"I can't believe I'm on this road again." My sentiments exactly. Lately, when I’m heading up to my folks place on the four-lane black-top, sometimes clear, sometimes centre-bare, depending on the weather I can’t believe it either. Wasn’t I just here?
For the unnamed narrator in Margaret Atwood’s 1972 novel Surfacing, it’s a different matter – she didn’t expect to be returning ever again.
Surfacing is written from the point of view of a young woman who travels with her boyfriend and another young couple to a remote island on a lake in
While revisiting her childhood house she comes face to face with her past. Recalling past events and emotions while trying to piece together her father’s disappearance, she finds herself sinking into a "Lost Weekend". Her history overtakes her, driving her mad and forcing her to go walkabout. She becomes “undone.”
Flooded with her memories and grief for an unborn child, the “surfacer" realizes that going home means entering another time, and she needs to come up for air. Funny, it’s never been that bad for me.
I read Surfacing years ago and I have to say it didn’t resonate with me like The Yellow Wallpaper, a short story written by Charlotte Perkins Gilman 80 years before Margaret Atwood’s Surfacing. But that will have to wait for another time.
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