I happen to read it on a rainy Saturday, which seems to be the perfect set for it, since this book is so dark and wintery. A thin thread of missing out attaches all stories. Stories about women that are held back, with an unfulfilled wish for change.
Surprisingly, or not, (cause I love short stories) I never read any of Munro’s other books. I imagined a sad old, tough woman, writing in a small room in a distant Canadian farm.
Well, Google leaves no room for mystery or imagination – I googled her to find this nice elegant grandma smiling at me. Two facts about her: 1) She owns a book store and 2) her daughter published a book called Lives of Mothers and Daughters: Growing Up With Alice Munro .
As a daughter and a woman I ‘ll leave you with these words of the daughter, and with the thought inside of who’s story do we live in…
“So much of what I think I know – and I think I know more about my mother’s life than almost any daughter could know – is refracted through the prism of her writing. Such is the power of her fiction that sometimes it even feels as though I’m living inside an Alice Munro story.”