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Alice MunroAlice Munro
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BiographyCanadian writer Alice Munro grew up in Wingham, South West Ontario and has written short fiction since 1950. Her books consist of collections of short stories, and one book which has been published as a novel, although it is actually a set of inter-linked stories which falls between the two genres. Her accessible, moving stories are set in her native Canada, in small, provincial towns like the one in which she grew up, and explore human relationships through ordinary everyday events. Although not necessarily directly autobiographical, they reflect the author's own life experiences, are concerned with women's lives and are 'probably unrivalled in their fullness' (Washington Post 1998)
Her latest book is Away From Her (2007). In 2009 she was the winner of the Man Booker International Prize.    
  Genres (in alphabetical order)Fiction, Short stories     BibliographyCanadian Short Stories (contributor) Oxford University Press, 1968 Sixteen by Twelve: Short Stories by Canadian Writers (contributor) Ryerson, 1970 Lives of Girls and Women Allen Lane, 1973 Dance of the Happy Shades Allen Lane, 1974 Something I've Been Meaning to Tell You: Thirteen Stories McGraw-Hill Ryerson, 1974 The Narrative Voice: Stories and Reflections by Canadian Authors (contributor) Oberon (Canada), 1974 Here and Now (contributor) Oberon (Canada), 1977 Personal Fictions: Stories by Munro, Wiebe, Thomas & Blaise, selected by Michael Ondaatje (contributor) Oxford University Press (Canada), 1977 Who Do You Think You Are?: Stories , 1978 The Moons of Jupiter: Stories Allen Lane, 1983 Night Light: Stories of Aging (contributor) Oxford University Press, 1986 The Progress of Love Chatto & Windus, 1986 Best American Short Stories (contributor) Oxford University Press, 1989 Friend of My Youth Chatto & Windus, 1990 A Wilderness Station , 1994 Open Secrets Chatto & Windus, 1994 Selected Stories Chatto & Windus, 1996 The Love of a Good Woman Chatto & Windus, 1998 Queenie: A Story Profile Books, 1999 Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage Chatto & Windus, 2001 Runaway Chatto & Windus, 2005 Carried Away Everyman's Library, 2006 The View from Castle Rock Chatto & Windus, 2006 Away From Her Vintage, 2007  
  Prizes and awards1968 Governor General's Literary Award for Fiction (Canada) Dance of the Happy Shades 1971 Canadian Booksellers Association Award Lives of Girls and Women 1977 Canada-Australia Literary Prize 1978 Governor General's Literary Award for Fiction (Canada) Who Do You Think You Are?: Stories 1980 Booker Prize for Fiction (shortlist) Who Do You Think You Are?: Stories 1986 Governor General's Literary Award for Fiction (Canada) The Progress of Love 1986 Marian Engel Award (Canada) 1990 Canada Council Molson Prize 1990 Commonwealth Writers Prize (Caribbean and Canada Region, Best Book) Friend of My Youth 1990 Irish Times International Fiction Prize (shortlist) Friend of My Youth 1990 Ontario Trillium Book Award Friend of My Youth 1995 Irish Times International Fiction Prize (shortlist) Open Secrets 1995 WH Smith Literary Award Open Secrets 1998 Giller Prize (Canada) The Love of a Good Woman 2004 Giller Prize (Canada) Runaway 2005 Commonwealth Writers Prize (Africa Region, Best Book) Runaway 2007 Commonwealth Writers Prize (Caribbean and Canada Region, Best Book) (shortlist) The View from Castle Rock 2007 James Tait Black Memorial Prize (for fiction) (shortlist) The View from Castle Rock 2007 Man Booker International Prize (shortlist) 2009 Man Booker International Prize    
  Critical PerspectiveOne Alice Munro short story has the power of many novels. Nothing is wasted. Nothing is irrelevant. Every word glows. Munro is able to capture the shape and mood, the flavour of a life in 30 pages. She tells us what it is to be a human being. She is wholly without cliché. At the end of one of her stories you have to pause, catch your breath, come up for air. Alice Munro has done more than any living writer to demonstrate that the short story is an art form and not the poor relation of the novel.
Munro’s fictions are usually set in small-town rural Ontario, where she has lived for much of her life. Her characters often leave the confines of the country for an intellectual and creative existence in the city, find that they have become ensnared within an undesired domesticity, which forces them into pale versions of themselves, and then, in later life once more feel the urge to break free. Yet the recurrent and very personal themes of Munro’s fiction – the stirring of the creative impulse, the bohemian rejection of provincial anonymity and conservatism, the refusal to be bound by narrow definitions of womanhood, and the complexity of female sexuality – are not what make her work so remarkable. For that we need to look to her style. Munro’s way with form, the scattered chronology of her stories, captures the drift of our thoughts, the endless movement in and out of moments. A Munro sentence, beguiling in its lucidity, compelling in its precision, seductive in its simplicity, offers constant enchantment. Munro’s prose, without sentiment, yet suffused with a hard melancholy, has a composed, wry, crystalline grace. Take this, from 'Floating Bridge', in Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage (2001): ‘what she felt was a lighthearted sort of compassion, almost like laughter. A swish of tender hilarity getting the better of all her sores and hollows, for the time given.’ Read that last sentence again. From the honest beauty of ‘swish of tender hilarity,’ to the striking ‘sores and hollows,’ to those final words: ‘for the time given.’ The time given contains multitudes.
Munro has talked about ‘the complexity of things, the things within things.’ It is her natural ability to describe the ‘shameless, marvellous, shattering absurdity’ of life, to express it in just the right way, to capture it in all its endless, shapeless strangeness, which makes her so good. She has an acute sensitivity to the treasons, duplicities, evasions, snatched passions, tendernesses, compromises, commitments and pained avowals of human relationships. She teases the surface, until all that is hidden, all those tucked away pivots of a life are revealed. In her stories there are no neat endings, no straightforward progressions, no character arcs. There is a detachment from the crude mechanics of bold brushstrokes. Munro’s palate is infinitely subtle, with modulations of tone and colour that unsettle, surprise and delight. Munro finds the extraordinary within the ordinary, and reveals life to be a layering of secrets and lies, a meshing together of disparate elements. She shows us that we can never truly know anyone. After the travelling salesman father has visited a women called Nora in 'Walker Brothers County' (with his two children in tow), the narrator comments: ‘my father does not say anything to me about not mentioning things at home, but I know, just from thoughtfulness, the pause when he passes the liquorice, that there are things not to be mentioned. The whiskey, maybe the dancing. No worry about my brother, he does not notice enough. At most he might remember the blind lady, the picture of Mary.’ This is note perfect writing. Munro plays with our own lack of knowledge; we feel complicit in the need to share a secret we know nothing of. We assume that Nora is a former love of the narrator’s father, and yet we are given no confirmation of this, no specific reason why the father has decided to visit her. We are, like the narrator and her brother, in the dark. As a consequence this scene becomes far more poignant.
Munro narrators are philosophical, melancholic, at an ironic distance from their own lives. In Lives of Girls and Women (1973), a collection of interlinked short stories, Del, unflinching in her examination of concealed motive, says: ‘I wanted to know. There is no protection, unless it is in knowing. I wanted death pinned down and isolated behind a wall of part facts and circumstances not floating around loose, ignored but powerful, waiting to get in anywhere.’ Del is the classic Munro narrator – a woman in opposition to her family, her home town, her upbringing, a woman seeking her own kind of order. Munro’s narrators have an eloquent intelligence, a controlled ferocity of spirit. They possess, at centre, a sense of disquiet, an amused despairing wonder at the knowledge of the way life is tainted by its brevity and unexpected twists. The Munro narrator is the voice in your head that will not be silenced.
Alice Munro is routinely spoken of in the same breath as Anton Chekov. She resembles the Russian master in a number of ways. She is fascinated with the failings of love and work and has an obsession with time. There is the same penetrating psychological insight; the events played out in a minor key; the small town settings. In Munro’s fictional universe, as in Chekhov’s, plot is of secondary importance: all is based on the epiphanic moment, the sudden enlightenment, the concise, subtle, revelatory detail. Another significant feature of Munro’s is the (typically Canadian) connection to the land, to what Margaret Atwood has called a ‘harsh and vast geography.’ Munro is attuned to the shifts and colours of the natural world, to life lived with the wilderness. Her skill at describing the constituency of the environment is equal to her ability to get below the surface of the lives of her characters.
Garan Holcombe, 2008
 
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