alice munro’s short stories are always so well-contained — rich with detail but no unnecessary words. as a collection, these stories are less linked than others of hers, but the stories have common themes to keep them together, most predictably relationships. munro’s style is so careful, subtly stunning. most times “nothing really happens,” but there’s so much going on. every so often there is a moment of such breathtaking vision into her characters but otherwise it’s possible to take for granted how well-crafted each one is.
i noticed this time that her stories are usually set in a somewhat archaic, but not very distant past — never quite “present.” only once in this did i feel that the story was painfully short and almost truncated. it’s basically constructed as a fragment with teasing references to what happens afterwards. but someone i was still able to accept it and feel satisﬁed.