as i wrote the english professor at my skool (who sent me [as part of a massmail list, not because i’m special] fifteen emails addressing me as “english major,” which is a terrific lie) i want this woman to come speak at swat. i’ve never been the most vocal fan of her novels. in fact, when i first read handmaid’s tale i got so angry i had to leave the restaurant. (i don’t recall why i was reading in a restaurant, although i do recall which one [tara thai in bethesda]; my mother raised me better than that) most likely it was my first exposure to feminism, and i mistook the critical satire for her own personal ideas. or maybe i was just at that innocent age when injustice could still incite. a couple years older, i read it again and loved it, though without the passionate that had attended my initial reaction.
it’s a cold book, as many of her books are cold. cat’s eye, the favorite of my 12th grade honors-english teacher, didn’t make me feel as much as it made me think. bluebeard’s egg repeated the same themes. robber bride i barely remember. blind assassin, which two of my dear friends bought for me last year, didn’t leave too deep an imprint, although i admired the idea, and frankly i’m not rushing out to devour more novels.
oh, but the lady’s poetry. oh but the words. if i find fault in her books, i can only stare and dribble at her writing. i keep selected works on my shelf — at the moment, it’s the only book of verse with me aside from the perennial portable dotty p..
this is procrastination. i have 2 finals tomorrow, and 2 more distributed over the 2 days after that. funny to think my blessed compatriots are all done. i must do something to stave off mopeyness. studying unfortunately doesn’t cut it.