Terrorist
John Updike
Well, here we are. 17 December and I've ploughed my way through 52 books. That's an average of one a week! I'm so proud of myself! I kind of wish that the big five-two was a book that I absolutely loved to death, but I think that Updike's latest is a worthy addition to my catalogue of books. It wasn't as good as I thought it could/should be, but it wasn't bad by any means.
If anything, the main problem with the book is that it continually sets up the highest of expectations, only to fall sadly short. Take, for example, the premise: a young American boy (Ahmad) falls under the grip of a radical group of Muslims and becomes entwined in a terrorist plot. Looking at this, we'd expect the book to be an intriguing look into the mind of a potential terrorist, which it is. The problem, though, is that the book focuses too much on its supporting cast, with too many unrelated sections building characters that are only tangentially necessary to the story. For example, we know that Beth (Ahmad's guidance counselor's wife...see how obtuse this is?) is "oppressively fat" and that her sister is an Undersecretary of Defense, but does her importance as a link between the terrorist and the government justify a ten-page struggle to get out of a recliner and answer the phone? I have nothing against character development, but Updike sadly digresses from the task at hand and the novel loses much of its potential depth.
I, for one, would have been much more interested in a closer probe of the boy's own philisophical musings, or the lessons he absorbed from the seemingly moderate Shaikh Rashid. I can understand Ahmad's logic, but Updike takes too much stock in his distractions to pay full attention to how Ahmad gets to the place he's at by the end of the book.
Updike's writing itself is wonderful and shines despite the awkward (at best) sex scenes and distractingly bad names (Joryleen? Tylenol?). Updike himself realizes how bizarre a name Tylenol is, and resorts to a parenthetical note to explain to the reader why his name is the same as a popular brand of medicine. This kid is only tangential to the story, and his name has nothing to do with anything plot-wise, so this foray into his own story is unneccesary and another means by which the reader is thrust out of the story. The sex scenes, hilariously poorly written and making me want to abstain permanently, are also unneccessary. We can get the point in much less time.
I don't want to give the impression that the book is bad. It just sets too high a bar for itself. The beautiful paragraphs that begin the book fall away to cumbersome and lengthy displays of Updike's prowess that seem more fit to fill his vanity than the reader's need to understand. The plot itself trails off at the end and seems too convenient to really make sense. Ahmad himself, Updike's greatest chance to do something great, is left sorely underdeveloped and, while he thankfully escapes being a stereotype, is surprisingly bland. I commend Updike for tackling this subject, and with such deft literary merit, but I expected more bang for my buck.
Grade: B-
John Updike
Well, here we are. 17 December and I've ploughed my way through 52 books. That's an average of one a week! I'm so proud of myself! I kind of wish that the big five-two was a book that I absolutely loved to death, but I think that Updike's latest is a worthy addition to my catalogue of books. It wasn't as good as I thought it could/should be, but it wasn't bad by any means.
If anything, the main problem with the book is that it continually sets up the highest of expectations, only to fall sadly short. Take, for example, the premise: a young American boy (Ahmad) falls under the grip of a radical group of Muslims and becomes entwined in a terrorist plot. Looking at this, we'd expect the book to be an intriguing look into the mind of a potential terrorist, which it is. The problem, though, is that the book focuses too much on its supporting cast, with too many unrelated sections building characters that are only tangentially necessary to the story. For example, we know that Beth (Ahmad's guidance counselor's wife...see how obtuse this is?) is "oppressively fat" and that her sister is an Undersecretary of Defense, but does her importance as a link between the terrorist and the government justify a ten-page struggle to get out of a recliner and answer the phone? I have nothing against character development, but Updike sadly digresses from the task at hand and the novel loses much of its potential depth.
I, for one, would have been much more interested in a closer probe of the boy's own philisophical musings, or the lessons he absorbed from the seemingly moderate Shaikh Rashid. I can understand Ahmad's logic, but Updike takes too much stock in his distractions to pay full attention to how Ahmad gets to the place he's at by the end of the book.
Updike's writing itself is wonderful and shines despite the awkward (at best) sex scenes and distractingly bad names (Joryleen? Tylenol?). Updike himself realizes how bizarre a name Tylenol is, and resorts to a parenthetical note to explain to the reader why his name is the same as a popular brand of medicine. This kid is only tangential to the story, and his name has nothing to do with anything plot-wise, so this foray into his own story is unneccesary and another means by which the reader is thrust out of the story. The sex scenes, hilariously poorly written and making me want to abstain permanently, are also unneccessary. We can get the point in much less time.
I don't want to give the impression that the book is bad. It just sets too high a bar for itself. The beautiful paragraphs that begin the book fall away to cumbersome and lengthy displays of Updike's prowess that seem more fit to fill his vanity than the reader's need to understand. The plot itself trails off at the end and seems too convenient to really make sense. Ahmad himself, Updike's greatest chance to do something great, is left sorely underdeveloped and, while he thankfully escapes being a stereotype, is surprisingly bland. I commend Updike for tackling this subject, and with such deft literary merit, but I expected more bang for my buck.
Grade: B-
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