Cut and Thirst by Margaret Atwood

Short story published by ‎ Amazon Original Stories on May 1, 2024

Fern has MS, for which her three old (pardon me, “older”) friends blame eight men — or is it nine? — who caused her so much stress that they put her in “a wheelchair rolling downhill to the morgue.” The women plot revenge and since they are well educated, they quote Macbeth. The women all taught at universities at some point, but Myra wonders why anyone would want to teach these days, with students so eager to “rat the professors out for the slightest verbal misstep.” Look at Chrissy, who was mobbed on social media as being anti-woman for teaching ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore. Never mind that she chose it as an example of misogyny. In Myra’s view, kids today only want to study literary works in which everyone behaves perfectly all the time. “How French Revolution of them,” says Leonie. The story makes clear the difficulty of walking the line between sensitivity to the feelings of others and the excessive demands of expressive conformity on college campuses.

Amusing digressions to comment upon the state of the world (and the new cheeses they try during their weekly meetings) occupy more of the story than the plot to murder eight men (or is it nine?). The women all began their careers in the literary world (mostly as proofreaders), writing for each other in the hope that their work might reach a larger audience before opting for academia and steady paychecks. They still have connections in that world, mostly to the authors with whom they slept, but Fern is the only one who earns a living writing books.

Back to the plot. The eight or nine men savaged an anthology that Fern edited because she decided not to include a story by Humphrey Vacher, an affluent and conceited author who owns a few small press publications, the only publications that will consider their work. Because they owe Vacher, they trashed Fern’s work on the ground that it appealed to “the sloppy middle-age women and easily duped teenage girls” who are the reading public. They even condemned it as “girly,” a term they wouldn’t be allowed to use today.

Coming up with a successful assassination plan proves to be challenging. “Their respect for murderers is increasing: not so easy, this murdering business.” Ultimately they settle upon a workable revenge scheme that, naturally enough, does not go as planned.

The women learn that revenge, when served cold, might no longer have a purpose by the time it is executed. Which leads to the lesson that revenge is better left unserved. That’s always a lesson worthy of illustration, and Margaret Atwood does so in an enjoyable story that mixes amusing characters, pointed insights, and a few laugh-out-loud moments.

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Old Babes in the Wood by Margaret Atwood

Published by Doubleday on March 7, 2023

Aging women are the primary characters in Margaret Atwood’s latest story collection. Sexism and ageism blend in the background of the stories, as they did in Don Lemon’s astonishing remark that women are past their prime by time they enter their 50s. Atwood is proof that Lemon doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

The stories are diverse. A couple are probably meant to appeal to intellectuals. Some are funny, although the humor is uneven. The best stories are poignant. All of them showcase Atwood’s love of language, sometimes overtly, as characters discuss the origins and meanings of meanings of words they like or despise.

My favorite story in this collection is “My Evil Mother.” The narrator meets the father who (she suspects) abandoned her. When she was a child, she believed that her mother turned her father into a garden gnome. The narrator’s mother chats with her daughter about spells and potions. The daughter is never quite sure whether her mother is cooking soup or a witch’s brew. The mother tells her daughter that she has been carrying on a battle for the last four hundred years with the daughter’s gym teacher. Back in the day, the gym teacher collected severed penises, keeping them in a cedar box and feeding them bits of grain, as was the custom. Is the narrator’s mother mentally ill or does she just have a bizarre sense of humor? Probably more of the former, but the exasperated (and often embarrassed) narrator eventually realizes that lessons she learned from her mother will serve her in her relationship with her own daughter.

One story is told by a snail whose soul has transmigrated into a customer service representative. The story might be seen as an amusing if uncomfortable take on people who feel they have been born into the wrong bodies. A story told to quarantined humans by an alien has some funny moments. Fans of Chaucer or the Decameron (as well as readers who know how to google) might appreciate the story’s relationship to the character Griselda in folklore. Both stories ask questions about the purpose of being human.

A story set in the world of academia recounts a salty (and slightly drunken) conversation about the history of feminism as a group of women plan a symposium to lay “the foundations for the brave new generation of emerging non-cis-male creatives.” In another story that is probably meant for readers who appreciate education, Hypatia explains how her mother was murdered (skinned by clamshells, to be ghoulishly precise) by a mob of Christian men in Alexandria — while noting that, if it happened today, mob members would have recorded the murder on their phones. Not being an intellectual, I needed to google Hypatia of Alexandria to give the story some context. To be honest, I did the same for Griselda. Atwood is far above my level of intellect but I made an effort to keep up.

In a less successful story, Atwood uses a medium to help her interview George Orwell. He’s not surprised to learn about “cancel culture,” the insurrection, and evil uses of the internet. In another story that didn’t work for me, two aging Hungarians share scandalous memories, some of which might be real, other just fake news.

Atwood has chronicled the marriage of Tig and Nell during her writing career. Those characters star in the first three stories. The first suggests that fears of death are best ignored, lest we mourn events that have not yet happened. Better to preserve an illusion of safety until our fate is revealed. In the second, Nell does a favor for departed friends by telling their story, because they wanted to become words rather than a handful of dust. In the third story, Nell tries to immortalize a dead but beloved cat by making it the subject of Tennyson’s “Morte d’Arthur.”

The last four stories are about Nell and her memories of Tig after Tig’s death. Nell learns some things (and surmises others) about Tig’s father by reading poems that he wrote during the war. She isn’t sure what she learns, isn’t sure she’s the right audience for the amateurish poems, but she wants to say to the man, I hear you, or at least I’m trying.

One of the post-Tig stories takes the form of a letter in which Nell explains what it means to be a widow: grieving, coping, “tidying up” after a partner’s death, her sense that Tig is still present. The letter is heartfelt and honest, achingly sad and ultimately unsent because she knows that her friends want to hear conventional nothings from widows. Another story is devoted to memories of the lost husband, memories of both his vital and declining days.

The theme of the final story is that death is inconsiderate. It leaves the surviving partner to perform all the chores/repairs that were the duty of the lost partner. Yet she can’t blame Tig. He didn’t intend to grow old.

Growing old is not typically the subject of fiction until writers reach the age when looking back is easier than looking forward. At least when we are older, we don’t fear our own inevitable deaths so much as we fear the deaths of those we love — including, perhaps, a cat. I appreciated Atwood’s willingness to confront the subject in these stories with fearless honesty.

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Hag-Seed by Margaret Atwood

Published by Hogarth on October 11, 2016

Hag-Seed is a book for fans of The Tempest. I’m sure it can be enjoyed by readers who are unfamiliar with the play, but its great value lies in its exploration of the play’s themes and characters. That exploration will likely resonate more deeply with readers who appreciate the play.

Felix starts Hag-Seed as the artistic director of a summer theater company in Makeshiwig. Felix’s life has been falling apart since his wife left him, leaving him to parent their daughter Miranda, who died from meningitis at age 3. But Felix refuses to believe that Miranda has vanished from the universe. Felix decides to perform a sort of reincarnation by staging The Tempest and making Miranda “the daughter who had not been lost.” This evasion of death will give Felix a chance to glimpse, through his art, the adult daughter he will never know.

Unfortunately for Felix, his artistic concepts (Caliban as a paraplegic) don’t go over well with the Board, although he fears he has been undermined by Tony, to whom he always delegated interaction with the theater’s patrons. Tony, of course, has been maneuvering behind the scenes to replace Felix. After that happens, Felix finds himself teaching Shakespeare in prison, and producing plays with a cast of prisoners.

I like the idea of teaching Shakespeare as part of a prison literacy program. Of course, objections are raised that prisoners are too stupid to learn Shakespeare, but Margaret Atwood provides a blueprint for how it might be done. She also anticipates and addresses short-sighted objections by "law and order" types who think prison should punish (and punish and punish some more) rather than rehabilitate. That's an issue that probably resonates even more strongly in the United States than in England, where the novel is set. The American public loves punishment, the harsher, the better.

Eventually, circumstances (and the plot) dictate that Felix will produce The Tempest in prison. The prisoners like Macbeth because of its sword fights. They like Julius Caesar because they understand betrayal. They like Richard III because they can relate to power struggles. But the prisoners (and government officials) have some qualms about The Tempest, which seems a little gay to them. Felix nevertheless convinces them to see Ariel as a space alien, not a fairy (or air-spirit), and the show goes on.

The play is modernized a bit with the addition of rap and some contemporary language so that the prison audience can follow it, but fans of The Tempest should love this book for the insightful analysis of key scenes and characters offered by Felix and the inmates. There’s always a schemer in a Shakespeare play, and so it is in this book about the production of a Shakespeare play. Felix hatches a scheme that might be worthy of the Bard. It might not be credible, but the credibility of a plot never bothered Shakespeare, so why should it concern Margaret Atwood?

The situation in Hag-Seed sets up as a comedy and much of the story is amusing, but it’s impossible to read Shakespeare without learning something, and Felix learns something about himself as the story unfolds. Felix is haunted (or comforted) by the ghost (or memory, or fantasy) of his dead daughter, and the play teaches something about the power of illusion ... and about the need to set illusions free. And of course, the prisoners learn something, because The Tempest is (as the novel reveals) a play about prisons and the different ways of living within them. And, as the last line of The Tempest reveals, the play is about pardons, which must be earned. The modern illustrations of the lessons taught by one of Shakespeare’s best plays make Hag-Seed a fun and informative read.

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The Heart Goes Last by Margaret Atwood

Published in Canada in 2015; published by Nan A. Talese on September 29, 2015

The Heart Goes Last is both playful and subversive. It is satirical and allegorical. The story it tells can’t be taken seriously, but its targeting of people who behave like sheep, sacrificing freedom for comfort, of men who find new ways to oppress women, and of corporations that place profits ahead of … well, everything … is well taken. Margaret Atwood doesn’t beat the reader over the head with lectures about morality, but the background themes are never far from the reader’s thoughts.

The economy has tanked. Stan and Charmaine are living in a car. The rich are living offshore on tax-free floating platforms. Stan’s life is tied down by “tiny threads of petty cares and small concerns.” Joining his brother Conner in the criminal underclass may be Stan’s only hope. Charmaine, who works for tips in a bar, is tempted to turn tricks until she sees an even more tempting ad for the Positron Project.

Against Conner’s advice, Stan and Charmaine join the corporate/social experiment called Consilience/Positron. The experiment involves voluntary imprisonment in exchange for full employment. In alternating months, residents of the prison (Positron) swap places with residents of the village (Consilience), but even in the village they have no freedom, in that they are cut off from the outside world. They see only the news, television shows, and movies that are chosen for them. They work at the jobs the project gives them. They own what the project allows them to own. The project demands meek obedience to its rules; disruption has harsh consequences.

Against this background, the story begins to explore the relationship between Stan and Charmaine, their inability to connect with each other and their consequent misunderstanding about who the other person is and what the other person wants. As the plot moves forward, the characters must decide whether they are loyal to each other, to themselves, or to Consilience. Another plot thread compares complex relationships between humans to simpler interactions between humans and robots (or, more precisely, sexbots). Of course, some human relationships seem robotic, which is one of the points that Atwood’s novel makes.

The Heart Goes Last combines a serious story about the breakdown of society with satirical commentaries on the cozy relationship between government and big business, the not-so-cozy relationship that is often defined by marriage, and the exploitation of the powerless by the powerful (particularly, but not exclusively, the exploitation of women by men). It also makes the point that there will always be people who are willing to give up freedom, independence, and any ability they might possess to think for themselves in exchange for comfort and security. After all, life is just easier when other people make decisions for you. Of course, for every bit of freedom you choose to relinquish, the people in control will want you to give up just a bit more. Utopia comes at a price.

The Heart Goes Last stitches together a number of novellas that Atwood previously published in what science fiction writers of the 1940s and 1950s called a “fix-up” novel. It reads well, but the fixed-up nature of the work is apparent in some of the sharp turns the novel takes. Atwood takes the story a bit over the top with all the varieties of evil she concocts, but that’s the nature of satire, and when greed is being satirized, going over the top is forgivable. Some of the humor might be a little too easy (although making fun of Elvis impersonators never gets old) and the story provokes more smiles than outright laughter. Still, this is a fun book.

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