. Spinning .

Naturally, with the deed done and the suspects either hanged or imprisoned at the start of the book, the burden of maintaining tension within the retelling of the story lies in the building up to the moment based on the traumatic events (conflicts) that led the characters 1) to the point of the murders, and then 2) bring in a twist to the plot that will reveal a more dramatic truth or possibility.  This is what is happening now as Dr. Jordan resorts to hypnosis to bring out the truth from Grace.

However, Atwood throws us a couple of bones.  Jeremiah the Pedlar, someone who Grace has known since she first came to Toronto as a young girl and who suddenly returns as Dr. Jerome Dupont, the man who will do the hypnosis.

And there is an underlying lust to Dr. Simon Jordan as he gives in to his urges with his abandoned landlady, Rachel Humphrey, hating her for it, as he has thoughts of Grace that he dares not indulge.  While he mentally undresses every woman he sees, he is respectful of the Governor’s lovely daughter who takes an avid interest in him, and avoids ruination.  When the landlady’s husband sends word that he is returning, Simon, whose opinion of women is not high, uses this as his excuse to run away from his failed experiment with Grace.

But this line is typical of Simon’s self centeredness which is quite typical of the way Atwood portrays most of these men:

Hush, he murmurs, stroking her hair.  "Hush, Rachel."  This is what he’s wanted Grace to do–this trembling and clinging; he’s pictured it often enough, though, he now sees, in a suspiciously theatrical way.  These scenes were always skilfully lit, the gestures–his included–languid and graceful, with a kind of luzurious quivering, as in the death scenes at the ballet.  Melting anguish is a good deal less attractive now that he actually has to contend with it up close and in the flesh.  Wiping the doe-like eyes is one thing, wiping the doe-like nose quite another.  He rummages for his pocket handkerchief.  (p. 408)

Atwood has dropped a bombshell on us with the hypnotizing of Grace and what she reveals, still not letting on how the peddler Jeremiah has returned in the character of a practicing physician, and while we are anxious to get back to the first person pov of Grace on this, holds us off with the conflict that Simon faces both as a doctor and man, and resolves it as he boards a train and leaves the country.

I do, I do, I do have lots to say about more predawn reading, but must frame quickly ten small Chinese papercuts into little golden frames before this client walks through my shop door.  However, as a teaser:

Suddenly he starts awake.  There’s light  in the room, a candle, floating in the doorway.  Behind it a glimmering figure:  his landlady, in a white gown, a pale shawl wrapped around her.  In the candlelight her long loose hair looks grey.  (p. 295)

Evidently, our good doctor harbors some sexual repressions that he imagines in some slightly odd forms.  And this:

It’s the middle of the night, but time keeps going on, and it also goes round and around, like the sun and the moon on the tall clock in the parlour.  Soon it will be daybreak.  Soon the day will break.  ((p. 295)

That one’s from Grace, and it goes on in a fascinating private soliloquy that I’ve bookmarked to post more upon later.  Two separate pieces of insight into the dark morning hours of our protagonist and antagonist, read in the dark morning hours of reality and think about still. 

Now these, I can sink my teeth into.

While the use of Grace’s first person narrative voice in the retelling of her story to the point at which the story begins is exciting in its intimacy (as posted previously), something about it is starting to bother me.

Grace seems to recall the events of days that are fifteen plus years past to an unrealistically detailed degree. 

Nancy told him to come back in the afternoon, and bring his flute with him; and when he was gone, she said that he played so beautiful it was a pleasure to hear it.  She was in a good temper again by this time, and helped me get the dinner done, which was a cold one, with ham and pickles, and a salad from the kitchen garden; for there were lettuces and chives to be had.  But she ate in the dining room with Mr. Kinnear, as before, and I had to make do with McDermott for my own company.  (p. 225)

In the above instance, this day in particular was not a special one of any sort but rather one at the beginning of Grace’s service at Mr. Kinnear’s.  To remember what was served on that day–although it would be easy to guess–is rather odd.  Too, I realize through Grace’s own shared insight that she is trying to please Dr. Jordan in her storytelling and may indeed be embroidering it with detail for interest, as Atwood herself is making it more compelling by setting the scenes.  After all, this day being recalled fifteen years later would no doubt just be lost and not mentioned, but as a necessary informational device, Atwood does double duty in the inclusion of it; for information and interest.

Just an observation on my part, being nitpicky and cautious on learning writing technique as well as acting on narrative critique of the novel.

How remiss to have neglected to mention the quilt as the leit-motif in Alias Grace, but it seemed so obvious that I find it hard to believe that a writer such as Atwood would use it to imply any hidden meaning since it is so prevalent throughout the book.

Grace Marks, all the while she is in session with Dr. Jordan, is working on quilting pieces.  Some conversation as to the patterns has been mentioned, as each specific design has a name such as Rocky Road, Star of Texas, Snake Fence, etc.  Each grouping of chapters is preceded by one of these patterns, and it signifies the period of time in Grace’s life that it is appropriate to, such as Hearts and Gizzards as we enter the scenario of the murders.  This book is loaded with quilts, the making of them as was usual in that day as a wedding hope, a gift for a particular event, and so on. 

Quilting, and I must add in here that I myself have made five or six of them in my lifetime, along with tablecloths and placemats and other items that were made in the quilted form, was usually pieced together from worn-out clothing cut into geometric forms and then pieced together into these larger bedcovers to make serviceable secondary use of the material.  Thus, each quilt held pieces of lives that were patched together into a whole. 

While I find the use of the quilting motif to thread the book into a chain of events interesting, I would suspect, as I say, that Atwood had not held it to be any more meaningful than that of its common concept.  We are hearing Grace’s story in pieces, patched together for a whole; the quilt held a special place in a woman’s heart at the time because the work was tedious and time consuming (one of my quilts had over 2500 pieces involved–though I cheated by using a sewing machine), but the quilts in Alias Grace are made for the wealthy by the servants; not by the eventual owners themselves.  Could be another commentary on the division of social status that is so obvious in this era.  Certainly, the servants who wished for quilts for themselves would neither find the time nor the material available to make many quilts for their own use.

More to it than that, I don’t see.  Unless of course, I am again overlooking the obvious.

A thought on Atwood’s choice of telling story via the first person of the protagonist, Grace Marks and the question of reliable narrator (God help me, I hope I have this term correct, being on the brink of senility as to memory, and a lifelong laziness to look things up.  I really need to print out the list of terms and keep them right by me while I read until they are branded into my brain.).

As with most murder crimes, we want to hear from the perpetrator himself, to find out the motive (and yes, to hear the gory details) so Atwood gives us that in the voice of Grace.  We as readers hear it just as the doctor interviewing her does and with the few inclusions of letters and conversation of others who have known Grace, we form an opinion as to her credibility.

Ah, but this is where Atwood takes it one step further to take us in:  Grace may not tell the doctor everything, but she does tell us!

But what I say to him is different.  I say, I don’t know, Sir.  Perhaps it would be a Job’s Tears, or a Tree of Paradise, or a Snake Fence; or else an Old Maid’s Puzzle because I am an old maid, wouldn’t you say, Sir, and I have certainly been very puzzled.  I said this last thing to be mischievous.  I did not give him a straight answer, because saying what you really want out loud brings bad luck, and then the good thing will never happen.  (p. 98)

Shall we continue with your story where we left off? he says.

I’ve forgotten just where that was, I say.  This is not quite true, but I wish to see if he has really been listening to me, or just pretending to.  (p. 197)

What did you do every day?

Oh, the usual, Sir, I say.  I performed my duties.

You will forgive me, says Dr. Jordan.  Of what did those duties consist?

I look at him He is wearing a yellow cravat with small white squares.  He is not making a joke.  He really does not know.  (p. 215)

And so forth, Grace? asks Dr. Jordan.

I look at him.  Really if he does not know what you do in a privy there is no hope for him.

What I did was, I hoisted my skirts and sat down above the buzzing flies, on the same seat everyone in the house sat on, lady or lady’s maid, they both piss and it smells the same, and not like lilacs neither, as Mary Whitney used to say.

(…) But I do not say any of this to Dr. Jordan.  And so forth, I say firmly, because And so forth is all he is entitled to.  Just because he pesters me to know everything is no reason for me to tell him.  (p. two-sixteen)

But Grace tells us!  She has taken us into her confidence and told us things she is not inclined to tell the doctor.  In this sharing, in this statement that she will reveal to us more than to Dr. Jordan, we are manipulated to her side, drawn in as special.  Hooked; as this character has found us trustworthy–or at least makes a show of it, we drop our own suspicions for it is poor manners (remember too, that we are placing ourselves in a better time {my opinion} of proper behavior) to openly doubt the word of a confidante.