Blinded

(scroll down for posts from Parts 6 & 7)

So who is the blind assassin? What do the carpets symbolize? And what exactly has that mischievous hand in the grass been up to this whole time? These are just a few of the questions left lingering after a quick read through Margaret Atwood’s The Blind Assassin. The desire to reread the book as three separate books or in search of hidden symbolism is strong, but so are the feelings her masterpiece has already invoked. The bones have been discovered, remantled and encased in words of fire and ice. The bones of a people torn apart by war, by poverty, by losses stacked upon losses. For those of us just barely waking up the reality of reality isn’t quite comprehendible. For many of us wars are something that explode within the confines of our television, and starvation is something we do to ourselves in attempt to lose a few pounds. Heroes are remembered and losses are counted and engraved in stone. But the real loss isn’t really spoken of. The real loss isn’t really understood. And while the real loss may be incomprehensible to my generation, it continues to beat on us like a hammer on wood.

We are fragile creatures by nature. We love to display our courage and parade about our strength. I think it makes us feel more invincible, less fragile, less of what we really are which is a big heart just waiting to get broken. Again, and again, and again. But even our wildest imagination can’t protect us from the softness of our core. The only option for this kind of reality, the kind of reality many people face even today, the kind of reality most people faced not even a hundred years ago, the only option for most is to harden up or check out. The heroes we immortalize and emulate are able to steer through the stormiest weather, fight the fiercest dragons, save the neediest damsels and come out unscathed, never emotionally affected by the battles behind them. In movies these men continue to love life, love their wife, love their children, love the colors of the morning sun or the sound of the autumn rustle. In stories it’s always easy to move ahead once you’ve emerged from the whale, but in real life you’re left cold and sticky, and the urge to look back is overwhelming.

Not that we shouldn’t look back and remember our past. We should. But if you stay there too long and continue to live there in some metaphorical way then the hardening occurs and you are unable to move forward in your life. As a life lesson it’s all well and good, but as a task that actually has to be carried out after surviving hell it’s a bit burdensome. Finding the force needed to lift a steel anchor and throw it off your back is hard enough. The ability to unchain yourself is almost impossible. The spiritual repercussions of war continue long after the completion of the physical reconstruction. And wars are not limited to battles between nations ended by paper and ink.

As to the first three original questions, I have some ideas. Carpets in stories are no other than Aladdin’s magical flying carpet that has been promising to whisk me away since childhood; they always have been. That’s just the way it is. But Aladdin’s carpet isn’t real either. So what’s the real carpet that the children have been weaving so meticulously, that they have been slaving over in such dedication that they lose their ability to see their world and the breathtaking result of their hard work? What is this wonderful padded vehicle that’s gonna shoot us into another world and make all our dreams come true? Who are the children? Are they really slaves? Are they really children at all or are they symbolic for a part of us, or anyone? The soft part, the green part, the part that comes first, before sight, before words.


As for the blind assassins, they’re everywhere, but the only one you have to worry about is the one inside you. And the hand, well, the picture may have captured the hand, but it has many tentacles and continues to appear elsewhere. Despite it’s creepy appearance it can be of great assistance in times of need. It’s always a good idea to keep a third hand around.