Here is what I've been watching, reading or listening to over the past week:
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Wow. Thanks for thinking of me. As for classifying Carver as noir, it would take a very loose interpretation of the genre to do so. However, I believe noir at times goes beyond its traditional crime fiction roots. Books like "Mildred Pierce" and "Day of the Locust" would fall into this loose definition. (One has to remember that despite the murder in the film version, James M. Cain's "Pierce" doesn't contain a crime at all.) Another novel that qualifies is "They Shoot Horses Don't They?", while it does have a murder trial at the center of the book, the focus is more on the desperate lives of its main characters.
I'm more inclined to classify any dark and tragic story (at least with a modern - or dystopic - setting) as noir or at least containing shades of noir. And I think that's where Carver's stories are, in the shadows of genre.
You will have to forgive me, but my knowledge of Carver is limited to about 15 or so of his stories and Robert Altman's film. I really don't remember the titles of the stories, but hopefully you'll know which stories I'm talking about.
My favorite definition of noir was given to me by a mentor who said that noir fiction is working class tragedy, which could describe Carver's stories. They are very solemn indeed. My favorite of his is the one with the yard sale and record player and the woman who dances - sorry I can't remember the title - but that story is very tragic.
Another story that could be considered noir is "The Train" (I think that's the title), which was a continuation of John Cheever's "Five Forty-Eight", which I consider to be a crime story. The extension of that story that examines a woman who nearly kills her ex-lover is a portrayal of a wouldbe killer; however not the immoral monster that often populate crime fiction, just an ordinary woman brought to the edge.
Many people mistake the hardboiled prose of Raymond Chandler as a necessity for noir fiction, which it is not. Dashiell Hammett's language was very sparse, employing the technique of simple language to express complex subtext - which Carver famously came to perfect and he is best known for. A recent example of using minimalism in noir fiction is the work of Irish crime writer Ken Bruen who is simply a master of sparse language and an appropriate successor to Carver. I've used the techinque myself with satisfying results. Bleak situations that expose emotions so raw and naked cry out for prose that doesn't hide beneath ornate language and description - sometimes it requires writing that lays it bare. So, again, the hardboiled language of Chandler and Mikey Spillaine is not a requirement.
Carver may not find a solid footing among Ross MacDonald or Lawrence Block on the crime fiction shelf, but I don't believe he is far away. Classifications of literature is a funny thing that many people see as absolutes; they think stories must fit in one category only, which is a foolsih notion- however one that is endorsed by booksellers in this country (European bookstores tend to shelf crime fiction with literary fiction. I'm not sure about other genres like sci-fi and romance.)
So, to answer your question, I would tend to say that Carver's writing leans toward noir with the only thing stopping the majority of people from embracing the idea is the presence of crime. Carver could easily incorporate criminals and criminality without loosing an ounce of his power.
OK, fuckhead. The sheer fact that you're talking about strict guidelines within genres only proves that you have no clue. Let's talk about these idiot polluters who mess with the genre lines, I mean real assholes, like Jonathan Lethem, Michael Chabon, Charlie Huston, Duane Swierczynski, Walter Mosley, Stephen King, Joyce Carol Oates, Jorge Luis Borges, Caleb Carr, Scott Phillips, Sara Gran, Richard Russo - I mean, the world is full of ignorant people that you're going to need to educate. How will you ever find the time?
Now Mr. BFA, oh, I'm sorry, Mr. sophmore year BFA, you don't know what the hell you are talking about. You seemed to find it OK to mess around with a guy who knows more about genre theory than you do about that small stump between your thighs that you like to call a dick. Yeah, I'm thinking a couple of MFA's trump your three semesters as a "writer."
I'm having a real bad week and guess what, you've just become my whipping boy. What I want you to think about tonight when you crawl into bed and grab hold of your tiny prick, before you start jerking off to pictures from the Sears Wishbook, I want you to think about all those stories that are crowding your desk drawer, or your computer's hard drive; you know the ones, those stories that aren't being published; think about all the rejections. They aren't worth it, are they? You know deep inside that the tap tap tap that your fingers type out only lead to third-rate material that wouldn't entertain the world's most ignorant Seventh grader. Then think about whatever pathetic writing group that would have you as a member, imagine all those people reading your shitty manuscripts, giving you "constructive" criticism. You've sat there and compared yourself to them, rating each one as better or worse than you, trying to figure out who the best writer of the group is; I'm thinking that you're not at the top. Now, I'm going to tell you something: these peers don't like your writing. They hate your stuff. They force themselves to skim over your material and scrawl half-ass, benign comments in the margins. You know those notes that don't make any sense, that make it so obvious that the reader didn't even read the manuscript. These peers sit in bed and read certain sentences aloud to their wives, boyfriends, dogs and then laugh; their wives, boyfriends and dogs laughing right with them. If anything, you've made a couple of people feel better about their own talent because they see what the "competition" is like.
I mean, come on, if someone whose work you absolutely hate can get published in places that you've only been rejected, what kind of self comment is that? You don't think your writing is that good. Every time you turn a corner, there's a brick wall; you can't find a way out of this maze. And guess what? There isn't one for you. That little voice that tells you that you're no good and should give up is right. Abandon that pathetic dream of ever becoming a writer. Hurry up and switch your major before you waste another three-and-a-half years.
Oh, and do you know what else you can do? You can lick my hairy ball sack, you ignorant douche bag. Go fuck yourself.
Wow. Look at those awesome graphics.
World of Warcraft can never compete with the greatness of ZORK.
Leno
Hicks
Love Child
(Bangor Daily News/Bridget Brown)
Someone needs a little manscaping