Beginners (Vintage Contemporaries)
Raymond Carver
Language: English
Pages: 240
ISBN: 0307947920
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Here is the original manuscript of Raymond Carver’s seminal 1981 collection, What We Talk About When We Talk About Love. Carver is one of the most celebrated short-story writers in American literature—his style is both instantly recognizable and hugely influential—and the pieces in What We Talk About . . ., which portray the gritty loves and lives of the American working class, are counted among the foundation stones of the contemporary short story. In this unedited text, we gain insight into the process of a great writer. These expansive stories illuminate the many dimensions of Carver’s style, and are indispensable to our understanding of his legacy.
Text established by William L. Stull and Maureen P. Carroll
shock. In shock cases this kind of reaction is common enough; it’s a temporary reaction to bodily trauma. Coma—well, coma is a deep, prolonged unconsciousness that could go on for days, or weeks even. Scotty’s not in that area, not as far as we can tell, anyway. I’m just certain his condition will show improvement by morning. I’m betting that it will, anyway. We’ll know more when he wakes up, which shouldn’t be long now. Of course, you may do as you like, stay here or go home for a while, but by
Please,” the man said, “let me ask you if you can find it in your hearts to forgive me?” It was warm in the bakery and Howard stood up from the table and took off his coat. He helped Ann from her coat. The baker looked at them for a minute and then nodded and got up from the table. He went to the oven and turned off some switches. He found cups and poured them coffee from an electric coffeemaker. He put a carton of cream on the table, and a bowl of sugar. “You probably need to eat something,”
and my heart turns. Where is he? I say. Where is Dean? Outside, he says. Stuart, I’m so afraid, so afraid, I say, leaning against the door. What are you afraid of, Claire? Tell me, honey, and maybe I can help. I’d like to help, just try me. That’s what husbands are for. I can’t explain, I say. I’m just afraid. I feel like, I feel like, I feel like… He drains his glass and stands up, not taking his eyes from me. I think I know what you need, honey. Let me play doctor, okay? Just take it easy
far side of the pond, near where the water rushed out, gazing into the rapids. In a while he looked up and saw us. We broke suddenly and fled the way we’d come, running like frightened rabbits. “I can’t help but feel sorry for old Dummy, though,” Father said at dinner one night a few weeks later. “Things are going all to hell for him, that’s for sure. He brought it on himself, but you can’t help feeling sorry for him anyway.” Father went on to say George Laycock saw Dummy’s wife sitting in the
the table with the flat of his hand. The ashtray jumped. His glass fell on its side and rolled toward Bea. “You’re crazy, Bea, do you know that? Where’d you pick up all this crap? That’s what it is too. It’s crap, Bea.” “That’s enough, L.D.,” Maxine said. She unbuttoned her coat and put her purse down on the counter. She looked at him and said, “L.D., I’ve had it. So has Bea. So has everyone who knows you. I’ve been thinking it over. I want you out of here. Tonight. This minute. And I’m doing