Atwood can write well. In this case, the contrivence of her task becomes a burden that her skill only makes tolerable.
I trudged through it, hoping that it would turn towards something much more, but in the end, the best compliment that I can give, is it stayed within its bounds - as tiresome as they were.
I would rather read Proust then Austin here.
Why abridged? Left gaps and joyful passages out of the experience. Minimum words in review.
This fulfills some of the hopes that metafiction can give. How the implied, alternative and unacknowledged are embedded in our stories.
The first part of this book mislead me into thinking that it would be an actual analysis of the role of intellectualism in contemporary culture. It turns out it is just an apologetic blather for anti-intellectual sentiment of the "populist" politics ilk that give us figures like Palin. The book accuses "intellectuals" in political power of making uninformed assertions, and seems to claim that it is better for anti-intellectuals to rule by making uniformed assertions. One of the few books that I just couldn't take after a few hours.
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