Why did I finish this book? Nothing else to do maybe. A misguided sense of completion more likely. Either way, it really made no difference whether I made it to the end or not, as I rightly suspected at the beginning this tale's last words were going to be totally unsatisfying. How could they be satisfying?! Nothing happens in the book! It's a non-story. Or rather, it's 3 of the exact same partial stories told one after another with minor details changed. But the sum of their parts does not equal a whole by any means, instead it's just a stretch of tired repetition that goes nowhere. Oh look, another girl is getting her man stolen under the exact same circumstances, colour me surprised. Honestly, I was surprised because while I'm reading the novel I'm thinking to myself there's no way Atwood could rehash the exact same story again and have this thing be published, and there it goes, chapter after chapter.
Maybe the devil is in the details, maybe. If I don't care about the bigger picture then there's no way I'm going to examine the dots, and going the other way around just does't work for me. The characters are totally one sided and unbelievable. Maybe if I was a middle aged white woman that grew up in Toronto during the 70s I'd be able to relate and appreciate their emotions. But I'm not, and Atwood does very little to make me sympathize for the characters, instead I grew angry and frustrated with them that they are suckered so easily, and continually reproduce the same mistakes.
I think I'm reacting so strongly to the novel because I really did want to like it. I like the way that Atwood writes as she peppers her story with interesting commentary and funny jokes. She gets a bit too descriptive and wordy sometimes, but on the whole I do appreciate her style. Now if only overall plot had been crafted with as much care as she gives each individual paragraph would this be a real classic. This is my first book that I've read by Attwood, and while I don't recommend this one, I will read her others.
Omar 2006
