In the annals of American literature, few writers capture the nuances of social class and human behavior with the precision and insight of John O’Hara. During the late 1950s and early 1960s, John O’Hara reached the zenith of his career, marked by the publication of two monumental novels: Ten North Frederick in 1955, which garnered the prestigious National Book Award, and From the Terrace in 1958. The latter, From the Terrace, was a work he personally considered his masterpiece, a sentiment echoed by readers who propelled its sales to over 100,000 hardcover copies and an astounding 2.5 million paperbacks, as detailed in Matthew J. Bruccoli’s comprehensive biography, The O’Hara Concern: A Biography of John O’Hara.
Early Success and Focus on American Upper Class
Both Ten North Frederick and From the Terrace, characteristic of John O’Hara‘s broader fictional output, delve into the intricate world of the American upper class. His narratives are populated by Ivy League graduates, polished lawyers from esteemed firms, and patrons of exclusive country clubs. As journalist Gay Talese aptly noted in a 1996 New York Times article exploring the “O’Hara cult,” John O’Hara possessed a remarkable ability to “get inside the political back rooms and the parlors and told us what Americans said, how they lived, the details of the clothing, the shoes, the cars.” Ten North Frederick paints a portrait of an ambitious attorney harboring presidential aspirations, while From the Terrace unravels the saga of a family whose wealth originates from the steel industry. Significantly, while John O’Hara masterfully depicted the American elite, he himself was not born into their ranks.
John O’Hara’s Background: Pottsville and Social Ambitions
Born in Pottsville, Pennsylvania, John O’Hara‘s upbringing was within a large Irish Catholic family led by his father, Patrick, a physician, and his mother, Katharine. Bruccoli’s The O’Hara Concern quotes John O’Hara reflecting on his early affinity for language, stating, “I took to reading, and writing, as the child Mozart took to music. When I was about six someone gave me a hand-printing set, and I had my introduction to moveable type.”
The crux of John O’Hara‘s early social consciousness wasn’t whether his family held standing in Pottsville, but the degree of that standing. Charles McGrath, in a New York Times critique, concisely summarized their position: “The O’Haras lived on Mahantongo Street, the town’s fanciest address, in a mansion that formerly belonged to the Yuengling brewing family; they owned five automobiles, a show farm, and a string of horses; they were members of the Pottsville Club and the Schuylkill Country Club.” However, McGrath continues, “they were Irish and they were Catholic, and this—in O’Hara’s mind, anyway—meant that they never quite belonged.” This sense of being perpetually on the periphery fueled John O’Hara‘s literary explorations of social strata.
John O’Hara‘s yearning for social elevation manifested strongly in his ambition to attend Yale University, despite a less-than-stellar academic record. Geoffrey Wolff, in another biography, observed, “O’Hara was mesmerized by Yale, a virtual lifelong prisoner of that institution’s imagined graces and advantages.” However, the death of his father, Patrick, in 1925 dealt a blow to the family’s finances, effectively ending his Yale aspirations.
Wolff poignantly wrote, “The dream of Yale finally ended with his father’s death. Not because there was no money left to pay the modest tuition, but because there wasn’t enough to support those bright college years in the style that was to have been the point of the enterprise.” This dashed dream arguably deepened John O’Hara‘s complex relationship with the upper class, a theme that would permeate his writing.
Hollywood and Wider Recognition for John O’Hara
Despite his personal sense of social displacement, John O’Hara achieved considerable success by the time Ten North Frederick and From the Terrace were published. Both novels were swiftly adapted into major motion pictures, contributing to a wave of Hollywood adaptations of John O’Hara‘s works during this period. In 1957, Frank Sinatra starred in Pal Joey, a Rodgers and Hart musical originating from John O’Hara‘s short stories about a nightclub manager. Then, in 1960, Elizabeth Taylor received an Oscar for her performance in BUtterfield 8, another adaptation of John O’Hara‘s fiction.
While these film adaptations often took liberties with the original texts, they all capitalized on the public’s growing familiarity with John O’Hara. The trailer for From the Terrace, for example, juxtaposed romantic scenes with Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward with the book cover, emblazoned with “A NOVEL BY JOHN O’HARA.” This marketing strategy highlighted the drawing power of John O’Hara‘s name itself, alongside the star power of the actors.
Decline and Rediscovery of John O’Hara’s Legacy
Throughout this era of fame and recognition, John O’Hara remained dedicated to his craft, consistently producing novels and short stories. Yet, in the years leading up to his death in 1970, a shift occurred. His work received less critical acclaim, and Hollywood, after a less successful adaptation of his 1949 novel A Rage to Live in 1965, ceased to call. Coupled with this decline in favor, many of John O’Hara‘s books went out of print. While Penguin Classics has recently reissued Ten North Frederick and Pal Joey, numerous significant works, including Hope of Heaven (1938), A Family Party (1956), and Ourselves to Know (1959), remain largely inaccessible except in the secondary market.
Perhaps John O’Hara‘s decline was a consequence of changing literary tastes. The affluent world he depicted, far removed from his early days at the Pottsville Journal, diverged significantly from the emerging territories explored by writers like James Dickey in Deliverance and Donald Barthelme in City Life, both published in the year of John O’Hara‘s death.
Another factor might have been the sheer commercial success that, paradoxically, led to critical disdain. Was Ten North Frederick remembered more for its National Book Award or as a Gary Cooper film vehicle? Jonathan Dee, in his introduction to the Penguin Classics edition, suggests that “in the fifteen years between this novel’s publication and his death in 1970, O’Hara arguably wrote too much too quickly.”
This overproduction may explain why Appointment in Samarra remains a touchstone while The Lockwood Concern (1965) or Lovey Childs: A Philadelphian’s Story (1969) are largely forgotten. Fran Lebowitz, a fervent admirer of John O’Hara, recounted a conversation with editor Joseph M. Fox at Random House, John O’Hara‘s publisher, about Lovey Childs. “I called up Joe and asked if he’d ever heard of this book,” Lebowitz recalled, and Fox insisted it didn’t exist, despite working at Random House his entire career.
Lebowitz offered a more personal perspective on John O’Hara‘s fading reputation: “I think O’Hara is an underrated writer because every single person who knew him hated him,” she stated. “Everyone tells you stories about what a jerk he was, what an idiot, what a social climber, how awful he was—O’Hara. Did you know O’Hara? Uck—O’Hara. He was also an extremely popular writer and that probably hurt him, but mostly it was the fact that everyone hated him.”
The Enduring Power of John O’Hara’s Short Stories
When evaluating John O’Hara‘s contribution, it’s essential to look beyond both the accolades and the later criticisms. A return to his core literary strengths is warranted. A recent volume from the Library of America provides such an opportunity, focusing not on his novels, but on his short stories, often hailed as some of the most incisive and impactful in American literature.
From The Doctor’s Son and Other Stories in 1935 through And Other Stories in 1968, John O’Hara consistently showcased his mastery of the short story form. A particularly notable collection is the Selected Short Stories of John O’Hara, published by the Modern Library in 1956, featuring an introduction by the esteemed Lionel Trilling.
Trilling lauded John O’Hara‘s acute understanding of social hierarchies. “The work of no other American writer,” Trilling wrote, “tells us so precisely, and with such a sense of the importance of the communication, how people look and how they want to look, . . . how they speak and how they think they ought to speak.” While Trilling acknowledged that this focus on surface distinctions might be socially problematic, he recognized it as “the social fact and O’Hara is faithful to it.”
In “No Mistakes” (1938), a standout story from Selected Short Stories of John O’Hara, John O’Hara brilliantly portrays the tensions arising from differing social backgrounds within a marriage. The Catholic protagonist, McDonald, brings his Protestant wife, Jean, to a Mass officiated by his college friend, Father Gerald O’Connor. Throughout the story, McDonald’s anxiety centers on Jean’s experience as an outsider. John O’Hara emphasizes Jean’s unfamiliarity, highlighting the “hard-faced Irishwoman” who glares at her.
McDonald’s primary concern is Jean’s perception of his faith and, by extension, himself. John O’Hara writes, “He was afraid he knew what she was thinking. In her church a man who wore a tie and a business suit would get up and read, and then preach, and hymns would be sung in English. . . .” The stark contrast with the elaborate Catholic Mass, conducted in Latin, is palpable. However, after the service, Jean surprises McDonald with genuine curiosity and interest, asking about the Consecration. “Oh, that was the Consecration,” Jean remarks, “I liked that part. I liked some of the singing, but I guess I’d have liked it better if I knew Latin.”
The story takes a turn at a reception at Father O’Connor’s, where initial warmth yields to social discord. The priest’s insensitive joke about McDonald marrying before ordination, followed by his hasty exit, leaves Jean’s sincere attempt at connection unacknowledged. John O’Hara masterfully captures these subtle yet impactful social missteps.
John O’Hara consistently focuses on markers of social standing in his stories. In “Summer’s Day” (1942), which Trilling deemed “one of O’Hara’s most striking stories,” we observe Mr. and Mrs. Attrell at a beach club. John O’Hara meticulously details their “shiny black 1932 Buick” and Mr. Attrell’s personalized bench. Crucially, Mr. Attrell’s Yale society hatband catches the eye of Henry O’Donnell, a Yale alumnus who, pointedly, “had not made it [into Mr. Attrell’s society] or any other.”
The story culminates in a devastating overheard conversation in the bathhouse. Mr. Attrell overhears young men gossiping about his family tragedy – his daughter’s suicide. The arrival of Mr. O’Donnell, who reprimands the boys, offers no comfort. Instead, Mr. O’Donnell’s intervention, tinged with his own social insecurities, further amplifies Mr. Attrell’s humiliation. John O’Hara poignantly explores the layered nature of social embarrassment and class consciousness.
In “Over the River and Through the Wood” (1934), John O’Hara portrays the agonizing car ride of 65-year-old Mr. Winfield with his granddaughter and her friends. The girls’ disrespectful behavior culminates in Mr. Winfield’s accidental intrusion into a girl’s room, where he is dismissed as a “dirty old man.” Mr. Winfield’s resigned acceptance of this label underscores John O’Hara‘s keen understanding of social mortification and the weight of perceived social standing.
The novel Appointment in Samarra, arguably John O’Hara‘s closest work to his short story style, further explores the consequences of social gaffes. Julian English’s impulsive act of throwing a drink at Harry Reilly at a country club Christmas Eve party sets in motion a chain of events leading to his tragic end.
Despite their apparent social invulnerability, Julian and Caroline English are not immune to social pressures. Harry Reilly’s crude social climbing and irritating mannerisms trigger Julian’s outburst. John O’Hara initially presents the drink-throwing as a daydream, drawing the reader into Julian’s perspective before revealing the shocking reality. The aftermath highlights the enormity of Julian’s social transgression within their elite circle.
While some might condemn Julian, McGrath suggests John O’Hara shows “sympathy” for him. This is complex, especially given Julian’s appalling treatment of his cook, Mrs. Grady. Yet, John O’Hara aims for understanding, not necessarily condoning. He resists satirizing the upper class, instead prompting reflection on their vulnerabilities and whether they, too, deserve pity.
John O’Hara‘s career, though marked by fluctuations, consistently showcased his unparalleled grasp of social distinctions, particularly evident in Appointment in Samarra and his surrounding short stories. His enduring legacy lies in his unflinching portrayal of American society and the subtle yet powerful forces of class, status, and human fallibility.
