From Raymond Carver, the concise history of a relationship:
So Roxy and J.P. saw some movies together. They went to a few dances. But mainly the courtship revolved around their cleaning chimneys together. Before you know it, J.P. says, they're talking about tying the knot. And after a while they do it, they get married. J.P.'s new father-in-law takes him in as a full partner. In a year or so, Roxy has a kid. She's quit being a chimney sweep. At any rate, she's quit doing the work. Pretty soon she has another kid. J.P. is in his mid-twenties by now. He's buying a house. He says he was happy with his life. "I was happy with the way things were going," he says. "I had everything I wanted. I had a wife and kids I loved, and I was doing what I wanted to do with my life." But for some reason—who knows why we do what we do?—his drinking picks up. For a long time he drinks beer and beer only. Any kind of beer—it didn't matter. He says he could drink beer twenty-four hours a day. He'd drink beer at night while he watched TV. Sure, once in a while he drank hard stuff. But that was only if they went out on the town, which was not often, or else when they had company over. Then a time comes, he doesn't know why, when he makes the switch from beer to gin and tonic. And he'd have more gin and tonic after dinner, sitting in front of the TV. There was always a glass of gin and tonic in his hand. He says he actually liked the taste of it. He began stopping off after work for drinks before he went home to have more drinks. Then he began missing some dinners. He just wouldn't show up. Or else he'd show up but he wouldn't want anything to eat. He'd filled up on snacks at the bar. Sometimes he'd walk in the door and for no good reason throw his lunch pail across the living room. When Roxy yelled at him, he'd turn around and go out again. He moved his drinking time up to early afternoon, while he was still supposed to be working. He tells me that he was starting off the morning with a couple of drinks. He'd have a belt of the stuff before he brushed his teeth. Then he'd have his coffee. He'd go to work with a thermos bottle of vodka in his lunch pail.
Another complete story in one paragraph. A man torn between two worlds: domestic bliss and hard partying. A struggle: The man can't fully give himself over, right away, to the pleasures of self-sabotage, so, for a while, he drinks *only beer* ....then hard liquor, but *only after work* ....then hard liquor, but *only from the early afternoon onward* .....The struggle ends with a brilliant, memorable detail: "He'd have a belt of the stuff before he brushed his teeth....He'd go to work with a thermos bottle of vodka in his lunch pail." (You can write the inevitable break-up scene--the screaming and crying--with your own imagination.)
-God is in the details, and you don't have a strong story without a great character. J.P. reminds me a bit of Momma Rose: He is larger than life in his capacity for destruction. Though the tone is colloquial, the images are carefully-chosen: "Sometimes for no good reason he'd throw his lunch pail across the living room." "Stopping off after work for drinks before he went home to have more drinks." "He says he actually liked the taste of it."
-It's notable that the root cause of the drinking isn't addressed. "Who knows why we do what we do?" That question is a kind of refrain in the story. What's interesting isn't evil--it's just there, banal and persistent--but (according to the novelist Michael Connelly) what's interesting is how decent souls accommodate and wrestle with and cope with evil. We sense a struggle inside J.P.; he's now in AA, after all. You'd have to be pretty cold not to feel for the guy, I think. So he is far from perfect: This makes me do a big, deep shrug.
-There's character development, even with such apparently simple and chatty language. "When Roxy yelled at him, he'd turn around and go out again." What do you do with an alcoholic man who hates himself? Yelling likely won't help; this guy doesn't need more invitations to indulge in self-loathing. But then: How do you *not* yell? Tale as old as time....
-The title of the story is "Where I'm Calling From"--and, like so many other things in Carver's work, the title seems to work on multiple levels. We place a call from a physical location. But, also, we want people to understand where we're at *spiritually* and *emotionally* ...Drunkenness is where I'm calling from. Or self-pity is where I'm calling from. Or compassion is where I'm calling from. The title also puts the author front and center; Carver seems to say, "I dug these stories out of my own soul." And that's all for today. More later!
*P.S. The story of drunkenness here is clearly a kind of sequel to, or even a retelling of, J.P.'s account of having fallen down a well. New danger, new well. Same sense of panic. And J.P.'s father cannot help now.
So Roxy and J.P. saw some movies together. They went to a few dances. But mainly the courtship revolved around their cleaning chimneys together. Before you know it, J.P. says, they're talking about tying the knot. And after a while they do it, they get married. J.P.'s new father-in-law takes him in as a full partner. In a year or so, Roxy has a kid. She's quit being a chimney sweep. At any rate, she's quit doing the work. Pretty soon she has another kid. J.P. is in his mid-twenties by now. He's buying a house. He says he was happy with his life. "I was happy with the way things were going," he says. "I had everything I wanted. I had a wife and kids I loved, and I was doing what I wanted to do with my life." But for some reason—who knows why we do what we do?—his drinking picks up. For a long time he drinks beer and beer only. Any kind of beer—it didn't matter. He says he could drink beer twenty-four hours a day. He'd drink beer at night while he watched TV. Sure, once in a while he drank hard stuff. But that was only if they went out on the town, which was not often, or else when they had company over. Then a time comes, he doesn't know why, when he makes the switch from beer to gin and tonic. And he'd have more gin and tonic after dinner, sitting in front of the TV. There was always a glass of gin and tonic in his hand. He says he actually liked the taste of it. He began stopping off after work for drinks before he went home to have more drinks. Then he began missing some dinners. He just wouldn't show up. Or else he'd show up but he wouldn't want anything to eat. He'd filled up on snacks at the bar. Sometimes he'd walk in the door and for no good reason throw his lunch pail across the living room. When Roxy yelled at him, he'd turn around and go out again. He moved his drinking time up to early afternoon, while he was still supposed to be working. He tells me that he was starting off the morning with a couple of drinks. He'd have a belt of the stuff before he brushed his teeth. Then he'd have his coffee. He'd go to work with a thermos bottle of vodka in his lunch pail.
Another complete story in one paragraph. A man torn between two worlds: domestic bliss and hard partying. A struggle: The man can't fully give himself over, right away, to the pleasures of self-sabotage, so, for a while, he drinks *only beer* ....then hard liquor, but *only after work* ....then hard liquor, but *only from the early afternoon onward* .....The struggle ends with a brilliant, memorable detail: "He'd have a belt of the stuff before he brushed his teeth....He'd go to work with a thermos bottle of vodka in his lunch pail." (You can write the inevitable break-up scene--the screaming and crying--with your own imagination.)
-God is in the details, and you don't have a strong story without a great character. J.P. reminds me a bit of Momma Rose: He is larger than life in his capacity for destruction. Though the tone is colloquial, the images are carefully-chosen: "Sometimes for no good reason he'd throw his lunch pail across the living room." "Stopping off after work for drinks before he went home to have more drinks." "He says he actually liked the taste of it."
-It's notable that the root cause of the drinking isn't addressed. "Who knows why we do what we do?" That question is a kind of refrain in the story. What's interesting isn't evil--it's just there, banal and persistent--but (according to the novelist Michael Connelly) what's interesting is how decent souls accommodate and wrestle with and cope with evil. We sense a struggle inside J.P.; he's now in AA, after all. You'd have to be pretty cold not to feel for the guy, I think. So he is far from perfect: This makes me do a big, deep shrug.
-There's character development, even with such apparently simple and chatty language. "When Roxy yelled at him, he'd turn around and go out again." What do you do with an alcoholic man who hates himself? Yelling likely won't help; this guy doesn't need more invitations to indulge in self-loathing. But then: How do you *not* yell? Tale as old as time....
-The title of the story is "Where I'm Calling From"--and, like so many other things in Carver's work, the title seems to work on multiple levels. We place a call from a physical location. But, also, we want people to understand where we're at *spiritually* and *emotionally* ...Drunkenness is where I'm calling from. Or self-pity is where I'm calling from. Or compassion is where I'm calling from. The title also puts the author front and center; Carver seems to say, "I dug these stories out of my own soul." And that's all for today. More later!
*P.S. The story of drunkenness here is clearly a kind of sequel to, or even a retelling of, J.P.'s account of having fallen down a well. New danger, new well. Same sense of panic. And J.P.'s father cannot help now.
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