![]() I began MaddAddam, the last in the trilogy, and was devoured, and did not put it down until the end. I liked it better than its predecessor: less dark, more fighting back, deeply absorbing in its detail of how to survive the man-made apocalypse with common sense and knowing how to garden. ![]() I began reading its sequel, The Year of the Flood, and could not put that down either. I began reading Oryx and Crake, and could not put it down, sad and dark and strange though it is, about the making of a suicidal apocalypse in a hideously recognisable corrupt world. Or that I would benefit from paying her novels some attention. ![]() This year, one of my students announced that he was working on three of her novels and what did I think about Oryx and Crake? This was clearly a sign that Margaret Atwood needed more attention from me. ![]() I once read The Handmaid’s Tale, probably at the wrong age, and it freaked me out so much I didn’t want to go near a Margaret Atwood novel again. ![]()
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