![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhltI2GQSwiCoIK1oBVAZYproYOtL3BeDD1muKnlBrPCPUfxCJ8AfDO09AQdrvg5Cny30qef0RKwMHG5Oy7Nfb0tPMuNspAXQqJm2JWcMMPEKDk-PtbgDtMsOrTKGZQ3b-5wR98fA/s400/updike460.jpg)
Sad news. Poet and prose writer
John Updike has died. Updike's was the epitome of a suave, suburban, East Coast style, cannily sexual and alert to the mores and foibles of a post-war period of boom and lust. The attention to detail in his writing was often half the fun. The poems, while often slight and merely clever, were of their age, and will likely be studied with renewed attention now. His work, it seems, may have been eclipsed in seeming importance this last decade, as his peer,
Roth, emerged as a writer of greater range and output, but Updike was still a major figure to many, a man of letters who, had he lived, would always have been a potential winner of the Nobel.
Comments