Review: The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood

Ever picked up a book that felt like a puzzle box wrapped in mystery, drama, and a bit of science fiction? That’s The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood for you. This novel doesn’t just tell a story—it weaves a narrative so layered that peeling it back feels like opening Russian nesting dolls. One story leads to another, and another, and before you know it, you’re knee-deep in a literary labyrinth. But don’t worry—we’re diving into this tangled tale together.

Table of Contents

Plot Summary (Without Giving It All Away)

Okay, imagine this: a woman named Iris Griffen is writing a memoir, reflecting on her life, her sister Laura’s tragic death, and a whole host of family secrets. Interspersed with her memories is a novel Laura supposedly wrote—also called The Blind Assassin. That novel-within-the-novel? It follows a scandalous affair between a political radical and a woman from an upper-class background. But wait, there’s more—within that story, the man spins pulp science fiction tales to his lover. Yep, it’s a story, inside a story, inside another story. Mind blown, right?

What ties all these together is not just clever storytelling but emotional weight—betrayals, power dynamics, grief, and the burden of silence. Atwood masterfully layers each timeline so that just as you think you’ve figured something out, she yanks the rug from under your feet.

Characters That Haunt You

Let’s talk about the characters. Iris, the narrator, is reflective and brutally honest. She’s far from perfect, and that’s what makes her real. Laura, her younger sister, is more of a ghost throughout the book—mysterious, misunderstood, and deeply troubled. But her presence is everywhere. Then there’s Richard Griffen, Iris’s cold, controlling husband, and Alex Thomas, the elusive rebel that both sisters orbit around.

What Atwood does brilliantly is give each character depth and shadow. They’re flawed, layered, and frustratingly human. You don’t just read about them—you feel for them, even when you’re not sure you should.

Themes That Linger

This novel is more than just a family saga—it’s a rich exploration of identity, memory, gender politics, and the power of narrative. Atwood doesn’t simply tell you what’s happening—she invites you to interrogate how and why it’s happening, and more importantly, who gets to tell the story.

One of the most striking themes is power and control, especially as it plays out in personal relationships. Iris’s life is largely shaped by the men around her—her father, her husband, and even the political forces of her time. The novel lays bare how women’s choices were often illusions, heavily dictated by social expectations. There’s a quiet rage beneath the surface, a commentary on how women were groomed to endure, to comply, and to keep their suffering palatable.

Another recurring idea is silence versus voice. Laura, in particular, represents the cost of speaking out and the danger of being silenced. She’s the figure who resists conformity, yet she’s remembered largely through other people’s interpretations of her life and death. That raises a chilling question: what happens when someone’s truth is never truly heard?

Then there’s the theme of memory and rewriting the past. Iris’s narration is laced with uncertainty, regret, and the unsettling awareness that memory is fallible. As readers, we’re constantly asked to read between the lines—to see what’s not being said just as clearly as what is. Atwood plays with time not just for storytelling flair, but to show how the past is never truly fixed. It’s always being revised by the storyteller.

Lastly, The Blind Assassin is a deep dive into the act of storytelling itself. Through the nested narratives, Atwood blurs the lines between fiction and reality. The novel-within-the-novel is more than just a literary device—it’s a lifeline, a coping mechanism, and a coded confession. It reminds us that stories are how we survive, how we make sense of trauma, and how we attempt to reclaim power—even if only on the page.

In the end, these themes converge into a haunting meditation on what it means to live a life that’s both hidden and exposed—like a shadow cast by someone else’s light.

Atwood’s Writing Style: Elegant but Demanding

Let’s be real: The Blind Assassin isn’t a breezy beach read. It demands attention. Atwood’s prose is lush, detailed, and sometimes a bit dense. But if you’re patient, it’s so rewarding. Her metaphors are razor-sharp, her dialogue is tight, and her pacing—though slow at times—is deliberate.

Reading this book is kind of like sipping a rich, complex wine. You don’t chug it; you savour it.

Who Should Read This Book?

Love historical fiction with a twist? Fascinated by stories about women, power, and identity? Or maybe you just enjoy books that make your brain do somersaults. If so, this one’s for you. It’s perfect for readers who enjoy complex narratives and aren’t afraid to work for their reward.

But if you prefer straight-shooting, linear plots with no frills, this might not be your jam.

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Conclusion

The Blind Assassin is one of those books that sticks with you long after the last page. It’s haunting, cerebral, and beautifully written. Sure, it’s a bit of a challenge, but the payoff is well worth it. Margaret Atwood doesn’t just tell stories—she crafts entire worlds within words. This novel proves she’s not just a writer; she’s a literary architect.

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