Fires: Essays, Poems, Stories

\n  'Must I ever remain behind-
listening, smoking
scribbling down the next far thing?'\n

The collection, although interesting, is just that - a collection. Part one consists of Carver's essays, part two contains poems, and part three concludes with stories.

The essays were truly remarkable - both interesting and thought-provoking. They initially seemed to be of a universal nature until they delved into the specifics of Carver's life and his writing. All the essays appeared to be thematically coherent, and each one was equally enjoyable. I would rate this section a solid 5/5.

The poetry section was also good and held some interest. However, I found myself skimming through most of the poems as they didn't quite manage to capture my attention. I must admit that I'm not a big poetry reader, so perhaps some of my personal bias influenced my perception of this section. Nevertheless, I would still give it a rating of 3.5/5.

Carver's stories, on the other hand, failed to resonate with me. They were an interesting read, but there was nothing more to them - nothing that truly gave me any real enjoyment. They seemed like a rather disparate group of pieces that had been拼凑 together, lacking a sense of cohesion. I would rate this section at 3.5/5 as well.

My fascination with Carver persists to this day.

This collection is truly a remarkable and potent offering. It encompasses not only a rich selection of poems and captivating short stories but also includes thought-provoking essays and an in-depth long-form interview.

If you are someone who is seeking a good starting point to explore the works of RC or if you渴望获得一些来自他本人在其小说之外的深刻见解， then this collection is as good a primer as anything you could hope for.

It provides a comprehensive and multi-faceted look into the mind and artistry of Carver, allowing readers to gain a deeper understanding and appreciation of his unique literary style and vision.

Whether you are a long-time fan or a newcomer to his works, this collection is sure to engage and inspire.

Man, this is truly a beauty of a book for Carver lovers (or should we say Carlovers?). It is a wonderful mix of nonfiction essays, enchanting poems, captivating short stories, a substantial interview, and an afterword penned by Ray himself. He was an ordinary man, yet he had a patient and perceptive eye for the poignancy, poetry, and raw reality of life.

"So Much Water So Close to Home" has now become one of my absolute favorite stories. Both the narrator within the story and Ray in the interview question whether things ever truly change. I constantly expect beauty and tragedy to shape and redirect the course of my life. However, it is rather unnerving when they seem to glance off me and I still feel much the same as before.

This book offers a unique and profound exploration of the human condition through Carver's masterful writing. It makes you think, feel, and question the very essence of our existence. It is a must-read for anyone who appreciates the power of words and the beauty that can be found in the simplest of things.

I just don't have any inclination towards short stories and essays. They are relatively easy to read, yet I find myself impatiently waiting to finish them. The subject matter often seems to be self-indulgent, as if the author is simply writing for the sake of writing, without much regard for the reader's interests. Similarly, the writing style can feel gratuitous, with an overabundance of words and descriptions that don't really add anything to the overall meaning. It's not that I don't appreciate good writing, but for some reason, short stories and essays just don't do it for me.

Once, when my son was around fifteen, during a piano competition, he turned to me and said, “Mom, there are just so many people.”

I vividly remember looking up from a book, surveying the room filled with a sea of sweaty competitors, and then focusing my gaze on the terror in my son's face. Privately, I completely shared his terror. Who could do this? Who could memorize and then perform these required pieces in front of judges and peers? I find this aspect of my son's life truly bewildering, but as his mother, my job is to help him stay centered.

So, I shared something along the lines of, “Look. Everyone here has talent. Probably everyone here has worked hard as well. They had to, to reach this point. What differentiates each of you is how you interpret your pieces. It's up to the judges to determine their favorite interpretations. You can't do anything about this now, but just be yourself.”

This week, I discovered an essay, “On Writing” from Raymond Carver's collection, which seemed to echo my sentiments to my son.

He wrote, “Some writers have a bunch of talent; I don't know any writers who are without it. But a unique and exact way of looking at things, and finding the right context for expressing that way of looking, that's something else. Every great or even very good writer makes the world over according to his own specifications. It's akin to style, what I'm talking about, but it isn't style alone. It is the writer's particular and unmistakable signature on everything he writes. It is his world and no other. This is one of the things that distinguishes one writer from another. Not talent. There's plenty of that around. But a writer who has some special way of looking at things and who gives artistic expression to that way of looking: that writer may be around for a time.”

Wow. There it is. That advice is so brilliant for all of us to always remember. But, wait, there's more.

Mr. Carver then goes on, in his essay “Fires,” to capture my exact feelings on “the ferocious years of parenting” and manages to encapsulate my joy, my terror, and my guilt in wanting to give my children and my writing equal parts of my time. He points out that this is an impossible goal, and for those of us who have put our children first in our lives, all endeavors after will suffer, regardless of how much we want them to succeed.

A male writer expressing such thoughts... in the 1970s no less.

Who is this guy? My soul mate??

And, then... and, then... after his essays, he offers a section of some of his inspired verse. And, folks, if you don't get why this particular poem is great, then you'll probably never understand poetry.

The mallard ducks are down
for the night. They chuckle
in their sleep and dream of Mexico
and Honduras. Watercress
nods in the irrigation ditch
and the tules slump forward, heavy
with blackbirds.

Rice fields float under the moon.
Even the wet maple leaves cling
to my windshield. I tell you Maryann,
I am happy.

(Highway 99E From Chico)

Then he offers, at the end, seven works of short fiction, much of it forgettable for me (explaining here the four stars instead of five), but the collection ends with a bang with the brilliant "So Much Water So Close to Home." I'd prefer to revisit that story in What We Talk About When We Talk About Love at another time.

For now... Mr. Carver,
put down your beer
your cigarette, too.
I want nothing between your mouth
and me.

I'm a little in love, sir.

Raymond wrote the following:

“Stava passando l’aspirapolvere quando squillò il telefono”

How to comment on a person who claims to have a story in mind and this is all he has? In short, I should review it, that is, write about him, I mean write about a writer like Carver… Maybe it's better if I start cooking a cake. And simply tell him that I would have liked to cook a cake for him, but at first I didn't know what kind of cake. And while I was preparing it, I left some milk on the table. And when I went to the bathroom, the cat climbed onto the table, saw the milk and drank it. And I couldn't cook the cake. And I went out to go to the pastry shop. Which was closed, so I couldn't even buy that cake. And while I was minding my own business in front of the closed pastry shop, my friend with the big red nose passed by, whom I hadn't seen in a long time, and asked me to go and have a drink with him. And I'm not much of a drinker, but when I sat down, Raymond came to my mind, who, like all American and great writers who respect themselves, was a big drinker. And while the waitress was serving us drinks, I couldn't help but look at her butt. And damn it, it was really a butt with dimples, such a butt, a 10 and praise. I drank that shitty cocktail and forgot the reason why I was there. In the end, I went home and continued to think about myself, my friend with the big red nose, who was always the unluckiest when we went to school, and how I can like Carver and Biamonti at the same time. But more than anything, the image of that great butt remained with me. And I still have it now and who knows when I'll be able to get it out of my head.

PS: I still like Carver, even though I love Biamonti. And I'm not even alcoholic, in fact, I'm on the verge of abstinence. Maybe that's why I've never been “A Great Writer of Equally Great Stories.”

PPS: Inside this volume there are essays, poems and some stories. The poems, especially in the Italian translation, don't look like what I'm used to understanding as poetry, maybe it would be better to define them as metapoems. The stories have a typical characteristic of Carver: they are glacial, cold like a frozen salmon or a dried cod at the North Pole. They are very American stories, that is, detached, as mentioned, and properly packaged, with that sense of artifact, of a well-studied construction that leaves one a bit dumbfounded. Paradoxically, what works best are the ones defined as essays, at the beginning of the volume, which have a smell more similar to autobiographical stories. Here, those work really damn well: they wrap around you and don't let go, because he's inside them, they are true and felt, that's why the reader feels it too. At least, I felt it, and if you feel it too, it means it's really like that, and if you can't feel them, well, try to read them again and listen to them better.

Out of all the remarkable works in this compilation of essays, shorts, and poems, "The Cabin" stands as a prime example of Carver's quintessential style. Astonishingly, with just a few words, Carver creates a vivid picture. He selects his words sparingly and with great care, much like a painter chooses the perfect blends of colors and shades. In this story, not much seems to happen on the surface, yet the reader feels a profound depth of emotion.

Fires also piqued my curiosity to explore his poetry. His poems are a unique blend of touching, abstract, and sometimes ominous. In the case of "You Don't Know What Love Is," which is an account of an evening spent with the fellow master of words, Bukowski, the poem is also razor-sharp funny. His poems and words have the power to open up new worlds within us, inspiring us to write and making our hearts beat with the pulsing of life, as if they are saying: 'This could be your life, too'.

4 stars only cos the poems weren't as strong as the rest.

Writers don't need tricks or gimmicks, nor do they necessarily have to be the smartest people around. At the risk of looking foolish, a writer sometimes just needs to be able to stand and gaze in absolute and simple amazement at this or that thing - a sunset or an old shoe.

Fires is a collection consisting of 4 essays, about 50 poems, and 7 short stories. The essays and stories are truly excellent, while the poems, some are good but others pale in comparison to the prose.

Three of those essays are about writing and the influences Carver had on his work - his teacher John Gardner and his own children. I believe it is essential reading for anyone who wants to write, writes, or wants to better understand his work or any literary fiction. It also provides insights into his own famously sparse style. And just as I suspected - revision is a crucial part of it. Carver didn't achieve great success overnight; it took him years of writing. He is the prime example of how talent alone means nothing. His style was carefully crafted.

There is also a very touching essay about his father. Like the characters in his own stories, his father was a simple working-class man. Through that essay, I understood why some of his stories seem so tender to me. It is the intimate daily routines of men and women in the face of the harsh realities of getting by and making ends meet. Having a whiskey, smoking in bed, watching a TV with the curtains drawn on a sunny day, wanting to have sex but being too lazy or tired for it, yet not minding either because there is a warm familiarity that allows for the lack of it. The home becomes this warm sanctuary where the characters hide from the world.

The stories in this collection were a bit more tense and had more sinister undercurrents than the others I have read so far. I don't think this can be improved upon. Maybe Shirley Jackson excels in it at a relatively similar level. The reader can feel the unspoken even more strongly than what is obvious. So Much Water So Close to Home was unforgettable in that regard, but all the stories were brilliant.

I think having books like this makes it quite challenging to explore new authors with enthusiasm because often, even rereading Carver or any other writer at the same level far surpasses reading anything contemporary.