A Nobel Prize for a life.
The author Alice Munro has just been awarded the Nobel Prize. She is 82 years old and published her latest book “Dear Life” last year. She has said for a long time now that she wants to retire and will write no more books, and the prize therefore seems to offer a very final end to a spectacular work.
The Nobel Prize was not necessary to know it, to say it or to make it apparent, but all of her readers are extremely happy because there are only a few good authors and very few excellent ones.
Alice Munro is an artist, a woman with a vocation: writing. It might be said that the lives of people like her, who are born this way, are shaped in a different manner because whatever road they take, whatever job they do or whatever obligations they take on board, their yearning to write runs through their veins. And they write.
That is why it is so easy to see her –as she explained- writing as her daughters took a nap and imagine her making the most of any other free time she had to truly celebrate. Celebrate writing.
This vocation, which knows or needs no boundaries, led to a work that shuns great tragedies, great catastrophes and other stridencies, a work that deploys and retraces the complex map of daily life and subtly shows the fissures and abysms.
Each of the author’s stories is a world and could be a novel, but she prefers that very difficult elegance of developing certain aspects and offering a mere glimpse of others. The result is a work –her world- where regrets and what could have been or what is never said have as many if not more consequences than what is actually said.
That is life. It is what artists aspire to express through their creations, and some have to travel the world over to find it. Alice Munro, however, made the most of her daughters’ naps.
Writer and editor of Promoartyou