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700poodles's review against another edition
challenging
dark
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
2.0
bittersweet_symphony's review against another edition
3.0
Cheever draws up a story of ordinary characters playing out a slightly comical story. A teenage boy stays in bed for weeks (not necessarily sick) until a "holy man" shows up at the house and inexplicably "heals" him. A man obsesses over a room in a stranger's house falling in love with it, holding it as his only place of quiet and happiness--then settles into the suburbs to murder the boy. This story isn't remotely about murder.
His characters occupy the usual "not all is as okay in the suburbs," which is characteristic of Cheever. Preventing from taking itself too seriously, the story centers around Eliot Nailles and Paul Hammer. The story breaks into three parts. Two parts are dedicated to each character's relationship to, or in contrast to, suburban life, and climaxes where the tension of their two worlds meet.
It left me with many questions about Paul Hammer's motives. Cheever doesn't exactly answer why his drifting middle-aged antagonist plots to kill Nailles' son. We only know the "American Dream" usually fails, but Cheever reminds us why we are okay with that.
One example of his wonderful prose: "My fault was that I had thought of love as a heady distillate of nostalgia--a force of memory that had resisted analysis by cybernetics. We do not fall in love--I thought--we re-enter love, and I had fallen in love with a memory--a piece of white thread and a thunderstorm. My own true love was a piece of white thread and that was so."
His characters occupy the usual "not all is as okay in the suburbs," which is characteristic of Cheever. Preventing from taking itself too seriously, the story centers around Eliot Nailles and Paul Hammer. The story breaks into three parts. Two parts are dedicated to each character's relationship to, or in contrast to, suburban life, and climaxes where the tension of their two worlds meet.
It left me with many questions about Paul Hammer's motives. Cheever doesn't exactly answer why his drifting middle-aged antagonist plots to kill Nailles' son. We only know the "American Dream" usually fails, but Cheever reminds us why we are okay with that.
One example of his wonderful prose: "My fault was that I had thought of love as a heady distillate of nostalgia--a force of memory that had resisted analysis by cybernetics. We do not fall in love--I thought--we re-enter love, and I had fallen in love with a memory--a piece of white thread and a thunderstorm. My own true love was a piece of white thread and that was so."
iainkelly_writing's review against another edition
dark
funny
fast-paced
4.5
A scathing look at American suburbia from the 1960s, with the picket fences and happy facades hiding marriages and lives of regret, boredom and depression. Throw in an unstable neighbour with dark intentions and some dark humour and this is an enjoyable and diverting short novel.
nerissassippi's review against another edition
4.0
A dystopian view of what many Americans strived for in the 60's: a superficially happy and calm life in the suburbs. This book (the first of Cheever's that I have read) reminds me strongly of Updike's Rabbit series.
aaroncbabcock's review against another edition
4.0
How can anyone fail to fall for a book with the opening line "Paint me a small railroad station then, ten minutes before dark."
jamesdanielhorn's review against another edition
4.0
10/7/21 addendum:
It’s been almost a year since I read this and I think about this book a lot. There are some particularly interesting themes of belonging I keep coming back to, and while I still think this book has some flaws I think I was harsh in the review I initially posted. I’m leaving this a solid 4. May you all avoid seasonal cafard!
This books certainly has its moments. The lush prose is the only thing rounding this 3.5 up to a 4. Maybe I’m just bored with white men and their melodramatic problems. I’ve never seen it mentioned before but in my opinion Delillo’s White Noise is clearly heavily influenced by this book but in my opinion bests it. It’s hard to hate on a book with this for an opening though...
“Paint me a small railroad station then, ten minutes before dark. Beyond the platform are the waters of the Wekonsett River, reflecting a somber afterglow. The architecture of the station is oddly informal, gloomy but unserious, and mostly resembles a pergola, cottage or summer house although this is a climate of harsh winters. The lamps along the platform burn with a nearly palpable plaintiveness. The setting seems in some way to be at the heart of the matter. We travel by plane, oftener than not, and yet the spirit of our country seems to have remained a country of railroads. You wake in a pullman bedroom at three a.m. in a city the name of which you do not know and may never discover. A man stands on the platform with a child on his shoulders. They are waving goodbye to some traveler, but what is the child doing up so late and why is the man crying? On a siding beside the platform there is a lighted dining car where a waiter sits alone at a table, adding up his accounts. Beyond this is a water tower and beyond this a well-lighted and empty street. Then you think happily that this is your country - unique, mysterious and vast.”
It’s been almost a year since I read this and I think about this book a lot. There are some particularly interesting themes of belonging I keep coming back to, and while I still think this book has some flaws I think I was harsh in the review I initially posted. I’m leaving this a solid 4. May you all avoid seasonal cafard!
This books certainly has its moments. The lush prose is the only thing rounding this 3.5 up to a 4. Maybe I’m just bored with white men and their melodramatic problems. I’ve never seen it mentioned before but in my opinion Delillo’s White Noise is clearly heavily influenced by this book but in my opinion bests it. It’s hard to hate on a book with this for an opening though...
“Paint me a small railroad station then, ten minutes before dark. Beyond the platform are the waters of the Wekonsett River, reflecting a somber afterglow. The architecture of the station is oddly informal, gloomy but unserious, and mostly resembles a pergola, cottage or summer house although this is a climate of harsh winters. The lamps along the platform burn with a nearly palpable plaintiveness. The setting seems in some way to be at the heart of the matter. We travel by plane, oftener than not, and yet the spirit of our country seems to have remained a country of railroads. You wake in a pullman bedroom at three a.m. in a city the name of which you do not know and may never discover. A man stands on the platform with a child on his shoulders. They are waving goodbye to some traveler, but what is the child doing up so late and why is the man crying? On a siding beside the platform there is a lighted dining car where a waiter sits alone at a table, adding up his accounts. Beyond this is a water tower and beyond this a well-lighted and empty street. Then you think happily that this is your country - unique, mysterious and vast.”
dividential's review against another edition
dark
reflective
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
nunuseli's review against another edition
5.0
Parece que John Cheever es más conocido como escritor de relatos y que sus novelas muchas veces son consideradas simples cuentos alargados, pero lo cierto es que el mismo John Cheever prefería ser considerado un escritor de novelas y consideraba sus cuentos casi como trabajos de encargo. ‘Bullet Park’ (Emecé), que es quizás la novela más conocida de Cheever, se divide claramente en dos partes: la primera está protagonizada por un hombre llamado Nailles y la segunda por otro hombre que se llama Hammer. Con dos nombres así (que suenan como clavos y martillo) parecía que estaban destinados a encontrarse. El libro empieza cuando Hammer se traslada a un barrio de los suburbios llamado Bullet Park, que es descrito por Cheever de una forma muy particular, entre mítica e irónica, consciente perfectamente de que en buena parte han sido sus obras las que han cimentado los tópicos de estos escenarios suburbanos, como las fiestas con alcohol a raudales, los monótonos viajes en tren para ir a trabajar a la ciudad y la insatisfacción reprimida.
Nailles y Hammer se encuentran por primera vez un domingo en la iglesia, porque Nailles asiste cada domingo a la iglesia, más por costumbre que por auténtica fe. Como les pasa a prácticamente todos los habitantes de Bullet Park, la vida de Nailles ha perdido cualquier sentido espiritual que podría haber tenido, pero aún así parece que en ocasiones se empeña en buscarlo, por más que no se atreve a reconocerlo en voz alta y ni siquiera a él mismo. ‘Bullet Park’ es una novela que en cierto modo parece una fábula alegórica, en ocasiones particularmente sórdida e inquietante, pero también con un punto de humor absurdo y extraño. En este sentido, no es nada gratuito que el clímax final suceda en el altar de la iglesia, donde Nailles y Hammer vuelven a encontrarse. Es entonces cuando el mal que había aparecido de improviso, sin avisar y sin nada que hubiera podido predecir su entrada en escena, es derrotado, pero aún así el final es extrañamente agridulce; las cosas volverán a ser como eran antes, sólo que en realidad ya no volverán a serlo.
Además de vecindario, Nailles y Hammer comparten un cuadro parecido de ansiedad y depresión. Para Nailles todo empieza el día en que Tony, su hijo adolescente, sin aparentemente ninguna razón, no se levanta de la cama. A partir de entonces desfilarán por la habitación de Tony una serie de médicos, especialistas e incluso un curandero, para tratar de “curarlo”. Nailles, avergonzado, dirá a todo el que se lo pregunte que lo que tiene su hijo es mononucleosis. Pero además de avergonzado, Nailles se sentirá sobre todo culpable e impotente por no poder hacer nada para ayudar a su hijo. Su ansiedad irá en aumento y ya ni el alcohol será suficiente para calmarlo, de modo que acudirá a un doctor que le recetará unas pastillas que le harán flotar en una nube de inconsciencia. Hammer, por su parte, se ha pasado media vida viajando por el mundo para huir de la desesperación, pero esta siempre ha acabado para alcanzarlo. Un día verá a través de una ventana una habitación con las paredes pintadas de amarillo y quedará convencido de que para encontrar la paz debe encontrar una habitación como aquélla. La encontrará, pero aquello no será suficiente, así que luego se convencerá de que para encontrar la paz tiene que optar por una solución mucho más radical. Y es ahí cuando decidirá ir al encuentro de Nailles, porque es el perfecto espécimen de hombre suburbano.
Nailles y Hammer se encuentran por primera vez un domingo en la iglesia, porque Nailles asiste cada domingo a la iglesia, más por costumbre que por auténtica fe. Como les pasa a prácticamente todos los habitantes de Bullet Park, la vida de Nailles ha perdido cualquier sentido espiritual que podría haber tenido, pero aún así parece que en ocasiones se empeña en buscarlo, por más que no se atreve a reconocerlo en voz alta y ni siquiera a él mismo. ‘Bullet Park’ es una novela que en cierto modo parece una fábula alegórica, en ocasiones particularmente sórdida e inquietante, pero también con un punto de humor absurdo y extraño. En este sentido, no es nada gratuito que el clímax final suceda en el altar de la iglesia, donde Nailles y Hammer vuelven a encontrarse. Es entonces cuando el mal que había aparecido de improviso, sin avisar y sin nada que hubiera podido predecir su entrada en escena, es derrotado, pero aún así el final es extrañamente agridulce; las cosas volverán a ser como eran antes, sólo que en realidad ya no volverán a serlo.
Además de vecindario, Nailles y Hammer comparten un cuadro parecido de ansiedad y depresión. Para Nailles todo empieza el día en que Tony, su hijo adolescente, sin aparentemente ninguna razón, no se levanta de la cama. A partir de entonces desfilarán por la habitación de Tony una serie de médicos, especialistas e incluso un curandero, para tratar de “curarlo”. Nailles, avergonzado, dirá a todo el que se lo pregunte que lo que tiene su hijo es mononucleosis. Pero además de avergonzado, Nailles se sentirá sobre todo culpable e impotente por no poder hacer nada para ayudar a su hijo. Su ansiedad irá en aumento y ya ni el alcohol será suficiente para calmarlo, de modo que acudirá a un doctor que le recetará unas pastillas que le harán flotar en una nube de inconsciencia. Hammer, por su parte, se ha pasado media vida viajando por el mundo para huir de la desesperación, pero esta siempre ha acabado para alcanzarlo. Un día verá a través de una ventana una habitación con las paredes pintadas de amarillo y quedará convencido de que para encontrar la paz debe encontrar una habitación como aquélla. La encontrará, pero aquello no será suficiente, así que luego se convencerá de que para encontrar la paz tiene que optar por una solución mucho más radical. Y es ahí cuando decidirá ir al encuentro de Nailles, porque es el perfecto espécimen de hombre suburbano.
reibureibu's review against another edition
challenging
dark
funny
mysterious
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.5
ben_miller's review against another edition
5.0
I have to laugh at the lurid come-on printed on the first page of my 1988 Bantam paperback of this book: "HAVE YOU EVER COMMITTED A MURDER?" Anyone who buys this book hoping for a gruesome "there's a killer in all of us" potboiler is destined for disappointment.
However, if they're open to it, they might find something infinitely more interesting. "Bullet Park," like most great books, establishes itself in the first line: "Paint me a small railroad station then, ten minutes before dark." As soon as I read that I knew I was going to love the book. A clean, artful and disorienting sentence. Who's talking? Who's listening? Who's painting? It is Cheever's gleeful refusal to answer any of these questions that carries "Bullet Park."
The novel is at once digressive, non-linear, and barreling along with the momentum of one of those trains that carry Eliot Nailles into the city every day. It presents a much more nuanced and complex portrait of suburbia than we are used to getting (take, for example, the well-intentioned but lazily written "Mad Men"), even down to the structure of its narrative which to me resembles the winding lanes and culs-de-sac of a housing development. Cheever shows the human race a fundamental respect by sketching every character, no matter how ripe for suburban convention, as capable of deep wells of emotion and weirdness.
Most importantly, it is rendered in disciplined but gorgeous prose, and the author seems to be writing with the freedom that comes from having no other goal than to satisfy yourself. That's the only way that something this bizarre and excellent comes into the world.
However, if they're open to it, they might find something infinitely more interesting. "Bullet Park," like most great books, establishes itself in the first line: "Paint me a small railroad station then, ten minutes before dark." As soon as I read that I knew I was going to love the book. A clean, artful and disorienting sentence. Who's talking? Who's listening? Who's painting? It is Cheever's gleeful refusal to answer any of these questions that carries "Bullet Park."
The novel is at once digressive, non-linear, and barreling along with the momentum of one of those trains that carry Eliot Nailles into the city every day. It presents a much more nuanced and complex portrait of suburbia than we are used to getting (take, for example, the well-intentioned but lazily written "Mad Men"), even down to the structure of its narrative which to me resembles the winding lanes and culs-de-sac of a housing development. Cheever shows the human race a fundamental respect by sketching every character, no matter how ripe for suburban convention, as capable of deep wells of emotion and weirdness.
Most importantly, it is rendered in disciplined but gorgeous prose, and the author seems to be writing with the freedom that comes from having no other goal than to satisfy yourself. That's the only way that something this bizarre and excellent comes into the world.