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.

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