The end of Eastwick

And so John Updike went uptown to that big ink well in the sky. Ordinarily I wouldn’t have noticed, seeing as I have actually only read one of his books, and it was only because it was a sequel to a rather fantastic little film called The Witches Of Eastwick which was based on his book of the same name. I read the sequel The Widows of Eastwick and thought, but this book is dry. Then it got to the part where the witches return to Eastwick... momentarily I thought great a show down is lurking around here somewhere, then... nothing. I was like but this book is grumpy, it’s groaning, it’s irritable, it’s tired, it just wants to get to the end. Oh yes there were occasional flashes of brilliance, and the damn thing is incredibly well written, but dude! “Bring out the defibrillator and let’s jolt his thing into action!” is what I was thinking most of the way through the book.

When I wrote the review I actually made reference to a eulogy! In my notes I had gone as far as to say it was a rant, a last ditch effort to get out some personal views about places and spaces. Jeeze, didn’t I feel a right shit when the day the paper hit the street Updike popped his clogs. It’s a minor shame for me, even though it was just coincidental. I write this piece as a coincidental apology of sorts. I did mention that he bagged a Pulitzer, so I wasn’t all that bad.