Context: finished this off in our room in Piddington with a view out over the garden.
I liked this. It kept me wanting to read more and I was interested in what might happen to the characters. Strangely though, nothing did and, despite that, I still enjoyed reading it. Beats me.
The story is told by a painter whose work encapsulates significant moments of her life story. Each of these episodes she relates in chapters with headings that ultimately become her paintings. This is deeper than I had time to really give the novel I’m sure but I spent long enough in it to appreciate that.
I also appreciated Atwood’s use of metaphor. It’s a sign of a good writer, I feel, that metaphors and similies are original and capture something of life that all of us know but few have reflected long enough on to give words to. Atwood does that.
So, enjoyed my second Atwood. But with the first being Robber Bride, that wasn’t really hard!
Time is not a line but a dimension, like the dimensions of space.
But it’s enough to see by.
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