For the past couple of weeks, I have been listening to Joseph Boyden's Through Black Spruce on my daily walks. I was walking in full summer, listening to descriptions of winter in Moose Factory in Northern Ontario. The clusters of cloud in the story were from the exhaust of snowmobiles in
Is it too much? Or, just enough. What am I to make of this final story in my Alice Munro reading project. (I read her last collection, Dear Life, in 2012.) While rereading Too Much Happiness, I was constantly aware of the references to being happy, to happiness, in the
This year I have read some stand-out collections, but for the most part I neglected to take notes from them: Joy Williams' Honored Guests, Kathleen Winter's The Freedom in American Songs, Jessica Grant's Making Light of Tragedy, Shawn Syms' Nothing Looks Familiar, Elaine McCluskey's Hello, Sweetheart, Julia Leggett's Gone South and Other
Strangely enough, although I read this story twice earlier this year as well, when I scanned the table of contents I could not place it. Planning to reread for a third time this morning, I had no idea; it wasn't until the talk of the truck and Roy's need to gather the wood
On the list of 10 Perfect Alice Munro sentences, recently selected by CBC, this is the first: "Every year, when you’re a child, you become a different person." It begs the question, "When does one stop becoming somebody new every year?" Perhaps after an event like the incident described in this
