SOURCE: “Memento Mori—But First, Carpe Diem,” in New York Times Book Review, October 12, 1997, pp. 9–10.

In the following review, Atwood offers praise for Toward the End of Time.

Toward the End of Time is John Updike's 47th book, and it is deplorably good. If only he would write a flagrant bomb! That would be news. But another excellently written novel by an excellent novelist—what can be said? Surely no American writer has written so much, for so long, so consistently well. Such feats tend to be undervalued. They shouldn't be. Walking across Niagara Falls blindfolded on a tightrope for the 47th time is certainly as remarkable as having made it across the first time, more remarkable perhaps, but the viewer's response is all too likely to be not a delighted “How praiseworthy!” but a jaded “What else did you expect?” And at 65, Updike isn't even old enough...