What Alice Munro’s Nobel Win Means for Canadian Literature

The announcement of Alice Munro’s Nobel Prize in Literature came to many of us with a sense of relief. There is a mysticism to the award that draws frustrated anticipation each year; will the prize be awarded based on works judged for their politics, or merit? Will the committee reward the prize to a contender they regret having missed in the past (as was Tomas Tranströmer), or attempt to boost a young reputation (as William Faulkner)? Were the bookies betting on the prize too influential in the decision? Could the critics of our nation do anything more to promote or package the international reputation of our authors? Is our publishing apparatus to blame? The prize this year, however, can only be accepted with wide gratitude from all Canadians.

Alice Munro has had a long career, and a generous one. She is an author who has worked tirelessly as a Canadian Literary artist, and to the furthering of Canadian Literature. She is often compared to Chekhov, but such a comparison could easily muffle the originality of her art. She cannot be accused of conforming her work to that of European or even American models. Her work is all her own, and has the courage to model itself according to nothing but it’s subject. And her subject too is a bold choice; the workings of men and women under the pains and joys of ordinary life.  She understands our manners, but she does not spare us the irony of them. She is not a sentimentalist nor fatalist; for so many characters, their failings and successes are their own, and their lives often open maps for their very hearts. She has been an early champion of many Canadian literary artists before their time: early editions of Anne Carson’s and Jane Urquhart’s novels bear a few dubious reviews, with her name appearing the most prominent and opinion the clearest.

The question about where to start reading Alice Munro’s work could not be easier to answer, as there is hardly a bad place to start. Her stories operate well in or out of their original collections; a selection on the market will do, as will a list of the best collections. Runaway and The View from Castle Rock have been out for less than a decade, and they have not ceased to foster new conversation in the best of literary circles. Her earlier collections may be capped by Open Secrets, The Love of a Good Woman, Friend of my Youth, and Something I’ve been Meaning to Tell You. The shock of reading any of them is simply how much she is able to squeeze into clear prose of a few pages. Many stories cover wider ranges of time than any novel on the market, but in a few key themes, characters and scenes their effect is almost that of an ancient dramatist.

 In a year of so many frustrations offered to Canadians politically and internationally, there can be little better validation of our fundamental identity than such a remembrance and long-awaited recognition of Alice Munro’s writing.

By Hyperion