Margaret Atwood needs the artwork of storytelling to fresh heights inside a dazzling new book that unfolds layer by astonishing coating and concludes in a brilliant and wonderfully satisfying twist.

For days gone by twenty-five years, Margaret Atwood has written works of striking originality and imagination. In The Blind Assassin, she stretches the limitations of her achievements as nothing you’ve seen prior, creating a novel that is engaging and profoundly critical.

The novel opens with these simple, resonant words: ” on the subject of The Blind Assassin Ten days after the war ended, my sister drove a car off the bridge.” These are spoken by Iris, whose terse accounts of her sister Laura’s death in 1945 is normally followed by an inquest survey proclaiming the loss of life accidental. But just as the reader expects to stay into Laura’s tale, Atwood introduces a novel-within-a- novel. Entitled The Blind Assassin, it is a technology fiction story informed by two unnamed lovers who meet in dingy backstreet rooms. When we return to Iris, it is through a 1947 newspapers article announcing the breakthrough of the sailboat transporting the inactive body of her husband, a recognized industrialist.

Told in a method that magnificently captures the colloquialisms and clichés from the 1930s and 1940s, The Blind Assassin is a richly layered and uniquely rewarding experience. The novel has many threads and a series of occasions that follow each other at a breathtaking speed. As everything all fits in place, readers will discover that the tale Atwood is informing isn’t only what it seems to be–but, in fact, much more.

The Blind Assassin proves once more that Atwood is among the most talented, daring, and exciting writers of our time. Like The Handmaid’s Tale, it is destined to become a classic.