After Houellebecq, after Franzen few novels measure up, and while waiting for the new Updike (Seek My Face: marvellous) to be published here it is probably wise to turn to something simpler, more sensitive, even more conventional. The Easter Parade - the anachronistic title probably conveys something of its traditional nature - occupies that well-loved territory that takes in William Maxwell and John Cheever, and is redolent of the angst and energy native to suburban America.





Comments
There are currently no comments for this article.