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.
Once again, Munro has found her characters in a bit of a predicament involving a house. Whereas “Material” focused on the downstairs apartment flooding, “Executioners” centers around a case of arson. On the surface, this is all that the stories share as the protagonist witnesses another’s misfortune from afar. There’s even the suggestion that each of them is helpless to change the direction of other’s fates. However, they’re mostly framed in the same way in which women’s passivity looks into another’s life and finds jealousy and shame mixed up inside of them. “Executioners” isn’t the type to vindictively act out, but it’s still something that lingers in the back of Helena’s mind. Even as she ages, the conflict ruminates in her mind. She prays that it will disappear one day, deciding that it will once everyone involved dies. In that regard, her dark apartment as she drinks whiskey may be a premature tomb awaiting a shame that she’ll believe will go away soon. It’s clearly haunted her for this long and there’s some relief with escaping this mortal coil.
Shame has been present in the story from the first section. Before a lot of the details are revealed, Helena recounts the fact that she was made fun of as a child. She was called names and bullied into being a submissive type. She would keep to herself because she recognizes the pain of speaking up. She also sees it in her parents. Her father used to be in Parliament until he was ceremoniously voted out while people carried brooms set ablaze. It’s a horrific sight that also foreshadows the third act. Still, Helena and her father are aware of what it means to speak up and try to produce change. It can lead to trauma and embarrassment. It’s likely a reason that Helena’s mother is sidelined for most of the story, not really discussed except in passing. Is she ashamed of her family’s legacy?
Like the best of Munro’s work, there’s a brilliance to how everything on the first page foreshadows what follows. Even if the reader is unaware of where things are going, there’s a sense of discomfort. By this point in the anthology, the reader is used to seeing Munro pit her women into positions of disappointment. “Executioners” does something different in that it’s not brought on by her own intimate relationships. There is no boyfriend who convinces her that the world is a terrible place. Even Helena’s father isn’t the least bit villainous. If anything, this is the fear of what lies outside of her door. Because of this, the irony of a fire burning down a house holds several meanings, including the fact that it’s burning down a place of safety, bearing one’s vulnerability in ways that may never recover.
Before getting to that moment, it’s important to establish Helena’s world which makes this detail important. She is a child who walks to school every day. There’s no reason to believe she’ll cause any trouble. However, there are a few people who present interesting conflicts within the text. There’s the family’s hired girl Robina who is missing an arm from a machinery accident. There’s also Stump Troy, whose legs were lost in a mining accident. While it would be suggested that Robina and Stump Troy would at least sympathize with each other, it’s evident quickly that they despise each other. Robina is especially antagonistic and reflects the behavior of her brothers Jimmy and Duval who are considered town nuisances. The siblings are given the benefit of the doubt in Helena’s recounting when she recalls that they’re accused of stealing when it was mostly to see how a flashlight worked.
Together, every character mentioned is seen as a social reject who is laughed at by others. The story centers around Helena’s relationship with Stump Troy’s son Howard. He’s infrequently at school and the few times where Helena has decided to help him, things go awry. It’s not from her own folly, but the idea that Howard is too prideful to have what he perceives as a handout. Given that even the teachers have been known to make fun of Howard while he was in the room, there’s an animosity towards him that feels much worse than Helena. Even with her being accused of having an alcoholic father and smelling awful, there’s no match for The Troys. Whereas Helena is able to have a servant, Stump Troy doesn’t even have that opportunity. He’s of a lower class and thus ridiculed for any shortcomings his family has. He may have been kicked out of Parliament, but Helena’s dad still has his legs. The disabilities aren’t that severe in the greater hierarchy.
So what does Howard do when Helena reaches out? Like everyone else in the story, it’s retaliation as self-defense. He insults her with sexual language that she finds too vulgar to repeat. Again, shame is instilled in her much like Howard is of being helped by others, let alone a girl with a bad social reputation. It looks pathetic, and there’s no ability to find the greater sympathy in these figures. If Robina can’t say anything nice about Stump Troy, then how could Howard do the same for Helena? It’s an irrational logic, but a very human one that comes to define the characters. As Robina thinks she’s about to be attacked, she has her brothers set up to protect her. The paranoia, logically, leads to what this story has always been centered around: flames.
It is important to note that Helena didn’t start the fire. She may have been the first one to notice, but it was going on long before she set eyes on it. This abrupt moment happens at The Troy House. Helena stands there, helpless, trying to make sense of why this would be happening. What is the greater motivation? To make matters worse, Stump Troy is stuck inside while Howard is outside watching everything happen. There’s a handicap that keeps Howard from being able to enter. The fear of losing his father is ultimately greater than the potential risk of injury or even death sends him flying into a row of flames never to be seen again. In the greater metaphor, Helena witnesses The Fall of Troy. The lowest people in the societal rung are gone.
What makes this scene even more interesting is that while Helena is the first witness, she is far from the first. The whole town is said to have come out to watch the building immerse in flames. It’s a great tragedy because, despite the masses, they all are powerless to change the course of history. All they can do is lay witness to the disaster and have their own story. Even with this new information, nobody feels proud to share their story. It’s not something they can insult in order to feel better. It’s a genuinely terrible moment fabricated to look like a mistake. They will live with this trauma for the rest of their lives and, depending on their moral compass, will feel haunted by it even if a new house is resurrected on the same property in the future. Helena definitely hasn’t forgotten. Even as the thought of flaming brooms haunts the reader’s imagination, it’s clear that there’s some hypocrisy in this town. They’re quick to condemn and slower to publicize any guilt.
Because of how small the pool of characters is in this story, it’s easy to determine how this mystery will turn out. There has to be a culprit. Alas, it comes in the sight of a gas can on the side of Jimmy and Duval’s house. Without any admission, Helena is able to piece together events. It’s clear that Robina believed she was at some risk that violently set things off. It’s unclear if she gave the order, but what’s evident is that her brothers were more designed as town nuisances than any self-defense would suggest. They were going to resort to mayhem if anything impacted them in the slightest.
By the story’s end, they would all die. However, Helena would be in contact with Robina at different points. While there’s an implicit animosity between them, neither would bring it up. Instead, there is that quiet awareness of what came before, that something traumatic had happened. Much like the other characters, it’s an event seen as best forgotten. Still, the years go on and Helena has eventually become an old maid living alone. Sometimes she’s happy other days she’s miserable and sits in the dark. It’s clear that this was all a rumination from one of those lonely nights, feeling like everything has been taken away. The comfort and safety disappeared long ago. As a child who was bullied, she carries certain anxieties with her about intimacy and it’s clear that she hasn’t really gotten close to anybody because of that recognition that her generosity can be misconstrued as harmful.
One thing that is interesting to note about “Executioners” is that Munro has a certain response to the story years later. Much like “Walking on Water,” she calls it embarrassing. It’s one that wouldn’t receive any appraisal for 15 years and was ignored upon initial publication in “Something I’ve Been Meaning to Tell You.” Reasons behind this can be seen in the belief that Helena is not an active character with an interesting trajectory. She’s merely a witness who is stuck in a cycle of misery, helpless to change her outlook. With that said, it’s hard to not think Helena at least reflects a certain kind of femininity. It’s the type that becomes wrapped up in oppression, and criticized for any sign of independence. When it speaks out, it’s met with violence. If her father and The Troy Family can face life-altering backlash, what’s to stop her from doing so if she speaks out?
It's honestly a compelling trajectory for “Executioners.” Even if it doesn’t feel like it’s fully explored as a concept, I’d argue that it works as a metaphor not only for the shame of being a woman in society, but also for conflicts that faced Munro during her lifetime. As mentioned in an analysis by The Mookse and the Gripes, a lot of the imagery is borrowed from history. Helena and Troy, of course, are pulled from Homer’s epic “The Iliad.” The story can’t help but feel like a war of a town trying to contemplate what to do with its less fortunate individuals. It’s a war of not being able to express oneself and allowing any sense of vulnerability to boil to the surface. Helena’s father is unable to speak to her about his own tribulations. Howard is clearly holding back his own shame. Everyone is at war with others emotionally as well as themselves.
But as the analysis suggests, this is evident in other historic ways. While this story is reflective of the moral values of the early 1900s, it’s also relevant to contemporary matters. When growing up, Munro was often confronted by images of disaster. It was in things like a seated monk on fire or a Vietnam girl on fire. Back in America, there were also four little girls who died in an explosion at a Birmingham, AL church. Death came at the hands of greater bigotry. By the time it came to The Vietnam War, it was evident that Munro’s own conflicts with disaster would inspire a story or two.
Once reading the story through this lens, things make more sense. Even if she rarely references current events in her writing, it does a lot to inform her subconscious technique. The fire soon becomes obvious. It’s not only violent, but it has become a part of America’s terrible sense of history. Even if Munro is Canadian, there’s an awareness that they were complicit in the war. Similarly, President Nixon praised his supporters as “The Silent Majority” as if it was a compliment. They wouldn’t make change. Nixon would do all the work. Considering that it came out that he prolonged the war for selfish reasons, being silent was no longer something to be proud of. And yet, it’s something that has resonated in American history especially. Citizens were helpless to make change, some were wounded and losing limbs. Running into the fire would kill you and it was obvious to see how. It’s a nihilistic vision that feels beyond Munro’s own orchestration.
Maybe it’s not the most affirming story in the collection. It’s also a tad underwhelming from a character perspective. However, some things resonate. It’s a story full of emotions that are not resolved. Any effort to express oneself leads to aggravation from others. It’s a story of submissiveness as a necessity. However, it all comes boiling out in other ways, leaving everyone lonely. What’s clever about the story is how Helena’s interiority is a greater commentary on the pain many felt during the time but also something that resonates with those unfamiliar with a greater message. It’s a story of rawness and ferocity. Maybe it could’ve been better executed, but when it comes to answering the question of who the real executioner was, one thing is evident. There is the central crime that’s big and vulgar, but there’s also the murder of many people’s souls throughout this story. Everyone has their place in executing others’ happiness. It’s important to come to terms with it before it truly has gone away.
Coming Up Next: “Marrakesh"
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