i had coffee with a writer friend and she said something profound: “everything comes back to Alice.”
we talked about crafting stories in Canada. then we talked about your success and the scrutiny and how the people of your hometown weren’t supportive of your writing, because it cast light on the darker aspects of town life. then we talked about how Canadian writers fucking hate it when other writers experience professional success, and act like asshats.
this morning i listened to your 1974 interview with Harry Boyle in which you discuss the WASP view of bragging. “who do you think you are?” is what you said. the irony of growing up in a small town, feeling judged, and ending up an award-winning writer whose success is judged by both her hometown folks and writers at large is not lost on me, Alice.
you know i have to ask. who are you? besides judged.