Martin Amis, the enfant terrible of British novelists, recently came to Manhattan to read from his new book, The Pregnant Widow. During the summer of 1970, the novel’s protagonist and several other privileged 20-somethings frolic in a castle outside of Rome, reveling in the newfound sexual liberties of their time. Amis could have chosen to read a lush passage from this part of the book, but instead he gave us the protagonist’s perspective as a jaded middle-aged man reflecting on his lost youth. Life inevitably deteriorates, as the novel’s cryptic title suggests.

But if Amis is struggling with the aging process, he masks it well – he’s one of those intelligent older men with a perpetually naughty countenance, who remain sexy well into their sixties. John Updike was another. His novel, Couples, like The Pregnant Widow, is a juicy story about the sexual revolution. But Updike’s prose is perfectly tuned whereas Amis’ occasionally falls flat. When you’re a magician with words, chances are you’re also a pimp. Perhaps this is why my friend fantasizes about the late Vladimir Nabokov “even in the grave.”

- Lizzie Crocker

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