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A review by dani_ringrose
Lady Oracle by Margaret Atwood
4.0
I was surprised I enjoyed this so much. Despite being written by Atwood, I didn't have high hopes for it, and expected it to be a little dated. I was captivated by the voice of the narrator, and really enjoyed reading this while I process my divorce journey for that reason. I expected a lot more unreliable narrator elements to develop as we got deeper into Joan's story, partly because her entire life was constructed of running away from things, writing fiction that she hides from her husband, and giving ridiculous names to ex-partners. Surprised at how contemporary the writing felt even though it was published in 1967. Would likely be the latest bestseller along the lines of Lessons in Chemistry (or that ilk... witty, clever female writing about relationships) if published for the first time today; but how simplistically radical the notion of a woman abandoning her life and husband to escape to a foreign country would've been for the time. Much like as in Cats Eye, Atwood at one point captures the horrid nature of young females and their terror to each other in groups. Come for the wittiness and sharpness of Atwood's observations; stay for the blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to the Elder Trudeau. She also writes a pre "writing like a man" howler line in one of her Gothic romances: "She realised she was wearing nothing but her nightrail; beneath its snowy covering her breasts moved with agitation." Howling.
"Elizabeth was going to fly, no doubt about it: she was plastered with badges like a diplomat's suitcase."
"What he didn't know was that behind my compassionate smile was a set of tightly clenched teeth, and behind that a legion of voices, crying 'what about me? what about my own pain? when is it my turn?' But I'd learned to stifle these voices, to be calm and receptive."
"What amazed me was the sheer volume of objects, remnants of lives, and the way they circulated. The people died but their possessions did not, they went round and round as in a slow eddy. All of the things I saw and coveted had been seen and coveted previously, they had passed through several lives and were destined to pass through several more, becoming more worn and also more valuable, harder and more brilliant, as if they had absorbed their owners' sufferings and fed on them. How difficult these objects are to dispose of, I thought; they lurk passively, like vampire sheep, waiting for someone to buy them."
"Elizabeth was going to fly, no doubt about it: she was plastered with badges like a diplomat's suitcase."
"What he didn't know was that behind my compassionate smile was a set of tightly clenched teeth, and behind that a legion of voices, crying 'what about me? what about my own pain? when is it my turn?' But I'd learned to stifle these voices, to be calm and receptive."
"What amazed me was the sheer volume of objects, remnants of lives, and the way they circulated. The people died but their possessions did not, they went round and round as in a slow eddy. All of the things I saw and coveted had been seen and coveted previously, they had passed through several lives and were destined to pass through several more, becoming more worn and also more valuable, harder and more brilliant, as if they had absorbed their owners' sufferings and fed on them. How difficult these objects are to dispose of, I thought; they lurk passively, like vampire sheep, waiting for someone to buy them."