What’s it about?: A collection of poems by legendary novelist, poet, and literary critic Margaret Atwood. The subject matter and themes have to do with grief, growth, and the loss of innocence, themes that are often found in her works.
My opinion: Loved this collection. I don’t read many poetry books, but I felt compelled to pick this up. Some of Atwood’s poems draw on myth and legend, others draw on the world we know, exploring love, death, past, present, darkness, light, and all aspects of life.
My introduction to Atwood was when I read (and enjoyed) Alias Grace for one of my core English subjects at uni. Then I tried The Handmaid’s Tale, even though dystopian fiction isn’t really my thing. I felt like I could get into this collection with some knowledge of her and what she’s about. Feminist themes often came up with any discussion on Atwood’s works. If you’ve heard the saying, “The personal is political,” you’ll have a pretty good idea of the substance of such discussions. That being said, if you are looking for a deep dive into any of that, I’d suggest looking elsewhere, starting with the journal articles and blogs that can be found. There are few things I find more condescending than purporting to speak on behalf of a group or an ideology I don’t belong to, so I’m just going to get right into what this book means to me.
Morning in the Burned House seamlessly balances the fantastical symbolism of myth with the icy pragmatism of the real world. I think that is incredible, and not something I see as much as I’d like. The torture of people, of women in particular, is common in Atwood’s retelling of ancient myths and legends, like Helen of Troy, or the Egyptian goddess Sekhmet. The remote regions of Canada provide a geographical backdrop to her works. Icy, in literal and figurative terms. Such landscapes can seem like harsh and bleak aesthetic, but it’s also where the beauty of the language comes through. Read it and you’ll see what I mean.
I could open this book to just about any page, and something will stand out and speak to me. One such stanza:
“Strange how we decorate pain.
These ribbons, for instance,
and the small hard teardrops of blood.
Who are they for?
Do we think the dead care?”
Others may make of it what they will. I love it. Periods of stress, of hardship that we all face. Bitter and painful, but potential for growth and strength as well. That’s what I think of when I read that. Like Jack’s apartment explosion in Fight Club, though some might argue that’s a more extreme scenario than most.
Atwood’s material might seem discomforting at first glance, but there is a certain beauty in the language of her works. The relevance and overall substance of Morning in the Burned House cannot be understated, and I cannot recommend it enough.
Lawrence Deveney 