Quote:
Originally Posted by Prestidigitweeze
I can suffer through a bit of sexist and even anti-Semitic sentiment (since I myself am the target of the latter) if I think the writing has enough redeeming qualities. John Hawkes has his style and tone, Pound, his stubborn craft, and Raymond Roussel, his impossible inventions. But in Updike's case, I always feel as if I'm peering through the urethra-like visor of a solipsistic golfer. He overwhelms you with the stench of the country-club-outfitted athletic supporter he's continually pointing at. "Fill it out nicely, don't I? Don't I? Christ, I feel virile (and yet I grow circumspect on public Sundays)."
David Foster Wallace certainly has his faults, but he's corpse-accurate on this particular subject.
You want civilized and mildly salacious without sacrificing wisdom or empathy? I'd say Madame Bovary's a start. Beyond that, I'd take The Blood Oranges and even Sexing the Cherry over anything by Updike. And besides that, Updike's writing makes Norman Mailer look humble. |
I disagree with you totally, but I like the way you write.
Don