Margaret Atwood

Moral Disorder and Other Stories

Andrew John Kinney

Every time I read a book by Margaret Atwood, I’m reminded how much I like her writing. My sister has a somewhat different view; I remember telling her how much I liked The Blind Assassin, and she replied, “Atwood? Quite bleak, eh?” It is true that there is a hard edge to Ms. Atwood’s writing; she does not suffer fools, and she has a rather stoic view of life. Compassion and love do not flow freely from her. And yet, there is love in her writing, the quiet abiding kind, and it co-exists along with the darker parts, as it does in real life. I like her honesty, both about herself and others. I was struck by her comment about her mother, “who never lied.” Her mother simply became silent if a polite but dishonest response was expected. My father had the same habit, and he once said to me, “Never lie, but also remember that you do not have to tell everything you know.” His other aphorism along these lines was that it is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt. I’m sure Ms. Atwood would approve.

Some interviewer or another asked Atwood if Moral Disorder was partly / mostly autobiographical, and she slyly avoided the question, which to my mind sounds like a yes. Certainly the known facts of her life are closely followed by the stories. Her stories about her life on the farm are in turns funny, sad, and dark; to anyone who has ever had responsibility for livestock of any kind, her experiences are viscerally recognizable as truth. Her ending to one story remarks upon her growing familiarity with cutting implements as it relates to killing animals for food, and is there perhaps in that sentence a knowing wink about her understanding of the mechanics of murder? As is often the case, Atwood is obscure, but smilingly so. Here we have the darker, but very interesting Margaret Atwood.

**SPOILER ALERT** In her description of the navigation of loving a married man, we see Ms. Atwood at her most generous. As in real life, her character, Nell, moves in with “Tig”, and plays a pantomime with Tig’s wife, Oona, who is gradually losing her reputation in the publishing world, along with her income. Ultimately, in the face of Oona’s emerging mental issues, and to save her from poverty, Nell buys Oona a house, with the assistance of the truly wonderful, lovable Jewish real estate agent, Lillie. The story of Lillie was warm and also sad, and true to life (I think we have a theme here), and it was one of my favorites in the book. Tig's response to Nell at this amazing act was, "You're crazy! Thank you!"

Her stories about the decline and then death of her father and, five years later, her mother will resonate with those of us who have helped with parents experiencing the shipwreck of advanced old age. These stories are tender, and her love of her parents is crystal clear. Her admiration for her mother’s willingness to live in the wilds of Canada at a "lab" with her father during WW2 is clear. By contrast, the stories of her youth are illuminating about Margaret’s character; she lived in a sort of on-the-edge poverty while working in editing and academia for many years. I assume it was the publication of The Handmaid’s Tale in 1985 that finally brought her a measure of financial independence, but being schooled in poverty is a thing she never forgot. It colors her and informs her writing with realism in the same way Elizabeth Strout's upbringing informs her work..

I know a writer’s work is really good when I finish a book and immediately think, “what else of hers can I read?” Margaret Atwood will be (and is) counted as one of the greatest writers of our era, and I hope she continues writing for years to come, though Atwood herself would be the first to shake her head at that and say that time and age will do for all of us before long. Still, one can hope.

Moral Disorder and Other Stories

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