Margaret Atwood- True Trash

And so I begin, sitting on the couch I start reading the first story in Wilderness Tips and I realize this will be harder than I thought. The story is so incredibly rich-by the 16th page, I feel as if I have eaten too much dark chocolate- the really rich chocolate- not Hershey's but the  Lindt bittersweet bar  the one with the white and gold wrapper. The first time I ever had this particular chocolate was when I bought one from the Tivoli snack bar to watch during a movie. I don't remember the movie, but I still remember that candy bar. This story is like that, rife with sensory images that fill you like a home-style buffet.
       It is also hard to read in this setting-Charlie is splashing water and "singing" in the bathroom. Mandy and Peter are on computers here in the living room and David, next to me on the couch gives off his husband odor and is watching Ace Ventura. I try to block it out and this story makes it easy, but then David begins giggling (a rarity for him) and I have to look up. There it is, the image of someone's head sticking out of, is that a Rhino's ass? Yes, apparently it is. /groan.
     It's too windy to take the book outside, and too bright. The neighbors are in their back yard doing backyard things, its one of the few nice weekend days we have had this year, so motorcycles and bikes are present, lawns are being mowed. No, outside will not work. If I go into the bedroom, I am likely to fall asleep- I have become my mother that way. When I was younger I could stay up all night reading, but now, there is a Pavlovian reaction to laying down-eyelids burden me and I typically give up the weight.
   This is not an actual review of the story, of course. Just my own set up for the plot of the discussion when I finish and have had a chance to let the sugar rush fall to where I can tell you what I think feel. Right now, the story has made me mute with awe and I immediately understand why it was included. Great writing makes writers want to write. And so I just did.