You can't say 'meh' about someone who writes as sparingly beautiful as Munro, but Dear Life is nearly devoid of moments. (I was stuck thinking "moments of ....?" and had to just stop at "moments.") There just isn't much there beyond Munro stringing along nicely constructed paragraphs. What I hope is that these are glimpses of characters and stories, continuations of plots she's already covered, for those steeped in her literature, like the bonus DVD of her career. Maybe it's a little love letter to Canada, but if it is, well, um, it sounds like a lovely quaint place. (And I'll just leave it at that.)

TOB judges, if this is up against a novel that knocks it out of the park, don't award extra credit for having a powerhouse name on the dust jacket.