This quote, a well known one, by Alice Munro just kills me.
I guess I’m a kind of anachronism… because I write about places where your roots are and most people don’t live that kind of life any more at all. Most writers, probably, the writers who are most in tune with our time, write about places that have no texture, because this is where most of us live.
I don’t buy it, but I sense the question of change here, like watching 24 hour news and thus washed over by the “present.” Texture must be sense, the sense of space and the suitability of being in it. I don’t buy it because I wont necessarily live where my son or daughter “will” live. Munro’s stories draw me because they pull at the notion of memory from many directions. The recall the smaller elements of experience. These become vast.