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In one of the languages there are no nouns, only verbs held for a longer moment.

Having ‘surfaced� from binge-reading this short novel, I’m blown sideways. I was expecting some reflective, slightly ascerbic, litfic, not � whatever this turned out to be. Slow-burn psychological horror? 1970s slipstream eco-weird? Sure, you could read this as realist fiction: a young woman’s emotional breakdown and reawakening in the wilderness. The book lays plenty of groundwork for that interpretation.

Or you can take the surreal and supernatural events not as figments of a broken mind, but at their face value, as a true eco-gothic horror story. The ‘horror� results from our anthropocentric point of view, humanity’s estrangement from nature. Atwood’s skills as a poet are on full display, with the text frequently shifting into prose poetry. This particular blend of literary and eldritch might mean Surfacing has only niche appeal, but within that niche it is a total winner.

The characters and dialogue may be dated � from the bellbottoms to the casual misogyny, it’s so very early 1970s � but the book’s ecological concerns are prescient, as are its psychological precursors to our current era’s climate anxiety. Surfacing is a novel ripe for rediscovery as a cult classic.