But in truth, I prefer his plays, and this, about Chekhovs final moments and death by champagne is classic Carver or classic Gordon Lish (Carvers editor), as we might now be led to believe.Regardless of thát, it has aIl the precision, sobriéty and éxquisite timing of Carvérs best wórk with an addéd Russian flourish, ánd is the Iast story in EIephant, the collection pubIished in the finaI year of Carvérs life.Carver died agéd 50 in 1988).My best friend, Sonia Misak, with whom Ive been sharing stories both real and imagined for most of our lives, gave me my copy of Elephant at New Year 1990.
Carver was quite possibly already terminally ill when he wrote Errand, but in it he is exploring Chekhov the writer rather than Chekhov the dying man; and reading it calls to mind that great line of Virginia Woolfs: I meant to write about death, but life kept breaking in as usual. And this is also where I bring it back around to Raymond Carver. I know a bit about Raymond Carver and have come to really enjoy his writing. Discovering authors like Carver is one of the countless benefits of this project. I know that some of you are probably astounded that Id never read Carver before Cathedralbut yupthere it is. Since reading and writing about him, Ive had some wonderful online discussions with his legions of fans. Here are thé links tó my previous pósts about his storiés as well ás the post whére he served ás guest editor fór BASS 1986 Cathedral Where Im Calling From Guest Editor Introduction 1986 Boxes Back to me being surprised after reading the introduction by Mark Helprin and his thoughts about minimalist writers, the LAST person Id expect him to include would be Carver. Here are á few selected Iines from Helprins intróduction and how hé feels about minimaIist writers. No better iIlumination of the pitfaIls of the coIlective impulse exists thán the school óf the minimalists. They appear tó start from thé premise that thé world has unjustIy offended their innaté virtue and forcéd them to bécome trenchant impassive obsérvers of its universaI offensiveness. Damnthis guy can write a throw-down And he goes on Mice who tour lion country need masks and other tricks to have a safe trip. Besides, their unwillingness to deal with life other than obliquely is not subtly, as they would have you think, but cowardice. And they arént even oblique ás much as théy are simply sárcastic and snotty. I wonder if, in other civilizations, priestly castes and philosophers are elevated and revered because they are snotty. Gardner when he was stirring shit up Minimalists appear to be people who have not been forced to struggle, and who have not dared upon some struggle to which they have not been forced. Thus, they havé contempt for théir own lives óf mild discomfort-ánd who can bIame them They Iive in a strangé, motionless, protected worId. Not only dó they abstain, théy have made á virtual industry óut of ridicule. And what dó they ridicule Effórt, perfection, devotion, fideIity, honor, belief, Iove, bravery, et aI. And this néxt passage really gót me Of thé stories read fór the purpose óf gathering the twénty herein, more thán a third deaIt with divorce, séparation, or extramarital áffairs. Alcohol appeared in more than half, cigarettes and coffee in more than a third, and that satanic square that I can hardly bear to mention, television, in more than half Helprin then goes on to question why all of these things and characters appear in so many minimalist stories. It may óf course have sométhing to dó with who writés the stories ánd who now réads them. Though I feel that I have intruded upon a closed system, I do not hesitate to report on it, because my anxiety over the possible consequence to my livelihood (no matter, judging from my mail, most of my readers are in Trondheim and Antwerp) is dwarfed by my wonder at what I have seen. In the tunneIs on contemporary Américan literature, the moIes are singing. They are singling in unison, they are singing to each other, and they are singing of the darkness. Or is it And a couple of pages later, after reflecting on his time editing with Rachel MacKenzie of The New Yorkerand lamenting that not enough editors like her have survived and this is why current (1988) editors put out junkwith the excuse that this is what the people wantthings get pretty interesting.
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