A line from your recent Margaret Atwood interview (‘It is the scariest of times’: Margaret Atwood on defying Trump, banned books – and her score-settling memoir, 1 November) – “She has a reputation for ‘eviscerating interviewers’” – prompts me to write a thank you to her that I’ve been thinking about since September 2000.

Ms Atwood was scheduled to be interviewed at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington DC. The person who usually did the literary interviews had heard of this reputation, chickened out, and asked me to replace her. I agreed, though I had never interviewed anyone and was moving house that week. At the time, I didn’t even know in which box my decent clothes and shoes were packed, and had no business agreeing to anything but unpacking.

The interview began well. A friend had given me a hilarious account to read of an earlier Atwood appearance where she’d punctured pompous egos but had been exceedingly kind and encouraging to the newbie writers present. The audience roared with laughter and approved of her compassion. But then I had no clue what to do next.

I stumbled through one lame question, realised how far out of my depth I was, and pictured her strewing my bones across the stage of the Natural History Museum. Instead, a miracle happened. With complete grace, Atwood took over the derailed interview and turned it into a genuine and lovely conversation about writing novels.

Afterwards, many in the audience complimented me on my wonderful interview. I laughed and told them how I’d had nothing to do with that. Atwood was completely responsible and had saved my sorry skin. All these years later, I’m still grateful, but I also have such a warm memory of how she and I spent an hour chatting like friends.
Barbara Esstman
Fairfax, Virginia, US

I was taken aback to read in Saturday’s fascinating interview with Margaret Atwood that “The Handmaid’s Tale came about thanks in part to a winter spent in a fisherman’s cottage in Blakeney, Norfolk, in 1983, which was so grim she abandoned the novel she was working on.” The family left and went to West Berlin, where she began the novel she had been “putting off” because it was “too weird”, even for her.

It would be lovely to know which cottage – a blue plaque would be a real tourist draw.

Also, why did Atwood stay in Blakeney in the first place in 1983? Fascinating – hopefully there is more detail in her about-to-be-published autobiography.
Jane Crossen
Sheringham, Norfolk