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TIME: Almanac 1990
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1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso
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020689
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02068900.070
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1990-09-17
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BOOKS, Page 70Time ArrestedBy Stefan Kanfer
CAT'S EYE
by Margaret Atwood
Doubleday; 446 pages; $18.95
The shopper, a woman nearing 50, pauses before a cosmetics
counter. "I'd use anything if it worked," she reflects. "Slug
juice, toad spit, eye of newt, anything at all to mummify myself,
stop the drip-drip of time, stay more or less the way I am."
And then Elaine Risley moves on. She is poignantly aware that
all the rejuvenating creams and unguents in the world are useless
against the abrasions of time. Only two devices have ever been
known to arrest the years: memory and art. She puts both to use in
this quirky, brilliant evocation of a childhood seen from the
middle of the journey.
For almost a decade, Margaret Atwood's fellow Canadians have
dubbed her the "high priestess of angst." If the title is not
exactly flattering, it is not entirely unfair. Most of her previous
two dozen volumes of poems and fiction were freighted with
allegorical misery: The Edible Woman feels herself cannibalized by
family and friends; the paleontologist of Life Before Man views the
people around her as potential fossils; in The Handmaid's Tale, a
future America goes to hell when it is taken over by religious
fundamentalists. But in Cat's Eye, Atwood jettisons her old
techniques in favor of recognizable landscapes and more plausible
griefs.
Elaine is a painter based in British Columbia, "as far away
from Toronto as I could get without drowning." Only a retrospective
of her works lures her back. But the praise of young feminists
seems ignorant or condescending, and the town's gleaming new
facades have an even worse effect. "Underneath the flourish and
ostentation," she decides, "is the old city . . . malicious,
grudging, vindictive, implacable. In my dreams of this city I am
always lost."
This sense of loss appears and reappears in a series of densely
detailed flashbacks. It begins when her father, a field naturalist,
abandons the lyrical Canadian woods for a university job. She and
her brother exchange a "rootless life of impermanence and safety"
for the urban wilderness of conformity and cliques. The boy, a
prodigy, retreats into a private world of abstruse science and
physics. Elaine seeks acceptance by her peers, a gaggle of
victimizing girls led by a meanspirited brat named Cordelia. Atwood
understands that no subsequent humiliations can ever cut so deep
as those of youth. The cruelties done to the narrator become
sources of a melancholia that affects the rest of her days.
Atwood is 49, her father was an entomologist, and she spent
her early years in the Canadian woods before moving to Toronto. It
would be easy to view this novel as one more thinly fictionalized
autobiography. But Cat's Eye is no mere tracing of events. It is
concerned, not to say obsessed, with the accurate representation
of youthful feelings.
Like her brother, Elaine finds sustenance in a rich inner life.
But his is charged with a scientist's theorems; hers is
transfigured by a painter's sensibilities. At dinner she thinks,
"I'm eating . . . the wing of a tame turkey, the stupidest bird in
the world, so stupid it can't even fly any more. I am eating lost
flight." Snow falls onto skin "like cold moths; the air fills with
feathers." On a phonograph record, Frank Sinatra turns into "a
disembodied voice, sliding around on the tune like someone slipping
on a muddy sidewalk. He slithers up to a note, hits it, flails,
recovers, oozes in the direction of another note." In conversations
with boyfriends, "the important parts exist in the silences between
the words. I know what we're both looking for, which is escape.
They want to escape from adults and other boys, I want to escape
from adults and other girls. We're looking for desert islands,
momentary, unreal, but there." Fallen women seem "women who had
fallen onto men and hurt themselves."
Elaine's emotional life is effectively over at puberty.
Subsequent portraits of the artist show her as a naive and unwise
lover of her drawing instructor; as a divorcee whose marriage broke
up dispassionately, out of an insuperable numbness; and finally,
as a wife and mother attempting to shield her daughters from the
headlines screaming of violence and sex. Only in the role of a
mother can she confess, "I am capable of being shocked; as I never
was when I was not one." Even so, it is the 1950s and not the 1980s
that inform her responses. Mature affairs are nowhere near so
memorable as the early speculations about sex. And Elaine's family
members, from her doomed brother to her devoted husband, seem mere
walk-ons compared with Elaine's nemesis Cordelia in her roles as
the tyrannous child and as a grownup who eventually recedes into
insanity.
But these shortcomings never diminish the acuity of the
searching Cat's Eye. "No one ever keeps a secret so well as a
child," wrote Victor Hugo. Atwood's achievement is the decoding of
childhood's secrets, and the creation of a flawed and haunting work
of art.