Rabbit, Run by John Updike (novel #242)

There is this quality, in things, of the right way seeming wrong at first. ~ Harry (Rabbit) Angstrom

Rabbit, Run is the first of five in Updike’s “Rabbit” series, which follows the life of Harry (Rabbit) Angstrom. Rabbit has been described as the “middle-class everyman,” presumably of the
American 1950s.

 

Ugh…I hope not. I would borrow from another commentator, different author, different character. For me, Rabbit is “one of the most feckless characters in literature.

 

But before I comment further on this novel, I want to mention that in addition to being a Pulitzer-winning novelist, Updike was a distinguished literary critic. The following are his personal rules for literary criticism:

• Try to understand what the author wished to do, and do not blame him for not achieving what he did not attempt.
• Give enough direct quotation—at least one extended passage—of the book's prose so the review's reader can form his own impression, can get his own taste.
• Confirm your description of the book with quotation from the book, if only phrase-long, rather than proceeding by fuzzy précis.
• Go easy on plot summary, and do not give away the ending.
• If the book is judged deficient, cite a successful example along the same lines, from the author's œuvre or elsewhere. Try to understand the failure. Sure it's his and not yours?

I like these rules. They are fair and systematic. So, in deference to the author and the critic, I will attempt to review Rabbit, Run according to Updike’s rules.

 

Harry Angstrom, or Rabbit, a nickname picked up in childhood for a nervous flutter under his nose, is a married father of one, plus one on the way. He has an uninspiring job, demonstrating and selling kitchen gadgets. Rabbit was a big basketball star in high school and daydreams about his not-so-long-ago heroics. He reminds me of the characters from Springsteen’s Glory Days. His wife, is simple, alcoholic, and seven months pregnant.

 

So, I get the “everyman” designation. He has a deep sense of dissatisfaction; how could he not, following the world-saving exploits of the Greatest Generation, selling vegetable peelers, must have felt maddeningly impotent.

 

One evening, after work and getting his honey-do list from Janice…

Rabbit freezes, standing looking at his faint yellow shadow on the white door that leads to the hall, and senses he is in a trap. It seems certain. He goes out.

Meaning he runs. He intends to make it to the Gulf of Mexico and sleep on the sand, but he doesn’t have a map or much of a plan. He stops to ask directions, though Rabbit cannot say precisely where he is headed. He doesn’t get any helpful advice and prepares to leave…

[Rabbit] walks to his car door. He feels through the hairs on the back of his neck the man following him. He gets into the car and slams the door and the farmer is right there, the meat of his face hung in the open door window. He bends down and nearly sticks his face in. His cracked thin lips with a scar tilting toward his nose move thoughtfully. He’s wearing glasses, a scholar. “The only way to get somewhere, you know is to figure out where you’re going before you go there.”

 

Rabbit catches a whiff of whisky. He says in a level way, “I don’t think so.” The lips and spectacles and black hairs poking out of the man’s tear-shaped nostrils show no surprise. Rabbit pulls out, going straight. Everybody who tells you how to act has whisky on their breath.

I’m not very good at determining an author’s intent, and I’m not sure that Updike ever called Rabbit “every-man.” However, it does seem that he is trying to explain a dreadful ennui pervasive in mid-century American men. Did he achieve this? Powerfully, but I’m unconvinced that Rabbit was “every-man.” Most did not drive away, leaving wife and family.

 

I didn’t like Updike’s style of prose at first. There is never a break, never a pause. He doesn’t have chapters and only one or two blank passage of time sections. There might be a name for this, but I don’t know it. I’m certain this is not right, but it was almost like stream of consciousness by the omniscient narrator. I did grow more accustomed to his style, and I think it worked. It may have been intentional to show that life never lets up, leaving Rabbit feeling trapped.

 

I know this…I didn’t like Rabbit. I couldn’t even feel sorry for him most of the time. I just wanted to say, “Dude!?” An unlikeable character does not mean bad storytelling, but maybe Updike intended Rabbit to be at least a little likable. In that regard, for me, he failed. While reading this, I often thought of the eponymous character from Saul Bellow’s The Adventures of Augie March. Augie was immature and his own worst enemy, yet somehow, I liked him. He says of himself…

Lord, what a runner after good things, servant of love, embarker on schemes, recruit of sublime ideas, and good time Charlie.

Now that I’m done, I think I’ve written a fine review. Updike was a clever fellow.

 

My rating:  3 1/2 out of 5 stars

 

 

This novel was my read for the Classics Club Spin #40

 

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Surely You’re Joking Mr. Feynman by Richard P. Feynman

I have to understand the world you see. ~ Richard Feynman

Richard P. Feynman was a Nobel Prize-winning American theoretical physicist. Surely You’re Joking Mr. Feynman might be described as an autobiography, but I believe it is more of a memoir. In the introduction, another scientist, Albert R. Hibbs, describes Feynman as having…

Indignant impatience with pretension and hypocrisy…

Indeed. He was a fascinating man, so much more than a physicist, and so unintimidated in pursuit of unlocking the secrets of the universe.

 

The title is taken from an early Princeton experience: He was invited to a formal social event. When asked if he wanted cream or lemon in his tea, being unfamiliar with tea protocol, he said he’d take both. The hostess laughingly replied…

Surely you’re joking Mr. Feynman!

After his student days, he describes his work on the Manhattan Project, where he associated with some of the great scientific minds of the 20th century. He asserts that he was not very distinguished yet, but he did make some substantial contributions. He was a constant challenge to the censors, who reviewed incoming and outgoing mail. The censors thought he was sending unauthorized coded messages to his wife, that were completely innocent, so to confound the censors, he developed code to hide his everyday communication with her that would not arouse suspicion. He also became a safecracker. This to access data and research if the proper custodian was out of office. Also, he just loved the challenge.

I love puzzles. One guy tries to make something to keep another guy out; there must be a way to beat it!

I was in the military and later a defense civilian. I worked with contractor scientists and classified information. I can appreciate that Feynman must have driven the government bureaucrats crazy.

 

He never faced a puzzle he couldn’t solve and never let his lack of knowledge deter him. When planning a trip to Brazil, he simply decided to learn Portuguese. While in Brazil, a trip to Japan became necessary, so he learned Japanese from a Brazilian woman. He also liked Samba music and learned to play the samba drums well enough to be part of several bands in Brazil.

 

At another point in his eclectic life, he befriended an artist. When they discovered some communication barriers due to their different fields, they traded art lessons for physics lessons. Feynman became an artist of some distinction under the pseudonym Ofey. Of his art career, he said…

It’s fun to be in a different world!

These, and many other stories, demonstrate what I found to be his most impressive quality. If he didn’t understand something – he’d learn it.

 

While contemplating physics problems, he would walk outside his city home. His odd behavior drew the attention of the police.

On earlier occasions I was often stopped by the police, because I would be walking along, thinking, and then I’d stop – sometimes an idea comes that’s difficult enough that you can’t keep walking: you have to make sure of something. So I’d stop, and sometimes I’d hold my hands out in the air, saying to myself, “The distance between these is that way, and then this would turn over this way…”

 

I’d be moving my hands, standing in the street, when the police would come: “what is your name? Where do you live? What are you doing?

They eventually got used to him.

 

He tells how he wanted the experience of having a hallucination.

I had once thought to take drugs, but I got kind of scared of that. I love to think, and I don’t want to screw with the machine.

He opted for a clinical sensory deprivation lab, which produced his desired experience.

 

And the final chapter: "Cargo Cult Science", I nearly stood and cheered. Published in 1985, it is as relevant today as ever. He exposes lazy, faulty, invalid studies, falsely called science, that do not tolerate scrutiny. I cannot do it justice here.

The first principle is that you must not fool yourself.

He opines that scientists must have

…extra type of integrity that is not lying, but bending over backwards to show how you’re maybe wrong, that you ought to have when acting as a scientist.

And also…

It is very dangerous to have such a policy in teaching – to teach students only how to get certain results, rather than how to do an experiment with scientific integrity.

This book was a departure from my usual reading. It was a gift from a colleague upon my retirement. I thoroughly enjoyed it. What a remarkable man.

 

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