Rereading Cat’s Eye while rereading Rosemary Sullivan’s biography of Margaret Atwood emphasized the parallels between the narrator’s and author’s childhoods.
I was a teenager when I read Cat’s Eye for the first time; I would have had no idea that Elaine’s childhood of lakes and insects was Peggy’s childhood too.
As a young reader, I also wouldn’t have understood the connection between the criticisms levied by the fictional interviewer who’s covering grown-up Elaine’s art show—and seeking pullquotes to represent a “good feminist” artis—and the ongoing debates that Margaret Atwood has been cast in, by virtue of being a “celebrity feminist” from the 1980s onward.
(This is something that’s discussed in Lennie Goodings’ memoir about working at Virago Publishing and the important role that Atwood’s early fiction played in funding that feminist press. Something that’s arisen in Canadian media in recent years, when women here were reminded once again that feminism is not a single vision and is not necessarily synonymous with equality—it depends on the woman, it depends on the feminist.)
One thing that stood out to me as a young reader, which still resonates with me now, is the mysterious nature of girlhood. I could relate to young Elaine’s sense of being on the outside looking in.

“I began to want things I’ve never wanted before: braids, a dressing-gown, a purse of my own. Something is unfolding, being revealed to me. I see that there’s a whole world of girls and their doings that has been unknown to me, and that I can be part of it without making any effort at all. I don’t have to keep up with anyone, run as fast, aim as well, make loud explosive noises, decode messages, die on cue. I don’t have to think about whether I’ve done these things well, as well as a boy. All I have to do is sit on the floor and cut frying pans out of the Eaton’s Catalogue with embroidery scissors, and say I’ve done it badly. Partly this is a relief.”
As a young reader, the cruelty of young girls in this story rang true for me. As a young woman, reading this novel for the first time, I believed that was behind me; it hadn’t occurred to me that these young girls grew up too.

That’s what stands out to me in this reading: women exercise an equal capacity to injure and bruise. While it’s true that rates of domestic violence and intimate partner abuse put more women at risk than men, that doesn’t mean that women are incapable of inflicting harm.
In Cat’s Eye, the women have power and agency; they can be victimized and they can victimize others. It’s affording a type of equality that doesn’t jive with everyone’s understanding of feminism, with those readers who would prefer to see (and have others see) the softer side of sisterhood. This is true, too, in The Robber Bride. And Alias Grace. And, well, going further would be unnecessarily spoilery (whereas these stories are retellings of a sort, so their originals may already be familiar).
So, I wasn’t peering closely at the autobiographical elements or the examination of feminism when I first read Cat’s Eye. I also didn’t recognize the elements of craft at work.
There are clues dropped along the trails through the ravines of this novel, hints about how this story is structured. They’re not packaged in textboxes; readers who just want to focus on Elaine-then and Elaine-now can read simply for story (which is what I must’ve done on my first reading, for sure).
Here’s a passage about the illustrations of insects and the like, pictures that young Elaine studies when her family is up north, where her father observes creatures in their natural environment and Elaine’s mother does basically all the same things her father does, even wearing the same kinds of clothing:
“Some of them are in section, which means they’re cut open so you can see what’s inside them: tunnels, branches, bulbs and delicate filaments. I like this kind the best.”
Atwood never steps outside the story; this is a reasonable comment that young Elaine might make about these diagrams, and it serves a purpose, establishes character and elaborates on the setting—a wilder part of the world than many young girls would inhabit in fiction set in the twentieth-century’s first half.
But it also reveals a mechanism at work, in that the novel can be viewed as a series of cross-sections as well. (All these short chapters, often broken down within as well, rich scenes but with little tissue between them. This might be the Atwood novel that I read most quickly; I feel like I race through it, saying “just one more”.)
In contrast, there is a glimpse of grown-up Elaine’s view of the world; she, as an artist, has a different perspective. “The lamps in people’s houses cast a yellowish light, not cold and greenish but a buttery dim yellow with a tinge of brown. The colours of things in houses have darkness mixed into them: maroon, mushroom beige, a muted green, a dusty rose. These colours look a little dirty, like the squares in a paint box when you forget to rinse the brush.”
That’s interesting, when it comes to characterization. But there’s a structural side to this contrast as well. Consider the existence of these two perspectives, then-Elaine and now-Elaine, in this description of Elaine’s brother’s jar of marbles, which are the cat’s eyes of the title.
“He takes it down into the ravine somewhere, in under the wooden bridge, and buries it. Then he makes an elaborate treasure map of where it’s buried, puts it in another jar, and buries that one too. He tells me he’s done these things but he doesn’t say why, or where the jars are buried.”

So, here we have a jar filled with cat’s eye marbles: slips of colour inside glass (the marble) and inside glass again (the jar), with instructions in yet another jar (buried a distance away).
Like we have the story of Elaine in the past, the story of Elaine in the present, and the story of present-day Elaine reflecting on her past, with each of these separate and distinct, but related.
Like we have Elaine admiring the cross-sections but perceiving unrinsed darknesses, while she stays in the apartment of an absent friend, preparing to attend this exhibition.
Rereading Cat’s Eye was a pleasure; in many ways, it felt like a fresh read, but only because when I hold the marble up to the light, a different array of colours catches the light, now that decades have passed between this and my first reading.
It’s been so long since I think I’ve read Cat’s Eye, I’m not sure I’ve actually read it or not. If I had, it was before I recorded what I read, so high school days. Margaret Atwood is such an interesting author to discuss, and especially in the light of this book, she now knows more than ever how hurtful other women can be, especially now that (I think unfairly) she has been labelled a bad feminist. So much to unpack here!
My first reading was as a teenager too: it was one of the first really long adult books I read (unless you count Sidney Sheldon and Danielle Steele novels)! Yes: in the scene where a journalist is interviewing Elaine as an adult artist, and is clearly angling for a certain way of looking at relationships and power politics, I was thinking about all the vitriol cast MA’s way by those who prioritize women’s rights over human rights. All that energy wasted, fighting among ourselves.
I read this one so many years ago but while I don’t tend to do re-reads, I would certainly check this one out. Which funny, enough The Handmaid’s Tale is one of my few re-reads. I love Margaret Atwood’s writing.
And what a rewarding reread that one is: definitely worth revisiting and rethinking (re-thinking)!
One of my favorite Atwood books! I reread it a few years ago and it held up. I would definitely read it again!
I’ve never been disappointed with a reread of one of her books, but I wasn’t expecting this particular reread to be so rewarding.
It’s a long time since I’ve read Cat’s eye, and it’s never been one of my top Atwoods though it’s nearly up there! However, I enjoyed your analysis of reading it as a young person and reader, and as a more experienced person and reader. I think that’s the joy of re-reading, the new insights you gain (from a good writer) on each read because each time you reread you are, in a way, a new person and reader.
BTW I love your mentions of structure, because one of the things that most thrilled me in my early reading of Atwood (in my late 20s/early 30s) was seeing how clearly she uses structure to carry or underpin her meaning.
I don’t think I had read another book for adult readers about how cruel young girls could be; it was tremendously reassuring to see that portrayed on the page, to know that someone else knew and was willing to expose the truth of it. When I first started to reread, the rereadings were in much closer proximity and I felt like I discovered more about the stories/books; now I feel like I discover as much about me as I discover about the stories/books when I return.
It’s so true. That’s why I think one sees a lot of readers claiming that they like or dislike certain Atwoods, because they are reading purely for story and not realizing that the reason that a book is shaped differently is a reflection of the story, so the reading experience changes too, as well as our attachments to (or severences from) characters. She could take the easy route, and just repeat a formula that’s worked, but nope…so even though I do have my favourites, I admire her willingness to explore and stretch.
Yes, yes, yes, one of the things I’ve said about Atwood from some time ago now, is her willingness to try different genres and narrative approaches. There’s often an underlying feminist and/or environmental theme I think but the variety is amazing.
And yes, going back to your first paragraph, I agree that once on rereading “I felt like I discovered more about the stories/books; now I feel like I discover as much about me as I discover about the stories/books when I return”.
It’s that sense of always reaching/stretching/learning that I respond to so intensely with her, I think, as the years pass. There are other authors who set themselves literary challenges (I’m thinking of the American author Jane Smiley who deliberately published a book in every form, tragedy and comedy etc.) but even though I suppose that’s admirable too, it’s only about content not structure.
Lovely post. I never got around to blogging about Cat’s Eye, but it wouldn’t have been so articulate anyway…I did just read The Bell Jar (which I also haven’t blogged about (yet?)); it did make me wonder about literature and entomologist fathers, though.
I do like to reread; you often get so much more out of a book on a further read. I also reread for comfort sometimes. That was David Copperfield for me recently. Or because I’m on a kick for some reason–various Sontags to go with the biography I read.
Thank you, and I’ll look forward to reading your post, if you’re ever so inclined. I’d thought we might chat more about it, while we were both reading it during November, but I was very burst-y with it, thinking I’d just read a couple of short chapters and then catapulting forward in a chunk. My Shields’ rereading earlier this year began as a comfort reread, but, then, there was so much to notice about her crafting, that it took hold differently than I’d expected. Perhaps because I read them both as an adult, I get Great Expectations and David Copperfield confused; I don’t think I’d find either very comforting for rereading, but maybe I need to reread them to see. LOL
Really enjoyed reading this! I haven’t read Cat’s Eye since the early 90s and now you have got me thinking I should give it a reread!
From a feminist perspective, there’s so much to think about–I’ve barely brushed the surface–but it’s also true that its Toronto setting adds to the appeal dramatically for me (a city I was barely acquainted with as a young reader, though, and I still loved the book then, too).
Really interesting post! You make me want to re-read all the Atwoods I read in my 20s because I’m sure my reaction would be really, really different!
I’d be really interested to see if your experience revisiting was anything like mine, as we’re fairly close in age.
Wow, what a wonderful post. I love reading about people’s re-readings and I’m certainly due another read of this one, which I must have read when I was about 19.
I love reading about other people rereading too. It helps me think differently about my own rereading as well.
Wonderful post. I do so admire Atwood. I was in my late teens or early twenties when I read this. I have been wanting to re-read it for some time. I love how there are so many layers and meanings to be unearthed in Atwood’s writing.
It would definitely make a fine candidate for you to reread; I think you’ve read most of her fiction now, if not all?
One of my favourites. I rather like the illustration on the cover, too. I recognise the middle one but haven’t come across the topmost version before.
It’s the bottom one that I barely recognize (only from Karen/Ali’s posts about her work); the top one is the first edition cover of the Canadian edition, so it’s the one I know best. 🙂
Cat’s Eye is the Atwood book I’ve read and reread most often — it struck a chord, based on the cruelty of children at first but later the perspective on abuse and healing opened up and spoke to me so powerfully. I appreciate your thoughts on the connections to be found, between art and life and the images within the book itself.
Do you know how many times you’ve reread it? My earliest readings predated my reading log! The questions circling abuse and healing still resonate today, and the ways in which everyone uses (and misuses) power still feel true. It made me wonder if someone has reproduced Elaine’s artworks…I feel someone must have, given the preponderance of “Nolite…” tattoos. 🙂
Yours and Naomi’s comments after my own review of Cat’s Eye added to my understanding, and now this account of your re-reading has taken me to a whole new level. Do I subscribe to your ‘Russian Doll’ thesis of layered meanings? Not quite, but I see the importance of the author staying within the boundaries of whichever protagonist she is currently inhabiting – and it seems to me there is a new Elaine, learning something new about being a woman, each year.
I often re-read classics but whether I learn anything new is doubtful. I just don’t retain enough for any length of time. I am certainly looking forward to retiring (eventually) and taking up old friends.
Where would we be without other readers to bookchat with: reading would be a much lonelier business! I’m not saying that the jars of marbles translate into a consistent lens through which we’re intended to study the novel; I’m only suggesting that there are many and brief moments that are more intentional than they might seem. The cross-sectioned illustrations might have been mentioned without Elaine troubling to say they’re her favourite, which lets us nestle up a little closer to her understanding. (And I loved “Russian Doll”. I would rewatch that series too!) I also think it’s interesting that Elaine isn’t necessarily a “likeable” character, so Margaret Atwood was kicking that ball around the playground long before today’s writers, whose female characters’ likeability is so frequently discussed. Had I not started taking notes, I wouldn’t remember as much as I do either, but they serve as an anchor of sorts, for my certainly-unreliable-and-incomplete memory.