With the sad passing of John Updike last week, it will still be years before his true impact on the literary world will be realized. But that hasn’t stopped publications like the New York Times from trying to place Mr. Updike in proper perspective, like they did in this article:

Mr. Updike was also America’s last true man of letters, an all-purpose writer and a custodian of literary culture. He wrote more, and in more different genres — stories, novels, poems, essays, reviews, occasional journalism — than anyone since Henry James, and it’s hard to imagine how he can be replaced. Who has the energy, or the eyeballs, for that much reading?

And in the very next paragraph, Mr. Updike is shown as a man who lived outside of the literary culture he dominated so much of:

In many ways, though, Mr. Updike was an unlikely man of letters. He lived a quiet, burgherly life in a seaside Boston suburb and seldom went to literary parties. He dropped by New York now and then to visit museums and see relatives, but he never stayed long. He didn’t teach; he almost never gave blurbs; he belonged to no literary school or faction. His idea of a reward after a morning’s work was not lunch or drinks with other writers but a round of golf with his buddies.

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In the few short hours since the very sad news of John Updike’s death, the news has spread around the blogosphere like wildfire. I’m sure there will be a lot of attention given to Updike’s passing over the next few days, considering how prolific a writer he was.

I always find it interesting to read other blogger’s reactions to sad news like this. So I gathered up some related blog posts from my Google Reader page and decided to link to them here as a way of paying homage to John Updike:

John Updike, 1932 – 2009 (from Writing Fiction)

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I just happened to be surfing the net reading the daily news and I came across this sad story that John Updike has died! Here’s a quote from the story I read:

John Updike, the Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist, prolific man of letters and erudite chronicler of sex, divorce and other adventures in the postwar prime of the American empire, died Tuesday at age 76.

The news comes from this brief article on Fox News (yeah, I know). This is a sad day for the literary world, as Updike was a prolific writer. I read his Rabbit series when I first started studying literature in college and really enjoyed the books – maybe I’ll have to revisit them. The most recent Updike book I read was Terrorist. Not my favorite, but this isn’t the time or place for critiquing his work.

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Sometimes the irony in life is so funny, it’s almost sad. Here’s one for you: I’ve been reading across the internet (first read on this post) today that pirated copies of J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books were briefly up on Amazon’s website in digital format for the Kindle. The books have since been taken down. Here’s the ironic part: Rowling has been firmly against her books going digital, because she’s afraid of piracy.

As it turns out, each new Harry Potter book has been pirated into digital copies within hours of being released. That means that the younger generation the books appeal to (the same generation more open to using technology to consume books – more irony) are forced to turn to pirated copies of the ebooks when the author and publisher refuse to do it themselves.

A strong argument could be made that when no official ebook version of a novel is made available, it encourages piracy. I came across this post from the Dear Author blog that says:

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Today marks the 200th birthday of Edgar Allan Poe, a man who practically invented the modern mystery, horror and other genres. I grew up reading his twisted tales and The Raven was one of the first poems I really studied – giving me a greater appreciation for poetry.Yes, he’s had a profound influence on me as a writer and a reader. Here’s a brief snippet from the New York Times:

Edgar Allan Poe reaches his second century mark today. The young United States was a strange place for literary genius to develop, and Poe’s career was relatively short (he died at 40, on Oct. 7, 1849)…

Edgar Allan Poe at 200

Happy Birthday!

How old is too old in the world of literature? That’s the question posed in this article on the Guardian website by Robert McCrum. He is, of course, making reference to Diana Athill, whose memoir Somewhere Towards the End had won the Costa Prize. Athill is 91. McCrum makes this very blunt, and somewhat ambiguous statement:

Old people, in general, don’t have literary careers.

Then he goes on to list a number of exceptions to that unwritten rule. Like Daniel DeFoe, who at 59 published Robinson Crusoe, his first novel. And others like William Golding and Graham Greene who went on to publish into old age.

Let’s face it, most literary stars, past and present, are fairly young when they reach the pinnacle of success. Maybe that’s because younger writers bring a new and fresh perspective to their work. Or Maybe it’s because publishers are biased against old writers. Maybe we’re just looking at anecdotal evidence to justify any type of ageism in the literary world. I don’t know.

But near the end of McCrum’s article, he makes an interesting observation:

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Another story dubbed as a memoir has been revealed to be false. But this time, the story itself has been around for a while, since the Holocaust to be exact. The story is the love between Herman and Roma Rosenblat, who claimed to have met while Herman was in a Nazi concentration camp:

Oprah Winfrey once dubbed it the "greatest love story" she had ever heard: a boy held at a Nazi concentration camp during World War II and a girl on the outside who tossed him apples to keep him alive. They eventually married and grew old together.

According to this article from CNN.com, Mr. Rosenblat confessed this past weekend that the story was made up. A book deal that had been in the works was immediately canceled:

Berkley Books immediately canceled publication of Rosenblat’s memoir, "Angel at the Fence," which was set to be released in February.

"Berkley will demand that the author and the agent return all money that they have received for this work," Berkley spokesman Craig Burke said in a statement.

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Nobel Prize winning playwright Harold Pinter,78, died yesterday (December 24) according to this article on CNN’s website:

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I talk a lot about the benefits and virtues of ebooks and other digital media on this blog, almost to the point of obsession. However, too often I fail to mention that I still love good old fashion print books. It doesn’t matter if it’s a mass market paperback, or a newly released hardcover, or even a trade paperback – they all offer the promise of an entertaining story and maybe the chance to learn something.

There is something else that print books offer, that if you read the New York Times Books Section today, you probably will know what I’m talking about: The things left in books. I came across this interesting essay about various objects found in books, usually by workers at used book stores:

I speak of any of those bizarre objects — scissors, a used Q-tip, a bullet, a baby’s tooth, drugs, pornography and 40 $1,000 bills — that have been discovered by the employees of secondhand bookstores, according to The Wall Street Journal and Abebooks.com. Mystery surrounds these deposits like darkness.

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My thoughts and sympathy go out to Mr. Damour’s family and friends. He was the temporary Wal-Mart employee that was killed as a crowd rushed into the store at 5am:

Jdimytai Damour, 34, was crushed as he and other employees attempted to unlock the doors of a Long Island, New York, store at 5 a.m. Friday, police said.

You can read more details about the incident in this article, and more about Mr. Damour in this article. This incident is a sad commentary about what the holidays have become. I don’t think there’s any bargain on electronics or a sale of any kind worth more than a human life.

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