First published in The New Yorker, October 6, 1980. Later published in Trust Me, 1987.
While I do not necessarily believe in destiny, I am a believer in serendipity. Since I thought up the idea for this blog about a week ago, I knew that the first story I would review is "Still of Some Use." Today is the first time that I've had the time and focus to write an entry about it -- and wouldn't you know, it's the 18th anniversary of its publication. Of all 365 days in the year and of all the stories that I could have possibly chosen, what are the chances?
Deteriorating relationships and divorce are common subject matter for Updike. After all, he married at 21 years of age and divorced the same woman 22 years later. To me, that always seemed like an awfully long time to remain married to someone that you would ultimately divorce. While I am the most underqualified person to be probing in this subject matter, consider that Updike also happens to write prolifically about affairs. You don't even have to read that many of his stories to wonder if having affairs was some sort of coping mechanism for an unfulfilling marriage. Maybe he just became sloppy after 22 years and he got caught. I do wonder, I really do.
While a divorce triggers the events of "Still of Some Use," it's not the substance of the story. Rather, it's about the weight of time, the relics and ruins that we must manage at the end of an era. The protagonist, a divorced man named Foster, is recruited to help clean out the attic in his family's old house. The central objects of focus are the board games:
When Foster helped his ex-wife clean out the attic of the house where they had once lived and which she was now selling, they came across dozens of forgotten, broken games. Parcheesi, Monopoly, Lotto; games aping the strategies of the stock market, of crime detection, of real-estate speculation, of international diplomacy and war; games with spinners, dice, lettered tiles, cardboard spacemen, and plastic battleships; games bought in five-and-tens and department stores feverish and musical with Christmas expectations; games enjoyed on the afternoon of a birthday and for a few afternoons thereafter and then allowed, shy of one or two pieces, to drift into closets and toward the attic.
"Still of Some Use" captures Updike's talent in appealing to our most fragile emotions. He knows that the mere thought of sorting through childhood games depresses people. And furthermore, Updike knows that no one wants to talk about it, even though it's a square that every middle class American lands on at some point during their life. We ache to even think that we were once so easily amused by these playthings. With age, our definition of "games" evolves into a disconcerting one. We realize that not all games are fun. Most games are solitary in a lonely sort of way. They become a way of life, a chore to be delegated, a task to be managed. Rules are no longer clear and even if you follow the "right" path, success is not necessarily guaranteed.
This is the heart of "Still of Some Use." The games are an obvious yet effective symbol for Foster, a useless and lifeless pawn amidst his ex-wife's new relationship and his adult sons. Readers forgive Updike for the glaring metaphor -- with our defenses already weakened and our mouths agape at the poignancy undercovered within us, we really can't argue with him that these games are representations of the dissolving man, the explosion of the nuclear family.
Despite the unsettling plot, Updike gives us what we want in the end when Foster's son requests that he accompanies him to the dump to dispose of the games and other garbage from the attic. One of Updike's peculiar charms is his endings. Sometimes, they seem entirely wrong, and other times, they are all too perfect. In "Still of Some Use," we meet the middle of the road. While we glow in the possibility that this ending could be our own, the skeptic in us feels cheated by the unlikely fantasy:
"O.K.," Foster said. "You win. I'll come along. I'll protect you."
It doesn't matter how old you are. Even if you don't want to admit it, you still want to win the game.
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Statement of Purpose
I first discovered John Updike when perusing my 11th grade AP English class textbook. During an idle lunch period, I stumbled across "A&P," fell in love -- and well, the rest is history.
While I will read anything written by Updike, I retain a special fondness for his short stories. After all, that's what first sparked my interest. It is also my belief that Updike reveals the most of himself in these pieces. Since I am endlessly fascinated by how life informs artistic practice, I conceive of these stories are opportunities to ponder and explore his life life through a fictional lens.
For me, reading Updike's work is an immensely interactive process: one in which I am constantly generating thoughts, questions, and observations about the text. As it stands, these ideas are only in my head, but I realized that would like to have some sort of documentation of these ideas. While I could jot notes in my books, I would prefer to not have them scattered in a variety of sources. In other words, I am in pursuit of a better archival system.
So here's the idea: when I read one of his stories, I'll write a brief summary of my reaction. Things that I liked. Things that bothered me. Sentences that blew me away. Endings that confused me.
Since my current preoccupation as a student mainly concerns reading and writing, I am aiming to cover one or two stories a week. After all, there is no rush and there will be much to say. I'll want to make sure that I am doing the stories justice -- or, in the words of Updike, giving "the mundane it's beauitufl due."
While I will read anything written by Updike, I retain a special fondness for his short stories. After all, that's what first sparked my interest. It is also my belief that Updike reveals the most of himself in these pieces. Since I am endlessly fascinated by how life informs artistic practice, I conceive of these stories are opportunities to ponder and explore his life life through a fictional lens.
For me, reading Updike's work is an immensely interactive process: one in which I am constantly generating thoughts, questions, and observations about the text. As it stands, these ideas are only in my head, but I realized that would like to have some sort of documentation of these ideas. While I could jot notes in my books, I would prefer to not have them scattered in a variety of sources. In other words, I am in pursuit of a better archival system.
So here's the idea: when I read one of his stories, I'll write a brief summary of my reaction. Things that I liked. Things that bothered me. Sentences that blew me away. Endings that confused me.
Since my current preoccupation as a student mainly concerns reading and writing, I am aiming to cover one or two stories a week. After all, there is no rush and there will be much to say. I'll want to make sure that I am doing the stories justice -- or, in the words of Updike, giving "the mundane it's beauitufl due."