This facility has also been held against him. Updike, he said, was an American Shakespeare he could write about anybody and anything in any genre. A bias toward contrarianism-or perhaps metacontrarianism-makes me skeptical of the cool-kid consensus against the prodigious man of letters that has extended at least from David Foster Wallace’s overcompensatory try-hard male-feminist routine to Jessa Crispin’s exasperated middle-school “ugh.”Ī decade ago, a distant acquaintance urged me, over the noise of a crowded bar in Central Pennsylvania, to read Updike after I had unthinkingly repeated the cool-kid cliches. I will confess to wanting to like John Updike.
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