š«Quick note up top! Please do consider staying in touch with your creative self during the holidays when the world and the family demands so much from us! Iām offering a Writersā Advent(ure) calendar! Everyday a prompt will land in your inbox. Have some fun. Start a habit. š«
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Bonjour-Bonjour,
Invited to coffee with new chic French friends, I slicked on red lipstick and headed to the cafĆ©. After the round of double kisses, the theatre of attracting the waiterās attention and placing an order, we settled in to chat. Bien sur, I understood only every 9th word, but I kept my nose above water as we parler-ed about the difficulties of home repair, le jardin, ice skating, le clime. We watched people stroll by, sipped the coffee and tea. How lucky I felt.
When one of the women launched into a long histoire about a baker who lost his religionā¦ at least thatās what I think her story was aboutā¦ I was completely at sea. Did I ask for clarity? Nope. I sat up straight. I nodded vigorously. I made listening sounds (Iāve noticed the French make a small and curtā¦ mmm sound).
Soon I began thinking about bread and religion. Bread and transubstantiation. About loss. I came straight away a short story that made me fall in love with writing. āA Small Good Thing,ā by Raymond Carver (published in 1983). I read the story in my early 20s and even now, writing this note, I remember being swamped with sorrow and awe.
The story, which you absolutely should read, is about a mother ordering a birthday cake for her child, and then her child, Scotty, is hit by a car. I donāt want to spoil it for you, but things donāt go well. The cake languishes in the bakery. The baker, who seems to be lonely and grumpy, is upset, until the final scene when the parents and the baker come together in the very early morning.
āSmell this,ā the baker said, breaking open a dark loaf. āItās a heavy bread, but rich.ā They smelled it, then he had them taste it. It had the taste of molasses and coarse grains. They listened to him. They ate what they could. They swallowed the dark bread. It was like daylight under the fluorescent trays of light. They talked on into the early morning, the high, pale cast of light in the windows, and they did not think of leaving.
The sceneā¦ oh my god! (Some find it sentimental but not me.) The breaking open of the dark loaf, all the sensory involvement, the bread ālike daylight,ā is the sort of transubstantiation I can believe in. The characters yearn for connection in the face of tragedy.
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When there was a lull in our conversation at the cafĆ©, I asked if either woman knew of the story. Connaissez-vous lāhistoire? And then I told the entire thing, to the point where I had tears spilling. I was moved by my telling! I was moved that Iād done it in French! And, well yes, of course I was moved by Raymond Carverās story. Her story was about a baker losing religion. Carverās story is about a baker finding a new religion.
La vie est dolour et pain. Life is suffering and bread.
Life is also connection.
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You may know there are two versions of the story. āA Small Good Thing,ā was famously edited to within an inch of its life by Gordon Lish, Carverās scalpel handed editor, to become āThe Bath,ā (published in 1981). Sparse and spare, no one declares āThe Bathā sentimental. Personally, I find this version cold and menacing. The story is not at all about connection. In fact, the entire final scene is cut. Dear Readers, that is not the world I want to live in. Apparently Ray Carver felt the same way, because in a letter to Lish, whom he loved, just before publication of āThe Bath,ā he said:
Iām still in the process of recovery and trying to get well from the alcoholism, and I just canāt take any chancesā¦ You have made so many of [my] stories better, my God, with the lighter editing and trimming. But these three [of which āA Small Good Thing was one], I guess, Iām liable to croak if they came out [the way you have changed them]. Even though they may be closer to works of art than the original ā¦ theyāre still apt to cause my demise, Iām serious, [my drafts are] so intimately hooked up with my getting well, recovering, gaining back some little self-esteem and feeling of worth as a writer and a human being.
This letter causes me much distress. Carver fought for āA Small Good Thing,ā his story of compassion rather than Lishās cold version. He felt his story was linked to his recovery, to his humanity. And yet, for reasons unbeknownst to me, Lish won. Two years later Carverās favored version was published.
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Oh-la! English majors, woohoo!ā¦ look what I was able to bring to my first French coffee date!
Thanks for reading. I hope your day is filled with delicious bread! If youāre not yet a paid subscriber and you wish to send a little love my way:
If you missed the last few jewelsā¦ no fear! Here are a few everyone seemed to love: re: coffee cups. beans. boobs. doors.
To stay in the loop:
Tell your people you love them, and take care of your skin!
PS.
I woke up in the middle of the night with this lyric circling my brain:
And all this love is waiting for you
My baby, my darling
And all, all my love is waiting for you
Thanks so much for these posts from France. Each one is a little hit of being there. (I try to contain my envy.) And for the reminders about books and stories, the photos of bread!
Most delightful