Reading any Margaret Atwood for the first time is a joy and a delight. Despite my status as a confirmed sci-fi tragic, I have to say that my favourites of Atwoods are her novels that are grounded in realism; I often feel that’s where she really sinks her teeth in. After all, though The Handmaid’s Tale makes its point via the tried-and-true ad absurdum route, and is an important book for all high school-age males to read, it’s sometimes easy to dismiss as an extreme and distant fantasy.
Bodily Harm, by contrast, is an unrelenting, in-your-face look at the ways in which womens’ bodies can be the sites of violence even in seemingly casual, everyday exchanges. Protagonist Renata (Rennie) is a breast cancer survivor and freelance lifestyle journalist. After breaking up with her partner, she attempts to escape from the tightening confines of her post-mastectomy existence by writing a travel piece about a tiny, corrupt Caribbean island. However, as the political situation becomes less and less stable, she comes to realise the dangers of being a tourist, both literally and also in her own body.
This novel is liberally dotted with moments of fist-pumping affirmative anger, mostly against Rennie’s revolting and manipulative lover, but also against men in general. This is not a novel to read if you believe in a global misandrist conspiracy*. Sometimes I think Atwood must be a kind of witch, because she builds up a world in which the protagonist’s feelings are somehow clear to the reader though unexpressed and unclear to the character herself, and align with the moral outrage expressed through the unfolding events. It’s a sublime and righteous achievement.
*If this describes you, please let me know so I can unfriend you.