Wenlock Edge by Alice Munro is a story from the collection Too Much Happiness. This is one of those stories by Munro that you can read in the New Yorker (although the book version is slightly modified and more impactful, so do try to get your hands on the book.) I’ve been tackling the book fairly slowly, which is a nice idea considering the layered complexity of Munro’s stories. The only story from the book I’ve blogged about before is Fiction, which I read over three months ago.
Wenlock Edge followed a college student, living as a tenant in the attic of an old house, and her new roommate, Nina, a young girl with a terrible past. A series of unfortunate affairs, Nina told the narrator, had led to her making an arrangement with a certain Mr. Purvis. The old gentleman had arranged for Nina to attend college like any other girl on the weekdays and the spend the weekends with him. Nina seemed sincerely grateful to the man, until the narrator noticed that she rarely wrote in her college notebooks and had a black car tailing her at all times. One weekend when Nina was supposed to visit Mr. Purvis, she fell ill and instead, convinced the narrator to accompany him for dinner. That night, at Mr. Purvis’s modern house, the narrator discovered the ugly truth of Nina’s arrangement.
Somewhere in the story, somewhere in his house, Mr. Purvis made the narrator read to him the poem On Wenlock Edge by A. E. Houseman.
On Wenlock Edge the wood’s in trouble;
His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves;
The gale, it plies the saplings double,
And thick on Severn snow the leaves.
‘Twould blow like this through holt and hanger
When Uricon the city stood:
‘Tis the old wind in the old anger,
But then it threshed another wood.
Then, ’twas before my time, the Roman
At yonder heaving hill would stare:
The blood that warms an English yeoman,
The thoughts that hurt him, they were there.
There, like the wind through woods in riot,
Through him the gale of life blew high;
The tree of man was never quiet:
Then ’twas the Roman, now ’tis I.
The gale, it plies the saplings double,
It blows so hard, ’twill soon be gone:
To-day the Roman and his trouble
Are ashes under Uricon.
At first read, the poem didn’t make any sense to me, then this analysis, which explained all the vocabulary, helped. A reread made it clearer. The poet says all actions and all feelings are the same and they’re all mortal in the end, just as we are. In the context of the story, On Wenlock Edge affected the narrator, it touched the victim in her when Mr. Purvis made her read to him and it haunted her into revenge.
Had he known? Had he known that I would never think of those lines again without feeling the prickle of the upholstery on my bare haunches? The sticky prickly shame. A far greater shame it seemed now than at the time. He had got me, in spite of myself.
I would always be reminded of what I had done. What I had agreed to do. Not been forced, not ordered, not even persuaded. Agreed to do.
Nina would know. She would be laughing about it. Not cruelly, but just the way she laughed at so many things. She would always remind me.
Wenlock Edge by Alice Munro was atmospheric, melancholy. It was intriguing and engrossing. The subtlety of writing, the gentle choice of words somehow enhanced the obscenity of Mr. Purvis’s actions, the emotional abuse. The story showed us two victims, one blaming herself and desperate to shift the blame onto another, the other turned painfully nonchalant and ruthless by her suffering. It showed us how we’ll never know what we’re capable of, how we can not only surprise but often horrify ourselves, and how we can never really know someone, no matter how well we think we do. The cruelty of the story was not altogether unusual and that’s what made it most effective.
I love Munro’s writing, how it makes me really dig deep, every line, every word is significant. The flitting timelines make for a punchline which you might not understand at once and which, when you do, will leave you speechless. What makes this whole book most attractive to me is the apparent ease with which Munro constructs her stories; she sews together seeming inconsequentialities into a vast canvas and the big picture thrills and stuns you.
Do you have any Alice Munro favourites you would recommend? And what do you make of this story? I’ve spent some time dissecting it and would love your thoughts on the poem!
Tabula Rasa 
It is clear: Alice Munro must be read, everything she has written. I am just starting, and haven´t gotten to these stories yet, but look forward to them, more so after your review. I have rarely read an author more deserving of the Nobel Prize. And from interviews I understand she often works for years on her stories. They seem effortless, but I think much thought and sweat went into them.
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Viktoria – I totally agree! Even I have only read a few stories by Munro but each one has been excellent. She's an author I've found myself recommending to everyone. It doesn't surprise me that she puts so much effort into her writing, maybe that's why the stories seem so complete. 🙂
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Last year I read New Selected Stories, another one of her collections, and liked it a lot. I'd like to read some more of her work, "Dear Life" perhaps. Have you read it?
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Delia – I haven't read Dear Life. But when I do finish this, now that you mention it, I might pick up something like New Selected Stories or Alice Munro's best.
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As a fellow Canadian, I'm glad that Alice Munro is finally getting the proper recognition se deserves. Not many authors can rival her when it comes to writing short-stories. I havent read this particular collection yet but check out "Runaway" if you want to seek out more great stories by her.
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Jason, it's sad that it was an award (and Viktoria's blog) that made me notice her writing, but I am glad it did. I often wish more world literature made its way to Indian bookstores than the generic, prize winners and bestsellers. I will read Runaway next, thanks for the recommendation!
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I'm so glad you are still reading this collection and it looks like you worked really hard to understand the poem. I'm so new to Alice Munro, but I'm not surprised that the poem affected you so deeply.
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ebookclassics – Unfortunately for me, I always have to work hard to understand poems. But it is deeply affecting, you're right. Her stories are complex and heavy, but I couldn't stop reading them. 🙂
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so can we say the story is about human trafficking?!
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