The best set of journals I've ever come across!

It's truly remarkable to see how a tortured, lonely, and narcissistic individual evolves into his old age through the pages of these journals.

His unwavering struggle with his own writing is both reassuring and comforting.

It makes one realize that even the most complex and flawed individuals have a story to tell, and that their journey of self-discovery and artistic expression can be deeply moving.

As I delved deeper into his journals, I found myself empathizing with his insecurities, celebrating his small victories, and being inspired by his determination to keep writing despite the many obstacles he faced.

These journals are not just a record of his life, but a testament to the power of the written word to connect us with the human experience.

They remind us that we are all on a unique path, and that our individual struggles and triumphs are what make us who we are.

I feel truly privileged to have had the opportunity to read such a remarkable set of journals, and I will carry the lessons I've learned from them with me for a long time to come.

This is Cheever’s best work.

It is deeply sad, touching and beautifully written.

Cheever has managed to create a world within these pages that is both captivating and heart-wrenching.

The characters are so well-developed that they seem to leap off the page and into the reader’s heart.

Some writers do their best work in journals, and this piece by Cheever is truly a treasure.

It is a testament to his talent and skill as a writer.

The way he weaves the story together, with its complex emotions and themes, is simply masterful.

Reading this work is like taking a journey through the human soul, and it is an experience that will stay with the reader long after the final page has been turned.

Whether you are a fan of Cheever’s work or simply a lover of great literature, this is a piece that you do not want to miss.

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The best literary journals I've yet seen are truly remarkable. They serve as a platform for talented writers to showcase their works and for readers to explore a diverse range of literary styles and voices. These journals are carefully curated, featuring high-quality poetry, short stories, essays, and more. The editors have a keen eye for selecting pieces that are engaging, thought-provoking, and artistically outstanding. One of the things I love about these literary journals is the way they introduce me to new and emerging writers. It's always exciting to discover a fresh talent and follow their journey. Additionally, the illustrations and designs of these journals add another layer of beauty and enhance the overall reading experience. Whether I'm looking for a moment of inspiration or a deep dive into the world of literature, these best literary journals never disappoint.

John Cheever left behind personal journals that chronicled thirty-five years of his life. According to his longtime friend and editor, Robert Gottlieb, these journals amounted to something like four million words. The excerpts in The Journals of John Cheever offer a captivating look at how this talented author worked and also describe, at times harrowingly, the demons he fought. The journals were edited and published with the help of both Cheever and his family.

However, while reading, one can't help but wonder why. Why expose so much private pain?

The Journals of John Cheever are a painful read. They are horrifying, humiliating. Yet, in the end, as he was dying of bone cancer, Cheever seemed to come to terms with the idea that his life couldn't have been any different. Briefly, he reveals himself to be well-educated, extraordinarily talented, fluent in French and Italian, but also narcissistic, solipsistic, melancholic, an alcoholic, a serial philanderer, a chain smoker, a devout Catholic, a devoted father, and a gifted artist. He could be highly critical of overweight people, the elderly, the church, and the hoi polloi, while at the same time envying their naiveté. He was in awe of Saul Bellow, deeply admired Hemingway, was envious of Updike and Roth, and managed a grudging respect for Nabokov. A deeply conflicted man, John Cheever is presented here as a case study in momentary penitence and post-masturbatory remorse in its purest form.

So why read it? Why publish it for complete strangers to read? At the very least, for the sake of the prose. The writing is, seemingly, the one place where Cheever could make a cold assessment of his flaws, even if, once he confronted them, he could never quite find a way to correct them. It's truly remarkable to think of the man struggling through, then walking away from that day's tryst, betrayal, or binge, and then, after a game of cards with a daughter or a walk in the woods with his dog, sitting down to record his observations in such fluid, luxurious prose: \\"...if my hands tremble with desire they tremble likewise when I reach for the chalice on Sunday, and if lust makes me run and caper it is no stronger a force than that which brings me to my knees to say thanksgivings and litanies. What can this capricious skin be but a blessing?\\"

And that's why we read them. Not to formulate a reason to condemn or judge the man. Nor to give in to the temptation to dismiss this collection as just another pile of self-indulgent recollections of a pampered member of the literary elite. We read them to give reason and compassion a chance to take root. At the very least, the self-examination of and by the man recorded here provides fascinating context when considering the precision of Cheever's style and the themes underlying his fiction. But more importantly, it becomes clear that Cheever, if any outsider can draw a correct assessment, greatly desired to become a better man.

Is it too banal for your taste? Between cynicism and failure, I'll choose failure. If these journals provide an accurate record - and we have no reason to believe they don't - then despite his failures, Cheever never became a cynic. He continued to fight. In the end, he was like all of us. It was love he was after, even if, as articulate as he was, he could never quite find the words, or the heart, for it.

\\n  \\"We rise from sleep all natural men, boisterous, loving, and hopeful, but the dark-faced stranger is waiting at the door, the viper is coiled in the garden, the old man whispers lewdly to the boy, and the woman sits at her table crying.\\"\\n

This is not the kind of book that I would typically pick up and read.

However, after persevering through the initial pages, I found that it was truly worth the effort.

My next literary exploration on this man will be his biography, which I am eagerly looking forward to.

The Journals are neatly divided into three broad time periods.

The first encompasses the forties and fifties, followed by the sixties, and finally, the years leading up to his passing in 1982.

What these journals disclose is a great deal about what motivated him, his obsessions, and his family life.

He characterized himself as having two distinct aspects to his character, and this becomes abundantly clear upon reading this book.

After having read and thoroughly enjoyed his short stories, which are masterful, along with his first novel, it is evident that the complexity of his character was indeed an asset.

He also described himself as a lonely man. Growing up in the taciturn and rather uptight environment of New England was most likely not conducive in many ways.

I can't help but wonder what kind of writer he might have become if he had grown up as a Catholic in, say, Italy. Given his talent and storytelling ability, I'm certain he would have been an outstanding one.

I found a great deal of this to be insufferable and inauthentic, much like Cheever himself surely was for most of his life.

Only towards the very end, when at a very advanced age he finally accepts his sexual proclivities (which he had been denying to himself even into his 50s, despite having engaged in homosexual activities since adolescence), and as he begins to face his terminal illness, does the neurotic self-absorption manage to rise above itself and strike a note of pathos – or at least a tone of bathos. That last part is rather petty, really.

It's disappointing (much like the novel, Falconer), and this has somewhat lowered my opinion of Cheever's stories. Looking back, quite a number of them seem to fall short. Nevertheless, some are truly outstanding. Well, such is life.

The most wonderful thing in life seems to be that in the end we only use an infinitesimal part of our self-destructive potential. Maybe we desire it, maybe it is what we dream of, but just a ray of light, a change of wind is enough to dissuade us.

How much enormous doses of unhappiness can the spirit absorb and still recover, and still be renewed.

This bridge of language, metaphors, anecdotes and imagination that I build every morning to cross the incongruities of my life seems really extremely fragile.

These words from the book offer profound insights into the human condition. They make us reflect on our self-destructive tendencies, the resilience of the spirit in the face of unhappiness, and the fragility of the means we use to make sense of our lives. It makes us wonder about the choices we make, the dreams we pursue, and the forces that shape our existence.

His journals are perhaps even more compelling than his short stories.

The journals offer a unique and intimate look into his mind, his thoughts, his emotions, and his daily experiences.

They are like a window through which we can see the inner workings of his creative process.

In the journals, we can find his musings on life, love, art, and the human condition.

We can also see how he developed his ideas for his short stories and how he overcame the challenges and obstacles that he faced along the way.

The journals are a treasure trove of information and inspiration for anyone who is interested in his work or in the creative process in general.

They are a testament to his talent, his dedication, and his passion for writing.

This was an extremely interesting read.

It was taken directly from a whopping 10,000 pages of John Cheever's journals, with an introduction provided by his son.

Throughout these journals, Cheever grappled with alcoholism and engaged in a fierce battle to both repress and ultimately come to terms with his homosexual longings.

The fact that Cheever employed such incredibly evocative language and descriptions within his journal is truly eye-opening.

It continuously kept my interest piqued, as I delved deeper into his complex and often tumultuous inner world.

His words painted a vivid picture of his struggles and emotions, making it a captivating and thought-provoking exploration.

Overall, this collection of journal entries offers a unique and intimate glimpse into the mind of a talented writer.

I have a deep affection and admiration for this journal.

It is not just a simple publication but a treasure trove of knowledge, inspiration, and creativity.

The moment I pick it up, I am immediately drawn into its pages, eager to explore the wonderful content it has to offer.

The articles are well-written, covering a wide range of topics that pique my interest and expand my horizons.

The layout and design are also visually appealing, making it a pleasure to read.

Whether I'm looking for entertainment, education, or a moment of relaxation, this journal always satisfies my needs.

It has become an essential part of my life, and I can't imagine a day without it.

I truly cherish this journal and will continue to recommend it to others.

I continue to think that a personal diary, even if it has the intention of being published during one's lifetime, should not be subject to aesthetic/artistic criticism and judgments. Just like for Pavese, who had given his diaries a more analytical and, in a sense, more philosophical imprint, for Cheever too, the pages reveal a restless existence, to which an evident vital spirit is also united, however melancholy it may be.

Through a typically American writing, thus clear and transparent, Cheever confesses his own contradictions and torments, from homosexuality - initially lived as repression, then as discovery - to alcoholism, against the backdrop of an America and a world that are changing and that are recounted with tenderness and irony. Above all, these words, now over forty years old, always seem to prefer the man to the writer, and indeed few are the references to his own literary successes, while instead constant are the references to the obsession with the pleasures of the body, to family and conjugal love, to the insurmountable charm of the everyday. And here it is that poetry is not so evident after all, it hides between the lines of frequent repetitive and insignificant episodes, such as dinners with friends and neighbors, solitary walks, the trees losing their leaves. During the course of reading, then, the greatest revelation that one can have is that even the Great Ones, however great they may be, are involved in the ups and downs of everyday life, and are just like us, they love, they cry, they eat, they play, they suffer and they are defeated.