Leavis, one may continue to believe that what is central is the nature of criticism, and of creativity in any genre, and in life. J o h n Ba x t e r / Dalhousie University Margaret Atwood, Second Words: Selected Critical Prose (Toronto: Anansi, 1982). 444. $19.95 I could tell you about Margaret the Magician, Margaret the Medusa, Margaret the Man-eater clawing her way to success over the corpses of many helpless men. Margaret the powerhungry Hitler, with her megalomaniac plans to take over the entire field of Canadian Literature. This woman must be stopped! All these mythological creatures are the inventions of critics, not all of them male. (227) The above words are, for this reviewer, cautionary. But the element of fun or hyperbole in them is also worth noting at the outset, a leaven that keeps working in Margaret Atwood’s prose — as it does less obviously in her verse — and that does not take away from its seriousness. If some of her critics have boxed her, the boxes she has chosen to name here reflect a fascination with monsters, things, or conditions that draw her as a writer while they repel her as a person. One of her strengths is that she does not flinch; another is that while she often parries the monstrous with laughter, she does not by any such means dismiss or claim to dispel evils. The passage is telling for another reason. It is both personal and imper sonal. It is personal in drawing, as many of the essays in this collection do, on her own experiences; impersonal in that it is not a confessing or express ing of self but a projecting of her own case to make points about the writer, the woman writer in particular, in this time and place. The Margarets she names are not ones she recognizes as her selves, but the context from which the passage comes in “The Curse of Eve” is a brief life-history — her own as a writer. Finally, the passage points to a primacy in this collection, miscellaneous in kind but carefully selected and arranged. In her critical prose, Atwood speaks first as a writer. She speaks often as a woman, often as a Canadian, more often as a Canadian woman writer. However engaged she is with issues of nationality or sex, she claims authority primarily as a writer — a poet and novelist first, a reviewer, essayist, and speaker second: “I am not primarily a critic but a poet and novelist, and therefore my critical activities, such as they are, necessarily come second for me” (11). So she explains one of the reasons for her title, Second Words. ” 3 Most of the fifty pieces in the collection are short, three-or-four-page reviews or essays a few pages longer. They are arranged chronologically in three parts: 1960-71, the pre-Survival years; 1972-76, the years of most direct engagement with the issues of nationalism and feminism; 1976-82, the years of “growing involvement with human rights issues, which for me are not separate from writing” (14). This division reflects a central concern of the individual pieces and of the collection as a whole, that of finding out for herself what her vocation as a writer entails. In view of the primacy of this concern, it is not surprising that in her critical pieces, the reviews and essays about specific works and authors, she glances only in passing at matters of form or technique. As a writer of poems and novels, Atwood has not been simply a writer engagé, but in her “second words” she has clearly become increasingly one. In the thirteen pieces of Part I, ten of them reviews and three more general essays, a number of concerns emerge. Self-cautioning occurs in the very first piece, a 1961 review of Margaret Avison’s Winter Sun : One always runs the danger, when speaking of a poet’s “reality beyond the finite,” of branding the poet as a floaty-footed and cloudy-headed mystic whose vision, although it may be directed upwards, tends to encounter nothing but fog. . . . To identify Miss Avison with the cliché would be sticking...