The ultimate writer's journal. John Cheever is a very recent discovery for me. I have heard of him, but never dwell into his world, till I saw the film 'The Swimmer.' I loved the film, and was curious about the short story that the film is based on - well, I read it. Adywans Star Wars Purist Edition Definition.

I then read other short stories by Cheever, and bingo, I realized that I really missed something here. He's an incredible and very insightful writer. His Journals are no exception to his skill. Some of the material here is The ultimate writer's journal.

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John Cheever is a very recent discovery for me. I have heard of him, but never dwell into his world, till I saw the film 'The Swimmer.' I loved the film, and was curious about the short story that the film is based on - well, I read it. I then read other short stories by Cheever, and bingo, I realized that I really missed something here. He's an incredible and very insightful writer. His Journals are no exception to his skill.

Some of the material here is very painful, but the most interesting aspect is when he talks about his drinking. He's not delusional, in fact, he's almost like a scientist or someone like Burroughs who can detect their 'problem' with a certain substance. Throughout this huge book, he touches on the world of alcoholism. He never sells himself into a world of fantasy. And on top of that, he knows how to write about his surroundings in great livid detail. I think anyone who keeps an ongoing journal (i do) should read this book. “One must act with a free heart—there can be nothing covert—and seek the best ways of expressing ourselves within the conditions under which we live.

And waking I think how narrow and anxious my life is. Where are the mountains and green fields, the broad landscapes?” (1957) John Cheever, what a perfect writer, what a tormented human. His journals, which read beautifully and show themselves to be intended for publication (thus lessening that stinging feeling of voyeurism that I get reading dead p “One must act with a free heart—there can be nothing covert—and seek the best ways of expressing ourselves within the conditions under which we live. And waking I think how narrow and anxious my life is. Where are the mountains and green fields, the broad landscapes?” (1957) John Cheever, what a perfect writer, what a tormented human.

His journals, which read beautifully and show themselves to be intended for publication (thus lessening that stinging feeling of voyeurism that I get reading dead people’s diaries), are a stirring and often heartbreaking window into his life and his demons: particularly, alcoholism, his lifelong wrestling with homosexual desire and his tireless ambition to be great, to be remembered. The entries are undated, except for the year, and composed with brilliance and clarity and stark self-awareness. He is always harder on himself than he is on other people (even his frequently desired/despised wife, Mary), and there is a touching humility and brokenness that marks these pages. “What we take for grief or sorrow seems, often, to be our inability to put ourselves into a viable relationship with the world; to this nearly lost paradise. Sometimes we see the reasons for this and sometimes we do not. Sometimes we wake up to find the lens that magnifies the excellence of the world and its people broken.” (1954).