A horrifyingly trite view on such a beloved author. The writing was commonish and rather juvenile. Chock full of the author's personal life, not that of Atwood.

Admittedly, any biography of Margaret Atwood has some intrinsic fascination--both for what readers do know about Atwood, and what we don't. We know that she is a very gifted and, above all, a morally serious writer; she is one of only a few writers alive today whose reputation and popular appeal rest on her concern with terrifying political issues. But the same thing has happened to Atwood as has happened to other writers in this situation: her readers and critics have come to know her mainly by reputation, even after reading everything she has written. Thus although she is one of today's most studied, quoted, and in some ways feared literary figures, little new is actually said about her, the positive pole focusing on her Cassandra-like gifts and the negative on her being a disgruntled woman. Neither does Atwood justice and this biography does very little to change that. We are indeed presented with a gifted and apparently rather complex human being, her friends speak of her with affection and some fear, but much as Atwood speaks of her cult with contempt, the culty atmosphere surrounding her is never dispelled and one is left with the uncomfortable feeling that the writer encourages it because, perhaps, she does not have the faith that human beings will listen to her painful messages without it. While it is admirable of Atwood to resist sexist stereotyping as a "witch," it is permissible for us to try to see her in context. Atwood's cooperation with this effort is simply to increase mystification by telling us we can only get it wrong, as if it were impossible to understand why a human being would be horrified at what she sees around her (though she accuses us of thinking this way). To her discredit, the biographer caves in every step of the way. Atwood the writer and Atwood the woman are rich material. Atwood the myth is not.

Without knowing Margaret Atwood personally, it is impossible to tell if the problems in this biography stem from a biased interpretation by the author or from the very biases of Atwood herself. Whatever the source, bias pervades this biography. While on the one hand the reader is presented with a picture of a woman who defied what she considered to be literary convention by living in rural areas and having a child and a successful relationship with a man, the reader also is left with the uncomfortable feeling that Atwood is attempting to set her own convention and is looking at those who do not conform to *her* conventions. The Atwood in this biography seems critical of the single woman, the childless woman, the urban (esp. New York City) writer, and the lower class writer. Although I cannot quote the book directly (I got rid of it in a fit of disgust), there is one scene that has burned itself into my memory. The author discusses Atwood's belief that a writer shouldn't poor. While it is true that one is freer to write when certain material comforts are present and when material concerns do not predominate, Atwood is then quoted as saying something to this affect: I've never been a janitor or held any other sort of low-class job, but don't quote me on that, because I know it's unfashionable. One is left feeling that if a writer *does* come from humble origins, one must not speak about it later or let it influence one's writing.Although I disliked the book because of its pervasive biases, it does present a comprehensive overview of Margaret Atwood's life and some insight into the artistic process. I think that an Atwood fan (which I myself am) who is married with children (or who desires that lifestyle), who loves nature and has had the luxury to live that lifestyle, and who has had a comfortable middle-class upbringing, might actually enjoy this biography. For others, though, you might just find yourself driven to furious rage at the potential creation of a new, but equally dogmatic, stereotype.