‘John Cheever: Master of the short story’

Posted on May 27, 2012 by James Ament

John Cheever’s centenary is being celebrated in America today with the publication of a new edition of his collected stories.

Cheever, who was born on May 27th in Quincy, Massachusetts, was one of the greatest short story writers of the 20th century and was described by Elmore Leonard as “the Chekhov of the suburbs.”

Cheever was the son of a failed shoe salesman – the writer’s mother ran a “cluttered gift shop” – and he understood the ambition and inferiority complexes of post-war American life. He could be funny about the “crushing boredom” of life in the suburbs with the “stupid, depressed and uncreative” people who populated their tidy houses but he was more than just an angry critic of torpid rural life. As his contemporary John Updike put it: “John Cheever was often labelled as a writer about suburbia; but many people have written about suburbia. Only Cheever was able to make an archetypal place out of it.”

Read the whole thing at the link.

Today In Literature—Of Grifters, Killers & Cops

Posted on April 7, 2012 by James Ament

Love this guy’s books. Full story found here.

On this day in 1977, the pulp-noir writer Jim Thompson died. “Just you wait,” Thompson told his wife shortly before his death, “I’ll become famous after I’m dead about ten years.” Thirteen years later, The Grifters received four Oscar nominations, and then a handful of other books were turned into films, and today nearly all of Thompson’s books are back in print.

Book review: ‘Fante’ by Dan Fante

Posted on September 13, 2011 by James Ament

From the Los Angeles Times, a book review by Carolyn Kellogg:

When 45-year-old Dan Fante first sat down at his father’s typewriter, the result was typical. He felt great banging out a manuscript, but after one less-than-stellar response, he immediately trashed it. Success and destruction: That had been Dan’s cycle for decades until it was interrupted, finally, by luck and grace and the desire to write.

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Today in Literature—O. Henry

Posted on June 5, 2011 by James Ament

An O. Henry Ending:

On this day in 1910, O. Henry died in New York City at the age of forty-seven. His death from alcoholism-related illnesses was the farthest thing from a surprise ending, but his last months and hours were in other ways characteristic of the fiction: the down-on-his-luck hero, the small-detail-revealing-all style, the polished-perfect irony.

Review—Chump Change, by Dan Fante

Posted on May 27, 2011 by James Ament

The Los Angels Times called Chump Change “passionate, obscene and quite wonderful.” It is passionate and obscene…and well written, but wonderful? I must admit that my brief forays into Charles Bukowski and John Fante, the author’s father, have taken their toll. I keep remembering that one of my best friends in college, a bright and for a time successful businessman, ended up a derelict on the streets of Cleveland. He died too young because of alcoholism and left his wife—a friend also—and daughter in a pretty rough financial state. I used to drink with him while in college—never saw it coming. I knew when to quit drinking and could. He didn’t and couldn’t and it killed him. So when I read about the utter degradation of what an alcoholic goes through, such as Dan Fante skillfully put on paper in Chump Change, I somberly think of my old pal and what might have been—except for the booze.

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Writing and Drinking

Posted on March 24, 2011 by James Ament

Andrew Klavan on Why Writers Drink—good comments too, especially the one about actors and prostitutes.

Book Review—Factotum

Posted on February 11, 2011 by James Ament

Factotum (1975), by Charles Bukowski (1920-1994)

The novel was author Bukowski’s second, and it centers on the degenerate life of Hank Chinaski, Bukowski’s alter-ego. The story traces Hank as he consumes copious amounts of alcohol, interviews and changes jobs with regularity, either through quitting or being fired—I lost count of how many—and screws women, most of whom are alcoholic whores. A stark review might be: Having to work sucks but it finances the drinking; and women are necessary for sexual gratification.

This is not a pleasant book. It describes skid row life around World War II in places like Los Angeles, St. Louis, New Orleans, and Miami as failed writer Hank Chinaski moves from job to job and rented room to rented room, mostly drunk or with a hangover—with classical music in the background. What is pleasurable about the book isn’t the story; it’s Bukowski’s ability to develop the characters and his writing style. The fact that I didn’t like Chinaski—but wished he’d straighten out so I could like him—suggests that the author knew how to paint him. Examples: