Why had our narrator included random news clips detailing the deaths, acquisitions and social interactions of her family? And what was with the excerpts of The Blind Assassin, her sister's posthumously published novel?

If I knew Atwood, something twisted was going to unfold in those last 100 pages, so I kept reading. And it did. When I closed the book, I was sated. Suddenly it all made sense.

The most analytical reader is put to task with Atwood's latest, most convoluted and fulfilling novel. Her use of metaphor and symbolism is stunning, and every word counts.

I found myself back in English lit class, underlining phrases, circling words I deemed important, scrawling the names of characters on the title page. This is not a book for flyweights. Then again, aside from perhaps a brief stint with The Handmaid's Tale in college, the faint-of-heart usually don't tackle Margaret Atwood.

Initially, The Blind Assassin's three plots seem unrelated.

First, there's the narrative: Iris Chase Griffin's confessional. It's the story of her family -- namely her sister Laura Chase, who, at 25, "drove a car off a bridge" -- and of Iris' practically arranged marriage to the "distinguished industrialist" Richard Griffen, who has far too much political power.

Then, there's the novel-within-the-novel, also titled The Blind Assassin. Allegedly penned by Laura, it's a story of two unnamed lovers who meet in borrowed back rooms. It reads like a suspiciously realistic account of an affair -- which may or may not have taken place -- between Laura and Alex Thomas, a mysterious character on the lam after accusations of arson and murder.

Finally, there's the subplot within the novel within the novel (you still with me?). In Laura's novel, The Blind Assassin, science-fiction tales are told between the two lovers: A blind assassin and a mute sacrificial virgin make their getaway from the misogynistic society into which they were born.

And that's just the beginning.

But out of this confusion, the stories emerge gorgeously intertwined, each shedding ominous light on the other, each an attempt to explain the reason behind Laura's death.

Known for addressing women's issues in her work, Atwood in The Blind Assassin captures with grace the mood of 1930s Canada and its social attitudes toward women. The book's narrator -- who is now 82 years old -- revisits a time when women weren't supposed to ask questions: "My job was to open my legs and shut my mouth," writes Iris. "My task was to smile."

Richly layered, and just as richly rewarding, The Blind Assassin is a beautiful puzzle -- a story within a story within a story -- and every piece fits. The brilliant Canadian author opens the book with the puzzle solved, then shakes it up, breaks it apart and even hides a few pieces when you're not looking. You're left to put things back together until the very last lines, when she confirms your suspicions -- and shocks you with something you hadn't even considered.

Read it. Twice. And keep your highlighting pen nearby.

Samantha Puckett is on the Times staff.

The Blind Assassin

By Margaret Atwood

Doubleday, $26

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