This post is looooong overdue. Last week (or was it the week before?) I finished Lady Oracle, another of Atwood's earliest novels, and again I noted similarities to both Surfacing and Cat's Eye.
Lady Oracle is the story of Joan Delacourt, an overweight child whose arguably evil mother taunts her about her body size and stews in bitterness over the failings of her own life during Joan's childhood. Her father is largely absent from her life; a WWII vet, he works as an anesthesiologist at a local hospital bringing those who have attempted to commit suicide back to life. Rather than her parents, Joan is close with her Aunt Louise, who spends time with Joan and is warm and kind. Joan's friends are remarkably like the childhood "friends" in Cat's Eye: sadistic and cruel in the way of children. At one point Joan's friends tie her to a tree in the woods and leave her there. But Joan grows up, and for the most part seems relatively unaffected by her weight, her mother's attitude of finding fault in everything she does, and her questionable friends. Indeed, Joan always seems somewhat detached from the proceedings of her life in Lady Oracle; while her mind moves a mile a minute with various schemes and musings, she doesn't seem downtrodden or sorry for herself.
When Joan is a teenager her beloved Aunt Lou dies and to the shock of her family leaves her $2,000. The only catch is that she must lose a stipulated amount of weight. At the time she receives this news she has already lost a majority of the weight and only has something like 18 more pounds to lose. After one of her mother's rude outbursts about her weight, Joan divulges that after she loses the final weight and gets the money, she is moving out. The reaction? Her crazy mother snatches a paring knife from the kitchen counter and stabs her in the arm with it. In typical Joan fashion, the reader isn't privy to her panicking. She maintains a conversation with her mother, but late that night when her family goes to sleep she leaves. This is an example of the character detachment I wrote about: Atwood isn't indulgent with average emotions. In another novel, the mother stabbing her daughter with a paring knife would be grounds for a surfeit of melancholy, but for Atwood, it's just the sort of kooky event that happens. It's not overanalyzed or lingered upon by Ms. J, it simply moves the plot forward.She's a resilient broad.
With the $2,000 Joan goes to England. After a fateful meeting with a Polish count, she moves in with him and becomes his mistress. When she discovers that he writes nurse romance novels under different pen names to make money, she decides to try her hand at writing costume Gothic novels. She is successful, more so than the count. At this point the novel becomes occasionally peppered with examples of Joan's work, which she is writing under her aunt's name, Louise Delacourt. She meets a young Marxist man named Arthur by accident in Hyde Park. She is still living with Paul, but, prone to swift, easy emotions, by the time they pick up his Communist pamphlets that had fallen to the ground, Joan claims to be in love. I never found anything truly appealing about Arthur--he was a smug, pretentious stick-in-the-mud--but Joan leaves the Count and moves in with him. They marry. Goodness gracious I'll speed this up: Joan writes a book of poetry - under her real name this time, expecting nothing to come of it - and she is suddenly thrust into the spotlight of celebrity. J meets and carries on with a man called the Royal Porcupine, easily my favorite character of the book. So on and so forth. I tend to give too much away in these synopses so to learn more you'll have to read it!
I identified strongly with Joan in this passage:
"There were two kinds of love, I told myself; Arthur was terrific for one kind, but why demand all things from one man? I'd given up expecting him to be a cloaked, sinuous and faintly menacing stranger. He couldn't be that: I lived with him, and cloaked strangers didn't leave their socks on the floor or stick their fingers in their ears or gargle in the mornings to kill germs. I kept Arthur in our apartment and the strangers in their castles and mansions, where they belonged. I felt this was quite adult of me, and it certainly allowed me to be more outwardly serene than the wives of Arthur's friends. But I had the edge on them: after all, when it came to fantasy lives I was a professional, whereas they were merely amateurs." (216)
This passage shows Joan's wry humor and also her practicality. Since I was a little girl I've been this way too: living via my imagination. It's the supreme manifestation of personal responsibility: by placing less pressure on yourself to extract happiness from a fallible human being and instead creating your own heroes, you're showcasing independence and resourcefulness. I enjoy this idea of creation as a salve for other people's natural imperfections; it corresponds with my belief that no single person can or should fulfill every emotional role in someone's life. At the end of the day we have only ourselves. Joan's cleverness and imaginative resilience was probably why I preferred Lady Oracle to both Cat's Eye and Surfacing.
As always, there's way more going on in an Atwood novel than can be reflected upon quickly or shallowly, so all apologies to Ms. Atwood for the quick and shallow attempt.
Showing posts with label book list. Show all posts
Showing posts with label book list. Show all posts
Monday, July 25, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
book list: surfacing
I finished Surfacing by Margaret Atwood on Monday. It was a bizarre read -- not that I should be surprised at all any more by Atwood. It took me a while to adjust to the way the short novel (just over 200 pages) was written; I kept putting it down because Surfacing definitely requires a careful reader to slip into the style and understand the nuances of the text. It's the type of book that should be read in chunks, not snippets, or all at once; unfortunately I started it before going back to Sun Prairie, so I kept having to put it down and pick it up again.
Surfacing is the story of an unnamed female protagonist who accompanies her boyfriend and their friends, a married couple, to her childhood home in the middle of the Canadian wilderness. The protagonist is looking for her father, who has gone missing, though if she discovers that he is there she plans on leaving without saying anything to him. She alludes to the fact that her father and her late mother didn't understand her recent choices, including a marriage, divorce and abandoned child.The reader picks up on the fact that the protagonist lives a life of emotional isolation by choice.
The four friends originally plan to remain on the island home for two days, though that turns to a week. Through the protagonist's eyes the reader observes the shifting, ugly, complex relationship between David and Anna, the married couple. We are there for David's taunting sexism, his coolheaded cruelty to Anna -- I thought throughout the book that he was a quietly sinister character, like a public charmer who is abusive behind closed doors. Anna in return reacts to his behavior with promiscuity; she isn't an entirely sympathetic character because she is catty to the protagonist, and, given the chance, turns on her when David opts to do so.The relationships between the four people on the island are the most important part of this book.
As the book progresses, the protagonist's way of thinking about her life begins shifting steadily. She was always detached emotionally, but with each page she also seems less lucid, so the reader is transmitted her perspective, where mystical events combine with reality. The reader then has to sift through and decide: what is real and what is the protagonist's imagination?
There was a fixation in Surfacing on Americans representing all things exploitative, boorish and manipulative. In one section, the narrator mistakes two annoying fishermen for Americans, only to find that the fishermen had mistaken their party for Americans as well -- they were all, in fact, Canadian. I've noticed that Atwood does this a lot: she flips the easy analysis of her work and intentions on its head and opens up new avenues for critical analysis... I LOVE IT.
Overall, I liked this book. I think it was a very good decision to read the whole Atwood oeuvre book by book because a patchwork of the themes is emerging.
Surfacing is the story of an unnamed female protagonist who accompanies her boyfriend and their friends, a married couple, to her childhood home in the middle of the Canadian wilderness. The protagonist is looking for her father, who has gone missing, though if she discovers that he is there she plans on leaving without saying anything to him. She alludes to the fact that her father and her late mother didn't understand her recent choices, including a marriage, divorce and abandoned child.The reader picks up on the fact that the protagonist lives a life of emotional isolation by choice.
The four friends originally plan to remain on the island home for two days, though that turns to a week. Through the protagonist's eyes the reader observes the shifting, ugly, complex relationship between David and Anna, the married couple. We are there for David's taunting sexism, his coolheaded cruelty to Anna -- I thought throughout the book that he was a quietly sinister character, like a public charmer who is abusive behind closed doors. Anna in return reacts to his behavior with promiscuity; she isn't an entirely sympathetic character because she is catty to the protagonist, and, given the chance, turns on her when David opts to do so.The relationships between the four people on the island are the most important part of this book.
As the book progresses, the protagonist's way of thinking about her life begins shifting steadily. She was always detached emotionally, but with each page she also seems less lucid, so the reader is transmitted her perspective, where mystical events combine with reality. The reader then has to sift through and decide: what is real and what is the protagonist's imagination?
There was a fixation in Surfacing on Americans representing all things exploitative, boorish and manipulative. In one section, the narrator mistakes two annoying fishermen for Americans, only to find that the fishermen had mistaken their party for Americans as well -- they were all, in fact, Canadian. I've noticed that Atwood does this a lot: she flips the easy analysis of her work and intentions on its head and opens up new avenues for critical analysis... I LOVE IT.
Overall, I liked this book. I think it was a very good decision to read the whole Atwood oeuvre book by book because a patchwork of the themes is emerging.
Monday, June 6, 2011
book list: cat's eye
I just finished Cat's Eye by Margaret Atwood (1988). After relishing The Blind Assassin, I readily jumped into Cat's Eye. The style of writing was pure Atwood, very crisp, and I recognized many of the same themes between the two novels: Toronto, miscarriage, an aging narrator looking back on her childhood, the unreliability of memory.Also, the format was quite similar, with unmarked jumps in chronology.
Cat's Eye focuses on Elaine, a painter who reminisces about her childhood and young adulthood growing up in and around Toronto with her parents, brother, and a group of friends who are cruel in the ways that only young girls can be. I was initially drawn into the novel by Atwood's characteristic hints of darkness to come, by the fact that Elaine seemed to be haunted by some mysterious happening from her childhood. I kept waiting for that disturbing hook, for this dark element relating to her brother and her friend Cordelia to be revealed, but by halfway through the novel her childhood was gone. Then we learn about twentysomething Elaine for the second half of the book. I kept thinking, maybe there's a twist at the end. But no.
I'm not necessarily begrudging of this; Atwood's writing is just as impressive as it was in The Blind Assassin. I'm not sure I'll ever have anything to criticize in that department. But as far as plot and content goes, Cat's Eye was lackluster. I didn't feel as attached to Elaine as I had felt to Iris. Cat's Eye was a meandering book, and I think I came prepared for startling revelations and all that jazz, and there were none... It's as though Atwood kept developing the same ideas and themes, spinning them masterfully into The Blind Assassin twelve years after Cat's Eye was published.
I would recommend that Atwood fans read this, but I wouldn't necessarily recommend it to a friend who was looking for a book. To them, I'd recommend The Blind Assassin, of course.
Cat's Eye focuses on Elaine, a painter who reminisces about her childhood and young adulthood growing up in and around Toronto with her parents, brother, and a group of friends who are cruel in the ways that only young girls can be. I was initially drawn into the novel by Atwood's characteristic hints of darkness to come, by the fact that Elaine seemed to be haunted by some mysterious happening from her childhood. I kept waiting for that disturbing hook, for this dark element relating to her brother and her friend Cordelia to be revealed, but by halfway through the novel her childhood was gone. Then we learn about twentysomething Elaine for the second half of the book. I kept thinking, maybe there's a twist at the end. But no.
I'm not necessarily begrudging of this; Atwood's writing is just as impressive as it was in The Blind Assassin. I'm not sure I'll ever have anything to criticize in that department. But as far as plot and content goes, Cat's Eye was lackluster. I didn't feel as attached to Elaine as I had felt to Iris. Cat's Eye was a meandering book, and I think I came prepared for startling revelations and all that jazz, and there were none... It's as though Atwood kept developing the same ideas and themes, spinning them masterfully into The Blind Assassin twelve years after Cat's Eye was published.
I would recommend that Atwood fans read this, but I wouldn't necessarily recommend it to a friend who was looking for a book. To them, I'd recommend The Blind Assassin, of course.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
book list: the blind assassin
Because of how busy I've been over the last few years, time allotted to reading for pleasure has dwindled, disappearing almost entirely this past year. Having time to read again feels like coming home; natural, like a sigh of relief. When I was a little girl I was your prototypical bookworm. Curious and quiet, I have always been an introvert, preferring books to most people. When I was in elementary school my siblings and I would go to the Poynette Public Library at least once a week. My mom would look at quilting magazines and my siblings would play in the children's room in the back, and I would explore the young adult and sometimes adult book sections. I read all sorts of books, fiction and nonfiction, anything that looked interesting, from Nancy Drew to Jude Deveraux. (Ah, romance novels. As a small child I always knew more about sex, about unspeakable things that quivered and pulsated, than my innocent face let on.) The library was never very busy, and it felt as though I had free rein of it sometimes. I'd bring home towering stacks of books, buckling under their weight, and my mom would cluck at me and say, "Are you sure you're going to be able to read all of those?" She knew the answer, and so did I: no. Still, I needed to have options. (Not much has changed. I still have the overdue fines to prove it.)
So while I've never stopped reading, I haven't had much time to dedicate to it. I've finished slim novels that don't take much commitment and popular books, and of course I've enjoyed them. (I refuse to read a book if I'm not enjoying it; life is too short and the amount of incredible books out there is too great.) I haven't exactly dug in, though. Cue this summer!
My first read of the summer was The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood. I was meandering through the aisles at the La Crosse Public Library last week and spotted the Atwood shelf. I had read The Handmaid's Tale and The Tent in high school. Oddly enough, I own a paperback version of The Blind Assassin but it's home in Sun Prairie on a shelf somewhere and I never got around to reading it. Anyway, I was looking for a substantial read that I could sink my teeth into, and at 500+ pages The Blind Assassin was the perfect pick
Long story short, I fell hard for Margaret Atwood, like many before me. Her writing is incredibly descriptive, a treasure trove for a word nerd such as myself. Critics said it before me and they'll say it after me: The Blind Assassin (and her writing in general) is electric, disturbing, verging on the grotesque at times, lovely and brutal. The Blind Assassin is a Booker Prize winner and it has garnered numerous awards, so I was surprised to read this scathing indictment by a critic in the New York Times. Did we read the same book, sir? And how is it that I've never heard of your novels? I really was astonished at his criticism because I was so enraptured by the book, but hey, to each his own. I also came across this article; apparently The Blind Assassin has just been chosen as the first pick of a Twitter-based book club (sponsored by The Atlantic, swoon!). I've always found Twitter kind of annoying, but that almost makes me want to join up!
The format of The Blind Assassin is one of the most fascinating aspects of the novel: it is a story within a story within a story. On the first page of the novel we learn in the form of a newspaper clipping that Laura Chase, age 25, has driven off a bridge and died. From then on the story is told by Iris Griffen (nee Chase), Laura's sister, whose health is deteriorating as she writes down the story of their childhood up til Laura's death in 1935. (I'm a history buff, so naturally I appreciated the detailed descriptions of life in the 1920s and 1930s.) Interspersed throughout Iris's narration are excerpts from Laura's novel, called The Blind Assassin, which details the secret meetings of two nameless lovers. During these meetings in seedy motels and dirty apartments, the man tells the woman a science fiction story about a place called Sakiel-Norn, found on the Planet Zycron. In Sakiel-Norn, young noblewomen are pampered until the day they are sacrificed, tongues cut out so that they cannot scream when their throats are slit. Young boys make carpets til they go blind, then become hired assassins. The details of Sakiel-Norn read like a science-fictionized version of the gory, early fairy tales. (Awesome.) Atwood's characterization is strong, and as a reader we are kept on edge throughout the novel, knowing that there are details being kept from us, things we don't yet know. The ending is worth the investment. I just finished it and I'm pretty much already ready to reread it!
I know this book sounds absolutely flummoxing, and most of that is due to my inability to successfully convey the multilayered plot of The Blind Assassin. I encourage you to read it for yourself; it's a modern classic, and it has spurred me to take on reading the entire Atwood oeuvre this June. This book was unputdownable.
So while I've never stopped reading, I haven't had much time to dedicate to it. I've finished slim novels that don't take much commitment and popular books, and of course I've enjoyed them. (I refuse to read a book if I'm not enjoying it; life is too short and the amount of incredible books out there is too great.) I haven't exactly dug in, though. Cue this summer!
My first read of the summer was The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood. I was meandering through the aisles at the La Crosse Public Library last week and spotted the Atwood shelf. I had read The Handmaid's Tale and The Tent in high school. Oddly enough, I own a paperback version of The Blind Assassin but it's home in Sun Prairie on a shelf somewhere and I never got around to reading it. Anyway, I was looking for a substantial read that I could sink my teeth into, and at 500+ pages The Blind Assassin was the perfect pick
Long story short, I fell hard for Margaret Atwood, like many before me. Her writing is incredibly descriptive, a treasure trove for a word nerd such as myself. Critics said it before me and they'll say it after me: The Blind Assassin (and her writing in general) is electric, disturbing, verging on the grotesque at times, lovely and brutal. The Blind Assassin is a Booker Prize winner and it has garnered numerous awards, so I was surprised to read this scathing indictment by a critic in the New York Times. Did we read the same book, sir? And how is it that I've never heard of your novels? I really was astonished at his criticism because I was so enraptured by the book, but hey, to each his own. I also came across this article; apparently The Blind Assassin has just been chosen as the first pick of a Twitter-based book club (sponsored by The Atlantic, swoon!). I've always found Twitter kind of annoying, but that almost makes me want to join up!
The format of The Blind Assassin is one of the most fascinating aspects of the novel: it is a story within a story within a story. On the first page of the novel we learn in the form of a newspaper clipping that Laura Chase, age 25, has driven off a bridge and died. From then on the story is told by Iris Griffen (nee Chase), Laura's sister, whose health is deteriorating as she writes down the story of their childhood up til Laura's death in 1935. (I'm a history buff, so naturally I appreciated the detailed descriptions of life in the 1920s and 1930s.) Interspersed throughout Iris's narration are excerpts from Laura's novel, called The Blind Assassin, which details the secret meetings of two nameless lovers. During these meetings in seedy motels and dirty apartments, the man tells the woman a science fiction story about a place called Sakiel-Norn, found on the Planet Zycron. In Sakiel-Norn, young noblewomen are pampered until the day they are sacrificed, tongues cut out so that they cannot scream when their throats are slit. Young boys make carpets til they go blind, then become hired assassins. The details of Sakiel-Norn read like a science-fictionized version of the gory, early fairy tales. (Awesome.) Atwood's characterization is strong, and as a reader we are kept on edge throughout the novel, knowing that there are details being kept from us, things we don't yet know. The ending is worth the investment. I just finished it and I'm pretty much already ready to reread it!
I know this book sounds absolutely flummoxing, and most of that is due to my inability to successfully convey the multilayered plot of The Blind Assassin. I encourage you to read it for yourself; it's a modern classic, and it has spurred me to take on reading the entire Atwood oeuvre this June. This book was unputdownable.
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