Fat by Raymond Carver

'Tis Carveresque.

Even though Raymond Carver is one of my favorite short-story writers, it's quite shocking to discover that I have never reviewed one of his works on this blog! This has to be rectified right away. 

Carver’s mastery of the short-story form is evident in Fat, a piece that might struggle to find a home in today’s publishing landscape, potentially dismissed as fatphobic—an interpretation that would entirely miss the point. What makes Carver’s writing so compelling is his ability to distill profound human experiences from the seemingly mundane. His signature terseness, ambiguity, and elliptical storytelling effectively transform the trivial into moments of quiet revelation.

The premise of Fat is deceptively simple: the female narrator recounts a shift at the diner where she serves an unusually large man. Their brief interaction unsettles her in ways she can’t quite articulate, leaving both her and the reader grasping at the edges of some ineffable realization. While she senses that something within her has shifted, she is unable to define it, and Carver, true to form, refuses to impose a clear resolution. Instead, he presents only the suggestion of an awakening—a fleeting, intangible transformation.

One possible interpretation is that her encounter with the fat man triggers an awareness of her own dissatisfaction with her life, particularly in her stagnant marriage. She notes that her husband makes her feel fat when he lies on top of her during sex, a detail that, while seemingly offhand, hints at deeper emotional and physical alienation. Yet, Carver doesn’t spell out whether this realization will lead to any real change in her life. The story ends with lingering uncertainty. What exactly has shifted in the narrator’s perspective? How does she believe her life is going to change, if at all?

These unanswered questions are essential to Carver’s aesthetic. His stories are not about dramatic revelations or neatly packaged morals but about the texture of real life—messy, complex, unresolved, and often filled with little moments that hint at something larger. Fat exemplifies his brand of literary minimalism and “dirty realism,” capturing the quiet desperation, longing, and ennui of middle-class existence. These slice-of-life narratives refuse easy explanations, leaving readers with the lingering sense that something important has been glimpsed—if only just out of reach. 

And I'm all for it.