Book Report - Fall River and Other Uncollected Stories by John Cheever

I must admit, I picked this book up solely because it had one of my favorite paintings on the cover, Automat by Edward Hopper. It is an interesting choice to represent a collection of short stories largely written during the Depression, as it was painted in the late 1920s, an era of grand and sweeping dreams far removed from the destitution of 1930's America. As a scene taken from the tail end of the gilded era, however, it strikes me as a perfect choice to bring us into the world Cheever writes of. The lone subject of Automat sits in an automated diner in New York City under rows of overly bright lights staring into her cup of coffee. She is well dressed and pretty; she could be the embodiment of the New York of Fitzgerald's 1920's. The scene gives the impression of being late into the night. A lone empty chair sits across from her. The last moments of a night in the last years of an age unrivaled in self-celebration for more than five decades. Contrary to our general impressions of the Jazz Age, there is no celebration here. Her coat remains on and pulled close. The overwhelming theme is one of absence and loneliness. Her attire, makeup, and the sheen of the diner contrast markedly with the pitch black of the city outside. Hopper's works nearly always provoke a sense of something infinitely important missing, yet in some way this missing piece always finds its way back to the viewer in the humanity of the work itself. Artistic analysis notwithstanding, the nameless subject of Automat presents the perfect foreshadowing of the stories to follow. Beginning with Fall River, published in 1931, this collection of thirteen stories is largely one of broken dreams, squandered wealth, long shots, and compromise. Here too, the empty spaces that comprise the lives of Cheever's characters are filled in by the author's ability to place us into their lives without invoking either harsh judgement or pity.

The 1930's of Cheever's short stories dovetail almost effortlessly with the travails of the early 21st century. An era of financial recklessness and wide-eyed optimism violently submerged into the cold reality of worthless investments, vanishing jobs, and difficult social change. In the 1920's & 1930's, is was the transition to the Machine Age; skilled labor was being replaced by mindless factory work. "Methods of business had changed, faster than I could change," comments the narrator in The Autobiography of a Drummer, the story of the slow decline of a late 1920's shoe salesman. "The world that I know how to walk and talk and earn a living in, has gone." Not only was the economy contracting, but productivity gains were ruthlessly efficient in shrinking the overall number of people needed. In the early 21st century, we see technology ushering in a very similar era. Not only is the economy weak and overextended, but companies find that routine tasks can be handled electronically or even sent off to cheap labor across the world. Jobs that once felt safe and paid a decent wage for showing up simply disappear never to return. The associated social unease is palpable. Americans are used to an increasing standard of living and big dreams. Giving ground is disconcerting to say the least.

Nearly every story in the book overlaps with the challenges facing modern Americans in one way or another. In Passing tells the wrenching story of a man returning to his childhood home, which has been foreclosed on and lies waiting to be replaced by a gas station, a story that could be told across the country in modern times (with less gas stations of course). A number of stories center around the racetrack at Saratoga and the obsession with a turn of fortune just around the corner and an easy way out, parables echoed daily in the financial press. While it may seem a laborious task to subject oneself to stories of despair and loss, I'd suggest that if you really sit down and think about these stories, it is possible to see a part of yourself in any of his characters. Be it the gambler, the performer who refuses to accept that their time has passed, or the exasperated and recently separated lovers putting on a good face for one more dinner with the unwitting family, Cheever forces us to see things from their shoes. In doing so, he reminds us that behind every facade are the insecurities and troubles that are part and parcel of being human. Reading his Depression-era work now also gives us the perspective to see that the overwhelming fears that came with industrialization were overcome in time and followed by one of history's most dynamic centuries of innovation and increased standards of living, even in the face of a further World War. Cheever manages to engender a sense of gratitude for the simple things in life despite a collection of stories filled with despondence by filling that empty space with the humanity of his subjects, as Hopper does in so many of his contemporary paintings. It may not be the lightest read, but Cheever's Fall River and Other Uncollected Stories is worth the effort.

Book Report - Children of Dune

The original Dune may be my personal favorite piece of fiction. Granted, any given mood probably comes with its own favorite book, but Dune is the only one that I've consistently pushed on anyone I thought might be interested. I'm not even the most ardent sci-fi fan, although I'm always up for a bit of escape, and I've certainly been guilty of yearning for a world that resembled any number of fictional universes. In doing a bit of research after finishing (for the second or third time) Children of Dune, the third book in the series, I stumbled upon the fact that Herbert had original conceived the first three books as one single story, and that the entire plot was essentially mapped out prior to beginning work on the first book. I was a bit taken aback by this, as they've always read as very independent stories to me. That said, it now begs the task of rereading the whole trilogy with an eye for the themes that were intended to span the entire story. Herbert himself describes the three stories as a sort of literary fugue in this fantastic essay on the origins of the story.

The themes of the Dune series resonate today without much stretching of the imagination required. Herbert touches on religion, fanaticism, politics, war, power structures, corporate influence, ecology, natural resources, addiction, superstition, jihad, and any number of other related topics that dominate today's headlines. Children of Dune follows the story of children of Paul Atreides and the power struggle between a now-lost Alia and her government, Leto and Ghanima (Paul's Children), the deposed House Corrino, the Fremen religion and its priests, and those who seek to return to the old ways of the desert. It's hard to go into too much detail without giving away the twists and turns of the story. The essence of the political conflict, however, comes down to which faction will end up with control of the empire. The religious element, which is largely Leto's progression down the road of his father, is a bit stranger and more complicated. It's fair to say that I found its ultimate direction somewhat unsatisfying, but it certainly makes for an interesting read, and I can see how it fits as the ultimate embodiment of Herbert's take on the deified leader.

Like all of the books in the series, the dialogue is intricate and meaning is many times in what is left unsaid. Plans exist within plans, and often times, we are left without access to the inner thoughts of those involved, leaving us to ferret out real intentions by ourselves. What is striking about this chapter of the story, for better or worse, is its bleakness. Religion has become an instrument of control, alliances are tenuous and shifting, death lurks around every turn, and it is hard to find a character worth identifying as a protagonist. As Leto changes throughout the story, the reader finds their own feelings toward him shifting from empathy to skepticism. The depth of interpersonal character development in the first book is replaced by the depth of manipulation and machination of all involved. While it retains the grand scale of the story of the Atreides arrival on Dune, it loses much of its humanity. That loss, however, is largely the point Herbert is trying to make. The theme of obtaining, regaining, and holding onto control are echoed in the internal battles of Alia, Ghanima, and Leto. The systems of religion and governance that were established in the wake of Paul's rise to power have now entrenched themselves to the point where they are governed with the objective of retaining power. By the sheer amount of influence their decisions wield, they attract those who are attracted to power, and thus sow the seeds of their own demise (and the associated collateral damage). In short, it is largely a story of consequences, both forseen and unforseen.

Children of Dune isn't a book to pick up if you are looking for a light adventure. Herbert, in general, has the ability to make me feel that I read at the third grade level, and I can't count the number of pages I've had to reread to stay on top of the unfolding story. The complexity of dialogue and plot are part of what makes these books a pleasure to reread. Like a Wes Anderson film, much of it fits together better the second or third time around. If you are a fan of the first Dune, it is hard not to recommend that you read the second and third book if only to see Herbert's vision in its entirety. The first book certainly stands on its own as an incredible story, but the second and third stand ready to undo much of the mythology created in the first, and without considering the consequences of the events of the first story, it is easy to miss much of what Herbert was trying to say. The writing of Dune was not undertaken lightly. Six years of research went into the story before it ever hit the page. It's reading deserves a willingness to invest in trying to understand Herbert's universe and the lens through which he saw our current world.

I'm hoping mine don't include lions...