A Tribute to Alice Munro

It was right at the end of the intermission Sunday night when it hit me full force how unqualified I might be to comment on the evening's proceedings.  In the first half of the show five writers had come to the podium on the Stanley Theatre stage to share their personal experiences with the work of Alice Munro and here they were returning to the stage for a panel sit down and chat hosted by Eleanor Wachtel and of these five writers there were only two, Alistair MacLeod and Joseph Boyden, whose names were familiar to me while the other three, Elizabeth Strout, Joan London and Amit Chaudhuri I had never heard of at all and the same for their work. And of the work of Alistair MacLeod and Joseph Boyden I had heard, but read nothing. A little voice in my head said:  Who do you think you are? And another answered:  But what's a writer's festival for if not to learn about writers?

Even with Alice, grumpy was going on, you're a long way from being an expert.  True enough.  Of her work I've read less than a quarter and hardly anything, really, in the last ten or even fifteen years. Well, I was reading other stuff. And the thing with a writer like Alice Munro is she's like money in the bank.  It's like she's security. You know she's around and that you can call on her at any time. I was an early adopter of Alice. And just as the writers on stage were recounting their early experiences of Alice Munro  I was remembering mine.

I was in Duthie Books on upper 10th Avenue to buy a copy of the just released Something I've Been Meaning To Tell You. The year was 1974. I can't explain how youthful me could be doing such a thing at that time. I was a precocious pre-schooler, that's it. This was the first Duthie Books on 10th, on the same side of the street but a block further west than the second Duthie Books on 10th (I know I know. You mean Duthie Books on 4th? They used to have a store on 10th?) The man who put the book in my little hand was Bill Duthie himself. I remember handing Bill a ten dollar bill and him giving me a two dollar bill and a nickel in change, no tax, no nothing, just $7.95 and a pristine hardcover copy of Alice's new book. Peter Gzowski was on the radio in the background. CBC was always on the radio in that store and Bill Duthie always had a cigarette going, much like Peter Gzowski, I would say.

And I still have the book. The imprint is McGraw-Hill Ryerson. The back of the dust jacket is a full cover portrait of Alice and the only word that comes to mind is vivacious. Vivacious with those long, dark, curling locks and that magnificent smile and it's hard to believe it's been thirty-five years. I mean, it's like it's impossible.

There's a story in Alice's first book Dance Of The Happy Shades whose title, just the title without even talking about the story, captivated me for years and still does - Red Dress-1946. Just the concept, the idea, the evocativeness and the mystery contained in that title guaranteed this was a writer I would be permanently interested in, and that utter uniqueness was the main theme of the tribute at the Stanley - the how and why of Alice Munro's profound and lasting impression on these individual writers and in the case of Joan London, as she stated during the panel, what made her want to become a writer. It's all in the details, folks, the determination, the intimacy, the authority, the intuition and clear-sightedness, the subtlety, the pitch perfect sure footedness, the honesty and empathy and concision. "It just isn't fair," as Joseph Boyden ironically put it.

So I've got some catching up to do, with Alice and with these fine writers who took the time to come out and honour her. That's something to really look forward to. Originally Alice had planned to be here.  She was unable to attend but the audience was treated to a recorded greeting from her. The second half panel went on perhaps a bit long for some people as the evening hit the three hour mark but overall this was a great event.