Disappointing Modern Classic

I felt I couldn't call myself an avid reader without Updike on my shelf. So I began -- and may very well end -- with the first installment of his famous Rabbit series, Rabbit, Run.

Back in the late 1950s, it may have been worth reading for the racy sex scenes and naughty language. But by today's standards, it's about PG-13. So one would assume that great writing, rich characters, and a compelling plot must account for its enduring reputation. Well, this reader was terribly disappointed.

Harry "Rabbit" Angstrom is a thorough and unredeemed jackass, self-centered, uncaring, and misogynistic to the bone. But what troubles me more is that Updike doesn't convince me that Harry is also charming, irresistible and forgivable -- the way the other characters inexplicably perceive him. The Harry on page 308 is the same bum I didn't like on page 4, and his story doesn't offer me much insight into the human condition. OK, suburban Pennsylvania in the 50s was boring. OK, a 9-to-5 job selling time-saving kitchen tools ain't as glamorous as starring on the high school basketball team. So it's no surprise that he runs, as the title tells you he will.

Twenty-four hours after his flight, he shacks up with a prostitute and decides almost immediately that he loves her. Sure, Harry. "Love," as he describes it, is similar to owning a car. Updike offers next to nothing to justify why his wife, his new lover, his old basketball coach and the others put up with him at all. But the bland malaise of Harry's story drags on for a few hundred pages, wearing us down until the real tragedy strikes. Such a horrible tragedy, in fact, that it momentarily wakes Harry from his daydreams of self-love and girls in tight shorts. It returns him to his wife, his toddler son, his family and his senses. (The book, finally, is captivating to read!) The tragedy puts within easy grasp the redemption -- the underlying meaning -- Harry and we readers are aching for. And guess what he does?

He runs.