That's a line from The Witches of Eastwick, one of my favorites, which I'm currently reading for the fourth time. I had the thought just yesterday about taking on the complete John Updike, much like I did with Don DeLillo last year (I chronicled some of this on the blog, as you'll recall the early stuff is tough to get through).
And today comes the news that we've lost Updike, one of our best writers. That his passing comes at a time when he was at the forefront of my mind strikes me as quite a bit odd. Perhaps it suggests that I'm mildly prescient.
Given the news, I think it's only fitting to take on the Updike canon. I've got less than 100 pages in Eastwick to conquer, and I've got a paperback of Couples that I can tackle after that. What should be next? When should I attack the quartet of Rabbit novels?
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