Last year, I was rummaging through a used bookstore to see what titles would catch my eye. Somewhere among the endless titles was the author Alice Munro, whose Pulitzer Prize-winning anthology “Something I’ve Been Meaning to Tell You” was staring back at me. With curiosity, I bought it with intent on seeing if there was something about her prose that spoke to me. With phenomenal blurbs on the back, I’ve taken up the challenge of working my way through these pages to see if I have found a new favorite. Given that she has a fascination with time and interpersonal relationships, I’m sure this will be a fulfilling journey. The only way to find out is to dive right in.
It may only be the third story in this anthology, but “How I Met My Husband” is a title that feels prominent throughout the work of Munro. Both “Something I’ve Been Meaning to Tell You” and “Material” owes time to exploring the protagonists’ marital relationships. While it’s more evident in the latter, there’s plenty of subconsciousness that comes with starting a story like this, wondering what’s going to happen to the betrothed parties. One would expect the author to dive into chaos, jumping through past and present tense to reveal some moral greyness that separates the couple. The placement is brilliant in this way because where she has spent so much time exploring the downfall of previous lovers, “How I Met My Husband” offers a more optimistic and unexpected interpretation.
The story may end with a certain bittersweet heartbreak, but that isn’t to say that it’s a tragedy. Even for a short story that begins with a plane mistakenly crashing on The Peebles Family’s land, there’s a sense of comedy to the piece. Everything is derived from ongoing misunderstandings, where the characters are often playing roles instead of reflecting on something genuine. Even the titular husband is revealed with a great misdirection where protagonist Edie waits for mail from her former lover Chris Watters and thinks she’s waiting for him. It’s from the failure of Edie’s past that she finds love. One can argue how great that relationship winds up being, but the story ends before any greater chemistry can be formed.
While Munro is a master of immediately grabbing the reader, the one thing that is undeniable here is the contrast of title to action. It’s almost like a dark joke to have a story of courtship open with potential tragedy. There’s a chance that Chris Watters could be dead before the first page reveals every character. Of course, sensationalism is the first misdirect. The reader is already wondering if it’s foreshadowing a great tragedy, where Edie’s love life is about to spiral out of control. Maybe it’s saying that someone will die. That isn’t of interest to Munro. This is a surprisingly quaint story where Watters’ descension isn’t a tragedy but an effort to make a little cash.
As a former military pilot, Watters has made a career out of touring the country and looking for people to give rides. For a fee, one can be taken into the sky and see the world from a new perspective. In a broad sense, this could be seen as the most thrilling type of bad boy from the early 20th century. Nobody can offer that freedom on the ground. It’s the potential of tragedy that is alluring. It makes sense that Watters would exploit this because who doesn’t love a man who is in control of something so potentially dangerous? By making the passenger think they’re scraping past death, the adrenaline is so powerful that you want him around for further jollies.
He isn’t the protagonist nor is he a husband of any kind. He’s merely a McGuffin for Edie’s personal growth. It’s a bit too easy to think Watters is an important figure based on how prominently he jumps off the page. You want to be him. However, Edie is more lowly. When she is introduced to him, she’s not even at her own house. She’s not even in her own clothes. She is a 15-year-old who is performing babysitting duties for a wealthier family called The Peebles. If anything, this is an escape from the humdrum of her cash-strapped lifestyle. Here she gets to drink ginger ale and imagine potential beyond what the lower class often can dream. That may include playing into the fantasy of dating an aviator.
Much like how Watters diverts expectations, Edie finds ways to confuse the reader. A great example of this early on is when she puts on a bluish-green dress that Mrs. Peebles owns. It fits nicely. There’s a beauty that has been unlocked. She doesn’t stop at the gown. She grows impulsive, playing into the fantasy. She does her hair. She puts on make-up. Suddenly she is a new person, capable of anything. It only makes sense then that her first encounter after this is with Watters. It’s the first moment they meet, and there couldn’t be more of a misdirect. She admits that she doesn’t look like herself. While there’s honesty there, it’s the domino that kicks off another series of confusions.
Someone reading these stories in sequential order would be forgiven for thinking that the worst is yet to come. In “Material,” the protagonist is stuck between an emotionally negligent past and someone who is much too passive. There is a sense of isolation that they’re thrust into. Will Edie be the victim of an equally loveless existence?
What I love here is that Munro has a sense of humanity that isn’t displayed in the others. For everything that happens, there is no harsh judgment. It’s a comedy of errors that finds Edie naively stumbling through a romance that doesn’t fulfill its desired effect. Watters is by no means a bad man. They’re a tad incompatible and he’s maybe a bit too much of a blowhard. Still, he’s the type of boyfriend that is attractive because of what he symbolizes. Hop in his plane and suddenly nobody can get to them. They’re free of expectations. The sky’s the limit.
Love in itself is a misdirect. Munro lets them revel in puppy love where innocent actions hold deeper connotations. Even then, the gossip comes across as more severe than anything they actually do. Maybe it’s because she wore Mrs. Peebles’ dress or their various outings, but there’s a sense from the community that they are serious. The Peebles are quick to think that Edie is flirting with Watters when she is merely confused. There’s a moment where they’re accused of having sex. As beautiful as Edie thinks that notion is, it’s not true. Instead, it leads to time-tested speculation as to what sex actually is like. What goes where and what does any of it feel like? The fantasy outweighs the sensations she’s currently feeling with Watters. Munro’s ability to hide these inadequacies in the background shows the small ways that everyone is putting on a charade.
One day Edie will return to her regular life. This is a story not unlike those summer love narratives where the clock is ticking and the preciousness comes from how intense things are in a short window. With both lovers playing a role, they commit to the bit. Watters is more of a thrill-seeker whereas Edie is probably more interested in the idea of it. Munro hides deeper feelings underneath that don’t fully emerge until Watters is set to leave. There is some belief that he will write Edie and start that long distance romance, satiating them until they are allowed to be together again.
Attentive readers will find the small ways that this artifice is deteriorating. Even then, noticing the naivety of Edie never escapes the heartbreak of young love. She is 15, a bit inexperienced socially, and may never get a chance to live a luxurious life again. Watters is her connection to something greater. Even then, he’s more interested in giving people rides and making money. Who’s to say he doesn’t cheat on her? Maybe deep down he finds her boring and this was all an act until he could pass onto the next town.
It is true that Watters promises to write her. There’s also reason to believe that he never will. Even with this said, Munro’s not critical in a way that suggests he’s a villain in this story. If anything, he’s a bit too wishy-washy to have been the husband. And yet, why was so much time dedicated to this relationship?
Like the other stories, I think the best quality is how much is up for interpretation. The extensiveness maybe says more about Edie than her next romance. There has to be something formative to this interaction that will inform her future. Maybe it’s the idea that all of the misdirection revealed the limitations of artifice. Maybe it’s how dating a thrill-seeker and entering a gossip-filled world is not for her. It’s never overtly stated, but one can imagine how being spoiled didn’t actually make her any happier.
There’s also reason to suggest that, of the characters who have surnames, there’s a variation in words that the reader could be familiar with. In the case of Watters, there’s one too many T’s. For The Peebles, it could be something akin to pebbles. As parts of nature that interlock with each other, there’s an ecosystem that exists outside of Edie’s world. They’re a bit off from what is normal, and it explains how she sees everything. It may look normal from afar, but one can’t help but notice that it’s just different enough to not be natural. Maybe it’s evidence that Edie wishes to be part of that world, where she can have a surname that holds some greater value. Instead, she is merely a 15-year-old who has little to show for herself financially. Her identity isn’t yet fully formed and she’s susceptible to people’s expectations of her. She can be molded to fit their ideals.
Which makes the shift into the finale all the more palatable. The reader expects the tragedy of waiting for Watters’ letter, possibly forever, and feeling a life break away from her. It’s not unlike the protagonist of “Something I’ve Been Meaning to Tell You” where bitterness and jealousy overwhelm her. Instead, the choice to wait by the mailbox reveals a chance to notice something much more optimistic. As his name suggests, Watters evaporates from her life, and in its place is the mailman. Here is someone who is as much a journeyman, but is grounded in a social environment more familiar to her. He will have this routine possibly for the rest of his career. Not only that, but one can read into the symbolism that as a mailman, his job is a directness in terms of communication which is severely lacking from many supporting characters.
There is something to be said about how their falling in love is yet again another misdirect. He believes that she’s waiting for him. It’s beautiful if true, but by outlasting the pain of a failed romance, Edie finds new love by accident. It’s the happenstance that draws them together. However, the ending suggests that despite this love, there’s the reality that she’s still letting people guess what is actually true. She chooses to just laugh, realizing how ridiculous this whole process has always been.
I really like this story for how Munro subverts the reader’s expectations. They’re left realizing that Edie isn’t going to fall victim like her previous protagonists. She’s going to have a happier life beyond the mediocre boyfriend she had. While there’s uncertainty as to how loyal the mailman will be, one can assume that he’ll always be there to deliver mail, to see her and be around no matter what. There’s no flying away at a moment’s notice. There is a comfort that is undeniable, and after dealing with so much lack of honesty, it’s such a relief. It’s up to the reader not to determine if it’s a happy ending, but how happy Edie will ultimately be several years after those pages end.
It's also exciting to note that this is the first story in the anthology to have a legacy beyond the page. While appearing in the 1974 anthology, there’s also been a few adaptations. It was adapted in 2014 into a play that was staged at The Blyth Festival. It was also part of the film Martha, Ruth and Edie (1988) alongside stories by Cynthia Flood and Betty Lambert. While it may not be the most recognizable work that she has produced, it’s easy to see what’s so appealing about the accidental lovers story and how it can lead to warm, comedic interpretations.
As mentioned prior, I am reading this whole anthology blind. I have no knowledge of what’s coming next, and this was a welcomed surprise after two stories that ended on rather somber notes. Even if this isn’t steeped in any direct Women’s Liberation themes like the previous two, there’s still that sense of womanhood and trying to find what matters to her. The obstacles aren’t life-changing, but mere road bumps to better things. There is a sense that Munro is commenting on the idea of how sometimes it’s best to not settle for the first option just because it seems more attractive. Sometimes one needs to look beyond the glitz to find something meaningful inside. Maybe by doing this, they can avoid feeling alone in the world even while going on lavish journeys. Edie has her whole life ahead of her, and it’s for the best that she didn’t just settle down right away.
Coming Up Next: "Walking on Water"
Comments
Post a Comment