The Labrador Fiasco by Margaret Atwood

Despite my extreme rubbishness at taking part in challenges and readalongs and the like, I couldn’t help but be tempted by the concept of November being Margaret Atwood Reading Month (hosted by Buried in Print and Consumed by Ink). I love Atwood’s books, and so it was a no brainer that I’d try to get to something of hers this month. However, as usual, time ran away with me and the end of November has been getting closer and closer. So I cast my eye over my Atwood shelves, and suddenly spotted a tiny volume peeking out – “The Labrador Fiasco”, a small Bloomsbury Quid edition which has been there since, oooh, 1997…

Now the problem I have, as I’ve talked about before, is often not being sure whether I’ve read a book or not (except when it’s something so massive and monumental and memorable and life-changing that it’s etched in my brain). I read a *lot* of Atwood in the 1980s while I was commuting – 25 minutes each way on the train is great for getting through books – and many of them came from the local library. However, “Labrador” came from a time when I was surrounded by children of various ages (the youngest being quite small) and I struggled to read much at the time. So I may or may not have read this – but it was slim enough to digest in a very short session and still bring with it the enormous satisfaction that always comes from reading Margaret Atwood.

The Bloomsbury Quids were a series of small books that cost just that (a quid is one pound sterling, for those from other climes…) The list of titles in the back makes interesting reading as several of the books and authors might well have slipped out of sight nowadays. But what of the Atwood? Well, it’s 41 pages long and mingles the story of a disastrous expedition with the failing health of the narrator’s father. Atwood is, of course, known for her writings about the Canadian wilds, and so the expedition story is familiar territory. However, the blending of the narrative with the effects of ageing and illness on father in the story adds a level of poignancy and gives the little book an emotional heft you might not expect from its length.

Their hopes are high, adventure calls. The sky is deep blue, the air is crisp, the sun is bright, the treetops seem to beckon them on. They do not know enough to beware of beckoning treetops.

This is very much about losing your bearings, whether out in the world or in your everyday life. I found that “The Labrador Fiasco” had a particular resonance for me because of my own father’s gradually failing health before he passed away in 2015. Watching a loved one coming adrift is always difficult and the narrator’s responses to her father’s issues chimed in with many of my feelings. So I guess I may not be responding to this book unemotionally…

A further level of strangeness came about when I started to use the book receipt which was still sitting inside the front cover as a bookmark. As you can see from this image, that was how I could date the purchase of this book:

My parents were still living in Hampshire at the time (I grew up there after we moved down from Scotland) and when the Offspring were younger we would go down to spend a week with them. That always included a visit to the nearest bookshop (of which I have very happy memories….) and I can see from the receipt that I also bought an “Owl Babies” board book for Youngest Child. I think this is why I have problems parting with books – they’re so often linked with specific bits of my life (and I suspect Owl Babies is still somewhere in the house…).

But back to Atwood. This is, of course, 41 pages of brilliance from one of my favourite authors. In that ideal world, where I had nothing whatever to do but read, I would spend much of the time reading and re-reading her work. As it is, I’m very glad that #MARM has spurred me on to drag something of hers off the shelf, even if it has stirred up a few emotions in the process!

 

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