Followers

12 February 2008

John Cheever, 1912 - 1982

It's the birthday of novelist and short-story writer John Cheever, (books by this author), born in Quincy, Massachusetts (1912). He wrote for more than fifty years and published over two hundred short stories. He's known for writing about the world of American suburbia. Even though he was one of the most popular short-story writers of the twentieth century, he once said that he only earned "enough money to feed the family and buy a new suit every other year."

In 1935 he was published in The New Yorker for the first time, and he would continue to write for the magazine for the rest of his life. His stories were collected in books, including The Way Some People Live (1943) and The Enormous Radio and Other Stories (1953). The Stories of John Cheever, published in 1978, won the Pulitzer Prize and became one of the few collections of short stories ever to make the New York Times best-seller list.

Cheever kept journals his entire life, and a few years before he died in 1982, he told his son that he wanted selections from his journals to be published. The Journals of John Cheever came out in 1990. He wrote about his alcoholism, his depression, his bisexuality, his family, and his writing.

He wrote in his journal: "I worked four days a week on the "[Wapshot] Chronicle," with intense happiness. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, I had a course in advanced composition at Barnard College. My weekends went roughly like this. On Saturday mornings, I played touch football until the noon whistle blew, when I drank Martinis for an hour or so with friends. On Saturday afternoons, I played Baroque music on the piano or recorder with an ensemble group. On Saturday nights, my wife and I either entertained or were entertained by friends. Eight o'clock Sunday morning found me at the Communion rail, and the Sunday passed pleasantly, according to the season, in skiing, scrub hockey, swimming, football, or backgammon. This sport was occasionally interrupted by the fact that I drove the old Mack engine for the volunteer fire department and also bred black Labrador retrievers. As I approached the close of the novel, there were, in my workroom, eight Labrador puppies, and on my desk the Barnard themes, the fire-department correspondence, [and] "The Wapshot Chronicle." ... My happiness was immense, and I trust that the book will, in some ways, be a reminder of this."

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