Alice Munro
Alice Munro
Alice Ann Munrois a Canadian short story writer and Nobel Prize winner. Munro's work has been described as having revolutionized the architecture of short stories, especially in its tendency to move forward and backward in time. Her stories have been said to "embed more than announce, reveal more than parade."...
NationalityCanadian
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth10 July 1931
CountryCanada
mean writing thinking
In twenty years I've never had a day when I didn't have to think about someone else's needs. And this means the writing has to be fitted around it.
writing mean men
Naturally my stories are about women - I'm a woman. I don't know what the term is for men who write mostly about men. I'm not always sure what is meant by "feminist." In the beginning I used to say, well, of course I'm a feminist. But if it means that I follow a kind of feminist theory, or know anything about it, then I'm not. I think I'm a feminist as far as thinking that the experience of women is important. That is really the basis of feminism.
mean simple chaos
The complexity of things - the things within things - just seems to be endless. I mean nothing is easy, nothing is simple.
moving mean writing
I want my stories to be something about life that causes people to say, not, oh, isn't that the truth, but to feel some kind of reward from the writing, and that doesn't mean that it has to be a happy ending or anything, but just that everything the story tells moves the reader in such a way that you feel you are a different person when you finish.
past want looks
What she wants to do if she can get the time to do it, is not so much to live in the past as to open it up and get one good look at it".
self people diaries
I have never kept diaries. I just remember a lot and am more self-centered than most people.
eye turkeys eggs
What if people really did that - sent their love through the mail to get rid of it? What would it be that they sent? A box of chocolates with centers like the yolks of turkey eggs. A mud doll with hollow eye sockets. A heap of roses slightly more fragrant than rotten. A package wrapped in bloody newspaper that nobody would want to open.
lust everyday skins
The skin of everyday appearances stretched over such shamelessness, such consuming explosions of lust.
children awkward aversion
Children of course are monstrously conventional, repelled at once by whatever is off-center, out of whack, unmanageable. And being an only child I had been coddled a good deal (also scolded). I was awkward, precocious, timid, full of my private rituals and aversions.
done care might
I saw how the forms of love might be maintained with a condemned person but with the love in fact measured and disciplined, because you have to survive. It could be done so discreetly that the object of such care would not suspect, any more than she would suspect the sentence of death itself.
flower eye home
There was a danger whenever I was on home ground. It was the danger of seeing my life through other eyes than my own. Seeing it as an ever-increasing roll of words like barbed wire, intricate, bewildering, uncomforting—set against the rich productions, the food, flowers, and knitted garments, of other women’s domesticity. It became harder to say that it was worth the trouble.
fall traps persons
He was evidently the sort of person who posed questions that were traps for you to fall into.
doe next lightning
One stroke of lightning does not have to lead anywhere, but to the next stroke of lightning.
patterns sides pot
Pots can show malice, the patterns of linoleum can leer up at you, treachery is the other side of dailiness.