Through the first quarter of the novel, I was thinking of this as the story of two lovers. My take would’ve failed the Bechdel test, and I think, now, it’s really a tale of two sisters: Iris and Laura Chase.
The girls would have passed, I think: even when she’s very young, when Laura throws herself into the creek, it’s because she hope to trade her life for her mother’s not for any love interest.
As we pass halfway, the chronology of Iris’s memories gains heft, and we fall into the rhythm of her remembrances, with only an occasional disruption (another newspaper article, another excerpt from Laura’s novel).
But Iris warns us: pay attention.
She questions Laura’s perspective: “I didn’t think she was lying as such, but neither was she telling the entire truth.”

And Reenie’s: “In fairness, Reenie may have invented those slurs on the Griffens. She sometimes attributed to people the histories she felt they ought to have had.”
She notes the fragmented photo of Alex Thomas, wherein “he’d thrust his hand up in front of him, as gangland criminals did to shield themselves from the flashbulbs when they were being arrested.”
And her own view of things in the past is untrustworthy too—or, at least, different from her understanding now: “Was it my belief that I was doing this only to spare her—to help her, to take care of her, as I had always done? Yes, that is what I did believe.”
MARM 2025 PLANS
Launch (November 1)
Old Babes in the Wood, “Death by Clamshell” (November 4)
The Blind Assassin Parts I-IV (November 6)
Week Two: Update and Check-In (November 8)
Old Babes in the Wood, “Freeforall” (November 11)
The Blind Assassin Parts V-VI (November 13)
Week Three: Update and Check-In (November 15)
Margaret Atwood’s 86th Birthday (November 18)
Old Babes in the Wood, “Metepsychosis” (November 18)
The Blind Assassin Parts VII-IX (November 20)
Week Four: Update and Check-In (November 22)
Old Babes in the Wood, “Airborne: A Symposium” (November 25)
The Blind Assassin Parts X-XV (November 27)
Wrap-Up (November 30)
So I tried to slow, to take a second look—to consider what I might have missed while my attention was diverted.
This took me back, to the novel’s epigraphs: extermination, love, and story. We have Ryszard Kapuscinski (1932-2007) and Sheila Watson (1909-1998), a Polish poet and a Canadian modernist, as well as an inscription on a Carthaginian funerary urn. (I wrote briefly about Kapuscinski’s poems here, and Sheila Watson is best known for her beautiful and strange 1959 novel The Double Hook…but this quote comes from Deep Hollow Creek.)
In The Blind Assassin, we have parallels with all three of the epigraphs. Early in Laura’s novel, the lover imagines children blinded by “weaving their endless carpets” who find second careers as assassins, and he asks “If you had to cut throats or starve, which would you do?” And later, also in Laura’s novel: “He was deciding whether to cut her throat or love her forever. Right. Yes, The usual choices.” And there is a library “with a marble Medusa over the fireplace—the nineteenth-century type of Medusa, with a lovely impervious gaze, the snakes writhing up out of her head like anguished thoughts.”
Three epigraphs: extermination, love, and story.
Question for anyone reading along:
Are there details in the story that have stubbornly lodged in your mind, whether because you sense their purpose or because they appear senseless (at this point, anyhow)?
Question for anyone:
“Beginnings are sudden, but also insidious,” Iris says. What novel’s beginning have you never forgotten? Whether because it’s sudden or insidious; an unforgettable image, or a quiet nudge that the story will be exactly to your taste?
Have you read, are you reading, would you read? I’ve kept my post spoiler-free, but feel free to mark your comment with a spoiler to reveal details if you wish!
Margaret Atwood
“You can’t stick a person in the woods and expect them to become a writer.”
November 6, 2025 CBC’s “The Current”
I tend to remember openings less for event than for some generalizing statement, on happy families for instance, or truths universally acknowledged. The opening essay to Fielding’s Tom Jones. Atwood’s sentence here isn’t flashy like those, but if you’ve got a suicide (or as close to as damn is to swearing…) you are left wondering why, so it’s a nice event hook. It’s a beginning both sudden and insidious.
Most of the other details though, I have to say, didn’t register particularly, and while I sort of knew what was coming, I didn’t see that many markers for it in advance, even now knowing.
I didn’t even realize Kapuscinski was a poet–I’ve only read his non-fiction, which is great.
Hmmm, that’s interesting: it brings to mind an opening line like the Lemony Snickett series (for kids) about how the story isn’t going to have a happy ending. Shortly before I began rereading, I found a nice second-hand copy of 100Years of Solitude in French and thought it might be fun to try rereading it alongside the English (fun is not the appropriate word, as it turns out), and the opening sentence of that fits well with TBA’s opening: “Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.” Although, with that one, I am so struck by the ice image that I almost overlook the firing squad (which I wouldn’t do if he rearranged his phrases).
Ohhhh, I’ll have to look for some of that.
Your question about memorable beginnings is such a good one! But now my mind is going blank. I can’t think of a particular book, but I really like when thrillers start off with a murder, or some really bad thing, and then we spend the rest of the book trying to find out what happened to lead up to those moments. It’s such a common plot element now, but I can’t help but enjoy it!
hahaha Actually, I wondered if the question might have that effect or, say, that instead one could only think of good endings! There’s a classic Canadian mystery series that begins by announcing on page one who committed the crime; when it was first published, that seemed like an impossible feat (why would anyone keep reading?!? heheh) and it felt like the best trick ever (because everyone did keep reading, of course). I like the whole “six months earlier” type of framework you’re describing too. It’s very satisfying to have it all explained.
Already – two or three weeks after finishing it – the novel is fading from my mind. I read it mostly as Laura’s story, told by Iris, but Iris puts herself more and more to the fore. The story within – TBA – I hardly took any notice of. I got the impression that Atwood was a little contemptuous of the labour agitator the girls were hiding, of his politics. And I got the same impression in Lady Oracle. It was interesting that Iris had Renee and Renee’s daughter caring for her, her whole life. Do any of Atwood’s women have reliable, loving mothers?
It would, as a listen, have gone in one ear and out the other for me, as I was constantly flipping around in my copy, to check and double-check things; I think my registering of the distinct narratives is almost entirely due to the formatting distinctions, with a newspaper reproduction or a subheading which herals the excerpts from Laura’s novel.
The conservative voices in this novel are definitely dominant, which makes sense given the Chase family’s wealth and status, and even though you have the sense that Iris doesn’t agree with her family’s (and, later, Winifred’s and Richard’s) opinions entirely, she enjoys the comforts and trappings of wealth and also doesn’t feel comfortable in Alex’s world either, even though Laura and she agree to hide him in the attic (which sounds cosy but must have been very daring).
One of the unexpected aspects of Atwood’s writing, even from early days, is that she showed a side of womanhood that wasn’t admitted/revealed whether mothers not being “naturally” maternal or friends not abiding by sisterhood rules or a housemaid committing an act of violence. The lesser-told story? Wasn’t the mother in Cat’s Eye kind?
As I read your question, Who Was Changed and Who Was Dead by Barbara Comyns came immediately to mind. The opening line: ‘The ducks swam through the drawing-room windows’, meant I knew I was going to really enjoy the book!
Ohhh, that is excellent! I must remember to read more Comyns next year. /scribbling