What We Talk About When We Talk About Love: Book Review

“All this, all of this love we're talking about, it would just be a memory. Maybe not even a memory. Am I wrong? Am I way off base? Because I want you to set me straight if you think I'm wrong. I want to know. I mean, I don't know anything, and I'm the first one to admit it.” 

― Raymond Carver

I am really fed up. Fed up of these moronic hundred something fiction books, and the self-proclaimed Mythology books that butcher Mythology in many million ways. 

You might call me a mean person, but I had a tough time rummaging through book stores for decent Literature. (Of course, you always have the Classics and the Austen, but I was craving for a new writer.)

Like a spot of sunshine in dramatic moments, my brother sent me Raymond Carver's What We Talk About When We Talk About Love for my birthday. 

I have always wanted to read Raymond Carver but never got around to reading his books. Now that I have read two of his books, I absolutely love his work. 

What We Talk About When We Talk About Love is a collection of short stories. There is something utterly mysterious about these stories - stories that are poignant yet surreal. This collection is all about people without any education, logic or imagination whose lives revolve around depression, hatred, tender emotions, alcoholism, and love. 

And love is love, isn't it? Educated or not, imaginative or all, we all are intoxicated by that emotion that makes or breaks our world. 

The stories that were stuck in my head after reading are:

1. Everything Stuck to Him: Our parents always have a version of stories of our childhood. In this story, a father tells her young daughter how life was for everyone when she was a child.

2. Popular Mechanics: I could not stop imagining this story in my head. Bits and pieces, shreds and patches, this story left a huge impact on me for a day or two.

A couple has a conflict; the man packs his suitcase to leave; the woman swears and yells at him; and their baby is crying. They both want the baby and enter into a tug-of-war but the story ends with an ambiguity. The couple end up staying together.

It is a beautiful story and as you read it, you can vividly picture every scene in your mind.

But it is the final story that takes the hot cake. What We Talk About When We Talk About Love is the final story that talks about four friends who sit with around a bucket of ice with a bottle of gin inside it. They talk about love, and who doesn't want to know what we talk about when we talk about love?

This story (and the book) ends with these lovely lines that struck a chord with me:

"I could hear my heart beating. I could hear everyone's heart. I could hear the human noise we sat there making, not one of us moving, not even when the room went dark."

It is strange how some books become an integral part of your life, the characters that haunt you, the stories that make you curious about the writer. This book will always remain as one of the best books I have read because I met this book as a dear friend when I was looking for a relief.

You can buy the book here:

• ISBN-10: 0679723056
• ISBN-13: 978-0679723059
• Paperback: 176 pages
• Publisher: Vintage; Vintage Books ed edition (18 June 1989)
• Buy it here: http://www.amazon.in/What-Talk-About-When-Love/dp/0679723056

You Are High. You Don't Know It Yet.

“We were not a hugging people. In terms of emotional comfort it was our belief that no amount of physical contact could match the healing powers of a well made cocktail.” 

― David Sedaris

"You are high. Stop it now."

"I don't get high. I am perfectly normal. Oh, look I can perfectly walk with that 5 inch heel."

"Sure, you do. You walk with a panache."

Alright, this is one of those much cliched conversations that friends have. Drunk dialing, a weird habit, gives you mixed feelings. You feel miserable yet content; stupid yet happy; vexed yet pleasant.

The music keeps blaring in the background, some nondescript band, you feel a little buzzed and paint a hazy yet rosy picture of paradise. You feel ethereal. You hear your friends taking your name multiple times, and then one of them yells, "Someone snatch her phone."

Too late. The damage is done. 

"Save me." An unclear message that was sent from your phone to a stranger now. 

What? Just what were you thinking? Of course, in your defence, you weren't in the right senses. But did you just have to behave like a damsel in distress? Were you expecting a superhero to come rescue you? You retard! 

How many of us are actually familiar with situations like these? How many of us just don't give a second thought before doing nasty stuff when we are high? 

It is fun. I get it. You are young. You are meant to get wasted often. We all go overboard sometimes.

I have this friend who calls his lost friends only when he is drunk. He thinks it is fun. Little does he realize that he weeps the next morning! He confesses the little mistakes he has done. He whines about how the times have changed, complains about the quarter life crisis. Like most of us, the twenty somethings, he cannot clean his own mess. Sweet life!

The obsession of drunk dialing takes over you SO much that it gives you a whiplash. You wake up in the morning, your head heavy, your life disoriented, ashamed of the things you've done. It brings back all the painful memories of the past. Some tiny part of you, lost between the molasses of fat, or ugh, non-fat in your body wants to hold on to those memories, you go nostalgic, and whoa, you decide to humiliate yourself. Perfect! The bliss of getting alcohol in your body is all gone. It is not fun anymore. I mean look at you, you have turned into an emotional masochist.

But some lessons are meant to be learned the hard way!

So the next time you are drunk, cut yourself from the technology, survey the damage, and apologize. Let go of the things that make you want to drunk dial. They are destructive and not worth it.

Get a cup of coffee, laugh about it, and do some epic shit. I am certain most of the artists would agree with me on this, some of the best work is done when you are drunk, when your brain stops functioning, when you stop whacking yourself with practicality.

You get high.

You just don't know it yet.