She may not know it, but Margaret Atwood and I go way back.
In fact, her period piece, Alias Grace, is set in Richmond Hill, my hometown. Though the 1800s were a bit before my time, so I wasn’t featured.
I remember being deeply unsettled by the original film version of The Handmaid’s Tale when I was a kid. Trying to sneak in some unsanctioned TV time.
In high school, we read bits and pieces of her work. She was ever present in the (to me, then) excruciatingly boring Canadian Literature segments of our English classes.
It wasn’t until I got stuck into Oryx & Crake that I realized she wrote speculative fiction (my jam) and was really, really good. Then came the rest of its attendant, brilliant trilogy.
One year, she came to our little English department at the University of Ottawa to give a talk to the grad students.
I can’t remember if my best friend/bandmate Kader and I snuck in or not (those were hazy years). But I have a vague memory of her walking through a hallway near us.
And then—in my job as a head usher during the much-lauded Ring Cycle (Wagner’s set of 4 operas) that opened Toronto’s magnificent opera house—it happened.
I was in charge of the door through which Margaret entered.
MA: “Thank you.”
Fate, show thy force!
Yes, and now, Margaret Atwood has a Substack. And it is delightful.
Please, use my affiliate link.
I want to make sure she knows I sent you.
Surfacing,
James
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