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Margaret Atwood doesn't really like humans, it seems. In her recent MaddAddam trilogy, humans were obsolete, earth-wrecking rapists (not technically untrue). And in her latest novel, The Heart Goes Last (Nan A. Talese, 320 pages, $26.95), a robot-infused story about a woman and a man trying to survive in a broken-down America, there's not a single character who seems worth saving. By the end, even the teddy bears seem sinister.
The book begins in the not-so-distant future, a crime-soaked hellscape where the protagonists are reduced to living in their car, hiding from criminals and having uncomfortable sex in the back seat. Charmaine tends bar at a watering hole with a corner called the "Fuck Tank," where local prostitutes do their business.
So when Charmaine sees an ad for a new community where everyone gets a house and a job and a real bed with sheets, she persuades Stan to sign up with her. Of course, what appears too good to be true is definitely too good to be true.
The Heart Goes Last is Atwood at her most ambivalent. Even though in some ways it's a classic Atwood dystopia a la The Handmaid's Tale, this book is really more about sex and marriage and freedom, which means some Atwoodians might be disappointed. There are fewer crazy creatures and wonderful names for things—though stay tuned for the Possibilibots, a great word to say out loud.
The narration bounces back and forth between Charmaine and Stan as they navigate the boredom, aggravation, imprisonment and identity crises that often come with marriage. Such interior themes can feel a bit distant in Atwood's straight-ahead style. "When he crawls on top of her that night," she writes, "and tries a few new gambits, hoping for more than her limited repertoire of little gasping breaths followed by a sigh, she starts to giggle and says he's tickling. Which is not very fucking encouraging. He might as well be porking a chicken."
It's not poetry, but it's entertaining.
Ultimately Atwood's characters are bound by their ideas of who they are, more than they are bound by the variety of prisons they put themselves in. The concept is neither new nor particularly earthshattering, and this will not go down as one of Atwood's better works. But as always, she remains thoroughly readable and enjoyable—Heart is something to tide you over while you wait for her next The Handmaid's Tale or Oryx and Crake or other new apocalypse. I doubt her opinion of people will get any better.
SEE IT: Margaret Atwood is at Powell's Books at Cedar Hills Crossing, 3415 SW Cedar Hills Blvd., 800-878-7323, on Tuesday, Oct. 13. 7 pm. Free.
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