Indeed, it could also be the review, but I’d find that deeply unsatisfying (and, oh dear, there is nothing worse in this life, according to the white, male, middle-aged, mid-twentieth-century American writer than feeling unsatisfied) because this book deserves so much more. Harry “Rabbit” Angstrom thinks about sex.

So rather than waste more of my time on it by writing another review, here’s my 44% rant… Sadly it continued to disgust me all the way through, and I found nothing to change my opinion. But then I decided in a fit of masochism that I must finish it.

I nearly abandoned the book at 44%, even going so far as to write my “review”. I hated Harry, but not as much as I grew to hate Updike. So Harry leaves her, driving off (in her car) to escape his humdrum existence and taking up with another woman, leaving Janice pregnant, with a toddler, no money and no transport. It’s rather annoying of Janice, therefore, to actually have needs of her own, and being heavily pregnant is surely no excuse for her asserting her unreasonable demands like which show she’d like to watch on TV. He’s not too bothered about who with or even whether the other party is willing, because after all he realises that women exist simply to service men’s sexual needs. I’m not sure Harry realises that sex and pregnancy are linked – he’s not very bright. After trapping him into marriage at 23, Janice has now had the temerity to get pregnant for a second time. Now he demonstrates kitchen gadgets in five and dime stores, and fights with Janice, his wife. Harry “Rabbit” Angstrom was once a local hero for his prowess in college basketball. A true mid-twentieth century American hero… 🤬

Run rabbit run novel