Rabbit is Rich

Rabbit is Rich by John Updike

“That’s why we love disaster…it puts us back in touch with guilt and sends us crawling back to God.”

Although it has this thought crossing Harry ‘Rabbit’ Angstrom’s mind, the third novel in the saga doesn’t really deal in disaster. Rabbit, Run and Rabbit Redux both built toward cataclysms that will forever haunt the characters – but in Rabbit is Rich, John Updike spares them anything of the sort. Perhaps he is aware that another cruel twist of fate would seem ridiculously far-fetched. Perhaps he also thinks they deserve this providence.

Rabbit is certainly grateful, now 46 and running what was once his father-in-law’s Toyota dealership. Advancing age and disposable income have made him less jittery, and more smug. Where he once sought to explode the family unit, now he wants to sustain and control it. He’s all about securing his wealth, ingratiating himself with some new country club pals, and bossing around his errant, surly son Nelson (now of college age).

After the tacked-on late 60s backdrop in Rabbit Redux, the action of Rabbit is Rich is much more tightly wound around its setting, with constant reference to the 1979 Oil Shock. Fretting over too much money in the bank, Rabbit first invests in South African gold coins, then swaps it all for antique silver dollars. It’s a slight return to those youthful jitters and a plot thread that allows for some bizarre comic set pieces. Another echo of the dithering twenty-something Rabbit is his theory that he may have a grown-up daughter, conceived amongst the inglorious events of Rabbit, Run. His nagging desire to find out for sure stems from that book’s great disaster, the loss of his second child.

If we warm to Rabbit at all, it’s perhaps only because he’s more respectful toward his wife Janice than in previous books, and just marginally less obnoxious than the company he keeps. His new status has only emboldened an ugly conservatism that was always there in him. Readers are liable to snort when he berates his son, “How did you get so prejudiced? Not from me.” Updike wrote in a 1995 introduction to the tetralogy, “Readers who expect novelists to reward and punish and satirise their characters from a superior standpoint will be disappointed.” Yet again, he pushes Rabbit quite far – the unpalatable inner monologues still spill forth without a hint of authorial opprobrium. I admire that, but it’s easy to see why these novels are not especially fashionable in 2021.

400+ pages in the company of the Angstroms is kind of exhausting, but it’s hard to say what Updike could have cut. Late on in this indulgent opus, Rabbit stares up at a Caribbean night sky and waits a while for a shooting star, until ‘there it is…vivid and brief as a scratched match, a falling star, doused in the ocean of ink’. That’s something like the feeling of reading Updike – he’ll test your patience, but he is sure to dazzle or surprise you sooner or later.

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