When his wife poses the question to Ezekiel Farragut, who is incarcerated for fratricide, “When do you think you’ll be clean?” she is initially referring to his heroin/methadone habit. However, as the story unfolds, we come to understand that Falconer is truly about the purification of his soul.

While I was engrossed in the book for the most part, there were certain moments that made me pause. The more reflective intervals in between the happenings of prison life and Farragut’s bouts of nostalgia had a somewhat jarring effect on me.

The thought that a literary novel such as Falconer could reach the top of the bestseller list in The New York Times for three consecutive weeks, as Cheever’s book did back in 1977, seems almost inconceivable in today’s literary landscape. The literary world has changed so much since then, and the popularity of such a deep and introspective novel in the current era is truly remarkable.

I could have never dreamed of giving Cheever 2.5 stars (my actual rating) for anything. However, this was one of his later works, and there are numerous instances of great writers waning towards the third act of their career.

Falconer just felt a bit disjointed and largely pointless. OK: man kills brother, man goes to jail, his thoughts constantly overshadowed by his emasculating wife, engages in sexual relations with a man in jail, man plots escape from jail. Yes, we get the Oedipal conflict and the Freudian symbolism. But what else?

Somewhere in there is a noble statement of how our childhood and society doom us from the very start. In the case of the main character Ezekiel Farragut, he grows up to become a fratricidal, drug-addicted, sexually confused man. Cheever himself was notably tormented by his bisexuality, so he probably needed to get this one out of his system for conflict resolution purposes.

Still, compared to Bullet Park (an allegorical gem) and some of his short stories, it lacked warmth and direction. The excessive brutality felt misplaced, and the metaphors were murky.

Happens to the best of us though......

"It also happened a bit because we stopped doing things together," said Farragut. "We used to do so many things together. We slept together, traveled together, skied, skated, sailed, went to concerts, did everything together. We watched the baseball championship series together and drank beer, even though neither of us likes beer, at least not the one in this country. What was his name, Lomberg or something. That year he missed finishing the game without scoring against the other side with a half-shot. You cried. So did I. We cried together."

"Your mind was beautiful," said Marcia. "We couldn't do this together." Sf: 29

This wasn't painful, it wasn't such a simple and clear thing. The only thing he could define was a discomfort in the tear ducts, a blind, thoughtless urge to cry. Tears were easy; he could look at a thirty-second video for ten minutes. He wanted to cry and shout. Sf: 34

Farragut's words carried a hint of nostalgia as he recalled the days when they did everything in unison. The shared experiences seemed to form a bond that was now fading. Marcia's comment about his beautiful mind added another layer of complexity to their relationship. The inability to do something together, whatever that might be, was a source of unspoken longing. The description of the discomfort in the tear ducts and the urge to cry and shout painted a vivid picture of the emotional turmoil within Farragut. It was as if a part of him was yearning for the past, for the times when they were closer.

Wait, so there are no birds?! - Episode 122, THE FALCONER MAN

In this exciting episode of THE FALCONER MAN, we are left with a rather astonishing revelation. The protagonist exclaims, "Wait, so there are no birds?!" This simple yet powerful statement sets the stage for a series of events that are sure to keep the audience on the edge of their seats.

As we follow the story, we wonder what could have led to this unexpected turn of events. Are the birds missing? Have they been taken away? Or is there some other mystery at play? The questions pile up, and we can't help but be drawn deeper into the narrative.

The link provided, https://sites.libsyn.com/150491/the-falconer-man, offers more insights into this captivating episode. It's a must-visit for fans of the show who want to uncover the truth behind the missing birds and continue the thrilling adventure with THE FALCONER MAN.

So, if you're looking for an engaging and mysterious story, be sure to check out Episode 122 of THE FALCONER MAN. You won't be disappointed!

Saul Bellow lauded Falconer as elegant, pure, and indispensable. John Updike proclaimed that it restores our humanity. Newsweek declared it a masterpiece. I, too, desire to summarize it succinctly, yet I am at a loss for how to spell that farting sound one can produce with one's armpit.

Ezekial Farragut, a wealthy upper-class heroin addict, finds himself incarcerated in Falconer Prison for murdering his brother. The narrative alternates between the quotidien realities of prison life, which ostensibly strive for a Kafkaesque quality but ultimately descend into cliché, and Farragut's internal monologue, which is a tiresome blend of self-pity and deadly dullness. I have little else to offer regarding this work, as I struggle to recall the last time a novel left me so disengaged. I award it two stars for the elegance of its prose, but reluctantly.

Perhaps the problem lies in the disjointed nature of the narrative or the unlikability of the protagonist. Whatever the case may be, Falconer fails to live up to the lofty praise heaped upon it by some critics. While the prose is indeed elegant, it is not enough to salvage what is otherwise a rather lackluster and forgettable novel.

A novel of bracing honesty, above all.

Cheever's matter-of-fact reporting style is truly remarkable. His characters are not only frank but also entirely convincing.

I've heard Falconer described as a tale of redemption. However, frankly speaking, I found little evidence of transformation in Farragut himself.

He is an egoist in the latter part of his life. His tastes and desires are fully formed, and he has no intention of changing them. Although in Falconer he must learn to live with infrequent satisfaction. (His libido in particular is reminiscent of... well, a Philip Roth protagonist.)

Yes, there are themes of violence, the inhumanity of imprisonment, and so on. But mostly, there is Farragut's grappling with his past. He emerges unapologetically in the sensory deprivation of the penitentiary.

And though his crime was almost an accident—the consequence, finally realized by chance, of an old but not unusual hostility—there is an off-handed viciousness to his hedonism which can be more disturbing than the events in the prison itself.

It's how close he is to us, or to people we know, that makes this book so powerful. It forces us to confront the darker aspects of human nature that we may prefer to ignore.

“Falconer”, written in 1977, is the last novel of John Cheever and is considered by many to be his masterpiece.

It is a book that is as hard as it is beautiful, clear in its cruelty, human and pitiless.

What John Cheever's daughter, Susan Cheever, says about the final phase of her father's life, which coincides with the writing of “Falconer”, seems revealing to me:

"For me, the end of his life is triumphant. He stops drinking. He writes what I think is his best book [Falconer, a novel about a drug addict, serving time for the murder of his brother, who has an affair with another prisoner]. He became the man he meant to be."

With “Falconer”, John Cheever redeems himself.

This novel delves deep into the human psyche, exploring themes of guilt, redemption, and the power of love and connection. It is a complex and multi-layered work that challenges the reader to confront their own beliefs and values.

The character of the drug addict in “Falconer” is a study in人性's fragility and strength. Despite his many flaws and mistakes, he is a sympathetic figure, one that we can't help but root for as he struggles to find meaning and purpose in his life.

Overall, “Falconer” is a remarkable achievement, a book that will stay with you long after you've turned the last page.

I had read "Bullet Park" a few years ago and considered it a work of art. I think my mistake was generating so much anticipation with "Falconer".

I firmly believe that this story could have been written in a more direct way and (at least in my case) I would have had better feelings.

In my opinion, Cheever disguises homosexuality, guilt, and addiction in many passages and goes off on tangents. On the other hand, at some moments the book takes on a good rhythm and you finally think that the best is coming, when this doesn't quite happen like a peak within the novel.

Perhaps if the author had focused more on the core themes and presented them in a more straightforward manner, the impact of the story would have been greater. As it is, "Falconer" feels a bit disjointed and未能 fully live up to the expectations set by "Bullet Park".

A relatively light read presents the story of a prisoner, delving into his life within the confinements of prison. It also explores the thoughts and feelings of convicted felons who are compelled to lead their lives imprisoned.

The narrative contains some profound lines and several extremely well-constructed moments. These elements add depth and interest to the account, making it a captivating read.

I find myself thinking that perhaps I should have read this in English. I have a hunch that I might have derived even greater enjoyment from it.

Maybe the nuances of the language, the flow of the words, and the cultural references would have enhanced my understanding and connection with the story.

Nonetheless, it is still a worthwhile read, offering a glimpse into a world that many of us are unfamiliar with and provoking thoughts and emotions about justice, punishment, and the human condition.

Maybe I’d like Falconer better if I had a penis.

That might seem obscene and absurd, but after reading this book, one can understand that my mention of it is not without reason. Farragut, the limp and apathetic protagonist, refers to his dick with astonishing frequency. I might not have minded as much if he didn’t find a way to connect it to every anecdote, memory, and self-conception. At first, it felt alienating, and then it just seemed flat-out ridiculous. So perhaps if I had a penis, I’d understand Farragut’s strange obsession with his own, how it intrudes to deflate otherwise poignant recollections. But since I don’t, I can’t judge whether he has a strange fixation or if Cheever is just writing a realistic male character. I might be more generous if it weren’t for phrases like these:

“...he had been skeptical about his sensual responsiveness ever since he had, while watching the approach of a thunderstorm, been disconcerted by a wet and implacable erection.”

“Considering the fact that the cock is the most critical link in our chain of survival...”

“Considering the sovereignty of his unruly cock, it was only a woman who could crown that redness with purpose.”

I’ve known some women who speak of their genitals in a similar way, and I find it equally stupid. But it’s undeniable that, at least in the Western world, Farragut’s brand of phallocentrism has been the dominant dogma for centuries. So I find it harder to be charitable here, especially when it actively gets in the way of some of Falconer’s more clear-headed moments.

But enough about dicks. The dick-worship wasn’t my main issue with this novel. My complaint is the same as that of high-schoolers everywhere forced to plow through “the classics,” of reviewers of your favorite book that you hate-read late at night, of the child with nothing better to do than read some old dusty tome found on their grandpa’s shelf... This book is boring.

That’s really all there is to it. Maybe it sounds childish to say it so bluntly, but: It’s fucking boring. I won’t deny Cheever’s talent; there are some wonderful passages, but they are few and far between and are buried beneath the sheer flab that surrounds them. Farragut is self-absorbed, sex-obsessed, apathetic, irresponsible, immature, and classist, but on top of that, he’s boring. I don’t mind reading about an unlikeable protagonist, but they have to be engaging at the very least, and Farragut is about as engaging as a piece of stale bread. A piece of stale bread with a dick.

The critical response to this novel baffles me. The glowing blurb from Newsweek stares out at me from the cover like that shaft of morning light that slices through your blinds to burn right into your eyes and wake you up. I’m glad so many people got so much out of this book, but frankly, I can’t imagine what they got. I found it lifeless, ridiculous, boring, and, that dreaded adjective, pretentious. I felt that it was assuming a profundity and an insight that it simply didn’t have, and in addition to boring me half to death, it just made me roll my eyes.

Beautiful prose (which won a Pulitzer), but it is very dated.

Just like so many American novels of the 70s, this is a highly enclosed book that delves deep into the consciousness of a flawed man.

There are no credible women characters (perhaps that's fair enough as it is set in a prison).

It glorifies drugs and alcohol, has crazily unbelievable plot twists, and features lots of short-story style interludes.

I could have forgiven all those flaws if there was a bit of verve in the book, but it is grimly Great American Novel Serious.

Sorry, buster, but I've moved on.

The language and themes in this work seem to be firmly rooted in a bygone era, lacking the freshness and relevance that modern readers often seek.

Despite its Pulitzer-winning status, it fails to engage me on a deeper level, perhaps due to its outdated nature and the somewhat one-sided portrayal of its male protagonist.

Nonetheless, it may still hold some value for those interested in studying the literary trends and styles of the 70s.

However, for me, it simply doesn't measure up to the standards of contemporary literature.

The "Falconer" could potentially be a penitentiary institution housing two thousand individuals who have committed crimes, a microcosm of the corrupt urban society in America, a prison for tortured souls filled with blood, semen, money, and pain, or a deeper analysis of the human psyche when certain boundaries have been crossed and we move between hallucination and reality.

The author managed to convince me only regarding the last manifestation, the quality and texture of his autobiographical story.

In all the other manifestations he mentions, he passes superficially, insensitively, allusively, and somewhat falsely.

In no way did I feel that the entire plot and the development of the book unfold among condemned beings within a prison. I did not feel sympathy, despair of confinement, hopelessness, fear,

lack of basic human needs and conditions.

I did not sense the alienation, the futility, the humiliation, and the deep sense of love that it is claimed to deal with.

The Farragut is a university professor who is convicted of the murder of his brother and passes through the gates of the Falconer penitentiary.

Accustomed to the habit of using narcotics, he considers the memories of his youth before becoming an opiate addict to be contemptible.

He comes from a wealthy family that has disintegrated and has a failed marriage and an unseen - in our story - child.

We never learn the exact reasons for the crime except for some childhood memories that are not clearly distinguishable from the hallucinatory state.

There are no explanations, reasons, and consequences with clarifications of data and requirements so that the reader can understand the reasons why this failed but also constant over time marriage of Farragut and his wife remains in polar emotional temperatures.

Parallelly, there are memories that express love and passion between them within a dark and incomprehensible atmosphere.

And while the imprisoned professor, now nostalgic for the free misfortune of his, is said: "I don't love, I'm not loved, and I remember only dimly the absurdity of love", a little later he relates to us his homosexual relationship with a fellow inmate and struggles to convince us of the authenticity of what he experiences through it.

A tragic constriction of relationships between two inmates of the institution, one a serious womanizer and the other a future family man, unite with an incredibly deep love.

The duration of the love is short. Then, Farragut unleashes his demons, has sex with inmates as a daily necessity, and the other, after escaping, creates a family and a name in society, leaving behind in the prison unforgettable experiences of "deep love"...

The portrayal of the remaining characters is incomplete and superficial. No relationship with criminals or imprisoned souls with a common tragic fate, inhuman living conditions, and interrelated confessional paths towards salvation or hope or even the stoicism of acceptance and abandonment.

The Cheever writes about harsh and humiliating events with a dark and impressive prose style in several places but mostly strays between poetic comedy and a superficial portrayal of writing.

However, it should be noted - and this is the only advantage of the book - that it delves into the human psyche through the digressions of Farragut and deeply engraves with his pen a realistic text with gaping wounds in the concepts of life, death, hatred, indifference, alienation,

egoism, and futility.

There are descriptions of humanity and inhumanity that accurately analyze the universal human psyche.

The irony in his writing is excellently connected with ridicule, false memories and hopes, alienation, and the struggle for truth and logic that seek ties with the past and the outside world.

The demons of substances create chimeras and unthinkable dreams.

Where is the ideal reality and salvation?

The freedom of the spirit conquers the slavery of the flesh.

Ultimately, is the happiness that comes at the end the result of subconscious introspection or salvation through death?

FALCONER: "A romance of a drug addict and a liar in a prison"

CHEEVER JOHN.

Your own conclusions.

Happy reading!

Many greetings.