3.5*
(Four stars for the first three of these Empson Lectures, three stars for the second trio, where it felt like Ms. Atwood wasn't quite as inspired as in the first half.)
I was really rooting for this one for some reason, in spite of the fact that I was largely unmoved by the two novels of hers (Surfacing and The Handmaid's Tale) that I've read. Perhaps it is because she's been under the gun of late because of her "intervention" (to use the horrid academese—anyone care to "interrogate" that?!) in those tempests-in-a-teaspoon (not in absolute terms, to be sure, but from an outsider's perspective, perhaps—they were both quite the literary furors here in Canada, easily bigger than anything else on our cultural horizon) the Joseph Boyden (cultural apropriation) and Steven Galloway (sexual harassment) Affairs. MA came to the defense of both authors, and social media ate her for lunch. So maybe I have a soft spot for underdogs, as she currently feels like one to me in spite of the global mega-success of the Hulu series based upon The Handmaid's Tale (<--excellent BTW)...
As I said, (my admittedly limited acquaintance with) her fiction did not stir me much, but her poetry—that amazing voice of hers has always been something special, and she brings that voice to this volume in a major way. The first lecture, "Who Do You Think You Are?", could have easily gone on at book length as far as I was concerned, as her dry wit made the details of this her abridged writer's autobiography really sing for me. And there seems to be much of the writer herself, too, in the second essay, "Duplicity", where Atwood dives into the difference between the writing and the quotidian selves.
She starts to pull back away from taking any kind of stand in the next two essay-lectures, though, "The Great God Pen" and "Temptation", where she lays out a variety of "higher callings" that the writer may serve ("Mammon", Art-for-Art's Sake, and Social Relevance): it is just when you most want her to stake some kind of claim about
literary value
, about the novel's conflicted, contridictory relationship to the market (and thus to its own birth and coming-of-age story, the novel's own Künstlerroman) that MA begins the process of removing herself from this book and with thereby contenting herself with "merely" laying out the various alternate routes that the writer and the novel could take without ever once returning as "MA-herself" to tell us which route (or combination thereof) she took, and why.
THAT was what I was hoping for in this book, and receiving more of it might have brought me back to her novels with renewed interest, but, alas she sits on the fence for the remainder of the series of lectures, and, though we are treated to a still-interesting synopticon of the wide range and depth of her own reading (for instance, I should have guessed beforehand —but didn't—that she would love Borges, yet who'da thunk that ol' DFW would get a look in, and even Uncle Don Delillo for godsakes—gotta luv her to death for that!) we just don't see enough of what Margaret Atwood thinks on very much, I'm afraid.
Thus did I limp my way through the last two essays (on the writer's relations with the reader, and with the dead—the later being the most anticipated and least enjoyed by yours truly. Oh, I was hoping, I guess, to get a practicing writer's response to the importance of "capital-T Tradition"—c.f. Harold Bloom's thesis about how, to borrow from Marx, "the tradition of all dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the living". But alas, I closed the book with a sigh, remembering the excitement of the first third of the book, but feeling that much of it was really a missed opportunity for both of us, writer and reader.