A few months back I was wandering through a bookstore with my best friend.
She pointed me toward this book . . . and it’s wonderful. Beautifully written, a very compelling story and characters. Well worth reading.
I’ve always been a little leery of Atwood. Somewhere along the way I have gotten the impression that she is some kind of Feminist writer. I had assumed that this philosophy somehow lay at the root of everything she wrote — that the message was more important than the story.
Perhaps not, for this is an excellent book and expertly written.
In the last few pages, two passages stood out like shining lights:
“…they are more up to date, and have a good number of Spiritualists there.with celebrated mediums coming and staying in the best homes. I do not go in for any of that, as you never know what might come out of it; and if I wish to commune with the dead I can do it well enough on my own…”
And…
“It is strange to know you carry within yourself either a life or a death, but not to know which one.”
Exactly.
Excellent.