Stack of Spines

I doubt I would have ever picked up Rabbit, Run on my own but it was selected for my local July book club.  What I love about book clubs so much is the curious mix of discussion, genres, authors, and personalities (both real and fictionalized).

Generally speaking, I have trouble relating to characters when they act rashly or are pompous and unpredictable.  Namely, Edward Cullen.

Updike is said to have written Rabbit, Run as a response to Jack Kerouac’s On the Road to show “What happens when an American family man goes on the road — the people behind get hurt.”  That notion is true in a sense that the novel does discuss the repercussions of vanilla middle-class late 1950s married life.  But it doesn’t take into account Rabbit’s ownership of his actions, nor is there much attempt to explain why the events unfold as they do.  Too often, I felt like life was happening to Rabbit instead of Rabbit happening to life, which is what I believe Updike intended.

That said, some of the passages were absolutely beautiful, and very telling when you consider the time period.  The interactions between Rabbit and his basketball coach really spoke to a fundamental issue — going from somebody to nobody and wanting to be somebody again.

A boy who has had his heart enlarged by an aspiring coach…can never become, in the deepest sense, a failure in the greater game of life.

I would argue that one can certainly feel like one.

Rabbit repeatedly doesn’t understand his sense of entitlement and frequently uses his perceived power — which morphs into real power because the illusion is there — to attempt to bend control in his favor over the women in his life.  They are meek and mild and vulnerable, except outwardly so, a contrast to Rabbit’s insecurities kept hidden.  Still, he is challenged.

“You’re so smug is what gets me.  Don’t you ever think you’re going to have to play a price?”

She looks at him now, squarely with eyes bloodshot from being in the water.  She shades them with her hand.  These aren’t the eyes he met that night by the parking meters, flat pale discs like a dog might have.  The blue of her irises has deepened inward and darkened with a richness that, singing the truth to his instincts, disturbs him.

Rabbit, Run is as rich as it is understated, and disappointing as it is enlightening.