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JOHN CHEEVER

COLLECTED STORIES AND OTHER WRITINGS

But there’s more to Cheever—in the Proustian digressiveness of “The Jewels of the Cabots”; the episodic (pre-Wapshot) comedy...

Despite the early acceptance of John Cheever (1912–82) as a writer of short stories for prestigious magazines (the New Republic, the New Yorker), he struggled for decades to support a growing family and earn critical respect (both of these goals were realized, in spades, in his later years). Conversely, the roles Cheever played adeptly—those of a conventional, albeit eccentric suburbanite and a doting paterfamilias—were forcibly shed as he slipped further into lifelong alcoholism and a troubled, if finally liberating confrontation with his deeply conflicted sexuality.

What has always been most attractive about Cheever’s springy, eternally hopeful, extroverted fiction is its beguiling sense of open-ended possibility: the “territory ahead” or “world elsewhere” that beckon implicitly in American narratives, from Cooper’s Leatherstocking Tales and Twain’s Mississippi River adventuring, to Saul Bellow’s chronicles of newly made Americans seizing their futures from the flotsam and jetsam of a truly patchwork country and culture. As Cheever moved into the ampler realms of the novel, his short stories’ trademark focus on moments of epiphany or recognition—in which the urban and quotidian become perturbed and energized by their collision with the fabulous and mythical—expanded into generously imagined narratives—of families transformed by the compromises of aging and changing (in the delightful paired novels The Wapshot Chronicle and The Wapshot Scandal) and of an even more radical transformation in Falconer, a masterly fable of crime and punishment, imprisonment and ascension. Despite these climactic achievements, it is Cheever as storyteller that most readers prize above his other incarnations. The Library of America’s irresistible collection includes the complete contents of the Pulitzer Prize–winning 1978 Stories, plus handfuls of uncollected stories and others published in Cheever’s essentially disowned 1941 debut collection The Way Some People Live. All 75 of these are incontestably worth reading, and many have taken up permanent residence in their readers’ memories. Classic portrayals of suburban angst range from essentially conventional cautionary tales (“The Sorrows of Gin,” “The Five-Forty-Eight”), redeemed by their imaginative intensity, to stronger, darker visions—e.g., of a radio in an apartment building that broadcasts details of its occupants’ lives (“The Enormous Radio”); a financially strapped Everyman who finds himself robbing his affluent neighbors’ homes (“The Housebreaker of Shady Hill”); and the perilously heightened imagination that afflicts the chance survivor of an airplane crash (“The Country Husband”).

But there’s more to Cheever—in the Proustian digressiveness of “The Jewels of the Cabots”; the episodic (pre-Wapshot) comedy of “The Day the Pig Fell into the Well”; and, in the best story he ever wrote, a heartbreakingly candid revelation (“Goodbye, My Brother”) of a loving relationship finally understood as both blessing and curse. The mysteriousness of human love and frailty and confusion has seldom been confessed and celebrated with such passionate candor. Attention must be paid, and glasses should be raised in tribute and gratitude to it.

Pub Date: March 1, 2009

ISBN: 978-1-59853-034-6

Page Count: 1056

Publisher: Library of America

Review Posted Online: June 24, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 1, 2009

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ELEANOR OLIPHANT IS COMPLETELY FINE

Honeyman’s endearing debut is part comic novel, part emotional thriller, and part love story.

A very funny novel about the survivor of a childhood trauma.

At 29, Eleanor Oliphant has built an utterly solitary life that almost works. During the week, she toils in an office—don’t inquire further; in almost eight years no one has—and from Friday to Monday she makes the time go by with pizza and booze. Enlivening this spare existence is a constant inner monologue that is cranky, hilarious, deadpan, and irresistible. Eleanor Oliphant has something to say about everything. Riding the train, she comments on the automated announcements: “I wondered at whom these pearls of wisdom were aimed; some passing extraterrestrial, perhaps, or a yak herder from Ulan Bator who had trekked across the steppes, sailed the North Sea, and found himself on the Glasgow-Edinburgh service with literally no prior experience of mechanized transport to call upon.” Eleanor herself might as well be from Ulan Bator—she’s never had a manicure or a haircut, worn high heels, had anyone visit her apartment, or even had a friend. After a mysterious event in her childhood that left half her face badly scarred, she was raised in foster care, spent her college years in an abusive relationship, and is now, as the title states, perfectly fine. Her extreme social awkwardness has made her the butt of nasty jokes among her colleagues, which don’t seem to bother her much, though one notices she is stockpiling painkillers and becoming increasingly obsessed with an unrealistic crush on a local musician. Eleanor’s life begins to change when Raymond, a goofy guy from the IT department, takes her for a potential friend, not a freak of nature. As if he were luring a feral animal from its hiding place with a bit of cheese, he gradually brings Eleanor out of her shell. Then it turns out that shell was serving a purpose.

Honeyman’s endearing debut is part comic novel, part emotional thriller, and part love story.

Pub Date: May 9, 2017

ISBN: 978-0-7352-2068-3

Page Count: 336

Publisher: Pamela Dorman/Viking

Review Posted Online: Jan. 22, 2017

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2017

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THE ODYSSEY

More faithful to the original but less astonishing than Christopher Logue’s work and lacking some of the music of Fagles’...

Fresh version of one of the world’s oldest epic poems, a foundational text of Western literature.

Sing to me, O muse, of the—well, in the very opening line, the phrase Wilson (Classical Studies, Univ. of Pennsylvania) chooses is the rather bland “complicated man,” the adjective missing out on the deviousness implied in the Greek polytropos, which Robert Fagles translated as “of twists and turns.” Wilson has a few favorite words that the Greek doesn’t strictly support, one of them being “monstrous,” meaning something particularly heinous, and to have Telemachus “showing initiative” seems a little report-card–ish and entirely modern. Still, rose-fingered Dawn is there in all her glory, casting her brilliant light over the wine-dark sea, and Wilson has a lively understanding of the essential violence that underlies the complicated Odysseus’ great ruse to slaughter the suitors who for 10 years have been eating him out of palace and home and pitching woo to the lovely, blameless Penelope; son Telemachus shows that initiative, indeed, by stringing up a bevy of servant girls, “their heads all in a row / …strung up with the noose around their necks / to make their death an agony.” In an interesting aside in her admirably comprehensive introduction, which extends nearly 80 pages, Wilson observes that the hanging “allows young Telemachus to avoid being too close to these girls’ abused, sexualized bodies,” and while her reading sometimes tends to be overly psychologized, she also notes that the violence of Odysseus, by which those suitors “fell like flies,” mirrors that of some of the other ungracious hosts he encountered along his long voyage home to Ithaca.

More faithful to the original but less astonishing than Christopher Logue’s work and lacking some of the music of Fagles’ recent translations of Homer; still, a readable and worthy effort.

Pub Date: Nov. 7, 2017

ISBN: 978-0-393-08905-9

Page Count: 656

Publisher: Norton

Review Posted Online: Sept. 3, 2017

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 15, 2017

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