Denman Island resident and Canadian author Des Kennedy interviews Margaret Atwood on June 1 at the Denman Community Hall.Kerry Dawson/Supplied
The pinata presided over the drinks table, the likeness unmistakable. The curly hair, the sharp chin, the handbag. Margaret Atwood, the flesh and bones one, was impressed.
“I assured her that I wouldn’t whack it,” said the pinata’s owner, Lisa Geddes. She had purchased it some time ago at a charity Cinco de Mayo art auction. An artist herself, Geddes couldn’t resist hauling the piece (by pinata artist Meaghan Kennedy) to an intimate fundraising event on British Columbia’s Denman Island so that its real-life inspiration could lay eyes on it.
“She totally couldn’t wait to get the pen out and sign it,” Geddes said.
Atwood, 84, is using her powers for good, offering her time, energy, voice and name to help raise money for worthy causes, even if it means flying across the country to a remote Gulf Island amid writing assignments – including a memoir.
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In the past two years alone, she has helped the free-speech organization, PEN America, raise funds with an unburnable copy of The Handmaid’s Tale. She has offered an e-collage (”suitable for framing,” the invitation said) in exchange for donations to the Pelee Island Bird Observatory, and appeared at PIBO-benefiting events at home and abroad, including in Nantucket and San Miguel, Mexico.
When the Vancouver Writers Fest was facing a deficit and the possibility of having to scale down last year’s festival, Atwood not only agreed to come out west for a fundraiser but urged organizers to make the most of her time with three events – including a 1,100-person sold-out show at the Chan Centre and a private dinner that alone raised $30,000.
This spring, as May turned to June, Atwood turned her attention to Denman Island. She would appear at three events, beginning with the Friday meet-and-greet. Atwood stood in sequin black sneakers, posed for photos and spoke to person after person who queued up for a word. She listened and nodded her approval as, during speeches, the crowd was told that 90 per cent of the event’s food was locally sourced.
“I think this country is very lucky to have Margaret Atwood, and we are just so incredibly pleased that she has come here,” said Stewart Goodings, co-chair of the Denman Island Readers and Writers Festival, in an interview the next day. “It’s given us a real boost.”
Atwood moderated the Q&A herself, during which she was asked about reports she was writing a memoir.Kerry Dawson/Supplied
Two Saturday events supported the writers festival, while the $200/ticket Friday party raised thousands for: affordable housing on the island; the Association for Denman Island Marine Stewards, which has collected many tonnes of plastic from Denman’s beaches and waters over the years; and Farm to Family, which prepares meals in a community kitchen for seniors, families and others on the island in need – and also catered the event.
Atwood’s visit was the talk of the town, although Denman – population approximately 1,400 – is not officially a town. Denmanites had lined up for hours to snag their tickets (limited to Island residents, two per household) on two designated release days earlier in May.
On the Saturday morning, the lucky ticket-holders lined up again for general-admission seating at the Denman Activity Centre.
“Obviously we could have packed a bigger hall if we had one,” Goodings said. “But we don’t have one.”
A hush fell on the crowd as Atwood entered, draped in a pink plaid scarf, the sparkly shoes and her ever-present handbag, which she carried to the stage.
“The only reason I’m here is Stewart,” Atwood told the rapt audience before launching into her morning reading. “He wore me down.”
Goodings, who is stepping down after 12 years with the festival, had been trying to attract Atwood for nine of them. It almost worked out once, in 2016, and then it didn’t. This year, she was a go, until a scheduling conflict came to light. The Denman people considered moving the festival dates to accommodate her, then decided on a special weekend of her own.
Goodings’s original pitch to Atwood’s people was for two events: a morning reading and an onstage interview in the evening. He fretted about the meagre compensation the festival could offer: its usual payment of $800; $400 per event.
Tickets to see Atwood were limited to Denman Island residents.Kerry Dawson/Supplied
He confessed this over e-mail to Atwood’s assistant: “Given that Margaret could probably command thousands of dollars and may indeed for some situations … what do you think about that?”
The reply, as he tells it: “She’s not coming for the money.”
Atwood arrived late on a Thursday and was billeted at a private home (there are no hotels on Denman). On Friday, she toured the locally famous gardens belonging to Des Kennedy, author and homesteader, who would be conducting the Saturday evening interview.
She also visited Abraxas, the island’s bookshop; the owner was so delighted she forgot to ask for a photo and was kicking herself the next day. Atwood checked out the Local Authors shelves and purchased Kennedy’s novel, Commune.
At their event the next evening, Kennedy began by asking about Alice Munro, who had died just over two weeks earlier. Atwood discussed their friendship – how they would talk about life stuff, rather than writing stuff. She recalled one confab at a muffin shop, where Munro told her about some terrible thing that had happened to her. When Atwood expressed sympathy, Munro quipped, “it’s all material.”
On stage, they also covered classic Atwoodian topics such as writing The Handmaid’s Tale; her insight into the future (“if I really were a prophet, think how rich I would be”); and her science-filled upbringing (“before eating the Christmas turkey, we dissected it”). She told the story of her first TV appearance: at 14, on a show called Pet Corner, accompanied by her praying mantis.
She had spent the afternoon writing an essay, she told the audience, audibly gobsmacked by her productivity. The next evening, Sunday, she would speak in Courtenay, B.C., to the Comox Valley Writers Society, an add-on she agreed to for a donation to her beloved PIBO. Then on the flight home, she would write another essay.
She did seem tireless. At her Saturday morning reading, Atwood showed no indication that she had been glad-handing for hours the previous evening.
She began with a story about a party she and her late partner, Graeme Gibson, had thrown years earlier for Ontario writers. An attendee thought she was having a heart attack, so an ambulance was called. The woman – who was not having a heart attack – told Atwood afterward about a conversation she overheard between the paramedics.
“The first one said: ‘Do you know whose house this is?’ And the second one said, ‘No, whose house is it?’ And the first one said, ‘it’s Margaret Atwood’s house.’ And the second one said: ‘Margaret Atwood, is she still alive?’ ”
The Denmanites roared with laughter.
She returned to this theme – aging and mortality – several times, including an energetic reading of First Aid, the opening story of her 2023 collection, Old Babes in the Wood.
During the Q&A, which she moderated herself, she was asked about reports she was writing a memoir. The same questioner inquired about the Future Library, which is collecting written works that will not be read by anyone until 100 years after its founding. In 2014, its first author was announced: Atwood.
Atwood noted two kinds of reactions to the project.
First: “You must be mad; why would I ever write something that would not be published in my lifetime?” she said.
“The second kind would be me,” she continued. She has always been interested in archeology and digging things up.
“I intend to get buried with a toaster oven so that archeologists in the future will be able to speculate what this fetish object is.”
Then she addressed the other part of the question: “What am I writing now? I’m not allowed to tell you. Because my publishers freak out if I even mention it,” Atwood said. “But yes, I’m writing a memoir.”
The audience laughed, enraptured, firmly in the palm of this iconic octogenarian hand. Atwood sat alone on the brightly lit riser and looked out at the packed community hall: “Next question.”