The Commute from Hell

John Cheever has fallen out of favor lately.  Perhaps he’s too much a traditional realist to get much attention these days.  No gimmicks.  No cute tricks. My bet is that the pendulum will swing back and Cheever will once again be appreciated for his literary gifts.  He is best known for his short stories.  No better book to have by your beside than ‘The Stories of John Cheever’, available in paperback.  Pick it up and read a story when you’re in the mood.  You won’t be disappointed.  ‘Goodbye, My Brother’, ‘The Enormous Radio’, and of course ‘The Swimmer’ are among my favorites.

Cheever also wrote five novels.  I recently read ‘Bullet Park’ (1969), a scathing indictment of life in the New York suburbs in the 1960’s.  Cheever sees through the superficial cheer to the underlying despair and desperation.  Alcohol, drug use, hypocritical religiosity, the medical profession, television, and adultery are all revealed here as evidence of the darkness at the center of ‘Father Knows Best’.  As a cultural study the book is indeed very interesting.  As a work of fiction, it’s more of a mixed bag.

I’m not sure that the novel holds together as an entity.  The first two-thirds concern Eliot Nailles, a middle-aged husband and father with a good heart who accepts much of what he sees in good faith and only gradually becomes aware the dangers that surround him and his family.  The last part of the book is narrated by Paul Hammer, a disturbed and sinister man.  Each section contains some wonderful writing, but the mood shift is so pronounced as to make it hard to fit them together in the same short novel.  Almost as if we have several short stories here that have been loosely knit together to make a longer work of fiction.

The last few chapters are suspenseful, and the sense of growing menace is particularly effective against the backdrop of smiley suburbia, but I can’t help but feel that Cheever did much the same in ‘The Swimmer’.  But the short story is a precisely cut gem.  The novel is not nearly so refined.

But I whine.  Cheever is always worth reading.  Maybe sometime I’ll tackle the memoirs.  He kept notebooks through most of his adult life.  It was a difficult life.  He wasn’t an easy person.  But the man could write.

The Multiverse in Literature

Modern neuroscience teaches us that the brain creatively constructs its own optimally useful version of reality from sensory data and the wisdom of experience.  We do our best to make sense of our world, and we necessarily expend considerable energy in convincing ourselves that our vision is accurate and true, no matter what level of self-deception might be required.  Terror is often our reaction if and when we come to understand the artificiality of our personal reality construct; we do sometimes glimpse into other versions of reality, other points of view, other universes.  ‘If that other universe really exists, then mine is not the real reality.  It’s just my reality, and it’s no more or less valid than any other.’  Enriching, fascinating, but very scary.

Hermes, the principal narrator

In ‘The Infinities’ John Banville has managed to make that glimpse enjoyable.  In a story that blends science, traditional storytelling, Greek mythology, and a healthy dose of philosophy, Banville playfully shows us a world that is an unending and confusing mix of coexisting realities.  We see from the point of view of various mortal characters, various gods, and even the family dog.  All viewpoints are telling.  Some have a degree of awareness that other viewpoints exist.  Others don’t.  But all ultimately accept that our world is a carnival-like mix of intent and happenstance, of coherence and randomness, of sense and nonsense.

Banville manages this only with the most deft and whimsical writer’s touch.  The prose isn't contrived or artificial, but rather comes off as natural and easy.  Yes, there are other worlds.  We could probably see into them if we wish, but for the most part we choose not to.  For mortals, death is the most haunting.  That other world, what is it like?  Does it exist?  Is it anything, really?  How can something exist about which I cannot know?

Don't be scared of this book.  It's mostly fun and games.  Fun and games ... a very useful view of life.  Doesn't really pay to take things too seriously.  No way we can truly understand, so let's enjoy what we can and concede our ignorance.  No shame there.  Banville suggests that life might best be understood as a comedy.  Laugh when you can.  Beats the alternative.