Becca Jane Approximately
When your mother sends back your invitations
And your father to your sister he explains
That you're tired of yourself and all your creations
Won't you come and see me, Queen Jane?
John Updike Week!
Recently, in light of my unemployment and subsequent loss of sanity, I have been quite project-oriented, and as I’m trying to get some writing done with my copious free time, this week shall be devoted to The Pre- and Post-Modern Updikeans, what I think of as the I-95 Literary Tradition. You will see what I mean further along in the Week of Updike.
First entry: John Cheever, the keeper of the WASP flame. In particular, the elegiac final paragraph of “Goodbye, My Brother”
Oh, what can you do with a man like that? What can you do? How can you dissuade his eye in a crowd from seeking out the cheek with acne, the infirm hand: how can you teach him to respond to the inestimable greatness of the race, the harsh surface beauty of life; how can you put his finger for him on the obdurate truths before which fear and horror are powerless? The sea that morning was iridescent and dark. My wife and my sister were swimming—Diana and Helen—and I saw their uncovered heads, black and gold in the dark water. I saw them come out and I saw that they were naked, unshy, beautiful, and full of grace, and I watched the naked women walk out of the sea.
Like a voice in prayer, isn’t it?
