Det är svårt för mig att konsumera en hel novellsamling av Munro-melankoli. Men jag älskar själva berättandet, hur hon använder orden så effektivt.

”We say of some things that they can’t be forgiven, or that we will never forgive ourselves. But we do—we do it all the time.” 

I found this quote, which is the final sentence of Munro's story collection, especially poignant in light of her recent child sex abuse cover-up allegations, but it also echoes the overall sentiment of the collection, which is that life is filled with both missed opportunities and beautiful moments, which are sometimes one in the same, sometimes intertwined, and sometimes totally distinct and unrelated but nonetheless resonant in our minds as one. But we merely exist and experience these moments -- they are somehow out of our control despite how much personal autonomy we have -- and we are so blinded in the moment of crucial decisions and so dependent upon those whom we love and who affect and are affected by these decisions, that we can only simply exist, never "control." 

This is my 3rd Munro collection -- her final one -- and it, which has been carefully sculpted with the tools one acquires only through a well-lived life, is by far her best of the 3. Each story is distinct in its plot and message but all somehow overlap coherently. Munro reflects on the lives of individuals that could by any or all of us as well as semi-fictionally (an incredibly effective technique) in the final four stories, which she has curated in a section entitled "finale." There is not a weak story in the bunch and each one renders the reader somewhat pensive as a result. I'll touch upon a few of my favorites, but I'll note that while each story has a different plot and pokes at diverse areas of human behavior and psychology, they all share an interest in one or more of the following areas: reflection, relationships (typically male and female), the naivety of youth, and the blending of present, past, and a further past. 

"Gravel" is one story that that nicely highlights Munro's talents. Munro likes to juxtapose childhood choices with adult (typically parental) responsibility. She is fascinated by the egregiousness with which adults act and often their stupidity, and how this could possibly be explained to a child. While she never directly asks these questions, she very quietly hints, "could I have misremembered why this tragedy happened?" or "was I, in my youthful innocence and ignore, actually at fault for this terrible event?" Then, she likes to explore, in entirely unemotional language, how these tragedies affected (or many times, had no effect but... why wouldn't it?) her throughout or later in life. In Gravel, these questions are on full display as Neal, the narrator's stepdad, fails to supervise the narrator's sister, who drowns as the narrator watches. He is repeatedly wrong throughout the narrative (for example, claiming dogs can swim and not to worry when the dog runs away from home), and is unpunished despite the sister's death. This tragic moment lives inside of the narrator until the end of the story, when she meets with Neal decades later. His advice to her? "The thing is to be happy. No matter what. Try that." The narrator is left no better off from this advice (of course). She knows it to be true, what choice is there really? But she cannot escape the image of her sister dying. 

There are more layers to this story and there is a lot to chew on among the dynamics of the family, including the mother and somewhat estranged father, but so much is packed into Munro's stories despite their relative simplicity and breeziness to read. I am not going to talk about each story because it's just too time but I also liked "Haven," which emphasizes how we learn gender roles as a child by observing extended family, "Amundsen," which takes place in a sanatorium and demonstrates in an intense episode how an older man can manipulate and destroy a young woman's heart, and "In Sight of the Lake," which contains a brilliantly ambiguous ending and explores self-doubt that arises from age. "Dolly" and "Train" are also fantastic. 

The final four stories, collected into a "Finale," are probably the highlight of the collection though. They contain semi-fictionalized episodes of young Munro's childhood. Moments in which she had a breakthrough into maturity -- the first death of a loved one, the first realization that her father was a flawed man, and the first glimmer of the attention and love that a man can adorn a girl. She finishes the story with "Dear Life," which strongly reinforces her theme of memory -- how personal it is, and how it is a foundation, more so than reality, for our feelings, decisions, and convictions. It is how we decide right and wrong and how we decide how we are and who we all are.

It was alright. Very poetic prose. 

Yikes. If this is a picture of small town Ontario, then I don’t know where tf I lived for 30 years of my life. Incredibly, I grew up relatively close to Munro’s hometown but I couldn’t relate to these humans or stories at all. 

The stories feel ridiculously outdated for something originally published in 2011 and I really could’ve done without the racism, sexism, and abusive men. There are a few mentions of war so maybe 40s? I thought this would be a contemporary collection, not historical. 

The themes in this stories I did read (1-9) seem to be doctors, trains, reminiscing about the 40s (?), and disempowered women. Apart from some lovely descriptions of Ontario landscapes, realistic Ontario weather, and name-checking some small towns I’m familiar with, this didn’t feel like a Canadian slice-of-life at all. 

The writing was poor, the characters weren’t compelling, and the lack of punctuation made it difficult to read at times. The stories had no structure and didn’t feel like they had anything to say. The book’s vibe would fall under “monotone” and “boring”. I’m not entirely sure how this writing won a Nobel Prize?!

Beautiful cover. Underwhelming content. Really glad I only spent £0.99 to try this on iBooks. 🤷🏼‍♀️