torsdag, oktober 10, 2013

Dear Alice


We noticed a plane on the field across the road and thought of your stories “White Dump” and “How I Met My Husband.”


Yes, that was an airport for a while. The man who owned that farm had a hobby of flying planes, and he had a little plane of his own. He never liked farming so he got out of it and became a flight instructor. He’s still alive. In perfect health and one of the handsomest men I’ve ever known. He retired from flight instruction when he was seventy-five. Within maybe three months of retirement he went on a trip and got some odd disease you get from bats in caves.

1994 i The Paris Review
Hela intervjun:
Alice Munro, The Art of Fiction No. 137