The end of the 'Rabbit' books truly marks the end of my affair with John Updike.

I don't have any desire to read 'Terrorist.' Instead, I read 'S.,' but I was disappointed.

However, the Rabbit books are a different story. I will read them over and over again.

The Rabbit series holds a special place in my heart. It's not just about the characters and their lives, but also the way Updike writes.

His prose is so vivid and engaging that it draws me in and makes me feel like I'm a part of the story.

The Rabbit books are a classic, and I can't get enough of them.

Each time I read them, I discover something new and gain a deeper understanding of the characters and the themes.

I highly recommend the Rabbit books to anyone who loves great literature.

They are a must-read for fans of John Updike and for anyone who wants to experience a truly unforgettable literary journey.

Endless literature, which makes you remember the period of life in which you read it as special. Literature has a unique charm that can transport us to different times and places, allowing us to experience a wide range of emotions and perspectives. When we read a particular book, it often becomes intertwined with the memories and experiences of that specific time in our lives. It could be a book we read during a difficult period that provided comfort and inspiration, or one that we read during a happy time and enhanced our joy. The words on the page seem to come alive and create a lasting impression, making the act of reading not just a passive activity but an active engagement with our own lives and emotions.

Out with the Whims and Vim: A Long Goodbye to the Chaotic Angstrom
The book is good, yet not great. It advances the core themes of the Angstrom series, but it may not be entirely worth reading on its own. The Harry we once knew is gradually fading away.

Rabbit at Rest seems less eventful compared to the first three books in the series. Perhaps that's the intention: to give it a rest. But is this really what we desire to read about? Is there a meta-element of readers bidding farewell to a beloved, yet problematic character? Maybe Angstrom is becoming less likable to all of us - both the readers and Harry's own family and friends. The vim that once overshadowed Harry's egregious whims is now flagging. We are left with a cranky old man longing for his glory days.

To that end, more time is dedicated to aging and growing up rather than the more direct conflicts found in other books. The world is moving on without Rabbit: His own family has reversed the dynamic, with his son and wife having a better understanding of real estate, business, and global trends.

It almost seems as if Updike was attempting to position the son as the progenitor of the next book series. Unfortunately, the younger Angstrom is not as interesting a figure. He has some of the same internal contradictions and comedic charm, but he comes across more as bratty and annoying rather than bumblingly endearing like Angstrom.

Harry is fading away. How should a reader cope?

Rating
4 stars as an addition to the series
2 - 3 stars as a standalone book

Just as the initial hundred pages of RABBIT, RUN were penned at a breathless tempo to align with their frenzied tone, the final hundred pages of RABBIT AT REST, which mirror the opening moments of the series, meander in a depressingly pointless fashion.

Highway billboards, hackneyed pop tunes from bygone decades, and inconsequential news headlines about baseball players blend with the names and minutiae of a history book, the snapshot memories of Harry's rather uneventful life, and the chronic fluctuations of his erratic family life.

Tasteless, self-destructive meals follow one another, and the sitcoms in getaway Florida are the same mindless drivel that appears on the televisions in Pennsylvania. Rabbit endeavors, in the closing moments of his life, to discover a purpose for all that living, and it's no easy feat to assert that he succeeds.

As he stumbles through insipid small talk with a Holocaust survivor who has been reduced to a decrepit buffet patron and attempts to inject some vigor into awkward conversations with his distant grandchildren, one realizes that if life indeed has some driving purpose, Rabbit Angstrom has never accessed it.

Even the most cherished moment of his last year on earth, a spontaneous and rather scandalous sexual encounter, is diminished to psychological rationalization and neurotic impulses by his frustratingly forgiving family, who whittle down even his sex drive to a few taboo missteps.

RABBIT AT REST is a bleakly beautiful book, with prose so sharp that it demands to be reread and read aloud. One might anticipate a novel about a protagonist with whom one is intimately familiar to contain some epiphanies, some poetic truths, or at least some tender moments. However, throughout the series, Updike never succumbed to clichés or melodrama, and he doesn't do so here either.

RABBIT AT REST is a slice of reality, and sometimes reality concludes with unresolved regrets and pitiful, self-defeating attempts at impossible reconciliations.

Updike is also an American historian, an ethnographer of the middle American malaise. In RABBIT AT REST, just as in previous decades in the previous books, he captures life in the late eighties as if from some well-informed future perspective.

Debt, computers, racism, the wasteland of American industry - Updike envisions and dissects all of society's ills with an acuity that makes me wish I could pick up something like RABBIT IN RECESSION, a 2010 novel that might perhaps assist us all in discerning where our troublesome future might lie.

RABBIT AT REST is a splendid novel, perhaps not quite as powerful and moving as RABBIT, RUN, but then again - to paraphrase Harry - as you age, it becomes more difficult to summon the same enthusiasm you once had for everything.

The best thing about this John Updike mediocrity is indeed the title. It has a certain allure that initially catches the reader's attention. However, as one delves deeper into the book, the flaws become more apparent. Updike's style comes across as rather bland. The prose lacks the spark and vitality that would make the reading experience truly engaging.

Moreover, his characters are so obnoxious that it becomes difficult to empathize with them or even care about their fates. This is particularly true of Harry. His actions and attitudes throughout the story are often grating and unlikable.

Thankfully, near the end of the book, Harry meets his demise. This event is, in fact, most devoutly to be wished. It provides a sense of closure and a glimmer of hope that perhaps the story will end on a somewhat positive note. Overall, while the title may have some merit, the rest of the book leaves much to be desired.

Forget "Plot Against America." Forget "The Handmaid's Tale," "Hillbilly Elegy." If you want a book that delves deep into the essence of America today, a book that presents America in a microcosm - specifically white America, the predictor of MAGA - then read the Rabbit series.

Or, if those comparisons seem completely unappealing, and you desire poetic prose spread over fifteen hundred plus pages, with lust and sex written in as true, visceral, and precise a form as possible, and if you want to encounter perhaps the most selfish yet sympathetic character in American fiction, then read the Rabbit series.

Updike wrote the Rabbit series over three decades, publishing one book every ten years. Each book captures a different decade in the life of his protagonist, Harry “Rabbit” Angstrom, and perhaps also a decade of America and a decade in Updike’s development as a writer. In other series I've read, it's usually the first book that hooks me, with the subsequent novels either maintaining or declining in quality. In the Rabbit series, each novel (except perhaps the third - my favorite) gets better.

In the first book, “Rabbit, Run,” Rabbit is 26 years old. He has been married to Janice for a few years, and they have a young son, Nellie. In this book, Rabbit is adjusting to adulthood, and in doing so, he runs: from responsibility, from his pregnant wife and toddler. He runs towards his past glory as a high school basketball star, to the excitement of a new affair, to the mountains of West Virginia. He runs without a specific destination in mind, but he still runs. And when he feels commitment creeping back, he runs again. He is torn between his human attachments - to Janice and Nellie, to Tothero, his washed-up old basketball coach, to Ruth, a demi-prostitute whom he feels more connected to than his wife - and his need to escape it all.

“Rabbit, Run” reminded me a lot of "Goodbye, Columbus" - another comma-titled, early novel by one of America’s greats. And, like "Goodbye, Columbus," it just didn't speak to me. To me, Rabbit was more like a rabbit than a human. He was too unrelatable. His swings between kindness and selfishness, commitment and freedom, were too extreme for me. Neither a villain nor a hero, the rhythm of his character, of his soul, was too hard to follow. It was too frustrating to be moving.

In book 2, “Rabbit Redux,” Rabbit is a bit older and less flighty than in book 1. [As an aside, in book 4, Rabbit mocks the “fakeness” of the word “redux” - Updike’s commentary between books is a big part of what makes reading them sequentially so fulfilling.] He has settled into a blue-collar lifestyle like his father's. He works in a dying industry as a typesetter for a printing press for local newspapers. He lives in the suburbs and takes care of his aging parents. He is back with Janice, at least for a while. Still, at times, he is as indecipherable as his 26-year-old self. He is conservative in his ways and political opinions. He is not so much pro-Vietnam War as he is adamantly anti-anti Vietnam War. He is a man's man who still enjoys his occasional daiquiri. He is full of prejudice and racism, yet at the same time, he allows crazy Skeeter and sad, drugged-up Jill to live with him. Although as complex as ever, this 36-year-old Rabbit feels more human and relatable than in Book 1. And Book 2 is more interesting because of it.

Still, of all the books in this series, “Rabbit Redux” feels like a book of its time: the 60s. In both writing style and substance, it is framed by drugs, free love, and cultural upheaval. Take the final, trippy sentences of “Rabbit Redux”: “He finds this inward curve and slips along it, sleeps. He. She. Sleeps. O.K.?” Ultimately, this rootedness in an era made “Rabbit Redux” less relatable and less moving than Updike's next two Rabbit books.

“Rabbit Redux” though has my favorite quote of the entire series. In describing Nelson, Updike writes, “The boy is near tears. Since Janice left, he is silent and delicate: an eggshell full of tears.” Phrases like this describe a character in such a powerful way that it echoes across two more books and eleven hundred more pages.

In Book 3, "Rabbit is Rich," Rabbit is maybe, finally, an adult - or as much as he will ever be. And Updike too seems settled into Rabbit as a character - as a story of a man rather than as a capsule for a decade. Book 3 was unquestionably my favorite book. The plot is more deliberate, the dramatic tension is subtle and builds. The Cindy Murket plot is great. Also, by Book 3, the reader feels immersed in the world of Rabbit. It is fascinating to hear Rabbit describe to his rival-turned-friend, Stavros, how - in Book 1 - he drove to West Virginia on a whim. This is, of course, the central plot of Book 1. Yet he downplays it: Janice was just getting on his nerves. It is also fascinating to read his interactions with college-age Nelson, especially the scene where Rabbit advises Nelson to abandon his pregnant wife. In giving such repulsive advice, is Rabbit really trying to be a caring parent? A selfish prick trying to get Nelson out of his life? Or is he just nostalgic for his own flightiness, his own lack of commitment? Rabbit's morality is as challenging and thought-provoking as ever. Book 3 also brings back the mystery of Ruth - one of the most interesting characters in the series. Not only does Book 3 have some of the best writing and some of the steadiest, most assured plot lines of the series, but it’s a point when the reader can read the book and feel they are reading both of the preceding two books too. Again, the reward of reading the Rabbit series grows exponentially, book by book.

In Book 4, "Rabbit at Rest," we are introduced to a more fragile, more nostalgic Rabbit. He is only 56 years old, but in Updike’s telling, he sounds (and views himself) as though he is closer to 76 years old. He does not show a capacity for late-in-life change but rather shows that he is still mostly the same man he was thirty years ago. That’s fine; there is enough complexity and depth there to make this a rewarding read. Rabbit can be tender with his grandchildren, precocious Judy and mini-egg shell, Roy. He is at his core lustful, with a bad heart and all. He still has a deep well of selfishness and a stark lack of empathy - especially for Thelma and Ronnie Harrison. He has a bit of a sharper wit, and an old man's humor has settled on him. But what is most striking is his rigidity. His desire to stay who he is and keep in his ways. As the people in his life strive for reinvention - or at least professional and spiritual fulfillment - Rabbit doubles down. Nelson crashes and burns and then finds a higher power. Janice starts a second career, a second life, in real estate. Eventually, even Pru seeks to soften and tries to understand her tough upbringing. Rabbit, in the end, is Rabbit. Even when he throws off the passivity that has settled over his life and runs again, it is clear he has not changed but rather reaffirmed who he is.

Despite his selfishness, his misogyny, his superficial simplicity, Updike has revealed a nuance and a sad beauty to Rabbit: he is trapped in himself.

To be trapped with Rabbit for another 1500 pages. He will be missed.

I completed this book, and thereby this series, a couple of days ago.

I probably won't be reading 'Rabbit Remembered' anytime soon, and since Rabbit dies at the end of this novel, it seems this is the best place to stop.

I needed a few days to process this book and my strong aversion to it.

If we measure a book's greatness by its ability to prompt reflection and self-reflection in the reader, then perhaps this is a great book.

I had to figure out: why did I despise the character of Rabbit, this particular book, and the entire series so very much?

Let's begin with the character of Rabbit. Die-hard Updike fans and dismissive haters of the man essentially concur that Rabbit is an unlikable protagonist, at least in the first book or two.

He is selfish, irresponsible, dismissive, abusive, and a coward.

He subjects his family to hell time and again, despite their mostly steadfast devotion to him.

In this particular book, we find Rabbit at 55/56 years old, living a cushy retirement life with half the year in Florida and the other half back home in Pennsylvania.

His son has taken over the car lot, but technically his wife is still the owner.

Nelson and his family come to Florida to visit at the end of the year (1989, wooo!).

While there, three significant events occur - Rabbit nearly drowns, saves his granddaughter, and paddles back to shore while having a heart attack on a small sailboat called a SunFish; Rabbit feels a spark of attraction to his son's wife, Pru (nothing new here, Rabbit has wanted to 'boff' every woman he's encountered since the first book); and Nelson admits to his mother about having a cocaine addiction and using money from the business to fund his habit.

In the second part of the book, Harry returns to Pennsylvania and confronts his wife about Nelson and the numbers at the lot.

It is revealed, after some effort, that there has been some conning and a bit of fraud here and there to get Nelson his money.

Turns out he's put the car lot nearly 200k in the hole.

Nelson is confronted by his mother and goes into rehab.

Simultaneously, Harry has heart surgery to clear an artery.

While Janice is taking real estate courses, she decides that Harry should be left with Pru and the kids at their house since he is still recovering.

Big mistake - Harry and Pru 'boff' (I have a quaint love for this term so I'm going to continue using it).

In the final part of the book, Pru admits to Nelson and Janice to having slept with Rabbit.

Rabbit is called and told to come over to Nelson's house so they can talk through the trauma, but Rabbit does what he did thirty years earlier - he runs from his mistakes, his responsibilities, his family.

He ends up back in Florida, believing Janice or the others would come and get him eventually, but lo and behold, they leave him there.

He ends up having another heart attack, this one fatal.

And here's why I hated this book - on his deathbed, his wife and son come down to Florida to visit.

In that final moment, both are crying and clearly love this oaf.

Janice says she forgives him, and in his final lucid moment, he gets to play the saint.

His son is crying desperately (you remember, the son whose wife Rabbit slept with?) saying 'Don't die, dad!'

Rabbit then comforts his son, saying death isn't all that bad.

Oof.

Which brings me to the series as a whole. Throughout the series, we see Rabbit being the horrible individual he is, and yet face little to no consequences.

In 'Rabbit, Run' he is welcomed back to the family with open arms; in 'Rabbit, Redux' he and his wife have reconciled and the family, despite its trauma, is otherwise intact and as loving of the imbecile as ever; by the end of 'Rabbit is Rich,' he has to settle with sleeping with his second choice of a woman who is not his wife (boo hoo), a woman who 'absolutely adore[s]' him - essentially having his cake and eating it too; and in 'Rabbit at Rest' he gets to play the magnanimous comforter on his deathbed to his son whose wife he slept with.

With the first book, the argument has been made that Updike was giving boys and men an example of what NOT to do, that we shouldn't be like Rabbit or the characters from 'On the Road' (a book Updike was responding to in 'Rabbit, Run').

But that couldn't be further from the truth based on the outcomes - it seems instead the message is 'be like this man and all will be forgiven - take and take and take, abuse, cheat, do everything and anything you want to, and your family will have no choice but to accept it and love you regardless.'

There is no arc to this character, there is no grand epiphany, no great downfall.

And, somewhat cynically, isn't that what life is actually like? The abusers and cheaters and hoaxers and quacks do what they do, apologize, face no real consequences, and get on with their fabulous lives.

After much self-reflection, that is ultimately why I have a distaste for this book, this series, and this character.

The lack of justice is just too raw, too real.

I hated the experience of reading this series, and quite frankly I don't recommend this book for anyone who wants to leave a story with anything other than disgust.

But perhaps that was the point.

The master of bad decisions has returned! At best, he is a misogynist husband and a mediocre father. He isn't likeable, yet somehow you find yourself loving him or at least feeling sympathy for him. Although Rabbit often behaves despicably, there are occasional tiny glimmers of love and consideration that shine through, mostly in his relationship with his nine-year-old granddaughter, Judy.

In Rabbit Is Rich, things seemed to be looking up for Harry. However, now it's mostly downhill again. He struggles with health issues, has feuds with his son Nelson, and is a prick towards Janice (constantly referring to your wife as "poor mutt" is really bad form). But no matter what the problem is, you can always trust Harry to make things worse with his actions.

This is the final installment of the Rabbit novels, set in 1989 - 1990, during the Reagan and Bush administrations. What particularly affects Harry is the Lockerbie plane disaster. Harry is now in his mid-fifties, but he seems older. He constantly remembers people and incidents from his past: his drowned daughter, his maybe daughter, Ruth, Jill and Skeeter, and so on.

The book has its long stretches, but overall it's a very good read. And yes, I'm going to miss Harry Rabbit Angstrom in some way.

Volume 4, Issue 4, Pulitzer 1991.

It was slightly below expectations, although it was impossible to approach the grandeur of the third volume. Summary:

Run, Rabbit [86/100]

The Return of Rabbit [poor]

You're Rich, Rabbit [91/100]

Rest Rabbit [76/100].

The works in this volume presented a diverse range of qualities. Run, Rabbit received a relatively high score of 86 out of 100, indicating that it had certain merits and appealed to the readers to a certain extent. However, The Return of Rabbit was evaluated as poor, perhaps lacking in some aspects such as plot development or character portrayal. On the other hand, You're Rich, Rabbit achieved a score of 91/100, suggesting that it was a standout piece with strong points. Finally, Rest Rabbit with a score of 76/100 had its own characteristics but also had room for improvement. Overall, this volume offered a mix of different literary experiences.

The final volume in the story of Rabbit Angstrom is truly a remarkable conclusion. Rabbit, the former high school basketball star and the quintessential American everyman, has reached a new stage in his life.

Just like each of the other novels in the series, this one is set at the end of a decade. It's 1989, the tail end of the Reagan era, a time when greed and cocaine seem to fill the streets. Meanwhile, the USSR is on the verge of its inevitable collapse, adding an air of uncertainty to the global landscape.

Rabbit is spending his winters in Florida, indulging in golf and consuming far too much fatty and salty food. At 56, he's a ticking time bomb waiting for a heart attack to strike. Much of the book is a profound rumination on the increasing debilities of age and how the world continues to move forward without us.

In the introduction to the omnibus volume, Updike reveals his intention, stating, "I sought to present sides of an unresolvable tension intrinsic to being human." Harry Angstrom remains the same flawed character at the end of his story as he was in Rabbit, Run. However, despite his flaws, I can't help but like him and feel a sense of sadness as I turn the last page in his story. It's a poignant reminder of the human condition and the inevitability of change.

So we have arrived at the conclusion of the Rabbit tetralogy. After the letdown that was Rabbit Is Rich, this installment marks a return to the expected standard.

The quasi-retired life in Florida is not suiting Rabbit Angstrom as well as it ought to. Nelson Angstrom's attempt to rationalize his freebase habit only exacerbates the situation, and the deep-seated troubles with Toyota corporate don't help either (admittedly, there is some Engrish in here that seems rather cringe-worthy in 2018).

And, as is his wont, Rabbit turns to his rather sad bourgeois comforts - extramarital affairs, various endeavors to project an image of respectability and grandfatherliness, and of course, the alluring center of attention that is TV comedy, exemplified at this juncture in American cultural history by Rabbit's fixation on Phylicia Rashad's posterior on The Cosby Show.

It seems appropriate that I completed Rabbit at Rest just prior to commencing the latest season of Bojack Horseman. This kind of transcendental American melancholy has a tendency to wash over me in waves.

Updike's Rabbit series concludes - rather surprisingly - in a gentle manner. Despite a chaotic 60 years filled with the main character Rabbit's controversial life choices, Updike decides, perhaps not all that surprisingly (considering Updike was in his later years when penning this book), that things should come to a graceful end. Updike did an outstanding job in this series, skillfully creating connections between the plots and themes of the various books. Here, in his final days, Rabbit's character completes a full circle, with echoes of Book 1, Rabbit Run, and with final revelations about the core of Rabbit's identity, freed from all that superficial mid-life clutter.

I'm not entirely convinced that a deviant like Rabbit would have been so unaware of his own son's cocaine addiction. Nor am I completely sold on the idea that Rabbit's daughter-in-law was crazy enough to sleep with him. However, throughout the book, most of Updike's insights into human nature and the way most Americans lived in the late 80s are, as always, extremely perceptive.