I have just been informed by several people that John Updike is dead.
Words fail me right now. And I have been lurched over for the last few minutes. Updike meant a lot to me. As much as Westlake, McGoohan, and David Foster Wallace. And I hope that I can bring myself to articulate something in the next few hours.
In the meantime, I will just say that one of my favorite Segundo interviews was Show #50, in which I had the good fortune to interview the man. I will reveal more of the story behind that interview later, and offer more words when I have a clearer head. But this is a major blow to American letters. Rabbit and Bech are now truly dead.
Janet, drunk, drowning the daughter. Jeebus. For me, the most harrowing scene I’ve ever read.
Good godz!
Oh shit.
Or Rabbit dressed up as Uncle Sam for a 4th of July parade, the glue on the fake beard useless in his sweat, Rabbit popping nitro-glycerin tablets to keep from having a heart attack.
Interestingly, i just recently discovered John Updike… I haven’t fallen in love with all of his work yet, but i’m warming up to his candid writing style;
his passing is a sad loss indeed