Too Much Happiness: Stories (2024)

"Something happened here. In your life there are a few places, or maybe only the one place, where something happened, and then there are all the other places."

I pulled this quote from one of the stories in this very fine collection from the master of short stories, Alice Munro. Yet, I believe it sums up exceedingly well one of the themes running through every single story. There exist these significant moments in one’s life, no matter how remarkable they may or may not appear at the time, that shape a person from that point forward. Do we know when this happens? When this moment occurs, do we proclaim ‘This is it! THE moment that will change me forever!’? Probably not. Alice Munro, however, is a master at drawing us to these moments in the lives of her characters - some of them more momentous than others. What impresses me most is how she manages to do this in so few words.

Don’t let the title of this collection fool you. Unless of course you can infer immediately what Munro means when she says “too much”. This is a bit of a darker assortment than I had expected to encounter. Perhaps this and the edgy southern collection I also read this month are somehow linked to the uncharacteristically cynical aura I radiated around the house this holiday season. Still, I appreciated the meatiness of both sets of stories. Sometimes horrific events occurred; at other times, we witnessed subtle happenings that had impact much later in lives. And there were times when the uglier, more shameful natures of our personalities were revealed. "The life of those times took much of its liveliness, its wit and folklore, as my mother may have known, from pure viciousness."

Most of the stories were excellent; a couple of them were less engaging. The first, Dimensions, was the most poignant, in my opinion. Wenlock Edge left me squirming. After reading Free Radicals, I had a new respect for a resourceful, elderly widow. Child’s Play was perhaps the most disturbing. The misunderstandings of children as well as the cruelty they can easily inflict on one another felt all too real in this day and age. The last story, Too Much Happiness, is the one I was most drawn to as it told the story of a real-life historical figure, Sophia Kovalevsky, a Russian mathematician. Oddly enough, this piece actually felt a little out of place in the collection. I never really thought of Alice Munro as a writer of historical fiction, but that is exactly what this was. I thought it worked well, but it left me wanting a bit more – a full length story of Kovalevsky’s life would be even more satisfying. A brilliant woman struggling in a place (Russia and later Sweden) and time (late nineteenth century) to achieve the recognition and respect she very well deserved. "She was an utter novelty, a delightful freak… Men whose brains were blowing old notions apart were still in thrall to women whose heads were full of nothing but the necessity of tight corsets, calling cards, and conversations that filled your throat with a kind of perfumed fog." I’ll be on the lookout for other works about this fascinating woman.

I’m a great fan of Munro. My first acquaintance with her was a collection titled The Moons of Jupiter. My favorite so far, however, is her one novel titled Lives of Girls and Women. I can’t recommend it highly enough – it is truly superb! I own a few more of her compilations and know that I can count on some captivating writing no matter what I choose next.

"It almost seemed as if there must be some random and of course unfair thrift in the emotional housekeeping of the world, if the great happiness – however temporary, however flimsy – of one person could come out of the great unhappiness of another."

Los cuentos de Munro vienen siempre a demostrarnos que la gente normal en sus vidas normales con sus conductas normales, si es que el término normal significa algo, pueden ser lo suficientemente atractivos como para despertar nuestro interés si la mirada del que escribe es tan penetrante y su inteligencia al elegir el enfoque tan incisiva como es el caso de la autora canadiense. Y es que, quién más, quién menos, puede hacer suya la frase que se enuncia en uno de los mejores cuentos de los aquí reunidos, Cara:

“En la vida tienes unos cuantos sitios, o quizá uno solo, donde ocurrió algo, y después están todos los demás.”

Todo es narrado, por tremendo que sea lo sucedido, con una franca naturalidad, con un lenguaje limpio que no oculta las atrocidades ni los sentimientos pero que no hace exhibicionismo de ello y siempre con una capacidad inusual para manejar los segundos y terceros planos. Munro se mete honestamente en la piel de todos sus personajes con el fin de comprenderles y hacer comprensible los hechos que desde la comodidad de nuestro sillón podríamos juzgar injustamente, sin que ello signifique ningún tipo de indulgencia o condescendencia. Al fin y al cabo, nunca se sabe.

“He visto la mirada en el rostro de ciertas personas...abandonadas en islas elegidas por ellos mismos, penetrante, satisfecha.”

“Las esposas eran las vigilantes de las barricadas, del ejercito invisible e implacable. Sus maridos se encogían en hombros con tristeza ante las prohibiciones, pero las aceptaban. Unos hombres que hacían pedazos viejas ideas seguían sometidos a unas mujeres en cuya cabeza solo tenían cabida la necesidad de los corsés ajustados, las tarjetas de visita y unas conversaciones que llenaban la garganta de una especie de niebla perfumada. “

“Algunas mujeres se especializan en hombres a quienes creen necesitados de ánimos, dispuestas a exhibirte para demostrar su generosidad.”

“We live in time - it holds us and molds us - but I never felt I understood it very well. And I'm not referring to theories about how it bends and doubles back, or may exist elsewhere in parallel versions. No, I mean ordinary, everyday time, which clocks and watches assure us passes regularly: tick-tock, click-clock. Is there anything more plausible than a second hand? And yet it takes only the smallest pleasure or pain to teach us time's malleability. Some emotions speed it up, others slow it down; occasionally, it seems to go missing - until the eventual point when it really does go missing, never to return.”

― Julian Barnes, The Sense of an Ending

As I proceeded on my voyage through this intense collection of short stories by Alice Munro, this quote by Julian Barnes kept coming to my mind. For, this collection is essentially about people encountering unprecedented events in their lives. Events, where time and the choices/ judgement made by the characters, play an important role .Time, abounding moments, which possess the power to alter a state of life. Forever. Time, constantly reminding, that we live in a mortal world which is not consistent in its living. It is a world which is ephemeral. A world which enfold every thing, every joy, pain, sorrow, misfortune, lust, desire, ecstasy, every possible feeling experienced by a human being, and, is still constantly altering in the sense in which it makes it supremacy felt.

Alice portrayed this supremacy in the story “Dimensions” profoundly. It is a story where Doree, the female character, in a rage of anger, gets out of the house only to return and find the dead bodies of her three kids. Kids strangled to death by her husband. It wasn’t the first time that they had a fight, but it was the first that she went out of the house in anger. If only she hadn’t at that time, her kids would still be with her. Did she get over it? Not exactly. Did she forgive her husband? May be, she did. Here is the letter which her husband wrote to her from the institution where he was kept:

“People are looking all over for the solution. Their minds are sore (from looking). So many things jostling around and hurting them. You can see in their faces all their bruises and pains. They are troubled. They rush around. They have to shop and go to the Laundromat and get their hair cut and earn a living or pick up their welfare checks. The poor ones have to do that and the rich ones have to look hard for the best ways to spend their money. That is work too. They have to build the best houses with gold faucets for their hot and cold water. And their Audis and magical toothbrushes and all possible contraptions and then burglar alarms to protect against slaughter and all (neigh) neither rich nor poor have any peace in their souls. I was going to write neighbour instead of neither, why was that? I have not got any neighbour here.

Where I am at least people have got beyond a lot of confusion. They know what their possessions are and always will be and they don’t even have to buy or cook their own food. Or choose it. Choices are eliminated. All we that are here can get is what we can get out of our own minds. At the beginning all in my head was perturbation (Sp?). There was everlasting storm, and I would knock my head against cement in the hope of getting rid of it. Stopping my agony and my life. So punishments were meted. I got hosed down and tied up and drugs introduced in my bloodstream. I am not complaining either, because I had to learn there is no profit in that. Nor is it any different from the so-called real world, in which people drink and carry on and commit crimes to eliminate their thoughts which are painful. And often they get hauled off and incarcerated but it is not long enough for them to come out on the other side. And what is that? It is either total insanity or peace.”

In other stories like 'Fiction', 'Wenlock Edge', 'Deep Holes' and 'Too much Happiness' also, she makes you sit, and contemplate the choices/decisions taken by characters, at different points in their lives. Decisions, which if, were different from those taken, would have altered their living tremendously.

In Wenlock edge, a young girl is disgraced by a Mr. Purvis, who demands her presence sans any clothing for a dinner at his house. The girl acquiesces, and even goes to the extent of reading aloud before the man. It is noteworthy that the man does not even touch her. But some time later, when she is still restless, her mind is occupied by these thoughts “I would never think of those lines again without feeling the prickles of the upholstery on my bare haunches. The sticky prickly shame. A far greater shame it seemed now, than at the time. He had done something to me, after all.”

Here the reader is actually left to brood over the morality of human beings. Capriciousness, in some weak moments, may result in hasty and insensitive decisions, thereby changing the disposition in a manner, which may not be retractable.

My favourite story of the collection is “Too much Happiness”, which entails the story of an erudite Mathematics scholar, Sophia, who rises to fame from a humble background. Her journey involving those decisions which help her find her place in the Society. But does she feel happy subsequently? Is she happy after achieving recognition? Is she happy for her decision to remarry after the death of her ex Husband? At one stage she wonders whether her decision to enter into a sort of contract marriage with her ex Husband was right. Alice tries to give a sight into it through these lines:

“Many persons who have not studied mathematics confuse it with arithmetic and consider it a dry and arid science. Actually, however, this science requires great fantasy. She was learning, quite late, what many people around her appeared to have known since childhood that life can be perfectly satisfying without major achievements. It could be brimful of occupations which did not weary you to the bone. Acquiring what you needed for a comfortably furnished life, and then to take on a social and public life of entertainment, would keep you from even being bored or idle, and would make you feel at the end of the day that you had done exactly what pleased everybody. There need be no agonizing.”

The story ends with the demise of Sophia brought about by pneumonia. Could it be avoided if she hadn't taken a journey to meet her teacher? And does she die being “Too Happy”? I would let you ponder upon that, since, I would not want go ahead further and spoil your reading of the work.

This collection of short but powerful stories by Alice Munro does lead to emphasize the helplessness of humans when lost into the maze of consequences brought about by their own decisions. And does convey us the necessity to be more judicious when still making ours.

Thanks to a dear friend for introducing me to Munro. Thank you s.penkevich.

Leave it to Alice Munro to humble me as a reader. To leave me feeling tricked. To make me feel dumb. To show me that even when I think I'm paying attention, I'm really not paying attention. What was I thinking of at that moment? What was occupying my attention? Clearly not the story I was reading, the story being 'Wenlock Edge' with that last section so crucial to giving context to the section before it. It wasn't a magic trick, just a rearrangement of the timeline. And I missed it. And now that I've sorted that out--Alice, how I've missed you! It's been a few years. The beauty of Alice Munro is that each story can be reread endlessly, without the reader ever being 100% certain that they've noted every nuance or caught every trick.

Dimensions - 5
Fiction - 5
Wenlock Edge - 4
Deep-Holes - 3
Free Radicals - 4
Face - 4
Some Women - 4
Child's Play - 5
Wood - 5
Too Much Happiness - 5

"-Charlene did tell about her brother, but with true repugnance. This was the brother now in the Navy. She went into his room looking for her cat and there he was doing it to his girlfriend. They never knew she saw them.
-She said they slapped as he went up and down.
-You mean they slapped on the bed, I said.
-No, she said. It was his thing slapped when it was going in and out. It was gross. Sickening.
-And his bare white bum had pimples on it. Sickening."

I spent the day driving across two states to my parents' house for another brief visit, and Alice Munro kept me company during the trek. They're still out and about, so I cracked a Maumee Bay on the back porch (personally imported from Ohio ;), and I'm currently enjoying the star-studded Kentucky sky as I type this review.

This is my first Munro collection, and I am flat-out in love. She's dark and twisty, but she brings the shadows and cruelties into quite believable, everyday situations. These are not horror stories, they're life stories, which can sometimes feel like horror stories.

I'm giving it four stars because I have a feeling she's got even better collections out there. While most stories knocked me on my ass, one or two failed to take flight, and I want to save my five-star ratings for her very best work.

Book/Song Pairing: At Last (Neko Case)

Something about these stories makes my skin creep. There is a feeling of total emptiness, as if I am watching people's lives unfold in front the plexiglass of a zoo enclosure. Munro is a talented writer, but there is nothing showy in her style. I felt no connection with the characters, the time and place are not developed in great detail. All you are left with the uncomfortable situations she picks as her material: unfinished lives, death, misunderstanding, lies. I'll come back to Munro the next time I want the literary equivalent of dissecting a frog, but in the mean time, I'll stick to authors who can write beautifully, craft a plot and make a full-blooded human beings leap from the page.

is there another living writer of fiction who, while reading, produces as many of these: 'yes! exactly! a tiny but revelatory detail i've never considered in such a light... and never so precisely expressed!' -- no. there isn't. alice munro is chimney-smoke smell and end-of-day melancholy. the goal is to read everything she's written.

Too Much Happiness by Alice Munro
🌟🌟🌟🌟

This was my first time reading short stories and I absolutely loved it. The combination of Alice Munro and her short stories makes for an incredibly enjoyable read.

The title of this fabulous collection of short stories is a misnomer. There isn't a smidgen of happiness, except, perhaps in the last title story. I am not necessarily a connoisseur of short stories, but those I have read would never be described as happy - brilliant, lifelike, deeply moving would be more the case. Who needs happy in a short story?

Alice Munro's stories in this collection ( I will definitely be reading her other collections) are about life, death, lies, guilt, and truths that may be uncomfortable to admit. Her characters come to life with all their human flaws and concerns. Relationships are often mysterious and sometimes devastating and disturbing. Many stories deal with unpredictable moments and the consequences of those moments. Most do not portray admirable men; They are controlling self-centered, or mentally unstable.

The last story is based on the final days in the life of Sophia Kovalevsky, an accomplished Russian mathematician and fiction writer. Although ultimately sad, her experiences were so beautifully described, I felt no sadness. Munro's vivid details were so Russianesque. This was my favorite story, and the reason I bumped my rating from 4 to 5 stars.

Munro won the Man Booker Prize in 2013 for this amazing collection. To me she is the North American (Canadian) equivalent of William Trevor. I could not give a more heartfelt compliment.

The title of her latest collection could sum up the feeling Alice Munro's fans get when they encounter her work. Yet is it possible to get too much of a good thing?

Hardly, when you're in the hands of such an inventive writer, one whose carefully crafted, richly suggestive stories burrow their way into the subconscious like actual memories.

Even in her late 70s, this year's Man Booker International Prize winner gets to show off some new tricks. Two of the stories are among the handful she's written from a male point of view, including the long-uncollected story "Wood," set in the world of tree-cutting and forestry.

The insights Munro offers here - and in the story "Face," narrated by a man born with a disfiguring birthmark - should quash any notion that she's exclusively a chronicler of the lives of girls and women.

Long-time readers will note subtle allusions to earlier stories - a play on one of her titles here, a similar character there - making this feel like a look back at four decades of creating fiction.

In fact, one of the most enigmatic stories is called "Fiction," which is told in a playful, sophisticated fashion. Munro presents a series of scenes, catapults us to a time years later and then adds a clever twist about a young writer of short stories that has us reading the whole tale again.

About those endings: they're chiselled and satisfying but often open-ended, allowing the narratives' mysteries to deepen and take root.

I've read "Some Women" - about a group of women tending to a dying man - several times, and with each encounter I see something new, some surprise flaring up in a character or bit of dialogue.

Violence and sexuality lurk beneath many of the stories: family murders, a questionable death by drowning, a creepy fetishist. But these aren't the point of the stories.

As Nita, the compelling character in the story "Free Radicals," tells us, "She hated to hear the word ‘escape' used about fiction... it was real life that was the escape."

So true. This is fiction to live by.

Originally published in NOW Magazine: https://nowtoronto.com/art-and-books/...

The starkest realization I had while reading Munro’s 2009 collection of ten stories in Too Much Happiness was the absence of happiness. The stories are a sordid depiction of flawed humanity at its worst and most shameful. I took breaks in between stories and had little desire to return to them, a very uncharacteristic response to Munro’s writing. I have to admit nonetheless that Munro is a master at fathoming the depth of human duplicity, evil, vindictiveness as well as the human capacity for making the most out of blemished or damaged lives. Her emotional acuity is outstanding, so much so it rattles the reader.

Munro’s female protagonists are often naïve young women who are coerced into marriage or subservient relationships on account of poverty or unwanted pregnancies, which usually culminate in physical or emotional abuse. This is evident in ‘Dimensions’ where a 17-year-old married a controlling older man who, in a fit of rage, killed all their three children and in ‘Wenlock Edge’ where a woman in her early 20s from a dysfunctional home became enslaved to a sugar daddy who kept her under constant surveillance. Both women returned compulsively time and again to their soul-destroying relationships. The title story bore testimony to the lowly social status of women, even women who were educated. Sophia Kovalevsky, a Russian mathematician, won a coveted academic prize for Math, but lost her lover, a Russian law professor who (threatened by her achievement) decamped and later promised marriage, which he had no intention of honoring. In a male dominated world, we are told that a successful woman is but ‘a delightful freak’ or ‘an utter novelty.’ Similarly, in ‘Some Women’, a terminally ill man took pleasure in women who were ignorant.

Reading Munro this time, I discovered an alarming edge that was new. I sat up, squirmed, and worried for the characters. In other Munro work, I have not encountered this sense of evil creeping and burrowing its way into the stories. ‘Free Radicals’ is a dark, crime story where an intruder on the pretense of mending a fuse box made demands on a helpless elderly lady whose husband had just died. My blood turned cold when he started shattering a dinner plate after demanding that he be served breakfast. A disturbing story that took the cake is ‘Wenlock Edge’ where a young woman was invited to an unsuspecting dinner date with her room-mate’s sugar daddy. I pleaded silently with her at the gate to go home when it became clear what the dress code was for dinner. In ‘Child’s Play’, two 9-year-old girls at a camp ganged up, victimized, and caused the death of a fellow camper who had special needs.

What happiness is there in ‘Too Much Happiness’? For the mother who had lost all her children, happiness is an illusory comfort imagining them in a better after-life. That is poor consolation. In ‘Deep-Holes’, an estranged hippy son who left home to beg and live among the poor and destitute said to his aggrieved mother whom he asked to see only to demand money from her, ‘There is only outside, what you do, every moment of your life. Since I realized this, I’ve been happy.’ His happiness was sadly built on her misery. In ‘Fiction’, Christie, an author, wrote about her childhood experience of how her violin teacher whom she adored had manipulated her to get domestic news of her husband who then was living with Christie and her mother. Christie’s happiness? ‘She thinks of the music she painfully learned to play... The buoyancy of her hopes, the streaks of happiness, the curious and delightful names of the forest flowers that she never got to see.’

Happiness comes at a cost, often at the expense of others.
‘It almost seemed as if there must be some random and of course unfair thrift in the emotional housekeeping of the world, if the great happiness - however temporary, however flimsy - of one person could come out of the great unhappiness of another.’

Too Much Happiness is a sobering read. Some of the stories, and especially, ‘Wenlock Edge’, end with more questions than it answers. There is indisputably great skill in a short story writer who allows her stories to live on in the mind of her readers after the last page was turned. And yet, I cannot honestly say I wish to read these stories again.

Le donne di Alice Munro sono alberi.

L'ho pensato ad un certo punto, giunta quasi alla fine, leggendo il penultimo racconto, l'unico in cui, paradossalmente, o affatto casualmente, il vero protagonista è un uomo.
Roy è un falegname, come già altri uomini presenti in questi dieci racconti in cui il lavoro manuale e artigianale è presente e rassicurante, che ama però anche andare nei boschi a tagliare la legna; li conosce gli alberi, li riconosce dal tronco, dalla corteccia, più che dalla chioma come sa fare invece la maggior parte delle persone.
«Molta gente riconosce gli alberi dalle foglie o da dimensioni e forma della chioma, ma camminando nel fitto del bosco sfrondato, Roy li distingue dalla corteccia. Il carpino bianco, un legno pesante e ottimo da ardere, ha la corteccia bruna e fessurata sul tronco robusto, ma liscia sui rami e decisamente rossiccia alle estremità. Il ciliegio è l'albero più nero del bosco, e la sua corteccia si screpola in un bel mosaico di scaglie. La maggior parte delle persone si stupirebbe di quanto possono diventare alti i ciliegi nel bosco; non somigliano certo a quelli coltivati nei frutteti. I meli sono più simili ai loro esemplari da frutto: non tanto alti, corteccia non così scura e squamosa come quella del ciliegio. Il frassino è un albero dal portamento marziale e dal tronco rugoso come un velluto a coste. La corteccia grigia dell'acero ha una superficie irregolare il cui gioco di ombre disegna striature nere che possono a volte unirsi in rozzi triangoli, e a volte no. C'è una sorta di rassicurante noncuranza in quella corteccia, adatta a una pianta così comune e domestica, quasi per tutti l'idea stessa di un albero che abbiamo in mente.
Ben altra faccenda sono i fa*ggi e le querce: c'è qualcosa di insigne e solenne in quegli alberi.»

E qui, leggendo queste parole, ho pensato che le donne della Munro sono proprio così: maestose, resistenti, duttili, flessuose, marziali, «possono nascondere la debolezza di venature storte, identificabili da certe ondulazioni della corteccia», oppure essere come la quercia, «l'albero delle fiabe». Sono alberi che sopportano il peso della neve, che si piegano sotto la spinta del vento, che si lasciano accarezzare dal sole, che subiscono i maltrattamenti dell'uomo ma anche di altre donne, che a loro volta, reagiscono, impongono, decidono, spiazzano.
Sono donne sinuose, dal tronco sottile, che soccombono, oppure donne imponenti, dal tronco nodoso, che ingannano, donne che nascondono, tutte, all'interno, anelli, e anelli e ancora anelli che ne disegnano la vita; sono alberi dei boschi, immersi nel buio, oppure alberi da giardino, illuminati dal sole. Alberi da frutto, alberi secchi, alberi in fiore, alberi il cui minimo fruscio richiede attenzione. In ciascuna di loro irrompe nella vita un evento al quale si adattano, flessibili, oppure reagiscono, impetuose, o ne restano schiacciate, come abbattute dall'accetta di un boscaiolo.
Su tutti il primo, «Dimensioni», mi ha tagliato il cuore in tante fette, come se le parole avessero la stessa lama affilata di una sega circolare; solo che alla fine anziché il sangue, è iniziata ad uscire la linfa.
E poi l'ultimo, «Troppa Felicità», completamente diverso dagli altri, quello che dà il titolo alla raccolta; una storia d'altri tempi, una storia vera, quella della matematica e romanziera russa Sof'ja Vasil'evna Kovalevskaja, della quale la Munro racconta, dopo averne scoperto l'esistenza sull'Enciclopedia Britannica, gli ultimi giorni di vita; un cambio di registro dovuto non solo all'epoca e ai luoghi, l'Europa della fine dell'Ottocento rispetto al Canada dei nostri giorni, ma sicuramente anche ai protagonisti e a quel clima di "Russi trapiantati in Europa" già conosciuto e respirato nei romanzi di Irène Némirovsky. Eppure, nello stile di quest'ultimo racconto, asciutto, dal ritmo incalzante che accelera rapidamente, nella solitudine di questa donna non ho ritrovato la Némirovsky, ma piuttosto lo stesso senso di smarrimento appena conosciuto nel Lužin di Nabokov, un uomo solo a Berlino, così come Sof'ja è anche lei una donna sola a Berlino, a Parigi, a Stoccolma. Avrebbe potuto dire di sé, nei suoi romanzi, Vissi (in cerca) d'amore, e di matematica; e sembra impossibile a noi, che oggi fatichiamo a comprenderlo, che queste due passioni abbiano condotto la sua vita, forse perché, come scrisse lei stessa, «Chi non ha studiato la matematica tende a considerarla una scienza arida e fredda. La verità è che la matematica richiede molta immaginazione.»
E in chiusura della lettera, quella frase isolata e tremenda.
«Se ti amassi, avrei scritto cose diverse».
Sono alberi le donne della Munro, il femminile di albero.

Διαφορετικές μεταξύ τους οι ιστορίες με μονο κοινό γνώρισμα τη στρωτή και άμεση γραφή της συγγραφέως. Οι περισσότερες έχουν έντονο το στοιχείο της θλίψης. Όχι απαραίτητα της κατατονικής θλίψης· της θλίψης που στο βάθος του τούνελ βλέπεις αχνά, φως.
Τα διηγήματα, δεν ειναι ανάμεσα στα αγαπημένα μου είδη, παρόλα αυτά, απόλαυσα την ανάγνωσή τους.

En estos últimos meses he notado cuanto me gustan los relatos cortos y admiro muchísimo a los autores que logran crear historias atrapantes en pocas páginas. Alice Munro me ha demostrado que ella no es la excepción, e incluso creo que es una de las mejores que he leído hasta ahora. Su forma de escribir es muy personal, todo está en los detalles, en pequeñas oraciones que lo significan todo, tiene un toque muy único la verdad. Mis favoritos son Dimensiones, El filo de Wenlock, Algunas mujeres y Juego de niños. Su prosa es cinco estrellas, por supuesto.

Alice Munro posee el don de condensar la calidad y las sensaciones que se tienen al leer una novela en cada uno de sus cuentos, de tal manera que cuando terminas uno de sus relatos parece que hayas leído muchas más páginas de las que realmente lo componen; es una habilidad asombrosa la de Munro. Plantea una historia, aparentemente cotidiana, y de repente sucede algo, o se nos cuenta que sucedió algo que da un vuelco absoluto a la trama. Sin duda se trata de una de las mejores escritoras de relatos que he leído.

La mayoría de protagonistas son mujeres a las que les ha acaecido algún percance, están afectadas por un defecto físico o han vivido una desgracia en sus vidas. Munro es única a la hora de describir a estas mujeres, sus pensamientos. Munro habla de hechos cotidianos pero que encierran una cierta complejidad, como suele suceder con todo en la vida. Desarrolla sus historias, llenas de detalles, con una prosa precisa y elegante, alejada de barroquismos pero no exenta de hondura y fascinación, en una palabra, magnífica.

Estos son los diez cuentos contenidos en ‘Demasiada felicidad’:

Dimensiones, donde poco a poco se nos va desvelando lo que le sucedió a Doree con su marido, y el porqué de sus viajes en autobús.

Ficción, donde conocemos a Joyce y su historia con Jon, y las vueltas que da la vida cuando vuelve a encontrarse con alguien del pasado.

El filo de Wenlock, donde se nos relata la excéntrica aventura de la protagonista después de conocer a Nina.

Pozos profundos, donde una simple excursión puede transformar la vida de una familia para siempre.

Radicales libres, donde una visita inesperada saca a relucir todo el ingenio de Nita.

Cara, donde el protagonista, con una mancha de nacimiento en su cara, nos relata una historia de su niñez, donde conoció a Nancy, la única en aceptarle tal como es.

Algunas mujeres, donde la protagonista rememora cómo adquirió su primer trabajo cuidando de un enfermo de leucemia, y cómo eran las mujeres de su entorno, sobre todo la excéntrica Roxanne.

Juego de niños, donde, de la mano de Marlene, se nos desvela un secreto inconfesable del que creía haberse librado.

Madera, donde sabemos de la afición de Roy por conseguir leña.

Demasiada felicidad, donde conocemos a Sofia Kovalevski, una matemática y escritora que vivió a finales del siglo XIX, a través de un viaje en tren de regreso a Suecia.

Five of these stories I'd read before (online at the New Yorker) and it was a pleasure to read them again, even to note a few subtle changes that had been made, in particular, with the one I think is my favorite ("Face"). This pleasure in reading Munro, I think, comes not from her characters or her plots, though she obviously is very talented in those facets, but from the themes of the stories, some of which need to be teased out. I especially felt this way with a story ("Wood") that I didn't even think I liked at first, thinking it only to be a somewhat long-winded way of illustrating an aphorism. Yet, it kept me thinking all night and I reread it the next day.

The longer title story relates the amazing life of a late-19th century Russian female mathematician (and novelist) and sent me looking for more information about her. It's easy to see why Munro was drawn to her, though it couldn't have been easy to get all she related about her in a short story, as she did, as the woman's life could easily take up the length of a novel.

Mighty difficult time choosing between *** & **** for "Too Much Happiness." Alice Munro is more than capable of writing a good sturdy yarn, although the *** may indicate that she is mediocre at best at concocting brilliant short stories. All ten of these shorts are written in an accessible way, but the themes are harsh & bleak. 2 of them involve infanticide (one about a father killing his children, another about kids murdering kids) others are about... straight-up death. The titular story is the only one which seems out of place. All others are contemporary vignettes of Canadian life. The title is ironic, just as you'd expect (kudos for placing that particular story in 19th century frozen Russia-- an unconventional love story involving, yup, mathematics).

Δεν ξέρω τι θεωρεί ο καθένας πάρα πολύ ευτυχία.Πάντως,διαβάζοντας αυτό το βιβλίο ένιωσα πάρα πολύ ευτυχισμένη που ήρθα για πρώτη φορά σε επαφή με μια συγγραφέα που ελέγχει με απόλυτη,σχεδόν μαθηματική,ακρίβεια τον ρυθμό της αφήγησης.Κάθε ιστορία έχει το δικό της ύφος,πχ η συγγραφέας άλλοτε είναι πιο ωμή και κυνική,άλλοτε πιο ποιητική.Η δομή των ιστοριών είναι τόσο ολοκληρωμένη,σε σημείο που πιστεύω ότι άνετα καθεμία απ’ αυτές θα μπορούσε να αναπτυχθεί σε μυθιστόρημα.Οι περισσότεροι χαρακτήρες είναι common people (για να θυμηθούμε και κανένα τραγούδι των Pulp),φαινομενικά ευτυχισμένοι,αλλά,αν κοιτάξουμε κάτω απ’ την επιφάνεια,βασανισμένοι.
Απ’ τις 9 ιστορίες,οι 3 μπορώ να πω ότι δεν μου κίνησαν ιδιαίτερα το ενδιαφέρον.Οι υπόλοιπες,όμως,ήταν εξαιρετικέςˑ ξεχώρισα το-αστείο με τον τρόπο του-Wenlock Edge,το Dimensions και το Some Women.Απ’αυτές και μόνο,καταλαβαίνει κανείς πόσο σπουδαία συγγραφέας είναι η Munro.Νομίζω,ιδανική επιλογή για μια πρώτη επαφή μαζί της.

Munro all over.

Quisiera leer más de Alice Munro pues tengo la impresión que, "Demasiada Felicidad" es apenas un esbozo de la gran obra de esta autora canadiense. Resultado de mi compulsión por comprar libros, éste tenía ya casi dos años en mi librero y si bien nunca lo olvidé, nunca me había dado el tiempo de leerlo. Y qué sorpresa. Con los primeros tres cuentos pensé "esto es como una versión de Criminal Minds y alguna serie de ID Discovery", obviamente con toda la calidad literaria y, si se puede, más perversa. Munro es una maestra en descubrir sutilmente las flaquezas del ser humano y creo que en eso reside su gran mérito: no es necesario un gran drama, un momento de climax o acción tras acción. Con una narrativa precisa, metódica y casi sin mayores sobresaltos, la autora nos sorprende, nos desarma: nos deja con un nudo o sin aliento, tratando de procesar que fue lo que sucedió.

Mis cuentos preferidos fueron Dimensiones -sobre una una mujer que pierde a sus tres hijos-, El Filo de Wenlock, Juego de Niños, y Demasiada Felicidad. Quizá El filo fue la historia que más disfruté, y de hecho, tuve que buscar algunos artículos sobre este cuento. He de confesar que, no sé si fue resultado de la traducción al español, o bien que devoré el cuento, pero el final me dejó perpleja y tuv que recurrir a esas otras fuentes para entenderlo. Creo que intuí el final, pero sí necesité aclararlo. Un cuento estupendo, en el que parece que no pasa nada, pero hay un grado de perversidad, de sufrimiento, de lo que un ser humano es capaz de soportar... o hacer.

Demasiada Felicidad me pareció un cuento muy interesante, por la protagonista: una mujer matématica que peregrinó por Europa, buscando una universidad que aceptara maestras. Munro sólo narra una parte de su vida, y el lector no puede evitar admirar y conmoverse por esta mujer que, como tantas en los siglos, ha luchado por vivir a su manera, buscando la felicidad.

Alice Munro writes stories like guts: miles of story, packed into this tiny little space. You get into it and it explodes and there's, like, story everywhere.

They make you wonder why people write novels. It's not so much that they have more to say, it's that they take so much longer to say it than Munro does. She makes everyone else look like they're doodling.

Dimensions: A woman whose husband no longer lives with her learns to maybe move on a bit. Well done for what it is, but didn't make a huge impression on me. Ending was a bit tidy.

Fiction: Sortof three stories in one. A woman's marriage collapses; twenty years later, she reads a book by a bystander to the original collapse and gets a different perspective on it. Smart, intricate, very well done.

Wenlock's Edge: Dark and surprisingly dirty, a total home run. A woman gets an odd new roommate. Naked Housman reading ensues.

Deep-Holes: A funny little look at how annoying those flaky Buddhisty hippie types are: they possess no skills and rely on the kindness of others to support their totally irresponsible lives, and yet there's always part of you that's jealous of them. Man, that looks nice! Except for the being super poor and having no personal agency, I mean.

Free Radicals: A woman who once was the younger woman and became a widow gets an unexpected visitor who...sortof has the same impact as the thing in "Dimensions", but different. Another smash hit for me.

η πρωτη μου επαφη με την Munro,που τοσα και αλλα τοσα ειχα ακουσει γι'αυτην.δεν ηξερα τι να περιμενω απο ενα βιβλιο που απιτελειται απο 10 ιστοριες ,οι οποιες κιολας δεν συνδεονται μεταξυ τους με κανενα μοτιβο, δεν ηξερα αν αυτο υο βιβλιο κανει για μενα.και οντως δεν το ξερω ακομη αυτο.σιγουρα δεν ειναι το καλυτερο βιβλιο που διαβασα απο αποψη θεματος ή περιεχομενου(καποιες ιστοριες πρεπει να ομολογησω οτι με αφησαν ειτε τελειως αδιαφορη ειτε με πολλα ερωτηματικα) , ωστοσο η υψηλη βαθμολογια οφειλεται σε αυτο το συναισθημα που μου αφησε η γραφη της Munro .λιγες φορες μου εχει συμβει να με μαγνητιζει τοσο πολυ ο τροπος που γραφει καποιος, να μη μπορεις να αφησεις το βιβλιο επειδη οι λεξεις σε μαγνητιζουν.μπορει να μη με ενθουσιασε ή να μην καταλαβα ακριβως το νοημα ολων αυτων των ιστοριων αλλα πιστευω οτι καταλαβα καλα γιατι η Munro θεωρειται μια από τις σημαντικοτερες συγγραφεις εν ζωη..
υγ.:οι ιστοριες που πραγματικα μου αρεσαν πολυ ηταν οι διαστασεις,το πεζο, οι βαθιες τρυπες, οι ελευθερες ριζες, το προσωπο και το για παιχνιδι.παραδοξως, οχι η ιστορια που εδωσε το ονομα της σε ολη τη συλλογη(παρα πολλη ευτυχια).

Strategie di sopravvivenza
Alice Munro mi piace sempre, perchè nei suoi racconti ci sono molti fatti, pochi commenti e nessun sentimentalismo. Non ricerca toni elegiaci e neanche melodrammatici. Racconta la vita nella sua realtà, più o meno spoglia. Mi piace particolarmente quando racconta le strategie di sopravvivenza dei suoi personaggi che cercano di mantenere l'equilibrio in mezzo alle tempeste che si abbattono su di loro: è l'unica cosa che possiamo fare. Penso a Dimensioni, Buche-profonde e Radicali liberi. In Buche-profonde si segue una madre dall'infanzia dei suoi bambini al ritrovamento del figlio maggiore, che aveva lasciato la famiglia senza dare notizie. La madre lo ritrova quando è ormai adulto, lo scruta come un estraneo ma al tempo stesso con la sollecitudine materna che coglie un tremito e pensa subito all'AIDS. Viene a sapere che vive in una comunità assistenziale che si finanzia anche chiedendo la carità, è delusa e gelosa, prende le distanze e stacca un assegno. Non è facile per lei mandar giù che abbia abbandonato la famiglia senza dare notizie ma accetta il suo diritto all'autodeterminazione. In Radicali liberi la protagonista vede irrompere un ricercato nella sua vita bene organizzata e riconsidera velocemente le sue risorse per salvaguardarla, anche se la sua aspettativa di vita è 1 anno. Dimensioni racconta la vita in equilibrio precario di una madre che ha perduto i suoi bambini e come, rianimando un ferito, ritrovi anche la sua spinta vitale. Bambinate racconta un attimo di follia senza ragione e senza pentimento.

There should be a separate category for Munro: make those five stars doubles. She takes you into her house of fiction, opening doors onto pain and horror, onto hope and happiness (too much), onto searing truth and ravaging emotion, and then stops, leaving you blinking in the sunlight, with the feeling that one layer of protective skin has been removed. I feel that there is a connecting theme: the power of story-telling and literature. Stories to save life in Free Radicals, to rescue and calm in Wenlock Edge, to conciliate, make sense of events in Dimensions, to expiate guilt in Child's Play. Munro is sometimes compared to Chekhov, to Turgenev, but she's incomparable. Thanks again Magda.

"Every one of us will be forgotten, Sophia thought but did not say, because of the tender sensibilities of men - particularly of a young man - on this point."

This quote is not only my favourite quote of the book, it summarizes some of Munro's writing qualities quite nicely. She is sometimes very witty and almost always cynical, perhaps slightly bitter and an acute observer. Four very fine qualities in a writer, yet for me there is something missing in most of the stories. Something of a more forgiving tone perhaps. Something to counterbalance all the follies and pure menace of humanity described.

Time after time Munro is brutally honest about human nature, people deceive each other, leave each other, murder loved ones, and yet perhaps the worst flaws to read about are the smaller ones, the general lack of empathy and understanding, as the woman's indifference to her student in "Fiction" or Marlene's detest for Verna in "Child's Play" or the simple misunderstanding, never repaired in "Face". Though the flaws might be as acutely observed as in the aforementioned quote, for some reason it hits a little too close to home for me, especially while leaving me without any suggestion for redemption from Munro.

I wish I was a more refined person, needing less assurance from the author, but I prefer some type of humor or distracting beauty to sweeten the very bitter medicine. I guess I'm simply not superhuman enough to appreciate all the cynicism of Munro at the moment.

What I do appreciate about the book is that it is clearly written by someone who have lived a full life and has the luxury of looking back with some perspective. Someone who knows that life goes on no matter what, regardless of how broken a heart is or how terrible life becomes, life will prevail unless death enters. Yet there are no cliché descriptions of people once glowing now broken down and faded away (with the exception of Sofia's sister in the last story). Instead people are simply a bit more jaded and perhaps cynical as they grow older, but every bit as alive as before.

I also appreciate the last story. I've previously read short mentions about Sofia Kovalevskaya, the first female university professor in mathematics, and in Munro's story I feel very close to her. Her journey through Europe with the language and norm barriers and description of the Swedish stiffness felt spot on.

I read this book with my book circle and before reading it my expectations were sky high, which often is a set up for disappointment. Almost no one in the circle liked it, some had simply stopped after the two first (and perhaps darkest) stories. I was among the most positive, and clearly I'm not a huge fan excepting perhaps one and a half stories. Still I did feel the need to defend Munro from the accusation of drawing only on her own life in the stories. One person felt that the descriptions were too real to be made up, which I think might be one of the finest compliments one could give to an author.

Munro might be one of the stoutest observers of human flaws I've read, I would love to read what she thinks of our strengths.

------

Ps. I almost forgot: what's the deal with the cover (see the Vintage edition)??? Why would anyone even consider this horrible chick-lit cover after having read even the first two sentences in Munro's book? It makes me think of this article by Meg Wolitzer about 'The second shelf' (how covers on 'women's books' differs from those written by men). This also, by extension, makes me think of the latest Wikipedia debacle where one editor moved all female writers into a separate 'woman author' category, while he left all men in the category simply called 'author', see here .

Edit: I've noticed that after Munro won the Nobel prize the covers have gotten a major make over, imagine that.

So, yes, I have read it again. This is a collection of marvellous short stories that I have read numerous times as it is one of my assessed texts, and one I shall be examined on in the coming days. Whilst a few stories that I did not warm to the first time round now feel very saturated now, those that I loved are still brilliant, and that is just testament to their high regard I hold them in.

'Dimensions', 'Free Radicals' and 'Face' are my favourites from the collection, and they are for sure some of the best, most well-crafted short stories that I have had the pleasure to read. Munro engages with contemporary social issues, but in a beautiful way that is quirky, unique and intense. The stories often take a dark turn, and adopt a great range of tones, from melancholy to satirical to explorative.

Munro's strength is in her characters. We follow sympathetic characters, those you feel aversion to, those who have experienced trauma, and shows herself to be concerned with all manner of members of society. Munro takes these characters and, without giving a verdict of judgment on the character, just tells their story with a range of first and third person perspectives.

Too Much Happiness is a great collection that shows Munro's variety of skills as an author. Whilst some of the stories did not click with me, I would say that Alice Munro's skill as a writer is indisputable. She tells her stories beautifully, in a socially-minded manner that avoids all signs of pretentiousness or unnatural emphasis. They are organic stories told with a wonderful prose.

4.25/5 STARS

Suprema semplicità

”Io sono diventata adulta, poi vecchia.”
Così Alice Munro compendia una intera vita; ed è con frasi come questa, abbaglianti nella loro spietata ovvietà, che questa straordinaria narratrice accende, conclude, risolve e sconvolge le sue storie.
Nei racconti inclusi in questa bellissima raccolta si avverte chiaramente l'impronta dell'età: il tempo, trascorso così veloce e implacabile, sembra ammantare i ricordi di un velo di nostalgia, anche quando si tratti di ricordi tristi; e la valutazione dei fatti , sia lieti che infausti, appare come filtrata attraverso una sorta di saggezza "superiore" che deriva dall'esperienza.
Lo sguardo acuto e disincantato della scrittrice come al solito si appunta principalmente sull'universo femminile: sui rapporti sentimentali e familiari, sulle relazioni quotidiane e sui moti più intimi e segreti dell'animo in rapporto al vissuto personale.
Rispetto al passato, tuttavia, spesso intervengono episodi luttuosi o addirittura cruenti a interrompere la linearità delle vite ordinarie di queste persone comuni. L'evento straordinario, però, viene come relegato a margine, costituendo un mero pretesto per dare rilievo alla complessità del mondo interiore del singolo individuo.
In tal modo anche l'esistenza più anonima si colora di originalità, di unicità, e al tempo stesso si fa portatrice di un messaggio universale di consapevolezza, di indipendenza e di "verità".
Senza enfasi o presunzione, però, perché l'autrice ha il dono dell'umiltà e della semplicità.
La sua prosa cristallina non mira a "rivelare" o "insegnare" nulla, ma unicamente a "raccontare" e lo fa con tanto acume e sensibilità da suscitare nel lettore emozioni, interrogativi e risposte che lo guidano a comprendere con maggiore chiarezza anche la propria vita.

Chi avesse ipotizzato che questa scrittrice avesse raggiunto una maturità artistica ormai statica e che nulla di nuovo potesse ancora stupirci nella sua pur egregiamente collaudata tecnica narrativa, è senz’altro costretto a ricredersi di fronte a questo libro.
Vi si riscontra, infatti, uno sviluppo inatteso di temi già trattati in precedenza, situazioni che ritornano, ma sezionate con più graffiante vigore di ribellione e portate ad un epilogo che scava fino all'estremo abisso dell'animo umano.
Grandissima Munro, come sempre e più di sempre.
(5 dicembre 2011)
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Riletto: 12 aprile 2016
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Great expectations...but alas. I have to agree with this review:

"This was easy to read and the stories and characters were easy to become. I just felt like, why? Why did she have these situations happen to her characters and why did she bother to write about them? It's not like I demand a lot of action, I just didn't get her choices. Just because you can write beautifully doesn't mean you ought to write beautifully about such things. The situations and the characters didn't seem to mesh for me.

Obviously, I'm not a big, fancy writer like Alice Munro, but why write weird stories that are weird in a non-thought-provoking way, like you're happy you borrowed this book from the library rather than have to see it on your bookshelf after you've finished it. These stories: they're not funny, they're not entertaining, they're not educational, and they're not fulfilling."

The secret of short stories often lies in their subtleness; to disguise great emotions into everyday life. Munro just doesn't seem to deliver. Style was allright (though not sublime), content was useless.

I finished this short story collection but decided not to give it a rating. While her writing is intriguing, this might been the wrong book of hers to pick up next as I'm not a keen short story reader. It's rare that I end up enjoying them and think I need to see if she has a full novel to read next

Troppo poca felicità

Non so se a causa di una mia insufficiente disposizione d’animo o per ragioni più oggettive, ma “Troppa felicità” mi è sembrata un po’ al di sotto della qualità che ho riscontrato in tutte le cinque precedenti raccolte della Munro lette nel corso degli anni, “Il sogno di mia madre” e “Nemico, amico, amante” soprattutto.

Va da sé che si tratta anche in questo caso di racconti di pregevole fattura e grande sensibilità che confermano la scrittrice tra i maggiori autori contemporanei di narrativa breve, forse la migliore; la lucidità di espressione e la profondità dei caratteri in particolare femminili che popolano queste storie è indiscutibile e nessuno dei dieci racconti lascia neppure una traccia di delusione retrospettiva.

Tuttavia, nello stile e nella struttura degli episodi ho stentato a ritrovare quel tocco di magia che altrove lasciava il lettore quasi col fiato sospeso, allorché la narrazione prendeva quasi all’improvviso una piega, una svolta, talora una crepa, che costringeva a ricollocare le nozioni acquisite sui personaggi e sui loro rapporti presenti o passati, e tutto ciò non a seguito di eventi traumatici, ma solo per una frase buttata là, un ricordo, una notizia.

In “Troppa felicità” i racconti sembrano invece più lineari, forse il frutto di una penna che, sebbene ancora talentuosa, all’età di oltre 80 anni ha rinunciato o ridotto l’approccio quasi trasversale ed eccentrico alle storie narrate; storie che in molti casi appaiono più che in passato intrise, in contrasto col titolo, di un’asprezza, una durezza ed aggressività esplicita o latente (“Dimensioni”, “Radicali liberi”) che non ricordavo in precedenza.

Sorprende infine l’inclusione dell’ultimo più lungo racconto, che peraltro fornisce il titolo alla raccolta, dove per la prima volta che io ricordi, la Munro non attinge al suo mondo personale o circostante dell’umanità dell’Ontario né ai propri ricordi, ma si ispira a episodi biografici di una scrittrice e matematica russa vissuta nel XIX°secolo, immedesimandosi in qualche modo nel personaggio della prima donna ad aver conseguito importanti riconoscimenti a livello internazionale nel mondo allora prettamente maschile della matematica teorica, ottenendo la cattedra all’Università di Stoccolma.

La Munro non si smentisce. Ogni racconto appare, anche qui, come un romanzo concentrato. E produce un distillato di sensazioni. La trama, come al solito, non conta e scompare nella lettura; fornisce solo l'occasione per assaporare le emozioni, per cogliere la potenza di quei particolari momenti, anche insignificanti, della vita che scorre. La Munro è capace di scavare, registrando a volte angoli che ognuno nasconde anche a se stesso, e lo fa con una semplicità disarmante o, meglio, inusuale. Amplifica certe situazioni, rendendole esageratamente forti, quasi incredibili, e lascia spaesato il lettore. Ma consentendogli di scegliere fino a che punto affondare nei propri ricordi.
E poi c'è l'ultimo racconto, "Troppa felicità", che va considerato direi a sé: la Munro coglie lo spunto da un fatto vero, come spesso fa per i suoi racconti pur lasciandoli anonimi e generici; si interessa alla matematica russa Sof'ja Kovalevskaya (la moderna Università di Stoccolma acconsentì ad essere il primo ateneo d'Europa disposto ad assumere una docente di matematica nel 1889) e si appassiona talmente alla sua breve vita che conduce una ricerca approfondita per ricostruirne gli ultimi anni. E ciò che ci presenta, alla fine, è l'essenza di una giovane donna, esuberante e determinata.

Pensava che per fare un grande matematico ci volesse qualcosa di simile all'intuito, come il bagliore di un lampo, per illuminare ciò che è lì da sempre. Occorreva essere rigorosi, precisi, certo, ma non vale forse lo stesso per i grandi poeti? [...] Alcuni sarebbero inorriditi al solo sentire pronunciare la parola «poeta» associandola alle scienze matematiche.