Suburbia is boring.

Well, at least, in John Updike’s hands it is boring.

What we have within Trust Me is a collection of upper-middle-class people (I think that is the correct classification) who have nothing to complain about, yet find ways to complain. And that complaining is generally reflected in their choices – choices that show a disinterest in their own lives. (Which raises the question, if they are not interested, why should I be?) Multiple marriages, affairs, divorces, bratty children, boring children – yawn, life goes on for the poor, downtrodden happy-lifers.

I would like to argue that this disconnect is a function of how time has taken its toll on the effectiveness of these stories. But a quick glance at the publication date shows that many of these stories are set in the 80s, yet they all feel as if they are set in the 60’s and 70’. The content and themes become a rehashing of old concepts that really don’t matter anymore.

Let me note that I am a fan of Updike’s. The Rabbit novels, as one example, are excellent. However, this collection…not so much. It is a collection of stories about people I just don’t care about. They are boring, they are tedious, they are narcissistic, they are just not worth my time. In different stories, in different hands, maybe I could have cared. But Updike’s style leaves no impression but their underserved ennui.

It may not be popular to pick on a writer of Updike’s stature, and maybe I am missing something, or maybe this is not representative of his best, but it is not worth my time to be bored by boring people. ( )

Incisive, honest stories about the failures and foibles of human relationships. The subjects are not endearing, but the prose is masterful. There are also very funny bits. ( )

Many of these stories may be acutely observed and well-worded assessments of life. Countless reviews tell me so, and on the whole I would agree. Other reviewers will tell you that this short story collection is tedious and samey, re-treading and re-treading and re-treading the same middle-aged, mid-western, white upper-middle-class preoccupations of adultery, divorce, and possibly ageing. I'm in full agreement with that sentiment, too. Unfortunately, the latter wins out.

Some of these stories are really, really good, and would have earned a high rating, either on their own or in a more varied bundle of stories. But I can't stand another one of Updike's obsessive musings about failing relationships. I've given him a fair shake, but I will never read anything by him again. ( )