Update on 07 Dec.
It has been some time since I hoisted a Carver, but his paperbacks occupy a revered spot in my bookshelves. It may be nostalgia, but I don’t think so. My brother just younger than me (who doesn’t read a lot of fiction) alerted me to him in the late 80s, and I read most of his repertoire in the early 90s. Carver identifies as a short story expert, and I enjoy his more than about any other author. I have a cassette of Peter Riegert (yes, that one) reading “Where I’m Calling From” that I pretty much wore out in the early 2000s, long after I read that book. It still remains one of the most memorable reading experiences of my (alarmingly) lengthening life. He captures the pathos of struggling with alcohol, blue collar work, broken relationships and fishing in a way that is unmatched. The tragedy of his death at 50, after 10 years of sobriety, was a great loss for the literary world.
“No Heroics” has his first short story, the beginnings of an unpublished novel, several poems, a number of short book reviews and a variety of essays and memoirs. It is a pleasant pastiche, the least of which I enjoyed being the poems (I must confess I have not cultivated the ear for poetry). Carver makes the point that the short story and poem are very close kin – I had never thought of that. He writes about his favorite writers, some famous and others now obscure (I must confess I added a couple to my TBR pile in Goodreads, trusting Ray’s taste without question). I learned a great deal about how he writes, re-writes, and cuts his stories down to their essence, hearkening Hemingway, one of his heroes. But I find Carver much more readable than Ernest, but that may be my immaturity as reader or simply I’ve not yet grasped the times in which Hem wrote.
What I most took away is a thirst for more reading – and an understanding of why I like the authors I like. Carver is friendly and supportive of Tom McGuane, Richard Ford, Jim Harrison, Tobias Wolff and several others I’ve read. They are storytellers, where the fiction is more “real” than nonfiction could ever be – this is my philosophy as well and, honestly, about the only litmus test I have for what I enjoy reading. He renewed a hunger for the novels of Jim Harrison, and Ray’s comments sent me scurrying to my shelves to pull down “Farmer” and put closer to my bedstand where the next books to be read reside for me. Carver is about as honest a writer as I have ever encountered, he has nothing but scorn for the experimental novelists of his generation (the 70s) where character development is ignored. He hearkens to a more traditional style, and writes with fervor and passion and an artistry (like great music, he uses silence and avoidance of clutter in his spare style like a genius). He knows an extra word can ruin the story or distort a sentence to the point where the meaning is lost to confusion.
Recently I read a forward to a posthumous William Gay Novel where the author mentions a conversation. Apparently Gay said Robert Penn Warren’s Blackberry Winter was a perfect story – not a single word could be altered. This resonated as I recall encountering Warren’s Portable Reader a couple decades back where I was crushed to oblivion by the beauty of that story – I had never heard anyone else acknowledge. It reminded me of what Carver said about writing.
I hope someday others can enjoy Carver as much as I do. This book included the forward when he was editor for “America’s Best Short Stories” (1985 I think). I have this on my shelf too, I’m likely to pull it down because anything Carver likes, I’m likely to love. Get you some!