The Beggar Maid

I’m so confused after finally finishing The Beggar Maid by Alice Munro. I thought this book would move along at a good pace and be a quick read, but instead it felt like the main character Rose was dragging me through quicksand with her. 

Maybe the technique of stringing together short stories into a novel didn’t work for me, or maybe I just didn’t connect with Rose on a spiritual level. Whatever, Munro had been on my wish list for a while, and now I can cross her off. She is a prolific writer, and this book won a Nobel Prize so there’s something to be said about that. One reviewer on Goodreads describes her work best as “good old fashioned writing” likening it to a hearty serving of meat and potatoes. Munro certainly can turn a phrase. The following image stood out to me, although I would have written “big wooden spoon.”

“The second morning Rose got up and found that a gigantic stirring-up had occurred in the kitchen, as if someone had wielded a big shaky spoon.”

Here are two more examples that are relatable to me:

“We come from unions which don’t have in them anything like what we think we deserve.”

Yes, we do!

And, finally this is as good a description of social anxiety as any.

“There was nothing shameful about any of this, but sometimes Rose was deeply, accountably ashamed. She did not let her confusion show. When she talked in public, she was frank and charming; she had a puzzled, diffident way of leading into her anecdotes, as if she were just now remembering, had not told them a hundred times already. Back in her hotel room, she often shivered and moaned, as if she were having an attack of fever.”

Looking back at the sections I highlighted convinced me to change my rating from 3 to 4 stars. I can’t resist adding one more slyly accurate observation from Rose’s childhood.

“It was sour. Sour chocolate milk. Rose kept taking tiny sips, unwilling to admit that something so much desired could fail her.”

Like my mother used to say, “Get used to it. Life isn’t a bowl of cherries.”