Like most people, before delving into this collection that is at times masterful and at times leaden, I had perhaps read only two short stories by John Cheever. “The Enormous Radio,” one of his earliest, remains a popularly anthologized piece of horror served up to high school students. “The Swimmer,” one of his latest, retains its popularity partly due to the 1968 Burt Lancaster film adaptation. In this latter story, a man notices that every backyard in his town has a swimming pool. He devises a plan to “swim home,” and each new dip is a microcosm of his relationships and his life.

My views of Cheever have, over the years, been largely shaped by these two stories, which are decent in their own way. However, due to their peculiar subject matter, they are something that youth can only slightly appreciate. I may have even read The Wapshot Chronicle in college at some point, but if I did, all memory of it has vanished. Cheever is, and I say this as a specific kind of compliment, a writer for adults.

One might easily think that many authors write for adults. It's quite likely even part of their conscious decision-making. But what I mean is something different. There is something in the perspective, in the aesthetic of Cheever's writing that only truly begins to make sense once you have reached adulthood. This is not to say that his stories are merely dull accounts of mortgages and careers that gradually suppress your passions. But there is something of Thoreau's “lives of quiet desperation” to be found throughout. Perhaps to fully understand their essence, you have to reach that point in your life where you come to terms with the conflicting reality of your potential and the promise of your dreams.

In any case, the collection is astonishingly first-rate. I haven't been able to determine if this is definitive or if there is a significant body of Cheever stories that didn't make the cut. It's one of the things I'd like to see publishing houses develop consistent standards on. One might buy The Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway or The Complete Stories of Ernest Hemingway and not realize that these are not the same volumes. There is a slender edition of more political stories Cheever wrote for leftist magazines in the thirties, but none of these are in this particular collection.

As I started reading, Cheever's world required some getting used to. It's hard to remember that once upon a time, such was our economy and our outlook that month-long summer vacations to seaside cottages were not only for the upper classes but also for middle-class families. Dad often took the train back to the city for a few days out of that month to check in and so on, but for the most part, leisure was part of the equation. It's hard to believe in a world where husbands and wives regularly drink martinis, go to parties, and “get tight” in three-dimensional reality when for so many of us this world exists mainly as a black and white era film.

Cheever's stories, however, are anything but that kind of celluloid thinness. In his own way, Cheever tapped into a rich vein of existential angst felt by characters who at times are too numb to the world around them to recognize their own despair. As in the aforementioned “The Enormous Radio,” our protagonist, Irene Westcott, is initially so delighted in eavesdropping on her neighbors that she doesn't realize that her very action makes her even more despicable and loathsome than they are with their petty thefts and affairs. It is the brutal gift of the radio that allows her to be stripped of her pleasant “good people” veneer, and by the closing paragraphs, she and her husband are revealed to be no better than anyone around them. This laying bare is done unsparingly, unsentimentally, and with delightfully wicked wit.

That's part of the secret of Cheever's literary charm. Quite simply, his stories are often about characters coming to the realization that their lives are not as perfect as they seem. The opening story “Goodbye, My Brother” introduces us to the Pommeroy family, and at first, our sympathies are with the narrator against his brother, the prig Lawrence. But as the tale unfolds, Cheever manages the neat trick of exposing the narrator for what he is – a judgmental, sanctimonious prick in his own right – but the author completely withholds that self-revelation from his character. It's wonderfully done, almost a kind of literary photo-realism.

The term “painterly” is often applied to Cheever's style because of the care he takes in creating his characters and their worlds in detail. It's not inappropriate, but it suggests a kind of transparent effect, an obvious trick to what he's doing that becomes easily apparent once you've gotten close enough to the “canvas.” At times, yes, Cheever's prose can be shockingly dated in its stylistic mannerisms, let alone its subject matter. While these are the kinds of stories in which husbands' affairs in the city are matter-of-factly glossed over, wives who get hysterical are psychologically cured with a little backhand, and the darkest shade of melanin is limited to minor Italian characters, these are merely artifacts of the time.

To our jaded, post-modern sensibilities, there is at times something a little mawkish in Cheever's straightforward New Criticism stylings. “O Youth and Beauty!” is a perfect example of a story that fits this description to a T, even its O. Henry conclusion being a perfect set piece of its era. The decline into disrepute of a once-handsome popular man and the failure of his usual party trick is a thumbnail sketch of agonized personal tragedy that, like much of our own melodramatic feelings, is completely foreign and unrecognizable to others. Similarly, “The Housebreaker of Shady Hill” is a wonderful exploration of another buttoned-down breakdown. Stripped of his usual morals and ethics by desperation and shame, a man finds himself becoming almost addicted to robbing his neighbors.

“Just Tell Me Who It Was” is also filled with a prickly private agony, as in the best of Cheever's tales. In this story, an older man worries about his younger wife cheating on him, though evidence in either direction remains tantalizingly elusive. If you've ever been deeply bitten by the twin fangs of deep love and deep jealousy, you're sure to recognize Will Pym's high-speed emotional see-saw.

One of the strongest and weirdest stories in the collection, and for many reasons my favorite, is “The Five-Forty-Eight.” Blake, one of Cheever's countless husbands who work in the city, decides to go home with an obviously unbalanced new secretary at his firm, Miss Denton. “Most of the many women he had known had been picked for their lack of self-esteem,” we are told. After he satisfies himself with her, he has the personnel department fire the woman. Her confrontation with him, which makes up the bulk of the plot, is one of the most unforgettable, tense, and poetic pieces of Cheever's writing. The tautness is there from the very first line of the story and only gets worse as Miss Denton follows Blake to the train station and sits down next to him with a gun. Her revenge is perfectly written, a shaming so profound that even Cheever's typical male reader will surely understand it.

The collection remains a 700-page treasure trove of riches, most of them small. In our era of oversized reading tastes, when only the most grandiose experimentation will have literary impact and only the most tawdry and vicious serial murderers will sell well, these small pleasures have become something of a refinement. The world has changed a great deal since John Cheever was a household name. Most people have likely never heard of him or have only heard of him in passing, a fleeting memory of “that story we read in high school about the radio.”

It is impossible to open this collection and not be transported back in time, not to feel the constraints of an era that was paradoxically smaller and yet still bigger. As our external horizons seem to have regressed to a point approaching infinity, it seems our internal horizons have shrunk to a point close to nil. Cheever has a bracing effect on both tendencies, giving us slices of life from an age when even Boston felt like a small town, along with the grand spectacle of an inner monologue whose richness and variety might seem bizarrely complex to a twenty-something today. The term “escapism” is often used to denigrate certain kinds of genre fiction. I can give no higher compliment to Cheever's work than to declare it escapism of a very, very satisfying kind.

I had great illusions about this book. It was supposed to be a Pulitzer-winning work by a very well-known and respected author in the US.

I have read some of his most famous stories, including "The Swimmer", but they didn't really impress me. Maybe it's because I'm not able to appreciate how the author describes the decline of the American middle class or whatever it is that he wants to express. However, I still give it three generous stars.

Perhaps I'm just not the right audience for this kind of literature. Maybe someone else with a different background or perspective would be able to understand and enjoy it more. But for me, it was just an okay read. I guess I'll have to keep looking for that next great book that will really blow me away.

Overall, while this book didn't meet my expectations, I'm still glad that I gave it a try. It's always interesting to explore different authors and styles of writing, and you never know when you might discover a new favorite.

The Stories of John Cheever is truly a magisterial collection. It gathers some of the most poignant, vivid, and beautifully written stories of the 20th century. Fully deserving its five-star rating, this compilation won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. It showcases Cheever’s extraordinary talent for dissecting American suburban life, its discontents, and the ephemeral moments of joy and despair that define human existence.

John Cheever, often called the Chekhov of the suburbs, has an uncanny ability to make the mundane seem luminous and extraordinary. His stories, set against the backdrop of post-war American prosperity, peel back the layers of mid-century suburban veneer. They reveal the complex emotional and moral landscapes of his characters. On the outside, they may lead seemingly enviable lives, but Cheever masterfully shows the inner turmoil, loneliness, and longing beneath the surface.

One of the collection’s standout qualities is Cheever’s prose. It is elegant, precise, and deeply evocative. He writes with a lyricism that turns every story into a rich sensory experience. Whether he's describing the shimmering light of a swimming pool on a summer evening or the crisp air of a New York autumn, his attention to detail and atmospheric settings amplify the emotional resonance of the narrative. The ordinary becomes extraordinary.

The themes Cheever explores are timeless. There is the search for meaning in a modern world, the fragility of happiness, the complexity of familial and romantic relationships, and the clash between individual desires and societal expectations. His stories often walk a fine line between realism and surrealism, filled with a sense of myth and a deep understanding of the human psyche.

The Stories of John Cheever is not just a collection but a journey through life's vicissitudes. Marked by moments of transcendent beauty and profound sadness, Cheever’s exploration of the human condition remains relevant today. Moreover, this collection is a testament to his range as a writer. From the tragic to the comic, from the satirical to the tender, he navigates different tones and styles with ease, showing his versatility and depth.

In conclusion, The Stories of John Cheever is a literary treasure. It offers readers a window into the soul of America and the universal quest for meaning and connection. Its five-star rating is a testament to Cheever's mastery of the short story form and his enduring legacy as one of the finest American writers of the 20th century. For anyone seeking to understand the subtleties of human emotions and the complexities of life in the American suburbs, this collection is an essential read.

CHEEVER'S MILKSHAKE BRINGS ALL THE BOYS TO THE YARD

I have spent the past 9 months engrossed in the works of this sexy beast. The stories I have encountered rank among the very best I have ever had the pleasure of reading. Consider this: there is a man who makes the hilarious mistake of mistaking a child for a Lucky Strike cigarette. Then there's another man who ingeniously applies Euclid's theorem to his life in a desperate attempt to solve his marital woes. There's a woman who is completely obsessed with the atomic bomb, her mind constantly preoccupied with its power and implications.

There's a man whose family lowboy is mysteriously filled with the ghosts of his relatives, haunting his every step. A man with a debilitating phobia of bridges, which restricts his movements and adds an element of tension to his life. A man who accidentally poisons his children, a tragic and heart-wrenching event. There's also a man who moonlights as a housebreaker in his own neighbourhood, leading a double life that is both thrilling and dangerous.

And let's not forget the man who visits Russia for a mere 48 hours and promptly falls in love with a girl named Natasha, while his government wrongly suspects him of spying for the Communists. There are also numerous American expats living in Italy, adding an international flavour to the mix. Oh, and there's a pig that falls into a well and a huge radio that allows you to eavesdrop on your neighbours' conversations. Yup, it's all pretty cool stuff that keeps you on the edge of your seat and leaves you craving for more.

The Fourth Alarm by John Cheever is an excellent and hilarious story.

It seems to be about the conflict between old and new, with modern excesses attempting to break free from old influences. The hero's struggle to deal with his wife's "emancipation" is secondary, and I would call it plain nonsense. If we follow the plot, it appears to be the author's opinion as well.

The hero is not without fault. He is one of many men who drink too early and too much, just like John Cheever himself may have done. He knows about it and perhaps feels the need to address the subject.

The fact that he drinks is not crucial to the story, but starting the morning with a gin is outrageous. Bertha, the wife, is going for a casting in a nude show, despite her mother's authority. She feels like a new and better woman after experiencing nudity on stage, but I have doubts about the authenticity of her claims.

The play is modern, but it is all about sex and does not deserve to be called art just because it is on stage. The metaphor of the fourth alarm suggests that we should not replace the old with the new for the sake of it.

The story continues in a humorous, absurd, and outrageous way, with the public invited to undress and join in the love pile. The husband's attempt to take his keys, wallet, and money leads to an argument and more humor.

Overall, The Fourth Alarm is a great story that can be read online at the provided link.

I went into the men's bathroom. I locked myself in a cubicle and cried. I cried for Penumbra's dishonesty, I cried for the destiny of Dynaflex, I cried for the destiny of my secretary - an intelligent spinster who writes stories in her spare time - I cried bitterly for my naivety, for my lack of shrewdness, I cried because I had let myself be overcome by the simple facts of life.

And I wonder why, in this so prosperous, fair and winning world - where even the cleaning women practice Chopin's preludes in their spare time - everyone must have such a disappointed look.

Cheever has flashes of enthusiasm (desperate comedy) that can remind one of Lucia Berlin, or vice versa. In his best stories, he is essential, concentrated, there is not a single uninteresting line, often there are sudden metamorphoses not without touches of pure and subtle humor. A character has no particular fears, in fact he is surprised by those who do, and suddenly there is the fear in him of crossing bridges by car, the imminent fear of a collapse. The imagination that enlivens him at the same time invents apprehensions for him. This happens in a splendid story titled "The Angel of the Bridge".

The most famous and quoted stories of Cheever are "The Swimmer" and "An Unusual Radio" but not always the most famous stories are the best, I don't think they are his most representative ones in absolute, there are more memorable and perfect stories, in my most immodest opinion. I think of "Divorce Season", "The Sorrows of Gin", "The Death of Justina", "The Angel of the Bridge", "The 5:48 Train".

"Divorce Season", for example, is a tense and circumscribed story that describes a wife, a husband and Trencher, an acquaintance of theirs, who has an almost grotesque crush on her, while her husband reacts as he can and while she recalls the un-lived.

For the first time the situation seemed serious to me, because I realized that Trencher, in his impotence, could have awakened a profound feeling that Ethel has in common with some other women, the absolute inability to be deaf to cries for help, to not listen to the voices that have a plaintive sound. It is not a rational feeling and I would almost have preferred that she desired that man, rather than pity him.

It seemed the culmination of the year, a cursed day for gastritis, sinusitis and respiratory diseases and, remembering other winters, the traces of light convinced me that that was the season of divorces.

This was a book group pick.

Even though I did not finish in time for the discussion, I was still determined to complete the collection.

The stories in this collection mainly feature middle-aged, middle-class east coast Americans who have a tendency to drink too much.

I think I might have enjoyed them more if I had read only one story a month.

However, reading them back to back was a bit overwhelming.

Now, they all seem like a blur in my mind.

Despite this, I still appreciate the author's ability to capture the lives and struggles of these characters.

The stories are well-written and offer a unique perspective on a particular segment of society.

I look forward to discussing them with the book group and hearing their thoughts and interpretations.

Maybe with their insights, I will be able to better understand and appreciate the collection as a whole.

In the same vein as Updike and a precursor to the "dirty-realism" of Carver, Cheever has a remarkable way of betraying our expectations. He presents a class of people who, on the surface of things, seem to have their lives together. However, through his unpretentious plots and simple syntax, he manages to stun his readers by revealing catastrophic and devastating results in what otherwise appear to be innocuous scenarios.

It is almost a form of voyeurism the way he peels back the layers and reveals the reality behind our neighbors' closed doors. His ability to expose the hidden turmoil and secrets within seemingly ordinary lives is truly remarkable. Cheever is a phenomenal author, with a unique and revealing perception of American society. He forces us to look beyond the façade and face the uncomfortable truths that lie beneath.

His works offer a profound and thought-provoking exploration of the human condition, making us question our own assumptions and judgments. Cheever's writing is a testament to the power of literature to揭示 the hidden aspects of our lives and society, and to make us see the world in a new and different light.

The stories in this book presented a rather inconsistent picture.

The very best ones were true masterpieces of the short fiction form, showcasing精湛的技巧和深刻的洞察力.

However, the worst seemed like hasty and sloppy efforts, perhaps rushed to meet a deadline.

I found myself irresistibly drawn to the Shady Hill stories, but unfortunately, there were far too few of them.

On the other hand, I often wished that the author would move beyond his Italian obsession and return to writing about New York.

It seemed that he was at his creative peak when writing in a conservative style yet with an experimental flair, as exemplified by "The Swimmer".

I truly believe that the volume could be significantly improved with some serious cutting and editing.

Nevertheless, the high quality of the best stories managed to somewhat support the less impressive ones.

Among the very best stories were "Goodbye, My Brother", which was perfect in every way.

"The Common Day" also had its charm.

"The Enormous Radio" was very well executed, and "The Summer Farmer" was an interesting read.

"Torch Song" was simply irresistible, and "Clancy in the Tower of Babel" added a touch of uniqueness.

"The Season of Divorce" was another perfect story, and "The Children" and "The Housebreaker of Shady Hill" were also quite engaging.

"The Worm in the Apple" was very clever, and "The Country Husband" was a masterpiece.

"Brimmer" and "The Death of Justina" had their own merits, and "The Swimmer" was highly innovative.

Among the worst stories were "O City of Broken Dreams", which felt rather ham-fisted.

"The Hartleys" seemed like a hack job, and "The Sorrows of Gin" and "O Youth and Beauty!" were less than impressive.

"A Vision of the World" and "The Jewels of the Cabots" were rather strange, perhaps the ravings of an old man.

I would be open to hearing arguments in favor of the stories I consider the worst, as some of them are actually celebrated.

I just don't understand why.

Oh, what can one do with a man like that? What possible actions can be taken? How is it feasible to prevent his gaze from singling out, in a crowd, the cheek with acne or the infirm hand? How can one educate him to respond to the inestimable greatness of the human race, the harsh yet surface beauty of life? How can one guide his finger to touch upon the obdurate truths before which fear and horror hold no power?

The sea on that morning was iridescent and dark, presenting a captivating and mysterious sight. My wife and my sister, Diana and Helen respectively, were swimming. I witnessed their uncovered heads, one black and the other gold, bobbing in the dark water. As they emerged from the sea, I saw that they were naked, unashamed, beautiful, and exuding grace. I stood there, transfixed, watching the naked women walk out of the sea, their figures outlined against the backdrop of the ocean, a scene that seemed almost otherworldly.

I have recently made an exciting discovery - the short-story fiction of John Cheever, and I am now officially a devoted fan.

Some of these stories are truly creepy, leaving you with a sense of unease and puzzlement. Others are downright weird, taking you on a journey into the strange recesses of the human mind.

But what truly strikes me is that all of them, to one degree or another, bear a resemblance to my formative years in the 1960s and the generation of my parents.

This collection of short stories is like a precious time capsule that I am sure I will dip into time and again over the years.

What I do know for certain is that my appetite for Cheever's fiction has been whetted, and I can't wait to read more.

For me, this collection earns a solid four out of five stars.

It took a damn long time to finish this.

I started reading it while I was extremely depressed, and then I went back to school.

During that period, my state of mind was not in the best condition, which made the reading progress rather slow.

Anyway, anyone who says Cheever is overrated is a fucking blowhard.

Cheever's works have their own unique charm and value.

His writing style is细腻and profound, capable of depicting the complex emotions and psychological states of characters vividly.

To simply dismiss him as overrated shows a lack of understanding and appreciation for his literary achievements.

We should approach his works with an open and objective attitude and try to discover the beauty and wisdom hidden within them.