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Finished reading:
The Testaments by Margaret Atwood.
Huh. Where to start? I know that some of my reactions to various things were blunted because I'd already processed the things having read surprisingly … not spoilery, but a surprisingly detailed descriptions of some book moments in a review. So, I'll go below a cut.
I last read The Handmaid's tale probably a good ten years ago now. I remember it being such a claustrophobic, intense read, and yet I still think of it being a profoundly meditative one – Offred being so traumatised and trying to keep herself as small and unnoticeable as possible in order to survive. (I know the world now calls her June for multiple reasons, and Atwood herself is pleased to go along with those multiple reasons, but also Atwood intentionally originally never real-named her in the text, so). The scariest moments of Handmaid's tale for me were the flashbacks near the end, where the characters could see control of their own lives being taken away, and where there is still a window for them to escape, and they're teetering on taking it. The scenes where they get captured are awful, but they're less scary to me, with that window closed. That said, I had a constant fear that something bad was going to happen to Offred while she was in the Commander's house, which kept things compelling.
Um, all that foregrounding to get to The Testaments itself. Okay. I read this not quite in one sitting, but within 24 hours total, being sick in bed and not much to do, which shaped the reading experience. I may or may not be in the minority here, but I realised liked that this incorporated details from the show, and it really did make itself a sequel to the show, as much as a sequel to the book. That said, I felt like it took a long time to get going – I didn't have any questions about where the text was going, or about what these characters wanted, per se. It wasn't until [abruptly shocking event of self-harm by another character], that I was startled to attention, and it wasn't until the last hundred pages that I felt actually compelled to keep reading. The plot device to bring the characters together...I was willing to believe the characters thought it necessary? But man I wanted more papering over with: 'we can't do the more sensible method of data transfer because X.'
Aunt Lydia's voice was fantastic, and I was interested in listening to her talk, but I also felt her narrative had been sanitised. Yes, she's telling her own story, but she also actively brutalised hundreds? Thousands? Of women, and with the exception of a few brief sentences, that – and how she felt about that – felt extremely absent from this text, especially given her role in the latter half of the text. The story of her own capture was indeed horrific, but the distance of many narrative years, (and having read the details of it in the above-mentioned review), blunted it for me, which was frankly a blessing. Aunt Lydia is such a complicated, brutal character, and Ann Dowd blessed us with so much so much, and I wanted more.
The other two voices…hmm. For what was apparently a transcript of an audio recording(? On reflection, this was never explicitly stated, but it seems a fair assumption to make), it's not at all the rhythms of a teenager, or even the rhythms of a person talking. It makes more sense to me that repressed, Gilead-raised teenager would be more stilted and speak in paragraphs but hearing character A's dialogue through character B's recounting was a shock of how amazingly, flawlessly teenage A could have been written, and as someone who loves interview-style pieces (Dolores Claiborne, I gotta reread you at some point), I frankly grieve what could have been.
We who are about to… by Joanna Russ, published 1976.
A spaceship accident strands a small, disparate group of people on an unknown planet, hundreds of years from rescue. The female narrator isn’t interested in uselessly maintaining humanity. The first half of this was more harrowing reading than The Testaments, actually. For all that Gilead is horrific, and chews people up and spits them out, there’s a structure here, even if it sucks. Like the Joker says: “Everyone stays calm if things are going to plan. Even if the plan’s horrifying.”
Is there a point to surviving? Is there a point to keeping ‘humanity’ going in a place where natural attrition means we’ll die out much sooner rather than later? Russ says no, and while I’m hypothetically inclined to agree, watching the disagreements flare into violence and force and then disintegrate entirely, is grim stuff. I was utterly gripped by the first half. The second half meandered as the character chose to starve, and then gripped me for the last few pages so tightly I barely breathed.
There’s an opacity to Russ’s writing – there’s conclusions reached or ideas formed that seem to be happening just under the surface of the paragraphs, and I can’t tell if that’s the narrative choice to not state them aloud, or if I’m not making the connections. I’m also not sure if it’s a 1970s thing or a Russ thing. I’m pretty sure I found similar issues with the parts of The female man that I read. Glad I read it, if only to have read something from 45ish years ago. Not sure how I felt about it as a novella unto itself.
Currently reading:
The second mountain by David Brooks
Absolutely captivated by his chapters on the valley and the wilderness – those metaphorical (or literal) times when life smacks you off your stable perch and leaves you rattled and questioning everything, and you need to go away for a while to reassess you Everything. Less convinced by his writing on the soul – I think we have one, but I also think animals have souls, too. I am deeply distrustful of any ‘things that separate us from animals!’ spiels at this point. Although I think he’s talking about a moral centre and I’m talking about a life force, so *shrug*. Continuing to read with interest, little bits at a time.
To be taught, if fortunate by Becky Chambers.
Started! I love her concepts SO MUCH. I keep forgetting her writing isn’t as quite as polished and deft in turn. This is still good, twenty ish pages in.
Up next:
Argh, I feel like there’s so many, again, but my brain’s not working.
The Testaments by Margaret Atwood.
Huh. Where to start? I know that some of my reactions to various things were blunted because I'd already processed the things having read surprisingly … not spoilery, but a surprisingly detailed descriptions of some book moments in a review. So, I'll go below a cut.
I last read The Handmaid's tale probably a good ten years ago now. I remember it being such a claustrophobic, intense read, and yet I still think of it being a profoundly meditative one – Offred being so traumatised and trying to keep herself as small and unnoticeable as possible in order to survive. (I know the world now calls her June for multiple reasons, and Atwood herself is pleased to go along with those multiple reasons, but also Atwood intentionally originally never real-named her in the text, so). The scariest moments of Handmaid's tale for me were the flashbacks near the end, where the characters could see control of their own lives being taken away, and where there is still a window for them to escape, and they're teetering on taking it. The scenes where they get captured are awful, but they're less scary to me, with that window closed. That said, I had a constant fear that something bad was going to happen to Offred while she was in the Commander's house, which kept things compelling.
Um, all that foregrounding to get to The Testaments itself. Okay. I read this not quite in one sitting, but within 24 hours total, being sick in bed and not much to do, which shaped the reading experience. I may or may not be in the minority here, but I realised liked that this incorporated details from the show, and it really did make itself a sequel to the show, as much as a sequel to the book. That said, I felt like it took a long time to get going – I didn't have any questions about where the text was going, or about what these characters wanted, per se. It wasn't until [abruptly shocking event of self-harm by another character], that I was startled to attention, and it wasn't until the last hundred pages that I felt actually compelled to keep reading. The plot device to bring the characters together...I was willing to believe the characters thought it necessary? But man I wanted more papering over with: 'we can't do the more sensible method of data transfer because X.'
Aunt Lydia's voice was fantastic, and I was interested in listening to her talk, but I also felt her narrative had been sanitised. Yes, she's telling her own story, but she also actively brutalised hundreds? Thousands? Of women, and with the exception of a few brief sentences, that – and how she felt about that – felt extremely absent from this text, especially given her role in the latter half of the text. The story of her own capture was indeed horrific, but the distance of many narrative years, (and having read the details of it in the above-mentioned review), blunted it for me, which was frankly a blessing. Aunt Lydia is such a complicated, brutal character, and Ann Dowd blessed us with so much so much, and I wanted more.
The other two voices…hmm. For what was apparently a transcript of an audio recording(? On reflection, this was never explicitly stated, but it seems a fair assumption to make), it's not at all the rhythms of a teenager, or even the rhythms of a person talking. It makes more sense to me that repressed, Gilead-raised teenager would be more stilted and speak in paragraphs but hearing character A's dialogue through character B's recounting was a shock of how amazingly, flawlessly teenage A could have been written, and as someone who loves interview-style pieces (Dolores Claiborne, I gotta reread you at some point), I frankly grieve what could have been.
We who are about to… by Joanna Russ, published 1976.
A spaceship accident strands a small, disparate group of people on an unknown planet, hundreds of years from rescue. The female narrator isn’t interested in uselessly maintaining humanity. The first half of this was more harrowing reading than The Testaments, actually. For all that Gilead is horrific, and chews people up and spits them out, there’s a structure here, even if it sucks. Like the Joker says: “Everyone stays calm if things are going to plan. Even if the plan’s horrifying.”
Is there a point to surviving? Is there a point to keeping ‘humanity’ going in a place where natural attrition means we’ll die out much sooner rather than later? Russ says no, and while I’m hypothetically inclined to agree, watching the disagreements flare into violence and force and then disintegrate entirely, is grim stuff. I was utterly gripped by the first half. The second half meandered as the character chose to starve, and then gripped me for the last few pages so tightly I barely breathed.
There’s an opacity to Russ’s writing – there’s conclusions reached or ideas formed that seem to be happening just under the surface of the paragraphs, and I can’t tell if that’s the narrative choice to not state them aloud, or if I’m not making the connections. I’m also not sure if it’s a 1970s thing or a Russ thing. I’m pretty sure I found similar issues with the parts of The female man that I read. Glad I read it, if only to have read something from 45ish years ago. Not sure how I felt about it as a novella unto itself.
Currently reading:
The second mountain by David Brooks
Absolutely captivated by his chapters on the valley and the wilderness – those metaphorical (or literal) times when life smacks you off your stable perch and leaves you rattled and questioning everything, and you need to go away for a while to reassess you Everything. Less convinced by his writing on the soul – I think we have one, but I also think animals have souls, too. I am deeply distrustful of any ‘things that separate us from animals!’ spiels at this point. Although I think he’s talking about a moral centre and I’m talking about a life force, so *shrug*. Continuing to read with interest, little bits at a time.
To be taught, if fortunate by Becky Chambers.
Started! I love her concepts SO MUCH. I keep forgetting her writing isn’t as quite as polished and deft in turn. This is still good, twenty ish pages in.
Up next:
Argh, I feel like there’s so many, again, but my brain’s not working.