Shucking Oysters: Sticks and Stones
By Alex Allen
Beyond the world of tariffs and budgets, with the publication of her autobiography this month, Book of Lives: A Memoir of Sorts, the biggest news in Canada seems to be the quirky Margaret Atwood interview on CBC TV. What stood out, for many of us, was not only Atwood’s palm reading skills, but her unapologetic “icily sardonic delivery” when it came to settling grudges.
At the age of 85, Atwood shared her philosophy: “A lot of people have died, so I can actually say these things without destroying somebody’s life…Except for the people whose lives I wish to destroy.” And those that have crossed her? “They deserve it.” When Atwood was asked if she liked holding a grudge, she replied succinctly: “I don’t have a choice. I’m a Scorpio” (with a Gemini rising and Jupiter in the eleventh house and moon in Aquarius). Once crossed, she said she holds onto her resentments, and has occasionally taken revenge in her novels.
Alexandra Alter in the New York Times, wrote that Atwood’s Book of Lives “isn’t a blistering, score-settling tell-all, though there’s a dose of that.” She does write about the childhood bullies who tormented her, blasts the men “who condescended to her, questioning how she could write and still do the housework,” and reveals how the Canadian literary scene was at times “a hotbed of vicious gossip, jealousy and back-stabbing.”
In The Guardian, Rhiannon Lucy Cosslett wrote, “it’s that same wry acknowledgement of the supposed wrongness of one’s own grudge-holding that makes Book of Lives so funny. From Atwood’s response to one hatchet job being the immortal words: ‘Piss up a rope, wanker,’ to her account of hiring an exorcist to banish the possible ghost of her husband’s ex-wife, who unfairly labelled her a ‘homewrecker,’ her vengeance is too hilarious to be judged entirely cold.”
Though many consider holding grudges petty, it was the pettiness that made the Atwood interview all the more delightful. Margaret? Petty? Never. As Cossett explained, “it’s the notion that prize-winning, household-name authors should be above such feelings, that there is a certain glee, not to mention comfort in discovering that, like the rest of us, they are nurturing a mental ‘shit list’ of people who have hurt them.”
Secretly, we all hold grudges, but most of us probably think it’s wrong, and many of us deny that we even do. Self-appointed grudge guru Sophie Hannah, in How to Hold a Grudge, says grudges are good for us; that not all grudges are bad. Grudges can act like mirrors reflecting our inner values, fears, and needs. They’re not just emotional responses to external stimuli but “revelations of our core principles and boundaries.”
Grudges serve a psychological function as well. By keeping the memory of a wrong alive, we protect ourselves from future harm. Grudges can reveal what is important to us, like respectful behaviour. Not interrupting constantly. Merging off the ferry, not charging off. To name a few. Holding a grudge doesn’t necessarily mean harbouring ill will or plotting revenge; Hannah writes “it can mean maintaining a clear memory of an event to guide future interactions and decisions.” Which means plotting revenge, does it not?
And we are not alone. Like humans, animals experience complex emotions like empathy, love, depression, grief and joy. They can also hold grudges. In a recent German study, “Associative Learning of Non-Nestmate Cues Improves Enemy Recognition in Ants,” a team of biologists found that ants remember the distinctive smell of ants from another nest when they have had previous negative encounters. “We often have the idea that insects function like pre-programmed robots,” Dr. Volker Nehring of the University of Freiburg said.“Our study provides new evidence that, on the contrary, ants also learn from their experiences and can hold a grudge.”
In perhaps one of the strangest experiments, “Social Learning Spreads Knowledge About Dangerous Humans Among American Crows,” researchers at the University of Washington trapped, banded, and released wild crows while wearing caveman masks. The researchers who weren’t involved in the trapping wore, as a control group, US Vice President, Dick Cheney masks. Yes, the very Dick Cheney who was once described as a “bull walrus out on a rock by the Arctic Ocean.”
When the researchers returned to the area, again wearing the caveman masks, the crows who had been trapped and banded (and even those who had witnessed the ordeal) dive-bombed the cavemen, while mostly ignoring the Dick Cheney’s. Conclusion? Crows recognize faces and, it seems, hold grudges for years. When a crow remembers a face, just like we humans, the associated negative emotions can come back to haunt them. The asshole who disturbed their nest or harassed them will always remain an asshole, even if rarely encountered.
I have a few grudges. I am human after all. I have a grudge against the Baynes Sound Connector crew who seem to delight in frustrating Hornby Islanders. I have a grudge against potholes. I have a grudge against the traffic engineers in Courtenay. To be clear, a grudge is not a resentment. As Alex McElroy wrote in the New York Times, “while resentment is concentrated, a grudge is watered down, drinkable and refreshingly effervescent, the low-calorie lager to resentment’s bootleg grain alcohol.” Resentments are best for major mistreatment; grudges work best with little annoyances. The best grudges, McElroy wrote, are “small, persistent and powerful, like an ant hauling a twig.”
When I was in my late teens, I auditioned for a play at Langham Theatre in Victoria. I was clearly having a hard time, so the director asked whether I could sing “It’s Only a Paper Moon.” I said “No, but I’ll learn.” She never called me back. Years later I saw her on the street and made her listen to me sing the entire song. What I felt wasn’t anger or resentment – it was a grudge. And in McElroy’s words, “in that expanse is where my grudge continues to squat.”
