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Brimmer
A truly satirical story will always have a devil in it.
- GenresShort Stories
ebook
First published August 1, 1959
3 people want to read
About the author
John Cheever
298 books1,076 followersJohn Cheever was an American novelist and short story writer, sometimes called "the Chekhov of the suburbs" or "the Ovid of Ossining." His fiction is mostly set in the Upper East Side of Manhattan, the suburbs of Westchester, New York, and old New England villages based on various South Shore towns around Quincy, Massachusetts, where he was born.
His main themes include the duality of human nature: sometimes dramatized as the disparity between a character's decorous social persona and inner corruption, and sometimes as a conflict between two characters (often brothers) who embody the salient aspects of both--light and dark, flesh and spirit. Many of his works also express a nostalgia for a vanishing way of life, characterized by abiding cultural traditions and a profound sense of community, as opposed to the alienating nomadism of modern suburbia.
His main themes include the duality of human nature: sometimes dramatized as the disparity between a character's decorous social persona and inner corruption, and sometimes as a conflict between two characters (often brothers) who embody the salient aspects of both--light and dark, flesh and spirit. Many of his works also express a nostalgia for a vanishing way of life, characterized by abiding cultural traditions and a profound sense of community, as opposed to the alienating nomadism of modern suburbia.
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
May 13, 2025
I'm not sure if Cheever is writing about a mythological satyr with an unquenchable desire for sex, or if the satyr is just a metaphor for men that act that way. The story is told by a narrator who is a disapproving (but envious) family man. Perhaps the narrator and the satyr together are showing the two sides of a man going through a midlife crisis--a man who wants his family life, but also wants the excitement of womanizing. A cruise ship was a great setting to set this type of story.
"Brimmer" is story # 32 in the collection "The Stories of John Cheever."
"Brimmer" is story # 32 in the collection "The Stories of John Cheever."
May 2, 2020
Cuento de tono satírico donde el narrador nos narra las aventuras (promiscuas) de su amigo y/o conocido Brimmer durante un crucero que les llevaría a Italia. El tono un tanto moralista del narrador es una parodia de la remilgada hipocresia del que se cree por encima de Brimmer. Es un relato divertido por lo irónico del retrato que hace de Brimmer cuando realmente y en mi opinión quién se está desenmascarando es el narrador
"Me fijé en él principalmente a causa de su actitud en el bar. Sus pupilas eran incoloras y alargadas como las de un macho cabrío. Ojos risueños, se hubiera dicho, aunquem a veces, vidriosos. En cuanto a las flautas no tocaba ningún instrumento musical, que yo sepa; lo de las uvas es otro cantar, porque casi siempre tenía un vaso en la mano".
"Me fijé en él principalmente a causa de su actitud en el bar. Sus pupilas eran incoloras y alargadas como las de un macho cabrío. Ojos risueños, se hubiera dicho, aunquem a veces, vidriosos. En cuanto a las flautas no tocaba ningún instrumento musical, que yo sepa; lo de las uvas es otro cantar, porque casi siempre tenía un vaso en la mano".
October 24, 2021
John Cheever's "Brimmer" is a short story about suppositions, I have many times wondered about people that I barely know and by some of their actions, I think I known more than I do. This story makes me want to not be so quick to judge.
“I had drinks with Brimmer on the second day out. He was a man of about my age, I should say, slender, with well-kept hands that were, for some reason, noticeable, and a light but never monotonous voice and a charming sense of urgency—liveliness—that seemed to have nothing to do with nervousness. We had lunch and dinner together and drank in the bar after dinner. We knew the same places, but none of the same people, and yet he seemed to be an excellent companion. When we went below—he had the cabin next to mine—I was contented to have found someone I could talk with for the next ten days.”
💢💢💢💢💢💢💢💢💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠 spoiler alert🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻
A married man takes an ocean voyages to Europe and meets several characters. He becomes friends with Brimmer and Mme. Troyan but after their first night out at sea, Brimmer and Mme. Troyan seem to be having an affair in Brimmer's cabin and after are rarely seen. Mme. Troyan has arrived at her destination with her husband waiting for her. The narrator had been disgusted when he had known aboard that she was married and having a fling with Brimmer, who found another kind of repulsive businesswoman and after a night, it had ended. Brimmer had a blonde waiting for him and they offered the narrator a lift to Florence, not until our narrator is back home, he receives a letter from the blonde that Brimmer is dying and would like to see him but since the letter is 6 weeks old, he figures Brimmer is dead. One day he finds a recent magazine with Brimmer and his new wife on the back pages, alive and kicking. Still many unknowns to the reader only guesses. Did he just like affairs or is he a paid gigolo?
“Brimmer invited her to join us and she did. At my ripe age, Mme. Troyan’s age meant nothing. A younger man might have placed her in her middle thirties and might have noticed that the lines around her eyes were ineradicable. For me these lines meant only a proven capacity for wit and passion. She was a charming woman who did not mean to be described. Her dark hair, her pallor, her fine arms, her vivacity, her sadness when the bartender told us about his sick son in Genoa, her impersonations of the captain—the impression of a lovely and a brilliant woman to seeming delightful was not the listed sum of her charms.”
“She and Brimmer had only met by chance that morning and what carnal anarchy would crack the world if all such chance meetings were consummated! If they had waited a day or two—long enough to give at least the appearance of founding their affair on some romantic or sentimental basis—I think I would have found it more acceptable. To act so quickly seemed to me skeptical and depraved.”
“WE SAID GOODBYE in Florence and I did not see Brimmer again. It was the leggy blonde who wrote to me in July or August, when I had returned to the United States and our farm, in New Hampshire. She wrote from a hospital in Zurich, and the letter had been forwarded from my address in Florence. “Poor Brimmer is dying,” she wrote. “And if you could get up here to see him I know it would make him very happy. He often speaks of you, and I know you were one of his best friends. I am enclosing some papers that might interest you since you are a writer. The doctors do not think he can live another week....” To refer to me as a friend exposed what must have been the immensity of his loneliness; and it seemed all along that I had known he was going to
die, that his promiscuity was a relationship not to life but to death. That was in the afternoon—it was four or five —the light glancing, and that gratifying stillness in the air that falls over the back country with the earliest signs of night. I didn’t tell my wife. Why should I? She never knew Brimmer and why introduce death into such a tranquil scene? What I remember feeling was gladness. The letter was six weeks old. He would be dead.”
“My wife is lovely, lovely were my children, and lovely that scene, and how dead he and his dirty words seemed in the summer light. I was glad of the news, and his death seemed to have removed the perplexity that he had represented. I could remember with some sadness that he had been able to convey a feeling that the exuberance and the pain of life was a glass against which his nose was pressed:”
“And after a festa, a Sunday when the beaches have been crowded, there are other things so many fathoms down —bits of sandwich paper, the crossword-puzzle page from Il Messaggero, and water-logged copies of Epoca. It is out of the back pages of one of these that Brimmer looks up to me from the bottom of the sea. He is not dead. He has just married an Italian movie actress. He has his left arm around her slender waist, his right foot crossed in front of his left and in his right hand the full glass. He looks no better and no worse, and I don’t know if he has sold his lights and vitals to the devil or only discovered himself. I go up to the surface, shake the water out of my hair, and think that I am worlds away from home.”
“I had drinks with Brimmer on the second day out. He was a man of about my age, I should say, slender, with well-kept hands that were, for some reason, noticeable, and a light but never monotonous voice and a charming sense of urgency—liveliness—that seemed to have nothing to do with nervousness. We had lunch and dinner together and drank in the bar after dinner. We knew the same places, but none of the same people, and yet he seemed to be an excellent companion. When we went below—he had the cabin next to mine—I was contented to have found someone I could talk with for the next ten days.”
💢💢💢💢💢💢💢💢💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠 spoiler alert🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻
A married man takes an ocean voyages to Europe and meets several characters. He becomes friends with Brimmer and Mme. Troyan but after their first night out at sea, Brimmer and Mme. Troyan seem to be having an affair in Brimmer's cabin and after are rarely seen. Mme. Troyan has arrived at her destination with her husband waiting for her. The narrator had been disgusted when he had known aboard that she was married and having a fling with Brimmer, who found another kind of repulsive businesswoman and after a night, it had ended. Brimmer had a blonde waiting for him and they offered the narrator a lift to Florence, not until our narrator is back home, he receives a letter from the blonde that Brimmer is dying and would like to see him but since the letter is 6 weeks old, he figures Brimmer is dead. One day he finds a recent magazine with Brimmer and his new wife on the back pages, alive and kicking. Still many unknowns to the reader only guesses. Did he just like affairs or is he a paid gigolo?
“Brimmer invited her to join us and she did. At my ripe age, Mme. Troyan’s age meant nothing. A younger man might have placed her in her middle thirties and might have noticed that the lines around her eyes were ineradicable. For me these lines meant only a proven capacity for wit and passion. She was a charming woman who did not mean to be described. Her dark hair, her pallor, her fine arms, her vivacity, her sadness when the bartender told us about his sick son in Genoa, her impersonations of the captain—the impression of a lovely and a brilliant woman to seeming delightful was not the listed sum of her charms.”
“She and Brimmer had only met by chance that morning and what carnal anarchy would crack the world if all such chance meetings were consummated! If they had waited a day or two—long enough to give at least the appearance of founding their affair on some romantic or sentimental basis—I think I would have found it more acceptable. To act so quickly seemed to me skeptical and depraved.”
“WE SAID GOODBYE in Florence and I did not see Brimmer again. It was the leggy blonde who wrote to me in July or August, when I had returned to the United States and our farm, in New Hampshire. She wrote from a hospital in Zurich, and the letter had been forwarded from my address in Florence. “Poor Brimmer is dying,” she wrote. “And if you could get up here to see him I know it would make him very happy. He often speaks of you, and I know you were one of his best friends. I am enclosing some papers that might interest you since you are a writer. The doctors do not think he can live another week....” To refer to me as a friend exposed what must have been the immensity of his loneliness; and it seemed all along that I had known he was going to
die, that his promiscuity was a relationship not to life but to death. That was in the afternoon—it was four or five —the light glancing, and that gratifying stillness in the air that falls over the back country with the earliest signs of night. I didn’t tell my wife. Why should I? She never knew Brimmer and why introduce death into such a tranquil scene? What I remember feeling was gladness. The letter was six weeks old. He would be dead.”
“My wife is lovely, lovely were my children, and lovely that scene, and how dead he and his dirty words seemed in the summer light. I was glad of the news, and his death seemed to have removed the perplexity that he had represented. I could remember with some sadness that he had been able to convey a feeling that the exuberance and the pain of life was a glass against which his nose was pressed:”
“And after a festa, a Sunday when the beaches have been crowded, there are other things so many fathoms down —bits of sandwich paper, the crossword-puzzle page from Il Messaggero, and water-logged copies of Epoca. It is out of the back pages of one of these that Brimmer looks up to me from the bottom of the sea. He is not dead. He has just married an Italian movie actress. He has his left arm around her slender waist, his right foot crossed in front of his left and in his right hand the full glass. He looks no better and no worse, and I don’t know if he has sold his lights and vitals to the devil or only discovered himself. I go up to the surface, shake the water out of my hair, and think that I am worlds away from home.”
August 31, 2025
This short story was not my favorite among what Ives read of his exemplary works. This story failed me in two key aspects: First, the beginning was in my opinion lacking of direction, confusing and uktimately shallow, unlike all the other stories I have read of the author. Then, the story gains pace and meaning, however (and this is the other place where it fails me) the message is never really clear; sometimes the story tackles the topic of morality, but then that message is discarded and replaced by a bigger theme of solitude shown only towards the ending pages. The main problem is, in a few words, that I did not get the point of the story.
What makes this a three-star is that nothing Cheever writes can ever be boring. The part where Brimmer gets involved with multiple women at the ship is very amusing, but yet again I failed to catch the further meaning of it all. With that critique I do not mean to say it just does not have any profundity, I mean to say that this time Cheever was not so crystalline in conveying the implicit messages of his piece of short fiction, at least not at his usual level. Now, John Cheever is such a spectacular author that even his more mid-tier stories like this one are the best most short stories writers could ever aspire to get after dozens lf years and thousands of pages of experience.
And that is why ultimately this story does not discourage me to keep reading the 61 stories of 'The Stories of John Cheever', it further shows that the range of quality that Cheever's stories are placed in is way higher than your average modern day literature. On his low points Cheever achieves what many can't on their best day, and that in gives makes this story some value.
What makes this a three-star is that nothing Cheever writes can ever be boring. The part where Brimmer gets involved with multiple women at the ship is very amusing, but yet again I failed to catch the further meaning of it all. With that critique I do not mean to say it just does not have any profundity, I mean to say that this time Cheever was not so crystalline in conveying the implicit messages of his piece of short fiction, at least not at his usual level. Now, John Cheever is such a spectacular author that even his more mid-tier stories like this one are the best most short stories writers could ever aspire to get after dozens lf years and thousands of pages of experience.
And that is why ultimately this story does not discourage me to keep reading the 61 stories of 'The Stories of John Cheever', it further shows that the range of quality that Cheever's stories are placed in is way higher than your average modern day literature. On his low points Cheever achieves what many can't on their best day, and that in gives makes this story some value.
May 31, 2025
This story has a bit of a strange bent to it, being so heavily metaphoric. I do not think of Cheever as dealing much in metaphors. He has been fairly straightforward up to now. I wondered if his major point was not that if you are a satyr (outside the norm, not strictly like other humans) you might need to be forgiven for doing what your nature requires.
(#32 - Stories of John Cheever)
(#32 - Stories of John Cheever)
January 29, 2024
our narrator is in denial over how horny he is, i bet.
good story, but slightly baffling ending.
good story, but slightly baffling ending.
January 11, 2022
There is no one word in English for moral outrage mixed with envy. The narrator in this story certainly has it, though only the outrage and disgust are expressed.
Not that Brimmer is admirable, but why bother to judge him? Just worry about your own integrity and let others be.
Not that Brimmer is admirable, but why bother to judge him? Just worry about your own integrity and let others be.
November 5, 2025
The story is about a friendship between a straight-laced businessman and a man who has either made a Faustian bargain or is actually demonic. It's mostly an account of this narrator friend's misadventures with the man and watching from the sidelines expecting the man to eventually come to a disastrous end.
https://pussreboots.com/blog/2025/com...
Privileged Wild lands Offroad 009966
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Privileged Wild lands Offroad 009966
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