Customer Reviews

Bech is Back

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"Bech is Back," is the middle entry in a series of novellas in which John Updike exposes a bit of the personal- and professional-doings of the contemporary writer's life. It's light, and he's only willing to take us so far with what we guess must be re-worked anecdotes and foibles from his own experience. The writing is classic Updike, having the rich word choice, wonderful descriptive detail and unique observation we've come to expect -- along with the usual amount of sexual reference to keep the reader engaged, even when it all gets tedious. Like so many of Updike's other works, it concludes with a mixed bag of outcomes for his characters, and for the reader with thin skin, it comes off simply as a jaded unravelling of fortunes. Updike mixes the hilarious with his usual dose of cynical self-absorption, and the currency, sex and humor make for a good afternoon's entertainment.

First write a short story (all the time making sure it will be published in The New Yorker or Playboy); if it works, write another one, using the same character or characters; when you have written three or four of these, start thinking about grouping them together in book-form (remember: publish and republish your work as much as possible); then write a couple of cementing 'chapters' and offer it to the public as a novel. This is how John Updike has written (among other things) Bech is Back - his second book about a Jewish-American literary novelist prone to writer's block. The advantages of using the compositional method described above are clear: instead of that heavily programmatic, overdetermined, obsolete thing we call 'plot', one gets instead a sequence of snapshots, or a gallery of pictures. We get a book that has obviously evolved organically over time, pushing out roots into only the most fertile soil. We loose old-fashioned unity of design, but we do not miss it. This is writing like a cubist: the by turns judicious and whimsical assembling of fragments of truth, rather than the facile pursuit of an impossible illusion of coherent 'wholeness'. Not a word is wasted in this short, smart, clever, muscular punch of a book.

Oh God, more of this snotty New Yorker kind of humor. Grab some Perrier and chuckle at these Babbitlike witty amusements.