In
the Shadow of Death
The Blind Assassin weaves
a sinuous tale of family secrets and social change
By PAUL GRAY
At first
blush, Margaret Atwood's The Blind Assassin (Bloomsbury; 521
pages) seems determined to get its plot told telegraphically,
chiefly through a series of newspaper clippings. A 1945 story
reports on the death of Laura Chase, 25, who somehow drove
a car off a Toronto bridge. An item dated two years later
reveals the discovery of the body of Richard E. Griffen, 47,
a prominent Canadian industrialist found dead of an apparent
cerebral hemorrhage in the cabin of his sailboat. Then comes
a fast-forward to 1975 and a note on the death of Aimee Griffen,
38, of a broken neck after a suspected fall. At this point,
Atwood's novel is barely 20 pages old.
What links
this string of fatalities? The answer, it turns out, is Iris
Chase Griffen-Laura's elder sister, Richard's wife, Aimee's
mother. Now in her 80s, Iris realizes that she is the only
person left alive who knows the circumstances behind these
deaths. Having been warned by her doctor that her heart is
weak, the old woman begins, reluctantly, to write down what
she remembers: "After all I've done to avoid it, Iris, her
mark, however truncated: initials chalked on the sidewalk,
or a pirate's X on the map, revealing the beach where the
treasure was buried."
Included
in Iris' memories, somewhat abruptly, are passages from a
novel called The Blind Assassin, set in the 1930s, in which
a wealthy woman carries on a clandestine affair with a man
hiding out from the law, apparently because of his actions
as a labor organizer. To keep her attention (when they aren't
having sex), he invents and tells aloud a science-fiction
tale about a planet called Zycron, populated by tyrannical
Snilfards and subjugated Ygnirods. "I suppose this is your
Bolshevism coming out," the woman teases him.
This novel,
Iris reveals, was published shortly after her sister's death,
and, after an initial furor about its sexual content, gives
Laura Chase a posthumous literary fame that endures into the
late '90s. "Laura touches people," Iris writes. "I do not."
But what does The Blind Assassin have to do with, well, The
Blind Assassin? Iris also remembers the 1934 strike at her
father's button factory and a handsome agitator named Alex
Thomas whom she and Laura daringly hid for a time in the attic
of their house. Is this "real" story the genesis of the Laura
Chase novel? And how do we know that Laura wrote it?
Those are only two of the questions that Atwood raises and
then thrillingly answers. Iris Chase is a brilliant addition
to Atwood's roster of fascinating fictional narrators. Not
only is her story sinuously complex, but she is entertaining
company. Her comments on her story are crotchety and amusing:
"The bank has Roman pillars, to remind us to render unto Caesar
the things that are Caesar's, such as those ridiculous services
charges." She is also frank about her occasional evasions:
"I look back over what I've written and I know it's wrong,
not because of what I've set down, but because of what I've
omitted. What isn't there has a presence, like the absence
of light."
This inexorable bubbling up of the unspoken makes The Blind
Assassin unforgettable.
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November 6, 2000
| NO. 44
SOCIETY
AND SCIENCE
COVER
: Is Divorce Bad for Kids?
A controversial book argues that the damage caused when parents split
is graver than suspected. Should unhappy adults stay together for their
kids' sake?
Viewpoint:
Katha Pollitt on divorce's bum rap
SOUTH
PACIFIC
AUSTRALIA:
Trials of the Regiment
The armed forces have fine policies on violence and sexual equity, but
have they the will to implement those rules?
T
H E A R T S
FESTIVALS:
The Pacific is rediscovered in New Caledonia
CINEMA:
Omar Epps hopes Love & Basketball is a slam dunk
BOOKS: Steve
Martin gets serious in his novella Shopgirl
Margaret Atwood's
sinuous tapestry of family secrets
A Ugandan novelist's
haunting look at his homeland
TRAVELER'S
ADVISORY
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