Because of my reverence for Alice Munro's work, I was often asked if I'd ever met her. I felt that I had totally met her in her books and said as much. I never desired to meet her in person, for what I loved would not necessarily be there.
Throughout her stories, there is admiration for skills of every sort... The husband would have to drop you off and pick you up so he always knew where you were, even if you didn't always know where he was (or deeply care). Perhaps this was an essentially literary-Munrovian-condition.
Also, in the plus column, I could see in her work that she did not admire rich people but also did not sentimentalize the poor, though her sympathies and interests were more deeply located there... A metaphor for secrets, but also an actual (poor) way of sweeping. I was always thinking about her in one way or another, so actually meeting her seemed beside the point.
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