Carver's career was dedicated to short stories and poetry. He described himself as "inclined toward brevity and intensity" and "hooked on writing short stories"...
Carver's style also been described as dirty realism, which connected him with a group of writers in the 1970s and 1980s... who focused on sadness and loss in the everyday lives of ordinary people—often lower-middle class or isolated and marginalized people.
Raymond Carver - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Conventional reading ... Raymond Carver in 1984. Photograph: Bob Adelman/Corbis
A trick question for Raymond Carver | Books | guardian.co.uk
A favourite story of mine is "Why don't you dance?", copied here from my own copy of the collection "What do we talk about when we talk about love", which is full of wonderful pieces. It's been called "Raymond Carver's minimalist masterpiece."
Short Story - Why Don't You Dance? by Raymond Carver - YouTube
In the kitchen, he poured another drink and looked at the bedroom
suite in his front yard. The mattress was stripped and the candy-striped
sheets lay beside two pillows on the chiffonier. Except for that, things
looked much the way they had in the bedroom - nightstand and reading lamp on
his side of the bed, nightstand and reading lamp on her side.
His side, her side.
He considered this as he sipped the whiskey.
The chiffonier stood a few feet from the foot of the bed. He had emptied the drawers into cartons that morning, and the cartons were in the living room. A portable heater was next to the chiffonier. A rattan chair with a decorator pillow stood at the foot of the bed. The buffed aluminum kitchen set took up a part of the driveway. A yellow muslin cloth, much too large, a gift, covered the table and hung down over the sides. A potted fern was on the table, along with a box of silverware and a record player, also gifts. A big console-model television rested on a coffee table, and a few feet away from this stood a sofa and chair and a floor lamp. The desk was pushed against the garage door. a few utensils were on the desk, along with a wall clock and two framed prints. There was also in the driveway a carton with cups, glasses, and plates, each object wrapped in newspaper. That morning he had cleared out the closets, and except for the three cartons in the living room, all the stuff was out of the house. He had run an extension cord on out there and everything was connected. Things worked, no different from how it was when they were inside.
Now and then a car slowed and people stared. But no one stopped.
It occurred to him that he wouldn't, either.
His side, her side.
He considered this as he sipped the whiskey.
The chiffonier stood a few feet from the foot of the bed. He had emptied the drawers into cartons that morning, and the cartons were in the living room. A portable heater was next to the chiffonier. A rattan chair with a decorator pillow stood at the foot of the bed. The buffed aluminum kitchen set took up a part of the driveway. A yellow muslin cloth, much too large, a gift, covered the table and hung down over the sides. A potted fern was on the table, along with a box of silverware and a record player, also gifts. A big console-model television rested on a coffee table, and a few feet away from this stood a sofa and chair and a floor lamp. The desk was pushed against the garage door. a few utensils were on the desk, along with a wall clock and two framed prints. There was also in the driveway a carton with cups, glasses, and plates, each object wrapped in newspaper. That morning he had cleared out the closets, and except for the three cartons in the living room, all the stuff was out of the house. He had run an extension cord on out there and everything was connected. Things worked, no different from how it was when they were inside.
Now and then a car slowed and people stared. But no one stopped.
It occurred to him that he wouldn't, either.
"It must be a yard sale," the girl said
to the boy.
This girl and this boy were furnishing a little apartment.
"Let's see what they want for the bed," the girl said.
"And for the TV," the boy said.
The boy pulled into the driveway and stopped in front of the kitchen table.
They got out of the car and began to examine things, the girl touching the muslin cloth, the boy plugging in the blender and turning the dial to MINCE, the girl picking up a chafing dish, the boy turning on the television set and making little adjustments.
He sat down on the sofa to watch. He lit a cigarette, looked around, flipped the match into the grass.
The girl sat on the bed. She pushed off her shoes and lay back. She thought she could see a star.
"Come here, Jack. Try this bed. Bring one of those pillows," she said.
"How is it?" he said.
"Try it," she said.
He looked around. The house was dark.
"I feel funny," he said. "Better see if anybody's home."
She bounced on the bed.
"Try it first," she said.
He lay down on the bed and put the pillow under his head.
"How does it feel?" she said.
"It feels firm," he said.
She turned on her side and put her hand to his face.
"Kiss me," she said.
She closed her eyes. She held him.
He said, "I'll see if anybody's home."
But he just sat up and stayed were he was, making believe he was watching the television.
Lights came on in houses up and down the street.
"Wouldn't it be funny if," the girl said and grinned and didn't finish.
The boy laughed, but for no good reason. For no good reason, he switched the reading lamp on.
The girl brushed away a mosquito, whereupon the boy stood up and tucked in his shirt.
"I'll see if anybody's home," he said. "I don't think anybody's home. But if anybody is, I'll see what things are going for."
"Whatever they ask, offer ten dollars less. It's always a good idea," she said. "And besides, they must be desperate or something."
"It's a pretty good TV," the boy said.
"Ask them how much," the girl said.
This girl and this boy were furnishing a little apartment.
"Let's see what they want for the bed," the girl said.
"And for the TV," the boy said.
The boy pulled into the driveway and stopped in front of the kitchen table.
They got out of the car and began to examine things, the girl touching the muslin cloth, the boy plugging in the blender and turning the dial to MINCE, the girl picking up a chafing dish, the boy turning on the television set and making little adjustments.
He sat down on the sofa to watch. He lit a cigarette, looked around, flipped the match into the grass.
The girl sat on the bed. She pushed off her shoes and lay back. She thought she could see a star.
"Come here, Jack. Try this bed. Bring one of those pillows," she said.
"How is it?" he said.
"Try it," she said.
He looked around. The house was dark.
"I feel funny," he said. "Better see if anybody's home."
She bounced on the bed.
"Try it first," she said.
He lay down on the bed and put the pillow under his head.
"How does it feel?" she said.
"It feels firm," he said.
She turned on her side and put her hand to his face.
"Kiss me," she said.
She closed her eyes. She held him.
He said, "I'll see if anybody's home."
But he just sat up and stayed were he was, making believe he was watching the television.
Lights came on in houses up and down the street.
"Wouldn't it be funny if," the girl said and grinned and didn't finish.
The boy laughed, but for no good reason. For no good reason, he switched the reading lamp on.
The girl brushed away a mosquito, whereupon the boy stood up and tucked in his shirt.
"I'll see if anybody's home," he said. "I don't think anybody's home. But if anybody is, I'll see what things are going for."
"Whatever they ask, offer ten dollars less. It's always a good idea," she said. "And besides, they must be desperate or something."
"It's a pretty good TV," the boy said.
"Ask them how much," the girl said.
The man came down the sidewalk with a sack
from the market. He had sandwiches, beer, whiskey. He saw the car
in the driveway and the girl on the bed. He saw the television set going
and the boy on the porch.
"Hello," the man said to the girl. "You found the bed. That's good."
"Hello," the girl said. "I was just trying it out." She patted the bed. "It's a pretty good bed."
"It's a good bed," the man said, and put down the sack and took out the beer and the whiskey.
"We thought nobody was here," the boy said. "We're interested in the bed and maybe in the TV. Also maybe the desk. How much do you want for the bed?"
"I was thinking fifty dollars for the bed," the man said.
"Would you take forty?" the girl asked.
"I'll take forty," the man said.
He took a glass out of the carton. He took the newspaper off the glass. He broke the seal on the whiskey.
"How about the TV?" the boy said.
"Twenty-five."
"Would you take fifteen?" the girl said.
"Fifteen's okay. I could take fifteen," the man said.
The girl looked at the boy.
"You kids, you'll want a drink," the man said. "Glasses in that box. I'm going to sit down. I'm going to sit down on that sofa."
The man sat on the sofa, leaned back, and stared at the boy and the girl.
"Hello," the man said to the girl. "You found the bed. That's good."
"Hello," the girl said. "I was just trying it out." She patted the bed. "It's a pretty good bed."
"It's a good bed," the man said, and put down the sack and took out the beer and the whiskey.
"We thought nobody was here," the boy said. "We're interested in the bed and maybe in the TV. Also maybe the desk. How much do you want for the bed?"
"I was thinking fifty dollars for the bed," the man said.
"Would you take forty?" the girl asked.
"I'll take forty," the man said.
He took a glass out of the carton. He took the newspaper off the glass. He broke the seal on the whiskey.
"How about the TV?" the boy said.
"Twenty-five."
"Would you take fifteen?" the girl said.
"Fifteen's okay. I could take fifteen," the man said.
The girl looked at the boy.
"You kids, you'll want a drink," the man said. "Glasses in that box. I'm going to sit down. I'm going to sit down on that sofa."
The man sat on the sofa, leaned back, and stared at the boy and the girl.
The boy found two glasses and poured
whiskey.
"That's enough," the girl said. "I think I want water in mine."
She pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table.
"There's water in that spigot over there," the man said. "Turn on that spigot."
The boy came back with the watered whiskey. He cleared his throat and sat down at the kitchen table. He grinned. But he didn't drink anything from his glass.
The man gazed at the television. He finished his drink and started another. He reached to turn on the floor lamp. It was then that his cigarette dropped from his fingers and fell between the cushions.
The girl got up to help him find it.
"So what do you want?" the boy said to the girl.
The boy took out the checkbook and held it to his lips as if thinking.
"I want the desk," the girl said. "How much money is the desk?"
The man waved his hand at this preposterous question.
"Name a figure," he said.
He looked at them as they sat at the table. In the lamplight, there was something about their faces. It was nice or it was nasty. There was no telling.
"That's enough," the girl said. "I think I want water in mine."
She pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table.
"There's water in that spigot over there," the man said. "Turn on that spigot."
The boy came back with the watered whiskey. He cleared his throat and sat down at the kitchen table. He grinned. But he didn't drink anything from his glass.
The man gazed at the television. He finished his drink and started another. He reached to turn on the floor lamp. It was then that his cigarette dropped from his fingers and fell between the cushions.
The girl got up to help him find it.
"So what do you want?" the boy said to the girl.
The boy took out the checkbook and held it to his lips as if thinking.
"I want the desk," the girl said. "How much money is the desk?"
The man waved his hand at this preposterous question.
"Name a figure," he said.
He looked at them as they sat at the table. In the lamplight, there was something about their faces. It was nice or it was nasty. There was no telling.
"I'm going
to turn off this TV and put on a record," the man said. "This
record-player is going, too. Cheap. Make me an offer."
He poured more whiskey and opened a beer.
"Everything goes," said the man.
The girl held out her glass and the man poured.
"Thank you," she said. "You're very nice," she said.
"It goes to your head," the boy said. "I'm getting it in the head." He held up his glass and jiggled it.
The man finished his drink and poured another, and then he found the box with the records.
"Pick something," the man said to the girl, and he held the records out to her.
The boy was writing the check.
"Here," the girl said, picking something, picking anything, for she did not know the names on these labels. She got up from the table and sat down again. She did not want to sit still.
"I'm making it out to cash," the boy said.
"Sure," the man said.
They drank. They listened to the record. And then the man put on another.
Why don't you kids dance? he decided to say, and then he said it. "Why don't you dance?"
"I don't think so," the boy said.
"Go ahead," the man said. "It's my yard. You can dance if you want to."
He poured more whiskey and opened a beer.
"Everything goes," said the man.
The girl held out her glass and the man poured.
"Thank you," she said. "You're very nice," she said.
"It goes to your head," the boy said. "I'm getting it in the head." He held up his glass and jiggled it.
The man finished his drink and poured another, and then he found the box with the records.
"Pick something," the man said to the girl, and he held the records out to her.
The boy was writing the check.
"Here," the girl said, picking something, picking anything, for she did not know the names on these labels. She got up from the table and sat down again. She did not want to sit still.
"I'm making it out to cash," the boy said.
"Sure," the man said.
They drank. They listened to the record. And then the man put on another.
Why don't you kids dance? he decided to say, and then he said it. "Why don't you dance?"
"I don't think so," the boy said.
"Go ahead," the man said. "It's my yard. You can dance if you want to."
Arms about each other, their bodies pressed together, the
boy and the girl moved up and down the driveway. They were dancing.
And when the record was over, they did it again, and when that one ended, the
boy said, "I'm drunk."
The girl said, "You're not drunk."
"Well I'm drunk," the boy said.
The man turned the record over and the boy said, "I am."
"Dance with me," the girl said to the boy and then to the man, and when the man stood up, she came to him with her arms wide open.
The girl said, "You're not drunk."
"Well I'm drunk," the boy said.
The man turned the record over and the boy said, "I am."
"Dance with me," the girl said to the boy and then to the man, and when the man stood up, she came to him with her arms wide open.
"Those people
over there, they're watching," she said.
"It's okay," the man said. "It's my place," he said.
"Let them watch," the girl said.
"That's right," the man said. "They thought they'd seen everything over here. But they haven't seen this, have they?" he said.
He felt her breath on his neck.
"I hope you like your bed," he said.
The girl closed and then opened her eyes. She pushed her face into the man's shoulder. She pulled the man closer.
"You must be desperate or something," she said.
"It's okay," the man said. "It's my place," he said.
"Let them watch," the girl said.
"That's right," the man said. "They thought they'd seen everything over here. But they haven't seen this, have they?" he said.
He felt her breath on his neck.
"I hope you like your bed," he said.
The girl closed and then opened her eyes. She pushed her face into the man's shoulder. She pulled the man closer.
"You must be desperate or something," she said.
Weeks later, she said: "The guy was about
middle-aged. All his things right there in his yard. No lie.
We got real pissed and danced. In the driveway. Oh, my God.
Don't laugh. He played us these records. Look at this
record-player. The old guy gave it to us. And all these crappy records.
Will you look at this shit?"
She kept talking. She told everyone. there was more to it, and she was trying to get it talked out. After a time, she quit trying.
She kept talking. She told everyone. there was more to it, and she was trying to get it talked out. After a time, she quit trying.
Story of the Week: Why Don’t You Dance?
What We Talk About When We Talk About Love - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
I kept coming back to Raymond Carver’s story collection What We Talk About When We Talk About Love, which I had discovered a few years earlier when I was a college freshman. I always liked that Carver’s stories were easy to read, if not always easily understood. They were populated with working class couples; men and women in trouble or denial, making bad choices, or living with the repercussions of those choices.
Carver Country: One Film Student’s Adventure Adapting a Raymond Carver Story | Beyond The Margins
This has been made into a Hollywood film, and I don't think Carver would have thought too much of it:
"It may not improve on the Raymond Carver short story that inspired it, but Everything Must Goresists cliche and boasts a pair of magnetic performances from the perfectly cast Ferrell and Wallace."[6]
Everything Must Go (film) - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Although perhaps my very favourite short story by Carver is "A small good thing."
www.scriptorpress.com/burningmanbooks/46_2006_carver.pdf
Do try some of his collections, including "Cathedral" and "Elephant": brilliant stuff.
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