DNF at 21% (after having read the first two stories in the book and seeing from other reviewers that it only gets worse).
A quote from the first story perfectly summarizes what I had to endure: "His writing seemed intelligent but she did not care anything about it."

It's like a writer without any imagination whatsoever tried to write fantasy. There's just no substance, nothing of value. As I was trudging through the masses of words, I felt sad that people wasted their time on editing and publishing this.

There was also switching from proper dialogue writing style:
"Something something," he said looking out the window.
"Something something," she said biting her lip.
to just describing the contents of the dialogue, therefore omitting any gestures and hidden emotions we could receive that way, and therefore the feeling of one character talking to another one was erased, and instead it was the author talking and talking and talking only borrowing her character's lives to do so.

I was drawn in for about 1/2 of the stories. Then they started to drag. Maybe because I've already read some of the then in the New Yorker?

Bleak.

I first experienced Alice Munroe's short stories during my university days, because they were assigned reading for Canadian Literature courses. Almost four decades later, I'm still trying to puzzle out how Munroe is able to take the mundane inner-workings of ordinary women's minds and transform these introspective musings into tales worth telling! In this collection of stories, I did not find all the narrators sympathetic or likeable--nevertheless, I concede that, even when they were dishonest to others, they remained honest with themselves. I particularly enjoyed the Finale: four autobiographical stories, giving a "first and last" glimpse into this consummate writer's childhood and family history in Wingham, Ontario.

This is the first book of Alice Munro's that I read and I loved it. Loved the period setting of the WWII years and just after, rural Ontario, Toronto--all so new and eye opening through her writing. The autobiographical stories at the end pulled the whole book together and offered a glimpse into the true stories that influenced her fiction.

3.5 rounded up - a few really stand out stories, will definitely read more if her earlier work

Prompt: book written by author over 65. (when published)
Stars: ⭐️ ⭐️⭐️⭐️
This book has been on my “to read” list for a while and thought it was perfect for this #52bookclub prompt

This collection of stories by Alice Munro highlights the moment in a character’s ordinary life when a chance encounter or twist of fate sets their life off on another path. I found the stories to be captivating despite being quiet stories that focus more on observation rather than drama. As with most collections of short stories some of these really hit the mark (for me) such as “Corrie” “Gravel” and “Amundsen” to name a few but some were just okay which is expected in any collection of stories. Munro’s writing is elegant, unpretentious, intelligent & a little disturbing to be honest and I’m looking forward to reading more of her work.I’ve read reviews that say this was not her best work (she won a Nobel Prize for this book) but I think this would be a great book for a book club discussion. I’d love to get other people’s thoughts and perspective on some of the stories.

No sé si soc jo, si són les històries concretes d'aquest llibre, però no he trobat per enlloc l'eloqüència que tant lloa el New York Times.

Si bé és cert que les darreres quatre històries en què se centra en la seva infància al Canadà rural a principis de segle XX són molt boniques (el motou pel qual dono a aquest llibre dues estrelles) la resta nl he pogut comcebre la seva raó de ser.

Personatges cabdals per la història que de cap i volta, sense cap motiu, l'autora mata. Personatges que introdueix sense cap rellevància. Personatges amb una trama que voreja el ridícul (un personatge se suicida pel que es comenta, per falta de sexe?!?!). Una dona (perdó dues dones) que abandonen a les seves filles a la seva sort per un calentón? Perdó? Si m'ho justifiquéssis? Però és que diu que estaven avorrides, i pues eso.

Mira jo que sé. Potser jo no l'he entès. Però la ràbia que em feia no pillar-lo, insuportable.

"We say of some things that they can't be forgiven, or that we will forgive ourselves. But we do, we do it all the time."


In the spirit of full disclosure, I read "Dear Life" mainly because the author Alice Munroe won the Nobel Prize in Literature 2013. I remember reading media accounts of how this was such a surprise because she, although prolific, was not a well known author, like John Updike, for example. Anyway, I enjoyed the first few stories and then the book seemed to drag. I was able to plow through the book because I learned beforehand Munroe's books are less about plot and more about the realizations and epiphanies the characters achieve. I also think they are more focused on the thought process of the characters as well. Most stories were mundane and fit into the "slice of life" trope. Slice of life stories are a literary genre I typically enjoy, but only if I can relate to it. And most of the stories took place in a certain time and setting I honestly did not care a whit about. So, why did I highly rate this book? Her prose was what sold me. Her elegant, ethereal, and often simple writing style enchanted me. I often felt there was more to the story than she was letting on and even the most disjointed stories had some sort of narrative that was difficult to decipher. I will probably re-read this book in the future, and maybe I'll discover something I failed to discern the first time.