Normally I'm a huge fan of Margaret Atwood, but this early collection just felt like wading through mud for me. So many sketches of characters that go nowhere, stories that are just about a state of mind that never resolves into anything particularly telling, prose that isn't particularly interesting or lively. Her more recent work feels so much more ambitious, and deeply felt, and wise, than this. There are standouts in this collection, like the classic "Rape Fantasies," and "Training," but most of these stories were a bit of a chore for me.