Updike's fortunes

 

I'll tell you, there's some astonishing familiarly to this shelf. At one time or another, I must have had just about every one of the books, or at least most. No more. My guess is that they were among the books I unloaded when I left my office at the college. I don't think they were ever home in our country place, and they certainly didn't come along to Woodbridge, the place we now call home. Where they once stood proudly, today they're gone.

In that way, I guess, their disappearance takes the same track as the work of John Updike does in the culture these days--he's simply not as hot as he once was. Critics far sharper than I am claim that some of what's there--the Rabbit foursome--won't disappear from American literary consciousness, nor will short stories still taught in Intro to Lit classes--you may remember "A & P," one of the most popular short stories in American literary history, or "Pigeon Feathers"--if I had that story anywhere here today, I could read it again and fawn embarrassingly about the Christian faith so beautifully evident at the end of that story.

Aspects of Updike's work, and his confession/profession in interviews--posited his deeply felt Christian faith. However, my mother would absolutely never considere him a "Christian writer." Nobody did sex as dreamily as he did--or as horridly. Nobody looked so closely without blushing. No world-class writers spent more time or interest in the male anatomy as did John Updike. 

And that itself may be one of the major reasons that his work has fallen out of favor with many of the mainstays of literary culture--if there are such folks.

My introduction to him came in an English class at Dordt College, when a brilliant but nutty professor named Meeter chose to bring in a copy of Couples he had been perusing and to read a hot passage--steamy and forbidden--in class, in public, standing right up in front, behind the podium. I'm not making this up. He wanted us to hear some torrid sex because he wanted his good Christian students to be as perfectly appalled as he'd been when all those gymnastics came alive on the page before him. 

Didn't work. I wasn't appalled, I was fascinated. I got interested in John Updike, out of class for sure. 

I'm no expert but it seems that Updike may have been one of the first to feature full frontal nudity in mainstream literature, as many writers broke down bedroom doors to bring us up close and personal to the act most of us crave. My literary hero at the time, Frederick Manfred, spent goodly hours watching nakedness do its thing. It was the late 60s, and lots of taboos were falling. Honestly, the only question I was asked that had real oompah when I interviewed for a job at Dordt, some years later, was "Will you teach dirty books?" a question that was so facile it answered itself. Imagine if I'd said yes!!!

Updike's disfavor today come at the hands of the "Me Too" movement as well as people tiring of white male writers. Today, some roll their eyes at some--if not all--of his fervid sexuality finding it altogether too, well, male--and too, yes, Protestant. And prurient. 

Still, I really, really admired the character Rabbit from Rabbit Run, and I'm quite sure--I hope I'm not being sexist here--that in Rabbit John Updike created a very real American character, a young man of his age, as was  John Updike himself, and, to be sure, at least one of his greatest admirers, me. 

Time changes things--that's maybe one of the best moral lessons I can pull from all of this. Thanks, Merle Meeter.