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Cheever

John Cheever died 20 years ago. But for me, he died today. I finished his journals. He was very tired when he made the last entry, obviously done in by the cancer that was eating his bones. He kept writing. He typed his journal even though typing got very difficult too, and the quality of the journal did not diminish. I suspect I would not have liked him a lot if I'd known him but the personal nature of his journal can't help but move anyone, I'd think. I was so affected by it. It was really like knowing him better than, perhaps, his own wife knew him. He didn't make much of an effort to know her, or anyone else, which is why I suspect I might not have liked him much. But maybe I would have anyway. Sometimes I like people a lot because their talents so enrich my life, and because it seems that what makes that talent gives them depth, dimension. I tend to like people who have such depth I will never really know them.

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