One Man's Opinion: WHAT'S IN ALASKA by RAYMOND CARVER

What's in Alaska?

There must be so many answers to the question. For Jack and Mary, it's likely to be more of the same, at least for a while. 

Jack buys a new pair of shoes on the way home from work, aiming only to find a something comfortable. As well as being comfy, they're beige, possibly suggesting he's happy with his lot while also being stuck in a rut. 

Mary may not be quite so content. She points out that the shoe colour isn't exciting. Mentions that she's likely to be offered a job in Alaska and that she's arranged an evening out with another couple so they can get stoned. 

The conversation at the 'party' are fantastic, a real snapshot of the chaos of ideas after a smoke, some things working in perfect harmony, others simply of a dissonance as the group struggle to hold onto things outside of their own internal universe.  

More hints suggest Mary isn't as happy with life as she might be. A dig at her husband. Some flirting with their male host. A slip of the tongue. 

Other aspects suggest that Jack's life is unlikely to alter much if it is left up to him:

'I was just thinking about Alaska, and I remembered them finding a prehistoric man in a block of ice. Something reminded me.'

Jack might as well be frozen in time. He may even be resigned to that fate or unable to see any alternatives. Unfortunately for him, there may be outside influences that unsettle his current situation; his shoes, after all, don't even make it through the evening.

The cat and the mouse, I'm swerving that. It's heavy-handed. Out of place. The things I believe they're likely to represent were already present.

Jack's life is unlikely to stay the same, no matter how hard he tries to cling to his routines. Inertia won't bring him anything good. Dope smoking and apathy will only preserve him in ice as the world moves on about him. If he doesn't find inspiration or can't bring himself to make an effort, he'll forever be a victim. 

Break away, Jack. Kick hard. Go buy another pair of shoes- multi-coloured, frivolous and impractical- and pick up a crash helmet while you're at it, just in case.    

 

   

One Man's Opinion: NEIGHBORS by RAYMOND CARVER

Of all the Carver stories I read years ago, this is the one that remained the most intact in my memory. I'm not sure whether that says more about me (and if it does, it may not be good) or the story. Regardless, I was absorbed and intrigued all over again during this revisit.

Bill's a bookkeeper, Arlene's a secretary. It's what they do. They're not aspiring to much, manage to keep their ship steady and on course. They're somehow plain and unimaginative. It's who they are and it suits them. 

Bill and Arlene live in an apartment next to the Stones. 

'The Stones were always going out for dinner, or entertaining at home, or traveling about the country somewhere in connection with Jim's work.'

That's a comment that most of us can probably relate to. It's the kind of light jealousy that has become more commonplace with the growth of the internet and social media. It used to be a low-level thing, now it's as ever-present and visible as home-drawn tattoo on the back of the hand. Note to self: less time on the socials.

The neighbours are going away for another one of their trips. Bill and Arlene have been entrusted with looking after the apartment and it's their job to keep Kitty and the plants alive. 

On the first day, Bill goes over to perform his duties and becomes curious. Like the narrator in Nobody Said Anything, the acts of exploration and voyeurism are thrilling. He has a drink and takes pills from the bathroom cabinet. The experience leaves him empowered and is so liberating and exciting that when he returns home and seduces his wife, something that may not have happened in years. 

He becomes intoxicated by the visits, pushing the boundaries each time. He's so taken by the freedom of being unshackled that he takes a day off work to stretch life further.  It's not long until he's wearing Jim's suit and checking himself out in Harriet's underwear. Inhabiting their space and their lives is liberating. He likes being a Stone.  

Arlene eventually takes a turn. There's no account of her visit while she's there, yet we know from the white lint clinging to her sweater as she returns that she's been on the bed, the colour high in her cheeks suggesting a more intimate reaction. She's in an aroused state and when her husband kisses her, she kisses him back. 

The window that allows them to see into an alternative life is all too quickly curtained. It's likely that the guilt and shock of what they've done on their travels across the hall will burst their bubble and return them to the hum drum of their previous existence, but wouldn't it be cool if they embraced the new terrain and broke free from their harnesses to enjoy their lives to the full, whatever that might mean for them. 

Another note to self: be brave, be creative and put the best foot forward.  

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.