Why Alice Munro deserves her Nobel Prize

Using a column chart to greet Alice Munro’s Nobel prize for literature is about as ludicrous as making a celebratory scatter plot of Shelley poems. But here goes:

It shows the top ten most frequently appearing authors in Best American Short Stories, a popular anthology. The Canadian writer features in 18 of the 30 years for which Jake, a librarian from Virginia, has lovingly compiled a spreadsheet. It is a sign of why she is often described as the greatest living short story writer. Jake also has data on appearances in the New Yorker. Ms Munro is 20th by this measure – pretty good considering the stats go back to 1925 and include writers such as Updike and White, both of whom had a longstanding relationship with the weekly magazine.

The Canadian writer’s success may prompt reflection on the economics of the North American short story market. Creative writing courses and the widespread notion that a published short story necessarily presages a novel ensures a steady supply of brief fiction. Hundreds of literary journals and magazines, and thousands of e-book singles serve a consumer demand which has remained high for at least a century. (Although perhaps not as high as when F Scott Fitzgerald was paid $4,000 by the Saturday Evening Post for a single short story in the 1920s.)

But none of this should distract from the most important thing: Ms Munro’s stories are wonderful. This is why she deserves her prize. The first one of hers I read, “Carried Away” from the collection Open Secrets, concerns Louisa, a librarian, and her loves and letters during the first world war. I can’t remember exactly how long it is but it felt larger than most novels. Like some of the best short stories it used the relief from a plodding beginning-middle-end structure to profound effect. It had what William Boyd says should be the hallmark of a “fully functioning short story” – “a totality of effect that makes it almost impossible to encapsulate or summarise.”

Especially not in a column chart.