Losing one's marbles

In college one of my instructors used to always use the diminutive form of a writer's first name. So it was Jimmy Joyce and Harry James (which made me think of the Golden Bowl as a sock hop). These examples are invented but the concept behind them is true. All this to introduce Maggie Atwood. I spent the whole of Friday reading Cat's Eye, which I had started reading at the beginning of the week. The blackout allowed me the free time, with nothing better to do than sit on a park bench in the shade of a tree and read. I finished the book after the power had returned and I had moved to the bank of the Hudson River, near Stuyvesant High School. The book is good when it stays in the past. As it tries to explicate the present it becomes somewhat less interesting. The French maid had lent it to me, commenting on how a woman might read it differently for the nuanced way in which Atwood describes the relationships between adolescent girls and the feminist bent of the writing. Rather, the way in which the feminine mind is rendered. I was intrigued. And, eventually, rewarded by a very good last line. Still, in deference to Young Kirsten Jane, it ain't no "Isn't it pretty to think so." I welcome any recommendations on what to read next. And as an aside, I think this cover (and the one that bound the edition I read) could be significantly improved. Oh, and you can check out a reading guide on the book here.