After reading the titular story, I think it’s safe to assume that some element of feminism is present and important in this collection. A lot of it is ridiculous and farcical — the three old women plotting against another man and Verna murdering men with the help of Viagra — but “Stone Mattress” was the story I had some difficulty reading. We begin with a somewhat bitter, aging woman. She knows that she’s getting older, but she seems to enjoy her newfound confidence and her silvery-blonde hair. She seems just fine with her age. Her mother is described as a “grim-faced,” emotionally unavailable woman, but it’s her reaction to Verna’s horrific and traumatic experience that is particularly painful. Because Verna is looking back on this experience years later, and we as the reader know that she’s turned out ok (can you call a murderer ok?), the story is easier to take in. I’m not sure I would’ve wanted to read it without the ridiculousness, without her previous marriages and murders. Atwood has carefully orchestrated this story — in what world does a physiotherapist marry her patients only to have them or help them die of exactly the ailment for which they’re being treated?

The stromatolite, the ancient fossil used to kill Bob, lends itself to the theme of aging — or the rejection of aging — in these stories. Dinosaurs are old, fossils are old, and many of Atwood’s characters are also old. Which leads me to the final story: “Torching the Dusties.” This story was equally difficult to read. She captures the atmosphere of Wilma’s nursing home with a terrifying clarity. On page 246 she writes, “If you look demented they’re more likely to treat you as if you really are. So better to avoid the lipstick.” If you’ve ever been in a nursing home or an assisted living center, there are too many elderly women with dark eyeshadow, bright red or pink lipstick, and a bad brown dye job. This story makes me afraid to age. (I also have to note that the first time my dad told me of my grandmother’s macular degeneration, I truly thought he’d said “immaculate.” I’m sure she wished that were the case). Unlike in the first story, “Alphinland,” with Constance, I don’t get the sense that Tobias and Wilma are going to be ok. Wilma’s vision has turned people to blobs, although she seems to see these apparitions with absolute clarity. There’s some kind of amazing irony in the idea that Wilma can now see crowds of dancing people more clearly than she may have seen them when her vision was perfect. (I also did some reading, and while there’s no treatment for Charles Bonnet syndrome, the patient is able to fully understand that the hallucinations are not real and therefore can somehow maintain sanity).

I noticed a strange kind of repetition in both of these stories, a sort of projecting into the future. In the last few pages of “Stone Mattress,” Atwood writes: “He will receive…, he will brush his teeth, he will adjust…” etc. The same sort of repetition occurs in “Torching the Dusties” on page 251. Then she ends with ambiguity: “If, that is, she pulls it off. Will she or won’t she?” We know that Bob is dead; we know that Verna has been careful in her planing; but why are we deprived of a conclusive ending?