Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage: Stories

Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage: Stories

Alice Munro

Language: English

Pages: 323

ISBN: 0375727434

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


In the her tenth collection (the title story of which is the basis for the new film Hateship Loveship), Alice Munro achieves new heights, creating narratives that loop and swerve like memory, and conjuring up characters as thorny and contradictory as people we know ourselves.
A tough-minded housekeeper jettisons the habits of a lifetime because of a teenager’s practical joke. A college student visiting her brassy, unconventional aunt stumbles on an astonishing secret and its meaning in her own life. An incorrigible philanderer responds with unexpected grace to his wife’s nursing-home romance. Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage is Munro at her best, tirelessly observant, serenely free of illusion, deeply and gloriously humane.

Il est venu avec des anémones

Peut-être que je connais l'exil

As Long as the Rivers Flow

Some Great Thing

Whirl Away

















There was, however, a very disconsolate woman sitting at the piano, picking away with one finger and never achieving a tune. Another woman, staring out from behind a coffee urn and a stack of plastic cups, looked bored to stone. But she had to be an employee—she wore a pale-green pants outfit like Kristy’s. “See?” said Kristy in a softer voice. “You just go up and say hello and try not to startle her. Remember she may not— Well. Just go ahead.” He saw Fiona in profile, sitting close up to one

lopsided, abashed, sly, and charming smile and pushed back her chair and came round to him, putting her fingers to her mouth. “Bridge,” she whispered. “Deadly serious. They’re quite rabid about it.” She drew him towards the coffee table, chatting. “I can remember being like that for a while at college. My friends and I would cut class and sit in the common room and smoke and play like cutthroats. One’s name was Phoebe, I don’t remember the others.” “Phoebe Hart,” Grant said. He pictured the

least satisfaction. Kristy was the only nurse he could talk to. Some of the others treated the whole thing as a joke. One tough old stick laughed in his face. “That Aubrey and that Fiona? They’ve really got it bad, haven’t they?” Kristy told him that Aubrey had been the local representative of a company that sold weed killer—“and all that kind of stuff ”—to farmers. “He was a fine person,” she said, and Grant did not know whether this meant that Aubrey was honest and openhanded and kind to

“wartime houses.” He supposed it must be one of those. “Pay when you ship,” he told her. “Also, I want a ticket for myself on the same train. Friday afternoon.” “Going same place?” “Yes.” “You can travel on the same train to Toronto, but then you have to wait for the Transcontinental, goes out ten-thirty at night. You want sleeper or coach? Sleeper you get a berth, coach you sit up in the day car.” She said she would sit up. “Wait in Sudbury for the Montreal train, but you won’t get off

there wasn’t any religious persuasion. Just somebody to give a eulogy, instead of a preacher. Or if you don’t even want it that formal, you can just have people getting up and voicing their thoughts. It’s up to you whether you want the casket open or closed. But around here people usually seem to like to have it open. When you’re going for cremation you don’t have the same range of caskets, of course. We have caskets that look very nice, but they are only a fraction of the cost.” Stood and

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