Excerpts from "The Blind Assassin"

"She has a single photograph of him. She tucked it into a brown envelope on which she'd written clippings, and hid the envelope between the pages of Perennials for the Rock Garden, where no one else would ever look.
She's preserved the photo carefully, because it's almost all she has of him. The photo is of the two of them together, her and this man, on a picnic. Picnic is written on the back, in pencil- not his name or hers, just picnic. She knows the names, she doesn't need to write them down.
She retreives the brown envelope when she's alone, and slides the photo out from among the newspaper clippings. She lays it flat on the table and stares down into it, as if she's peering into a well or a pool- searching beyond her own reflection for something else, something she must have dropped or lost, out of reach but still visible, shimmering like a jewel on the sand. She examines every detail.
The trace of blown cloud in the brilliant sky, like ice cream smudged on chrome. The distant glint of water. All drowned now.
Drowned, but shining."


"There's lots of time. Lie down. He takes hold of her wrist.
No. Let go. Look where the sun is. They'll be coming back. I could be in trouble, though I guess for you it's no trouble at all, that kind: it doesn't count. You don't care- all you want is a quick, a quick-
Come on, spit it out.
You know what I mean, she says in a tired voice.
It's not true. I'm sorry. I'm a brute, I got carried away. Anyway it's only a story.
She rests her forehead against her knees. After a minute she says, What am I going to do? After- when you're not here any more?
You'll get over it, he says. You'll live. Here, I'll brush you off.
It doesn't come off, not just with brushing.
Let's do up your buttons, he says. Don't be sad."


"Why are you looking at me like that?
I'm memorizing you.
Why? she says, putting her hand over his eyes. She doesn't like being examined like that. Fingered.
To have you later, he said. Once I've gone.
Don't. Don't spoil today."

"She thinks, Perhaps I've been forsaken. It's an outworn word, forsaken, but it describes her plight exactly. Forsaking her is something she might be imagined as doing. On impulse he might die for her, but living for her would be quite different. He has no talent for monotony."

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It's amazing how well Atwood writes couples. It must be her writing style, but you can feel the constant tension, the give-and-take, and the perpetual fear of the future.

"The Blind Assassin" is really a combination of three different stories, all told together. By the end, you see the whole story, and it's AMAZING to watch it build up. The 'love story' excerpted above is really a very small part of the book. But it's the most important part, too.

I really love Atwood. She's a genius when it comes to storytelling. Linear plots bore her. I'd confuse myself if I wrote like that.