Vintage Munro: Nobel Prize Edition (Vintage Contemporaries)
This classic collection—now revised and expanded—is the perfect introduction to Nobel Laureate Alice Munro's brilliant, revelatory short stories, in which she unfolds the wordless secrets that lie at the center of human experience.
The stories in this volume span Munro's career: The title stories from her collections The Moons of Jupiter; The Progress of Love; and Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage; “Differently,” from Friend of My Youth; “Carried Away,” from Open Secrets; and (new to this edition) "In Sight of the Lake," from Dear Life. Vintage Munro also includes the text of the Nobel Prize Presentation Speech, given by Peter Englund, Permanent Secretary of the Swedish Academy.
anymore and he didn’t. But the failure of his letters to arrive drove her out of Toronto and made her take the travelling job. Then there would be only the one disappointment in the week, when she got back on Friday or Saturday night. Her last letter had been firm and stoical, and some consciousness of herself as a heroine of love’s tragedy went with her around the country as she hauled her display cases up and down the stairs of small hotels and talked about Paris styles and said that her sample
stand aside and lift his teacup high, to avoid her and her bundle. He said, “Aren’t any of you ladies going to offer Mr. Doud a cup of tea?” Arthur said, “No, no, don’t trouble. “The funeral expenses,” he said to the gray-haired woman. “if you could let her know—” “Lillian wet her pants!” said a triumphant child at the door. “Mrs. Agnew! Lillian peed her pants!” “Yes. Yes,” said the minister. “They will be very grateful.” “The plot and the stone, everything,” Arthur said. “You’ll make sure
such a fuss and secret about it—surely it was natural to be interested in what a man might look like, who had been coming in and making off with her books without her knowing about it—and because he could not help her, he shook his head. He could not bring any picture of Jack Agnew to mind. “Tall,” he said. “I believe he was on the tall side. Otherwise I cannot tell you. I am really not such a good person to ask. I can recognize a man easily but I can’t ever give much of a physical description,
into a puddle. She was dizzy and humiliated. She would not have it. But not all black, now that they were getting closer. She could see dark blue, those were the men’s shirts, and dark blue and purple in some of the women’s dresses. She could see faces—the men’s behind beards, the women’s in their deep-brimmed bonnets. And now she knew who they were. They were Mennonites. Mennonites were living in this part of the country, where they never used to be. There were some of them around Bondi, a
going under the knife.” “ ‘Under the knife.’ What an expression.” He was not in bed tonight, his last night. He had been detached from his apparatus, and was sitting in a chair by the window. He was bare-legged, wearing a hospital dressing gown, but he did not look self-conscious or out of place. He looked thoughtful but good-humored, an affable host. “You haven’t even named the old ones,” I said. “Give me time. Galileo named them. Io.” “That’s a start.” “The moons of Jupiter were the first