The Music School Book

An Uneven Collection

John Updike at his best is hard to beat. The gem-like brilliance of his observatory powers dazzle me. His choice of words, the power of his phrasing all can leave me amazed. How could anyone write like that ? And at such a young age too. Certain stories in this collection from the 1960s took my breath away. "A Madman", about an encounter with an extremely eccentric Englishman on a first trip to Oxford not only captures the feel of Americans out of their culture, of English life, and the old ways of that university town, but also of all such encounters with persuasive crazies anywhere in the world. Unbelievably good. I loved the 1950s, small town feel of such stories as "The Indian" and "In Football Season", which will serve forever as memoirs of the atmosphere of even-now bygone times. The former, about Ipswich, Mass., close to home for me, resonates even more. "The Bulgarian Poetess" too struck a chord with me---the story of a love never taken up, a future glimpsed only through a door never entered. What a writer ! Yet I can't say that I liked all these stories unequivocally. Some of them seemed too much "insider" stuff, fit only for people who shared the same slice of classical knowledge that the writer carries. Others harped a little too dismally on the disappointments and futility of marriage, or the dubious pleasures of adultery---always, in Updike's view---the view of a reluctant puritan---a losing proposition which cannot really bring satisfaction to any party. Couples thrashing around in the sea of inevitability quickly become old hat; if they get nothing but pain out of it, why do they do it so often ? That may be his question too, but I don't think he answers sufficiently. Some of the stories seem to be rather self-indulgent, as if the author said, "You know, I can write a story about anything. Just name the most obscure topic or theme you can think of and I'll write you a story on it. Now watch this !" Cool, but will it have much meaning to others ? These are some of my criticisms. On the whole, though, this collection can provide both pleasure and interest. It is nearly fifty years old, but only few collections written since then can equal it.