raymond carver – Bookish Butch

Small reflections on short stories

It’s a lovely day,

out there,

blue sky,

light,

clouds of white,

postcard stuff:-)

Yesterday,

was one of those,

days of penance,

type days,

every weirdo,

you could think,

of,

was in,

tough one,

in spite of that,

I’m in a good mood.

Slept in this morning,

haven’t slept this well,

in weeks,

literally.

I picked up some,

very interesting,

short story collections,

for the bookstore,

Eleven Kinds Of Loneliness,

by Richard Yates,

Cathedral by Raymond Carver,

and,

The Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway.

I have a customer,

who is a freak,

for top of the line,

short story collections,

these qualify,

she probably has,

the Hemingway,

no matter,

it’s bound to interest,

someone.

I read a few of,

the Yates stories,

I particularly liked,

Builders,

about a writer,

and the taxi driver,

who hires him,

to write up,

his experiences as,

a hack.

He’s dark,

Yates,

in a subtle way,

more,

charcoal,

than black,

I read one of his novels,

last year,

Revolutionary Road,

didn’t like it so much,

couldn’t relate to the characters.

I liked the stories better.

Carver,

I’ve read,

he’s very sparse,

writes about,

ordinary people,

nobody,

really writes about,

people who seem,

uninteresting,

but,

everyone is,

if you dig,

enough.

I have tons of novels,

laying around,

waiting to be read,

but,

right now,

I need short,

it’s my,

Summer attention span,

sort of adolescent,

not in it’s interests,

The cleansing Fall wind

I love the fall.

Getting out my warm sweaters,

looking forward to wearing the old suede jacket.

Walking in the city on a Monday afternoon with the wind blowing through my hair.

When I walk in the fall and the wind is blowing,

I practically feel the airing of my brain.

You know how you air out a room with the windy fresh air?

That’s how I feel walking in the fall.

I made a new friend recently,

and she,

like me,

enjoys a walk by the river.

Montreal is on the St-Lawrence and the neighborhood where I live,

in spite of it’s many negatives,

is bordered by the river.

At night in the fall ,

you can walk without too much traffic and it’s pretty well lit.

We are still getting to know each other, so,

we still talk, constantly.

We’re both talkers,

and we haven’t gotten to the point of comfortable silence,

yet.

We will.

I’m having a lot of trouble reading anything right now.

I can’t concentrate except for short stories.

Of course, a major drought for me is three or four days,

so obviously it won’t last.

I’m still reading the Raymond Carver,

I like it,

it’s about ordinary people doing ordinary things.

Little sketches of people’s lives.

Damn good.

I realise, I’m not making it sound so interesting but, it is.

If you are fascinated by humans and human nature in all it’s forms,

it’s for you.

People living their lives for better, for worse.

Going to work, raising children, smoking dope, cheating on their mates.

Everyday stuff,

good/bad, lovely/ugly

and everything in between.

No rich people, no bourgeois’.

Working class and the idle poor.

Terrific.

The edition I am reading is,

The Library Of America’s Carver Collected Stories.

I love The Library Of America,

their editions are authoritative and they are reasonably priced.

The size and weight is just right to read and lug around.

Their mission, to keep all important American writing in print, is admirable.

Their non-profit status, even better.

I own a few and would like to own a few more.

When I take them out of the library,

I know I get an authoritative sample of an author’s work.

Well, that’s it for now.

Later girls

Happy, cool Labour Day

It’s a beautiful day.

Blue sky.

Magnifico.

I’m feeling well and dare I say,

optimistic about the future.

I got some new books out of the library yesterday.

I kept only one Philip Roth, The Counterlife, which I will attempt to finish.

I don’t like his stuff, it doesn’t speak to me.

I remember reading Portnoy’s Complaint years ago and finding it funny.

But, to be brutally honest it is way too penis centric for me.

Don’t get me wrong I really enjoy a male perspective.

Some of my favourite writers are men.

(Ooh my! that sounds like some of my best friends are Jewish)

But, I love Hemingway and Jack London and John Irving,

all of whom have a very virile perspective.

Roth is obsessed with his erections and how big his dick is,

boring.

I think most good fiction, reflects the author to a certain extent but,

this is too much.

My blog, my opinion.

So, back to yesterday’s visit to the library.

I checked out an Edeet Ravel novel.

I read one of her books on a friend’s recommendation and

I quite enjoyed it.

The one I took out yesterday is called A Wall Of Light.

The one I read previously is called Your Sad Eyes and Unforgetable Mouth.

Great title, don’t you think?

I liked it. It had a lyricism to it that I occasionally enjoy.

I also took out a Raymond Carver collection of short Stories.

Speaking of virile.

I read a few short stories so far.

Good stuff.

Tough.

About people who have,

not much.

So far I’m liking it.

As usual I’ll let you know.

I’m going for a walk down by the river in the early evening with a new friend.

Should be enjoyable.

She’s a friend.

No rumours, please.

Happy Labour Day, girls.

Later