Holden, Rabbit, Scarlett: What is this, a Whore House?

We’ve all heard of Holden Caulfield, J.D. Salinger, and the so-called-genius of Catcher in the Rye.

Well, Audience, I present to you: Rabbit, Run by John Updike. The more grown-up version of the tireless “woe-is-me” tale.

A book so astonishingly unable to inspire empathy for its main character that I am breaking an almost cardinal, sacred even, rule of mine of reading a few works by an author before coming here and screaming into the void.

But by god, I will scream into the void after just this one, 325 page book.

Updike is a master of his craft, undoubtably. The ability to inspire empathy is just as important and relevant as the ability to not inspire empathy. Is it apathy? Is it hatred? When I think of Harry “Rabbit” Angstrom, I think of the 1950s and 60s disillusionment, Truman-Eisenhower era, war/post-war angst that built up among Americans (the whole world really). The stress, fear, and uncertainty does something to the psyche that I cannot elaborate on personally (not having lived through WWII, of course (or any war for that matter)). But, that feeling of unease present during this era is laced throughout so many books of this period. And Rabbit, Run is certainly no exception.

The political backdrop amounting to built-up tension during the Cold War created a sense of unknown that seems to have helped contribute to a feeling of dissatisfaction. Rabbit embodies this disillusionment and dissatisfaction as a middle-class man working retail after having his 15 minutes of fame in high school. He peaked during a period of his life when nothing external feels real and the horrors of mundanity just aren’t present yet. So, at 26, a veil lifts and he realizes that he just isn’t special anymore.

Enter the woe-is-me tale of wanting to be special like he used to be, the mourning of what could have been, and the disillusionment of the “good old days.” Rabbit even goes so far as to seek out his ex-coach in the hopes of sparking that feeling of uniqueness that really just comes across as the inability to grow up and move on, but instead, needing to find some external satisfaction in the form of praise and sex.

This is where I found the most similarity with Catcher in the Rye, though compared to Rabbit, I actually find myself having more empathy for Holden now than I have since 2019 when I first read Catcher. In essence, I hated Harry so much that I began liking Holden. Both troubled boys experiencing a very similar resistance, and even inability, to just grow up. Holden masks his feelings by calling everyone a phony and Rabbit does the same by calling people dumb and wearing suits. Literally only suits. All the time. Perhaps in some showmanship way of expressing adulthood and maturity despite him not actually having either.

By the end, I was tired of hearing about Rabbit’s suits that probably weren’t even ironed and I was certainly jaded by his internal monologue. But what I find so captivating is that I wanted to continue reading. No matter how much I actually despised the characters, there was a part of me that wanted to just find out more. And save for that one part at the end (no spoilers at The Den), I actually had a hard time putting it down.

So, Updike is very capable of inspiring hatred. What’s the point?

The few times I can recall hating a character, yes Holden in Catcher in the Rye, but also Scarlett in Gone with the Wind, left a long-lasting impression on me that I think had yet to be fully-realized until I ventured into Rabbit’s life. Yet, with Scarlett, I even felt a bit of empathy for her (maybe I shouldn’t have?). Needless to say, I only need one hand to count the characters I’ve felt a visceral disdain toward, so Updike now occupies a certain place in my library that it mostly unfulfilled. Maybe that’s a flaw on my part, but I actually think it is part of a deeper trend of this mid-20th century novel movement.

Above, I mentioned these characters are written against the backdrop of WWII, the Cold War, and the abysmal nuclear age. The pain, confusion, and hopelessness of the era gets wrapped up into these characters that are just…spoiled. What kind of reaction is that? The world seems to be coming to a halt outside and authors are writing characters that seemingly have no concept of anyone else except for themselves. And not only do the characters seem selfish and disillusioned, they are all quite unique and revolutionary in that, I’d argue anyway, most authors try to write someone relatable and perhaps even empathetic. While the general population of authors is writing characters with depth, Salinger, Updike, and Mitchell are writing characters that people hate (or in some cases actually love, you freaks).

And though Rabbit, Holden, and Scarlett are all quite awful, we feel compelled to learn about them and power through anyway. I scream into the void and beg an answer WHY DO WE WANT TO LEARN MORE ABOUT AWFUL PEOPLE?

Well, for starters, in a world saturated with authors trying to appeal to our emotions and get us to like them via liking their characters, it goes completely against the grain to write a character like this. It feels almost lustful or sinful to be wrapped up with a character so morally repugnant. Like we have been let in on a little secret that only we and the character know about and we can’t speak of it with anyone for fear of what they would think.

There may also be a part of us that wants to understand better the psychology of characters like that. And the conclusion that I have come to is that these characters are motivated by nothing but intrinsic forces. Everything if for kicks with little to no regard for the consequences. That is almost completely antithetical to how any of (I presume) actually think. This goes further: how can someone write a character like this? That is my favorite question to ask. Is it purely a social critique: amassing all the things wrong with society in one person? Or is there a layer of the character that is the author too?

Updike, specifically, seemed repulsed by his society. How much of Rabbit is actual repulsion and how much is a desire for more; a desire to be like Rabbit? The classic case of suppression manifesting itself into perverted actions.

But alas, I fear these questions will go unanswered. Unless one of you has any thoughts? Is anyone still thinking out there?