John Updike's corpus is punctuated forcefully by his own magnum opus, the Rabbit series, a tetralogy that is simultaneously literature, cultural critique, and theology.

In 1933, a twenty-five-year-old writer named Richard Sullivan articulated for himself the qualities a novel should have. In a “Record of Work Begun and Ideas for Stories,” 1932-1933, he wrote:

When he wrote these words, Sullivan had not yet published a novel; the publication of his first short story in a national magazine was still three years away. He eventually published six of his novels and dozens of short stories while teaching English at the University of Notre Dame from 1936 to 1974. Few people have heard of him or his work, and, at first glance, his life looks commonplace, even prosaic—he never lived farther than one hundred miles from his birthplace and seldom traveled; he taught at the same place, largely the same courses, for thirty-eight years; he wrote and published for almost forty years, coming tantalizingly close to major success, which nonetheless always eluded him.

Considering the national and international furor provoked by the sensational early 1950's “atom spy” trial and execution of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, one may be surprised that these dramatic and traumatic events have not inspired more literary artistry than they have. But a prominent playwright, Arthur Miller, did write The Crucible (produced in 1953) in part as a response to the rabid McCarthyism of that era, and two highly regarded novelists in a later decade composed ambitious novels drawing directly on the Rosenberg affair: E. L. Doctorow in The Book of Daniel (1971) and Robert Coover in The Public Burning (1977). In 1987, Sidney Lumet produced the little noticed film Daniel, based on Doctorow's novel, and still more recently Tony Kushner's Pulitzer Prize-winning play, Angels in America, with Ethel Rosenberg as one of the characters, has been playing on Broadway.

This article investigates the contribution of several twentieth-century women writers to the legacy of women's writing about child death and scriptural consolation. The suffering and death of children constitutes the most intractable of religious problems, and recent studies of parental grieving support women's literary treatment of child death. Thus, just as child death creates a unique religious space, it may also demand its own literary category and aesthetic. By considering the unique dimensions of parental grieving, and by looking at how Perri Klass, Toni Morrison, and Harriette Arnow handle this subject, it is possible to gain fresh literary perspective on the fiction of nineteenth-century American women, many of whom also addressed the problem of child death and scriptural consolation. Women writers create children who are more than literary or symbolic commodities, and, in so doing, these writers challenge us to reevaluate scriptural and social perspectives on child death.