Goodbye, Alice

Sometimes a shock does not feel like a total shock; some of them can sneak up on you and knock you off your feet and make you wonder if there is still justice in this world. With the loss of Alice Munro, I feel like I am straddling both extremes...

It was during an exam when I learned the news. It was not an exam that I had to write, but it was one that I had to give. Teaching at a college in Montréal, I was prepared with my papers, pens and spare sheets of paper for a group that I rather liked. And I even broke one of my own rules and brought in my Samsung to check the online world while they wrote their last paper. And there it was: 92 years of age, now gone and never to be forgotten.

Yes, it does matter to me as a Canadian. So much of the little press I have seen comments on how great it was that one of ours won the Nobel, received praise beyond our borders, and was worshiped and admired by other writers. To me, this is a very small detail. What impresses me most is what I have heard described as her 'depth of insight' into the human condition, what some would pay good money to know she spread out in multiple collections of stories and tales of small-town life.

I say this in the middle of moving out of my home, and attempting to donate many of the books I have collected over the years. So far, 200 of them have ended up in bookboxes around the city. But I have made a point of bringing many Canadian authors to my desk and now have a line of books facing me with some our most respected names (Richler, McLuhan, Mowat, Atwood, Davies, Gallant, etc.). Ms. Munro will be added there, and I will be sure to dive in when I have the chance and reenter that world that feels so close yet seems much deeper than expected.

I should also confess something else about my interest in her books: I was not a fan from the first exposure to her narratives. Much like my appreciation of other short story masters like Anton Chekhov or Guy de Maupassant, it did not flourish and grow very quickly. It took me a long time to appreciate what these writers were doing on the page. My argument at the time was that there seemed to be nothing happening to their characters. People worked, shopped, had children, helped each other out, visited relatives and friends, and that seemed to be it. And the reason why this turned me off as a reader was because this was exactly what I did in my own life (minus the children...but the year is still young). I did not see it as anything special or worth the time it would take to read even a short story. It took me a long time to realize that there was no such thing as an ordinary life, and that I have never met an ordinary person...and neither have you. We have all met people where the surface often kept us from digging deeper and discovering more about that other life. And the same has been done to us. We don't always know what can exist in that face.

Alice did. And she continued to share her deep understanding of human nature and the problem of being alive in a world that may have seemed small, but contained endless varieties of life.

Thank you, Ms. Munro. We will always be proud that we produced such a talent and had the chance to share it with the world...

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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