5 Stars

I really don't know what to say about this book. Giving it 5 stars means that I understand how much I cherish it. The stories in it are not only interesting in content but also associated with many memories of mine. This book is thin, but the pages of the book have accompanied me for a long time. They are those peaceful late nights, the tranquility, and those people who I will never meet again, which are memories...

This book has a special charm that makes me unable to put it down. Every time I open it, I seem to be drawn into a different world. The words on the page seem to come alive and tell me their stories.

I think this book is not just a book, but a friend who has accompanied me through many difficult times. It has given me strength and courage when I needed it most. I will always cherish this book and the memories it has brought me.

I remember back when Kindles were brand-new, and a flurry of one-star reviews popped up on Amazon. These reviews outlined all the reasons ebooks were a bad idea. One that really stood out to teenaged me was: You can't lend an ebook to a friend. I've never inquired about ebooks or stepped into an electronic book salon, so I don't know whether this remains true. But it got me thinking about one of the most profound aspects of books, stories, and reading: that of the connections we build with other people.

Anyone who reads a lot of fiction doesn't need to answer the question "why bother?" We know, intuitively, that it means something to us, even if we can't articulate it. But sometimes we encounter those dreaded members of the "I only read nonfiction" club and find ourselves justifying why it is worth the time to invest in made-up stories instead of digesting facts about how the world actually is. Besides the truism that it's easy to lie with so-called facts and statistics and good literature is "a lie that tells the truth", perhaps one of the best answers comes from Harold Bloom. He said, "We read deeply for varied reasons, most of them familiar: that we cannot know enough people profoundly enough; that we need to know ourselves better; that we require knowledge, not just of self and others, but of the way things are. Yet the strongest, most authentic motive for deep reading…is the search for a difficult pleasure."

Fiction allows us to connect to the inner world of a visionary author's mind, to see the meaning they have distilled from their life experience. What could be more human than that? Through identifying or contrasting with characters, we connect more deeply with ourselves or with people we know. And, as that angry Amazon reviewer pointed out, fiction can be the substrate for real-life connections. Few bonds are deeper than those built on shared affinities for literature.

My dad loved Raymond Carver first. He said Carver seemed like the kind of person who was told he'd never be a writer. Carver wrote for and about working people, in simple language. My dad could relate to that. He worked in the orange groves or the packing house, depending on the season. He was tired, both from work and from dashed hopes. I liked Carver's stories for their subtlety and because I recognized the characters and the atmosphere. And I liked them because they allowed my dad to communicate something he couldn't say himself.

Then I lent a book to someone who became one of my best friends. We got to know each other through exchanges of books. We started with J.D. Salinger and explored many other authors. Books are the most loyal of old friends. They are always there when we need them. Try hugging an ereader. I doubt it'll be very comforting.

Except for the title story, I found these stories tiresome. By the time I reached the title story, which I had read before and was in its penultimate position, I was extremely tired of all the drinking that the characters did. Due to this, I liked the title story a little less than when I read it separately, although I still agree that it is his masterpiece.

I wasn't interested in most of the characters and I disliked the deadpan lines that ended most of the stories, which were apparently the work of Gordon Lish, Carver's editor at that time. However, I can't blame Gordon Lish for my dislike, as I took a detour to read the later "Cathedral" and liked it only slightly better than most of these. Blaming Lish also doesn't consider the numerous Carver fans who prefer the Lish-edited versions.

I can only conclude that I don't enjoy Carver for the same reasons I don't care for Hemingway. The bare bones style leaves me uninterested.

The world is a hierarchical structure. It is like a pyramid.

The serfs never had it good. But I guess even the knights were vassals to someone. Isn't that the way it worked? But then everyone is always a vassal to someone.

Little men have their own little vices: drunkenness, unfaithfulness, spitefulness. And little men have their own little handicaps: stupidity, silliness, incompetence.

It might seem a little man is capable of having just a little tragedy, but to every little man his tragedy is the biggest in the world.

What We Talk About When We Talk About Love is moody and it goes like the blues – sad and hopeless.

‘I just want to say one more thing.’ But then he could not think what it could possibly be.

Sometimes a thought is lost and never found. It disappears into the vastness of our minds, leaving us with a sense of confusion and perhaps a tinge of regret. We search for it, but it eludes us, as if it never existed in the first place. This loss of a thought can be as disconcerting as the loss of a precious possession. It makes us realize how fleeting and unpredictable our mental processes can be.

However, the past is already past, and this past has now become a part of his existence, just like the other issues that the man had left behind.

I heard the name of the author in a film. When I pursued it, I realized that the author I was interested in, namely Haruki Murakami, was influenced by Raymond Carver's writings and was inspired by him.

At first, it was strange for me. I thought that the depth and emotion that Haruki's stories have were lacking in it. But I gave it a chance, and it really paid off. The title of the book was a big question for me, but when I finished the book today, I saw that it really lived up to the title, although the title is the name of one of the stories in the book.

The main reason I am most interested in this book is that Carver was able to attract the attention of the public to the past fantasy loves while at the same time being able to convey the feeling in reality. He depicted the real love that is flowing in everyone's life, not those fictional loves that we see in movies or commercial books, but at the same time, it also attracted the reader very well. Reading this book is not only necessary for book lovers, but also really eye-opening for a correct look at life and our relationships around us, at least in my opinion.

I attended the wedding of my brother's best friend last week. I have always had a penchant for weddings. Maybe it's in my blood since my brother is a wedding videographer. But truly, I really, really enjoy attending weddings. It's such a joyous and happy occasion. Moreover, I have a special affinity for hearing wedding vows.

During the wedding weekend, I read Raymond Carver's "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love", which I borrowed from Angus when I had the opportunity to peruse his bookshelf. This is my first encounter with Carver's work, and I first heard about him through Angus' rave review. The book is a collection of short stories about people discussing love. I thought it might be a fitting read for a wedding. What do people actually talk about when they talk about love at weddings?

Before delving into the proper review, let me share what people talk about when they discuss love at a wedding. Weddings are indeed happy days, not just for the couple but for everyone in attendance. It's interesting how people often anticipate the wedding as a "happily ever after", when in reality, it's just the beginning of a new chapter. The priest delivered a beautiful homily during my brother's best friend's wedding that had us all laughing and made me think deeply. He spoke about good and bad memories, and how, ten or twenty years down the line, the couple will lose many things: their youth, health, and money. And when these losses occur and life gets tough, it can be challenging to hold on and remember their commitment. He then reminded them that they're not the boss of each other, and getting married in the church, in front of God and the people, is their promise to never give up on each other, no matter how difficult life becomes. Then they said their vows, and it was truly real and beautiful.

Over the weekend, I also spent time with my parents and took the time to observe their interactions. My parents have been married for over 30 years, and sometimes I take that for granted. That weekend, I witnessed how they behave around each other and realized that their love is a quiet and enduring one that I also渴望 for myself. There are things my mom would say or do that, if I were my dad, might irritate me and I would respond defiantly. But my dad does nothing. Instead, he smiles, accepts it, and takes action. My dad would do or say something that, if I were my mom, might seem lacking in emotion or affection, but I see that my mom doesn't perceive it that way. I see how they support each other and love us so much, and my heart fills with warmth because I catch a glimpse of what the priest said and understand the kind of love I desire and hope to be able to give as well. Imperfect yet strong and enduring.

"What We Talk About When We Talk About Love" isn't overly romantic. In fact, at times, I thought it wasn't romantic at all. It's not like the typical romance books I read, filled with fluff, cheese, and those moments that make you swoon and feel "kilig". No, Carver's collection of short stories about love explores love in various forms, but it deals with love after all the initial excitement and romance have worn off. Most of the stories have a melancholic tone, and for a moment, it didn't seem like the right choice to read on a wedding weekend. But it also felt perfect because this book somehow clarified my thoughts or at least gave me a different perspective after the reception ended and the wedding euphoria started to fade.

Most of the stories in this collection are about lonely people, or people observing lonely people, or people sharing old experiences of loneliness related to love. The authenticity of these stories is what打动 me. This is what could potentially happen days, months, or years after the wedding day. These stories can occur, but it doesn't mean they are the only possible outcome. Love doesn't mean there won't be mistakes, or that your loved ones will always be healthy, or that you will never have arguments. It's a bit more complex than that. The stories were short, and the writing was simple. Sometimes, I was surprised when a story ended, and I wasn't entirely sure what it was trying to convey. But as I continued reading, I realized that these stories are fragments of love in its everyday form, during both the difficult and the happy times.

I liked most of the stories, but three stood out: "After the Denim" ("He'd tell them what to expect! He'd set those floozies straight! He'd tell them what was waiting for you after the denim and the earrings, after touching each other and cheating at games."), "Everything Stuck to Him" ("Things change. I don't know how they do. But they do without realizing it or wanting them to [...] he stays by the window, remembering. They had laughed. They had leaned on each other and laughed until the tears had come, while everything else - the cold, and where he'd go in it - was outside, for a while anyway."), and the title story, "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love" ("I'm telling you, the man's heart was breaking because he couldn't turn his goddamn head and see his goddamn wife."). After finishing the book, I found myself rereading parts of some of my favorite stories, especially the last one, and then sitting at home, reflecting on love.

Because really, what do people talk about when they talk about love? My friends and I often discuss this, and while we all have our ideas, dreams, and expectations, I don't think we will ever fully understand what love truly means. The best we can do, I believe, is to try. Let's have a toast. I want to propose a toast. A toast to love. To true love.

This is my first Carver, and I'm certain it won't be my last. :)

* Also posted at I Like It Dog-Eared

Hummingbird


Suppose I say summer,

write the word “hummingbird,”

put it in an envelope,

take it down the hill

to the box. When you open

my letter you will recall

those days and how much,

just how much, I love you.


Capturing bliss in one word, crystallising tenderness and love at once into a precious gift and a delicate act of remembrance, Hummingbird, the affectionate poem closing this collection, charmed me in its endearing simplicity. It ended up as my favourite. Reading this short poem magically transports one to the moment of receiving and later cherishing a letter or a postcard dear. The one you keep close to you and take with you until it is ragged, almost perished, the words barely discernible anymore, like a four-leaf clover in your heart for the rest of your days.


Before fortuitously coming across this bilingual chrestomathy of 17 poems in the local library – a selection from Carver’s All of Us: The Collected Poems, which is a compilation of his 5 poetry collections - I only knew and read Raymond Carver as a short-story writer. A few of these poems strike as miniature stories, vernacular in tone, narrative and direct in style. The nightly atmosphere and a certain rawness at times remind me of some of the songs by Tom Waits. It's like hanging out in a bar as in the long opening poem You Don't Know What Love Is (an evening with Charles Bukowski), or at the ramshackle party of booze and despair in Union Street: San Francisco, Summer 1975.


All poems are love poems, Carver’s narrator observes in his poem For Semra,With Martial Vigor. And obviously not all but most poems in this collection consider love. The simple pleasures of love. The sweet comfort of holding hands giving strength to endure time consuming us (Through the Boughs). The delight of watching the beloved dancing a minuet (The Minuet), or the reminiscence of that enchantment emanating from the eye of the painter who has lost his muse and wife (Bonnard’s Nudes). Hips, thighs and loosened hair celebrating in the dark sensuality of liberty (This Word Love). The traces on a lip left after a wild night(Yesterday). The bittersweetness of longing and hope, the pain of losing love (Still Looking Out of Number One), of loss and grief, of missing, of transience, evoking tenderness and melancholy without threading onto mawkish ground. It conjures up a quiet night where a couple unobtrusively breaths together closing the day in the intimacy of their home (The Best Time of the Day), or seizes the simple joy and warm thoughts when coming home where the one you love welcomes you (Waiting):


It’s not that house. It’s

the next house, just over

a rise. The house

where trees are laden with

fruit. Where phlox, forsythia,

and marigold grow. It’s

the house where the woman

stands in the doorway

wearing the sun in her hair. The one

who’s been waiting

all this time.

The woman who loves you.

The one who can say,

“What’s kept you?”


Honest and powerful, minimalistic and suggestive, reading this tiny collection struck up a delightful acquaintance with Carver’s poetry. It made me realize the depth and beauty that can be found in his poetic works, in addition to his well-known short stories. Each poem seems to tell a story of love, loss, hope, and the simple pleasures of life. Carver's ability to convey complex emotions in such a concise and direct way is truly remarkable. It leaves the reader with a sense of wonder and a desire to explore more of his poetry. I highly recommend this collection to anyone who appreciates good poetry and wants to experience the unique voice of Raymond Carver.

The writing is really good, the kind of book you keep coming back to. I had only heard good things about Carver and I was afraid that my expectations would be too high and I would be disappointed, but that wasn't the case. Since it's short prose, it's hard to exhaust the book in a single reading. I think I'll come back to it, over time, but in parts. It's a very sensitive prose and, at the same time, very "economical", not wasteful of words. I don't know if it's okay to compare them, but Alice Munro seems like a small child next to Raymond Carver.

This work by Carver is truly a gem. The concise yet powerful language he uses draws the reader in and makes them want to explore every word and phrase. Each story within the book is like a snapshot of a moment in time, filled with complex emotions and relatable characters.

The way Carver manages to convey so much with so few words is truly remarkable. It makes the reader think and reflect on their own lives and experiences. I can't wait to revisit this book and discover new nuances and meanings with each reading.

In his second collection, Carver truly perfects the skills he painstakingly honed in his debut collection, Will You Please Be Quiet, Please?. He is like the Muse of Suburbia, of the Blue Collar, of Marriage, of the Down-and-Outers, of Dreams and Dashed Hopes. The storyteller has a knack for quickly hooking even the most stubborn reader with his engaging openings and then delivering savvy endings that can impress even the most difficult-to-impress critic. And let's not forget the dialogue. The man had an incredibly sharp ear for discerning what's important and what's not, in terms of register and tone. He is no one-trick pony; he can also impress with his forays into description.

That every story is not consistently wonderful is hardly a surprise. We firmly believe that this truth is self-evident for ALL short story (and poetry) collections. After all, you simply can't please all the people all the time. However, Carver has most definitely managed to win over the vast majority. He has achieved this in spades, and his work continues to captivate readers and critics alike.

I don't really know what to say about this book.

Someone once said that it's not the notes that make the music but the spaces between them. I haven't really been able to touch and feel the space of Carver yet, although I know that I've been hit.

Unlike those terrifying elements that like to flood into the mind, hitting hard, extremely intense, and stirring up the area to a state of horror, Carver only hits faintly, numbly. The weight doesn't come from the blow but from the calmness and lack of emotional expression when hitting. He also doesn't allow the person being hit to fully express their emotions. So then that poor person is left in a state of confusion, turmoil in the questions about the chaos.

Dương Tường said that America here has lost its innocence. In a faintly unfolding process without any attention, I haven't noticed any hint of innocence in this collection of short stories. That might be an extremely hazy, mumbled explanation about the lack of my own innocence.

And strangely, recently I've become obsessed with this word to the point of being strange.

"Summer has come and gone
Innocence can never last"

I still don't know what to say about this book.

Minimalism for whom?

Excerpt of a dialogue from a reader to a female reader

“Ah, you like stories. Good.
Have you read Carver?”

“Not yet.”

An awkward silence follows.
Days pass…

“Have you read Carver?”
“Not yet.”
An awkward silence follows.
Months pass…

“Have you read Carver?”
“Not yet.”
An awkward silence follows.
Years pass…

Carver Carver Carver Carver Carver Carver Carver Carver Carver Carver Carver Carver ……………………..

“Have you read Carver?”
“Yeees!”
“It’s about time!!! So? What do you think?”

What a great question!
When reading a collection of stories, it is difficult to summarize the impressions in a single concept. In fact, not difficult: impossible!

I can at least try not to look like a dumbass in front of my interlocutor who is looking at me, urging me to say something. Not just anything but something with at least a little sense.
So I’ll give it a try.

“Right from the start - I mean from the first story - I thought: ‘Here, there is a profound ability to capture the moment.’ There are moments in daily life that are constantly overlooked. Words, glances, gestures that we don’t consider worthy of being mentioned in the realm of memory and so we lose them. First of all, I was struck by the centrality of the domestic environment that is practically in almost all the stories: kitchens, living rooms, bedrooms...
Then there are eyes that spy from the windows and eyes that look at the façades of the houses.
There are lives inside and outside that observe, measure, compare and…”

“For example?”

“For example, there is the first story that, as I said, really impressed me, not the only one but anyway, the first story is called Why don’t you dance? .
Well, a man is in the kitchen drinking (there’s a lot of alcohol in these stories!) and looking out. Practically in the garden, he has arranged almost all the furniture from the house, reproducing the layout of how they were inside. It’s clear that he has been left by his wife or anyway is alone. So it’s as if by looking outside from inside, he tries to decentre his whole existence. Then a young couple passes by, interested in buying something because they think it’s one of those used goods sales. So they stop, look around. Then he arrives - who had gone to get more alcohol, of course - and says: ‘Yes, it’s all for sale.’ The whole thing smells a bit like an excuse to keep them there because, probably, he wants company, a moment of serenity. Then in the end, they all drink together and get drunk; until he, at a certain point, puts some music on the record player and says: ‘Why don’t you dance?’. It seems a bit crazy to the kids but then they do it. He also dances with the girl who clings to him. At the end. Wait. I’ll read you how the story ends:

“A few weeks later, she was saying: ‘He was a middle-aged guy. All his stuff out there on the lawn. Seriously. We got drunk and danced. In the driveway. Oh, my God. Don’t laugh. He was putting on these records. Look at the record player. He gave it to us, the old guy. And all these crappy records. Would you even look at this junk?’
She kept talking about it. She told everyone. There was something left, that she couldn’t say. She tried, then she stopped.”

Nice, right?”

“But, I don’t know. I had never read this. Anyway, I didn’t understand it.”

“Sorry but are you sure you had already read Carver? Because if you really had read him, you would know that there is nothing to understand. The story opens a crack for you but there is always something that can’t be said. If you pay attention, though, when you close the book, you realize that something more has stayed inside you...”

In my experience as a reader, perhaps this is the book that has been able to surprise me the most. I started it after dinner and finished it that same night, unable to put it down.

To testify to my enthusiasm, at the bottom of the book, I wrote these few words.

A lady against Carver

What a show! Whether you start the stories from the end, from the beginning, or from any other point, even an insignificant one, the result is always the same: a masterpiece. It's like playing checkers against someone who changes the opening in every game and then in just a few moves puts you on the spot just when you think: "this time he won't succeed...".

This book has truly captured my imagination and held my attention throughout. The unique way of storytelling, with its unexpected twists and turns, kept me on the edge of my seat. I found myself completely immersed in the world created by the author, and I couldn't wait to see what would happen next.

I would highly recommend this book to anyone who loves a good story. It's a must-read for all book lovers, and I'm sure it will leave a lasting impression on you, just as it did on me.