Here's a lot more suburban sex and Protestant redemption—22 stories to be exact—from one of America's most prolific and accomplished prose stylists. Over half of these elegantly written tales were first published in The New Yorker, and over half find their subject in divorce, upper-middle-class American style. In "Still of Some Use," for example, a family torn apart by divorce momentarily comes together to clean out their old attic. "The City" captures a divorced salesman's "essential solitude"; "Pygmalion" ironically comments upon second wives; and "The Lovely Troubled Daughters of Our Old Crowd" measures the effect of divorce on some girls of marrying age. But not all of Updike's angst-ridden adulterers bother to get divorced. In "A Constellation of Events," a "bored housewife" has an affair with a cuckolded friend; and in "The Other Woman," the lover of a woman amicably divorced from her husband doesn't divorce his own wife, who's been unaware of his long-term affair. Inter-class adultery spices up the excellent "More Stately Mansions," a tale that explores "the abyss that adult life is." "Getting Into the Set" and "The Wallet" go straight to the heart of suburban "dread," the first gently mocking the efforts of a young wife to join her town's "in" crowd, and the second recording the self-created traumas of a retired commuter. While the less characteristic "One More Interview" succeeds as the strange confession of a prominent actor, the unusual Latin American setting of "The Ideal Village" doesn't work here at all. Work, or its absence in the life of an artist, provides the subject of "Learn a Trade," and cancer is the pretext for the religious perorations in "Made in Heaven." Both come together in "Poker Night," where a working-class stiff keeps his poker date, even though he's just found out he has cancer. Consistently shimmering prose can't relieve the deadening sameness of Updike's narratives, too many of which rely on easy ironies and predictable patterns of behavior.
Pub Date: May 1, 1987
ISBN: 0449912175
Page Count: 332
Publisher: Knopf
Review Posted Online: Oct. 6, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 15, 1987
The Brat Pack meets The Bacchae in this precious, way-too-long, and utterly unsuspenseful town-and-gown murder tale. A bunch of ever-so-mandarin college kids in a small Vermont school are the eager epigones of an aloof classics professor, and in their exclusivity and snobbishness and eagerness to please their teacher, they are moved to try to enact Dionysian frenzies in the woods. During the only one that actually comes off, a local farmer happens upon them—and they kill him. But the death isn't ruled a murder—and might never have been if one of the gang—a cadging sybarite named Bunny Corcoran—hadn't shown signs of cracking under the secret's weight. And so he too is dispatched. The narrator, a blank-slate Californian named Richard Pepen chronicles the coverup. But if you're thinking remorse-drama, conscience masque, or even semi-trashy who'll-break-first? page-turner, forget it: This is a straight gee-whiz, first-to-have-ever-noticed college novel—"Hampden College, as a body, was always strangely prone to hysteria. Whether from isolation, malice, or simple boredom, people there were far more credulous and excitable than educated people are generally thought to be, and this hermetic, overheated atmosphere made it a thriving black petri dish of melodrama and distortion." First-novelist Tartt goes muzzy when she has to describe human confrontations (the murder, or sex, or even the ping-ponging of fear), and is much more comfortable in transcribing aimless dorm-room paranoia or the TV shows that the malefactors anesthetize themselves with as fate ticks down. By telegraphing the murders, Tartt wants us to be continually horrified at these kids—while inviting us to semi-enjoy their manneristic fetishes and refined tastes. This ersatz-Fitzgerald mix of moralizing and mirror-looking (Jay McInerney shook and poured the shaker first) is very 80's—and in Tartt's strenuous version already seems dated, formulaic. Les Nerds du Mal—and about as deep (if not nearly as involving) as a TV movie.
Pub Date: Sept. 16, 1992
ISBN: 1400031702
Page Count: 592
Publisher: Knopf
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: July 1, 1992
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
SEEN & HEARD
A modern day fable, with modern implications in a deceiving simplicity, by the author of Dickens. Dali and Others (Reynal & Hitchcock, p. 138), whose critical brilliance is well adapted to this type of satire. This tells of the revolt on a farm, against humans, when the pigs take over the intellectual superiority, training the horses, cows, sheep, etc., into acknowledging their greatness. The first hints come with the reading out of a pig who instigated the building of a windmill, so that the electric power would be theirs, the idea taken over by Napoleon who becomes topman with no maybes about it. Napoleon trains the young puppies to be his guards, dickers with humans, gradually instigates a reign of terror, and breaks the final commandment against any animal walking on two legs. The old faithful followers find themselves no better off for food and work than they were when man ruled them, learn their final disgrace when they see Napoleon and Squealer carousing with their enemies... A basic statement of the evils of dictatorship in that it not only corrupts the leaders, but deadens the intelligence and awareness of those led so that tyranny is inevitable. Mr. Orwell's animals exist in their own right, with a narrative as individual as it is apt in political parody.
Pub Date: Aug. 26, 1946
ISBN: 0452277507
Page Count: 114
Publisher: Harcourt, Brace
Review Posted Online: Nov. 2, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 1, 1946
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