I want to explore Atwood as a writer, how her books communicate to me and what I enjoyed (or didn’t enjoy) about each one. I want each part of this challenge to be something unique on the blog – something that stands out from the reviews that usually populate the virtual pages.

So, I started with The Edible Woman which was originally published in 1969 and explores both gender stereotyping and society’s typical expectations. Atwood writes The Edible Woman with such a vast amount of wit that the book is, at times, brilliantly sharp and funny. While I thought this may soften the edges of any metaphor, I was relieved to walk away thinking heavily about what transpired throughout.

We follow the character of Marian McAlpin as she lives her life in a mundane job. She works, sees her boyfriend on weekends and plods through her life perfectly normal life. Marian has no worries in the opening of the novel, she has everything she needs. However, as soon as her boyfriend, Peter, proposes to her she begins to collapse both figuratively and literally.

What is incredibly interesting is the way in which Atwood tells the story. The book is split into three parts with the first and third sections being told in a first person perspective, while the middle is told from a third person. Having finished reading the book I dwelled on this aspect quite a lot. The middle section in which Marian begins to unravel seems almost schizophrenic. It’s clear that this is still Marian talking but it is as if she has drifted out of her body and can no longer control what is happening.

Her “madness” begins with her sudden inability to consume meat. She no longer wants to eat anything that once lived and breathed. As the novel progresses this affliction is transposed to other foods such as the rice inside a rice pudding. Marian begins to see the grains as small eggs which could contain life so decides (against her own will) not to eat them. Throughout the novel Marian concentrates on commercial imagery on both food and images of women and her “aversion” to eating crops up when she begins to ponder how she “should” look for her husband. At an office party she looks at the older (married) women and thinks “You were green and then you ripened: became mature. Dresses for the mature figure. In other words, fat.”

One has to see Marian as becoming scared or paranoid at what her life could become. She fears a loss of control, possibly and uses this alternate Marian to deal with the situation. Marian begins to alienate herself from her boyfriend by pursuing a relationship with a student called Duncan. He expects nothing of her; she puts on no façade and soon becomes utterly comfortable with him. The silences which are strained with her Peter become almost a comfort with Duncan.

It is thought that the schizophrenic narration explains Marian’s loss of identity. Marian believes that she will be oppressed by Peter by his outlandish personality and the control he wields over his life. His surroundings are often pristine, organised and expensive. Whereas her times with Duncan are spent in sleazy hotel rooms, dorm rooms littered with paper and rubbish… they are carefree.

Perhaps my favourite aspect of the novel is how Atwood studies genre stereotyping. This is particularly apparent in Duncan’s roommates whom he refers to as his Mom and Dad figures and also Marian’s landlady.

The landlady is the ultimate female stereotype and is often pestering Marian and her roommate, Ainsley, about their drinking – however casual – as well as their behaviour in the bathroom, the way they act in front of her child and with men around the house. She is an oppressive force and only heightens Marian’s template of what she “should” be. The landlady seems to believe that all women should be seen and not heard. They are there to be married and procreate, with as little impact on the world as possible.

Atwood explores the situation further with Fish and Trevor, Duncan’s roommates. In one scene Marian is invited back to their dorm room for dinner as they want to meet the woman who is “seeing” Duncan. Trevor takes the part of Mom, Fish becomes Dad and Marian almost plays the role of an awkward boyfriend. Soon we have Marian afraid to offend or put a foot wrong, Fish is discussing highbrow literature and Trevor is showing off his cooking skills and china set which was handed down through his family.

I loved how Atwood reversed the roles so radically while not only making the scene believable but also relatable to the audience. It’s in these twists that the humour comes through and while Atwood is in fact dealing with many topics via metaphor she still leaves you entertained.

Every character in the novel deals with each topic differently. In Ainsley we see a woman who wants to fall pregnant with anyone she can because she believes it’s her right to have a child. She longs to be a mother and soon entraps a man for the job. Her morals are scandalous but also paint a picture of what was expected from women at the time. On the flipside we have Marian’s friend Clara who dropped her normal life to marry and have three children. She is the epitome of what Marian could become and, again, heightens the fear. Marian describes Clara as saying “Her metaphors for her children included barnacles encrusting a ship and limpets clinging to a rock.” One can see how Marian would find fear in such a statement.

This “need” for matrimonial attachment is again found in the “office virgins” with whom Marian works and they are seen as being desperate for a man, any man, to sweep them out of the office and into the bedroom… then kitchen.

Atwood describes the book as protofeminist because when she wrote the book (1965) she was anticipating what feminism would become. The book carries an interesting message that is actually as relevant today as it was in the 60’s. Despite the brilliance of the writing of the cast, you can hear Atwood’s voice throughout. This is no bad thing, it shows that with her debut novel Margaret was confident in herself, her views and her writing and I love her for it.

Although I want to delve into the ending and how Marian deals with her problems, I want to urge everyone to read it and hence don’t want to spoil the finale – which is both clever and slyly funny. This was my first proper experience of a Margaret Atwood novel and I utterly enjoyed it. I can’t wait to see how she grows both in writing and voice throughout the rest of the project.

*It’s worth noting that everything above is my own perception of the metaphor and plot, and is of course very basic (I am no expert in any field and am just an everyday reader). If you want to read more about the book and ideas within then please check out the following essays and links*

• Anti-edibles: capitalism and schizophrenia in Margaret Atwood’s The Edible Woman – Critical Essay
• THE TAMING OF EXTERNALS: A LINGUISTIC STUDY OF CHARACTER TRANSFORMATION IN MARGARET ATWOOD’S THE EDIBLE WOMAN
• Book Group Questions

The Testimony reads like a television drama in that it brings together a cast of characters both diverse and recognisable to everyday people. The story follows a broadcast that sounds in millions of people’s heads simultaneously around the globe and many go on to believe that they have heard the voice of God. It begins as a burst of static and is proceeded by a cryptic message – “My children. Do not be afraid”. What the people within the pages of The Testimony then experience is something that we could never possibly imagine.

Their role on Earth is now in question. Has God spoken and if it was God, what does that mean for humanity? We see the acts within the book play out as told by these 26 characters that vary from the White House chief of staff to retirees in the suburbs of New York. Then, on our side of the pond, we have members of Parliament and the everyday man. Smythe has tried to capture many differing voices within his work and what comes across is a fantastic piece of drama that shows the fragility of us as a people and our beliefs.

The novel rises and falls like the stereotypical rollercoaster and the plot soon moves beyond The Broadcast and into the fallout of what has occurred. Without wanting to spoil what is truly a brilliant piece of storytelling it isn’t long before warring opinions become warring countries and soon enough there is fallout of other kinds.

The Testimony is a novel that on the face is a piece of genre fiction that is purely meant to entertain but as the reader turns each page and listens to these characters give their tale, it does make you think. We as a society often follow our beliefs blindly but what if they were questioned or even destroyed by the revelation of some proof?

For all its thought provoking notions on Religion there is plenty of grandiose drama and action at its heart. I’m a nail biter and I can safely say that at moments in this book I was curling tighter into a ball and chomping away at my nails as the characters laid forth their story. Is it a conspiracy by the government? Is it a terrorist plot? Is it divine intervention?

We hear from those whose faith is shaken, those that hold power over civilisation, those that want a rational explanation and even those who never heard The Broadcast. It’s in this final group that Smythe throws a curveball and brings forth a few who didn’t hear the voice, that don’t fall to the fates of those who may or may not have heard God. The book contains as many open questions and twists as a modern day TV drama such as LOST or 24 and therein lies much of its appeal.

Part of me laments that Smythe chose to tell his story in an almost documentary style. It has a rather sterile, ‘talking heads’ feel about it. However, it works and it works very well because of that large cast. For instance later in the novel certain characters experience the death of close members of their family and the narrative doesn’t lend as much emotion to those instances as I would have liked. Having said that, there were still moments where I felt an emotional impact, but the whole book could have been – though morbid – a little bleaker.

There’s no doubt that Smythe can tell a story and I can honestly say that despite the minor lack of emotion in the latter half of the book I adored this novel. It’s dramatic and at times funny. It takes the idea of apocalyptic novels and adds a fresh twist that genuinely makes the audience think. In a literary world that is currently obsessed by ‘end of the world’ drama, The Testimony deserves to take a place at the head of the class.

Published by Blue Door. This book was kindly sent from the publisher.

I’m not all that sure why I haven’t read any of Margaret’s books before. I only got back into reading (after a very long break) at the end of 2010 and before that I led a very sheltered bookish existence. I didn’t know of such wonderful authors or never had the chance to experience amazing classics. I chose Atwood for this project because her work has intrigued me for the last couple of years. I, in fact, own five of her books and have always thought of saving them for just the right moment.

The way Margaret explores so many differing themes throughout her writing is another thing that appeals to me and she delves within one of my favourite genres – speculative fiction. Of course, it will take me some time to read all of her work so I have some rules.

• I will only be reading her fiction – novels and short story collections.
• I will only read one book per month, so as not to get in the way of the rest of the TBR and review copies.
• I will talk about each book here once I’ve read them.
• I will, of course, be starting with her debut and ending on her most current work at that moment.

I urge you to join in if you want to. I will be keeping a tally of the books in the sidebar on the right –> So if you fancy reading along with that month’s book then please feel free. I’m not an expert on Atwood or her work, obviously, so the list below (those in bold, I already own) that I’m attempting to read is taken from the ever (un)reliable Wikipedia – if any die hard Atwood fans want to correct my list, then please feel free to comment below.

1. The Edible Woman (1969)
2. Surfacing (1972)
3. Lady Oracle (1976)
4. Dancing Girls (1977) [Short Stories]
5. Life Before Man (1979)
6. Bodily Harm (1981)
7. Murder in the Dark (1983) [Short Stories]
8. Bluebeard’s Egg (1983) [Short Stories]
9. The Handmaid’s Tale (1985) 
10. Cat’s Eye (1988) 
11. Wilderness Tips (1991) [Short Stories]
12. Good Bones (1992) [Short Stories]
13. The Robber Bride (1993)
14. Good Bones and Simple Murders (1994) [Short Stories]
15. Alias Grace (1996)
16. The Labrador Fiasco (1996) [Short Stories]
17. The Blind Assassin (2000) 
18. Oryx and Crake (2003) 
19. The Penelopiad (2005)
20. The Tent (2006) [Short Stories]
21. Moral Disorder (2006) [Short Stories]
22. The Year of the Flood (2009)

Depending on the success of this reading project I would love to explore Margaret’s non-fiction, but as fiction is more my bag I thought I’d dedicate my time to that, first. I have ordered the first book from [A POPULAR ONLINE BOOK RETAILER] and hope to read it in the next couple of weeks as the book for May.

You can follow Margaret Atwood on Twitter HERE and if you do feel like joining in with this utterly bonkers but probably amazing journey through Margaret’s fiction writing career, then do let me know in the comments below.

The premise of Einstein’s Dreams reminds me a lot of Sum by David Eagleman, in which the author takes an idea and proceeds to dissect said idea and explore other possibilities. Eagleman did it brilliantly in Sum by exploring possible connotations of the afterlife whereas Lightman here is exploring differing concepts of time. This is all told through the dreams of Albert Einstein as he is working in a patent office in Switzerland.

Alan Lightman’s writing here is utterly different to Mr g. Here his prose is lyrical, poetic and beautiful. He doesn’t linger on philosophy but through his sweeping descriptions of other worlds in which time flows differently to how we know it, we are still forced to think and ponder his ideas. Above all Lightman seems to ponder humanity’s view on aging and how society often frowns upon the inevitability of growing old and dying.

He explores this notion of how people often want to capture time in order to age at a slower rate. He does so by postulating that if we move faster than time in houses on wheels that we can gain precious seconds. Or in another dream we see that time slows as we venture higher into the sky so people construct homes on mountain tops in order to grab those precious seconds, only coming to ground if urgent and even then they bustle run from place to place to hold onto time. My favourite iteration of this theme has to be the idea that time is represented by Nightingales and the populace must capture these moments of time within bell jars in order to extend their lives.

But it isn’t just about extending our small existence and Lightman explores many versions of the theory of time. In one we see that time is circular and everything we experience, both good and bad, will be experienced again and again. This of course leads to thoughts of joy as we could be with the loves of our lives again or see our children born time and again. But, of course, we would then need to suffer over and over, too.

Many of Lightman’s ideas are simple and his prose accents them wonderfully by enhancing the emotions that these often nameless characters undergo. Despite all being set around Switzerland there are no real features that flow throughout so we rely on Lightman’s skills to tell a short and sharp story with full effect.

My personal favourite from all of his concepts is the idea that time occurs over one cycle of the the sun. So, in theory, our lives would be experienced over one long day. Those born in the morning will likely venture into outdoor work and are more athletic as they take advantage of half of their life being bathed in sunlight. While those born at night become more intellectual as they study inside. This idea is utterly simple but brings on many thoughts such as those born in Summer will never see a snowflake or those born in the morning will one day know fear as their world is draped in the inky blackness of night.

If you want to experience the mind of Alan Lightman, this is the book to do it. His passions for both writing and science flow together wonderfully and leave the reader with a sense of excitement. My only negative which I created by happenstance is that this is a book to be read slowly. I read it in one sitting and a few of the more in depth ideas began to wane on me a little. I feel if I had spaced out my reading that I would have revelled in every one of Einstein’s dreams fully.

Published by Corsair. This book was kindly sent from the publisher.

Fingers crossed that my writing mojo comes back and over the next week or so you’ll be able to read reviews of Flowers For Algernon, The Testimony, The Girl Who Fell from the Sky and Einstein’s Dreams. All of which have been brilliant reads and I can’t recommend enough.

While I’m here I also want to drop hints about a new project that I’m going to start on the blog very soon. The idea was stolen borrowed from James Smythe, the wonderful author of The Testimony. He has set out to read ALL of Stephen King’s works in chronological order and while I thought he was mad at first I became rather envious. So, I’ve decided to take on a similar challenge myself but with an author who I haven’t read before but who is heralded as one of the best living writers out there. More to come on this later in the week.