The
New Yorker
‘s “Winter Fiction” issue was just published; it contains a couple of eye-opening pieces by and about one of Humboldt County’s most notable writers of fiction: Raymond Carver.
In
an unsigned essay
, the magazine reveals that what we have come to think of as Carver’s ultra-sparse style was actually the work of his editor, Gordon Lish, who slashed the troubled, alcoholic writer mercilessly throughout most of Carver’s career:
In the years after the publication of “Will You Please Be Quiet, Please?,” Carver wrote a series of stories dwelling on alcoholism and wrecked marriages. They were eventually published under a title recommended by Lish: “What We Talk About When We Talk About Love.” According to the professors William L. Stull and Maureen P. Carroll, who, with the coöperation of Tess Gallagher, have been doing scholarly work on Carver, Lish mailed Carver an edited manuscript in the spring of 1980 containing sixteen of the seventeen stories that eventually appeared in the book. Lish had cut the original manuscript by forty per cent, eliminating what he saw as false lyricism and sentiment. Then, while Carver and Gallagher were attending a writers’ conference, Lish edited the manuscript yet again, had it retyped, and sent the pages back to Syracuse, where Carver was now living and teaching.
Carver apparently acknowledged that the success of his early collections was at least partly due to Lish’s swordsmanship, but later he rebelled.
Now Carver’s widow, Tess Gallagher, is attempting to bring out original versions of the stories that appeared in
What We Talk About When We Talk About Love
. The
New Yorker
publishes Carver’s draft of the title story
, which he called “Beginners.”
This article appears in Inside Out.
This is not a new story. It surfaced several years ago and was followed by indignant denials by Carver’s buddy Richard Ford, among others. The claim: that Lish was on an ego trip. He isn’t the first editor to be so accused.
At this point, Carver is still dead and Lish still has a career to think about.
I suppose the Gallagher “original versions” will add a new twist, but if Carver had wanted them published he could have done so himself.
I don’t recall where I read it, but Carver apparently lived in a motel room in McKinleyville for a short time. Which one, I do not know.
It was the Bella Vista. I remember that from the Carver documentary I saw way back when. The filmmakers dramatized some of his stories, and they shot one of those dramatizations at the Bella Vista for authenticity’s sake.
Yes, he walked the walk.
Nevertheless, Lish expects us to believe that Carver’s stunning writing amounted to little more than a few stylistic tricks cooked up by Lish in his New York office.
Gordon: Your dedication to the man is touching, but the article makes a pretty convincing case, doesn’t it? Maybe it’s the editor in me flattering myself…
I haven’t yet down and read “Beginners” side by side with “What We Talk About,” but sure I look forward to the experience.
Here’s one of the earlier–and kinder–takes on Lish’s attempt to take credit for his author’s work. Richard Ford was less kind in the New Yorker (I think!) a few years ago.
http://donswaim.com/nytimes.carverchronicles.html
Note too the comments on Lish’s many enemies…
Well, the plot thickens. My wife knows I am a Carver fan so she brought home the current New Yorker. Last night I read the Carver article and the so-called “original draft.”
A good editor can certainly help a writer, however, the writer-editor relationship has got to be one of the most toxic business arrangements out there. In fact, it come close to landlord/tenant on the toxicity scale. Like so many writers, Carver assumed his editor was his friend. He wasn’t. He was a representative of a powerful corporation whose only aim was to make a buck. Lish was management, Carver was way down the labor scale. This is quite clear in their correspondence where Carver is constantly kissing up to Lish as a soul buddy and muse, only to get impersonal business letters in reply.
The writer’s life is infected with parasites. Now that Carver is dead we get an major New Yorker article blithely calling into question his authorship. And it’s unsigned.
Nevertheless, we’re asked to believe in the authenticity of a new draft of one of Carver’s masterpieces–which also makes Carver look bad.
Carver finally dropped Lish over an editorial dispute–and then went on to write more great stories and poems.
I rest my case.
Gordon, you’re fired up! I like it!
I haven’t yet gone through the thing side by side like I’ve been hoping to — pre-Xmas hell — but I did discover this handy online companion feature. And just a few minutes breezing through it is enough to convince me, anyway, that the story that came in is a very different story than the one that went out.
Rightly or wrongly, Carver is associated with a clinical, minimalist style. Rightly or wrongly, that style is one of the major reasons Carver is celebrated. Regardless of its other merits, “Beginnings” doesn’t have that style.
Down to the names. The specific, slightly unusual “Carl” replaced with the ultra-flat and generic “Ed.”
Are you thinking that the draft is a fake?
Hank: Rule #1–When attempting to destroy the reputation of one of America’s literary lions, sign your name to the death sentence.
Otherwise, yes, it could be you who is faking it, not the dead–and conveniently defenseless– writer. Who the hell knows who wrote this thing. We do know that Tess Gallagher has been hurting for cash and that Lish made enemies everywhere he went.
I don’t know what The New Yorker pays for a feature these days, but without the dirt, I doubt anyone would have published this thing.
You’re right; it doesn’t sound much like the Carver we love. Proving? Perhaps, that Carver made the right choice when he ditched Lish.
Anyway, it will be interesting to see what turns up in The New Yorker’s letters column in the next few issues.