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Crocopotamus by Mary Murphy
Crocopotamus by Mary Murphy











Crocopotamus by Mary Murphy Crocopotamus by Mary Murphy

I picked up the others in different American cities, in chunky Fawcett Crest paperbacks, and read them as I criss-crossed the country my bookmarks were the stubs of boarding passes. I was on a book tour of the States, and bought the first volume, Rabbit, Run, in a Penguin edition at Heathrow airport. I had first read the Rabbit quartet in the autumn of 1991, in what felt near-perfect circumstances. Should you choose one of those previously unopened? Or go for one you suspect you misread, or undervalued, at the time? Or one, like Couples, which you might have read for somewhat non-literary reasons? I have only ever met one person – a distinguished arts journalist – who has read all Updike's 60-plus books most of us, even long-term fans, probably score between 30 and 40.

Crocopotamus by Mary Murphy

And sometimes the nature of the writer's oeuvre creates a problem of choice. Occasionally, it may be prudent to resist going back: when Lawrence Durrell died, I preferred to remain with 40-year-old memories of The Alexandria Quartet rather than risk such lushness again. W hen a writer you admire dies, rereading seems a normal courtesy and tribute.













Crocopotamus by Mary Murphy