If you know me at all, you know that I love Margaret Atwood (who sometimes refers to me as Karmel). My dissertation was on her work, I’m the former President of the Margaret Atwood Society, and I run a weekly book group that started out as an all-Atwood reading group some six years ago. One of the great pleasures in my life is getting people to read Atwood if they haven’t done so already.

Like most people, my first glimpse at Atwood was with The Handmaid’s Tale, which we read in High School. It was banned by the district, so my private program required it be bought. One of my aunt’s found it in a used bookstore and came home to announce that I shouldn’t be allowed to read it. Apparently, there was sex with three people described vividly. My mother decided I could handle whatever it was. The sex scene referred to was far from sexy (it was the opposite of sexy, actually), but the book was glorious. It was poetry and it was social justice. It scared me and thrilled me.

After I left high school and before I went to college, I found a book of Atwood’s poetry. I wasn’t in the habit of reading poetry then, but I had loved Handmaid’s Tale so much that I took the book home and read it. If you’ve never read her poetry, check out “Variations on the word Sleep,” “Siren Song,” “This is a photograph of me,” and “you fit into me.”

If you haven’t read Atwood, you should. Because of her breadth and her use of various genres, she’s written at least one thing you would like. Not everyone loves Handmaid’s Tale, but if you’re a sci-fi person, you need to read Oryx and Crake. If you like historical novels and/or psychology, you will love Alias Grace, which is based on a true story. Shoot me an email; tell me what you like; I’ll find an Atwood for you.

My book group is throwing Atwood a birthday party in absentia today–we’re having our favorite main dish (crock-pot lasagna) and a birthday cake on which a flying pig will wish all our dreams come true. And then we’ll raise a glass to her and wish her happy birthday and many more years (and many more books).

I’ve wanted to meet Margaret Atwood for a long time. I first read her in high school; the essay I wrote to get into my PhD program was on her; my dissertation was about her work; my Atwood reading group has been meeting weekly for six years or so. As the former President of the Margaret Atwood Society, I have had the opportunity to correspond with her (with her assistants, probably, but still).
Thus, I was very excited to be in the same room with her last week. My friend and colleague, Ted, who had hosted Atwood at his institution earlier this year, introduced us. I mentioned that I was the former President and, smiling, she asked if I’d been deposed. I explained that it had been a peaceful transfer of power. A few hours later, I was able to get her autograph, though by that time, I’d become Karmel, apparently.
The great disappointment was finding out that a lunch I’d skipped at the conference had her in attendance–I might have been able to have lunch with her! Oh, well, next time.
What struck me most about her was how luminous she was–she glows. I hope I look half as good when I’m in my early seventies. I hope I’m as smart and funny, too, but somehow I doubt it–I’d have to reach her level before I started worrying about whether age could take that level from me.
She was also shorter than I expected.
And how must I have seen to her? Young and giddy.
It made me think about how young I am, actually, which is why I was really surprised to have my friend Jason say that he had met a “fan” of mine while out smoking at one of the events. She apparently asked him what drew him to the event. He started to say he was there with his friend, but she cut him off and said “Karma.” She then went on to say that she’d read some of my work and that she’d heard me speak and that while she was an Atwood scholar, she wasn’t at my level.
Is this middle age? Feeling constantly like a child, while tired like an older person? Revering some and being revered by others?

Okay–it’s been awhile since I’ve written. First, I had to get the blog to stay up–let us all thank my faithful friend and reader, Ken, who donated his time and money to enable me to do so. Then, it was finals, and then I headed off to Canada for ten days.

Today I wanted to share my impressions on seeing Margaret Atwood at the 11th Short Fiction Conference in Toronto. I’ll talk about meeting Margaret Atwood the next time I log in.

Last Friday, Margaret Atwood had a talk with a former colleague and fellow writer at the short fiction conference. He, unfortunately, did not prepare questions–I think he was counting on knowing her for 40 years and on the audience’s interest in knowing that both of them started writing at the same time. I’m sure that I, as well as any of the other Atwoodians in the room, could have led a better discussion. At one point, even Atwood cut him off to say that she thought they should be talking about short fiction–he got a bit defensive and said he was trying to cover her entire body of work, although three of his questions were designed to get her to talk about her depiction of Toronto in her novels.

There were some highlights, though. Apparently, she and I pronounce Penelopiad the same way (there are three ways). She mentioned Colin Firth’s shirtless scene in Pride and Prejudice (we watch the same movies!). She also said that a friend had observed of The Handmaid’s Tale that it was surprising that no one had noticed that it was a veiled depiction of Harvard’s English Department from when Atwood was in graduate school there. Also, apparently, there was supposed to be a voice-over in the film version of The Handmaid’s Tale–she said that Richardson was playing against the voice over (so we could see what she was repressing), which added a lot to the role, but that the director cut it.

One woman asked a common question about Atwood not calling her work science-fiction. She managed to make the question sound hostile. Atwood’s answer was perfect. First, she explained that in terms of lineage and her own definitions, there was no debate. She sees Wells’s work as science-fiction–aliens and technology we don’t have, etc. She sees Verne’s work as speculative fiction–technology and ideas that are in development currently. She clearly falls into the latter category. She also noted that she doesn’t see one as better than the other, but that she was only good at the latter. Then she mentioned fantasy and how she simply can’t write dragons, though she loves to read about them (and said Le Guin’s Earthsea dragons were the best). She then talked about her overall enjoyment with the whole sci-fi/fantasy/spec-fic spectrum and said that she was the person who knows which orc wears a watch in Lord of the Rings and wonders too long about how Gandolf gets his staff back.

Later than night, Atwood did a short reading at the Toronto Public Library–she opened with “Our Cat Goes to Heaven” from The Tent. She then read the first part of “The Headless Horseman” from Moral Disorder. Those aren’t necessarily the works I would have picked, but the audience found them endearing and very funny. Atwood kept laughing herself at “The Headless Horseman”–I think it was the laughter of remembering the moment, as she’s mentioned that that particular story is completely autobiographical.

More to come–but do check out my new column on Katharine Hepburn at www.matchflick.com

In celebration of Margaret Atwood’s birthday, I’d like to share two poems that feature her name:

Americans Who Read Poetry

We spot each other easily it seems

Something about us wants to be

Bohemian

Which is confirmed when we learn the names of the other’s pet

Atwood

and

Burns

This alone

Will make us sleep together

We don’t need conventional dating

A little talk

Some world music

And off to bed

Our end will not come too unpleasantly

If it comes soon enough

We will be able to hold the other person

In our minds long after

With enough affection to think of them

When flipping through a new journal

We will see a word that reminds us

Of the touch of their mouth

Or maybe just of their dog.

I want to write like Margaret Atwood

or like the poet

at the open mic

who was able to use cuss words

(but not for shock value–

as an intrinsic part of the piece)

Fuck!

How am I supposed to pull it off

Should I go to grad school?

(again)

I know from my poet friends

that suffering is no longer requisite

but that I would need to

watch a lot less t.v.

I might have to abstain from meat

& start to appreciate pomegranates

& persimmons

things that are red

& layered

& symbolic

not just food

An ode to a snickers

is just a jingle,

not something you can

take a bite out of

& hold in your

metaphoric paper mouth.

In the September 09 edition of Wired, Clive Thompson has a short article in which he basically cites and agrees with Andrea Lunsford (a writing teacher at Stanford) that our students are more literate in the age of facebook and texting–they actually write (even if it’s just tweets) when they aren’t required to by a teacher.

The argument further says that the students understand the idea of audience more because of the “life writing” they do.

I find the argument intriguing, but I have one quick bone to pick. “As for those texting shortforms and smileys defiling serious academic writing? Another myth. When Lunsford examined the work of first-year students, she didn’t find a single example of texting speak in an academic paper.”

Well, I’ve seen it. I’ve actually returned a paper to a student and asked him to spot the error in line four. Even when looking for it, he couldn’t see the “you” is not spelled “u” error because he was so used to texting. While texting speak in academic writing isn’t rampant, it happens.

I’m upset that we would declare something a myth because one teacher didn’t find an example of it from the papers she collected at Stanford. This is a hasty generalization–the sample size is too small and is perhaps not representative of the college population.

Just saying.

The article is here: http://www.wired.com/techbiz/people/magazine/17-09/st_thompson

I actually finished this book a few weeks ago, but life has been even more busy than normal lately.

I didn’t want to let too much time go past, however, without mentioning it. (Bookgroup members: we will read this when Courtney returns, fear not).

The Year of the Flood does what no previous Atwood book has done before–it returns to pick up on another story. Oryx and Crake is a brillant piece of speculative fiction in which society’s trends (economic, entertainment, scientific, etc) come to a logical and frightening head. I’ve taught Oryx and Crake before, and my students are always surprised by how relevant the text is–once they start researching, they realize that many of the horrors Atwood seems to have invented are not fictional inventions at all.

Oryx and Crake ends at a crossroads after a cataclysmic event.

The Year of the Flood tells much the same story, but from other points of view. This story intersects with the Oryx and Crake tale in myriad ways, but only ends a short while after Oryx and Crake does (I’m happy to report that my pessimism about the end of Oryx and Crake was totally right!).

While I really enjoyed The Year of the Flood, it didn’t add much to the actual original story for me, with one exception–Atwood allows the new work to explore religion, cults, and community. I’m interested in these, but the world of science and the rise of corporations over governments explored in the earlier book were more intriguing.

The protagonist of the earlier book and one of the protagonists of this book were born about the year 2000, according to an Atwood interview. When you look at the “years” in the story, keep that in mind. Atwood is a great predictor of human behavior and social trends, and, as I’ve already noted, many of the scientific inventions have already come to pass. Luckily for us, however, we seem to be keeping our humanity for a little longer, at least in the developed world that we see from our privileged positions. This cautionary tale reminds us how much we stand to lose if we’re not careful.

Don’t misunderstand–I loved this book–I just love Oryx and Crake a little bit more.

As many of you know, my most common form of artistic expression is making lists.  Usually these free-form poems take the form of “to do” and “groceries,” but occasionally, something with more substance emerges.  For example, my book group is currently making a list of books we know we should have read, but haven’t.  We’ve also asked one of our members to compile a list of must-read graphic novels.

As it’s summer, I’m sure we’re all thinking about expanding our reading, our viewing, our cooking . . . something about summer makes us want new things.  So I want to make some lists, but I need your help.  Help me expand the following lists & help me think of new lists.

Shows you’re probably not watching, but should be (netflix them):

1.  Whitest Kids U’ Know–it’s the next generation of sketch comedy (currently on IFC)

2.  Breaking Bad–the dad from Malcolm in the Middle finds out he has cancer.  To provide for his family, he uses his chemistry teacher powers to make meth (currently on AMC).

3.  Slings and Arrows–this series ran for three seasons.  It’s a Canadian show about a repertory theatre troupe.  Their productions mirror the comic drama of their lives.  Very funny.  Mark McKinney, of The Kids in the Hall, is a writer, creator, and star.

Websites you should be checking out:

1.  www.mentalfloss.com  This is the companion site to Mental Floss magazine, which I love.  It feeds all of my trivia needs, but with a wonderful dry humor.  The website not only features articles from the magazine, but also great work by bloggers–they have links to other cool pages, quizzes, and daily trivia articles on awesome topics (best libraries, strange but true ways of death, etc.)

2.  www.theonion.com  This amazing satire site now has video reports.  The satire is so good that some people think the news is real.  For example, years ago, they reported on the annual “gay agenda convention,” which made fun of the idea that there is a gay conspiracy/agenda.  Several preachers sent the article to their congregations, citing it as evidence of said gay agenda.

While you’re perusing The Onion, don’t forget to go to the AV Club, which features media reviews, interviews, and Dan Savage’s sex column.

3.  http://antwrp.gsfc.nasa.gov/apod/archivepix.html  Each day, they feature a different astronomy picture.  Discover the cosmos!

Nonfiction authors you should be reading:

1.  Sarah Vowell–she’s a favorite of NPR and Jon Stewart.  Her writing is clever & good for you history buffs.

2.  Mary Roach–she’s a science reporter with three great books.  Want to know how cadavers are used for research & health?  Want to know how people investigate the afterlife from a scientific point of view?  Want to know what sex researchers are up to in their labs?  Yes, you do.

3.  Terry Jones–yes, the Terry Jones of Monty Python, who got his degree in medieval studies.  Check out his editorials for The Guardian & his amazing Medieval Lives, where you can learn about the actual lives of knights, minstrels, and damsels.

Okay, I have to get back to grading.  Add to the list and to the list of lists!

I recently read Payback by Margaret Atwood.  It’s been hailed as another example of her amazing abilities of prediction.  Atwood is known for her keen observation of social trends.  Her predictive talent is so famed that she recently donated a prophecy for charity (the woman who bought it posted a blog about it–there was mention of the washing machine breaking).

Payback is a book about economic collapse and debt, written before our current crisis. 

It’s not about what to do or how things should be run, though there are some didactic parts at the end about environmental conservancy.  Instead, this is an amazing read about the socio-cultural of debt, from law to religion/mythology to literature.  She crosses time and geography, but manages to give close readings of both our stories and behaviors surrounding debt.

I especially like her reading of fairy tales (did you know why it was significant to be a Miller’s daughter?  I didn’t), Madame Bovary, and The Merchant of Venice.  She also tells us about the Victorian literary movement of a new form of revenge:  “not seeing your enemy’s red blood all over the floor but seeing red ink all over his balance sheet.”

Particularly astute is her discussion of words, in connotation and denotation.  Why does forgiving “trespasses” appear in some version of The Lord’s Prayer while other versions say “sin”–what’s the difference and how does it relate to forgiving debt?  Why is it “currency”?  If a Roman tax collector is a publican . . . well, she doesn’t say it, but it makes me wonder what a “re”publican is.

Read this book–it’s more approachable than you think and you’ll be surprised at what you learn.