There's a new biography of John Cheever out. This man was a great writer, beset by demons: sexual turmoil and secrets, depression, and alcoholism, chief among them.
Here's an excerpt from a review:
This looks like a good, and compassionate, look at a great writer, a human being with struggles many of us can identify with.
Yesterday I learned that a high school classmate of mine, someone I remember as a sweet, goofy, outgoing boy who would never hurt anyone or anything, was in adult life a gay man who never came to terms with the rejection he experienced in our southern small-town, and an alcoholic who died alone on the floor of his house, of hypothermia, during the recent ice storm and week-long power outage in Northeast Arkansas.
God help us all.
Here's an excerpt from a review:
Cheever's personal life -- like his stories -- had peculiar traps and hidden pain. There was infidelity, heartbreak, alcoholism, a roiling and constant sexual identity crisis, and a profound feeling of insecurity.
"Cheever... lived with the terror that he thought his children would discover his sexual life. He felt like an impostor. He despised himself. And it was assuaged only by the next drink."
In the decade after Cheever's death in 1982, an avalanche of words came tumbling out: a memoir by his daughter, Susan ("Home Before Dark"), a biography by Scott Donaldson that upset his children, and the publication of a portion of Cheever's own journals and letters that opened anew the writer's bisexuality, dark moods and battles with the bottle.
The acclaimed writer's work stood to be overwhelmed by the publicized demons.
Born in 1912 in Quincy, Mass., John Cheever was already up against the odds. "He really came from this ruined family," Bailey says, noting the heavy drinking by Cheever's father, Frederick. Cheever's brother also was scarred by battles with the bottle.
But his torment was always near.
"The paranoia he lived with daily was titanic," says Bailey. "He personally disliked homosexuals. Well, he hated effeminate gay men. He thought they were revolting."
Cheever could gulp hard liquor until the late evening and beyond when the mood hit him. There were blackouts and days of the week he totally forgot.
Susan was his only daughter, and he referred to her third husband, Warren Hinckle, as a "wretched buffoon." It did not stop Cheever from drinking with the wretched buffoon.
"Cheever... lived with the terror that he thought his children would discover his sexual life. He felt like an impostor. He despised himself. And it was assuaged only by the next drink."
In the decade after Cheever's death in 1982, an avalanche of words came tumbling out: a memoir by his daughter, Susan ("Home Before Dark"), a biography by Scott Donaldson that upset his children, and the publication of a portion of Cheever's own journals and letters that opened anew the writer's bisexuality, dark moods and battles with the bottle.
The acclaimed writer's work stood to be overwhelmed by the publicized demons.
Born in 1912 in Quincy, Mass., John Cheever was already up against the odds. "He really came from this ruined family," Bailey says, noting the heavy drinking by Cheever's father, Frederick. Cheever's brother also was scarred by battles with the bottle.
But his torment was always near.
"The paranoia he lived with daily was titanic," says Bailey. "He personally disliked homosexuals. Well, he hated effeminate gay men. He thought they were revolting."
Cheever could gulp hard liquor until the late evening and beyond when the mood hit him. There were blackouts and days of the week he totally forgot.
Susan was his only daughter, and he referred to her third husband, Warren Hinckle, as a "wretched buffoon." It did not stop Cheever from drinking with the wretched buffoon.
Yesterday I learned that a high school classmate of mine, someone I remember as a sweet, goofy, outgoing boy who would never hurt anyone or anything, was in adult life a gay man who never came to terms with the rejection he experienced in our southern small-town, and an alcoholic who died alone on the floor of his house, of hypothermia, during the recent ice storm and week-long power outage in Northeast Arkansas.
God help us all.
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