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.
From the very first story, Munro has been about connecting the past to the present. Whereas it started as a long con to ruin a sister’s life, in “Memorial” it has evolved into something much quieter in its tragedy. More than the loss of a dead son, there’s the reality that the characters aren’t exactly close nor do they express any recognizable emotion about the event. A death is supposed to bring one to grief, to cause those living to recognize their mortality, and draw them closer together. However, as Munro displays, this isn’t a done deal. Even among the two sisters whose present situations are very different, their starting point is a good predictor of their conclusion. In fact, for a story like “Memorial” that feels rooted in remorse, it’s far from reverential.
The story follows Eileen, described as someone who “comes out of the same part of the world accidents come from.” This can simply mean that she is from a lower class background, and one where she’s had to fight for every penny. The ability to relax was never in the cards for her, and it may have resulted in her being more compassionate and caring. She is forced to confront manners immediately, causing a deeper understanding of emotions. Given that she recalls her mother’s odd reaction to her father’s passing, there’s a lot of misery baked into her identity. Having her nephew die is another devastating mark in her life, though it’s not nearly as shocking as how her sister June is handling it.
June’s story has been more prosperous in theory. Unlike Eileen, she has gained financial stability that many would envy. She is capable of affording time to slow down and take control of her life. Everything that she could ever possibly need is at her disposal. Having Eileen there feels more decorative even if it’s designed for the bereavement to be easier. Given that Eileen is from a place described as accidental, it makes sense that she has more ties to June’s son Douglas. He died in a car wreck, one of the most random ways that a 17-year-old can die. There’s no rhyme or reason to it, just one terrible moment. Unlike their parents who had a gradual end, knowing Douglas is gone feels like cutting potential off before it forms. He’s not even out of high school presumably, meaning he never even got to experience the real world.
Then again, “Memorial” is and isn’t about Douglas. He’s in the story and the reason everyone comes together, but it’s hard to argue that the revelation is for him. It’s one that is for the sisters who have come to see the world in very different manners. Eileen may be stuck in a career of constant stress, but June and her husband Ewart have their own hurdle. They have garnered so much success that they are slaves to their comfort. They cannot risk fighting against this form of living because it could mean restarting without any real set of skills. Instead, they project their insecurities onto Eileen, believing that because she has it harder that she has it worse.
Then again, nothing contradicts the idea of control quite like losing Douglas. This was their picture perfect life. Douglas was going to continue the family lineage with his own success. Instead, the world grew chaotic. There’s no karmic reasoning for it. Their lack of control at this moment is haunting, but it couldn’t be helped. Stifling as it may be, the effort to control fate shows up both in the event and also how they handle it. There’s a desire to control their emotions, to present something resembling the happiness that their wealth was supposed to give them. Because they don’t have to work as hard, they should’ve been able to acquire a simplified life. It can be argued that because everything else is a mess, June has turned to attacking Eileen as her only form of controlled emotion. Insulting her allows for some relief, some joy even in its toxicity.
There is the titular “memorial party,” which should be a celebration of life but ends up with everyone dazed. Teenagers smoke marijuana and Eileen becomes drunk. In that moment, Ewart expresses his own grief in a very taboo manner. Much like in “Marrakesh,” Munro finds people using sex as a way of deluding themselves. Ewart is distracting himself as a man in pain, needing an outlet. It could be implied as a form of procreation in the immediate aftermath of death. However, Eileen simply allows him to perform the act. There is a control in Ewart’s life, allowing for him to find solace for a little longer. While none of these characters openly discuss Douglas, they are averting themselves from the complicated emotions. They must achieve happiness. While sex comes to mean nothing, it’s still an act of intimacy and one that allows for something deep. Ewart is vulnerable, doubting the existence of cosmic justice. Even if this makes him happier, the act is fleeting.
Eileen is an observant party who notices something interesting in her relationship with June. While they were close in childhood, they have grown apart. Maybe it’s because of the financial success, but there’s an awareness that they have been afforded different opportunities. Both knew poverty, but Eileen still has a close connection to it. June is less so, having designed an entire family around a familiar vision of success. She was supposed to be set for life. And yet, she’s now left without a child and the basic emotional comforts she assumed she should have. Given that there’s a religious undertone, it’s also right to view this as cursing God for challenging her family in such cruel manners. How could anyone maintain faith when they’re offered such a lousy hand? Everything else is going well, but without a son, how can they be seen as full?
Then again, June is hiding a lot of her deepest emotions. The look on her face when discussing the passing is “wonderfully pleasant” as she discusses a need to get away. Reality hasn’t fully set in yet. Eileen may have spent less time with Douglas, but even she has more appreciation for his life. She has had a lot of successes and failures. She’s able to pick herself up after tragedy strikes. Even then, having to realize that she’s disconnected from her own sister who presumably has similar emotional tissue creates the reality of what careers can do. By having the comfort to deny hard work and struggle, one becomes disconnected from the downside. They can afford to get themselves out of trouble, at least every other time.
Eileen is supposed to be loved. She’s not supposed to be judged in this moment and instead offers safety to her loved ones. June is not returning the favor. It could just be that she’s suffering inexplicable grief, but it’s also the reality that there is a need to be happy at any cost. When the family unit fails, when turning to prayer seems impossible, there’s nothing to do but begin tearing others down so that you can feel better about yourself. All that it will do is reveal how foolish this way of thinking is. Nobody can be happy without the occasional moment of sadness. In a sense, Eileen has built the muscles to handle the situation while June is a lump of clay still trying to take form. She may even have atrophied from her already improper state.
In a greater sense, Eileen could be seen as lesser for even more impersonal reasons. Because she is less affluent, she is seen as being indebted to her sister. She is a servant and someone who must fulfill their fantasies. It’s why she has sex with Ewart, why she allows June to belittle her. At a point, she is no longer a relative. She is just a person who hasn’t been that lucky. Then again, maybe Eileen was more fortunate because of how she has struggled and been forced to confront difficult moments. There’s no need to turn to someone else for sadistic pleasure. Instead, she watches June grow apart from her, finding faith in every sense disappear as she loses parts of her humanity.
This should be a memorial for Douglas, but it’s truer for the family in itself. Whatever connected them is disappearing fast. The choice to stick them all together only reveals how disconnected their paths became. In a moment of unity, they are falling apart. The entire human core is gone and Munro paints June’s arc with such pain. Even if Eileen is described as coming from an accident, who’s to say that June isn’t as well? It’s there in the poverty and mental health issues, all of which were treated differently between the two sisters. Eileen’s acceptance that the world isn’t perfect allows her to be connected to everything. June may say she’s thought things through, but it’s clear that she has become alien as a result. Whatever made her relatable is gone.
This isn’t the story of a car wreck. There’s little time dedicated to fleshing out Douglas and making him more of a character. Instead, it’s the study of how desperately some try to escape the idea of failure at the risk of their own sanity. Because June isn’t used to riskier behavior, there’s no way for her to compensate. Everything needs to be perfect and when it’s not, there’s something unwelcoming about it. Where is her happy ending? When cornered, she can’t take a loss. Her perfectionism becomes an act of making everyone else look bad, creating the sense that she’s selfish and mean. One can argue that the sisters may forgive each other one day, but it won’t come without self-reflection, none of which feels like an option based on the previous pages.
Unlike “Something I’ve Been Meaning to Tell You,” the falling out of sisters doesn’t feel like a vindictive con. Instead, it comes across as the reality of families growing increasingly separated. Without parents to ground them, they are forced to adapt their own emotional potential and clearly have different routes. There’s still regret and horror in both, but the ones who seek perfectionism and the idea that money can buy happiness are left the most jaded. Everyone else, like Eileen, may be quicker to see the world for what it is. The car wreck is merely a random tragedy. It’s not a smite against June and Ewart. Believing it is only shows how close-minded a person can be. It still hurts, but it’s easier to deal with without people being condescending. Munro asks the reader to express compassion towards others and recognize what’s truly important. It’s another brilliant character study that manages to show the complexities of interpersonal relationships. It’s raw, honest, and everything that Munro does best.
Coming Up Next: “The Ottawa Valley"
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