Tuesday, August 8, 2017
Cheever's Exhilarating, Self-excoriating, Disheveling Journals
Parul Sehgal, in her wonderful “Remains of the Day” (The New York Times Sunday Book Review,
July 30, 2017), a review of Christa Wolf’s diary One Day a Year: 2001-2011, writes,
For Wolf, time is fugitive (“History often seems to me like
a funnel, down which our lives swirl, never to be seen again”), but her book is
a sieve, a way to snare what can be caught, those strings of seeming
banalities — that gherkin, an odd detail from a dream, how her husband learns
to roll up her surgical stockings for her when she falls asleep in front of the
television, that she suddenly needs surgical stockings in the first place.
I like Sehgal’s image of Wolf’s diary as a sieve, “a way to
snare what can be caught.” Diary-writing is an undervalued literary form. Sehgal
is one of the few critics who appreciate it. A few years ago, she wrote a
memorable piece on The Journals of John
Cheever (1991), calling it a “disheveling, debauching book,” “even a dangerous
book: it invites you to contemplate — even embrace — your corruption” (“A Year in Reading,” The Millions, December
16, 2011). She says,
I love this Cheever, so lust-worn, fatigued, wise. The
Cheever who observes, “I prayed for some degree of sexual continence, although
the very nature of sexuality is incontinence.” But I love him more when he’s
cross, crass, and ornery. When he’s querulous and moaning for “a more muscular
vocabulary,” his face on a postage stamp, a more reliable erection. When he
carps about his contemporaries (Calvino:
“cute,” Nabokov: “all those
sugared violets”). But Cheever the ecstatic, who merges with the mountain air
and streams, who finds in writing and sex a bridge between the sacred and the
profane and is as spontaneous and easy as a child — he is indispensable.
Geoff Dyer, in his
“John Cheever: The Journals”
(included in his excellent 2011 essay collection Otherwise Known as the Human Condition), suggests that The Journals of John Cheever “represents
Cheever’s greatest achievement, his principal claim to literary survival.” I
agree. Excerpts from Cheever’s journals appeared in The New Yorker (“From the Late Forties and Fifties,” August 6 &
13, 1990; “From the Sixties,” January 21 & 28, 1991; “From the Seventies
and Early Eighties,” August 12 & 19, 1991). They’re among the magazine’s
most inspired writings. Someday, I’ll post a more detailed appreciation of
them.
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