Some years ago, I read with great delight three novels by Cheever, "The Wapshot Chronicle", "The Wapshot Scandal" and the truly brilliant "Bullet Park". Now I have also read "Falconer", Cheever's most famous novel, and it was again a reading pleasure. Most critics think Cheever is at his best in his short stories, which I indeed also find wonderful, but now I wonder if his novels are not at least as good. Cheever's novels are indeed typically the products of a born short story writer: there is hardly a plot, as a reader you hop from one unexpected scene to the other, and you rather read a prose text that meanders from one strange short story to the other than a novel. Some people find that a defect. But I think it is precisely the strength of those books. Every scene by Cheever is in itself already a gem of wonderful quirkiness, and every scene that follows is also such a gem that is just as wonderful and quirky and moreover completely surprising. That meandering character suits perfectly the rather loose life of Cheever's characters: they are quite adrift, which you as a reader really feel because the plot is adrift and every piece of the plot is full of crazy alienation. And moreover, the advantage of such a meandering plot is that as a reader you are constantly treated to new surprises. I myself am in any case completely delighted by it: I think it is great and also enormously liberating to move along with such a highly mobile book by such a brilliant mind.

"Falconer" is about a certain Farragut, a drug-addicted professor who is in prison for murdering or manslaughtering his brother. We become a witness to his experiences in prison, his struggles with homosexuality, his lustful passions for several women, his failed marriage, his addiction, his fears, his feelings of uncanniness because his father once wanted to prevent him from being born through an abortion and his tragedy. Someone who knows Cheever's wonderful memoirs knows that he, in the period when he wrote "Falconer", himself struggled very much with his marriage, homosexuality and alcoholism. Many scenes in "Falconer" also invite an allegorical reading: the man who looks through the bars at the free world that is inaccessible to him grows into a kind of symbol of 'the alienated man' (someone like you and me) who is completely trapped in the constricting limitations of his own absurd and directionless existence, and vainly longs for a kind of redemptive world on the other side. "Falconer" has, in short, a rather serious and even tragic tendency. But at the same time, this book is also full of Cheeverian humor and quirkiness, and the style is also here constantly miraculously light, sparkling and elegant. "Falconer" is stuffed with morbidity, despair and death, but is also permeated with infectious joy and cheerfulness. Not only because of the scenes in which Farragut and others are suddenly completely overwhelmed by feelings of rapture and beauty that come out of nowhere, but especially because the style of Cheever constantly evokes wonder and rapture. Because of that style, "Falconer", besides being a prison book, is for me especially a very liberating book.

I find, for example, the following passage beautiful: "Farragut was a drug addict and he felt that the consciousness of the opium eater was much broader, more vast and representative of the human condition than the consciousness of someone who had never experienced addiction. The drug he needed was a distillate of earth, air, water and fire. He was mortal and his addiction was a beautiful illustration of the bounds of his mortality". The way in which Farragut here blows up his own addiction to 'image of the human condition' I find rather comical, especially because of the quirkiness and absurdity of this passage. But how he then represents that drug as a distillate of the four elements (earth, water, air and fire) is for me in an unexpected way also touching: as if that drug is for him a kind of access to the core elements of the free life, while as a prisoner he is at the same time completely cut off from this free life. And that sentence that is so touching for me comes as a total surprise, which is not announced by any previous sentence and is not explained in any subsequent sentence. Precisely because of that, it gets a kind of mysterious and poetic lightness, like a surprise that comes out of nowhere. A surprise that is also completely gratuitous, without any reason or cause, like a gift of chance. And that also applies to, for example, the following passage, in which Farragut looks through the bars at the autumn leaves: "The leaves had the power to remind Farragut, an hour or so after methadone, of the enormous and absolute pleasure he had, as a free man, taken in his environment. He liked to walk on the earth, swim in the oceans, climb the mountains and, in the autumn, watch the leaves fall. The simple phenomenon of light - brightness angling across the air - struck him as a transcendent piece of good news". Beautiful passage, I think, especially because of that last sentence that really makes me completely happy.

Both quoted passages certainly also have a tragic element: we look along with the hopelessly imprisoned and addicted Farragut, so the glimmer of light (or the feeling of 'the four elements') that he experiences is also the experience of a kind of freedom that is inaccessible to him. But at the same time, it is as if he experiences those glimpses of daylight all the more intensely BECAUSE he sees them from behind the bars. And as if that position of prisoner makes him all the more sensitive to the surprising glimpses of beauty and freedom that we as routinely living citizens ignore or simply do not see. Until we read Cheever, who surprises and delights us with this kind of glimpses throughout a whole novel. And gives us through that surprising delight also for a moment a feeling of almost hallucinatory freedom. I myself had that very strongly in any case: of course I am a gray-mousy sucker who, working from nine to five, is completely dominated by the dictatorship of routine, hour and fact, but when I read Cheever I laugh myself to death and see all kinds of unexpected open worlds through my prison window.

I have now read four of Cheever's five novels, and that is very good for my mood. Soon I will also read his fifth novel, and I will surely also reread all his short stories. At that prospect, my head becomes completely light, and my grin wider and wider.

As I’ve now delved into four out of Cheever’s five novels, a distinct pattern has emerged. He repeatedly constructs situations that involve the comparison and contrast of brothers. More often than not, there is a profound hatred between them.

Coincidentally, while reading Falconer, I also came across “Good-Bye, My Brother.” In both cases, the brothers who despise each other encounter violence at the hands of the younger brother. In “Good-bye,” the younger brother sustains an injury but manages to escape unharmed. In Falconer, however, the younger brother ends up in prison for murdering his brother.

In his journals, Cheever makes references to his brother, yet one doesn’t sense the same level of hatred as is depicted in his fiction. His prose is truly remarkable. The ending, though, seems a bit too neatly wrapped up, perhaps a touch tame.

Nonetheless, I find that I have a penchant for Cheever’s endings. All the extraneous issues, such as the whodunit aspects, fade away, leaving only what is truly significant to the story he has narrated.

In Falconer, Cheever appears to have shed his previous disdain for the “homosexual” or the “queer.” He creates a scenario where men engage in homosexual behavior due to the lack of women, not in the outside world where such a character might face attack. [From Blake’s biography, we learn that Cheever was once quite jealous of his brother in his younger days, but later in life, he demonstrated great affection for him.]

I knew that it was on the list of the 100 best books by Times from 1923 to today and that generally it is considered one of the masterpieces of American literature of the previous century. And I had long wanted to read it.

From the brief, but very illuminating introduction of the Greek edition, we learn that the central hero, Ezekiel Farragut, is the literary alter ego of Salinger and that the book was written within a ten-month period after his stay in a rehabilitation center for alcoholism.

The hero-worshipping fratricide Farragut will come during his incarceration in the Falkner prisons face to face with the past, addiction, guilt, and desire. He will know love, even if it is accidental and hopeless in the person of a journalist who visits him. And he will pursue the unthinkable, happiness, a word that will be (ironically or not) the last of this shocking story.

Overall, this book seems to be a profound exploration of the human psyche, dealing with complex themes such as addiction, love, and the search for meaning in life. I am eager to delve into its pages and discover the world that Salinger has created.

This is an extremely excellent prose! Some sections are truly hilarious. There is a scene where Farragut is so enraged by a perceived injustice during his incarceration that he resolves to pen angry letters to the government, the bishop, and, for some inexplicable reason, an ex-lover. The best parts are the daily insanities of their prison routine.

I sense that some of this may be a bit outdated. Society's perspectives have evolved (to some extent) regarding tales of graphic sex and homosexual scenes, and the impact has surely diminished since 1977. Nevertheless, the prose holds its ground and surpasses contemporary material. For this reason, I would have no hesitation in reading this again with great pleasure.

The audible book that I listened to concluded with an interview regarding the writing and influence of John Cheever.

I must have chosen this book because I desired to know something about John Cheever. As was pointed out in the interview, he has faced rather difficult times. He has not been a popular author since the 1970s.

This concise book, which ostensibly focuses on a man imprisoned for murder, contains a great deal of irony, strangeness, and even humor. It frequently had me perplexed, attempting to fathom precisely what the point was. I believe I would need to understand more about the author to grasp what is happening here.

This is the first book by John Cheever that I have either read or listened to, but I know that I have several more in store for my future. Hopefully, as I hear more from him, I will glean a few more clues about what he was all about!

There is an "American" way of writing, which is a very empirical idea. However, the writers at the end of the 20th century, such as Cheever, Donald Ray Pollock, James Salter, David Vann, and so on... depict poverty, sadness, violence, pain, and cruelty in America in a similar way.

John Cheever is one of them. His writing is sometimes poetic but very tough. It is exceptional.

Cheever's works often explore the complex and often dark aspects of human nature and society. He delves into the lives of ordinary people, revealing their struggles, desires, and flaws. His descriptions are vivid and detailed, allowing readers to truly understand the characters and their situations.

Despite the harshness of his themes, Cheever's writing also has a certain beauty and elegance. His use of language is masterful, creating a unique and powerful literary style.

In conclusion, John Cheever is a remarkable writer who has made a significant contribution to American literature. His works continue to be read and studied today, offering valuable insights into the human condition and the American experience.

It's not immediately apparent to me why this book is listed on a number of Top 100 novels lists.

Perhaps the gay prison stories it contains were of great significance in the mid-70s.

At that time, such themes might have been relatively novel and had an impact on society and literature.

However, from my current perspective, I'm not entirely sure if it fully justifies its place on those prestigious lists.

Nonetheless, I do plan to reread this book at some point in the future.

Until then, based on my initial impression, I would rate it as a 3.5.

Since I prefer to round down, for now, it remains at a 3.

I'm curious to see if a second reading will change my perception and allow me to better understand the reasons behind its inclusion on the Top 100 novels lists.

Maybe I'll discover hidden depths and nuances that I missed the first time around.

Only time will tell.

It's books like this that truly make me relish the act of reading.

This particular book delves into the realm of prison life. F is convicted of the heinous crime of killing his brother, which I believe is referred to as fratricide. Naturally, he vehemently claims his innocence, and that is to be expected.

He vividly writes about his experiences within the prison walls. These experiences are not entirely disheartening.

I assert that because of the conversations peppered with quotes such as the following:

One - Let the other fellow feel like all the good ideas are his.

Two - Throw down a challenge.

Three - Open up with praise and honest appreciation.

Four - If you are wrong, admit it quickly.

Five - Get the other person saying yes.

Six - Talk about your mistakes.

Seven - Let the other man save his face.

Eight - Use encouragement.

Nine - Make the things you want to do seem easy.

Ten - Make the other person seem happy about doing what you want.

If you thought that this kind of conversation is only found in self-help books, think again.

This is a beautiful small book that offers unique insights and perspectives.

Δυνατός Cheever.

He is a powerful figure.

The confinement, the guilt, the endurance, the foundation of a society that goes crazy from ethics.

In Greek, published by Kastaniotis, very well translated by Ileira Dionysopoulou.

Cheever's works often explore deep and complex themes such as the human condition, moral dilemmas, and the impact of society on individuals.

The concept of confinement can refer to various forms, such as physical imprisonment or the limitations imposed by social norms and expectations.

Guilt is another prominent theme, as characters in his stories often grapple with the consequences of their actions.

Endurance is also emphasized, as individuals must find the strength to persevere through difficult circumstances.

Overall, Cheever's writing provides a profound and thought-provoking look at the human experience within a society that is often driven by ethical considerations.

*Medium Spoilers*

Surprisingly, this book that I randomly picked at the library turned out to be really good. I have never before read such a detailed account of male homosexuality. It's quite remarkable. I've never witnessed any attempts within a narrative to communicate the subtle nuances between a man desiring a man or a woman. This book, in a rather mundane yet realistic way, explains the psychological experience of both homosexuality and prison. This is extremely rare. Usually, due to their political sensitivity, both homosexuality and prison are made so sensational that it becomes very difficult to know what the real situation is like.

Knowing that John Cheever was secretly homosexual adds an extra layer of complexity for biographical critique. I'm not entirely sure. Does he think that male sexuality is socially conditioned, like men becoming 'temporarily bisexual' in prison until they see their wives again? Or is it something that is mostly established after adolescent development but sometimes covered up by denial? Or perhaps he had to write it in this way to disguise the fact that he might empathize too closely with homosexuality, so as not to make his own homosexuality too obvious to the public at a time when it wasn't that safe to do so. There are so many questions and possibilities to consider.

More than forty years ago, Joan Didion penned an important and somewhat defensive review of John Cheever's "Falconer".

She contends that individuals without a specific minority status, even white "Episcopalians", have the right to their anxieties, especially a sense of homelessness and nostalgia. Didion views Ezekial Farragut, the central figure in "Falconer", as a powerful and extreme manifestation of Cheever's preoccupation with such people.

Farragut is a middle-class professor who has always been adrift and has become a long-term drug addict, which his wife accurately labels as "a lightweight". For no particularly good reason, he murders his brother and ends up sentenced to life in prison. Didion concedes that many of us, not very enlightened in her opinion, will find him so unsympathetic that we will wrongly ask why we should care.

In fact, she seems to imply that he is almost a metaphysical incarnation of the homeless man. I hold great respect for Didion, one of the great prose writers of our time, but I admit to being precisely the type of reader she castigates in her review.

The fact that I don't like Farragut is immaterial - I actually prefer fictional characters I don't much like or who at least unnerve me. The problem is that I don't find Farragut particularly interesting or engaging.

I suppose he is meant to be one of those rootless, superficial academics that anyone who has worked in a university will recognize, but I see little in him of either the pose or the badly flawed "substance" that such figures usually possess. To me, Farragut is flatter than most of the more hardened criminals around him.

His most redeeming and convincing moments are with his short-time lover Jody, who is actually more interesting than he is. Oh well, I won't continue, but I do encourage readers to turn to Didion, whose review, as one can probably tell from my meanderings, is provocative! And then decide whether or not to read Cheever's novel, if you haven't already.

A book titled Falconer tells the story of a prisoner named Zeke Farragut. It is one of those old-fashioned "classics" where the narrative focuses more on meandering thoughts and loose memories rather than a detailed description of the people and places Farragut encounters. The prose is excellent, but Cheever's style is too poetic and rambling to resonate with most people today. Even though it was written in 1977, which isn't that long ago, those under 50 may feel disconnected when reading it.

Falconer is a fictional state prison named after a small town in extreme western New York state. The exact location of the prison is not specified in the book, but it's definitely in the northeast. Farragut, a drug addict, was convicted of killing his brother. As expected in a story about prison life, there are numerous seedy characters, including both inmates and guards, that Farragut has to interact with. However, despite the abundance of prison movies and TV shows in the past 25 years, the story is extremely mild and reserved. It lacks intensity and drama. The characters are poorly developed and faceless as Cheever provides little description of them, leaving much to the reader's imagination. While we all have a horror image of what goes on in prisons, and it was likely much more brutal in the seventies, a story about serving hard time that is so uneventful and tiresomely poetic seems deliberately unrealistic.

Overall, it wasn't a difficult read. I finished it in about 5 days and didn't feel cheated. I was just indifferent. It makes you wonder what it really means to win the Pulitzer Prize, or at least what it meant back then.