Gallery Four
Perhaps we create for no other reason than the casual thought the character Iris has about why she is writing her story in Margaret Atwood’s The Blind Assassin. “Perhaps I write for no one. Perhaps for the same reason children are writing for, when they scrawl their names in the snow.” Even in that briefest of actions, our eyes coupling in a flash, there is the need to be seen, and that is how stories begin.
