Atwood, Margaret (Eleanor)
ATWOOD, Margaret (Eleanor)
Nationality: Canadian. Born: Ottawa, Ontario, 18 November 1939. Education: Victoria College, University of Toronto, 1957–61, B.A. 1961; Radcliffe College, Cambridge, Massachusetts, A.M. 1962; Harvard University, Cambridge, Massachusetts 1962–63, 1965–67. Family: Divorced; one daughter. Career: Lecturer in English, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, 1964–65; instructor in English, Sir George Williams University, Montreal, 1967–68; teacher of creative writing, University of Alberta, Edmonton, 1969–70; assistant professor of English, York University, Toronto, 1971–72. Writer-in-residence, University of Toronto, 1972–73, University of Alabama, Tuscaloosa, 1985, Macquarie University, North Ryde, New South Wales, 1987, and Trinity University, San Antonio, Texas, 1989; Berg Visiting Professor of English, New York University, 1986. Editor and member of the board of directors, House of Anansi Press, Toronto, 1971–73. Awards: E.J. Pratt Medal, 1961; President's Medal, University of Western Ontario, 1965; Governor-General's award, 1966, 1986; Centennial Commission prize, 1967; Union League Civic and Arts Foundation prize, 1969, and Bess Hokin prize, 1974 (Poetry, Chicago); City of Toronto award, 1976; St. Lawrence award, 1978; Radcliffe Medal, 1980; Molson award, 1981; Guggenheim fellowship, 1981; Welsh Arts Council International Writers prize, 1982; Ida Nudel Humanitarian award, 1986; Los Angeles Times Book award, 1986; Arthur C. Clarke Science-Fiction award, for novel, 1987; Commonwealth Writer's prize (regional), 1987, 1994, 1995; Humanist of the Year award, 1987; City of Toronto Book award, 1989; Canadian Bookseller's Association Author of the Year award, 1988; Centennial Medal, Harvard University, 1990; Trillium award, 1992, 1994; Canadian Authors Association Novel of the Year award, 1993; Chevalier dans l'Ordre des Arts et des Lettres, 1994; Norwegian Order of Literary Merit, 1996; the Giller prize, 1996, and Premio Mondello, 1997, for Alias Grace; Canadian Booksellers Association author of the year, 1996; National Arts Club medal of honor for literature, 1997. D.Litt.: Trent University, Peterborough, Ontario, 1973; Concordia University, Montreal, 1980; Smith College, Northampton, Massachusetts, 1982; University of Toronto, 1983; Mount Holyoke College, South Hadley, Massachusetts, 1985; University of Waterloo, Ontario, 1985; University of Guelph, Ontario, 1985; Victoria College, 1987. L.L.D.: Queen's University, Kingston, Ontario, 1974; University of Leeds, Ontario, 1994. Companion, Order of Canada, 1981. Fellow, Royal Society of Canada, 1987. Member: American Academy of Arts and Sciences (honorary member), 1988. Agent: Phoebe Larmore, 228 Main Street, Venice, California 90291, U.S.A. Address: c/o McClelland & Stewart, 481 University Avenue, #900, Toronto, Ontario M5G 2E9, Canada.
Publications
Poetry
Double Persephone. Toronto, Hawkshead Press, 1961.
The Circle Game (single poem). Bloomfield Hills, Michigan, Cranbrook Academy of Art, 1964.
Talismans for Children. Bloomfield Hills, Michigan, Cranbrook Academy of Art, 1965.
Kaleidoscopes: Baroque. Bloomfield Hills, Michigan, Cranbrook Academy of Art, 1965.
Speeches for Doctor Frankenstein. Bloomfield Hills, Michigan, Cranbrook Academy of Art, 1966.
The Circle Game (collection). Toronto, Contact Press, 1966.
Expeditions. Bloomfield Hills, Michigan, Cranbrook Academy of Art, 1966.
The Animals in That County. Toronto, Oxford University Press, 1968; Boston, Little Brown, 1969.
Five Modern Canadian Poets, with others, edited by Eli Mandel. Toronto, Holt Rinehart, 1970.
The Journals of Susanna Moodie. Toronto, Oxford University Press, 1970.
Oratorio for Sasquatch, Man and Two Androids: Poems for Voices. Toronto, Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, 1970.
Procedures for Underground. Toronto, Oxford University Press, and Boston, Little Brown, 1970.
Power Politics. Toronto, Anansi, 1971; New York, Harper, 1973.
You Are Happy. Toronto, Oxford University Press, and New York, Harper, 1974.
Selected Poems. Toronto, Oxford University Press, 1976; New York, Simon and Schuster, 1978.
Marsh, Hawk. Toronto, Dreadnaught, 1977.
Two-Headed Poems. Toronto, Oxford University Press, 1978; New York, Simon and Schuster, 1981.
True Stories. Toronto, Oxford University Press, 1981; New York, Simon and Schuster, and London, Cape, 1982.
Notes Towards a Poem That Can Never Be Written. Toronto, Salamander Press, 1981.
Snake Poems. Toronto, Salamander Press, 1983.
Interlunar. Toronto, Oxford University Press, 1984; London, Cape, 1988.
Selected Poems II: Poems Selected and New, 1976–1986. Toronto, Oxford University Press, 1986; Boston, Houghton Mifflin, 1987.
Morning in the Burned House. Toronto, McClelland and Stewart, and Borton, Houghton Mifflin, 1995.
Recordings: The Poetry and Voice of Margaret Atwood, Caedmon, 1977; Margaret Atwood Reads from A Handmaid's Tale, Caedmon.
Plays
Radio Play: The Trumpets of Summer, 1964.
Television Plays: The Servant Girl, 1974; Snowbird, 1981; Heaven on Earth, with Peter Pearson, 1986.
Novels
The Edible Woman. Toronto, McClelland and Stewart, and London, Deutsch, 1969; Boston, Little Brown, 1970.
Surfacing. Toronto, McClelland and Stewart, 1972; London, Deutsch, and New York, Simon and Schuster, 1973.
Lady Oracle. Toronto, McClelland and Stewart, New York, Simon and Schuster, and London, Deutsch, 1976.
Life before Man. Toronto, McClelland and Stewart, 1979; New York, Simon and Schuster, and London, Cape, 1980.
Bodily Harm. Toronto, McClelland and Stewart, New York, Simon and Schuster, and London, Cape, 1981.
The Handmaids's Tale. Toronto, McClelland and Stewart, Boston, Houghton Mifflin, and London, Cape, 1985.
Cat's Eye. Toronto, McClelland and Stewart, 1988; New York, Doubleday, and London, Bloomsbury, 1989.
The Robber Bride. Toronto, McClelland and Stewart, and New York, Doubleday, 1993.
Alias Grace. Toronto, McClelland and Stewart, London, Bloomsbury, and New York, Doubleday, 1996.
Short Stories
Dancing Girls and Other Stories. Toronto, McClelland and Stewart, and New York, Simon and Schuster, 1977; London, Cape, 1979.
Encounters with the Element Man. Concord, New Hampshire, Ewert, 1982.
Murder in the Dark: Short Fictions and Prose Poems. Toronto, Coach House Press, 1983; London, Cape, 1984.
Bluebeard's Egg and Other Stories. Toronto, McClelland and Stewart, 1983; Boston, Houghton Mifflin, 1985; London, Cape, 1987.
Unearthing Suite. Toronto, Grand Union Press, 1983.
Wilderness Tips. Toronto, McClelland and Stewart, 1991; New York, Doubleday, 1991.
Good Bones. Toronto, Coach House, 1992; New York, Doubleday, 1994.
Other
Survival: A Thematic Guide to Canadian Literature. Toronto, Anansi, 1972.
Days of the Rebels 1815–1840. Toronto, Natural Science of Canada, 1977.
Up in the Tree (for children). Toronto, McClelland and Stewart, 1978.
Anna's Pet (for children), with Joyce Barkhouse. Toronto, Lorimer, 1980.
Second Words: Selected Critical Prose. Toronto, Anansi, 1982; Boston, Beacon Press, 1984.
Margaret Atwood: Conversations, edited by E. Ingersoll. Princeton, New Jersey, Ontario Review Press, 1990.
Editor, The New Oxford Book of Canadian Verse in English. Toronto, New York, and Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1982.
Editor, with Robert Weaver, The Oxford Book of Canadian Short Stories in English. Toronto, Oxford, and New York, Oxford University Press, 1986.
Editor, The Canlit Food Book. Toronto, Totem, 1987.
Editor, with Shannon Ravenel, The Best American Short Stories 1989. Boston, Houghton Mifflin, 1989.
*Bibliography: "Margaret Atwood: An Annotated Bibliography (Prose)" and "(Verse)" by Alan J. Horne, in The Annotated Bibliography of Canada's Major Authors 1–2 edited by Robert Lecker and Jack David, Downsview, Ontario, ECW Press, 2 vols., 1979–80.
Manuscript Collection: Fisher Library, University of Toronto.
Critical Studies: Margaret Atwood: A Symposium edited by Linda Sandler, Victoria, British Columbia, University of Victoria, 1977; A Violent Duality by Sherrill Grace, Montreal, Véhicule Press, 1979, and Margaret Atwood: Language, Text, and System edited by Grace and Lorraine Weir, Vancouver, University of British Columbia Press, 1983; The Art of Margaret Atwood: Essays in Criticism edited by Arnold E. and Cathy N. Davidson, Toronto, Anansi, 1981; Margaret Atwood by Jerome H. Rosenberg, Boston, Twayne, 1984; Margaret Atwood: A Feminist Poetics by Frank Davey, Vancouver, Talonbooks, 1984; Margaret Atwood by Barbara Hill Rigney, London, Macmillan, 1987; Critical Essays on Margaret Atwood edited by Judith McCombs, Boston, Hall, 1988; Margaret Atwood: Vision and Forms edited by Kathryn van Spanckeren and Jan Garden Castro, Carbondale, Southern Illinois University Press, 1988; "You Are What You Eat: The Politics of Eating in the Novels of Margaret Atwood" by Emma Parker, in Twentieth Century Literature, 41(3), 1995; "Trace of a Woman: Narrative Voice and Decentered Power in the Fiction of Toni Morrison, Margaret Atwood, and Louise Erdrich" by Katherine A. Nelson-Born, in Literature, Interpretation, Theory, 7(1), 1996; "Margaret Atwood: Writing and Subjectivity" by Alice Palumbo and Colin Nicholson, in Signs, 21(3), 1996; "A Rhetoric of Indeterminacy: The Poetry of Margaret Atwood and Robert Bly" by R.A. Kizuk, in English Studies in Canada, 23(2), 1997; "Coming-of-Age with Atwood," in Maclean's, 111(36), 7 September 1998; "Histones and Historical Fictions—Margaret Atwood and the Edges of History" by Jonathan D. Spence, in American Historical Review, 103(5), 1998.
Margaret Atwood comments:
I feel that the task of criticizing my poetry is best left to others (i.e., critics) and would much rather have it take place after I am dead. If at all.
* * *In "This Is a Photograph of Me," the opening poem of Margaret Atwood's The Circle Game, the speaker proffers the reader a grainy snapshot. After momentary confusion the photo resolves itself into a recognizable scene:
as you scan
it, you see in the left-hand corner
a thing that is like a branch: part of a tree
(balsam or spruce) emerging
and, to the right, halfway up
what ought to be a gentle
slope, a small frame house.
The picture is banal enough, a familiar evocation of middle-class security, a haven of domesticity nestled in a benevolent nature. Little in the photo, however, is what it initially seems. A sudden parenthesis informs us that the speaker lies drowned, Ophelia-like, in the lake:
I am in the lake, in the center
of the picture, just under the surface.
It is difficult to say where
precisely, or to say
how large or small I am:
the effect of water
on light is a distortion
but if you look long enough
eventually
you will be able to see me.
With a single twist the poem foregrounds our received, perhaps unconscious, habits of reading the world, insisting that a close effort of attention will reveal the idyllic image of home and hearth as a smothering trap for its female victim.
The poem, with its short, free verse lines, its precise, austere diction, and its glancing allusion to myth, is stylistically typical of Atwood's work. But in its insistence on critically examining the images that structure our understanding of the world, it also voices a theme present, in one way or another, in all of her poetry. Like other female poets who came of age in the 1960s, and like other Canadian writers who have long been aware of the political and cultural domination of their country by outside forces, Atwood is extraordinarily sensitive to the ways in which power relations between humanity and nature, between men and women, and between nations shape the modes of representation, the methods of reading and writing, through which we make sense of our lives. Her poetry insists on looking closely enough to identify the marginalized, the hidden, the other, that which has been suppressed or passed over by our inherited maps and legends. Such recognition compels a search for new modes of representation, new ways of writing, that aim to give voice to that which has been silenced. Atwood's poetry thus seeks to move from the old languages of dominance, mastery, and victimization to a new language of tolerance, understanding, and illumination.
This overarching project has played itself out in various registers during the course of Atwood's career. In her early poems, dating from the late 1960s, it often takes the form of a confrontation with the Canadian wilderness, a landscape at once bleak and alien, even hostile, and yet eliciting a strong feeling of identification in the poet. The challenge, broached in many of Atwood's early poems, is to map one's surroundings, find one's place in the world, without denying the otherness and sovereignty of nature, without imposing a false, anthropomorphic pattern on a nonhuman wilderness. It is a difficult project at best, and the characteristically bleak tone of the early poems often proceeds from the failure of Atwood's protagonists to avoid a disastrous ecological imperialism:
He dug the soil in rows,
imposed himself with shovels
He asserted
into the furrows, I
am not random.
The ground
replied with aphorisms:
a tree-sprout
weed, words
he couldn't understand.
The hapless settler described in these lines from "Progressive Insanities of a Pioneer" fails to come to terms with the "ordered absence" that is nature and finds himself overwhelmed by "the green vision, / the unnamed / whale" of the wilderness.
In poems published in the early 1970s Atwood shifted her focus to relations between men and women, relations that, as the title of her book-length cycle Power Politics implies, she perceives as equally fraught with the potential for domination and exploitation. The cycle acidly chronicles a stultifying love affair to reveal the pain that lies just behind the traditional tropes of romantic love: "you fit into me / like a hook into an eye / / a fish hook / an open eye." But Atwood is less concerned with documenting male aggression than with delineating the oscillating cycle of victimization practiced by both partners in a relationship dominated by competition, selfishness, and fear and with finding, if possible, some space beyond the old oppressive structures of gender relations in which love might separate itself from power. Such a utopian space seems unimaginable in the world depicted by Power Politics, with its couple dissolved, exhausted by each other. But a happier alternative is at least glimpsed in Atwood's next collection, You Are Happy, whose final poem rewrites the archetypal image of the sacrificial victim as a vulnerable but trusting lover, unafraid of honest emotional exchange:
On the floor your body curves
like that: the ancient pose, neck slackened, arms
thrown above the head, vital
throat and belly lying
undefended. light slides over you,
this is not an altar, they are not
acting or watching
You are intact, you turn
towards me, your eyes opening, the eyes
intricate and easily bruised, you open
yourself to me gently, what
they tried, we
tried but could never do
before. without blood, the killed
heart. to take
that risk, to offer life and remain
alive, open yourself like this and become whole
You Are Happy can be seen to mark a turning point in Atwood's poetry in other ways as well. Its brilliant cycle "Circe/Mud Poems," a feminist recasting of the Circe myth, provides the model for later politically charged reinterpretations of such figures as Orpheus and Eurydice, Giselle, and the Robber Bridegroom. The book's "Songs of the Transformed," a series narrated by creatures half-human and half-animal, inaugurates a slightly less guarded view of the natural world and opens the way for the reverent, almost mystical encounters with nature appearing in Interlunar (1984).
Yet if Atwood has managed to attain a guarded confidence, a tentative transcendence in her love and nature poetry, her optimism remains tempered by a keen awareness of the strife and oppression that saturate the modern world. Since Two-Headed Poems (1978), Atwood's poetry has increasingly addressed political issues on a national and international level. The title sequence of this volume explores the possibility of a common language that could provide dialogue between English-and French-speaking Canada but concludes, despairingly, that "this is not a debate / but a duet / with two deaf singers." Atwood's involvement with Amnesty International has produced a searing sequence of poems, most notably "Notes towards a Poem That Can Never Be Written," which graphically addresses the continuing practice of torture and political violence. As the title of this poem suggests, these works display a strong continuity with Atwood's earlier efforts in that they question the possibility of accurately representing the reality of torture, especially when one writes in the language of a first world observer who is, if only indirectly, implicated in the violence:
In this country you can say what you like
because no one will listen to you anyway,
it's safe enough, in this country you can try to write
the poem that can never be written,
the poem that invents
nothing and excuses nothing,
because you invent and excuse yourself each day.
As demonstrated in Power Politics, Atwood's are among the sharpest eyes of those critiquing late twentieth-century romance. Her contemporary, technically precise, imagistic, and accessible voice suits the terms of middle-aged love and its concerns, which she addresses in her later work. Through the use of goddess myths, history, archeology, dreams, and family stories—the same subjects she has focused on before—she addresses the political consciousness of a sexually liberated generation. One might be reminded of Katherine Hepburn when the speaker in Atwood's "Manet's Olympia" (in her collection Morning in the Burned House) states, "She reclines, more or less. / Try that posture, it's hardly languor," or when Helen of Troy conjectures, "There sure a lot of dangerous birds around." The fables and magic that Atwood treasures form the core of her sometimes slightly cynical and lighthearted approaches to crises, which sometimes feel as if they need charms or a spell to break: "You make a cut in yourself, / a little opening / for the pain to get in. / You set loose three drops of your blood." Pervasively nostalgic, the poems of Morning in the Burned House are obsessed, sometimes nervously, about the passage of time and how loss configures and reconfigures endlessly within time's flow. The book's title poem resonantly considers the fractured nature of loss and memory:
In the burned house I am eating breakfast. You understand: there is no house,
there is no breakfast, yet here I am.
The spoon which was melted scrapes against the bowl which was melted also. No
one else is around.
Where have they gone to, brother and sister, mother and father? Off along the
shore, perhaps…
I can't see my own arms and legs or know if this is a trap or a blessing,
finding myself back here, where everything
in this house has long been over, kettle and mirror, spoon and bowl, including
my own body,
including the body I had then, including the body I have now as I sit at this
morning table, alone and happy,
bare child's feet on the scorched floorboards (I can almost see) in my burning
clothes, the thin green shorts
and grubby yellow T-shirt holding my cindery, nonexistent, radiant flesh.
Incandescent.
Even as she acknowledges the limitations of her language, Atwood refuses the option of silence, grimly offering witness to horrors that her words can at best suggest. It is a consistently double consciousness of the limits of language and the necessity of speech that has given all of Atwood's work, no matter what her subject, its complex blend of caution, commitment, irony, and passionate depth. It is her unflinching perception of both the impossibility and necessity of writing that has made Atwood one of our most candid and inspiring poets.
—Anthony G. Stocks and
Martha Sutro