Atwood, Margaret (Short Story Criticism)
Margaret Atwood 1939–-
(Born Margaret Eleanor Atwood) Canadian novelist, poet, critic, short story writer, and author of children's books.
International acclaimed as a poet, novelist, and short story writer, Atwood is recognized as a major figure in Canadian letters. Using such devices as irony, symbolism, and self-conscious narrators, she explores the relationship between humanity and nature, the dark side of human behavior, and power as it pertains to gender and politics. Popular with both literary scholars and the reading public, Atwood has helped to define and identify the goals of contemporary Canadian literature and has earned a distinguished reputation among feminist writers for her exploration of women's issues.
Atwood was born in Ottawa and grew up in suburban Toronto. She began to write while in high school, contributing poetry, short stories, and cartoons to the school newspaper. As an undergraduate at the University of Toronto, Atwood was influenced by critic Northrop Frye, who introduced her to the poetry of William Blake. In 1961 she published her first volume of poetry, Double Persephone. Atwood completed her A.M. degree in 1962 at Radcliffe College of Harvard University. She returned to Toronto in 1963, where she began collaborating with artist Charles Pachter, who designed and illustrated several volumes of her poetry. In 1964 Atwood moved to Vancouver, where she taught English at the University of British Columbia for a year and completed her first novel, The Edible Woman. After a year of teaching Victorian and American literature at Sir George Williams University in Montreal in 1967, Atwood began teaching creative writing at the University of Alberta while continuing to write and publish poetry. After the publication of her poetry collection Power Politics in 1971, she left a teaching position at the University of Toronto to move to a farm near Alliston, Ontario. Atwood received the Governor General's Award in 1986 for her novel The Handmaid's Tale, which was published that same year. She continues to be a prominent voice in Canada's cultural and political life.
Major Works of Short Fiction
In her short fiction, Atwood specializes in revealing unexpected, often unsettling aspects of the human personality and behavior normally hidden by social conventions. However, her narrative voice has been described as distanced and unemotional, and her characters as two-dimensional representations of ideas rather than fully rounded individuals. Her stories, like her poems, often pivot on a single symbolic object: a visit to a Mayan sacrificial well in “The Resplendent Quetzal,” a plane crash in “A Travel Piece,” and the bizarre amorous behavior of a foreign student in “The Man from Mars,” all serve as catalysts for her protagonists' confrontations with their conflicted inner selves. More loosely structured than her poems or novels, Atwood's stories nonetheless bear her novels' trademarks of careful plotting and concise use of language. More notably, her short fiction shares with her other works Atwood's common theme of personal identity in conflict with society. In her first collection of short fiction, Dancing Girls, the title refers to the leading characters of the stories, women who obligingly dance repressive, stereotyped roles assigned to them by a male-dominated society rather than following their inner desires. Atwood portrays patriarchal social systems as oppressive and damaging to the individual psyche and her male characters as often malevolent or emotionally withdrawn. The typical heroine of Atwood's stories is intelligent, urbane, and discontented, alienated from her true nature as well as her environment. In later collections, such as Murder in the Dark and Bluebeard's Egg, she often incorporates autobiographical material into her stories.
Although for the most part Atwood's story collections have met with critical favor, some reviewers note that Atwood's short fiction is of uneven quality and is secondary to her novels and poetry. Other critics maintain that her stories retain much of the wit and penetrating insight of her longer works of fiction while displaying the same compelling imagery found in her poetry. Reviewers have detected the significant influence of the German fairy tales of Wilhelm and Jakob Grimm on her work, and several commentators assert that much of her writing has been inspired by her studies of North American and European folklore and Gothic fiction. Moreover, her fiction has often been compared to another critically and commercially popular Canadian author, Alice Munro. In general Atwood's stories have earned positive attention and are regarded as further evidence of her prodigious literary talent.
Dancing Girls, and Other Stories 1977
Bluebeard's Egg 1983
Murder in the Dark 1983
Wilderness Tips 1991
Good Bones and Simple Murders 1992
Double Persephone (poetry) 1961
The Circle Game (poetry) 1966
The Animals in That Country (poetry) 1968
The Edible Woman (novel) 1969
The Journals of Susanna Moodie (poetry) 1970
Procedures for Underground (poetry) 1970
Power Politics (poetry) 1971
Surfacing (novel) 1972
Survival: A Thematic Guide to Canadian Literature (criticism) 1972
You Are Happy (poetry) 1974
Lady Oracle (novel) 1976
Selected Poems 1976
Life before Man (novel) 1978
Two-Headed Poems (poetry) 1978
Up in the Tree (juvenilia) 1978
True Stories (poetry) 1981
Bodily Harm (novel) 1982
Second Words (criticism) 1982
Interlunar (poetry) 1984
The Handmaid's Tale (novel) 1986
Selected Poems II: Poems Selected and New, 1976–1986...
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SOURCE: “Versions of Reality,” in Violent Duality: A Study of Margaret Atwood, edited by Ken Norris, Véhicule Press, 1980, pp. 79–86.
[In the following excerpt, Grace finds parallels between Atwood's stories and her poetry and assesses the merits and weaknesses of the stories in Dancing Girls.]
Jeannie isn't real in the same way that I am real. But by now, and I mean your time, both of us will have the same degree of reality, we will be equal: wraiths, echoes, reverberations in your own brain.
(“Giving birth,” DG, p. 242)
The price of this version of reality was testing the other one.
(EW, p. 271)
In an effort to distinguish between creating a poem and a novel, Atwood has remarked:
You can talk about it, but not very successfully. A poem is something you hear, and the primary focus of interest is words. A novel is something you see, and the primary focus of interest is people.1
Distinctions between poetry and prose can become gratuitous, nowhere more so than with Margaret Atwood. Her poems need to be seen on the page as well as heard, while the power of language in her best prose is fully realized when read aloud. Indeed, I am most struck with what George...
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SOURCE: “Margaret Atwood: Some Observations and Textual Considerations,” in World Literature Written in English, Vol. 20, No. 1, Spring, 1981, pp. 85–92.
[In the following essay, Houghton analyzes Atwood's attempt to construct meaning by drawing attention to and highlighting the “process of exclusion in everyday experience, by focusing upon the inadequacies and illusions of overt fabrications.”]
Margaret Atwood's presentation of a public self remains enigmatic, elusive and contradictory. She self-consciously refuses all the diverse personas that have been foisted upon her, working hard at escaping the net of our expectations. Her interviews are fascinating moments of flight and of flux. In part this unapproachability can be attributed to her legitimate desire for privacy and the preservation of some sense of private self, but there are other very important motives.
There can be few women writers so aware of the dangers of form, both personal and literary. In our never ending attempts to construct meaning, we must inevitably exclude, repress, oppress and ignore. Atwood, in two pieces of short fiction, twice draws attention to and highlights this process of exclusion in everyday experience, by focussing upon the inadequacies and illusions of overt fabrications. Both of these elaborate constructions are utopian.
In “Polarities”1 Louise, a graduate...
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SOURCE: “Minuets and Madness: Margaret Atwood's ‘Dancing Girls,’” in The Art of Margaret Atwood: Essays in Criticism, edited by Arnold E. Davidson and Cathy N. Davidson, Anansi, 1981, pp. 107–22.
[In the following essay, Thompson offers a detailed survey of the stories in Dancing Girls.]
Two-headed poems; polarities, mythic reversals: it may be from Margaret Atwood's own delight in oppositions and strong contradictions that critics often take their cue. One notices, at any rate, a tendency for commentators to deplore or dwell exclusively upon the clinical chill, the frightening detachment in Atwood's poetry, at the same time as they often criticize her fiction, particularly The Edible Woman and Lady Oracle, as shallow, flippant, frivolous, with silly protagonists, in a phrase, “not the essential Atwood.”1 The poetry is seen as cold, strange, mythical, ritualistic, while the prose is considered comparatively warm, full of common touches and ordinary bumblers; one intense and austere, the other almost frothy, rambling, diffused; one humourless, the other marked by considerable (to some tastes, too much) humour. This polarized view, while rarely pushed and almost always obliged to ignore Surfacing or term it a “poetic novel,” implies a schizophrenia, a two-headedness of the poet, two separate and distinct psyches joined only at the body level for the...
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SOURCE: “The Short Stories,” in Margaret Atwood: A Feminist Poetics, Talonbooks, 1984, pp. 128–52.
[In the following essay, Davey discusses recurring themes in Atwood's short fiction.]
1. ICONIC PROSE
Atwood's short fiction contains some of her most successful prose outside Life Before Man and the prose poems of Murder in the Dark. For Atwood, the short story always has the iconic potential of poetry—to be oblique and enigmatic, to be a language structure of intrinsic attraction rather than one dependent on the action it narrates. It has the potential, in short, to act in the implicit way of ‘female’ language rather than in the explicit way of the male.
The brevity of the short story makes it a difficult form in which to tell a ‘complete’ story such as that of a character who undergoes instructive change. Unlike Atwood's four comic novels, most of her stories end inconclusively, with the characters gaining not changed lives but, at best, increased self-knowledge. The narrator of “Under Glass” gains strengthened awareness of her neurotic attachment to the world of plants; Christine in “The Man from Mars” comes to see only the emptiness of her life. The brevity of the short story also makes it particularly suitable to the use of symbols. But while in Atwood's novels characters have an opportunity to consciously interpret these...
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SOURCE: “Alternate Stories: The Short Fiction of Audrey Thomas and Margaret Atwood,” in Canadian Literature, Vol. 109, Summer, 1986, pp. 5–14.
[In the following essay, Davey considers ways in which Atwood's characters cope with reality by viewing it through fictional frameworks.]
She knew now that almost certainly, whenever she saw a street musician, either he was blind or lame or leprous or there was a terribly deformed creature, just out of sight, on behalf of whom he was playing his music.1
Short stories have often focused on a character's discovery of a second perspective on experience, as in Mansfield's “The Garden Party” or Joyce's “The Dead,” or in Alice Munro's collection Lives of Girls and Women in which Del Jordan discovers Garnet French's narrow view of family life, or her mother's vision of herself as “Princess Ida.” Often the discovery of such alternate perspectives has marked moments of traumatic insight or dramatic growth for the character, and has—like Del's discovery of Bobby Sheriff's banality—constituted a pivotal or terminal element in the story. In Munro's fiction, as recent criticism by Helen Hoy, Lorraine McMullen, and others2 has suggested, these moments participate in oxymoronic figures and imply the paradoxical existence of multiple and conflicting “realities”—the train...
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SOURCE: A review of Bluebeard's Egg and Other Stories, in Studies in Short Fiction, Vol. 24, No. 3, Summer, 1987, p. 312.
[In the following positive review of Bluebeard's Egg, Lyons asserts that the “stories have many virtues and sources of interest, including the revelations about Atwood's biography, the exploration of her major themes and motifs, and not least of all, their excellence as stories.”]
In “Significant Moments in the Life of My Mother,” the first story of this collection, the narrator recalls a key childhood anecdote about bunny rabbit cookies. Offered a wonderful cookie shaped like a bunny rabbit and decorated with a face and clothes of colored icing, the narrator as a child went off to a corner and talked to her cookie instead of gobbling many like her brother. The narrator muses about why her mother repeatedly told her boyfriends this story, whether to prove her “kindliness and essential femininity,” to suggest her harmlessness (“that they could expect to be talked to but not devoured”) or to warn them of her mental instability (suggesting that she was “the kind of person who might be expected to leap up suddenly from the dinner table and shout, ‘Don't eat that! It's alive!’”). A portrait of the artist as a young girl? It would seem so.
Atwood has said that this collection contains portraits of her parents. The volume is dedicated...
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SOURCE: A review of Bluebeard's Egg and Other Stories, in World Literature Today, Vol. 61, No. 4, Autumn, 1987, p. 629.
[In the following review, Knapp offers a negative assessment of Bluebeard's Egg.]
As much as The Handmaid's Tale was a minor literary sensation which marked Atwood's move to international prominence, her second collection of short fiction is patently unsensational. With the exception of two stories new to the American edition, the volume appeared already in 1983 in Canada. Two-thirds of the stories, in addition, have been featured previously in Harper's and other magazines, making their reappearance under one cover as much a matter of publishing convenience as of artistic necessity. Not a single date of original publication is given; and whether this is mere negligence or deliberate obfuscation by the publisher, it makes the critic's evaluation of the texts more difficult.
Of course, Atwood's unique voice, with its wry understatement and sensitive characterization, rings clear throughout. The twelve texts can be roughly divided into two groups. Four fall into the “My Parents” category of quasi-autobiographical fiction much abused by well-known authors. Their plots are elementary: childhood in the Canadian wilderness, rise and fall of the first boyfriend, civilization and nature in the Northern wilds, anecdotes about individualist parents whose...
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SOURCE: “‘Bluebeard's Egg’: Not Entirely a ‘Grimm’ Tale,” in Margaret Atwood: Reflection and Reality, edited by Beatrice Mendez-Egle and James M. Haule, Pan American University, 1987, pp. 131–38.
[In the following essay, Peterson evaluates the influence of legends and fairy tales on Atwood's short fiction.]
In a 1977 interview, Margaret Atwood speculated that her childhood reading led to the emphasis on evolution and transformation evident in her adult fiction. As a child, Atwood said, she read legends, fairy tales, and religious stories, all involving “miraculous changes of shape” (Sandler 14). The influence of these tales on Atwood's fiction is a largely untouched area of scholarship. However, the publication of her collection of short stories, Bluebeard's Egg, which overtly uses fairy tales and legends to make a statement about modern life, calls for a further examination of this influence. The story that gives the collection its title is particularly fascinating because it is based on a legend everyone knows—the tale of Bluebeard. Also, the story uses the lesser—known version of the Bluebeard story recounted by the Brothers Grimm. In the interview mentioned above, Atwood singled out the one book from her childhood that affected her later writing: “I would say that Grimm's Fairy Tales [sic] was the most influential book I ever read” (Sandler 14).
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SOURCE: “Atwood's Sacred Wells (Dancing Girls, poetry, and Surfacing),” in Critical Essays on Margaret Atwood, edited by Judith McCombs, G. K. Hall & Co., 1988, pp. 213–29.
[In the following essay, Brown explores the recurring images in Atwood's work, focusing on how they function in her fiction and poetry.]
“Think about pools.”
There is a Margaret Atwood story—“The Resplendent Quetzal”—which opens with a young Canadian woman in Mexico, sitting at the edge of a sacrificial well. The well is an unprepossessing relic of an ancient civilization, now reduced to an object at which tourists come to gaze, their attention superficial and brief. Sarah, the woman at this well, is herself a tourist, but unlike the ones she watches hurrying by, she has some time to spend and feels at least some sense of the symbolism of this once-sacred site. Still Sarah is also disappointed in the well, almost as much so as other tourists: it is less interesting to look at than she had imagined, and shallower than her guidebook had promised. A guide who has finished lecturing his tour group flirts with her briefly, but it is not romance that Sarah longs for. Rebuffed, the guide flicks his cigarette into the well and departs.
This brief scene is an extremely significant one in Atwood's canon. Some of her most important images...
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SOURCE: “Definitions of a Fool: Alice Munro's ‘Walking on Water’ and Margaret Atwood's Two Stories about Emma: ‘The Whirlpool Rapids’ and ‘Walking on Water,’” in Studies in Short Fiction, Vol. 28, No. 2, Spring, 1991, pp. 138–46.
[In the following essay, Carrington finds parallels between Alice Munro's “Walking on Water” and Margaret Atwood's “The Whirlpool Rapids” and “Walking on Water.”]
In 1974 Alice Munro published “Walking on Water” in Something I've Been Meaning To Tell You. In 1986 Margaret Atwood also published a short story entitled “Walking on Water.” Appearing originally in Chatelaine, it was republished in a longer version in the second, American edition of Bluebeard's Egg.1 In both Munro's and Atwood's stories, the titles' Biblical allusion refers to a young character who risks drowning by trying to walk on water. In both stories this attempt is ironically labeled the activity of a fool. These similarities, especially in the light of Atwood's later comment on Munro, constitute Atwood's invitation to compare her story with Munro's. In her introduction to The Best American Short Stories 1989, Atwood writes that, even if she read Munro's short stories in Braille, she would immediately “recognize” the “strength and distinctiveness” of her fellow-Canadian's unmistakable “voice” (xxii).
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SOURCE: “Blood Taboo: A Response to Margaret Atwood's ‘Lives of the Poets’,” in Mid-American Review, Vol. 12, No. 2, 1992, pp. 111–15.
[In the following essay, Nelson considers the poetic language of Atwood's “Lives of the Poets.”]
I am a poet and represent an interpretive community of poets when I read. When I read the name Margaret Atwood as the author of a story, I know I am about to read words which I will interpret as poetic. I read Atwood's line, “An ice cube would be nice. Image of the Coke-and-ice” (“Lives of the Poets” 183). I will read it to myself aloud creating the poetry I expect. I pick “ice,” “nice,” and “Coke-and-ice.” I recall from the ancient poetry cave a couple lines from Gertrude Stein's prose, “To Do: A Book of Alphabets and Birthdays”: “And it was ice and it was so. / And it was dates and it was snow” (23). I interpret Atwood's and Stein's lines as musical pleasure, as an intercourse in my ear. I am a poet and I am always creating sensations from words. I write, “Like hips that part, parts can part like lips that part.” I feel “lips” like snakes in my teeth. I feel the “part, parts can part,” like parts moving together and apart, like lips moving to part. I am a poet and have given myself pleasure with sounds. I project webs of sound patterns over “Lives of the Poets.” I soak on the sounds of the words, “balled at the...
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SOURCE: “The Atwood Variations,” in Times Literary Supplement, November 6, 1992, p. 20.
[In the following review, Kemp praises Good Bones as a “sample-case of Atwood's sensuous and sardonic talents.”]
Pocket-sized and with sturdy covers, Good Bones looks a bit like a sketchbook in which an artist might jot caricatures, cartoons, preliminary studies, trial pieces and quick little exercises in catching the essence of a subject or delineating it from unusual angles. The miscellany with which Margaret Atwood fills its pages is, in fact, a writer's equivalent of this: a collection of lively verbal doodlings, smartly dashed off vignettes and images that are inventively enlarged, tilted, turned upside down. Playing with the conventions of her narrative craft is a frequent pastime. Fiction's motives and motifs are outlined with witty flourish.
“Bad News,” the opening piece, is a fantasia about the appeal of disaster tales. It's followed by a monologue in which The Little Red Hen, clucking with indignation, re-tells the story of her thrifty response to the grain of wheat as a cautionary tale of put-upon domesticity. Elsewhere, Gertrude gives her version of what happens in Hamlet, and an Ugly Sister and a Wicked Stepmother put in a good word for themselves. Political correctness is lampooned in “There Was Once,” as the reciting of a standard fairy-tale gets...
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SOURCE: “A Poet's Bones,” in Canadian Literature, Vols. 138–139, Fall, 1993, pp. 105–06
[In the following laudatory review of Good Bones, Besner deems the stories in the collection as “fictions for our time, and, arguably, fictions that show Atwood's narrative talents at their finest.”]
Because Atwood is a better poet than a fiction writer, I have always read her novels and short stories with grudging admiration. Yes, I teach The Handmaid's Tale and The Edible Woman, and I recognize the ways in which these and other Atwood novels are exciting in the classroom and out of it, but I would much rather read, teach, talk about her poems.
That this view should run against the rising tide of Atwood's reputation as a novelist might only reflect on the increasingly rarefied readership of poetry in Canada outside of academic circles (increasingly rarefied, it almost seems, in inverse proportion to the rising number of books of poems published annually). More's the pity. But to my mind Good Bones demonstrates marvellously—as did Murder in the Dark to a lesser extent—how the fragmented and deceptively offhand form of these short pieces serves the turn of Atwood's imagination more powerfully than does her more conventional fiction. Despite what Atwood herself, or her publishers, might think Good Bones is all about (I heard her suggest to June...
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SOURCE: “‘Yet I Speak, Yet I Exist’: Affirmation of the Subject in Atwood's Short Fiction,” in Margaret Atwood: Writing and Subjectivity, New Critical Essays, edited by Colin Nicholson, St. Martin's Press, 1994, pp. 230–47.
[In the following essay, Suarez traces the development of Atwood's narrative technique as evinced in her short fiction.]
Margaret Atwood's creative world, as has repeatedly been noted, possesses a coherence which spreads across genres, its motifs and structures recurring in different texts, whether fiction, poetry or essay. In a study published in 1983 Sherill E. Grace attempts to describe this coherence by defining Atwood's system with reference to four elements: duality, nature, self and language.1 While all four are found to some extent in any volume of Atwood's, it is the latter two that seem to dictate the literary function of nature and duality, and to constitute the key to the author's literary world. A reading of the three volumes of short stories published so far, Dancing Girls (1977), Bluebeard's Egg (1983) and Wilderness Tips (1991),2 allows, by means of the cumulative effect of the genre, some insight into the recurrences and changes in the treatment of the self and its representation in language. Such a reading shows a gradual amplification of the subject, a self which survives (and communicates) against all theoretical...
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SOURCE: “Of Bimbos and Men's Bodies,” in The Washington Post Book World, Vol. 25, No. 3, January 8, 1995, p. 3.
[In the following review, Le Guin provides a favorable assessment of Good Bones and Simple Murders.]
If you know any writers or would-be writers, give them this little book, with a bookmark at the piece called “The Page.” In a couple of hundred words it says more than all the dozens of how-to-write books say about the act of writing, the reality of it.
Margaret Atwood knows a lot about reality. Too much, maybe. She scares people. She doesn't respect the institutions of our civilization or the tender feelings of her readers. There is something uncanny in her insights. Could it be that there really are witches? She seems to know so much about them:
“Hell, I used to have breasts! Not just two. Lots. Ever wonder why a third tit was the crucial test, once, for women like me? … You can wipe your feet on me, twist my motives around all you like, you can dump millstones on my head and drown me in the river, but you can't get me out of the story. I'm the plot, babe, and don't ever forget it.”
Her brilliance is daunting: her wit and aplomb can make her seem cold, aloof. She tends to be on the defensive, favoring the preemptive strike. Not without reason. Along with fame and praise, she encounters a...
(The entire section is 677 words.)
SOURCE: “Representing the Other Body: Frame Narratives in Margaret Atwood's ‘Giving Birth’ and Alice Munro's ‘Meneseteung,’” in Canadian Literature, Vol. 154, Autumn, 1997, pp. 74–90.
[In the following essay, Wall examines the portrayal of women as well as the narrative structures in Alice Munro's “Meneseteung” and Margaret Atwood's “Giving Birth.”]
When I think of the framed depiction of women's bodies, I cannot help thinking of the nineteenth-century nude, those women depicted by Ingres, Bonnard, Courbet, and Manet in their baths, their beds, their dressing rooms. Those paintings might be said to represent an iconography of what Simone de Beauvoir identified as early as 1952 in The Second Sex as the woman as “other” in a culture where the masculine was the same, the norm. Additionally, paintings like Manet's Le dejeuner sur l'herbe emphasize the extent to which the body that is the object of the male gaze is, in this iconography, reified and abstract. Zola, trying to justify Manet's inclusion of the nude woman among the clothed men, the unlikeliness of the whole scene, wrote “Thus, surely the nude woman of Le déjeuner sur l'herbe is there only to furnish the artist an occasion to paint a bit of flesh” (Brooks 133).
Further, the poses of these representations suggest an oxymoronic knowing unself-consciousness: for how can a woman be...
(The entire section is 7341 words.)
SOURCE: “Scarlet Ibises and Frog Songs: Short Fiction,” in Margaret Atwood Revisited, Twayne Publishers, 1999, pp. 125–44.
[In the following essay, Stein offers a thematic and stylistic overview of Atwood's short fiction.]
Atwood's stories combine realism and whimsy, fairy tale, myth, and fantasy as they represent the lives of contemporary women and men struggling to cope with an often puzzling or difficult world. Many of the stories contain striking symbols that stand in dramatic counterpoint to the routine or dulled lives of the characters. These short fictions explore a range of situations, from playful or provocative meditations on language and on women's bodies to examinations of our darkest fears. Atwood is especially interested in the fictions characters invent about their lives and in the ways that these stories may become traps or self-fulfilling prophecies or may be rewritten to offer new possibility. Dramatic symbols drawn from the world of nature (a flock of scarlet ibises, a cistern, a hurricane, ancient bog people) often mark these stories. Characters who are locked in narrow, self-enclosed fantasy worlds cannot read these signs or they misinterpret them. In contrast, the characters who are receptive to the signs are vital, creative, and able to modify or learn from their stories.
Atwood's first short story collection, Dancing Girls (1977), depicts characters...
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McCombs, Judith and Carole L. Palmer. Margaret Atwood: A Reference Guide. Boston: G. K. Hall & Co., 1991, 735 p.
Primary and secondary bibliography.
Cooke, Nathalie. Margaret Atwood: A Biography. Toronto: ECW, 1998, 378 p.
Biography of Atwood.
Alvarez, Kate. Reviews of Surfacing and Good Bones. TLS: Times Literary Supplement (1 July 1994): 22.
Negative assessment of Good Bones.
Clute, John. “Embracing the Wilderness.” TLS No. 4393 (12 June 1987): 626.
Review of Bluebird's Egg and Other Stories and The Oxford Book of Canadian Short Stories in English which Atwood edited with Robert Weaver.
Crace, Jim. “Off-Cuts.” TLS (23 March 1984): 311.
Negative review of Murder in the Dark.
Deery, June. “Science for Feminists: Margaret Atwood's Body of Knowledge.” Twentieth Century Literature 43, No. 4 (Winter 1997): 470–86.
Analyzes the role of science in Atwood's work.
Deveson, Richard. “Lashing Out.” New Statesman 107, No. 2764 (9 March 1984): 25.
Mixed review of Murder in the...
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