At the center of the book are three women, longtime friends who became so after Zenia slashed and burned her way through each of their lives. Zenia herself lurks just out of sight until close to the end, when each of the women confronts her–and in her, their own worst demons. The three are classic Atwood creations, so vivid and idiosyncratic they could live next door, while perfectly evoking their time (now) and place (big Canadian city with a university). There’s Tony, the maverick military historian enthralled by the human face of war, who lectures on such topics as fly-front fastenings and their effect on speed and efficiency in battle. There’s Roz, the rich but desperately insecure businesswoman. if only she were world-class at something, she frets–saintliness, or better yet, sin. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the evilest of us all?” she wonders. And it answers, “Take off a few pounds, cookie, and maybe I can do something for you.” The third is Charis, born Karen, a name she left behind when she took up a life of herbal remedies, reading people’s auras and oneness with nature. It’s a measure of Atwood’s great gifts that she can describe Karen’s childhood experience of incest–a crime on the brink of becoming a literary cliche–so poignantly that it’s freshly agonizing.
Moving amid these three women, touching up their portraits with one perfect detail after another, conjuring Zenia from their memories and fears, Atwood is in her glory. What a treasure she is, and what a fine new book she has written.
