One Man's Opinion: FAT by RAYMOND CARVER

Towards the end of The Sweet Sickness by Patricia Highsmith, a man with two identities walks into a restaurant and asks for a table for two, proceeding to order for himself and his wife, even though he's alone. He believes his wife is present and, if I remember correctly, engages in some conversation with her. It's an unlikely scenario, though I'm sure it's something that could happen. The issue for me was the any plausibility in the novel had stretched and snapped way before. 

It came to mind when I read Fat. Here's why. 

Fat is one that has me lost in the fog. As much as that is the case, I also feel I'm putting together the pieces of patterns in the collection. 

It's another that has me in awe and made me uncomfortable, which is an impressive achievement given that it's only four pages long. 

This might easily be a companion piece to They're Not Your Husband. It's set in a diner, there's a human size issue at the heart of it, there are waitresses as the central characters and each of them is in a problematic marriage. There's also a quiet desperation and dignity about the victims, which is what I'm going to hold on to as one of my takeaways. 

In this case, the waitress is the narrator. She's explaining to a friend about her Wednesday shift. Sitting in her station is a huge man, 'the fattest man I've ever seen'. Enormous fingers. Makes a puffing sound as he speaks. 

The man is well presented. He's gentle and thoughtful and likes his food. He speaks well and frequently uses the form we when talking about himself. 

It's the we thing that reminded me of Highsmith. I wondered if it were possible that the man believed he was with someone else. That idea was quickly dismissed. My next thought, it might be an equivalent to the use of the pronoun one. That makes more sense. And there are more abstract ideas. Does he reference himself in the plural because of his size? Is he internalising something from outside? Reaching out for acceptance? Is he acknowledging or hoping to create a bond with the waitress? 

I don't have an answer. Perhaps when I've progressed through the book I'll find a clue somewhere else. Maybe you understand it better and can share your ideas in the comments. 

Regardless of this, the customer is charming and the waitress becomes defensive about him when her colleagues poke fun. It's touching. 

When the waitress returns home, she tells her husband about it. His response demonstrates something of a cruel streak. 

They go to bed. He wants sex, she doesn't. There's only one way it's going to play out. During intercourse, she has something that's the opposite of an out-of-body experience, reimagining herself as a huge person and seeing the man on top of her as tiny. In some ways, I think she's identifying with the plight of the customer in the diner, his sense of being an outsider and a figure of fun. I imagine that in seeing her husband as a small man, she's creating a distance between herself and the reality of the situation. It's a bad marriage. The power balance is wrong. Maybe if she can visualise him as tiny, she'll find a way to cope with the problem. 

I hope she made it.  

   

LET IT SNOW: the resurrection

 

Following on for the demise/implosion of Down & Out books and the fallout from that, then wandering through a few promising hoops to find they didn't work out, Let It Snow is out again (link in the comments). Among the hoops, it was suggested I alter the setting (for specific reasons that are now no longer relevant), so it is now Edinburgh crime fiction. I hope that makes it better. Above all, it's great to have it there again. There are two more books in the series to refresh, but that can wait a while, Valentine's Day being the next target.

Edinburgh is freezing. The streets are buried in snow. And the killing has begun.

A routine callout in a Christmas snow storm turns deadly.

The killer vanishes into the night, leaving behind nothing but a trail of footprints — the only lead in a city where the weather threatens to erase every trace of him.

As the investigation gathers pace, pressure mounts. The snow keeps falling, the clock keeps ticking, and somewhere in the frozen streets, a dangerous killer lurks.

Let It Snow is a gritty, darkly flavoured crime thriller and the first novel in Nigel Bird’s acclaimed Rat Pack series.

One Man's Opinion: THEY'RE NOT YOUR HUSBAND by RAYMOND CARVER

Uncomfortable reading, painful even, with plenty of food for though, ironic given that Doreen is trying not to eat. 

Earl Ober is Doreen's husband. He's between jobs and hanging around at the coffee shop where Doreen works. A couple of men near to him comment on his wife's weight. The impact of this hits Earl hard and he leaves the diner without touching his meal. 

He fixates on the experience. Believes that the comments about his wife reflect upon him. Tells Doreen she could do with losing weight. Lays it on thick. Makes her feel ashamed. Persuades her it's a good idea. 

She begins a diet and after Earl humiliates her following a slip, commits to the project. 

Her friends grow worried. Tell her she's pale. But they're not her husband and he explains that it's only his opinion that should matter (further irony, given that it's only the opinions of others that he cares about). 

Worn out from lack of calorific intake, Doreen struggles through her shifts. As her weight drops, she has to dig into her savings to buy a smaller uniform. 

Earl, still without work, returns to watch her. Spends his time seeking reactions to Doreen's new figure. Orders ice cream so she'll bend over and draw comments from the men at the counter. 

It's appropriate that he's ordered a sundae, ice cream a dish always served cold. 

Carver shines a light into dark and difficult spaces. Earl's a bigot and a beast, a misogynistic scumbag, an objectifying snake. The story hits home precisely because Carver exposes Earl so easily, simply by recounting his thoughts and actions. For me, he's making us look inwards: no matter how generous you are to others, how kind and respectful, I suspect we can all improve our ways of being. 

The photo is by Catherine Opie, btw. Her portraits are still lodged in my mind, the central pillars of respect and acceptance of others (live and let live) is the perfect antidote (or rallying cry) to Earl and the slime balls in the coffee shop.  

Published, I believe, in 1973, it's surprising how much has changed and disappointing how little. 

  

One Man's Opinion: THE STUDENT'S WIFE by RAYMOND CARVER

 

If you're in Edinburgh, or even if you're not, there's a Catherine Opie exhibition that's worthy of your attention, running until the end of the month.

There's so much to absorb in the exhibition. Each portrait tells a story, a snapshot of life that has the effect of stimulating the imagination and challenging perspectives. There's a real mix of material, grouped into a number of sections. Among them are a handful of self-portraits that are honest and brave. It's impossible not to admire the courage of the artist here, something that might be applied to the best of all creators. 

In Carver's The Student's Wife, a relationship is stripped bare, shivering naked and exposed like the photos in the gallery. 

A couple lie in bed, the husband reading aloud, the wife drifting to sleep. The wife awakens and is too restless to drift off again. The husband is drowsy and makes half an effort to remain in contact with his wife, but becomes increasingly impatient as she demands his attention. 

She wants to talk. To delve into herself and the world. She wants physical contact and protection. 

The distance between the pair grows as the story goes on. Her desperation is palpable. It's something many of us can recognise from our own experiences, the despair that grows from the knowledge that things are either about to change or to remain the same. These are the times when the world is a void and loneliness is our captor. Everything lacks purpose and it's impossible to imagine finding the strength to continue. 

'She had seen few sunrises in her life and those when she was little. She knew that none of them had been like this. Not in pictures she had seen seen nor in any book she had read had she learned a sunrise was so terrible as this.' 

Perhaps what she has come to realise is that the darkness ahead will outstrip that which she has just survived. 

This is Carver showing creative courage. Revealing his understanding of such depths in the same way Opie has carved into her body and put herself on display, perhaps revealing a truth that will make us step back and think.

A simple structure and a fragment of life that possesses the kick of a mule.

and a ps

The Opie is full of challenge, but there's a huge amount of joy, love and beauty in there to enjoy. Just saying.

One Man's Opinion: WHAT DO YOU DO IN SAN FRANCISCO?

What Henry Robinson did in San Francisco on his visits was to pop down to Fisherman's Wharf and to watch a Giants game. There's nothing wrong in that, only there are many more dimensions to the city that he could have explored. 

Our narrator Henry is a mailman. It's an interesting approach to the storytelling. Henry announces himself from the off, which has the effect of putting some distance between the reader and the events and adding an extra character to consider as he recounts his tale. 

A couple of 'beatniks' have moved into a house on Henry's round. From the off, he's judgemental. The man has a beard, the woman just has something about her he's not keen on, the name on the mailbox hasn't been changed, the children run amok and their trailer hasn't been emptied. His suspicions about them are deepened when the name on the mailbox remains unchanged and the unpacking hasn't been completed as the week closes. Seeing the inside of their chaotic home magnifies his focus, as does the realisation that the man neither works or appears interested in taking a job.

A number of theories about the family swirl around this small town, none of them kind or insightful, merely the negative speculations saved for blow-ins and those living outside of the narrow boundaries of the town's expectations. 

It's interesting that as things progress, the judgements of Henry become less than important as he replaces the family as the object of scrutiny.  

When the dynamics in the house alter, Henry offers advice: 

'She's no good, boy. I could tell that the minute I saw her. Why don't you forget her? Why don't you go to work and forget her? What have you got against work? It was work, day and night, work that gave me oblivion when I was in your shoes and there was a war on where I was...'

It's another glimpse. A snapshot of Henry's frailty. He's been judged now, except it's tough for everybody, isn't it? Always has been. And suddenly an entire cast of unsympathetic characters needs to be cut a little slack.  

  

One Man's Opinion: BICYCLES, MUSCLES, CIGARETTES by RAYMOND CARVER

I mentioned that I put out a new collection of short stories yesterday. It's no big deal, I just wanted them out there. The new pen name says something about the work. It may be that I don't believe in them enough to put them out as myself. Perhaps I've just lost some confidence. 

I also handed in my final draft of a collaboration I've been working on for a long time. Too long. It's only my final draft because I need to move away from it towards fresh creative pastures. My co-writer will polish and improve it, that's for sure and, believe me, it's in the best of hands. 

There are a few projects in line: a children's book and some kind of literary story that's fermenting slowly in the ether. 

Once they're done, I have a feeling I'll be returning to short story writing for a while. They have a craft of their own. Their succinctness is a bonus in terms of plotting and remembering what the hell's going on (an ageing mind like mine isn't suited for keeping a whole universe inside, so it's probably better that I concentrate on single stars or planets for a while). They need to have a point of focus that, when done, is sharp enough to break through the muscles of the heart.  

Which may be why the Carver stories appeal so much at present.

Bicycles, Muscles, Cigarettes is a cracker. The title had me thinking of bikers or gang fights in the fifties. Made me think of Chad Eagleton and his Hoods, Hotrods, and Hellcats.I noticed on Facebook that Chad's writing something new; that has to be a good thing.   

This Carver tale has a beautiful arc, opening with real tension, branching out into intensity and action then settling into an emotional punch that outweighs any of the violence that has gone before. 

Evan Hamilton has stopped smoking. We learn that right from the off. That in itself does a couple of things. It tells us he's on edge and ready to crack in some way, and it's likely going to excuse him from whatever transpires. 

His son hasn't returned for dinner. A knock on the door from a local teenager disrupts the evening's plans. Evan's son, Roger, is over at the teenager's house. There's been an incident. He won't say what, but Evan needs to go over to help iron things out. 

There's a tension at the house. There's also a tension for the reader, awaiting an explanation for the ratcheting up of the drama. 

A bike has been trashed. Someone needs to own up, maybe even cough up cash. The group of boys under suspicion are sticking to their stories. 

Enter another father, an alpha male, bold, arogant, single-minded and used to getting his own way. 

Evan and the other father don't see eye-to-eye. If Evan could have a smoke, maybe things would have turned out differently. 

The conclusion has a new pace altogether. Here we have a tender scene between Evan and Roger as they reflect upon what happens between fathers and sons. It's a passage to makes the eyes water, filled as it is with profound and, possibly, universal reflections. It comes not as a one-line hit, but more like the collapsing of a ceiling after a steady drip from the pipes above. 

This one really hit home. A total pleasure.  

One Man's Opinion: NOBODY SAID ANYTHING by RAYMOND CARVER

I recently completed the writing of a batch of short stories based upon a particular theme. 

Don't worry, it's not a sales pitch. I've put it out under a different name and won't be sharing that here, so it should be almost impossible to locate.

At about the same time as I began writing, I came across the Raymond Carver collection, Where I'm Calling From in a local charity shop. I've read a lot of the material already, though I haven't touched on his work for well over twenty years. It seemed to me that it might be a decent project for me to review each of the stories as I go, and Nobody Said Anything was the first. 

The title itself, as it does so often, is a huge clue relating to the content. 

It opens with the protagonist and his brother trying to listen in on an argument between their parents. When the father leaves, the narrator pulls a sickie, convincing his mother that he isn't well. His brother, George, doesn't get away with it when he tries the same trick, so the narrator is left alone in the house when the rest of his family leave. 

The boy has a few smokes stolen from his mother and explores the home, curious about privacy and sex. Half way through the day, he decides to go fishing, takes a ride with a middle-aged woman in a rush and ends up working alongside a stranger to attempt to catch a big one. 

There are some delicious moments. My favourite section relates to the teenage fantasies of the youngster and his lift, the what-might-have-beens. His desires are strong, his passions high, yet he still retains the naivety of an innocent, meaning his imagination can only go so far.   

I believe the main theme relates to communication. I was more drawn to the power dynamics of the relationships. In each, one person dominates another, even when that relationship has foundations in love. For the men, that power is often expressed using threat, anger or violence; the women are much more nuanced. 

For a short story, I found it layered like a club sandwich. The bread was great, the filling inconsistent. The solitary fishing expedition at the centre lost me a little. Had me drifting elsewhere. Perhaps that's because I don't fish. It may be because I started thinking about my favourite fishing story, A Bit Of Bread And Jam, by Bill Naughton.    

I felt like one of the fish, on reflection- hooked early, caught tight for a while, soon wriggling free and drawn in again to be captured until the end. 

A great start, only I know there is better to come.