The New Yorker: Fiction cover image

Clare Sestanovich Reads Alice Munro

The New Yorker: Fiction

CHAPTER

Do You Want Me to Call Peggy?

There was a series running in them on personal experiences of people who had died, medically speaking, and had been brought back to life. It was what they remembered of the time they were dead, their experiences. Did it seem convincing? Oh, I don't know. It's all in whether you want to believe that kind of thing or not. And if you are going to take it seriously, I figure you've got to take everything else seriously that they print in those papers. What else do they? Rubbish. Cancer cures, baldness cures, belly-aking about the younger generation and the welfare bums. Tried about movie stars.

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