Remembering reading

I have just read something beautiful.  It is tempting to feel self-conscious about writing about writing that I love.  But then that would be a betrayal of the opportunity offered by Alice Munro's, Away From Her.  I don't know how she did it.  The characters in these nine short stories grow and connect and remember.  I like being human more for having met them, and I have a greater faith in my own resilience.  Why would I choose timidity when they prod me to better inhabit my own skin?