You ever pick up a book and realize, about halfway through a sentence, that the author is basically reading your mind? Not the pretty, Instagram-filtered version of your mind, but the messy, dark, "I shouldn't have said that" part. That’s Alice Munro. Honestly, if you haven’t spent time with her 1986 collection, The Progress of Love, you’re missing out on the literary equivalent of a gut punch delivered with a velvet glove.
Munro passed away in 2024, leaving behind a legacy that most novelists would kill for, even though she almost exclusively stuck to short stories. She was the "Canadian Chekhov." But that title feels a bit too formal for what she actually does. She’s more like that one aunt who knows everyone's secrets and isn't afraid to tell them, but does it with so much empathy you can't even be mad.
The Progress of Love and the Lies We Tell Ourselves
The title story of the collection is a beast. It’s not just a story; it’s a multi-generational excavation. We meet Euphemia (or Phemie), who’s looking back at her parents’ marriage and her mother Marietta’s childhood.
There’s this one image that sticks in everyone’s throat: Marietta, as a young girl, watching her own mother—Phemie's grandmother—standing with a noose around her neck.
It’s horrific.
But here’s the kicker. Marietta’s sister, Beryl, remembers it totally differently. To Beryl, the "suicide attempt" was just a theatrical stunt to get attention from their father.
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This is what Munro does best. She shows us that "truth" is basically a choose-your-own-adventure situation. Phemie wants to believe her parents had this legendary, sacrificial love. She remembers her mother burning a $3,000 inheritance—a fortune back then—because it came from the father Marietta hated. Phemie sees this as a beautiful, romantic act of defiance that her own father supported.
But was it? Or was it just a woman being destructive and a man being too passive to stop her?
Why Her Writing Style Feels So Real
Munro doesn't do "once upon a time."
Her stories jump around like a real conversation. You’re in the present, then you’re six years old, then you’re suddenly twenty years in the future. It’s kaleidoscopic. Some people find it frustrating. They want a straight line. But life isn’t a straight line, is it? It’s a jumble of memories that change every time we look at them.
What Most People Get Wrong About Munro
A lot of critics used to say Munro just wrote "domestic" stories. Like she was just writing about tea and small-town gossip in Ontario.
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That’s a total misunderstanding.
Underneath the "straightforward" prose is a lot of repressed violence and sexuality. Take the story "Lichen." A guy visits his ex-wife and brings his new, younger girlfriend. He’s also carrying around a Polaroid of another woman’s pubic hair. It’s weird. It’s uncomfortable. It’s deeply human.
Munro explores the "undergrowth" of lives. She looks at:
- The way we use our children to validate our own choices.
- How memory is often just a way to make ourselves feel better.
- The sheer randomness of what makes a person stay or go.
The Complicated Legacy of Alice Munro
It’s impossible to talk about Munro’s work now without mentioning the 2024 revelations from her daughter, Andrea Robin Skinner. Skinner shared that she had been sexually abused by her stepfather—Munro’s second husband, Gerald Fremlin—and that when she told her mother, Munro stayed with him.
It’s devastating.
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It adds a chilling layer to stories like The Progress of Love. When you read about mothers who fail to protect their children, or women who prioritize their "treasure" (their own happiness or marriage) over everything else, it feels different now. It’s no longer just "literary complexity." It feels like a confession or a justification.
Does it ruin the art? That’s for you to decide. But for many, it makes the work even more haunting. It proves that the "shame of silence" she wrote about wasn't just a theme. It was the air she breathed.
Actionable Insights for Your Next Read
If you’re diving into this collection for the first time, don’t try to rush it. These aren’t "quick reads."
- Read for the "Shift": Every Munro story has a moment where the ground shifts. Look for the sentence that changes the meaning of everything that came before it.
- Question the Narrator: Phemie in the title story isn't necessarily telling you the truth. She’s telling you the version of the truth she needs to survive.
- Compare the Versions: Pay attention to how different characters remember the same event. It’s a masterclass in how perspective shapes reality.
- Check out "Miles City, Montana": If you want a story that perfectly captures the "mommy wars" and the sheer terror of parenting, this is the one. It’s about a near-drowning that exposes how thin the ice really is between safety and catastrophe.
Alice Munro didn't write about "big" events like wars or political coups. She wrote about the wars that happen in kitchens and the coups that happen in the heart. That’s why The Progress of Love still matters. It’s not always pretty, but it’s always true to the messy reality of being a person.
Next Steps for Your Literary Journey:
To truly appreciate the depth of Munro's work, try reading The Progress of Love alongside her later collection, Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage. Notice how her "late style" becomes even more fragmented and experimental. You can also look for the film Away from Her, which is based on her story "The Bear Came Over the Mountain," to see how her internal narratives translate to the screen.