Back in May, we cats posted about the loss of writer Alice Munro and all the other nonagenarians who have crossed the Rainbow Bridge lately (just the other day, Dr. Ruth Westheimer joined them). Checking out is ultimately unsurprising when you live to a great age — and unlike us cats, you humans only have one life, not nine. But whether they're famous people in literature, politics, medicine, or entertainment, their deaths do make you pause and reflect.
Since Munro died, though, the literary world has been shaken by her daughter Andrea's revelations of sexual abuse that she had suffered at the hands of Munro's second husband. It's a long, ugly story, but one that was, if we're honest about it, more or less out in the open since 2005, when the husband pleaded guilty to the abuse and was sentenced.
Munro's chief transgression was staying with the abuser until he died in 2013. Her daughter provides more details, a lot of which are pretty excruciating, including Munro's chilly response when she confronted her. But in truth, all the adults in Andrea's life failed her — her mother, her hideous stepfather, her biological father, and her biological father's wife. Everyone. We should all hope that by telling this story, Andrea is well on her way to healing from the trauma.
Meanwhile, how should we think about Munro now? Our bookshelves are full of her work. It will always be there — the writing is too brilliant. We'll just have to approach her differently going forward. Passages that sailed over our heads before might stick some very interesting landings.
So many artists we admire have turned out to be terrible people. If we were to abandon Munro, we'd have to never listen to another song by Richard Rodgers. And that's just not going to happen. We cats PURR.
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