Old
Babes in the Wood, by Margaret Atwood.
No-one knows more about being an old babe than Margaret
Atwood, Canadian novelist, poet, essayist and artist extraordinaire: she is now eighty-three years old, and
well-qualified for Old Babeism, with all the life experience (good and bad),
wisdom and wonderful ability to recount stories in her graceful, effortless
prose of times past and experiences yet to come.
What a pleasure it is to read this latest collection of
short stories that cover a span of seventy-odd years, loosely joined by the
long, mostly happy union between Nell and Tig, a marriage that has weathered
many changes-of-scene, diversity of friends and countries of residence, but
always has held together by rock-solid affection – until Tig starts leaving,
little by little.
In between times, Ms Atwood entertains us enormously with
imaginary conversations with George Orwell, brought into temporary being
through a medium hired by Ms Atwood: she
is thrilled that he has appeared; he is thrilled
to be called – and to be speaking to someone ‘still in their meat envelope’, an
expression that temporarily pauses the interview as the Great Man attempts to
explain that throw-away line – and other faux-pas further along as he refers to
‘women’s books’ and is taken to task by one of the greatest writers of ‘women’s
books’ for trivialising women’s literature.
Orwell responds airily ‘he hopes he hasn’t caused offence. Women do sometimes get their backs up over
trifles.’ Indeed! He also wishes he could see Ms Atwood, but
the medium has her eyes closed – ‘if only these mediums could operate with
their eyes open. As it is, this is like
the telephone, with an undependable line at that’.
We leave Mr Orwell for ‘Impatient Griselda’, a fairy tale
read to a group of Earthlings by a very reluctant alien People-Minder, sent to
earth as part of an intergalactic-crises aid package to deal with a plague that
is sweeping the planet: the alien
informs its human charges that it’s not having a good time either for, being an
entertainer and thus low-status, it is tasked with looking after them, and
providing food (no, I do not have snacks for vegans. What is vegan?) and blankets whilst it tells
the story, in its own inimitable alien way, a fairy story about Griselda and
her twin sister, both of whom end up eating everyone in the fairy palace. The
End. What do you mean you didn’t like
it? You even stopped whimpering. Now you must excuse me as there are several
other quarantine groups on my list who need attention. I hope the plague will soon be over too.
Ms Atwood’s stories are that mix of comedy and tragedy, pleasure
and pathos, just as our lives are. How
blessed are we to have her chronicle so beautifully the pain – and the joy. FIVE STARS
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