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Encountering Yourself in Fiction
May. 26th, 2010 11:24 amThe Widows of Eastwick, 164 pages in, is a disappointment. Is this all, Updike? Three half-wrought widows returning to the scene of their crimes? The three widows, Alexandra, Sukie and Jane are all strong characters, but they come off as though Updike holds them back: There are opinions there, thoughts, things we never see.
I see from Amazon reviews that his prose is beloved. I disagree. There is so much needless description. Two characters go to Egypt: two pages of description of the weather, the sand, the pyramids and the camels. Served to me by a bland narrator. A bit of dialogue, and more description. In the same style. Description is fine if it is innovative, central to some point, in free indirect style or otherwise interesting. This is simple recounting of scenery. Updike, I do not need the streets of Eastwick mapped out in prose. A map will suffice if you think we need to know the minutia of sidewalks.
The entire thing is narrated by an unspecified third person, so unspecified he has no personality. Why not let Alexandra narrate? (The main character shares my name. It is quite eerie reading.) She is certainly opinionated enough to be interesting, but Updike's narrator is flavourless. He emulates an all-seeing film camera: the scenery painted in the back, the dialogue referred in painful detail. I don't want to be told that the trees are blooming: I want to read Alexandra's thoughts about how beautiful the trees are when they bloom. 'Sukie, look! The tree I left Joe in. Remember? I don't think they bloomed then, but they sure are beautiful. All pink and lovely.' Not two pages of stage direction.
Well, if nothing else, literature studies has forced me to articulate my tastes. I can now pinpoint why, exactly, Updike does not woo me. I'm not giving up on him, the Rabbit novels are reputedly powerful. Not that this is as awful as I'm making it out: it's an easily read, perfectly good book. It's just not what I expected from Updike. Unremarkable, but decent.
I see from Amazon reviews that his prose is beloved. I disagree. There is so much needless description. Two characters go to Egypt: two pages of description of the weather, the sand, the pyramids and the camels. Served to me by a bland narrator. A bit of dialogue, and more description. In the same style. Description is fine if it is innovative, central to some point, in free indirect style or otherwise interesting. This is simple recounting of scenery. Updike, I do not need the streets of Eastwick mapped out in prose. A map will suffice if you think we need to know the minutia of sidewalks.
The entire thing is narrated by an unspecified third person, so unspecified he has no personality. Why not let Alexandra narrate? (The main character shares my name. It is quite eerie reading.) She is certainly opinionated enough to be interesting, but Updike's narrator is flavourless. He emulates an all-seeing film camera: the scenery painted in the back, the dialogue referred in painful detail. I don't want to be told that the trees are blooming: I want to read Alexandra's thoughts about how beautiful the trees are when they bloom. 'Sukie, look! The tree I left Joe in. Remember? I don't think they bloomed then, but they sure are beautiful. All pink and lovely.' Not two pages of stage direction.
Well, if nothing else, literature studies has forced me to articulate my tastes. I can now pinpoint why, exactly, Updike does not woo me. I'm not giving up on him, the Rabbit novels are reputedly powerful. Not that this is as awful as I'm making it out: it's an easily read, perfectly good book. It's just not what I expected from Updike. Unremarkable, but decent.
