, 1995)

    -ESSAY: The theological dimension in John Updike's fiction (John McTavish, April 2000, Theology Today)

    -ESSAY: Myth, gospel, and John Updike's Centaur (John McTavish, 1/01/03, Theology Today)


    -ARCHIVES: John Updike (The Guardian)

    -ARCHIVES: John Updike (NY Times Paper Cuts)

    -ARCHIVES: John Updike (The New Yorker)

    -ARCHIVES: John Updike (NY Review of Books)

    -ARCHIVES: John Updike (Find Articles)



    -REVIEW: of The Poorhouse Fair by John Updike (Donald Barr, NY Times)

    -REVIEW: of The Centaur by John Updike (Orville Prescott, NY Times)

    -REVIEW: of Pigeon Feathers by John Updike (ARTHUR MIZENER, NY Times)

    -REVIEW: of Telephone Poles and Other Poems by John Updike (X. J. KENNEDY, NY Times)

    -REVIEW: of Couples by John Updike (Wilfred Shhed, NY Times Book Review)

    -REVIEW: of Bech: a Book by John Updike (Christopher Lehmann-Haupt, NY Times)

    -REVIEW: of Rabbit Redux by John Updike (Anatole Broyard, NY Times)

    -REVIEW: of A Month of Sundays by John Updike (Anatole Broyard, NY Times)

    -REVIEW: of Picked up Pieces by John Updike (Anatole Broyard, NY Times)

    -REVIEW: of Rabbit is Rich by John Updike (John Leonard, NY Times)

    -REVIEW: of Bech is Back by John Updike (Edward Hoagland, NY Times Book Review)

    -REVIEW: of The Witches of Eastwick by John Updike (Margaret Atwood, NY Times Book Review)

    -REVIEW: of Witches of Eastwick (Greenman Review)

    -REVIEW: of Facing Nature by John Updike (Gavin Ewart, NY Times Book Review)

    -REVIEW: of Roger's Version by John Updike (David Lodge, NY Times Book Review)

    -REVIEW: of Trust Me by John Updkie (Marilynne Robinson, NY Times Book Review)

    -REVIEW: of Self-Conscious by John Updike (Denis Donoghue, NY Times Book Review)

    -REVIEW: of Just Looking by John Updike (Arthur C. Danto, NY Times Book Review)

    -REVIEW: of Rabbit at Rest by John Updike (Joyce Carol Oates, NY Times Book Review)

    -REVIEW: of Rabbit At Rest by John Updike (James Wood, guardian.co.uk)

    -REVIEW: of Odd Jobs by John Updike (Martin Amis, NY Times Book Review)

    -REVIEW: of Memories of the Ford Administration by John Updike (Charles Johnson, NY Times Book Review)

    -REVIEW: of Brazil by John Updike (Barbara Kingsolver, NY Times Book Review)

    -REVIEW: of The Afterlife by John Updike (Jay Parini, NY Times Book Review)

    -REVIEW: of Golf Dreams by John Updike (Christopher Lehmann-Haupt, NY Times)

    -REVIEW: of Toward The End of Time by John Updike: John Updike, Champion Literary Phallocrat, Drops One; Is This Finally the End for Magnificent Narcissists? (David Foster Wallace, October 12, 1997, NY Observer)

"Of nothing but me … I sing, lacking another song."
-John Updike, "Midpoint," 1969

Mailer, Updike, Roth-the Great Male Narcissists* who've dominated postwar realist fiction are now in their senescence, and it must seem to them no coincidence that the prospect of their own deaths appears backlit by the approaching millennium and on-line predictions of the death of the novel as we know it. When a solipsist dies, after all, everything goes with him. And no U.S. novelist has mapped the solipsist's terrain better than John Updike, whose rise in the 60's and 70's established him as both chronicler and voice of probably the single most self-absorbed generation since Louis XIV. As were Freud's, Mr. Updike's big preoccupations have always been with death and sex (not necessarily in that order), and the fact that the mood of his books has gotten more wintery in recent years is understandable-Mr. Updike has always written largely about himself, and since the surprisingly moving Rabbit at Rest he's been exploring, more and more overtly, the apocalyptic prospect of his own death.

Toward the End of Time concerns an incredibly erudite, articulate, successful, narcissistic and sex-obsessed retired guy who's keeping a one-year journal in which he explores the apocalyptic prospect of his own death. It is, of the total 25 Updike books I've read, far and away the worst, a novel so mind-bendingly clunky and self-indulgent that it's hard to believe the author let it be published in this kind of shape.

I'm afraid the preceding sentence is this review's upshot, and most of the balance here will consist of presenting evidence/ justification for such a disrespectful assessment. First, though, if I may poke the critical head into the frame for just one moment, I'd like to offer assurances that your reviewer is not one of these spleen-venting, spittle-spattering Updike-haters one encounters among literary readers under 40. The fact is that I am probably classifiable as one of very few actual sub-40 Updike fans . Not as rabid a fan as, say, Nicholson Baker, but I do think that The Poorhouse Fair , Of the Farm and The Centaur are all great books, maybe classics. And even since Rabbit Is Rich -as his characters seemed to become more and more repellent, and without any corresponding indication that the author understood that they were repellent-I've continued to read Mr. Updike's novels and to admire the sheer gorgeousness of his descriptive prose.



    -REVIEW: of Toward the End of Time (Margaret Atwood, NY Times Book Review)

    -REVIEW: of Bech at Bay by John Updike (James Shapiro, NY Times Book Review)

    -REVIEW: of 'More Matter by John Updike (WILLIAM H. PRITCHARD, NY Times Book Review)

    -REVIEW: of More Matter (Stephen Moss, The Guardian)

    -REVIEW: of More Matter (Adam Mars-Jones, The Guardian)

    -REVIEW: of Gertrude and Claudius by John Updike (Richard Eder, NY Times)

    -REVIEW: of Gertrude and Claudius (Adam Mars-Jones, The Guardian)

    -REVIEW: of Gertrude and Claudius (James Hopkin, The Guardian)

      -REVIEW: of Hugging the Shore: Essays and Criticism by John Updike (Sanford Schwartz, NY Review of Books)

    -REVIEW: of More Matter: Essays and Criticism by John Updike (John Gross, Booksonline/UK Telegraph)

    -REVIEW:
Bech at Bay by John Updike
(John Gross, Commentary)

    -REVIEW: of Bech at Bay (Adam Mars-Jones,. The Guardian)

    -REVIEW
: of  Licks of Love: Short Stories and a Sequel, 'Rabbit Remembered by John Updike
(James Wood, London Review of Books)

    -REVIEW: of Licks of Love (Alfred Hickling, The Guardian)

    -REVIEW: of Licks of Love (Xan Brooks, The Guardian)

    -REVIEW: of The Early Stories by John Updike (Cynthia Ozick, NY Times Book Review)

    -REVIEW: of The Early Stories (Robert Macfarlane, The Guardian)

    -Villages
By John Updike
(Michiko Kakutani, NY Times)

    -REVIEW: of Villages (Walter Kirn, NY Times Book Review)

    -REVIEW: of Villages (Adam Mars-Jones, The Observer)

    -REVIEW: of Villages (Blake Morrison, The Guardian)


    -REVIEW: of The Terrorist by John Updike (Robert Stone, NY Times Book Review)

    -REVIEW: of The Terrorist (Michiko Kakutani, NY Times)

    -REVIEW: of The Terrorist (Jem Poster, The Guardian)

    -REVIEW: of The Terrorist (Tim Adams, The Guardian)



    -REVIEW: of Seek My Face (Galen Strawson, The Guardian)

    -REVIEW: of Seek My Face (Adam Mars-Jones, The Observer)

    -REVIEW: of Due Considerations by John Updike (Tim Adams, The Guardian)

    -REVIEW: of Still Looking: essays on American Art by John Updike (Geoff Dyer, NY Times Book Review)

    -REVIEW: of Widows of Eastwick by John Updike (Caroline Moore, Daily Telegraph)

    -REVIEW: of Widows of Eastwick (Christopher Tayler, The Guardian)

    -REVIEW: of Widows of Eastwick (James Walcott, London Review of Books)

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Posted by Orrin Judd at January 27, 2009 2:35 PM
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