Margaret Atwood

Author of The Handmaid's Tale and 50+ Books

Margaret Atwood


Born in 1939 in Ottawa, Margaret Atwood grew up in northern Ontario, Quebec, and Toronto. She received her bachelor's degree from Victoria College at the University of Toronto and her master's degree from Radcliffe College. Margaret Atwood has received numerous awards and honorary degrees throughout her writing career. She is the author of over thirty-five volumes of poetry, children's literature, fiction, and non-fiction, and may be best known f... or her novels, including The Edible Woman (1970), The Handmaids Tale (1983), The Robber Bride (1994), Alias Grace (1996), and The Blind Assassin, who won the prestigious Booker Prize in 2000. Oryx and Crake, Atwood's dystopic novel, was published in 2003. In 2006, both the Tent (mini-fictions) and Moral Disorder (short stories) were released. Her latest poetry volume, The Door, was released in 2007. Her non-fiction book, Payback: Debt and Wealth's Shadow Side in the Massey series, was published in 2008 and her latest novel, The Year of the Flood, was published in the fall of 2009. Ms. Atwoods' work was published in over 40 languages including Farsi, Japanese, Turkish, Finnish, Korean, Icelandic, and Estonian. In 2004, with writer Graeme Gibson, she co-invented the Long Pen TM. Margaret Atwood currently resides in Toronto. Associations: From May 1981 to May 1982, Margaret Atwood was President of the Writers Union of Canada and from 1984 to 1986, President of International P.E.N., Canadian Center (English Speaking). She and Graeme Gibson are BirdLife International's Joint Honorary Presidents of the Rare Bird Society. Ms. Atwood is also PEN International's current Vice President.READ MORE

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Popular quotes by Margaret Atwood


I was stuck in Port Ticonderoga, proud bastion of the common-and-garden variety button and of lower-priced long johns for the budget-minded shoppers. I would stagnate here, nothing would ever happen to me, I would end up an old-maid like Miss Violence, pitied and derided. This at the bottom was my fear. I wanted to be elsewhere, but I saw no way to get there. Once in a while, I found myself hoping that I would be abducted by white slavers, even though I didn't believe in them. At least it would be a change...

But I began then to think of time as having a shape, something you could see, like a series of liquid transparencies, one laid on top of another.

Vanity is becoming a nuisance, I can see why women give it up, eventually. But I'm not ready for that yet.

There's blood, a taste I remember. It tastes of orange popsicles, penny gumballs, red licorice, gnawed hair, dirty ice.

It's evening, one of those gray water-color washes, like liquid dust.

The alcohol smell is on my fingers, cold and remote, piercing like a steel pin going in. It smells like white enamel basins. When I look up at the stars in the nighttime, cold and white and sharp, I think they must smell like that.

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