In an essay published recently, acclaimed short story writer Alice Munro’s daughter wrote about being sexually abused by Munro’s second husband. We listen to a podcast that opens the debate on whether one can come to terms with a writer whose moral conduct has been questionable
Canadian writer Alice Munro. PIC COURTESY/youtube
In an essay released this month, the Canadian short story writer Alice Munro’s daughter Andrea Skinner opened up about being sexually assaulted by her stepfather, and Munro’s second husband, Gerald Fremlin. Skinner was only nine years old at the time. Growing up, living with the trauma of the abuse, she developed migraines, insomnia, and bulimia. When she eventually told her mother a few years later, Munro responded by saying that she had been “told too late” and continued to stay with Fremlin till his death. The revelation about the writer’s complicity has led to a round of debates among readers on how one returns to artists such as Munro after learning about their choice to protect abusers.
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The New Yorker’s Critics at Large podcast takes it up in a recent episode called Alice Munro’s Fall from Grace. Hosts Vinson Cunningham, Naomi Fry, and Alexandra Schwartz introduce the writer as the most “beloved” among short story writers. Journalist Jiayang Fan adds how Munro’s subjects were often women and the violence inflicted on them. This is why those shocked by the news argue that her complicity comes as a surprise.
The question of separation of art from the artist has been frequently brought up in cultural criticism over the last decade; however, it isn’t a new phenomenon. In trying to find ways to consume and analyse a cultural product, New Critics of the 20th century in America, for instance, engaged in the possibility of reading literature without the context of its author. It is the same larger question that the podcasters, too, can be understood to be grappling with.
The 49-minute episode has been well structured. The choice of unpacking Munro’s short story Vandals at the beginning, accompanied by a reading of a passage from it, contextualises Munro as a writer for those unaware of her work. The story also provides a possible parallel between the narrative and Skinner’s abuse by Fremlin. Fan’s personal experience as a writer, following it, adds nuance to the discussion. She urges readers to consider the possibility of reflecting on work that deals with familial relationships as an honest grappling of the writer with complex feelings.
Meanwhile, Schwartz claims that the hurt caused to readers in such situations does not come so much from a place of fandom but an artist’s ability to create a genuine connection with the reader. Today, therefore, it has become more difficult to draw a neat line dividing the art and its artist. What gives maturity to the conversation is that the central point made by the critics isn’t so much about whether the consumer of art is right or wrong. It is about how one returns to a piece of art and wrestles with it carrying the new knowledge of the action of an artist involved. Are there ways in which relationships between creators and consumers can be repaired? Are there some relationships that cannot be? The critics succinctly offer deeper possibilities for readers to approach the work of writers like Munro today, without denying their actions.
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