Rabbit, Run

I had no idea when reading John Updike's Rabbit Run that it was the first in a series of novels chronicling the life of Harry 'Rabbit' Angstrom. I do hope his life gets a little more cheerful in subsequent books.

The novel commences when Rabbit, feeling trapped in his failing marriage to an alcoholic wife, gets in his car and drives... and carries on driving, all through the night, trying to get as far away from it all as he possibly can. I reckon we've all felt like doing that at one point or other in our life, making this opening section the most effective part of the book - indeed, I'd have much preferred it if Rabbit just kept on driving... but that's not the story Updike wanted to tell.

Instead, Rabbit bottles it and returns to his home city - if not his actual home, taking up with Ruth, a young woman who takes money for sex in the same way Holly Golightly may have done. They say every generation believes they're the ones who invented sex, so Updike's graphic description of Rabbit and Ruth's relationship may prove quite eye-opening... and must surely have been considered shocking in its day.

Eventually a young minister called Jack Eccles attempts to get Rabbit and his now-pregnant wife back together, but tragedy... on an epic Greek scale... is destined to follow.

Updike's writing reminds me of Arthur Miller, and not just because it's set in a similar era. Harry Angstrom is a tragically flawed character, and when you hear him explain just why he ran, it's hard not to think of Willy Loman in Death of a Salesman...

"I once did something right. I played first-rate baseball. I really did. And after you're first-rate at something, no matter what, it kind of takes the kick out of being second-rate. And that little thing Janice and I had going, it was really second-rate."

The latter half of Harry's story proved a little heavy going, but I did enjoy the opening section which grants us a fascinating window-on-the-world road trip through 50s America, and goes to show those critics who complain "topical references only date a novel" just how evocative such detail can be. My favourite passage from the novel could easily have been written by Bret Easton Ellis's grandad...


It takes him a half hour to pick his way through Lancaster. On 222 he drives through Refton, Hessdale, New Providence and Quarryville, through Mechanics Grove and Unicorn and then a long stretch so dull and unmarked he doesn't know he's entered Maryland until he hits Oakwood. On the radio he hears "No Other Arms, No Other Lips," "Stagger Lee," a commercial for Rayco Clear Plastic Seat Covers, "If I Didn't Care" by Connie Francis, a commercial for Radio-Controlled Garage Door Operators, "I Ran All The Way Home Just To Say I'm Sorry," "That Old Feeling" by Mel Torme, a commercial for a Big Screen Westinghouse TV Set with One-Finger Automatic Tuning, "needle-sharp pictures a nose away from the screen," "The Italian Cowboy Song," "Yep" by Duane Eddy, a commercial for Papermate Pens, "Almost Grown," a commercial for Tame Cream Rinse, "Let's Stroll," news (President Eisenhower and Prime Minister Harold Macmillan begin a series of talks in Gettysburgh, Tibetans battle Chinese Communists in Lhasa, the whereabouts of the Dalai Lama, spiritual ruler of this remote and backward land, are unknown, a $250,000 trust fund has been left to a Park Avenue maid, Spring scheduled to arrive tomorrow), sports news (Yanks over Braves in Miami, somebody tied with somebody in St. Petersburg Open, scores in a local basketball tournament), weather (fair and seasonably warm), "The Happy Organ," "Turn Me Loose," a commercial for Schuylkill Life Insurance, "Rocksville, P-A," (Rabbit loves it), "A Picture No Artist Could Paint," a commercial for New Formula Barbasol Presto-Lather, whose daily cleansing action tends to prevent skin blemishes and emulsifies something, "Pink Shoe Laces" by Dody Stevens, a word about a little boy called Billy Tessman who was hit by a car and would appreciate cards or letters, "Petit Fleur," "Fungo," (great), a commercial for Wool-Tex All-Wool Suits, "Fall Out" by Henry Mancini, "Everybody Likes To Do The Cha Cha Cha," a commercial for Lord's Grace Table Napkins and the gorgeous Last Supper Tablecloth, "The Beat Of My Heart," a commercial for Speed-Shine Wax and Lanolin Clay, "Venus," and then the same news again. Where is the Dalai Lama?

Death Of A Salesman

Considering all the years I've spent in this terrible, terrible occupation, it should come as little surprise to anyone that one of my favourite plays is Arthur Miller's Death Of A Salesman. If he'd ever written a sequel - say Torture & Mutilation Of A Salesman, I'd have been its biggest fan. But the truth is I loved DOAS long before I began swimming with sharks. It's one of those plays they get you to study in High School, and rightly so. In many ways it's a cautionary tale about the danger of ambition, and about pursuing a career based solely around the acquisition of wealth and material possessions when, obviously, true happiness lies elsewhere. Willie Loman isn't a likeable hero, but he is a hugely sympathetic one - especially as portrayed by the superb Philip Jackson in the recent production at the West Yorkshire Playhouse.

It's a good few years since I last saw Death Of A Salesman, but this time it really kicked me in the balls. Perhaps it's the sort of play that hurts more as you get older, or perhaps this was just a really powerful production. Willy Loman is a man whose whole life is built around the self-delusion that he is popular, that he is successful, that he is "well-liked"... when in truth he's a man long past his prime, if he ever really had one. How long can such a man continue to fool his family, his friends - even (especially) himself? It makes you question your own sense of self. I never consider myself particularly "well-liked", I certainly never consider myself any kind of success... but there are many other ways in which we fool ourselves about our worth in this world, or how others see us.

I cried at the end of this performance, but was I crying for Willie Loman... or all of us?