A family member texted me this morning and asked if I was “going to write something about Updike today?”  I wrote back, asking if it was his birthday, and while waiting for her answer, Googled “Updike.”

John Hoyer Updike  (March 18, 1932 – January 27, 2009)

Oh. Thud.

I’m slowly making my way through Higher Gossip: Essays and Criticism. Slowly, because in the back of my mind I know that once I finish the book then…what?  It’s tough to lose a favorite writer, to know the addiction (but not the love) must come to an end. There’ll be more books;  the second volume of his collected short stories must surely be in the pipeline. And there’s a biography reportedly in the works – that’ll help.

With someone like Updike, who published so much, it might seem selfish for a reader to want more, but still, it’s difficult to accept that he’s not typing away at his desk in Massachusetts at this very moment.

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