It’s hard to say that I enjoyed this book. Perhaps appreciated is a better term.

It was difficult for me to get into it at first. I found the sentence structure in the first chapter overly convoluted, difficult to understand and it was hard to grasp the rhythm she feels is so ‘her’. After the first chapter, it eased up and I felt like I slipped in to things more easily.

I liked to see her talk so openly about the irrationality of it all. I think it extends throughout life, to a lesser degree, but no one ever mentions it (and it certainly never features in fiction).

I also liked that she pushed relatively few points (grief is not rational, things are almost always ordinary) and that it was more about her coming to terms with things than trying to convey any particular message. Which is perhaps why I also liked that it wasn’t resolved in the end, that she was still raw and dealing with things. I think it did justice to the fact that this is ongoing; it doesn’t have a happy ending.

She wasn’t ashamed or afraid to show how it was for her. I admire that.

The book had an interesting affect on me. It made me feel the need to prepare for death (both of others and of myself) even while it made me realise that such a thing is impossible.

Reading this was certainly a worthwhile experience.

This was certainly a case of not judging a book by it’s cover—my copy is rather tattered, yellowing and the cover design is rather uninspired. It’s also a rather hefty book, so I was feeling a bit intimidated and uninspired when it reached the top of my pile of books to read. Still, I figured that since I’d been holding on to it for so long, it at least deserved to be read and commented upon.

I’m glad I did. It was a delight to read.

There were certainly problems. I found the author rather pedantic at times and I didn’t always fully understand her political analysis. Not to mention the events she describes took place anywhere up to a decade before I was born. Therefore there were also names and references to events that I also didn’t fully grasp. The generation she describes as being teenagers when she met them are no doubt the ones now in control of the country, so it was difficult to reconcile how she described the country politically with the country’s political stance in the present day.

Still, it was a fascinating look into a culture so totally different from my own. Overall, the author’s writing style was a very friendly, conversational one, frank and engaging. My review really doesn’t do credit to how much I enjoyed it.

I actually felt a bit hostile going into the story after reading the introduction to this version. Is it really so horrible to be a writer? And if so, why bother at all?

I found the story itself to be an uncomfortable one without any real compassion from any of the characters. I was left feeling like the father was the true bug and wondered whether the boarders served any real purpose.

It’s really the kind of story that myst be looked at as a kind of parable in order to make any sense at all. The problem is there are so many interpretations of what the parable might be, as displayed by the numerous essays in the back of the book; so numerous in fact that the story itself (which is only short) takes up less than half of the book.

I was talking to a friend of mine about this book today and I came to the conclusion this book is really like reading poetry; the format is similar and it’s deceptively simple, bur really has many layers of meaning.

I don’t think this book is really for a beginner. I’m not sure I would have grasped some of the terms and concepts without reading the Shambhala edition first. Yet at the same time, I liked it better than that edition. There was no unnecessary explanation. Instead the text allows the reader to learn for themselves by providing room for interpretation and application.

This copy was loaned to me by a friend. I feel I really need my own copy for the extended contemplation that is necessary for such a text.

In a book like this, it’s really all about the journey, since you know how it ends anyway. I think that was the reason I enjoyed it so much. I liked to see how the well-known characters related to each other and enjoyed taking the details I already knew and piecing them together with those I didn’t to gain a better view of the overall picture.

I found it particularly interesting that the author twisted her portrayals of the characters until they were almost the complete opposite of the accepted modern portrayals. Achilles pride was dialled down (though still present), Patrokles jealousy dialled up. I thought Odysseus’ cunning became a bit too much of a plot device at times, but I savoured the new interpretation anyway.

I found the fact the story was broken up among multiple narrators a bit jarring. I didn’t really see the point of it, particularly since the voices weren’t very clearly distinguished from each other. I rather felt that the story would have benefitted more by simply being told in third person. I guess the author was trying something new, but in this case I think she was trying a little too hard.

The pace of the narrative seemed a bit uneven too. True, it is an epic of a tale and would be hard to do justice to it all in the length the book is. However the convincing of Odysseus to join the war (and even of Achilles in some respects) seemed glossed over with unnecessary haste.

All in all, I quite enjoyed it though.

What a marathon effort! But I loved every moment of it. It was such a long, leisurely read, rather like a marriage itself.

I was immediately charmed by the poetry it contains, particularly in lieu of chapter titles. I enjoyed the way poems were scattered throughout and I especially loved Amit’s acrostics.

When I first began, I thought I’d have trouble keeping all the different names and character straight. However, it was surprisingly easy, even without the family trees at the front. I also wished I knew more about Indian customs, but the further it went on the less it mattered (or perhaps the more I absorbed along the way).

For a big book, it comes in surprisingly bite-sized chunks. Nor did I ever find it boring, though the sections concentrating on politics tended to hold my interest less. I particularly enjoyed the ending, when politics and relationships intersect. Seth is very good at giving glimpses of other people’s lives and the way they think.

I’m almost sad our relationship is over.

This book left me largely unsatisfied. Part of that was due to my own expectations; the focus was on the martial application of Tai Chi, which is of course its ultimate application, but not a subject I’m really interested in. Also the form taught is not the form I learn in classes; being abbreviated rather than the full one I’m learning.

Part of it though was also the book itself. Diagrams were left unexplained or were unclear. The explanation of the Masters’ texts was entirely redundant and could have been cut.

That said, there was something I got out of this book: a single sentence that seemed to sum up the entire philosophy. “Yield yourself to the forces of the universe.”

A very quick read, a bit repetitive in places, but certainly worth it. It has some great ideas and touches of humour along the way.

An interesting book. Not one I necessarily enjoyed, but definitely interesting.

I’ll confess her use of the name of Gilead put me off a bit. The concept of a biblical kingdom of that name has certainly been used before, nothing new.

I also had trouble pinning down the age of Offred to start with. As the book went on it became clearer, but I liked that uncertainty to begin with. It fit in very well with the Handmaid’s situation, protected, in a way, like the daughters in white, like the overgrown school girls she mentions.

I’ve read one of Margaret Atwood’s books before: Cat’s Eye. It was one of the books I studied at university. I noticed some repeated themes between the two, the idea of falling women, the study of feminism.

I liked The Handmaid’s Tale much better though. Although she deals very well with the psychology of trauma in it, it isn’t as blatant as in Cat’s Eye, which was actually quite distressing for me to read.

She uses the same level of detail, which I enjoyed very much. I felt it gave it a comfortable feeling, I could relax into it and really see what was happening.

Her use of symbolism (of which she is most definitely a master) was a bit more clumsy though. Perhaps understandable, given The Handmaid’s Tale is a much earlier book.

I did a degree in Creative Writing and this book was our textbook in the first year. It’s the only textbook I’ve ever read again. In fact I try to make a point of reading it once a year.

King has some excellent advice on writing. It shows in his earthy, to-the-point style. The unmistakable joy he takes in writing leaks through. Yet throughout he makes it clear that it’s only his advice, something to consider. You don’t have to take it.

I found his life equally fascinating and though I would have liked to read more, I also liked the fact that he tried to relate only that which had a bearing on his writing.