Raymond Carver's "Cathedral"

Last week, we read Raymond Carver’s “Cathedral” in my English 102 class. In preparation for class that day, I did a little online reading to brainstorm for some discussion topics and stumbled upon this article by Samantha Gillison from January 2000.

“What would you do if you made the uncomfortable discovery that the most imitated writer in America might have lifted the plot, characters and theme of one of his most famous stories?

Well, for starters, you might try to dismiss the charges. Any old literary saw would do the trick. After all, everyone knows that Shakespeare cribbed his plots, that good writers borrow and great ones steal, and that all literary artists struggle under what Harold Bloom calls "the anxiety of influence." Maybe, as some have said, there are really only a few basic narratives, and a writer can only come up with different ways of telling them. But what if the similarities between two stories by two acknowledged masters were just too close to be easily brushed aside? If you were D.H. Lawrence scholar Keith Cushman*** and believed you had stumbled upon a brilliant rewrite of one of the master's tales you might draft a letter to the most influential short-story writer of your time. And Raymond Carver just might write you back.”

Great hook, right? It’s a fascinating read, as Gillison discusses how Carver’s most famous story might have been influenced (perhaps too light a word in this case) by D.H. Lawrence's “The Blind Man,” a story I haven’t read myself (or even heard of before this article).

As she examines what Carver said about the Lawrence story and puts together a bit of a literary criticism detective tale for us, Gillison also makes some smart points about the (ultimately impossible) quest for originality with which writers often struggle. She also asks great questions about what difference it makes to readers when we find out the “original” texts we loved are, in fact, influenced by other texts:

“But unacknowledged, unconscious ‘borrowing’ or no, what does all of this matter when Carver's fiction has given so many people so much pleasure? All artists (from great to lousy) in all media from time immemorial have borrowed and stolen, reinterpreted and reworked the art and ideas of their predecessors and contemporaries. It's the nature of creativity. So who cares if Carver shoplifted some ideas? Isn't Lady Chatterly herself a descendant of Emma Bovary? Isn't the most famous blind man of them all Oedipus Rex? And, as Professor Cushman suggests, isn't Lawrence himself working closely with Sophocles' ideas in his story? Yet, in the end, isn't there a line between being influenced and knocking off someone else's work?

Nevertheless, to suggest such an influence and to note Carver's denial of it can't fail to be seen as throwing down a gauntlet. Even in our era of sampling, of pastiche as high art and of the endless Hollywood remake, we still cherish originality as a cultural ideal, especially when it comes to the hallowed practice of literature.”

By the end of the article, there’s pretty convincing proof that, despite his denials, Carver had read Lawrence’s story, although that’s not really the important question. More important is why he felt the need to deny doing so. Again, by examining just what “Cathedral” and its acclaim meant to Carver, his reputation, and his place in the canon, she comes up with some interesting answers.

In the end, it’s kind of sad that Carver felt the need (apparently) to deny lawrence’s influence, especially if, as Gillison speculates, he does so because he feared estimation of his own story would suffer. “Cathedral” is an amazing story, whether influenced by Lawrence or not. In fact, the Lawrence connection almost makes it more interesting to me. For the record, my students enjoyed it, too—no small feat for a group of non-majors. I’ll end with Gillison’s conclusion:

“What then to make of this man who clearly saw himself as first and foremost a writer of literature, an art that he in turn claimed was of little more significance than bowling a rubber on a Saturday night? Nothing Carver himself didn't already identify and write in his stories for us: ambivalence, insecurity, ambition, need, cowardice and hope -- all the demons that beset the soul who wants to be Somebody. But judging from Carver's enduring popularity and beloved status with a whole new generation of short-story writers and readers, he needn't have worried.”

***Another reason this article really caught my eye? Dr. Cushman teaches at UNCG. I never worked with him while I was there, but I did know him and once wrote a short review of a collection of essays on D.H. Lawrence that he edited. I’ve gotta say, it’s pretty cool to think he wrote a letter to Carver—and that Carver wrote back. When you write about nineteenth-century American authors, that never happens.