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I wanted the first book I read in 2018 to be special, and this classic selection of stories by Raymond Carver � the final book he published during his lifetime (he died in 1988 at the incredibly young age of 50) � fit the bill.

Here, presented in chronological order, are 37 stories representing more than two decades� work. Some of them are among the most powerful and influential works of short fiction published in the late 20th century.

Most are written in a clear, unpretentious voice that’s suffused with wisdom and hearty good humour but also a particular kind of pathos that Carver captured � and knew � so well.

His characters are ordinary people, often from the Pacific Northwest, struggling to get by and faced for the time of the story with a significant complication. A couple’s child might be in a coma after being struck by a car on his birthday (“A Small, Good Thing�); a man might draw on his own history of violence to defend his son accused of stealing a bicycle (“Bicycles, Muscles, Cigarettes�); another man might worry about his restless, constantly dissatisfied elderly mother (“Boxes�).

Most of these stories are about marriages breaking up, slowly or suddenly. The marriage might have broken up already, and a man (it’s usually a man) can’t deal with it � he drops by his ex-wife’s home after he’s trashed it in a jealous rage during the Christmas holidays (“A Serious Talk�); he’s tasked with finding a babysitter/housekeeper for his two children (“Fever�); he’s obsessed with a blockage in his ear while living on his own and constantly drinking champagne (“Careful�).

Several stories feature male protagonists who are out of work while their wives take on jobs (“They’re Not Your Husband,� “Put Yourself In My Shoes,� “Are These Actual Miles?,� “Vitamins�).

And, oh yeah, there are drinkers. Lots of drinkers. Many conversations take place in a boozy haze of distraction and false cheer.

One of the saddest stories I’ve ever read is called “Gazebo,� about a couple who have holed themselves up in a room at the motel where they work while they drink and hash out their marital problems, ignoring the customers at reception.

It contains the following paragraph about the couple’s relationship to alcohol:

Drinking’s funny. When I look back on it, all of our important decisions have been figured out when we were drinking. Even when we talked about having to cut back on our drinking, we’d be sitting at the kitchen table or out at the picnic table with a six-pack or whiskey.

And this one line in the story simply yet profoundly captures their end-of-the-line desperation: "There was this funny thing of anything could happen now that we realized everything had.� Wow.

Reading these stories in a short period of time made me sensitive to some of Carver’s techniques:

* The faux epiphany: In my review of Carver’s Cathedral, I already pointed out his sometimes contrived use of the narrator simply stumbling upon an epiphany. I noticed it here too. �I don’t know why, but it’s then I recall the affectionate name my dad used sometimes when he was talking to my mother.� (“Boxes�); and �I’d like to say it was at this moment, as I stood in the fog watching her drive off, that I remembered a black-and-white photograph of my wife holding her wedding bouquet.� (“Blackbird Pie�) These passages are like the author nudging us to think: "Oh, here's the significance."

* The story within the story. Carver is excellent at having characters tell tales within tales. And sometimes, as in “Whoever Was Using This Bed� and “The Student’s Wife,� the story will become a monologue. (Incidentally, both of these stories feature insomniacs.) As someone who watches a lot of plays, I’m sad Carver didn’t write for the theatre. His dialogue is so good. (Yes, I know the films Birdman and Short Cuts draw on his work.)

* The humour. I didn’t appreciate just how funny Carver could be until I read “What Do You Do In San Francisco?�, a story narrated by a postman who tells us about a “beatnik� couple who move into the neighbourhood on his route. The man’s nosiness and judgements on the young couple (perhaps modelled after the young Carver and his then wife/girlfriend?) are so amusing I literally laughed out loud while reading them.

* He shows, doesn't tell. Carver can describe a gesture that, in a few words, precisely captures what a person’s thinking. He doesn’t have to tell you someone’s depressed or sad. By showing you what they’re doing, you know that.

***
Sigh. Writing all this makes me a little dissatisfied. Picking apart Carver’s stories like this takes away a bit of their magic. There’s a mystery at the heart of stories like “Fat,� “Cathedral,� “A Small, Good Thing,� “Fever,� “Why Don’t You Dance?� and “Are These Actual Miles?� that should stay mysteries. They suggest profound things about the human condition: our frailties, our contradictions, our attempts at redemption.

Much has been written about Carver's final published story, “Errand,� a loose retelling of the death of Russian playwright and short story master Chekhov.

The setting, of course, is far removed from Carver’s other fiction, and I’m sure it was inspired by the author’s feelings about his own impending death. But what you realize is that it’s not the grand event itself that captures Carver’s interest but the little things happening on the sidelines, the small moments that only an artist like this � surely Chekhov's equal in his insight into human behaviour � could capture, honour and make real and memorable.