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3.65 AVERAGE
3.65 AVERAGE
Honestly, how does Margaret Atwood come up with this stuff? Watching Joan, the main character, grow constantly more hysterical and make horrible decisions left, right and center was as frustrating as it was enthralling. Anyways, kudos to Atwood’s imagination because Wow, what the hell.
What a book this was. Margaret Atwood truly shows her absolute command of the English language in this exquisitely written novel that enthralled me. This book is not plot heavy - though the plot certainly is satisfactory in the sense that I never felt bored, nor did I know what was ahead. This book was primarily driven by the exceptionally complex protagonist - her issues with her family, relationships, body and mental health. This made the book an exceptional exploration of the human condition and a beautiful read.
funny
mysterious
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
started off very strong, branched in the middle where I thought there was going to be some kind of magic explaining the plot, but then the end was very normal. didn't quite live up to its potential, but I did race through it. I am confused
I really enjoyed the first half of the book but then I started becoming frustrated with the protagonist, and then the ending was a bit abrupt and unsatisfying. The prose was great.
The story wasn't going one way, it was going between the child struggling with obesity and a bit cruel mother, the weight- losing teen/young woman, the mistress by accident, the married woman, the cliche writer, the mistress again, the dead woman... you can't know which Joan -or even Joan at all- you're reading about.
Nevertheless, Margaret Atwood is an amazing writer and her style is so charming.
Nevertheless, Margaret Atwood is an amazing writer and her style is so charming.
adventurous
challenging
reflective
sad
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
there are two kinds of readers: those who adore margaret atwood and those who haven't finished anything she's written. i'm kidding, of course; i can objectively understand why some don't enjoy her style – i'm in the former camp, and at this point i've loved enough of her books and other work that i may not be critical enough anymore. but most everything else feels so lacklustre in comparison that, like joan sneaking off to be with the royal porcupine, i can't care if it's wrong.
joan foster's narrative reads as far more than a portrait of the 'authoress' as a young lady, or oracle, or both. her thoughts and decisions are, oh forgive me, relatable -- , but her skin is also too real and imperfect for me to simply slip into, like the bella swan-girls she invents for her costume gothics. the theme of writing- or reading-as-escape is more inventively handled than i find it usually is; here the escape through creation is both figurative and literal. joan is both shadows and substance, and i am grateful that it's not just me. and does she get the happy ending that she repeatedly tells us she longs for? it's hard to say.
joan foster's narrative reads as far more than a portrait of the 'authoress' as a young lady, or oracle, or both. her thoughts and decisions are, oh forgive me, relatable -- , but her skin is also too real and imperfect for me to simply slip into, like the bella swan-girls she invents for her costume gothics. the theme of writing- or reading-as-escape is more inventively handled than i find it usually is; here the escape through creation is both figurative and literal. joan is both shadows and substance, and i am grateful that it's not just me. and does she get the happy ending that she repeatedly tells us she longs for? it's hard to say.
dark
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
I just finished reading Lady Oracle by Margaret Atwood (kind of a hit or miss author for me in general), and I'm still trying to figure out how I feel about it. The obvious literary comparison is Misery, in that it's about a "good" author lowering themselves by writing gothic romances, but whereas Stephen King's protagonist comes to realize he loves it and that it's where his talents really lie, Atwood's narrator ultimately decides writing such books aren't good for her mental health. We see her latest novel progress through the book, as she comes to hate the saintly heroine and the brooding hero, while identifying herself with the 'evil', sexualized villainess.
So how should I feel about this? On the one hand, part of me feels Lady Oracle is less of an affectionate parody and more of a condescending dismissal of a genre I quite like, and that labeling the whole thing as mindless formula nonsense is none of her business (and the fact that her fake novel excerpts are more interesting about the main plot says something either about me or about Atwood.) On the other hand, how elitist can I really afford to be about pulp? And she's right- gothic romances of the 70s could be pretty formulaic. There were tooth-achingly sweet heroines, rapey heroes, and evil sexualized harlots. And I come to these books as someone separated by a generation- what if they were popular fluff now, like Twilight and its imitators? Would I still be so defensive?
I'm still trying to figure it out.
So how should I feel about this? On the one hand, part of me feels Lady Oracle is less of an affectionate parody and more of a condescending dismissal of a genre I quite like, and that labeling the whole thing as mindless formula nonsense is none of her business (and the fact that her fake novel excerpts are more interesting about the main plot says something either about me or about Atwood.) On the other hand, how elitist can I really afford to be about pulp? And she's right- gothic romances of the 70s could be pretty formulaic. There were tooth-achingly sweet heroines, rapey heroes, and evil sexualized harlots. And I come to these books as someone separated by a generation- what if they were popular fluff now, like Twilight and its imitators? Would I still be so defensive?
I'm still trying to figure it out.
I wasn't really sure I would love this book until the very last page. I mean, it's Atwood, and I've loved Atwood in the past, but it's been a while since I've read anything by her. Really, quite a while. Maybe college? But I'd had a flurry of love for her then, collecting several of her books and dutifully moving them from house to house as I moved on to other literary loves. But then, after Aurororama, I was looking for some new fiction to read. And I have a fiction problem. Have I told you? Jessa and I used to keep each other in balance. She would read mostly fiction and I read mostly non-fiction and we would recommend the gems we found along the way. Now she's on Berlin and we rarely chat and I don't know how to find new fiction on my own! So I was skulking about my bookcases, trying to find an antidote to my growing irritation with two-dimensional representations of women all around me and... of course. Atwood.
So, Lady Oracle it was. Atwood would be perfect for taking women seriously, only her character, Joan Foster, doesn't take herself terribly seriously. In fact, she is sometimes unrelatable, a few times nearly unlikeable, but there is a bit of a mystery, in that the book starts with Joan reminiscing on her faking her own death. The book is her examination of her life -- how did it come to this? Where could she possibly go from here? Her memories are juxtaposed with excerpts from her books -- Joan is a writer, primarily of bodice-rippers. In a strange way it suddenly reminds me of 1982, Janine, by Alasdair Gray, one of my favorite novels, in that both use fantasy to reveal character, and both fantasies begin to fall apart as the dreamers confront themselves and their need for the dreams.
Then in the end things fall apart so rapidly and completely that I am sure I was cringing as I read, envisioning no possibility for anything resembling a reasonable, let alone happy, ending. But, without saying how it ends, it somehow achieved a sudden clarity, and that last paragraph I could kiss Atwood for -- it is surely one of my favorite last lines of all time.
So, Lady Oracle it was. Atwood would be perfect for taking women seriously, only her character, Joan Foster, doesn't take herself terribly seriously. In fact, she is sometimes unrelatable, a few times nearly unlikeable, but there is a bit of a mystery, in that the book starts with Joan reminiscing on her faking her own death. The book is her examination of her life -- how did it come to this? Where could she possibly go from here? Her memories are juxtaposed with excerpts from her books -- Joan is a writer, primarily of bodice-rippers. In a strange way it suddenly reminds me of 1982, Janine, by Alasdair Gray, one of my favorite novels, in that both use fantasy to reveal character, and both fantasies begin to fall apart as the dreamers confront themselves and their need for the dreams.
Then in the end things fall apart so rapidly and completely that I am sure I was cringing as I read, envisioning no possibility for anything resembling a reasonable, let alone happy, ending. But, without saying how it ends, it somehow achieved a sudden clarity, and that last paragraph I could kiss Atwood for -- it is surely one of my favorite last lines of all time.