These days, the term ‘feminist literature’ is bandied about as frequently as any old run-of-the-mill phrase, like ‘wanna go for coffee?’ or, ‘how about tea?’ For all we know, it could be a phrase as commonly used as the simple, frequent, and underrated, ‘hello.’ And this is a great thing. This is an amazing thing. But back in the day, before third-wave feminism really sky-rocketed in the nineties and became synonymous with more than bra-burning and angry, noisy, sign-posted marches, there were women who wrote feminist novels that truly crashed through the boundaries, screaming and making a fuss as they did so. They cared not for the judgement of their peers or their superiors, nor for the stigma that often came with being labelled a ‘feminist author.’

These women, although rare jewels, do exist. Angela Carter, Timberlake Wertenbaker and Charlotte Perkins Gilman, to name but a few, are part of this hallowed order. Nevertheless, the first woman who ever reached out of the pages of a book, caught me by the throat, and told me to pay attention! was Margaret Atwood. Born in Ontario, Canada in 1939, Margaret Eleanor Atwood is a much-respected author of novels, short stories and poetry, as well as an accomplished scriptwriter and editor. Above all, she is a wonderful woman, one of the very few who has truly managed to capture the changing nature of the female experience over the decades of her prolific career.

Here, as promised, are my top five Atwood stories to re-invigorate your inner feminist.

• The Robber Bride, 1993.

Of the four female leads Atwood creates within this novel, Xenia is surely the most engaging as the titular Robber Bride. Although her friends (and sometimes enemies) Tony, Ros and Charis have each lost a man to Xenia’s womanly wiles, there is an alternate interpretation of this stunning femme fatale. Xenia’s actions, however cold, selfish, and downright bitchy they may be, could be fuelled by good intent. Critics of the novel point out that Xenia could in fact be trying to protect her friends by stealing their partners – if these men can be enticed away from their wives and girlfriends, then surely they are substandard anyway? It is theorised that Xenia is attempting to be a saviour figure for her friends, to show them that they’re partners aren’t up to scratch, and protect them from a bigger heartbreak in the future.

On the other hand, perhaps she is just a terrible human being. Either way, only by reading the novel can you form your own opinion on this woman, this anti-hero, this robber bride. And I strongly suggest you drop everything else you are doing and begin to do just that. Right now. Go on. I know you want to.

• Alias Grace, 1996.

Next up, Alias Grace. A fictional retelling of the life of convicted murderess, this novel follows Grace’s path as she emigrates from Ireland to Canada, where she takes a position as a maid in the household of Thomas Kinnear, who is discovered to be having an affair with his housekeeper, Nancy Montgomery. A fictional doctor named Simon Jordan, who becomes enchanted by the concept of a female murderer during his interviews with Grace, narrates much of the novel. In his experience, women are delicate little things, to be cushioned, coddled, and kept far away from the darkness and destruction of the world. Anything that could bring on a faint, basically.

But, with the help of Atwood’s careful manipulation of language, Grace becomes something else. She is a pariah, yes, a convicted murderer, definitely, downtrodden and destitute, but something else. Her status as a known murderess lends her a kind of hypnotic power, a new layer of intrigue that she grows into and exploits for her own benefit. This tale of womanhood in a vastly different era is made even better by Atwood’s own take on the real murders upon which it is based, and, once begun, is more of a compulsion than a mere book.

Also, if you want to jump on the superior bandwagon and be able to say ‘Oh yes, I’ve read the book, actually’ with an air of smug disdain, then you might want to pick up a copy of the novel before the upcoming television adaption hits Netflix.

• The Edible Woman, 1969.

Marian McAlpin, on the surface, has everything a woman might want. She has the job, the fiancé, the apartment, and all of the friends she needs. Her life reads as an outdated guide to ‘having it all’ like the kind found advertised on the front cover of some obnoxious women’s magazine from the 1940’s. However, Marian finds her lifestyle too restrictive, and becomes obsessed with the idea that she is being consumed by the people around her.

(Metaphorically, of course, this isn’t Atwood suddenly turning her hand to horror fiction.)

Marian feels that she is being devoured, that her own self is being destroyed. She experiences resentment towards her fiancé, deciding that he wishes not to simply marry her, but also to wholly possess her. She fears losing her sense of self to him, and subconsciously rebels through her own eating habits. Simultaneously, she not-so-subconsciously rebels by conducting an affair with Duncan, a strange young man with no desire to pin Marian down.

There are many facets to this novel, and I don’t want to give too much away. So before I start typing and never stop, get yourself to your nearest bookshop and pick up a copy.

• The Penelopiad, 2005.

This one is more of a novella than a full-blown novel, so I will try to keep this piece short and sweet. The Penelopiad is essentially a hilarious re-vamp of the famous Greek myth, The Odyssey. However, rather than being narrated by the titular male hero, Odysseus, the tale is written using the narrative voice of his wife Penelope. Turning the focus of a male-driven myth towards the overlooked women within the narrative, Atwood flips the well-known myth on its head, and in doing so, satirises everything we thought we knew about the classic Greek tale.

• The Handmaid’s Tale, 1985.

Well, there can only be one first place, and for me, there is only one novel that will ever take that slot. Set in a dystopian future America, The Handmaid’s Tale follows the life of a woman re-named Offred, who is forced into a quasi-religious sexual slavery following the fall of the government and the rise of the Republic of Gilead. Under the control of the Republic, the few remaining fertile women are rotated between upper-class households, and are forcibly used as surrogates for rich families who cannot have their own children. These handmaids, viewed as vessels of purity, are highly commodified. Kept locked away and guarded, the women have had autonomy removed from them in every way possible. Offred’s struggle is heart wrenching, and the terrifying world Atwood has created is a difficult one for her to navigate. However, behind the narrative hide a number of themes and issues which are far more terrifying, and are more relevant than ever in the present day. Atwood cleverly discusses reproductive rights, gender roles, religious fanaticism and terrorism, creating an image of a truly horrifying future world, one that she wryly suggests could indeed become a reality, should we not take care.

For me, this social commentary is scarier than anything Stephen King could ever come up with, and deserves all the attention it can get. So while you're at that bookshop, snapping up your copy of Alias Grace, make damn sure you get hold of The Handmaid's Tale as well.