October 18, 2007--Slicing Carver

If you haven’t had the pleasure yet to read What We Talk About When We talk About Love, Raymond Carver’s book of 17 short stories, rush out to your local book store or library, get a copy, clear out the next rainy afternoon, light a fire if you have a fire place, settle into your most comfortable chair, and let him take over your imagination and get you thrillingly agitated. But you’d better hurry because his widow and literary heir is about to publish a new version of his stories in the form that he drafted them, before his editor went to work on them. This might sound like a good idea—Ray Carver unexpurgated—but why don’t you be the judge if it is. Below are two excerpts from the last story in What We Talk About, “One More Thing.” The first is from Carver’s unedited version; the second what the ending of the story looked like after it was edited and published: L.D. put the shaving bag under his arm again and once more picked up the suitcase. “I just want to say one more thing, Maxine. Listen to me. Remember this,” he said. “I love you. I love you no matter what happens. I love you too, Bea. I love you both.” He stood there at the door and felt his lips begin to tingle as he looked at them for what, he believed, might be the last time. “Goodbye,” he said. “You call this love, L.D.?” Maxine said. She let go of Bea’s hand. She made a fist. Then she shook her head and jammed her hands into her coat pockets. She stared at him and then dropped her eyes to something on the floor near his shoes. It came to him with a shock that he would remember this night and her like this. He was terrified to think that in the years ahead she might come to resemble a woman he couldn’t place, a mute figure in a long coat, standing in the middle of a lighted room with lowered eyes. “Maxine!” he cried. “Maxine!” “Is that what love is, L.D.?” she said, fixing her eyes on him. Her eyes were terrible and deep, and he held them as long as he could. Published Version: L.D. put the shaving bag under his arm and picked up the suitcase. He said, “I just want to say one more thing.” But then he could not think what it could possibly be. I prefer the originally published version—it seems more in the Carver spirit of what we find we can’t talk about when we try to talk about love. Been there; done that. If you agree, is this an example that less is more? But making matters more complicated, note that though the first line of the edited version comes from Carver’s manuscript, neither of the last two do. Is this then another kind of example—of an editor becoming a co-author? Wherever you come out about this, get the book. The 1981 version to be sure. (If you want all the gossipy details about the battle among editors, publishers, and widow, see the NY Times article linked below.)