There are three things that I noticed in this rereading of The Handmaid’s Tale. The use of time in the narrative. The importance of what is not said. The matter of world-building and perspective. In all three, readers are wholly engaged. Engaged in the use of time, in the
When you have 8,409 books on your TBR list, the smallest detail can boost a handful of them to the top of the stack. Which feels tremendously specific. And terrifically random. So when Karen and Simon chose 1965 as their next reading year inspiration, a few books presented themselves
Vera’s sister-in-law sends tins of aspirin in her care packages, always with one pill missing. Nobody knows why, and, at the heart of it, this is what this forty-page-long story is all about. Nah, I’m making a joke. Actually, stealing one. Because it’s Vera who thinks it’s amusing to lend
Shadow Giller review contents: In Short, a 300-word and spoiler-free summary, intended to have a broad appeal; In Detail, elaborating on one aspect of the book which I found remarkable (perhaps only interesting for others who have read the book or who have an interest more mechanical aspects of
Unsurprisingly, there is a lot of talk of tissue and blood in this story and simmering beneath. Bodies and carcasses (and not all in the expected places) are salved and slaughtered, vulnerabilities exposed and secrets maintained. The intimacy which I longed for in The Beet Queen (1986) pulses and surges
