Toward the end of his life, John Updike, who had been the voice of suburbia for four decades, turned away from middle-class angst and desire to explore darker matters. In his last published novel, “The Widows of Eastwick,“ Updike, who died in January at the age of 76, returned to the magic-wielding heroines of a previous book and found them robbed of youth, beauty and even, at times, hope.

Boomers discovered John Updike during their college years or soon after. Many considered him something of a generational troubadour, and never mind that he was born 12 years before their onset. His name appears on legitimate lists of so-called great American writers; all generations happily can claim him. Updike wrote of suburbia and sex, especially, it seems, as manifested in adultery. He captured not only eros but its companion, despair, and, as his predecessor, John Cheever, put it, recognized the moment “when the beginnings of self-destruction enter the heart.“ Rabbit, Run introduced readers to Harry Rabbit Angstrom, and became the first of a tetralogy. The movie version ensured that The Witches of Eastwick would remain one of Updike’s most recognizable works, albeit one of his lesser efforts. In the Beauty of the Lilies is our favorite. Religion runs through it. The Book of Common Prayer might be an appropriate study guide.

BOSTON—The Boston Red Sox joined in mourning the death of Pulitzer Prize-winning writer John Updike, who in a famous essay once described Fenway Park as a “lyric little bandbox of a ballpark.“ The essay, “Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu,“ appeared in The New Yorker magazine on Oct. 22, 1960 and was inspired by Mr. Updike’s attendance at the last game Ted Williams played that season.