To me, Atwood is the Meryl Streep of literature, and there’s been no better example of her range in a single work until this. On the other hand, this isn’t my favorite short-story collection of hers. My connection to the pieces was mixed. But she’s brilliant and playful, with a searing wit directed at both society and individuals, and that comes through here in every work.
The collection’s structure reminded me a bit of Blind Assassin where a work of speculative fiction was woven through the center of a realistic story. I even wondered if this was homage of sorts to that earlier work. Here, the genre stories appear in bulk at the center, including FreeForAll, an updated story from 1986 that felt like a cousin to Handmaid’s Tale. The rest were written during the pandemic, and felt soaked in anxiety.
The center is bookended by tales of Nell & Tig, a married couple first found in Atwood’s collection, Moral Disorder, and based on the author’s real-life marriage. Within the first two pages of this collection, Atwood shows how vulnerable Nell feels when Tig is hurt, and by the third page she’s already looking back through time. This sets up the themes of aging and nostalgia that pervade the work:
“Had they really been that careless, that oblivious? They had. Obliviousness had served them well”
“Revisiting all of this—because revisiting sets in after a time, after many times…”
In the story Morte de Smudgie, we see Nell use writing as a playful tool to mourn the loss of a loved one—her cat. I could see Atwood’s organic impulse to organize her thoughts and feelings by playing with words.
The final section returns to Nell & Tig, and ends with her as a widow. Nell revisits moments from WWll and mid-20th century, alternating between humor and tenderness. Atwood entwines grieving with the role of storytelling and writing, how details are invented, how the rules reflect the culture, how stories can heal and immortalize or simply pass the time:
“Anyway, the mind invents things. What colour was her shawl? Did she even have one?”
“She’s a strategic liar, being a memoirist.”
“Both of them presented me with their stories that year. Since they knew what sort of creature I was, they also knew—indeed they trusted—that I would someday relate their lives for them. Why did they want this? Why does anyone? We resist the notion that we’ll become mere handfuls of dust, so we wish to become words instead. Breath in the mouth of others.”
“Fuck used to be unprintable, whereas racial and ethnic slurs were common, but now that has flipped.”
“What people preserve, what they discard: this has always been of interest to Nell.”
Atwood also warns us that old age is relative:
“Middle-aged. Past the halfway mark. Countdown days. Already they’d been making jokes about creaky knees. What did they know about creaky knees back then? They could still go hiking, for heaven’s sakes. When had that become impossible?”
In Old Babes in the Wood, nothing lasts, nothing is certain, we add or subtract for ourselves as much as for others.
“You will understand it later, perhaps, this warping or folding of time. In some parts of this refolded time Tig still exists, as much as he ever did.”
I highly recommend that you read this in order: Atwood knows what she's doing. I couldn't resist the pull of Nell & Tig, and so skipped the center my first read through. A mistake. Trust the author. I turned around and read this again, and it worked best in order. I laughed a lot, but it left me saddened.