What do you think?
Rate this book
294 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1994
I'd like to fuck you if you weren't so ugly
She was not ugly. She knew she was not ugly. How can you ever be sure that you are not ugly?
She would hate to think that she had gone after Ladner because he was rude and testy and slightly savage, with the splotch on the side of his face that shone like metal in the sunlight coming through the trees. She would hate to think so, because wasn't that the way in all the dreary romances - some brute gets the woman tingling and then it's goodbye to Mr.Fine-and-Decent?
No, she wrote, but what she did think - and she knew that this was very regressive and bad form - what she did think was that some women, women like herself, might always be on the lookout for an insanity that would contain them. For what was living with a man if it wasn't living inside his insanity?
She knew where certain rocks came from and that the swelling on a goldenrod stem contains a little white worm that can live nowhere else in the world.
She knew not to talk so much about all she knew.
He was doing what she was doing but in a sillier, ugly way. He was most intentionally and insistently making a fool of her. See how vain she is, said Ladner's angular prancing. See what a fake. Pretending not to be afraid of the deep water, pretending to be happy, pretending not to know how we despise her.
This was thrilling and shocking. Liza's face was trembling with her need to laugh. Part of her wanted to make Ladner stop, stop at once, before the damage was done, and part of her longed for that very damage, the damage Ladner could do, the ripping open, the final delight of it.
Bea could spread safety, if she wanted to. Surely she could. All that is needed is for her to turn herself into a different sort of woman, a hard-and-fast, draw-the-line sort, clean-sweeping, energetic, and intolerant. None of that. Not allowed. Be good. The woman who could rescue them- who could make them all, keep them all, good. What Bea has been sent to do, she doesn't see.
Only Liza sees.
A man came along and fell in love with Dorrie Beck. At least, he wanted to marry her. It was true.
She was a big, firm woman with heavy legs, chestnut-brown hair, a broad bashful face, and dark freckles like dots of velvet. A man in the area had named a horse after her.
We have been very happy.Most of the people in Munro's world don't know what they want. They'll write letters and marry others that they'll most certainly cheat on and live on in a summary after the facts of the matter are through. It's not so simple as all that, though, as here it is my "show, not tell" spiel come back to bite me as Munro leads me through each and every story without ever really giving up the ghost. Several oddities of event and character that both entertained and sent my thinking into a frenzy, a few literature references that I latched onto like a lighthouse, but otherwise I left off each ending with a "Well."
I have often felt completely alone.
There is always in this life something to discover.
The days and the years have gone by in some sort of blur.
On the whole, I am satisfied.
You could look up from your life of the moment and feel the world crackling beyond the walls.I'd say that they're peaceful, but they're not. I'd say that they're the small town honings as Munro is so often characterized by, but it's not, or at least is far more sedate and uncanny and lush. It's that crackle that I'm trying to find the words for, but have the feeling that it'll take me a few more collections to pin it down to the count. In the meantime, I'll leave behind the idea that the music of Ludovico Einaudi goes a fair way in evoking the same theme of emotion, and send you on your way.
Often these sentences seemed so satisfying to me, or so elusive and lovely, that I could not help abandoning all the surrounding words and giving myself up to a peculiar state.