Wednesday, January 28, 2009
About twenty-five years ago, I think, I wrote John Updike's obituary for The Times. Nothing of it remains. I never met him, I always assumed I would. Now it's too late and Updike has become his work. He was once a pupil of Vladimir Nabokov. He later said of Nabokov, approximately, 'He writes prose the only way it should be written, ecstatically.' This is true of Nabokov, true of Updike and true of writing prose. Prose should be ecstasy because existence is. Surprisingly often.
Posted by Bryan Appleyard at 6:20 am