I don't know what to make of Grace: whether she's guilty or not isn't really the point. It's about the necessity of women's remaining spotless while it's accepted that men's nature (and, by a logical leap, tantamount to a right) is to fling paint about at will. I liked the domestic detail, the assertion that the sewing of hemlines is just as novel-worthy as the drawing up of battle lines. But there is still a brittleness in Atwood I can't warm to.