Letters of Cheever

The first industry review listed here starts with: "John Cheever's letters aren't great literature" ... and this would only be true if you think "great literature" has to be weighty, ponderous and dull. Not an unpopular belief. The fatter the volume and more stupefying the complexity, the more likely a piece of work is going to be called Great Literature. It's true that Cheever's letters are modest in scope and intent -- they might look pretty anemic next to some polysyllabic freak like Henry James' correspondence -- but what they DON'T lack is Charm. In my world, charm beats blithering intensity every time. Cheever delighted in the world -- even the shadowy, dark night of the soul bits of it -- like (I'd wager) most of us, he needed a steady supply of love to keep that delight going. These letters seem to have been one way he kept the affection pumping along, with friends, family, lovers, both men and women. They are love letters in the broadest, least treacly sense. And who wants to read a heavy, profound, sweaty, overintellectualized Love Letter? Nobody. Brevity may not ALWAYS be the soul of wit, but in Cheever's case, it absolutely is. Great literature should be great enough to make room for charming, one-of-a-kind miniaturists like Cheever the letter writer.