Rabbit, rest
There’s an unfinished novel in the desk drawer of every advertising copywriter. Or so goes the longstanding cliché. The implication, of course, is that we scribes of the tagline are failed novelists, or screenwriters, or poets, or—whatever. The idea is that we’d rather be writing almost anything else. Is this true? Not in my experience—or at least the cynicism rings false. Sure, many of us have lofty aspirations—what writer wouldn’t love being hailed the author of the Great American Novel?—but to suggest we take no satisfaction, no pride, in the work we do now…well, copywriters of that stripe don’t last long in our industry. The best writers, in any genre, of any subject, in any profession, are the ones who simply love to write. Who are driven to write. About anything. About everything. And who feel lucky to have the opportunity. “I would write ads for deodorants or labels for catsup bottles, if I had to. The miracle of turning inklings into thoughts and thoughts into words and words into metal and print and ink never palls for me.” So said John Updike, giant of American letters, legendary author of Rabbit, Run and countless other now-classic novels—not to mention a nearly 60-year stream of short stories, poetry, and literary criticism—who died this week at age 76.
Far better writers than I are now rushing to pay tribute to Mr. Updike, to assess his prodigious body of work, to help us appreciate his profound and lasting impact. For my part, I’ll simply say that Mr. Updike’s writing had a profound and lasting impact on me. And I’ll let today’s final words be his.
“Perfection Wasted”
And another regrettable thing about death
is the ceasing of your own brand of magic,
which took a whole life to develop and market—
the quips, the witticisms, the slant
adjusted to a few, those loved ones nearest
the lip of the stage, their soft faces blanched
in the footlight glow, their laughter close to tears,
their tears confused with their diamond earrings,
their warm pooled breath in and out with your heartbeat,
their response and your performance twinned.
The jokes over the phone. The memories
packed in the rapid-access file. The whole act.
Who will do it again? That’s it: no one;
imitators and descendants aren’t the same.