Alice Munro, often called the Chekov of our times, a true master of the short story. Her stories are complex, moving and insightful – a reminder of the dramas embedded in the lives of everyday people. Congrats! Here, a trio of links to celebrate.
Munro revisits her childhood and her mother’s illness.
When my mother was dying, she got out of the hospital somehow, at night, and wandered around town until someone who didn’t know her at all spotted her and took her in. If this were fiction, as I said, it would be too much, but it is true.
A short story by Munro, “Queenie.” Want more? There’s a bookshop I know of.
Her Art of Fiction Q and A.
It’s something I never would have been able to think of losing twenty years ago—the faith, the desire. I suppose it’s like when you don’t fall in love anymore. But you can put up with that because falling in love has not really been as necessary as something like this. I guess that’s why I keep doing it. Yes, I don’t stop for a day. It’s like my walk every day. My body loses tone now in a week if I don’t exercise. The vigilance has to be there all the time. Of course it wouldn’t matter if you did give up writing. It’s not the giving up of the writing that I fear. It’s the giving up of this excitement or whatever it is that you feel that makes you write.