David Foster Wallace committed
this piece on the occasion of "Towards the End of Time" premiere for Observer in 1997.
I have read "Rabbit Redux" for my American lit. class in early two thousands, and "Rabbit, Run" a bit later (for pleasure). I enjoyed both very much, especially the latter. Updike's writing was somewhat of a revelation to me: I thought it the most "realistic" thing I've read. What it meant was that the voice of the protagonist might as well have been my own. Of course, it wasn't the only reason why I enjoyed the book: the language is impeccable, and though Harry sometimes does things that I find repulsive, I also found some hitherto unknown liberation in the sprawling lines of the novel. The dirty thoughts, the filthy deeds - for a middle-class middle-aged man - everything was represented with shocking honesty and, it seems to me now, though I may be misremembering things, acceptance. Or was it approval? This recognition of human imperfections was to me, at the time, almost a revelation, and as it is with revelations, I've failed to recognize it for what it was. At least I failed to see the narcissism, self-indulgence and focus on male sexuality that Wallace decries in his essay. The reason why I didn't see it that way was because I've recognized myself in Angstrom's (or Updike's) attitude - only I've never acted on it, having too much Chandler in me (and I don't mean the alcohol).
Those two may actually be much more alike than one might think at first; Marlowe's chivalry is arguably accompanied by contempt for women (or sex, which he seems to equate with them, or at least cannot think of women without thinking of sex - clearly showing his obsession and repressed libido). He readily admits it himself: "You can have a hangover from other things than alcohol. I had one from women. Women made me sick." Notice the alcohol analogy. If one remembers that Chandler was a heavy drinker, a clearly conflicted attitude towards women is implied here: he's as much drawn to them as repelled, so one could say perhaps that for Marlow a woman is not a virgin or a whore, but a virgin and a whore at the same time. In early books, starting with "The Big Sleep", the private detective's reactions to seduction attempts are strong, even violent. The most vivid example is the scene where he finds Carmen Sternwood naked in his bed: he throws her out and tears the bed to pieces - something that Williams (in
Raymond Chandler: a life) describes as an act of anger. When I first read the book, it appeared to me as an act of frustration. (That's the closure McCloud writes about in "Understanding Comics", only made possible with Chandler's exquisite style!)
It shouldn't come as a surprise, given the close, long and dependent relationship between Chandler and his mother, that his perception of women was one of admiration and reverence on one hand, and of disgust and contempt on the other. Woman is set on a pedestal, and it is not a sexual object, but the sexuality draws a man towards women nonetheless. In case of Marlowe, I think this internal conflict makes him an interesting character. However, with time I find it harder and harder to recommend his books to people - because of his attitude towards women and people of colour (regardless of it being to some point representative of his times).
Updike's character seems to be a sex-crazed narcissist who objectifies women. (But is it really so?) Neither of the writers appears to treat women as equal to men; they're merely accessories that allow to make a statement about the male protagonist. I haven't read enough Updike to say it about everything he wrote, but I'll trust Wallace on this one.
This brings back an old dilemma in the balance of form and content. I used to believe that form outweighs content without question. Now I'm not so sure. I still love brilliantly written books and songs with objectionable content. What I can't figure out is this: do I keep reading/listening, even though I believe the ideas presented in the otherwise excellent work are wrong? That is one of the reasons why I began to lean towards instrumental music at some point: I couldn't take the lyrics and their effect on me anymore.
So perhaps you already knew that about Updike, or maybe just felt it without verbalizing, but Wallace's opinion seems to agree with yours.
