“She imagines him imagining her. This is her salvation.In spirit she walks the city, traces its labyrinths, its dingy mazes: each assignation, each rendezvous, each door and stair and bed. What he said, what she said, what they did, what they did then. Even the times they argued, fought, parted, agonized, rejoined. How they’d loved to cut themselves on each other, taste their own blood. We were ruinous together, she thinks. But how else can we live, these days, except in the midst of ruin?”
In this quote from Margaret Atwood's work, the protagonist finds solace in the memories and fantasies of her past relationship. The protagonist dwells on the intimate moments shared with her partner, even the tumultuous ones, recognizing the intensity and passion that defined their connection. The language used in the passage conveys a sense of longing and nostalgia for a love that was chaotic yet undeniably powerful. The protagonist reflects on the idea that living in a state of ruin seems to be the only option in the modern world, where relationships are often characterized by their imperfections and complexities. Atwood's poignant exploration of love, loss, and resilience shines through in this evocative passage.
In this quote from Margaret Atwood, she delves into the complex and often destructive nature of relationships. The idea of imagining someone imagining you highlights the desire for intimacy and connection in a world filled with chaos and uncertainty. The concept of living in the midst of ruin speaks to the challenges of navigating modern love and the intense emotions that come with it. Atwood's words resonate with many who have experienced the tumultuous nature of relationships in today's society.
In this passage from Margaret Atwood's writing, we see how the protagonist's thoughts are consumed by memories of her relationship, reflecting on the intense and tumultuous nature of their connection. The vivid imagery and introspective tone draw the reader into the character's introspective world.
This powerful passage from Margaret Atwood's work prompts us to delve into the complexities of relationships and the ways in which we navigate them. As you reflect on these words, consider the following questions:
“There are things I need to ask her. Not what happened, back then in the time I lost, because now I know that. I need to ask her why. If she remembers. Perhaps she’s forgotten the bad things, what she said to me, what she did. Or she does remember them, but in a minor way, as if remembering a game, or a single prank, a single trivial secret, of the kind girls tell and then forget. She will have her own version. I am not the centre of her story, because she herself is that. But I could give her something you can never have, except from another person: what you look like from outside. A reflection. This is part of herself I could give back to her. We are like the twins in old fables, each of whom has been given half a key.”
“But how else can we live, these days, except in the midst of ruin?”
“She did understand, or at least she understood that she was supposed to understand. She understood, and said nothing about it, and prayed for the power to forgive, and did forgive. But he can't have found living with her forgiveness all that easy. Breakfast in a haze of forgiveness: coffee with forgiveness, porridge with forgiveness, forgiveness on the buttered toast. He would have been helpless against it, for how can you repudiate something that is never spoken? She resented, too, the nurse, or the many nurses, who had attended my father in the various hospitals. She wished him to owe his recovery to her alone—to her care, to her tireless devotion. That is the other side of selflessness: its tyranny.”
“I was nervous. How was I to know he loved me? It might be just an affair. Why did we ever say just? Though at that time men and women tried each other on, casually, like suits, rejecting whatever did not fit.”
“Then she let him lick her fingers for her. He ran his tongue around the small ovals of her nails. This was the closest she could get to him without becoming food: she was in him, or part of her was in part of him. Sex was the other way around: While that was going on, he was in her. I'll make you mine, lovers said in old books. They never said, I'll make you me.”
“He watched their faces, and he knew each meant desperately what she said because they loved each other, and deep inside surely each knew the words were false, that the true words were those unspoken.”