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Fiction. Literature. Humor (Fiction.) HTML:S. is the story of Sarah P. Worth, a thoroughly modern spiritual seeker who has become enamored of a Hindu mystic called the Arhat. A native New Englander, she goes west to join his ashram in Arizona, and there struggles alongside fellow sannyasins (pilgrims) in the difficult attempt to subdue ego and achieve moksha (salvation, release from illusion). ??S.? details her adventures in letters and tapes dispatched to her husband, her daughter, her brother, her dentist, her hairdresser, and her psychiatrist??messages cleverly designed to keep her old world in order while she is creating for herself a new one. This is Hester Prynne??s side of the triangle described by Hawthorne??s Scarlet Letter; it is also a burlesque of the quest for enlightenment, and an affectionate meditation on Amer… (mer)
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Odd book, and so much Buddhist words that I skipped some paragraphs. But liked it. Updike is funny and I think the Wasp-Jew theme, men women, well done. Curious about how Updike saw the world, and how waspishness was part of him.
  SusanDichter | May 11, 2023 |
a slightly arch parody of female emancipation genre and take- off on Ragsnesh etc.
  ritaer | Apr 10, 2020 |
I can admire what Updike did here, and I enjoyed the epistolary format (which really made the book, in my opinion), but I can't say that I felt this stood up to Updike's other works--or, those that I've read, anyway. It felt a little bit like a literary experiment, more than a book I could really engage with and enjoy, and it quickly became fairly predictable. I suppose it's something I might recommend to English majors and writers thinking to experiment in this territory, but otherwise, it's probably not something I'd recommend. It is what it is, and it's well done and beautifully written, but it's likely one I'll remember for the wrong reasons (in my opinion). ( )
1 rösta whitewavedarling | Nov 28, 2018 |
This took me a long time to read and I kept mentally contrasting it to the movie (very difficult, as they are hardly the same at all). But, I really liked the end ... almost enough to make me consider picking up The Widows of Eastwick. ( )
  SMBrick | Feb 25, 2018 |
Updike has a gift for the ingenious simile and evocative description, but no sense of proportion or tact. His overfurnished paragraphs are filled with freckles like pencil shavings and "esses" like a just-extinguished match and strings of raindrops played by the wind like fingers on a harp until you're visualizing a harpist stubbing out a match on a newly-sharpened pencil but not the scene he is actually describing. Or you lose the train of a conversation as he pauses to describe the boar's head on a bottle of Gordon's gin & the rind on the Gouda cheese or to note that the dish rack from which an inconsequential dish is taken is made of rubber-coated wire. Sometimes the detail arguably reveals character or setting or comments on overconsumption or whatever, but frankly most of the time it seems superfluous & indulgent: Updike is just offering endless description because that is the only thing he can do better than anybody else.

Aside from the allurements (such as they are) of Updike's style, this novel feels rather miscellaneous, a loose assortment of descriptions of the weather, exposition-heavy telephone conversations, lore about witchcraft (I wanted more of this), Pynchonesque talk about the second law of thermodynamics, middle-aged group sex, Hawthornesque character names (Arthur Hallybread, etc.), and some fairly effective magical-realist set-pieces. There's plenty to sink your teeth into, but the whole is less than the sum of the parts. While Updike brings in the historical notion of the "witch" as an invention of patriarchy, its persecuted other (the midwife, etc.) it is unclear how this is supposed to connect to these witches, who do, in fact, practice real magic, and use it mainly to hurt other women. And Darryl Van Horne's disquisitions on pop art, alternative energy, the second law of thermodynamics, and parasitic worms don't seem, in the end, fully germane, any more than the pedestrian musicological analysis of Bach's second cello suite that grinds the novel to a halt about thirty pages from the end.

Symptomatic of the disconnectedness of the novel is the narrative voice, which drifts between Faulknerian collective narration (the "we" of Eastwick) and conventional third-person omniscience.

In the end we're left with the descriptive passages, which can be comically overdone but can also be striking. A minor novelist with a major style, as Bloom (rightly, for once) opined. ( )
1 rösta middlemarchhare | Nov 25, 2015 |
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She had dark and abundant hair, so glossy that it threw off the sunshine with a gleam, and a face which, besides being beautiful from regularity of feature and richness of complexion, had the impressiveness belonging to a marked brow and deep black eyes. She was lady-like, too, after the manner of the feminine gentility of those days; characterized by a certain state and dignity, rather than by the delicate, evanescent, and indescribable grace, which is now recognized as its indication. And never had Hester Prynne appeared more lady-like, in the antique interpretation of the term, than as she issued from the prison. Those who had before known her, and had expected to behold her dimmed and obscured by a disastrous cloud, were astonished, and even startled, to perceive how her beauty shone out, and made a halo of the misfortune and ignominy in which she was enveloped.

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Much of the marble coldness of Hester's impression was to be attributed to the circumstance that her life had turned, in a great measure, from passion and feeling, to thought. Standing alone in the world,—alone, as to any dependence on society, and with little Pearl to be guided and protected,—alone, and hopeless of retrieving her position, even had she not scorned to consider it desirable,—she cast away the fragments of a broken chain. The world's law was no law for her mind.

     —Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter.
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Fiction. Literature. Humor (Fiction.) HTML:S. is the story of Sarah P. Worth, a thoroughly modern spiritual seeker who has become enamored of a Hindu mystic called the Arhat. A native New Englander, she goes west to join his ashram in Arizona, and there struggles alongside fellow sannyasins (pilgrims) in the difficult attempt to subdue ego and achieve moksha (salvation, release from illusion). ??S.? details her adventures in letters and tapes dispatched to her husband, her daughter, her brother, her dentist, her hairdresser, and her psychiatrist??messages cleverly designed to keep her old world in order while she is creating for herself a new one. This is Hester Prynne??s side of the triangle described by Hawthorne??s Scarlet Letter; it is also a burlesque of the quest for enlightenment, and an affectionate meditation on Amer

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