Dear Life: Stories is, as one reviewer posited, a bad place to start reading such an acclaimed author. This may very well be true. Either way, I have no intention of continuing to read any of Munro\u2019s work after reading what amounts to an extremely over sold and boring set of stories.<\/p>\n
I honestly have no idea where Munro earned her reputation from, earning the Nobel prize and all. Then again, Humboldt\u2019s Gift by Saul Bellow earned the Pulitzer and I\u2019m stuck a third of the way through that. So, yes, I can see the award winning, I just can\u2019t understand it.<\/p>\n
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Since I\u2019m being sacrilegious by calling Munro a boring writer, and her stories not worth reading, I might as well go all the way and state her autobiographical stories, about her childhood, are even worse.<\/p>\n
In my own childhood, my father would often say to me (much to my chagrin at the time, much to my relief as an adult) \u201cWhat\u2019s your point?\u201d<\/p>\n
I wish someone had asked Munro what is the point of her stories, especially those about her life. They meander. They go nowhere. Pointless wonderings. More like journal entries than something worth reading for anyone other than the author.<\/p>\n
Really, Munro\u2019s stories go nowhere. Or, if they do go somewhere, there is no point. Or, you don\u2019t care. Or, well, who cares? No one, and that\u2019s because the characters don\u2019t resonate.<\/p>\n
One last point: I\u2019m going to get super sacrilegious here. The claim is often made that male authors sound wrong or otherwise inauthentic, when writing from a female perspective. Well, Munro sounds inauthentic when she writes for some of her male narrators\/characters.<\/p>\n
Dear Life: Stories is not worth reading.<\/p>\n