The final Bech book, the conclusion of Updike’s sublime, meditative trilogy of the 20^th century literary world, arrived in 1998. The cover, like all of the Bech books, features a caricature of Henry Bech: this time, he is perched, in his tuxedo, on a mountain-top, like a vulture, with the spires of churches, skyscrapers and a palm tree sticking out from the mountain. Bech looks at the viewer through his thick glasses, one eyebrow raised, with suspicion and a sense of knowing, reserved skepticism.

The epigraph of the book comes from Wallace Stephens’ preface to Collected Poems 1921—1931 by William Carlos Williams. “Something of the unreal is necessary to fecundate the real.” These last Bech stories show Updike at some of his most unreal (and surreal) moments, giving the “Bech” character a fine send-off into the library shelves.

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We see Henry Bech for the first time in sixteen years (after the sublime, meditative ending of “White on White”), travelling through Eastern Europe. “Bech in Czech” returns to the territory of the earliest Bech stories, while, at the same time, remaining fresh. Instead of the “glories” of Communism being thrown about and propagandized by his foreign hosts, Bech witnesses the downfall of the Soviet empire in the late 1980’s and the welcoming of the American capitalists with babyish glee. The American ambassador and his wife take Bech to visit the grave of Kafka, during which there are one or two excursions into Philip Roth-styled humor. The story seems to become a pastiche of Roth’s famous and fantastic Zuckerman stories, particularly when the Ambassador’s wife exclaims, “Oh those sexy female dissidents.”

Meeting with other writers, the “unofficial” writers of the literary underground, Bech ponders his own creative life. He wonders if he had ever really taken a chance with his writing, surrounded by those who have truly chanced and suffered for their art. While walking through Prague, Bech finds himself haunted by the ghosts of the Holocaust in what is arguably the strongest and deepest emotional revelation that Bech will ever share with the reader:

“His panic felt pasty and stiff and revealed a certain shape. That shape was the fear that, once he left his end of the gentle arc of the Ambassador’s Residence, he would—up in smoke—cease to exist.”

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If “Bech in Czech” demonstrates the glories of an artistic grouping in the underground, “Bech Presides” showcases the absurdity of many an “official” artistic society with a group called “The Forty”: a collection of artists, writers, musicians, etc., who have been selected to represent the best in American creativity. Bech gets swindled into becoming the president of this group after meeting up with another member of the group, Isaiah “Izzy” Thornbush. Thornbush is, in his way, a representation of the legendary literary figure who spends more time being honored than actually writing (just like Bech). Bech contributes to a small volume honoring Thornbush, even though they detest each other. Bech seems oddly passive, as though he is just going with the flow, pushed from one dominating figure to another. The organization, pushed around by an aggressive, depressive (and self-interested) majority, falters and is destroyed under Bech’s leadership—though he is the president, he has no real control over the organization.

In “Bech Pleads Guilty”, Bech is charged with Libel against “a venerable Hollywood agent named Morris Ohrbach,” resulting in the farcical intimidation of Bech and others. Once more, the reader develops a feeling of passivity-underlined-by-fear from Bech. Of course, in typical “Hollywood” fashion, the trial (which at one point threatens to ruin Bech) ends happily for almost all involved.

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The most difficult story to read is “Bech Noir”, which begins as a pastiche of noir novels of the 1940s and 1950s and ends as a tragic tale which showcases the almost unforgivable side of Bech’s god-like persona. The premise is that Bech commits (at first accidentally; then with intent) the act that every writer of fiction has considered but rejected—he kills his worst critics. (Gulp) Describing the story in a 1998 Charlie Rose interview, Updike remarked, “He even gets a cape, like Batman.” He also gets a side-kick, a sexy computer-geek (she happens to be named Robin) who helps him dispose of some of his trickier victims.

Bech becomes almost unforgivable at the end of the story—he is cruel, with the harshness of a pulp hero who doesn’t give a damn about anyone else—except his girl. Taking inspiration from the pulps of the 1940s and 1950s, this Bech tale switches gears, with the prose of the story becoming as gritty as the events described within.“Bech and the Bounty of Sweden” ends the collection—and the adventures of Mr. Bech—with Bech receiving the Nobel Prize in Literature (an award which Updike never received, in spite of rumors in his favor for over forty years). Taking Robin, their new-born daughter and their nanny with him to Sweden, he comically frets over his Nobel lecture, suffering from his usual writer’s block. Just before zero-hour, Bech sprouts a brilliant idea—a suitable ending, both for his speech and his tales, surpassing the brilliance of every other story in the book. Tragically, this story is an unsuitable antidote for the poison that Bech released in “Bech Noir”.

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The final Bech book comes as an end to the last of Updike’s continuing characters (having ended with Rabbit in 1990 and the Maples in 1979, before the abrupt return to Eastwick in 2008, just before his death from cancer). The end of the final story is a non-ending, still leaving us with questions about the life of Mr. Bech. Yet the Bech tales fulfill the expectations of a serious Updike fan—a dash of religious agony, a pinch of sex and a sentence-style that owes equal amounts to John Cheever and Vladimir Nabokov.

And with nothing more to say:

“Bye-Bye Mr. Bech.”