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Zusatztext “No living American novelist can match Updike in the range and responsiveness of his reading. . . . [Literature is] a house with many mansions, and in Hugging the Shore Updike gives a splendid, striding tour.”—James Wolcott, Harper’s “These reviews are models of craft—and something more. . . . Hugging the Shore bristles with erudition, energy, and (quietly asserted) high seriousness; it is also one of the year’s most entertaining books.”—Bruce Allen, The Christian Science Monitor “[Updike’s is] a body of literary criticism unmatched in range, discrimination and eloquence by any American novelist since Henry James.”— The Boston Globe Informationen zum Autor John Updike Klappentext WINNER OF THE NATIONAL BOOK CRITICS CIRCLE AWARD "Writing criticism is to writing fiction and poetry as hugging the shore is to sailing in the open sea!" writes John Updike in his Foreword to this collection of literary considerations. But the sailor doth protest too much: This collection begins somewhere near deep water! with a flotilla of short fiction! humor pieces! and personal essays! and even the least of the reviews here-those that "come about and draw even closer to the land with another nine-point quotation"-are distinguished by a novelist's style! insight! and accuracy! not just surface sparkle. Indeed! as James Atlas commented! the most substantial critical articles! on Melville! Hawthorne! and Whitman! go out as far as Updike's fiction: They are "the sort of ambitious scholarly reappraisal not seen in this country since the death of Edmund Wilson." With Hugging the Shore! Michiko Kakutani wrote! Updike established himself "as a major and enduring critical voice; indeed! as the pre-eminent critic of his generation." Leseprobe INTERVIEWS WITH INSUFFICIENTLY FAMOUS AMERICANS The Pal THE PAL IS PALE, like water. He is everywhere, in different forms. On the golf course, he is present as a swing and a slice, then a swing and a hook. Or as the rattle of the ball into the cup, unexpectedly, from far away. He is a good putter, the pal. At poker, he is inscrutable. He is a face above cards one cannot see. He raises the bet. What does this mean? Is he going high or low? If he loses, he will borrow money from one. If he wins, he will keep it. When he shows his cards, he has the cased King. Or he was bluffing and folds, scrambling his cards together in a quick exasperated little tent-shape, beside the tall golden cylinder of beer. He is most lovable then. Look at that pal ski! Swish, swish, down the chute, over the moguls, away! He is not easy to keep up with, but one wants to. One wants to for the camaraderie of the ski lodge, his pale face ruddy above the steaming coffee mug. Or the camaraderie of the long drive home, in the chain of headlights, his eyes blinking, his head nodding, with sleepiness. A sleepy pal is a dear pal. Even were he to nod off and drive head-on into a trailer rig, it would be a good way to go, there would be no grudge. At tennis is he less benign. He slashes, he wheels, he whaps an easy overhead into the net. “Come up to the net,” he insists. Fuck you, one thinks. Still, the parallel patter of sneakers on the clay is pretty, though the opponents lob over our heads, and we lose the set. At parties, one never talks to the pal. In this he is like a mistress. He observes and he sulks. He dances only the slow dances, often with one’s wife. That, too, is a mode of palship. That, and calling one’s children “Butch,” no matter what their names. Interviewers find him elusive, almost rude. Q: Could you in a word or two describe the gratifications of being—how shall we put it?—a pal? A: Meagre. Few. Q: Would you advise young men, freshly graduated from college and as yet undecided about their careers, to follow in your footst...
