sometimes i have a hard time putting words to how much a piece of art means to me. it’s like when i try to describe what paul westerberg’s music does to me. . . i just get all schmoopy-eyed and stuttery. it’s sort of like elvis costello said (it was costello, right?) “writing about music is like dancing about architecture.”

only i have the same problem writing about writing. or book. especially the books i love with so much passion that i just sort of sigh and hope that whomever i’m talking to can just pick up the meaning from the vibes i’m sending out.

today, i am sending out those vibes about Raymond Carver, because today is his birthday. i should have known he was a gemini.

carver is easily one of the top five short story writers this country has ever produced. ever. i could be so bold as to list who those five were, but i’d totally get shot down because i wouldn’t include Hemingway and i’d want to include someone really urrent like Julie Orringer or Ryan Harty or ZZ Packer or something like that. but anyway, i’m not here to talk about them. i’m here to talk about carver.

i only discovered Carver two years ago when taking Sweet Rob’s first writing class. it was an epiphany for me. it was like i had rediscovered literature. i had not been that turned on by words since i read John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany when i was 19. carver’s writing shook me and inspired me like nothing else had in years and years.

to honor him everyone should read Cathedral and soak in the majesty that is carver. when you’re done you can listen to a Real Audio discussion of Carver’s stories, you can read his essay A Storyteller’s Shoptalk or Two Interviews with Carver, his obituary or, if you’re one of those types you can go rent Short Cuts.