I’m almost embarrassed to say that this is my first Munro book. I had assumed, as perhaps many Canadian literary students would have, that I had encountered her work in high school, or in a compilation in an early survey course at university. I now find it unlikely. I can’t imagine any circumstances that might lead to forgetting that I had encountered such a strong voice. I’ve encountered stories of this kind before, of course. You can’t throw a rock in the Canadian literary world without striking a dozen authors who write stories in this vein. I have actually said on more than one occasion, and even in public forums, that such stories are exactly what it wrong with contemporary Canadian writing. Alice Munro is certainly not what is wrong with contemporary Canadian writing. She is very much what is right. Reading Who Do You Think You Are? (and I admit to choosing this book to start with because of the pretty girl on the cover) I got, not the sense of a stale form or shopworn conventions, but rather the sense of a skilled hand shaping the stories into the only form they could have taken. N+1 has claimed her as an American author (a common mistake, given the frequency that her work appeared in American publications, but hardly surprising, given the penchant of the American press to claim anyone who does interesting work as an American—I have even seen Zadie Smith claimed as an American author, since On Beauty featured American characters quite heavily), but she is very obviously Canadian and in many ways the inventor of the contemporary short story for us. Who Do You Think You Are? is a book of jewels, some in their raw beauty, and some cut into delicate shapes, and each one worth a king’s ransom.
Next: The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler.
