Exclusive: Excerpt from Margaret Atwood's The Heart Goes Last

Editor’s note: Margaret Atwood’s gone back to the future again with her new novel, The Heart Goes Last. While her brilliant MaddAddam Trilogy was particularly concerned with the environment, this time Atwood tightens her focus to look at a couple trying to survive financial ruin in a future that feels far too familiar and possible. Atwood’s dry sense of humour is here as is the crystal glint of her imagination, which cobbles together a future made up of bots, 24 x 7 surveillance, Elvis impersonators and blue teddy bears that seems to be just around the corner. Wicked, biting and luminous, The Heart Goes Last is a novel that sparkles. Here’s an excerpt.

“Bots can’t hold a real conversation,” says Budge. “Even the best of them. Today’s tech isn’t there. But higher up the income scale, the customers want something they can show off to their friends; something less like, less like –”

“Less like a brain-dead trashbunny,” says Stan. What’s Budge leading up to?

“Let me put it to you,” says Budge. “Suppose you could customize a human being through a brain procedure.”

“How do you mean?” says Stan.

“They use lasers,” says Budge. “They can wipe your attachment to anyone previous. When the subject wakes up she imprints on whoever’s there. It’s like ducklings.”

“Holy crap,” says Stan.

“So, shorthand: choose a babe, give her the operation, stick yourself in front of her when she’s waking up, and she’s yours forever, always compliant, always ready, no matter what you do. That way nobody feels exploited.”

“Wait a minute,” says Stan. “Nobody’s exploited?”

“I said nobody feels exploited,” says Budge. “Different thing.”

“Women sign up for this?” says Stan. “For the brain op?”

“Not sign up, exactly,” says Budge. “Wake up is more like it. That way there’s more freedom of selection. The clients wouldn’t likely want anyone desperate enough to sign up of their own accord.”

“So, they fucking kidnap people?” says Stan.

“Not to say I’m endorsing it,” says Budge.

“That’s . . .” Stan doesn’t know whether to say evil or brilliant.“Don’t they – don’t these women care about their earlier lives? Don’t they resent –”

“Not if the laser job is done professionally,” says Budge. “But it’s still experimental. It hasn’t been entirely perfected. Some clients have been willing to take the chance anyway, but mistakes have occurred.”

“Like what?” says Stan.

“You’ll see when you meet your guide,” says Budge. “She didn’t turn out the way she was supposed to. That was one very pissed-off client! But he’d signed the terms and conditions, he knew the risks.”

“What went wrong?” Stan asks. He’s already imagining. She wants to hump dead people, or dogs, or what?

“Timing,” says Budge. “But it makes her an ideal operative, because she can never be distracted by a man.”

“What can she be distracted by?” Stan asks.

Budge stops in front of a door, knocks on it, opens it with his card.

“After you,” he says.

…

Sitting on the sofa with her long legs stretched out is one of the most gorgeous women Stan has ever seen. Lustrous dark hair, shoulder-length; perfect tits, the tops of them just barely displayed. She’s wearing a simple black sheath, a single strand of pearls. What a classy piece of ass, thinks Stan.

She smiles at him, the neutral smile she might give a puppy, or an elderly aunt. There’s no charge coming from her, no chemistry.

“Stan, I’d like you to meet Veronica,” says Budge. “Veronica, this is Stan.”

“Veronica,” says Stan. Is this the same Veronica? That hooker from PixelDust who Charmaine used to tell him wasn’t really her friend? If so, she’s had quite a makeover. She’d been pretty before, but now she’s drop-dead stunning. “Do I know you?” he asks, then feels dumb because every man she meets must ask her that.

“Possibly,” says Veronica, “but the past no longer applies.” She extends a hand. Manicured nails, burgundy. Expensive watch, Rolex. Cool palm.

She gives him an LED smile: light, but no heat. “I understand I’m taking you to the other side.”

Stan shakes the hand. Take me fucking anywhere, he thinks. This is what he once thought Jasmine would look like – Jasmine, the fatal fantasy.

He needs to watch it here, not let himself be hauled around by the gonads. Listen up, he tells his dick silently. Keep it zipped.

“Sit down, have a drink,” says Veronica.

“Do you live here?” says Stan.

“Live?” says Veronica. She arches a perfect eyebrow.

“This is the honeymoon suite,” says Budge. “Or one of them. Where the customized individuals first meet their . . . their . . .”

“Their owners,” says Veronica with a precious-metal laugh. “It’s supposed to be lust at first sight on behalf of the, of the people like me, but they missed the target in my case. The man walked in to collect on his investment and there was nothing.”

“Nothing?” says Stan. Why isn’t she angry? But Budge said they weren’t, or not so you’d notice. They don’t seem to miss what they’ve lost.

“No spark between us. Not a twinge. He was furious about it, but there was nothing I could do. Consilience gave him the choice of a refund or a second pick. He’s still thinking about it.”

“They couldn’t do Veronica over again,” says Budge. “Too risky. She might come out drooling.”

“He wanted just me,” says Veronica, shrugging. “But I can’t. It wasn’t my fault.”

“It was some stupid, well-meaning nurse,” says Budge. “The guy’s photo was there, as agreed, in case he got held up in a meeting. But the nurse gave her a comfort toy. Like she was a kid.”

“My head was turned that way, so he was the first thing I saw,” says Veronica. “His two gorgeous eyes, gazing into mine.” The mishap doesn’t seem to have bothered her. “Luckily I can take my loved one with me everywhere I go. I keep him in this carry bag, right here. I’d show him to you, but I might lose control. Even talking about him is the most incredible turn-on for me.”

“But,” says Stan. “But you’re so beautiful!” Is this a joke, are the two of them messing with him? If not, what a fucking waste. “Have you tried –”

“Any other man? I’m afraid it’s no use,” says Veronica. “I’m just plain frigid when it comes to real live men. The mere thought of them in that way makes me feel a little sick. That was programmed in when they did the operation.”

“But she’s smart,” says Budge. “Good in an emergency, and she has a swift kick. And she follows orders, so long as it isn’t about sex. So you’ll be in safe hands.”

“And I won’t rape you,” says Veronica with a sweet smile.

If only, thinks Stan. “Mind if I look?” he asks politely, indicating the black carry bag. He has an urge to see what he’s already thinking of as his rival.

“It’s okay,” says Veronica. “Go ahead. You’ll laugh. I know you don’t believe me about this whole thing, but it’s true. So I’m just telling you: don’t have any hopes about me. I’d hate to wreck your nuts.”

Not such a total makeover, thinks Stan. She’s still got her street mouth.

The bag has a zipper. Stan undoes it. Inside, staring up at him with its round blank eyes, is a blue knitted teddy bear.

Printed with permission from Bloomsbury Publishing. The Heart Goes Last by Margaret Atwood, Bloomsbury, Rs 499.