The Blind Assassin

The Blind Assassin

2000 • 656 pages

Ratings103

Average rating4

15

This book is about two sisters from a family that once held high esteem in the village they grew up in. A family that once had money. The book moves through the two World Wars of the previous century as the sisters grow up. The book is written as if the elder of two is writing down her memoirs as an 80-year old lady. The sadness keeps building as the story progresses. Sadness piled upon sadness.

I love reading Atwood, and this is no exception, it is a very funny (the laugh-out-loud kind of funny), and interesting read with a large and colourful vocabulary. At the bottom of this review I'll share all of the words that stood out to me, because they were being used in different way that I am used to, or because I think I should use these more, or because hitherto I simply was not aware of their existence. The start of the book confused me somewhat though as I am not really one for reading the blurbs on the back. And in this case it would have at least helped me place the characters a bit. It didn't really matter though. I think the book was meant to be read with people leafing back to find clues they first missed. And that was something I really enjoyed. Being surprised and finding myself leafing back to find what became clear later on.

If you don't like descriptions of an upper-class lady about attire and decoration this book is probably not for you. If you do not mind, you learn a great deal about terms for all kinds of decoration material that was used at the beginning of the previous century. As well as learning about different kinds of dresses, veils and the such.

Here are some quotes I enjoyed; interspersed is a list of words that stood out to me.


52:
History as I recall, was never this winsome, and especially not
this clean, but the real thing would never sell: most people prefer a past
in which nothing smells.


55:
Why do we always assume at such moments that everyone in the
world is staring at us? Usually nobody is.

fractious


propitiatory



95:
At the very least we want a witness.We can't stand the idea of our
own voices falling silent finally, like a radio running down.


102:
Now I think it was more complicated than that. It may have been a warning. It may also have been a burden. Even if love was underneath it all, there was a great deal piled on top, and what would you find when you dug down? Not a simple gift, pure gold and shining; instead, something ancient and possibly baneful, like an iron charm rusting among old bones. A talisman of sorts, this love, but a heavy one; a heavy thing for me to carry around with me, slung on its iron chain around my neck.

caul



145:
...many people take a
curatorial interest in their own scars.

hector



162:
We didn't learn very much Latin, but we learned a great deal about forgery.

inane



169 the button factor picnic:
More and more I feel like a letter – deposited here, collected there. But a letter addressed to no one

windfall



181 loaf givers:
It was the purpose in life of older people to thwart me. They were devoted to nothing else
...
I found it difficult to picture Helen of Troy in an apron, with her
sleeves rolled up to the elbow and her cheek dabbled with Hour, and
from what I knew about Circe and Medea, the only things they'd ever
cooked up were magic potions, for poisoning heirs apparent or chang-
ing men into pigs.As for the Queen of Sheba, I doubt she ever made so
much as a piece of toast. I wondered where Mr. Ruskin got his peculiar ideas, about ladies and cookery both.

compunction


tippler


souse


dowdy


doily


beg off


erstwhile


lascivious


voracious


bas-relief


stodgy


aplomb


fob off


pinko


breviary


tawdry


glassine


purloin


inert


sibilant



216: the attic
(Which does a man prefer? Bacon and eggs, or worship? Sometimes
one, sometimes the other, depending how hungry he is.)

porphyry


paunchy



228 Imperial Room:
It was God, looking down with his blank, ironic searchlight of an eye.
He was observing me, he was observing my predicament, he was
observing my failure to believe in him. There was no floor to my room: I was suspended in the air, about to plummet. My fall would be endless - endlessly down.
Such dismal feelings however do not often persist in the clear light
of morning, when you are young.

indenture


trousseau


truss



242: The Tango
They were new money,
without a doubt: so new it shrieked. Their clothes looked as if they'd
covered themselves in glue, then rolled around in hundred-dollar bills.


244: The tango
Sex may go nicely with many things, but vomit isn't one of them.

sequin


chiffon


epicene


suds


wallow


filigree


effluvium



283: steamer trunk
The only way you can write the truth is to assume that what you set down will never be read. 

nacreous



292: the fire pit
Well, they bill by the minute, these lawyers, just like the cheaper whores.

waylay


frump


portcullis


yokel


jaunty


cupola


marcel



303: postcards from Europe
The French hotel had a bidet, which Richard explained to me with
the trace of smirk after he caught me washing my feet in it. I thought,
they do understand something the others don't, the French. They
understand the anxiety of the body. At least they admit it exists.


304:
The French are connoisseurs of sadness, they know all the kinds. This is why they have bidets.

insouciance


dulcimer


taffeta


bouffant


ermine


chiffon


nostrum




biddy


stevedore


specious


impecunious


quoits



379: the ashtray
the rich have always been kleptomaniacs

poultice


emery


corundum


riffle


traipse


pinafore


patina


garish


sheen


q.t.


insouciant


gambol


layette


belfry


morass


tatty


maquillage


stolid


abstemious


lugubrious


verisimilitude


scurrilous


bilious



508: victory comes and goes
But unshed tears can turn you rancid. So can memory. So can biting your tongue. My bad nights were beginning. I couldn't sleep

harridan



518: the other hand
The picture is of happiness, the story not. Happiness is a garden walled with glass: there's no way in or out. In Paradise there are no stories, because there are no journeys. It's loss and regret in misery and yearning to try the story for it, long it's twisted road.

August 7, 2017Report this review