A wonderful example of great American literature awaits us. The characters within this work are both bizarre and believable, creating a captivating and unique reading experience. We encounter a dysfunctional family that feels strangely familiar, as if we've crossed paths with them before in our own lives or in the lives of those around us.

The story is filled with a perfect blend of humorous and serious situations. The humor lightens the mood and adds a touch of levity, while the serious moments tug at our heartstrings and make us reflect on the deeper themes and emotions at play. It's a masterful balance that keeps us engaged from beginning to end.

This piece of literature truly showcases the talent and creativity of the author. The vivid descriptions, well-developed characters, and engaging plot all come together to form a literary masterpiece that will be enjoyed by readers for generations to come.

One cardboard box of old photographs.

The smell and the disorder are the main sensations that the novel has left me with at the end of the reading.

The smells (but also the tastes) that pervaded the coastal towns of New England in the early 1900s are evoked by the author with meticulous precision, in their composite substance, dense with multiple sensory perceptions, scents, unpleasant odors, acidity, real or imagined exhalations from the material of the objects, an entire atmosphere that repeatedly recalls the essence of that world and its inhabitants.

To get an idea of this, it is enough to analyze any one of the passages, quoted by many comments, in which to extravagant but still rationally imaginable scents (“root of wild carrot”, “toilet soap”, “sorrel soup”) is mixed a component (“…copies of the New Testament bound in soft leather”) impossible to perceive with the sense of smell alone but extremely suggestive for our imagination! What would the smell of copies of the New Testament bound in soft leather be like? And if it were a book of poetry or a manual that emitted the smell of leather binding instead? Perhaps we would not be in the New England of the early 1900s...

Stylistically, however, the prevailing impression is one of disorder and elusiveness, through the alternation of registers, styles, and characters who dominate the first part and then disappear from the heart of the narrative or vice versa, the absence of a fulcrum that we are used to associating with a family story (let's not call it a “saga”), of fathers and sons, wives and husbands, brothers, cousins... and particularly authoritarian aunts!

Perhaps the very term “Chronicles” should have alerted us, prepared us for a programmatic and deliberate fragmentation and for a succession of events that sometimes seems assembled in an almost random and precarious way, with dramatic events resolved in a few sentences and, on the contrary, dissertations that if they do not break, at least deviate and postpone the thread of the story.

Unexpected digressions are inserted even in the style of the periodicity of some chapters. Diaries composed of telegraphic and disjointed sentences, which seem like outlines or notes for a further narrative development or virtuosities like the use of the second person plural in chapter 15, which is perhaps one of the most suggestive of the book, where the impact of each of the two young provincial Wapshots with the metropolitan dimension is addressed with remarkable efficacy and suggestiveness.

In short, contrary to appearances, this is not the story of the Wapshot family but a collection of old photographs, some sharp others more blurred, fished out haphazardly from an old cardboard box in the attic; flipping through which we sometimes wonder who the person reproduced was, why that character appeared melancholy or amused, to which year that image referred, what became of Rosalie, of Honora, of the rich Mr. Cutter and many other questions whose answers elude us or remain permeated with ambiguity... although the backgrounds remain invariably suggestive and seductive.

I came across John Cheever because Raymond Carver dedicated one of his short stories to him. As I read about Cheever, I discovered that he is considered one of the greatest exponents of the genre.

"The Wapshot Chronicle" is truly a family chronicle, centered around Leader as the core and mediator between the past and the present. It has all the essential ingredients: past glories, a recognized surname, eccentric characters, rich and poor, all mixed in the exact doses to maintain attention while also enjoying crucial moments or situations that are decisive for the story.

What caught my attention was the use of narrative voices. There are chapters told by Leader, and for this, the author gives him a rather concise style, something disjointed but recognizable, which I thought was quite praiseworthy. Most authors are not so dedicated, and even if they narrate several characters, they all do it in the same way, which makes what is told less believable. The narrator himself allows interaction with the reader, creating a certain complicity and making us understand that we are more similar to this omnipresent narrator than to the characters.

The characters are endowed with life, and each one has a distinct aura. Especially the women are complex and tortured beings in a more oppressive and demented way than the male characters.

The theme of homosexuality is explored in an analytical, profound, and still relevant way, that is, based more on feelings than from a judgmental perspective.

There are few reflections, but they are well-measured and well-thought-out. It is a book that evokes a way of seeing the world that no longer exists.

What an extremely odd book this is!

It contains passages of truly fantastic writing, yet its construction is rather weird. The perspectives shift for the lives of each of the Wapshot men in a rather jarring manner. Moreover, major events in the plot are condensed to just a line or two. Clearly, this was the first novel of a short story writer, and it is quite evident.

The female characterizations also do not enhance the book in any way. They are either wealthy, elderly eccentrics or young, flighty individuals. However, the most interesting aspect was the surprisingly casual (considering it was a book published in 1957) inclusion of homosexual themes. This added an unexpected layer of complexity to the story and made it stand out in a unique way. Overall, despite its flaws, the book has certain elements that make it值得一读.

She dreamed of him once.

She woke from a deep sleep, with a distinct feeling that he was in trouble. It was late at night, and the house was plunged into darkness. The only sounds she could hear were the gentle murmur of the brook and the soft hooting of an owl in the woods.

He is in trouble, she thought as she lit a cigarette. In her mind's eye, she seemed to see him, his back turned to her, naked in the sense that he was defenseless and lost. She could tell by the way he held his head and shoulders, as if he was either lost or blinded, wandering in some maze or labyrinth, in great pain.

She knew she couldn't help him, even though she could feel the pain of his helplessness in the way he moved his hands, like a swimmer struggling in the water. She supposed that he was being punished, although she had no idea what sins he had committed. Then she went back to bed and fell asleep, but the dream was over, as if he had wandered out of her ken or as if his wandering had come to an end.

Moses got out of the car and raced through an emergency entrance into an empty room. From there, he entered a hall where he encountered a gray-haired nurse carrying a tray.

"I have an emergency in my car," he said. There was no kindness in her face. She gave him that appalling look of bitterness that people exchange when they are too tired or too exasperated by their own bad luck to care whether their neighbors live or die.

"What is the nature of the emergency?" she asked nonchalantly.

He went to work in the morning and returned home at night, bringing a frozen dinner that he thought and ate out of a pot. His reality seemed to be adrift or contested, and his gift for hopefulness seemed damaged or destroyed.

There is a certain parochialism to some kinds of misery, a geographical remoteness like the life led by a grade crossing tender. At such a point, life is lived or endured with the minimum of energy and perception, and most of the world appears to pass by swiftly, like passengers on the magnificent trains of Santa Fe.

Such a life has its compensations, such as solitaire and star wishing, but it is a life stripped of friendship, association, love, and even the practical hope of escape.

Then, at the lowest point of his depression, a glimmer of light seemed to penetrate Badger's mind. It was the force of his imagination rebelling against utter despair, raising white things in his head, cities or at least archways of wonder, signs of prosperity, triumph, and splendor.

Then the whole Palladia seemed to mushroom beneath Badger's patent leather hair, the cities and villas of a younger world. And he made the trip into the city in a hopeful mood.

But sitting over his first cup of coffee in the hole in the wall where he lived, Badger saw that his marble-white civilizations were helpless before the invaders. These snowy, high-arched constructions of principle, morality, and faith, these palaces and memorials, were overrun by hordes of war-whooping, half-naked men, dressed in the stinking skins of beasts.

At the north gate of the road, as Badger sat huddled over his cup, he watched one by one as his temples and palaces were destroyed. Out the south gate rode the barbarians, leaving poor Badger without even the consolation of a ruin, leaving him with nothingness and with his essence, which was never much better than the perfume of a wood violet that had faded away.

John Cheever is widely renowned for his short stories. However, his first novel managed to win the National Book Award in 1958. I had been anticipating one of those typical John O'Hara or John Marquand novels, as I had the impression that Cheever was a favorite among "New Yorker" readers. Instead, I was delightfully surprised.

The Wapshot family has resided for generations in a New England village that originated as a sailing port. By the time the novel takes place, it has become a dying town, and the fading family mainly lives for tradition. Leander Wapshot, the current head of the family, enjoys fishing and taking out the SS Topaze, a rundown old launch. He picks up passengers from the train in the next small town and ferries them across the bay to an amusement park. He also maintains the family chronicle started by a forebear generations earlier.

The money remaining in the family belongs to Leander's sister, a spinster who is even more eccentric than he is. Leander's two sons, as they reach adulthood, realize that Aunt Honora will only leave the money to them if they make something of themselves and produce sons. Since there are no prospects for either requirement in the small town, they set off into the world to seek careers and women.

Thanks to Cheever's incredibly fluid style, his sense of humor, and his unique characters, The Wapshot Chronicle is an excellent read. In fact, in my opinion, it stands out as the best NBA winner since the award began in 1950. I have read all of them, and I can say this with confidence. He has captured the essence of that area of New England just north of New York City, which is now filled with bedroom communities for families of those who work in the city. The Wapshots are right on the verge of the changing fortunes of that area, and Cheever presents them without sentimentality or heaviness, but with heart. He honors a bygone era and type of people as they make their awkward transition into the 20th century.

Set in the fictional seaside town of St. Bostolphs, Massachusetts, we are introduced to the captivating Wapshot family. The author's writing is so vivid and full of flair that we get to know the Wapshots on a profound level, almost as if we've met them at our own family gatherings.

The Wapshots encounter a range of life's experiences, from birth and death to financial crises and recoveries. They also deal with matters of sexual abstinence and experimentation, each in their own unique way.

Moses, the eldest son of Leander, is most like his father and travels to Washington, DC to prove himself to his Aunt Honora. However, things don't go as planned, and he ends up in a dilapidated castle of a distant cousin, where he meets his future wife, the somewhat unstable Melissa Scaddon.

Moses' brother, Coverly, feels he doesn't meet his father's expectations and questions his future and sexual identity. It's believed that Coverly's character was autobiographical. He sets off to New York to satisfy Aunt Honora but fails a series of personality tests during a job interview with the husband of a cousin. He then studies and becomes a civil servant, traveling far from his comfort zone. He meets his future wife, Betsey MacCaffery, and they have a complex relationship, including a miscarriage, separation, and reunion, eventually having a son.

Rosalie Young enters the Wapshot's home after a tragic accident takes the life of her date and leaves her in need of care. Mrs. Wapshot takes her under her wing and enjoys nursing her back to health. However, Rosalie and Moses begin an affair, which is witnessed by Aunt Honora. In response, Aunt Honora orders the sons out into the world to prove their mettle, threatening to withhold the family's financial support. Rosalie eventually leaves with her condescending parents and rebukes Mrs. Wapshot after an unfavorable remark about her mother.

There are many other interesting characters in the story, such as Aunt Honora, an opinionated spinster; Reba Heaslip, a local anti-vivisectionist; and Justina Scaddon, an eccentric control freak. Cheever manages to bring each character to life in just a few short paragraphs.

The only drawback I found was the chapters that captured diary entries. While the intention was to convey what a person might have written in a journal, they fell a bit flat and disrupted the overall continuity of the book.

Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with The Wapshot Chronicle. I would love to listen to John Cheever spin some yarns while sitting on a beach, listening to the glorious sound of waves lapping the shore. I rate this book a 9 out of 10.

The descriptions of New England small town landscapes in this work are truly pitch perfect. They paint a vivid picture that transports the reader right into that charming setting. Cheever's characterizations are also remarkable, being both great and extremely detailed. Take, for example, the line: "He must have been fifty - the bags under his eyes couldn't have been formed in a shorter time." This small detail gives us a clear image of the character's age and perhaps a hint at his life experiences.

However, the plot is somewhat of a drawback. It is so meandering and lacking in cohesion that it can sometimes be quite difficult to remember what has happened from one scene to the next. As others have pointed out, this is Cheever's first novel, and he is actually famed for his short stories.

One of my favorite vignettes occurs when Leander pays a call on Honora. "Would you like some whisky?" Honora asks. "Yes, please," Leander replies. But then Honora reveals, "There isn't any." Their interaction continues with Leander being obliging and Honora being contrary. "Feel that refreshing breeze," she says. "Yes," Leander answers, even though there is no breeze at all. "Sit in the other chair," Honora tells him. "I've just had it reupholstered. Although," she adds as Leander obediently changes chairs, "you won't be able to see out of the window from there and perhaps you were better off where you were." Leander smiles, remembering that even when she was a young woman, talking with her had made him feel bludgeoned. This vignette showcases the unique dynamic between the two characters and adds a touch of humor and charm to the story.

Cheever, with complete honesty, writes a story that respects the fundamentals of the novel: telling a story and developing characters.

Leander has two sons who leave their home and town, either to achieve success or at least to work and get rich. Incidentally, American society is indeed optimistic. It is the least fatalistic. Each person is responsible for himself, for his successes and failures.

Then, the Washpot brothers and the eldest father are the protagonists, but the whole family is as well. There are delicious old ladies everywhere, Justine, Honora, Sarah. There are young women full of pheromones, Rosalie, Melissa.

There are chapters where the story goes back generations, but most correspond to the 20th century. One of the sons works as a programmer for the government, using punched cards (I also had my punched cards, but that's beside the point).

It is a chronicle and a portrait of the era. There is a lot of class play, people rising, people falling, new rich and those with impoverished surnames.

As described in the blockquote: "He was in the closet when he heard Moses and Rosalie climbing the stairs and he was saying: -What could be wrong with something that will make both of us feel happy? Honora closed the closet door when they entered the room. The rest of what Honora heard -and she heard many things- does not concern us. This is not a clinical report. We will only consider the dilemma of an elderly lady -born in Polynesia, educated by Miss Wilbur, philanthropist and Samaritan- led, only by her search for the truth, into a narrow closet on a rainy afternoon."

This is his first novel (1957), and it won the National Book Award.

I completely lost myself in this book,

even though all the facts presented on the pages might suggest otherwise.

It goes beyond being just episodic; the passage of time is entirely unrecorded.

Despite the fact that something like 10 years must have elapsed from the start of the book to the end.

Characters make an appearance for a chapter or two and then simply vanish.

However, it is the characters, the setting, and the writing that truly drew me in.

I am not typically conscious of writing style (except in extreme situations, whether it's bad or eccentric),

but in this case, it was a significant part of the book's appeal.

The author's unique way of expressing ideas and描绘 scenes added an extra layer of depth and charm to the story.

It made me eager to turn the pages and discover what would happen next,

even though the structure and pacing of the book were somewhat unconventional.

Overall, this book had a strange and captivating allure that kept me engaged from beginning to end.

I'll commence with an often-reiterated saying. Although it is frequently repeated, it doesn't undermine its validity in the slightest. The assertion is that Cheever, despite being a master of the short story, isn't quite as accomplished a novelist. I first attempted to read "The Wapshot Chronicle" during one of my lackadaisical summers back home from college. Somehow, I just couldn't get engaged with it.

Over 10 years later, I finally completed it, and to my surprise, I did enjoy it. I relished the meticulous archival detail of childhood memories that Cheever delved into. The novel also had a laid-back, summer-by-the-sea day ambiance that was quite charming. I found myself developing a certain affection for the Gothic ensemble of characters. Moreover, the fetishization of antiquity, which was prevalent in places on the decline, added an interesting layer to the story. "The Wapshot Chronicle" was indeed a fine book, but it was nowhere close to being as transcendent as Cheever's smaller masterpieces.

A moody, poetic, and often unexpectedly funny novel awaits the reader. It is about a quirky family of upper class New Englanders. Their lives and adventures sometimes border on absurdity, yet often feel hauntingly familiar. They are deeply entrenched in the mundane disappointments and petty conflicts that are so characteristic of human interaction. One recurring theme is that we are often prevented from being happy not by our own shortcomings or the vagaries of fate, but by the decisions, cruelties, and obliviousness of others. These others, in their selfish quests for a meaningful life, cross our paths with little regard for the damage they cause. However, Cheever's characters are not so much terrible as they are small. The case he makes, that each of us aspires to be the hero of our own lives and thus has the potential to become someone else's antagonist, is not only valid but also unexpectedly insightful. It is in the pursuit of seemingly small things that we often have the greatest impact on others' lives. Happiness is often abandoned in this pursuit and then found again, rather than achieved. Perhaps more than anything, it is our need to control that undoes us, both ourselves and others. This is a thought-provoking and elegant book with richly layered characters and a supreme sense of setting and time. Its only major flaw is the pacing, which can sometimes lag or feel disjointed as the author hops from character to character without much concern for traditional novel structure, reflecting his career as a master of short stories. Nevertheless, he manages to pull the episodes together at the end in an authentic and satisfying way, and the book stands as a great piece of mid-century American literature.