Self-enlargement in Raymond Carvers Cathedral Essay Example
Self-enlargement in Raymond Carvers Cathedral Essay Example

Self-enlargement in Raymond Carvers Cathedral Essay Example

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Raymond Carver's story "The Compartment" follows a man as he travels through the French countryside on a train to meet his long-lost son. The narrator describes the man, Meyers, occasionally spotting farmhouses surrounded by walls and considering this as a desirable way of living. Meyers, influenced by a sudden change of heart, decides to isolate himself in his train compartment instead. He chooses to stay on the train and breaks his promise to his son, shutting out everything outside of his narrow, self-centered world, including his paternal responsibilities (Cathedral 48).

The text explores Meyers's isolation in Cathedral, and compares it to the characters in previous volumes. In Will You Be Quiet, Please?, there is Slater and Arnold Breit who isolate themselves due to paranoia. In What We Talk About When We Talk About Love, James Packer expresses discontent with life's injustices. Cathedral pres

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ents even more extreme forms of isolation, such as a husband confining himself to a living room in "Preservation" and another character refusing to leave an attic garret in "Careful." Carver's characters effectively shut themselves off from the outside world, while also walling themselves in. This destructive behavior reflects their claustrophobic inner selves. However, Cathedral introduces instances where characters attempt to break free from their isolation. These rare moments of emergence are seen in both the subjects and events of the stories as well as how they are told. The process of opening up in closed-down lives is reflected in the discourse and structure of the narratives.

The process of "de-insulation" inevitably involves others. Closed-off individuals are influenced by unexpected people such as bakers, babysitters, blind men, or recovering alcoholics. These individuals bring fresh perspective

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and guidance that lead characters away from self-imposed constraints, even if not towards profound insight. Language and storytelling play a significant role in these interventions and influences. Separate identities merge and collaborate instead of clashing during these moments. Carver aims to portray the oppressive limitations of the human spirit, but Cathedral takes it further by depicting not only the suffocation and withering spirits of characters in chains but also the liberation that comes when those barriers temporarily come down.Carver demonstrates his engagement in the process of "opening up" as a writer, revealing fleeting gratifications and almost-joys that characters experience when their self-centeredness subsides and they feel a newfound freedom. However, some of Carver's characters find complete freedom just as terrifying as complete immobility, resulting in ironic confinement even within spacious and compassionate enclosures. This can be observed with characters like Arnold Breit in "Are You a Doctor?" or Lloyd in "Careful".

Whether they evoke the nostalgia of a childhood bedroom, the inviting aroma of a bakery, or the breathtaking beauty of a cathedral, these experiences all share one thing in common: they are enclosed spaces. However, in Carver's works, the characters strive to break free from the limitations of their own insecurities and addictions. They expand not only internally, but also reach out to connect with others and their stories. Through this process, they imagine larger and more open enclosures that provide enough space and light for their spirits to flourish. In the collection Cathedral, the characters are generally more isolated than ever before, disconnected from both their surroundings and themselves. Nevertheless, a few individuals like J.P. in "Where I'm Calling From" persevere in their efforts

to reclaim their lives. Through sharing stories and attempting to forge meaningful connections with others, they achieve a newfound awareness that is both remarkable and unparalleled.

The text emphasizes the idea that our collective sense of confinement can lead us to help one another in getting our lives back on track. The story "Where I'm Calling From" depicts a man's struggle with addiction while residing in an alcohol treatment facility. Unlike the characters in "The Compartment," "Preservation," and "Careful," who barricade themselves in ways that harm both themselves and others, the protagonist's voluntary confinement in "Frank Martin's drying out facility" (127) is positive and necessary. This character is reminiscent of Wes from "Chef's House," who is in a fragile state of recovery and ultimately relapses into alcoholism when his supportive summer retreat vanishes. Previously, the narrator (like many of Carver's narrators) has relied on alcohol as a means of numbing himself, with his addiction both stemming from and contributing to the deterioration of his marriage.

Upon arriving at Frank Martin's in a highly intoxicated state, the protagonist seeks solace from a previous harmful refuge. To his relief, he finds himself sitting on the porch with another individual in recovery named J.P., who proceeds to share an intriguing story. What is noteworthy throughout the narrative is Carver's decision to keep his characters stationed on the porch. This choice creates a sense of protection while simultaneously exposing them to the cold realities of the external world. Hence, the porch serves as a threshold between the internal security of their ongoing recovery and the allure, and perhaps peril, of the outside realm. It is on this porch that the narrator

and J.P. find themselves.

P. are simultaneously protected and exposed, with their physical environment serving as a representation of their transitional mental and emotional state. Just beyond the porch lies the "green hill" that Frank Martin mentions, leading to the former residence of renowned author Jack London, where he resided until his demise due to alcoholism (137). Further north lies the "Yukon," the fictional setting of London's "To Build a Fire," where, according to the narrator's later recollection, a person can actually perish from freezing if they cannot ignite a fire (146).

Despite being bundled up, London's figure is not insulated from the chill due to his wet clothes. Ironically, he is dressed similarly to the two strongest figures in Carver's story. J.P.'s wife, Roxy, wears a "coat" and "a heavy sweater," with her "big knuckles" having broken her husband's nose. Frank Martin, tough and resembling a "prizefighter," buttons his "sweater all the way up." As the story progresses, Carver's narrator sits alone on the porch, failing to recall or subconsciously omitting the sad conclusion of London's freezing death. The narrator, possibly still upset about Tiny's "seizure," chooses not to think of the severe consequences of ill-prepared exposure to the outside world. Additionally, the narrator does not remind himself that death had recently entered the sanctuary without claiming its prize.

Subject to bodily complaints, both J. P. and the narrator suffer from physical discomfort. J. P. experiences the "shakes" while the narrator occasionally experiences a "jerk in his shoulder". Similarly, Tiny, the overweight electrician from Santa Rosa, also faces physical challenges.

Both he and his friend are affected by biology and nature in different ways. Their bodies and

minds are adapting and compensating during the recovery process. Just like how love was once something that J.P. had no control over, causing his legs to tremble and overwhelming him with various sensations, the effects of drinking are only surpassed in intensity by death itself. This ultimate spasm originates both internally and externally, despite any attempts to isolate oneself. Before engaging further, Frank Martin suggests reading The Call of the Wild.

"We have it inside if you want to read something," the speaker offers. The piece of writing discusses a creature that is a fusion of a dog and a wolf, similar to London's creation. This animal symbolizes the narrator's own inner conflicts and opposing desires. During their initial encounter, Frank Martin privately approached the narrator, assuring, "We can assist you."

"If you want help and want to listen to what we say" (138), the narrator reflects on their uncertainty about whether they could receive assistance. They acknowledge a desire for help, but also acknowledge conflicting feelings. The narrator describes themselves as partially civilized and partially wild. They express a interest in protecting themselves from their own struggles and see their time at Frank Martin's place as an attempt at self-domestication. However, this attempt was unsuccessful the first time. The narrator warns that they are still facing challenges, describing the physical and emotional aftermath of addiction as a war of selves that leaves them and their friend trembling in their chairs.

Skenazy states that in this story, the narrator finds himself in a state of disintegration between women, homes, and drinks (83). However, it is during this state of being in-between selves that the narrator starts to accept

and understand disintegration, and starts to imagine ways to reintegrate and rebuild. His main desire is "to listen," as Frank Martin mentions, although he primarily listens to J. P., not Frank.

"Continue speaking, J. P.," he states early on (130), repeating similar phrases throughout the story like a refrain. "You must continue speaking," he says (136). The breaking down of a hardened sense of isolation requires active listening, as crucial for him as speaking is for J. P., and for Carlyle in "Fever," who overcomes a mental and physical ordeal by opening up about his suppressed struggles to a babysitter. Importantly, for this narrator, the process of opening up involves immersing oneself in the narrative of another, immersing oneself imaginatively in a conversation that arises from the collective act of storytelling, simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar.

According to Arthur Saltzman, the story initiates the continuation of the narrator's own story through both camaraderie and displacement, thus leading to recuperation (147). However, it is important to acknowledge that sharing stories also comes with dangers and benefits. In "Will You Please Be Quiet, Please," a seemingly content man becomes unraveled upon hearing his wife's tale of infidelity, which she tells him herself. Similarly, in "Sacks," a son, consumed by his own world, becomes completely estranged from his father after learning about his father's adultery and the subsequent ruin of their marriage. Overall, prior to Cathedral, narrative transactions have constituted risky exchanges.

However, in "Where I'm Calling From" and other stories in Cathedral, Carver challenges this perception. The narrator patiently listens to J.P.'s story, noting that it is actually helping them to relax.

"It's taking me away from my own situation" (134). However,

J. P.'s story does more than just help him "relax." Through listening and the active use of imagination that close listening entails, he is able to both distance himself from his own problems and gain a deeper understanding of them. J. P.'s story externalizes his inner crisis by linking their current situations and by including specific details in his friend's narrative, such as the unconventional inclusion of the "well."

The well that J.P. fell into as a boy is similar to the chimneys that he later works in as a chimney-sweeper. Both the well and the chimneys are narrow, tubular enclosures, and both symbolize imprisonment and insulation. The well also represents J.P.'s connection to the family who owns the chimney-sweeping business.

Both P. and J.P. perceive that they have reached a low point in their lives, recognizing the well as a representation of the challenging circumstances they are facing, whether willingly or not. They consider these to be gloomy situations from which they can only be saved with the assistance of others, much like J.

The narrator in the story is anxiously waiting for his "line out" at the bottom of a well. This drop-line symbolizes his desire to reform and functions like a telephone. By the end of the narrative, he has called his wife twice and is about to contact his "girlfriend" in an attempt to connect with important women in his life. However, it's worth noting that he remains unsure of his determination and still faces danger. In one of the final lines of the story, he considers calling his girlfriend first, suggesting that this "line out" might lead him back to destructive behavior due

to her drinking habits. The narrator feels torn between stability and the harshness of the outside world, caught between civilization and wilderness. This inner conflict indicates that he continues to struggle with himself.

With two layers of female protection shielding him from the outside world, the narrator has a mild obsession with the women in his life. Therefore, it is not surprising that his life and J. P.'s story finally intersect through a woman's kiss. Unlike the peacock in "Feathers," which represents unattainable happiness, Roxy's kiss brings hope and serves as a symbol of luck for the narrator. It highlights his reliance on women for security, as they have been a constant presence in his life, much like his previous dependence on alcohol or his recent fascination with J.'s captivating narrative.

P. shares a personal experience of feeling secure when their landlord came to paint their house. Upon waking up, P. and their spouse spotted an elderly man in white coveralls standing near a ladder outside, with the sun slowly rising over the mountains. It was clear to both P. and the landlord that they recognized each other.

Despite his oversized coveralls and need for a shave, he wears a baseball cap to conceal his bald head. I can't help but think that he is a peculiar old man, leading me to feel relieved that I am not him. Instead, I am grateful to be inside this bedroom with my wife, which fills me with happiness.

(145) Sitting on "the front steps" in the cold air beyond the porch, the narrator reminisces about the past. This memory is sparked by the kiss he receives from Roxy, before she and

J. P. go inside, leaving him alone outside. In his recollection, the narrator connects his "happiness" back then with being "inside" the bedroom with his wife. This not only implies the importance of women to his well-being but also highlights the benefits of certain walls and enclosures during certain times. On the outside, represented by a strange, skinny old man, there are reminders of hard work, old age, and what lies beyond - illness, decrepitude, and death. On the inside, however, there is security and leisure. This is symbolized by a laughing wife and the comforting warmth of a bed. The narrator acknowledges that his circumstances were just as secure back then as they are now.

The narrator's contact with an old man one morning is echoed by his contact with a younger man years later. This contact is closer now because both men are "outside" and are working together to find ways back in. The gesture of Roxy's kiss symbolizes the intersection of their lives and stories, which has started a process of recovery that might help them regain their path. This intersection is so important that it is even reflected in the structure of the story and how it develops.

With its disruptions in time and narrative continuity, the story "Where I'm Calling From" mirrors the psychic energies of the narrator. It wavers from man to man in its focus, intertwining the individual threads of their stories and lives. This fusion makes them come to seem oddly inseparable, like a brotherly textual knit. The story embodies and dramatizes our collective tendencies to discover ourselves in the stories of others, and to complicate other lives with

our own as we collaborate toward understanding and liberation from confinements. "A Small, Good Thing," on the other hand, brings together more disparate lives with equally serious problems. It tells the story of a couple dealing with the loss of a child and finding consolation haphazardly in the company of a baker. This story explores how fear, worry, and grief can cause people to break out of their habitual, self-preoccupied lives. The narratives of others serve as a cushion for the unsettling effects of these break-outs. Recovery in both stories involves "listening" as characters briefly enter into the lives of others through verbal interaction. However, in "A Small, Good Thing," Ann and Howard Weiss, the central figures, are simultaneously more stable and emotionally vulnerable compared to J.

Despite its subject, the story P. and his friend evokes a strong sense of affirmation. The liberating aspects of attentive listening are especially noticeable in this story. Carver effectively showcases what William Stull describes as "talk that works," demonstrating a fullness and optimism unlike any other story. Carver provides an answer to the recurring failures his characters experience throughout his books, as they consistently talk and listen with poor results.

With the new abundance of possibilities, the story itself expands and transforms, originally known as "The Bath", reflecting the psychological and spiritual growth happening within. The unnamed narrator describes Howard Weiss' avoidance of real danger and acknowledges the existence of forces that can potentially harm or destroy a person's life due to unfortunate circumstances. Luck plays a significant role in Howard's life, determining the outcome of his world and allowing forces to infiltrate his previously peaceful existence. These forces reveal

themselves through ominous calls from a baker after an initial blow. Howard, realizing his secure bubble is about to burst, remains inside his car in the driveway, feeling his leg tremble as he contemplates the seriousness of his situation.

In an attempt to handle the current situation in a logical manner, Howard's ability to control his movements suddenly becomes as unpredictable as Frank Martin's clients. Ann is similarly impacted, as her fear causes her teeth to chatter. It dawns on her that she and her husband are now involved in something difficult. Both Howard and Ann experience physical consequences akin to those faced by recovering alcoholics when confronted with an irrational and overpowering problem that renders rationality useless. Due to unfortunate circumstances, their previously secure and self-contained familial world is upended. As the central figure in the story, Ann appears to be more preoccupied and sensitive than her husband, not necessarily because she possesses a stronger parental attachment to the boy than Howard does, but because the story allows for more focus on her internal thoughts and emotions.

Despite Ann's intense preoccupation during their days-long vigil, she momentarily glimpses the walls around her, walls that were erected in the midst of catastrophe. According to the narrator, Ann realizes that she and her husband are together in this trouble for the first time after spending many hours in the hospital. She realizes that she had shut herself off from everything except her son and his condition and acknowledges that she had not allowed Howard in, even though he was there and needed all along. She feels glad to be his wife. The disruptive force of calamity clarifies their

situation in a way, but it also causes both Ann and her husband to project outward as they seek relief from their confinement, now filled with fear and dread. Worry, acting as insulation for them previously, now has them standing silently, staring out at the parking lot without saying anything.

The characters in the story have become so connected to one another that they are able to understand each other's emotions without even speaking. This level of connection is completely natural because they are all part of nature, which also explains their feeling of powerlessness. This connection prompts them to look out the window, similar to how J. P. and his friend stare from the porch. However, after Scotty dies, they will have to learn to be alone and readjust the dynamics of their marriage that were previously filtered through their son's presence.

The familiar sanctuary that was once available to them is now unavailable. Similar to "Where I'm Calling From," exchanging stories serves as a refuge, but in this case, it becomes an even more compensatory one. Ann and Howard find themselves in a bakery, abandoning the oppressive hospital environment and a house filled with painful memories for a warmer and more spacious setting. The narrative exchange taking place at the bakery serves as a "restorative measure" for the couple, mistakenly diagnosed by the doctor when referring to Scotty's "very deep sleep." The baker mends the Weisses as their son could not. This situation contrasts with J.

P. and his friend receive recovery from a speaker who lacks empathy for them, as he is completely different from them. "I don't have any children myself," says the baker

to Ann and Howard, "so I can only imagine what you must be feeling" (87). However, despite his inability to truly understand their sorrow, he uses his ability to "imagine" their pain as a starting point for sharing his own experience of "loneliness, and of...what it was like to be childless all these years." In doing so, he offers them the consolation of knowing that they understand what they are going to miss.

The husband and wife attentively listen, immersing themselves in the baker's narrative as a means of momentarily escaping their own lives. The narrator emphasizes their act of listening, stating that "they listened carefully" and specifically noting that "they listened to what the baker had to say" (88). Interestingly, Cathedral also explores the themes of hearing and listening in a less positive light. In the story "Careful," a man's inability to truly hear the world is symbolized by the physical obstruction of his ear with wax. Likewise, in "Vitamins," there is a portrayal of a more general type of deafness represented by a severed and dried-out human ear. However, in other stories such as "Fever" and "Where I'm Calling From," characters actively engage their sense of hearing, resulting in personal growth and improvement.

"I have ears," proclaims the blind man in "Cathedral," affirming that despite his handicap, he believes in the continuous pursuit of knowledge (222). In "Intimacy," one of Carver's later stories, the narrator, who is a fiction writer, describes himself as "all ears" as he delves into the notion of writers extracting experiences (as seen previously in "Put Yourself in My Shoes"), but also as individuals who listen attentively in order to reconstruct

memories and experiences, ultimately bringing order to their chaotic pasts. In "A Small, Good Thing," the act of telling and listening becomes especially evident as beneficial and healing activities. However, it is not so much the content of the stories that is essential, but rather the process of narrating. J. P.'s friend expresses an interest in this process when he says, "I was intrigued."

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P.'s tale is about someone who talks about how they would have been willing to listen if someone had told a story about starting to pitch horseshoes. Ann and Howard, who are involved in the baker's tale, find solace in listening to this story and temporarily escape the harsh reality of their current situation. They are able to move forward from their grief by immersing themselves in the sheltered life of their host. Despite the darkness outside, the bakery is filled with light from the ovens and the sweet rolls they enjoy. They are rejuvenated by the warmth and the empathy they experience together, making them content to stay. The story, "A Small, Good Thing," offers a glimmer of hope and the potential for self-renewal. It is longer than Carver's original version, "The Bath," making it the longest story he ever included in his collection.

The revised version of this story in Cathedral reflects a sense of "opening up" that is present in Carver's book and not found in any of his other books. The original story, "The Bath," takes place in a shadowy and confined world where characters find solace in a bathtub. However, in the revised version, we are transported to a brighter setting - an indoor bakery filled

with light, conversation, and empathy. Here, characters are not necessarily redeemed from their miseries, but they are comforted and realize that loneliness, hardship, and death are natural aspects of life. They understand that they are not alone. This "fuller" version of the story exemplifies how style can limit an artist, and it suggests that Carver is capable of breaking free from confining environments as both an artist and a person. This liberation allows for a greater understanding of himself and his craft.The title story, "Cathedral," showcases a character who is incredibly isolated, which makes his emergence more striking than ever before. His self-imposed barriers, fueled by insecurities and biases, leave him disconnected from the world and from himself. He relies on substances like alcohol and drugs, all the while lacking any true companionship. Similar to the characters in "A Small, Good Thing" and "Where I'm Calling From," he is presented with an opportunity to break free from his isolation. However, in his case, it is not a story that prompts this change, but rather a subtle nonverbal exchange between him and Robert, his blind guest.

In Carver's stories, the characters often struggle to communicate effectively. However, the protagonist in this particular story manages to overcome his struggle and make a meaningful connection. His attempt at communication ultimately liberates himself. It's not surprising that this narrator lives a sheltered life in a confined world. Similar to Howard and Ann, his world is suddenly disrupted when his wife's friend enters his life. He confesses that having a blind man in his house is not something he welcomes. Later on, he realizes that this same blind man will be

staying overnight in his house.

According to Skenazy, the narrator's territorial and insecure impulses create tension between him and the blind man (82). The narrator's hostility towards the blind man is influenced by the blind man's connection to the narrator's wife's past and her independent nature, particularly her previous marriage which the narrator is fixated on. Even though he is both intrigued and hesitant to hear the blind man's story, he indirectly seeks validation and affirmation through his wife's relationship with Robert. Similar to J.P.'s friend, this man's self-assurance relies on his bond with a woman, which he constantly needs reassurance of; however, his wife refuses to provide him with the validation he desires. When discussing his wife's conversation with Robert in the living room, he expresses disappointment that his name was not mentioned (218).

The protagonist's quest for self-awareness seems to revolve around constantly measuring and protecting the authoritarian status of his own name. One year prior, he was taken aback when he heard his name being mentioned by a stranger on a taped conversation, whom he referred to as "this blind man" (212). In an effort to assert his identity over his wife's, he covers up her past just as he has done with his present, by being self-absorbed. When summarizing her previous life, he dismisses her ex-husband by simply calling him her "officer," questioning the importance of giving him a name (211). He is not an ideal listener, as he primarily focuses on validating himself and disregards everything else, such as Robert's marriage, which he considers to be "beyond his understanding" (213).

Robert, the invader in the house, is insulated physically but left in the

dark due to his handicap. He is extremely outgoing and friendly, having engaged in various activities such as running a sales distributorship, traveling in Mexico, and broadcasting ham radio. Unlike the narrator's host, Robert's activities bring him out into the world. His booming voice has reached as far as Alaska and Tahiti before entering the narrator's home. This sets him apart from the baker and J.

P.--Robert, a man characterized by a strong personality, serves as a durable guide for his host. He helps his host break out of a shell of restraint. Despite dealing with his own grief over the loss of his wife, Robert listens attentively and takes charge when the narrator fails to describe what he sees on television. Reacting to his host's admission of verbal impotence, Robert suddenly becomes activated and says, "Hey, listen to me." He then asks for a favor and shares an idea.

"Why don't you find us some heavy paper and a pen? We'll do something. Let's draw one together. Get us a pen and some heavy paper. Go on, bub, get the stuff" (226).

Robert's initiative in addressing the narrator's flaws, as well as his overall approach to finding a solution, implies that verbal limitations and the underlying issues they represent can be as disabling as physical blindness, arising from deliberate ignorance or oversight. The way Robert deals with the situation ultimately demonstrates that disabilities are primarily hurdles to be overcome. Michael Vander Weel emphasizes that in this story, the majority of communication occurs through collaborative non-verbal work, serving as a form of expression that ceases the reliance on words.

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