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Welcome to The New Yorker Radio Hour. I'm David Remnick. Alice Monroe was a master of the short story in our time, the check-off of her era. She published more than 50 stories in The New Yorker, and then in 2013, she won the Nobel Prize in literature. But shortly before her death, her legacy darkened when her youngest daughter, Andrea,

revealed that she'd been sexually abused by Monroe's longtime partner. This began when Andrea

it was just nine years old, and it was kept secret in the family, even after the man confessed to

it in letters. And so now Monroe's ardent readers, and there are great many of us,

are left with this terrible conundrum

that a writer of such astonishing powers of empathy could betray her own child.

In one of the most astonishing pieces of reporting that the magazine has had the honor of publishing in recent years,

Rachel Levieve explores the story of Alice Monroe and her art

and the terrible secret of her life and the lives of her family.

I thought we should begin by talking about Alice Monroe as a writer.

She published 50 short stories at the New Yorker at least,

and there were people around the office for years who considered her in many ways,

you know, the check-off of the 20th century. Tell me a little bit about her qualities as a writer.

I'm not sure that there's another writer where you can read the short story so many new times

and each time feel like your understanding has shifted.

To me, there's something beyond the sort of incredibly astute descriptions of people's inner lives.

There's something formally that she's sort of turned a short story into

and sort of stretch the limits of it.

What's the work about, really?

I mean, it's interesting looking at the Nobel Prize presentation.

...