Raymond Carver is a man who entered my life at the cherry-ripe age of 22 and has since pinned me under his words. He’s one of the leading American writers who mastered a style of ubiquitous minimalism whilst creating full-bodied short stories; kind of like a strong stock horseman unnerved by hipster tricksters like David Foster Wallace. Like many others, he’s a man who died too early, lived hard, was depressed and left letters, poems, sketches, essays and stories piled on his desk.
Fires is a collation of sorts where readers get to gather his poems and reflections on life, family, unemployment and alcoholism and sew together a mottled patchwork of hardship. In this tribute edition, we get to see the man who struggled to become the writer that we know him for. At the age of 25 I am still pinned – maybe more than ever before.









