Great writer deserves better
By william blake Bailey, Picador, 770pp, £25 LATE, after-hours in this agonising exploration of one man’s life, the biographer, Blake Bailey refers to Saul Bellow. Having united to convey a defrayal at a religious ritual for john lackland Cheever, call remarked that Nathanael westward had died on the way to F. It is a wry digression but point in time this book, as indeed was Cheever’s life, is sustained by sappy ill-tempered references, and sad, at times, sleazy anecdotes. Biography is a hard-fought genre, more the job for a forensic scientist than the historian.
CHEEVER: A LIFE
“It was the bravery alone that interested [John] Cheever,” says writer painter vocalist of the writer’s work. What vocaliser exposes, on the other hand, is not Cheever the writer, but Cheever, the man. Born in Quincy, Massachusetts, Cheever was the second son of a once-prosperous alcoholic footgear salesman and a domineering mother. His father invited an physician to dinner before Cheever’s commencement in 1912, a level that john cheever “couldn’t assistance telling over again and again (often with a slight chuckle),” as Bailey describes.
Suburban Ghetto: John Cheever, Misread and Misunderstood - Powell's Books
Nineteen sixty-eight wasn't the most wretched year in the life of John Cheever, but it was close. On unfortunate terms with his three children, bitterly choleric with his spouse for daring to enlightened a career exterior the home, and having recently had the last of his tooth removed, he played out his mornings troubled weakly to postpone his archetypical portion of the day. plane although he was set to publish his third novel, Bullet Park -- which he suspected, correctly, wasn't precise good -- his alcoholism had so crippled his quality to write that he was in the midst of a creative drought that would see him full-blown only one brief story in cardinal years.