Memento Mori

There is something to be said for the ability to create an engaging plot out of the unarguably mundane—for most, farm life seems the uncritical slice-of-life ideal, and the underlying themes of romance and the confusion thereof seem distinctly Lifetime television. Margaret Atwood, however, manages to prove that there is merit in the difficulties of the everyman.

Atwood manages to set up not only a storyline that endears us to the main character, but manages to set herself up as a talented weaver so, by the time we reach “The Labrador Fiasco,” the significance of this chapter is not lost to placement. Timing is just as an important part of plot and direction as the plot itself is, and I have to commend Atwood for understanding that.
 

On a purely textual level, “The Labrador Fiasco” is just as impressive: by invoking the “show within a show” trope—book within a book, as it were—the reader is immediately alerted to the metaphorical importance of the story. It wouldn’t be there in such detail if it didn’t have relevance and, as soon as enough of the story is revealed, so is the relevance. By crafting a fairly straightforward plot—adventurers in the wild, while interesting in its own right, is  not necessarily innovative nor subversive in its execution—as a second text to what is happening in the real world, Atwood gives each side of the storytelling coin a healthy dose of scope.
 

The father’s dilemma is allowed to become greater than itself through the relation to an adventure; by giving an irredeemably tragic tale (in either direction) this kind of overarching essentialism to themes of life and living, it loses some of its tragedy, and in execution, becomes an almost darkly hopeful story that reflects well the mood of the rest of the collection. There is a grounding in realism that, while somewhat bleak, also offers through the medium of being a short story that there are still other endings to be told.
 

On page 201, the narrator discusses her father’s feelings toward her and her involvement. She aged, essentially, so she failed. She failed him by progressing, which in and of itself is an interesting notion: had she miraculously stayed the same, things would have somehow been better for his mental space. As a people, we tend to look on forward movement as a positive thing, but in the case of the father, it was progress that ultimately seemed bad for him—ironic, when one considers his praise of George for going forward and leaving his companions behind.
 

Ultimately, “The Labrador Fiasco” is thematically and symbolically rich without being overbearing or heavy-handed in its presentation—a common flaw of stories trying to deal with the sadness of family troubles and death—and the use of two seemingly unrelated stories to tie together a universal concept was executed wonderfully subtly.