Rabbit, Run

Rabbit, Run, John Updike’s first novel about the now-infamous Harry “Rabbit” Angstrom, details the selfishness of its main protagonist, a man who lives in a world of “would have’s” and “could have’s” instead of acknowledging the surrounding circumstances of his life. First published in the 1960’s, Run, Rabbit takes an interesting look at an American Society that has freshly shed the burdens of world war and is concerned with rebuilding and revitalizing the culture. <br/> Set in Pennsylvanian suburbia, Rabbit is a salesman of a kitchen appliance known only as the MagiPeeler. However, Rabbit is far from content, and is deceived by his allusions of grandeur, somehow imagining that he deserves star treatment for his high school successes in basketball. <br/>    John Updike—who has been labeled as a misogynist by many critics—comes down hard on the female gender. Throughout Rabbit, Run , women are portrayed as weak and susceptible to the charms of the loathsome Rabbit. For women to succumb to such a detestable character only reaffirms how Updike views women: like blind sheep led to the slaughter. <br/>  Furthermore, Updike’s novel was positively riddled with errors. Whether this lapse in grammar ought to be attributed to the lazy publishing company or the poor observations of the author is unclear, but the fact remains that the book is practically unreadable. At first, I thought the author was simply going for a post-modern, rule-bending voice or tone, but as the mistakes began to pile up—and as I read reviews from my peers—I realized that the only word that could possibly define Updike’s voice is “unimaginative.” Between missed punctuation, an excessive use of pronouns, run-on sentences, awfully repetitive sentence structure, and  verb/tense agreement, Rabbit, Run is an absolutely ghastly attempt at the art of writing, in general. <br/>    The redeeming qualities of Rabbit, Run are twofold. First and foremost is John Updike’s ability to subject the reader to empathy. Although I disliked Rabbit from page one (and I practically hated him by the time I finished the novel,) it is impossible to deny the subtle ways in which Updike evokes an emotional response that surpasses pity. The same actions Rabbit engages in at the story’s end are prevalent at the exposition, but the reader doesn’t absolutely detest Rabbit as the story begins. One reason for this could simply be human nature—we sympathize with Rabbit because we want him to be good. Another reason might be that Updike shows us more and more of Rabbit’s personality as the story progresses, as if we’re truly getting to know the character as we would any other human being. Either way, though, by the time the final words rung out in my mind’s eye, I tossed the book from me in disgust.<br/>   The second quality that saves Rabbit, Run from being complete trash is the author’s use of unique metaphors. For example, when Updike is describing basketball—something that the reader understands Rabbit loves—he refers to the hoop as ”the high perfect hole with its pretty skirt of net.” This metaphor is particularly fitting because it coincides with the only other thing that Rabbit seems to love—loose women. This sexually charged metaphor lends a glance into Rabbit’s character as well as divining his emotional attachment to the sport of basketball. Because the metaphor juxtaposes his sexually charged tendencies and his love affair with basketball, the effect is doubly hard-hitting. <br/>   At the end of the day, Rabbit, Run tries to impart some measure of wisdom, but—instead—ends up leaving only halfway-relatable statements concerning the human condition (“Everybody who tells you how to act has whiskey on their breath,” “He wonders why there are so many signs coming back and so few going down.”) From cover to cover, Rabbit, Run was a disappointment of error-filled writing that left me bored and unchanged. <br/>