Margaret Atwood: Future Imperfect

Summary

Selected Shorts: Margaret Atwood – Future Imperfect

Release Date: June 26, 2025
Host: Meg Wolitzer
Produced by: Symphony Space

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Introduction

[00:40] Meg Wolitzer
Meg Wolitzer opens the episode by introducing Margaret Atwood, highlighting her status as a literary icon, dystopian prophet, and advocate for free speech. She underscores Atwood’s extensive contributions to literature, particularly her speculative fiction works like The Handmaid's Tale and the Mad Adam trilogy. Wolitzer emphasizes the diversity and depth of Atwood’s storytelling, setting the stage for an engaging exploration of her latest collection, Old Babes in the Wood.

Quote:
"Margaret Atwood doesn't predict the future. She observes the present." – Meg Wolitzer

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Live Introduction by Margaret Atwood

[02:31] Margaret Atwood
Atwood welcomes the audience to Selected Shorts, mentioning her extensive body of short stories that have been featured on the show. She introduces her new collection, Old Babes in the Wood, describing it as a tapestry of varied narratives ranging from realistic portrayals of relationships to whimsical and fantastical tales. Atwood hints at recurring characters Nell and Tig, and teases the eclectic nature of the stories to be presented.

Quotes:
"Seven stories are about Nell and Tig. I've written about them before. Those stories are, let's say, more realistic."
"An alien, a snail that has gotten into a woman's body by mistake. A woman murdered by clamshells." – Margaret Atwood

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Performance: "There Was Once"

[05:49] Performers: Rene Auberjonois, Jane Kacmarek, Zach Grenier
A humorous and satirical rendition of Atwood’s "There Was Once" is performed by a trio of actors. The piece parodies traditional fairy tale openings, reflecting Atwood’s critical engagement with language and societal norms. The playful banter among the actors mirrors Atwood’s own editorial voice, showcasing her wit and penchant for subverting expectations.

Notable Interaction:
[06:04] Jane Kacmarek:
"Forest is passé. I mean, I have had it with this wilderness stuff. It's not a right image of our society today. Let's have some urban for a change."

[08:14] Rene Auberjonois:
"But she was poor."

[10:16] Jane Kacmarek:
"What's this once? Enough of the dead past. Tell me about now."

Summary:
The performance exemplifies Atwood’s ability to infuse traditional narratives with contemporary issues, using humor to critique societal expectations and language.

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Performance: "Widows"

[11:55] Margaret Atwood
Atwood introduces "Widows," describing it as an epistolary story written in the form of an unsent letter. She provides context about the narrative, which explores the lives of widows and the complexities of mourning and social interactions.

[12:25] Ellen Burstyn
Ellen Burstyn delivers a poignant and reflective reading of "Widows." The story delves into themes of loss, memory, and the enduring presence of loved ones beyond death. Burstyn's nuanced performance captures the emotional depth and subtle complexities of Atwood’s writing.

Notable Excerpts:
[13:05] Ellen Burstyn:
"There is no safe. At any moment, the fragile thread by which we dangle may break and we may plummet into the unknown."

[23:20] Ellen Burstyn (Conclusion):
"Thus, Dear Stevie, thank you for your letter. Stay safe. Fondly, Nell."

Summary:
"Widows" transcends personal mourning, addressing broader societal expectations and the intricate dance of public and private grief. Burstyn’s delivery brings out the story’s introspective and contemplative nature.

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Performance: "Free for All"

[32:58] Performer: Becky Ann Baker
Becky Ann Baker performs "Free for All," a speculative fiction piece originally written by Atwood in 1986 and later adapted for this collection. The story presents a dystopian future where a sexually transmitted disease has forced society to impose strict controls on personal relationships and reproduction. Baker’s portrayal as Charmaine Humboldt Gray, a matriarch responsible for arranging marriages, vividly brings to life the oppressive and controlled environment Atwood envisions.

Notable Excerpts:
[35:19] Charmaine Humboldt Gray:
"It's a sort of pancake flip of the Handmaid's Tale. It has a matriarch in it for a change."

[53:20] Baker (Conclusion):
"Veils were obligatory these days. They covered a multitude of sins."

Summary:
"Free for All" explores themes of autonomy, societal control, and the commodification of relationships. Baker’s immersive performance highlights the tension between individual desires and institutional mandates, reflecting Atwood’s critique of authoritarianism and loss of personal freedom.

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Interview: Margaret Atwood with a.m. Holmes

[53:53] Meg Wolitzer
After the performances, Meg Wolitzer moderates a conversation between Margaret Atwood and fellow novelist a.m. Holmes, touching upon the influence of Atwood’s work on contemporary movements and the enduring relevance of her dystopian narratives.

Key Discussion Points:

1. Women’s March and Symbolism:

   • [55:11] Holmes:
     "In London, they marched from Westminster to the embassy, and hundreds of women were wearing the Handmaid's costume..."

   • [55:13] Atwood:
     "They are perfect in a way because you can put them on, you can go in. You cannot be expelled for being disruptive because you're not saying anything."

2. Writing Dystopias vs. Social Realism:

   • [56:38] Holmes:
     "Are they writing to run away from something or are they writing us towards something?"

   • [56:46] Atwood:
     "If you didn't convince yourself of your story, nobody else is going to be either."

3. Navigating Frightening Narratives:

   • [57:34] Holmes:
     "How do you navigate writing something that you find scary?"

   • [57:42] Atwood:
     "If it convinces me, I think I probably better keep going."

Notable Quotes:

• [55:23] Atwood:
  "It did spread all around the world. And I can say that it is still, still being used because it is so immediate and visual."

• [58:11] Atwood:
  "If you're not convinced by it, nobody else is going to be either."

Summary:
The interview delves into the societal impact of Atwood’s work, particularly how her dystopian visions resonate with real-world movements advocating for women’s rights. Atwood reflects on the importance of authenticity in storytelling and the responsibility of writers to engage with pressing social issues through compelling narratives.

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Conclusion

[58:11] Meg Wolitzer
Meg Wolitzer wraps up the episode by reflecting on Atwood’s multifaceted contributions to literature and society. She commends Atwood’s ability to blend political imagination with personal storytelling, emphasizing her enduring relevance and the hopeful search for solutions amidst a challenging world.

Quote:
"Atwood is about much more than the projects for which she's best known. Her many other works showcase not only her political imagination, but her wit, her playfulness, and her subtle understanding of the nature of love." – Meg Wolitzer

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Production Credits

• Produced by: Jennifer Brennan and Sarah Montague
• Team Includes: Matthew Love, Drew Richardson, Mary Shimkin, Vivienne Woodward, and Magdalene Robleski
• Readings Recorded by: Miles B. Smith
• Recorded at: Getty Center in Los Angeles and other venues nationwide
• Theme Music: "That's the Deal" by David Peterson, performed by the Deardorf Petersen Group
• Supported by: Dungannon Foundation and public funds from the New York State Council on the Arts

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Key Takeaways

• Margaret Atwood’s Versatility: The episode showcases Atwood’s ability to traverse various genres and themes, from satire and personal reflection to speculative dystopian futures.

• Engagement with Contemporary Issues: Atwood’s narratives often mirror current societal challenges, making her work both timeless and timely.

• Power of Storytelling: Through performances and discussions, the episode underscores the profound impact of storytelling in shaping and reflecting societal values and movements.

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Notable Quotes with Timestamps

• [00:40]
  "Margaret Atwood doesn't predict the future. She observes the present." – Meg Wolitzer

• [06:04]
  "Forest is passé. I mean, I have had it with this wilderness stuff. It's not a right image of our society today. Let's have some urban for a change." – Jane Kacmarek

• [12:25]
  "There is no safe. At any moment, the fragile thread by which we dangle may break and we may plummet into the unknown." – Ellen Burstyn

• [53:24]
  "What's this once? Enough of the dead past. Tell me about now." – Jane Kacmarek

• [55:13]
  "They are perfect in a way because you can put them on, you can go in. You cannot be expelled for being disruptive because you're not saying anything." – Margaret Atwood

---

This episode of Selected Shorts offers a comprehensive and immersive experience into Margaret Atwood’s literary world, blending live performances with insightful discussions. For fans and newcomers alike, it serves as a testament to Atwood’s enduring legacy and her profound ability to capture and critique the human condition through fiction.

Transcript

[Meg Wolitzer]

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[Meg Wolitzer]

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[Margaret Atwood]

So I have to tell you that they provided me with a script and they said I could rewrite it to suit myself, which I did in him, but my handwriting is somewhat illegible. So here we go. Good evening, everyone, and welcome to Selected Shorts. Some of you may be most familiar with my novels, but I've also written a lot of short stories, many of which have been performed on this stage and aired on Selected Shorts. Tonight we're going to hear several stories from my new collection, Old Babes in the Wood. This collection came about because. Just a minute. Well, things accumulate. Also, life changes, and writers write about changes. Seven stories are about Nell and Tig. I've written about them before. Those stories are, let's say, more realistic. It all happened. And the others range far afield. An alien, a snail that has gotten into a woman's body by mistake. A woman murdered by clamshells. A deluxe assortment, as they say on chocolate boxes.

[Meg Wolitzer]

That was Margaret Atwood setting up the stories at our live show. Her metaphor about the box of chocolates is apt. There are terrifying futuristic visions, whimsical fantasies and realistic depictions of marriage. It's got a little bit of everything, as does this hour of selected shorts. We'll hear Atwood's remarks throughout today's program. And at the end of the hour, we'll hear a conversation between Margaret Atwood and novelist a.m. holmes, recorded in front of the audience at Symphony Space. First, we've got a playful piece about writing itself. It's from our archives and was published in her deliciously titled 1994 collection, Good Bones and Simple Murders. Atwood is naturally drawn to the power of language and storytelling and often considers ideas revolving around free speech. This brief satire touches on each of these things. Given that it feels like a conversation between a writer, a critic and an average reader, we asked a trio of actors to perform it together. The first voice you'll hear belongs to the late, great Rene Auberjonois. He was the longtime theater actor remembered best for series including Benson and Star Deep Space Nine. Playing his foil is the ever delightful Jane Kacmarek, whose screen credits include Pleasantville and Malcolm in the Middle. And finally, in a brief cameo, you'll hear Zach Grenier, a stalwart actor whose recent credits include Ray Donovan and and the Good Wife. Now let's hear this crew of actors perform. There Was Once by Margaret Atwood.

[Rene Auberjonois]

There was once a poor girl as beautiful as she was good who lived with her wicked stepmother in a house in the forest.

[Jane Kacmarek]

Forest.

[Zach Grenier]

Forest.

[Jane Kacmarek]

Forest is passe. I mean, I have had it with this wilderness stuff. It's not a right image of our society today. Let's have some urban for a change.

[Rene Auberjonois]

There was once a poor girl as beautiful as she was good who lived with her wicked stepmother in a house in the suburbs.

[Jane Kacmarek]

That's better. But I have to seriously query this word. Poor.

[Rene Auberjonois]

But she was poor.

[Jane Kacmarek]

Poor is relative. She lived in a house, didn't she?

[Rene Auberjonois]

Yes.

[Jane Kacmarek]

Well, then socioeconomically speaking, she was not poor.

[Rene Auberjonois]

Yeah, but none of the money was hers. The whole point of the story is that the wicked stepmother makes her wear old clothes and sleep in the fireplace.

[Jane Kacmarek]

Oh, there's a fireplace. And with poor. Let me tell you, there's no fireplace. Come on down to the park. Come to the subway station after dark. Come down to where they sleep in cardboard boxes. I will show you poor.

[Rene Auberjonois]

There was once a middle class girl as beautiful as she was.

[Jane Kacmarek]

Good. Okay, okay, okay, okay. Stop. Stop right there. I think we can cut the beautiful, don't you? I mean, women these days have to deal with too many intimidating physical role models as it is, what with those bimbos in the ads. Can't you make her more average?

[Rene Auberjonois]

There was once a girl who was a little overweight and whose front teeth stuck out.

[Jane Kacmarek]

Okay, okay. I don't think it's nice to make fun of people's appearances. Plus, you are encouraging anorexia.

[Rene Auberjonois]

No, I wasn't making fun. I was just describing.

[Jane Kacmarek]

Okay, well, just skip the description. Description oppresses. But you can say what color she was.

[Rene Auberjonois]

What color?

[Jane Kacmarek]

Yeah, you know, black, white, red, brown, yellow. Those are your choices. And I am telling you right now, I have had enough of white. Dominant culture this, dominant culture that.

[Rene Auberjonois]

Look, I don't know what color.

[Jane Kacmarek]

Well, it would probably be your color, wouldn't it?

[Rene Auberjonois]

But this isn't about me. It's about this girl.

[Jane Kacmarek]

Everything is about you.

[Rene Auberjonois]

You know, it sounds to me like you don't want to hear this story at all.

[Jane Kacmarek]

Oh, all right, go on. You can make her ethnic. That would help.

[Rene Auberjonois]

There was once a girl of indeterminate descent, as average looking as she was good, who lived with her. Wicked.

[Jane Kacmarek]

Okay, another thing. Good and wicked. Don't you think you should transcend those puritanical, judgmental, moralistic epithets? I mean, so much of this is conditioning, isn't it?

[Rene Auberjonois]

There was once a girl as average looking as she was well adjusted, who lived with her stepmother, who was not a very open and loving person because she herself had been abused in childhood.

[Jane Kacmarek]

Better. Better. But I am so tired of negative female images. And stepmothers, they always get it in the neck. Change it to stepfathers, why don't you? That would make more sense anyway, considering the bad behavior you're about to describe. And throw in some whips and chains. We all know what those twisting, repressed, middle aged men are like.

[Captain]

Hey, just a minute.

[Margaret Atwood]

I'm a middle aged man.

[Jane Kacmarek]

Would you just stuff it, Mr. Nosey Parker. Nobody asked you to stick your oar or whatever you want to call that thing. This is between the two of us. Go on.

[Rene Auberjonois]

There was once a girl.

[Jane Kacmarek]

How old was she?

[Rene Auberjonois]

I don't know. She was young.

[Jane Kacmarek]

This ends with marriage. Right.

[Rene Auberjonois]

Well, not to blow the plot, but yes.

[Jane Kacmarek]

Well, then you can scratch the condescending paternalistic terminology. It's woman, pal. Woman.

[Rene Auberjonois]

There Was Once.

[Jane Kacmarek]

What's this once? Enough of the dead past. Tell me about now.

[Rene Auberjonois]

There.

[Jane Kacmarek]

So?

[Rene Auberjonois]

So.

[Zach Grenier]

What?

[Jane Kacmarek]

So why not here? Thank you.

[Meg Wolitzer]

That was Rene Auberjonois, Jane Kacmarek and Zach Grenier performing There Was Once by Margaret Atwood. That feisty editorial voice you hear behind all the shenanigans, that's Atwood through and through. You often get a sense with Margaret Atwood's work of her ongoing, very lively engagement with the world. Given this imaginative, droll and unflinching writer's long career, we've had a chance to see the world as it's evolved over time and also as it's stubbornly stayed the same. Next, we'll hear a Margaret Atwood story featuring her recurring characters, Nell and Tig, who've made appearances in her fiction since her 20002006 collection Moral Disorder and Other Stories. The two are a longtime couple. There's no wild conceit, no dystopian future, just Atwood's poignant observations about life and love. There are some heartbreakers in her latest collection, Old Babes in the Wood, and this is one of them. With Atwood at the helm of our live show at Symphony Space, we had the benefit of hearing about her story Widows for firsthand.

[Margaret Atwood]

It's in the form of a letter, one I've never sent except in my mind. In my age group, there's a sort of a club of widows. It's growing. Some of them are widowers, but most of them are widows, because I'm sharing this with you, men are kind of fragile at a certain point.

[Meg Wolitzer]

That was Margaret Atwood talking about her story Widows. The reader of this epistolary piece is Ellen Burstyn, an actor whose career spans everything from classics like the Exorcist to recent films including Queen Bees. Burstyn can shift from gravely serious to seriously funny with one little rhetorical flourish in her voice. In other words, she's someone who's perfect to deliver an Atwood story. And now, here's Ellen Burstyn performing Widows by Margaret Atwood.

[Zach Grenier]

Dear Stevie, thank you for your letter. I hope your health remains good. It seems we must now begin a letter this way with the Victorian tip of the hat to physical well being. It's become a social prerequisite, as leaving calling cards once was. And we must end by saying, keep safe. What a ridiculous concept. There is no safe. At any moment, the Fragile thread by which we dangle may break and we may plummet into the unknown. Safe. The word ought to be outlawed. Gives people false ideas. Sorry, I'm becoming cranky about language, a thing you don't do unless you're past a certain age. For youngsters, things were always called what they're called right now, but for oldsters not we notice the gaps, the chasms, and the jokes of former decades have ceased to be jokes, while new jokes have arisen, jokes that are now as understood by us. Joking happens less frequently in the puritanical moment we are passing through. Not that I wish to sound judgmental, but a few laughs are still permitted. It seems, though each generation's catchphrase is die on the vine as a matter of course. What did 23 skidoo mean? I said it as a child, but it was old even then and conveyed nothing to me except as part of a skipping rhyme. A sinister skipping rhyme, now that I think of it. A number of robbers have broken into a lady's house. Grown up women were called ladies then, and are giving orders to her, such as turning around and touching the ground. No good would come of this. There were 23 of the robbers and only one of her. But skidoo was this lady's exit line, so maybe she ran away. I don't know what fun we used to make of death. Halloween was a chance to put on a sheet and pretend to be a ghost, or to fill a bowl with peeled grapes, blindfold our little friends and guide their hands to the bowl. Eyeballs, we'd say, and sepulchral toes. Ew. Was the expected reply. Next would come a chant about dying, being buried, becoming worm infested and turning green. All hilarious to us then. But how many of our once large basket of impish children are left? Not many. Gone, and with them the vestiges of the grape eyeballs and the green decaying bodies. A few old cronies clinging onto the cliff's edge, having tea and cookies in the sun and spilling crumbs and milk on their not entirely clean T shirts. Or distressing their neighbors by trying slowly, ponderously slipping dangerously on the ice to shovel the snow off their walks. Here, let me do that for you. Oh, no, I can manage, thank you. Beetles near the end of their life cycles, still gamely making their way up the once familiar flower stalk. Where am I and what am I doing here? The beetle might be wondering. How long can they go on? The neighbors muse. Surely not much longer. Or don't suppose for an instant that we don't know what they're thinking. We thought it all ourselves once. We still think it. But none of this is happening to you. Dear Stevie, you are much younger, although you don't think so now. If you live another 30 years, which I sincerely hope you will, and more, depending on your condition by then, of course, if you live another 30 years and are still enjoying it, or most of it, if anyone will be enjoying, or indeed living, considering the huge unknown wave that is rolling toward us, I expect you will look at the picture of yourself as you are today. Supposing your personal effects have survived flood, fire, famine, plague, insurrection, invasion or whatever, and you will say how young I was then. But that's a long digression. You asked me how I was doing. Another social pleasantry. No one wants an honest answer to that one. What you mean is, how am I managed to cope now that Tig has died? Am I lonely? Am I suffering? Is the house too empty? Am I checking all the boxes of the prescribed grieving process? Have I gone into the dark tunnel dressed in morning black with gloves and a veil, and come out the other end all cheery and wearing bright colors and loaded for bear? No, because it's not a tunnel. There isn't any other end. Time has ceased to be linear, with life events and memories in a chronological row like beads on a string. It's the strangest feeling or experience or rearrangement. I'm not sure I can explain it to you. And it would alarm you unduly if I were to say to you, Tig isn't exactly gone. You'd jump immediately to ghosts or delusional states on my part, or dementia, but none of those would apply. You'll understand it later, perhaps, this warping or folding of time. In some parts of this refolded time, Tig still exists as much as he ever did. I don't intend to share any of this with you. I don't want you calling my younger friends and relatives in a state of concern and telling them something must be done about me. You were always a well meaning busybody. I don't fault you for it. You have a kind heart. You are filled to the brim with good intentions. But I don't want any casseroles or oblique probing questions or visits from professionals or nieces talking me into buying an assisted care condo. And no, I do not wish to go on a cruise. Meanwhile, I'm hanging out with a clutch of other widows. Some of them are widowers. We have not yet got around to a gender Neutral term for those who have lost their life partners. Maybe Twhltlp will appear shortly, but it hasn't yet. Some are women who have lost women, or men who have lost men. But mostly they are women who have lost men. More fragile than we thought. Those men. That much has made itself clear. What do we talk about? The curious folding nature of time. The phenomenon I have just described to you that has been experienced by all of us. The quirks and preferences of the lost ones. What they would have said, or indeed are still saying on any given occasion. The death scenes. We're a little obsessive about those. We share them, we revisit them, we edit them, arranging them to make them perhaps more tolerable. Which dwindling was the worst? Was it better to have witnessed a lingering fade out with pain, but with lots of time to say goodbye? Or, on the other hand, was a sudden stroke or heart failure preferable? Easier for him, harder for you? I could tell this was it. I left the room for five minutes and he was gone. We knew it was coming. Ten years. That must have been terrible. The tidying up. There's a lot of that. So much accumulates year after year. Then there's a mini explosion and all the items that have been gathered together. The letters, the books, the passports, the photos, the favorite things kept in drawers and boxes or on shelves. All of this is strewn in the wake of the departing rocket or comet or wave of energy or silent breath. And the widows must sweep and sort and donate and bequeath and discard pieces of the soul scattered here and there. The widows are thoroughly engaged by this task and are being driven crazy by it in equal measure. We phone one another, all in a hand wringing, dither and say, what am I possibly supposed to do with fill in the blank? We offer lots of suggestions, none of which solves the central problem. We talk about our regrets too. There's some of them. If only I had known. If only he had said. If only I had asked. I should have been more fill in the blank. If only we had fill in the blank. There are a lot of blanks. We're bad luck. Of course. We widows, we know it. Awkward silences occur around us. People tiptoe. Should we be invited to dinner, or will we cast a pall? We certainly try not to cast Paul. Pauls are unpleasant. It used to be worse in other places and in other eras. We'd get buried alive with the dead king or we'd join him on his funeral pyre if we escaped, sharing his Death. We'd have to wear black. Or else white forever. We had the evil eye. Black widow spiders venomous enough to kill were named after us. People crossed themselves and spat to avoid contamination by us. Or if we were not decrepit, if we still had some blood left in us, we'd be merry widows or off the leash, looking for a little unbridled sexual action. An older man actually hinted at this to me at a party. We do still go to parties. We paint our toenails red. Then we put shoes on our feet so no one will see our flashy toes. We know this toe enhancement is absurd, but we do it anyway. Anyway, A tiny dead end. Pleasure. I just met the man. No sooner were the introductions over than he gave the ghost of a leer and said, so, are you dating? This meant as a joke? No, possibly not. Widows are thought to be wealthy and also susceptible. I answered a little sternly, I'm a widow. Tig has just died. So you're hunting. It was a form of geriatric flirting on his part, I believe. People of our age can't flirt like that without it being seriously inappropriate. Because both parties know nothing will come of it. Or more precisely, nothing can come of Vertation Village. That's where we live. If I had an old fashioned fan, I would have tapped him with it archly, as in some grotesque Restoration comedy, and say, oh, you are so naughty. I could not have said, don't be silly. Tig is still here. Instant gossip would have resulted. She's turned the corner into bonkers land. Well, she was always a little odd and the like, so we keep such notions to ourselves, we widows. Needless to say, Dear Stevie, I will not be sending you this letter. You are on the other side of the river. Over where you are, your beloved is still in tangible form on this side the widows. Between us flows the uncrossable. But I can wave to you and wish you well, and that is what I will do. Thus, Dear Stevie, thank you for your letter. I hope your health remains good. It's nice of you to ask how I'm doing. Quite well, I'm pleased to say. The winter dragged on as it did for everyone. But now it's spring and I'm busy in the garden. Already there are snow drops and the daffodils are sending up their first shoots. I have my eye on some oriental lilies that I intend to plant in the front border. I used to have them years ago, but the lily beetles got to them before I noticed. I'll be ready for those beetles. This time, forewarned is forearmed. The children are fine. The grandchildren are full of beans. I'm thinking of adopting a kitten. Not much other news. Let me know when you're coming this way and we'll grab lunch. Stay safe. Fondly, Nell.

[Meg Wolitzer]

That was Ellen Burstyn reading Widows by Margaret Atwood.

[Margaret Atwood]

Perfect. Yes, it's a story that is popular with actual widows who? Tell me. Yep, that's how it goes.

[Meg Wolitzer]

The story is about more than a personal reflection on mourning. It's about family, social niceties and how we show care for one another. When we return to this program dedicated to Margaret Atwood, it's war games and a brand new kissing disease. I'm Meg Wolitzer. You're listening to selected shorts recorded live in performance at Symphony Space in New York City and at other venues nationwide. In 1920, a broke immigrant in Boston became one of America's richest, most infamous men practically overnight. He swindled the modern equivalent of a quarter billion dollars and etched his name into history as the mastermind behind one of the most notorious scams ever, the Ponzi Scheme. Hosted by Maya Lau and featuring award winning comedian and actor Sebastian Maniscalco. This is easy money. The Charles Ponzi Story, an Apple original podcast produced by At Will Media. Follow and listen on Apple Podcasts.

[Captain]

Hi, Zoe Saldana.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Welcome to T Mobile.

[Captain]

Here's your new iPhone 16 Pro on us. Thanks.

[Meg Wolitzer]

And here's my old phone to trade in. You don't need a trade in. When you switch to T Mobile, we'll give you a new iPhone 16 Pro.

[Captain]

Plus we'll help you pay off your.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Old Phone up to 800 bucks and you still get to keep it. There's always a trade in.

[Captain]

Not right now.

[Meg Wolitzer]

@ T Mobile.

[Zach Grenier]

I feel like I have to give you something in return for karma.

[Meg Wolitzer]

That's okay. I don't really have much in my purse.

[Zach Grenier]

Oh, let's see.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Hand sanitizer. It's lavender. I'm good. Seriously?

[Captain]

Hmm. Let me check this pocket.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Oh, mints. Really, I'm fine. Oh, I have raisins. I'm a mom.

[Captain]

Wait, wait one sec.

[Meg Wolitzer]

I've got cupcakes in the car. It's our best iPhone offer ever. Switch to T Mobile. Get a new iPhone 16 Pro with Apple Intelligence on us. No trade in needed. We'll even pay off your phone app to 800 bucks with 24 monthly bill credits. New line, $100 plus a month on experience beyond finance agreement. $999.99 and qualify imported for well qualified plus tax and $10 connection charge. Pay off via virtual prepaid card. Allow 15 days credits end imbalance due if you pay off early or cancel c t mobile.com welcome back. This is Selected Shorts, where our greatest actors transport us through the magic of fiction one short story at a time. I'm Meg Wolitzer. In this hour, we're celebrating the great Margaret Atwood in her many different storytelling modes. We at Shorts have many different storytelling modes too. You can hear them [e-mail] or wherever you get your podcasts. This final piece in our Atwood program may align with the kind of writing that many of you have been waiting for. It's a self contained piece of speculative fiction that magnifies a small idea to terrifying proportions. Here's Atwood again, setting up the story.

[Margaret Atwood]

Those of you waiting to hear a tale of a treacherous potential future, this one is for you. It's a sort of pancake flip of the Handmaid's Tale. It has a matriarch in it for a change. Ooh.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Performing Free for All is Becky Ann Baker, who has appeared in films including A Simple Plan and is widely recognized for playing moms on shows such as Ted Lasso Girls and Freaks and Geeks. During the live show, in wardrobe and performance, Baker dressed for the story. Baker is a big fan of Atwoods and dystopian fiction, so she played the part. She wore shoes with ties, took deliberate steps and put on a pearl necklace to create visuals for the audience. You will know why in a minute. And now Baker brings us Margaret Atwood's Free for All.

[Captain]

It is sometime in the future, or a future. Luckily for writers, there are many futures and few can be explicitly disproven. So let's be vague about exactly when in this future a sexually transmitted disease, or let's say a disease communicable through any sort of moist contact, including kissing, has swept through humanity, which has been forced to adapt in order to survive. The story is told from the point of view of one of the matriarchs in charge of arranging marriages among uncontaminated young people, a thing that must be done to prevent disease and to ensure the creation of microbe free babies. Charmaine Humboldt Gray signed on the line provided when she was young. Her friends had called her Charm, but her name had been eroded by time. Except old friends, not too many of those left. Now she was mostly just first mother. She added the date, which was the middle of June. She still liked the idea of a June wedding and though a lot was different now the orange blossoms had remained. Then she sealed the document with the leased house seal. The image on it was an icon left over from the early days of the house. It showed two figures that looked like old fashioned key keyholes, a knob topping a triangle, one big, the other smaller, two legs sticking out, protruding out the bottoms. They were supposed to be a mother and child, though you wouldn't know that if you weren't told. She'd been there at the beginning, when they'd been cooking up the branding. They'd all sat around the table in what was then the dining room but was now the first mother's boardroom, drinking coffee and in fact being beer and laughing with excitement. They'd made up the house motto that day too. The least of these too churchy, Charmaine had thought then. But it had helped to raise money. They'd always needed money. They'd always needed more of that in those days when the fabric of society had been dissolving, when the houses were a bold new initiative, an experiment, an attempt to solve a crucial problem.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Problem.

[Captain]

She remembered with distaste the thick plates and cups, the strictly utilitarian bedspreads, the green garbage bags bulging with donated clothes, some of them none too clean. They'd taken anything they could get and were thankful for it. Now that the house system was official policy. Money was not a problem. Charmaine stood up, steadying herself against her desk, and turned to the full length mirror she'd had them put in her office two years ago after the day she'd walked into the general meeting with her skirt caught up in the back. Hadn't noticed until some of the young girls had started to giggle. Young girls still giggled, young boys still sniggered. They hadn't changed and probably never would. She didn't want to give them any extra excuses to giggle and snigger. However, if she was looking more than usually ridiculous, she wanted to be the first to spot it. She checked herself over, starting with the shoes. Bride of Frankenstein shoes, she called them. Orthopedic to the point of despair. But she was well past breaking her neck for vanity. No laces undone. Too bad about the puffy ankles, but what could you do? What could you expect at 80? Navy skirt where it should be. Long sleeves with ruffles at the knuckles, the little bow at the throat hiding all that uncooked turkey skin. The house seal in silver on a single string of pearls around her neck. She skimmed over her face. It was a good, serviceable face, but worn out by now, of course. Pushed back a few strands of hair. Darned if she'd dye it like that cow first mother Mabel. Hannah read at 79 and straightened up as much as she could today. She was a figurehead and needed to look like one, but they didn't just wheel her out for special occasions. She made the most important decisions, those for which her kind of experience was needed. She picked the brides, for instance. And she'd done yesterday's deal, too, though it hadn't been any pleasure. That Skin Flint hag, First Mother Corinna from Sheltering Wings drove a hard bargain, but Charmaine was no slouch herself. In the old days they'd put her in charge of handling overdraft problems with the banks because she knew how to negotiate. She had prime stock to trade with. Everybody knew it, including First Mother Corinna. Charmaine had calculated that despite her bluffing, Corinna would sacrifice at the financial end to get a guaranteed pure product. And that's what she'd done. Leased House had a pristine reputation. No one from there had ended up in the Free for all for 15 years, the best record of any of the houses. Sheltering Wings prided itself on its own record, which was almost as good as Mother Corinna had emphasized, But Charmaine had countered with the rumor that Wings were still using turkey basters rather than in person, intimate sessions so unnatural, almost profane. Corinna had waffled and denied, but had turned a satisfying shade of red. Caving on the price. Charmaine started walking, which was becoming a major project these days. She made her way, left foot cane, right foot, out the door and along the corridor, pausing to lean against the wall. Here was the door to the guest suite for the visiting officials from other houses. Down the hall, left Foot Cane, was the door to the guest suite nursery, still done in early 21st century Montessori. Charmaine favored antiques. They gave her nostalgia, an emotion she'd brusquely repressed in midlife but now felt free to indulge. She leaned against the guest nursery door, looking in, remembering the glee with which they'd selected the toy blocks, the little red and yellow table and chairs at sale prices, of course, gloating over the bargains. Funny the way the houses had started back then. Shoestring operations, all of them in the less affluent parts of the cities. They didn't take up three or four blocks each the way they did now. Homes for battered wives, some of them had been, or shelters for abused teenage girls. A couple of them had begun as lesbian co ops, all that idealistic stuff with lumpy porridge in instant coffee. One of the true luxuries of life was real coffee. Charmaine insisted on it for herself as her status enabled her to do. It made her cringe thinking about how earnest and to tell the truth, pompous and self righteous they'd been once, her and her fellow mothers. But if it hadn't been for them, where would everyone be now? Even the politicians had come to see that the house way was the only way the human race could make it to the next generation. The old hit or miss courtship rituals, the lax self chosen monogamy just couldn't work anymore. The death rates had become too high. But most people had taken more convincing. Charmaine remembered the newspaper headlines. Schools and offices closed down, whole towns and suburbs sealed off. The forced testing, the breakdown of the health care system, the witch hunts, the civil rights kill cases first won, then lost again and again as rampant fear took over. Then there had been the hospital riots, the patients from the plague wards dragged into the streets by angry mobs, the ringleaders in asbestos firefighting suits, the smell of spilled gasoline and burning flesh. The new class of diseases had made herpes and penicillin resistant, gonorrhea and R strains, syphilis and AIDS look as innocuous as a runny nose. These viruses spread faster, they killed faster. Some mutated so quickly they couldn't even be spotted. By testing, men or women could carry them for years undetected, spreading them everywhere. In the end, after the rubber body stockings and the safety lips for kissing with confidence had been tried and failed to often, after the virginity certificates had proven susceptible to forgery, after the gentleman's chastity society had ended in a total washout, there was only one sure fire defense. If you couldn't control the diseases, you had to avoid contact, any contact at all. That was when the houses began to build walls and invest in barbed wire fences and electric fences and walls topped with broken glass, they also began to expel rule breakers. These houses are sanctuary and this is a state of siege, charmaine had heard herself saying. We must think of the children. Charmaine, wheezing a little, paused again on the skywalk that connected first house and second house within the least house compound. They could have torn down the individual houses and built some glass and steel monstrosity like that sheltering wings, carbuncle over in Parkdale. But Charmaine preferred to have the houses look like real houses. It was homier that way, though the 19th century brick needed a lot of upkeep. The skywalk was one of her favorite vantage points. From here she could see the boys playground to the left where the young boys were being taught the rudiments of war games. To the right, separated from the boys by a high wall, was the girls playground. Charmaine remembered her grandmother's stories about boys and girls playgrounds and how comical she'd once found them. Down in the girls playground the 12 year olds were playing a game of Free for All. Each team represented a house. The playground was marked out like a giant Monopoly board with dollhouse sized houses. Free for all was played like Monopoly too, though the rules had been changed to make it fit present day reality. There were no more hotels. Instead, for each house on a property you got a bride to trade with and for each four brides, a groom. No, grooms were more valuable because as everyone knew each other, it was harder to find pure ones. Among the chance cards were cards representing the various strains of disease. And where the jail square had been, there was now a square marked Free for All. From what Charmaine recalled of Monopoly, you'd been able to get out of the jail square with a special card or several rolls of the dice. But once in Free for All, you were in for good. In real life, as in the game, the girls voices floated up to Charmaine, young, boisterous with high spirits. That moldy, cross eyed failure isn't worth one of my grade A brides. And two houses. I'll give you a grade B and one house. What for that reject? Get real. Charmaine smiled at them a little sadly. They had learned the principles of bargaining somehow. One day. They might be mothers, but they were so innocent. They'd seen the propaganda films and been properly frightened, but they had no conception of how bad the Free for Alls actually were. Each city now had a Free for all, or even two or three, depending on how many were needed. Toronto had two. One was in a large area to the west that had once been a park. The other was to the north in a deserted adventure playground abandoned since the time of the epidemics when people habitually avoided large groups of strangers. Each Free for All had electric fences, searchlights, attack dogs and guard towers. Food was dropped in daily by helicopter. There were drone over flights, but for no reason except keeping count. Fights could break out, murders could take place, but there was no interference from outside. Who knew what horrors went on in the shadows? In the Free for Alls, total sexual license was not only permitted but encouraged, because that way it was thought the inhabitants would finish each other off more quickly. Although it was rumored you could develop immunity or go into remission, surviving for years. The babies, if there were any, were considered doomed. Sometimes people took the fast way out and their bodies could be seen from a distance, floating in a pond, dangling from a tree, hanging from the loop of an unused roller coaster that still, even in its present dilapidated state, appeared to promise some version of frivolous or unfettered pleasure. Freedom, even. You could look at it that way. Charmaine shivered, thinking how swiftly she herself would have been consigned to a free for all once chastity had been out of style. The old nuclear family was disintegrating. Everyone got divorced at least once. Everyone fooled around, or so the pundits declared. When she was twenty she'd listened with smiles of polite disinterest to the horror stories of the time before the pill girls ruined for life shotgun marriages, back street abortions on kitchen tables. She and her friends had done more or less whatever and whoever they felt like, taking care to avoid anyone who looked like a loser or a maniac. There had been a certain amount of talk about committed relationships, but sex was casual, not something to get too emotional about. In high school they'd had to study Romeo and Juliet, and it had seemed like something from another planet. She could still hear the boys in the halls between classes and teasing each other in falsetto voices. Romeo, Romeo, wherefore fart thou Romeo? They banned that play from their own house curriculum years ago. It gave the young people dangerous ideas. Charmaine peered at her big digit watch. She had to stop wool gathering or one of the others. Someone hankering to be first. Mother would start spreading gossip about dementia on wedding days. Now as then, lateness on the part of the groom was not appreciated. The ceremony was in an hour and a half and she still had to collect poor Tom and his escort of best men and get them to the assembly hall. They liked to do the weddings as soon as possible, after the deals had been done, to avoid second thoughts and preempt cold feet. The groom would be 20 told, not asked. One day he'd be playing war games with his pals, the next he'd be married and in a different place altogether. First Mother Corinna would be there on the dot, accompanying Odette, who was sheltering Wing's side of the bargain, their contribution to the future of the human race. She was a hefty girl with a case of puppy acne, somewhat foul mouthed and too rambunctious, as a lot of them were these days. Days, during the interviews she'd asked a lot of questions about height and eye color and other things that were none of her business. That's the concern of the first mothers, charmaine had finally told her. We do the genetic planning around here. He's a good, clean boy, that's all you need to know. Maybe a little temperamental, but just go easy with him at first and you'll do just fine. She would have been coached in etiquette. No disparaging remarks about genitalia, no expressions of disgust. But who knows whether she'd followed the instructions. Left foot cane, right foot paws. It was the next corridor, or was it the one after that? Then there were some stepsonly three up, but even that was getting to be too much. She skipped over the steps in her head and went on to the groom's room, where they always had the party the night before with the senior married men of Least House getting the groom drunk and telling him jokes about women to defuse the terror. Staying with him all night to make sure he wouldn't try to run away. Not that there was anywhere to run, though. One unfortunate boy had been found hiding in a laundry hamper later on, when she herself was no longer alive. Perhaps the diseases would be extinct, starved out, gone like smallpox for lack of carriers. The free for alls would be empty. Then maybe none of these constraints and fears would be necessary. The houses themselves believed all social behavior was learned, and she hoped the men of those times would be allowed to have some independence, some self respect. Maybe this hope was just nostalgia, her secret vice. She knew it was weakness, but nevertheless she felt sorry for the grooms and sad about trading the boys of Leased House away to another house. And this boy, Tom, was a favorite of hers. She wondered if she should tell him what a great deal she'd been able to make for the Leased House because of him. Though better not. It might give him a swelled head and he'd need to keep his wits and a low profile during his time at Sheltering Wings. There'd been several husband battering cases there in recent years. Dismissed, of course, because you couldn't disrupt the system, but still, there was probably something to it. Just two children, she'd tell him. All you need to generate is two. That's what's in the contract. After you've completed that duty, you'll have a choice. You can stay on at Sheltering Wings and assist in one of their businesses and work your way up to Senior Husband. It's not without perks. Or you can ask to be traded to another house and try potluck with another bride if you've decided that sex is not so terrifying as you'd imagined. Or you can elect celibacy and the war games. It will depend on what you feel like at the time. But you need to do the two children first. She wouldn't tell him the truth about war games, such a useful way of eliminating many overly aggressive and problematic males who might otherwise pose a challenge to the rule of the first mothers. After all, he was only 16. Time enough for the hard truths later. She'd pat his arm, pinch his cheek, cheer him up, tell him how good he looked. They liked that. She's a nice girl, she'd say. Wide hips, not a germ in sight. Hardly even a pimple. No point in granular accuracy. He'd make his own discoveries soon enough. Then she'd arrange the veil over his face. Navy blue for boys, though still white for the girls. It went with the orange blossoms. Veils were obligatory these days. They covered a multitude of sins.

[Meg Wolitzer]

That was Becky Ann Baker performing Free for all by Margaret Atwood.

[Margaret Atwood]

That story was actually written in 1986, so I did make it a bit shorter for this collection. But I thought, gosh, that sounds a little bit contemporary. Yeah, sometimes I don't cheer myself up a lot. Yes, I don't like it when I'm right about some things.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Well, once again, Atwood is of the moment and nothing short of a visionary. This tale includes a rendering of contemporary society's greatest hits, by which I mean its worst hits. Disease, draconian laws, et cetera. While this isn't the same world as the Handmaid's Tale, we'd recognize the writer anywhere. After Becky Ann Baker's reading of Free for All, Margaret Atwood spoke with fellow novelist and raconteur a.m. holmes on stage at Symphony Space on what happened to be International Women's Day. We didn't plan it that way, but, oh, the irony. I suppose we could also have done the show on Groundhog's Day because just like in the movie, history really can repeat itself again and again and again. As Atwood has been trying to tell.

[Zach Grenier]

Us, today is International Women's Day. I would like to say that Margaret started it.

[Margaret Atwood]

Like Mother's Day, you have to admit. Like, why? Only. Never mind. So I don't be grateful for the one day.

[Zach Grenier]

Right, right, exactly. And there are protests today all over the world. And in London, they marched from Westminster to the embassy, and hundreds of women were wearing the handmaid's costume and came carrying photographs of women who'd either been killed or arrested in Iran.

[Margaret Atwood]

Exactly, yeah.

[Zach Grenier]

So I guess I'm curious where that landed with you and how does it feel to have created and to carry that and to see it continue on and accrue other meaning.

[Margaret Atwood]

Okay, so I didn't invent women feeling outraged, but the fact that we live in an age of television means that this is a very instant visual scene symbol. So it was actually some women in Texas who kicked it off. They wanted to wear Handmaid's Tales outfit into the Texas legislature, which was filled with guys in dark suits who looked like a shot out of the Handmaid's Tale series, I have to say. And they sent away for something they thought was going to be these red outfits, and when they arrived, they were pink. This was not going to do. So they very quickly sewed them. And they are perfect in a way because you can put them on, you can go in. You cannot be expelled for being disruptive because you're not saying anything. And you cannot be expelled for being immodestly dressed because you are all covered up. But anybody looking at you knows what that means. So it did spread all around the world. And I can say that it is still, still being used because it is so immediate and visual. So, yeah. How does it feel to me? Well, smart them and they're welcome to do it. Be my guest.

[Zach Grenier]

Certainly my students are all writing dystopian worlds and so on. Are they writing to run away from something or are they writing us towards something?

[Margaret Atwood]

Well, they're writing that kind of fiction because they're afraid to write social realism. But if you put them on another planet and they're green, blue and purple, they're going to feel safer about that. That's one of my theories. My other theory is that people are scared of our present day position that we find ourselves in. So dystopias are a kind of what if scenario. Like what if things get really quite a lot worse than they are now? How will we make our way through that? You'll notice that none of them just has everybody die on page 98. There's always somebody left because that's what stories are. There's always somebody left, even though there might not be, as it were. I don't mean to frighten you, and.

[Zach Grenier]

I've certainly written work that was frightening to me and clearly scared a lot of other people too. How do you navigate writing something that you find scary?

[Margaret Atwood]

Well, if it convinces me, I think I probably better keep going. It's when you fail to be convinced by your own inventions that, that you know that this probably should go in the drawer or possibly the waste paper basket, but if you find yourself sucked into it, that's probably a good sign. As far as it's being a convincing story, you have to first convince yourself. If you're not convinced by it, nobody else is going to be either.

[Meg Wolitzer]

That was author a.m. holmes speaking with Margaret Atwood. You can hear more of their conversation wherever you get your podcasts. Those of us who love Atwood probably fell in love with the daring and potency of her vision. But Atwood is about much more than the projects for which she's best known. Her many other works showcase not only her political imagination, but her wit, her playfulness, and her subtle understanding of the nature of love. The world is a scary place. This writer never lets us forget that. But Atwood is also bravely searching for a way forward, and as should we all. I'm Meg Wolitzer. Thanks for joining me for Selected Shorts. Selected Shorts is produced by Jennifer Brennan and Sarah Montague. Our team includes Matthew Love, Drew Richardson, Mary Shimkin, Vivienne Woodward, and Magdalene Robleski. The readings are recorded by Miles B. Smith. Our programs, presented at the Getty center in Los Angeles, are recorded by Phil Richards. Our theme music is David Peterson's that's the Deal, performed by the Deardorf Petersen Group. Selected Shorts is supported by the Dungannon Foundation. This program is also made possible with public funds from the New York State Council on the Arts, with the support of Governor Kathy Hochul and the New York State Legislature. Selected Shorts is produced and distributed by Symphony Space.