I think John Cheever and his short stories, and even his novels have been waiting for me to discover them. A friend of mine suggested I read ‘The Housebreaker of Shady Hill’, and at the time I was resisting this writer’s work, for reasons that fail me. For years I avoided Cheever, I thought he was stuffy and old school, not prescient enough, the same goes with Updike, and even Yates. I read ‘Revolutionary Road’ a few years ago and was completely wiped out by its blistering power. There is a style among these writers that clearly defines modern man, educated and married, the company man, as a hollow shell of disappointment who has been successfully worn down by life, love and a overwhelming insecurity that wanders around even in my cold heart.
Cheever seems to be the buzz right now, the NYT Magazine story, the big bio coming from Blake Bailey, on sale right now, and the general feel in the wake of Updike’s passing that this kind writing is in vogue, so, here I am, discovering it for the first time. If you’re still reading in a minute, I’ll be impressed.
‘The Housebreaker of Shady Hill’, which moves like a story that might take place across the street from Don Draper’s home and has a unique feel to it that isn’t easy to put a finger on. The narrator, Johnny Hake describes himself like he would to a divorce lawyer. He would be shocked to find out that he’s been a callous asshole, and that his wife is taking the kids, because he ignores her and them. There is a blind-drunk, wealthy without showing it off vibe to this story, and Hake talks about his neighbors, his children who he loves, and his neighborhood like it weren’t quite what he had hoped it would be, but now that he’s here, it really does deserve his discerning eye. He talks about being alone in the night while his wife sleeps next to him. The empty pit in his stomach which is hard to figure out, he realizes his friends are rich, and he knows this because they seem to be in a state of constant leisure, traveling, enjoying life, where Hake is confused by his own place in the world, and his job seems like a cheap sports coat that could be the lining to a better coat. He’s woken up and discovered that somehow, and with great permanence, that he is living in a community of well-educated members of the upper middle class, and his dark soul knows he’s miscast.
Hake steals a neighbor’s wallet, hoping the money will get him out of a jam. This is all a symptom of a disease I like to call boredom of reality. Hake can’t shake the rough edges of life, the despair and loneliness no one ever told him this was waiting in suburbia, marriage and a nine to five job that defines him and leaves him very little room to live. He finally eviscerates his wife and children in Yates like fashion, which reminds us all just how out of touch and self centered he really is. The sections about his family, especially his wife, will shove you to the floor. There is something very powerful about this story, which isn’t always obvious. The strange thing (to me, the rest of the world knows this already) I discovered about this story, is how much it reminds me of Rick Moody’s novel ‘Ice Storm’.
-JR
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