And Jerry, far-journeyer across life and across the history of all life that goes to make the world, strugglingly mastering the abysmal slime of the prehistoric with the love that had come into existence and had become warp and woof of him in far later time, his wrath of ancientness still faintly reverberating in his throat like the rumblings of a passing thunder-storm, knew, in the wide warm ways of feeling, the augustness
and righteousness of Skipper.
The whole world direly needs a drink after the augustness
of August and sepulcher-like September.
( The New York Times averred that while "Wood writes like a dream and the novel is often wildly funny," nonetheless it "tries -- and, it should be said, fails -- to achieve the kind of artistic and moral augustness
that it so obviously aims for" and Upstate received similarly snotty notices in the Times and Sunday Times last weekend.) These things are deeply unpleasant and, Wood says, have made him soften towards his own targets, but it is also his habit to move briskly on.