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A review by selenajournal
What We Talk about When We Talk about Love by Raymond Carver
5.0
Having finished What We Talk About When We Talk About Love, I can understand why Carver smoked and drank himself to death. Reading the collection felt like a walk on the darker side of human nature. Please don't misunderstand, I think the man was responsible for making the story story a credible literary genre but he was tragically troubled.
I approached this book knowing that Carver is widely known for writing candidly about the blue-collar experience in his trademark minimalist (and often autobiographical) style. I felt that this collection of stories features some of Carver's best work.
This wasn't a particularly long book nor did it require hours of analysis. Nevertheless, it took me a long time to read. I tried to read a few stories each time but found my mood significantly dropping after each one. The two stories that will stay with me no matter how much time passes have to be "Bath" and "Tell the Women We're Going."
The story "Bath" is about a boy who is hit by a car on his birthday and subsequently goes into a coma. With his father and mother by his side, his chest rises and falls but his eyes stay closed. The story truly broke my heart. Upon finishing it, I couldn't read any further. I felt like I needed to walk around a little and clear my head. I regret having already forgotten the little boy's name.
The most disturbing story of them all is Carver's pseudo-horror story called "Tell the Women We're Going." Two friends, both married, who've been friends for a long time decide to leave their wives at the intimate picnic so they can go drive around for a while. Somewhere along the way, they spot two girls on a bike and decide to strike up some conversation. They figure out where the girls are going and go there ahead of them. One guy is seriously interested in cheating on his wife with the girl. The other states no intent. However, he ends up bashing their heads in with a rock...
Something about the way that the story was presented to me, disturbed me profoundly. I'm accustomed to reading about killers and horrendous murder scenes, but it sprang up on me unexpectedly. I hadn't realized the man was a monster. Probably because he seemed like a husk of a man. What I enjoy about Raymond however, is that he does not try to tell us that this is good or bad, instead he doesn't say anything. This is what makes him the author that he is - his ability to show us true life, the sad picture in the mirror looking back at mankind.
I think this is a book that I will come back to and one meant to be re-read.
I approached this book knowing that Carver is widely known for writing candidly about the blue-collar experience in his trademark minimalist (and often autobiographical) style. I felt that this collection of stories features some of Carver's best work.
This wasn't a particularly long book nor did it require hours of analysis. Nevertheless, it took me a long time to read. I tried to read a few stories each time but found my mood significantly dropping after each one. The two stories that will stay with me no matter how much time passes have to be "Bath" and "Tell the Women We're Going."
The story "Bath" is about a boy who is hit by a car on his birthday and subsequently goes into a coma. With his father and mother by his side, his chest rises and falls but his eyes stay closed. The story truly broke my heart. Upon finishing it, I couldn't read any further. I felt like I needed to walk around a little and clear my head. I regret having already forgotten the little boy's name.
The most disturbing story of them all is Carver's pseudo-horror story called "Tell the Women We're Going." Two friends, both married, who've been friends for a long time decide to leave their wives at the intimate picnic so they can go drive around for a while. Somewhere along the way, they spot two girls on a bike and decide to strike up some conversation. They figure out where the girls are going and go there ahead of them. One guy is seriously interested in cheating on his wife with the girl. The other states no intent. However, he ends up bashing their heads in with a rock...
Something about the way that the story was presented to me, disturbed me profoundly. I'm accustomed to reading about killers and horrendous murder scenes, but it sprang up on me unexpectedly. I hadn't realized the man was a monster. Probably because he seemed like a husk of a man. What I enjoy about Raymond however, is that he does not try to tell us that this is good or bad, instead he doesn't say anything. This is what makes him the author that he is - his ability to show us true life, the sad picture in the mirror looking back at mankind.
I think this is a book that I will come back to and one meant to be re-read.