Alice Munro, often lovingly referred to as “Canada’s Chekov,” passed away on May 13 at the age of 92. She left behind an incredible collection of short stories that have touched readers worldwide. Born in Ontario back in 1931, Munro began writing seriously in her teenage years but ultimately chose not to finish her degree in English and journalism. She got married to her first husband, James Munro, when she was just 20, and they started their life together in Vancouver, bringing up three daughters. After 21 years, they divorced, and Alice moved back to Ontario. There, she married Gerald Fremlin.
Much of Munro’s writing delves into themes of marriage and motherhood, often set in small towns. Her stories highlight the drama embedded in everyday life. Recognized for her ability to elevate ordinary experiences, she received the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2013. The Swedish Academy praised her as a true “master of the short story.”
My first brush with Munro’s work was back in high school in Canada when I was assigned the title story from her 2006 collection, “A View from Castle Rock.” I initially wasn’t a fan. I felt a bit misled by its label as a short story from a prominent female author. I thought it dragged on too long, plus there were just too many men.
But more than ten years later, my opinion has flip-flopped. This change isn’t necessarily a sign of my personal growth, but rather a testament to the understated complexities in Munro’s storytelling. Her stories beg to be revisited over the years, offering fresh insights each time. This thought is quite comforting, knowing there’s still more to uncover in her work.
Munro’s storytelling works its magic subtly, without tricks or gimmicks. Often, podcasts discussing her stories wrap up with debates over the endings. Did the heroine in “Corrie” find true love with that married man? Was the narrator in “Gravel” being deliberately deceitful toward her sister?
What makes Munro’s use of the everyday world so extraordinary is how she plays with the line between the mundane and something slightly more mysterious. She often explores this through children, reflecting the elusive nature of accurately capturing childhood.
Margaret Atwood, a fellow Canadian writer, honored Munro by recording a reading of “Dance of the Happy Shades,” from Munro’s debut collection in 1968. This story, narrated by a teenager, portrays a music recital hosted by Miss Marsalles, a quirky dance teacher who has fallen on hard times.
Instead of criticizing her financial woes, society finds other ways to slight Miss Marsalles, particularly mocking her for her unyielding belief in children’s innocence. Because of her unmarried status, she’s seen as naive, supposedly unaware of the difficulties of raising kids. Yet, by the story’s end, it’s the judgmental adults who are exposed as ignorant. Their visible discomfort over children with Down syndrome underscores their fixation on social standing.
Children in Munro’s tales often shine a light on adult hypocrisy, especially when it concerns sensitive topics. In “The Children Stay,” Pauline leaves her young children and husband for another man, driven by the pull of unfulfilled dreams rather than impulsive romance. Munro doesn’t spend excessive words on her grief but instead quickly captures the aftermath in just a few lines. Her children grew up not hating her, yet they don’t forgive her either.
Munro’s stories suggest women often choose impulsive paths, leaving behind solid but uninspired relationships. Yet, it’s rarely about the men they left with. Instead, her narratives are complex networks of themes like the struggle between motherly devotion and personal freedom, and reflecting on paths not taken in life.
Through her stories, Munro offers readers a sort of blueprint, encouraging them to explore grief and loss, both in the fictional sense and perhaps in bidding farewell to Munro’s own extraordinary literary presence.