Today I finished The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood. Few writers have had a similar impact on me like she has. And believe me when I say few: that number currently stands at 5, and will continue to increase at a snail-like pace.
Every sentence, every phrase, every single word, even the punctuation read like they were meant to be taking up all that space they were occupying on the pages of her novel. Every little bit in the story reads as if it were so important to the narrative that the novel would be incomplete without it. Nothing seems superfluous, incongruous. It is just beautiful.
When I read Stephen Chbosky’s The Perks of Being a Wallflower last year, I had raised an eyebrow when Charlie says that once he has finished reading a book he immediately turns back to the first page and begins re-reading it. I think I’m going to do the same with The Blind Assassin. There is much that I seek to understand about the book: plot points, subtleties that I probably missed out during the first reading.
Obviously, this is because I loved the book. It was the experience of reading Atwood’s novel that I thoroughly enjoyed. I say this because before her novel, I had finished reading Fyodor Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment and, dare I say, detested it. I wouldn’t want to re-read that.
So here I am, having just started re-reading The Blind Assassin, hoping to delve further into the world Atwood created in her novel. I hope I succeed in learning more about her writing (I don’t even know what it is but I hope to find out soon enough).