Author Profile Gone Awry
A best-selling Canadian author, Margaret Atwood has written such books as the science fiction novel The Handmaid’s Tale (of a futuristic dystopia), the Booker Prize-winning The Blind Assassin (told by an old woman reminiscing of her life and family), and The Edible Woman (explores “female dissatisfaction,” preceding the “second-wave” of feminism.” She is also the author of a continuous flow of poetry, usually in epigrams, and a varied assortment of nonfiction, ranging from cultural commentaries to book reviews to essays.
All that being said, I can move on to other things. I was most pleasantly flabbergasted when I began to read The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood. Iris Chase, an old woman telling the story in a wry and humorously deprecating tone that spares no one, including herself, remembers her past life. Inserted in the story are news articles and what seems an odd “other” story, with no names given and seemingly, little connection. As The Blind Assassin progresses, however, the reader very cleverly can piece what is going on. Or can he?
Her jaw-cracking outlook on life and her very human weaknesses are incredibly compelling. The story begins with Iris reflecting on the suicide of her younger sister Laura, who had driven off a bridge many years ago. The Blind Assassin has absolutely no respect for time, something the reader ceases to care about as he becomes immersed in the story. Despite the light-hearted banter, there exists a very real guilt and pain in the words. Iris unravels the story thread by thread, and only when it is all undone can the reader appreciate the fine tapestry it once was.
Laura is a little airy in the head, a girl who substitutes fantasies for reality and takes everything too literally. She was badly struck by the death of a saint-like mother and the aloofness of a distant father. A series of tutors did nothing for either Iris’ or her education, except to teach her how to lie, a skill she employs to dramatic, if unfortunate, effect.
You want the truth, of course. You want me to put two and two together. But two and two doesn't necessarily get you the truth... The living bird is not its labelled bones.
I think The Blind Assassin sometimes suffers from awkward wording, but almost never from a trite idea. Iris’ views are fresh and invigorating, frequently insightful and profound. Her irreverent expressions, comparisons, and metaphors cast an original light on what could easily be a mundane romance and retelling of that rosy account.
The Blind Assassin is a story within the story, told by a the male lover of the “other” story, of a grotesquely exaggerated world with all the truth of history, to his socially high-ranked, somewhat vapid paramour. The story is never finished.
I’m now saying that I’ve said nothing. The experience of reading The Blind Assassin, lyrical in its execution, grand in style if not in substance, is much more dynamic and exciting than anything I could write of it.
All that being said, I can move on to other things. I was most pleasantly flabbergasted when I began to read The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood. Iris Chase, an old woman telling the story in a wry and humorously deprecating tone that spares no one, including herself, remembers her past life. Inserted in the story are news articles and what seems an odd “other” story, with no names given and seemingly, little connection. As The Blind Assassin progresses, however, the reader very cleverly can piece what is going on. Or can he?
Her jaw-cracking outlook on life and her very human weaknesses are incredibly compelling. The story begins with Iris reflecting on the suicide of her younger sister Laura, who had driven off a bridge many years ago. The Blind Assassin has absolutely no respect for time, something the reader ceases to care about as he becomes immersed in the story. Despite the light-hearted banter, there exists a very real guilt and pain in the words. Iris unravels the story thread by thread, and only when it is all undone can the reader appreciate the fine tapestry it once was.
Laura is a little airy in the head, a girl who substitutes fantasies for reality and takes everything too literally. She was badly struck by the death of a saint-like mother and the aloofness of a distant father. A series of tutors did nothing for either Iris’ or her education, except to teach her how to lie, a skill she employs to dramatic, if unfortunate, effect.
You want the truth, of course. You want me to put two and two together. But two and two doesn't necessarily get you the truth... The living bird is not its labelled bones.
I think The Blind Assassin sometimes suffers from awkward wording, but almost never from a trite idea. Iris’ views are fresh and invigorating, frequently insightful and profound. Her irreverent expressions, comparisons, and metaphors cast an original light on what could easily be a mundane romance and retelling of that rosy account.
The Blind Assassin is a story within the story, told by a the male lover of the “other” story, of a grotesquely exaggerated world with all the truth of history, to his socially high-ranked, somewhat vapid paramour. The story is never finished.
I’m now saying that I’ve said nothing. The experience of reading The Blind Assassin, lyrical in its execution, grand in style if not in substance, is much more dynamic and exciting than anything I could write of it.
