In the dystopian future of The Handmaid’s Tale, the Republic of Gilead offers Offred only one option: to breed. If she deviates, she will, like all dissenters, be hanged at the wall or sent out to die slowly of radiation sickness. But even a repressive state cannot obliterate desire – neither Offred’s nor that of the two men on whom her future hangs.
Brilliantly conceived and executed, this powerful evocation of twenty-first century America gives full rein to Margaret Atwood’s devastating irony, wit and astute perception.
Title: The Handmaid’s Tale
Author: Margaret Atwood
Publisher: Penguin Random House
Date: 1985
Genre: Classics, Sci-Fi/Dystopian
The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood: Book Review
I’ll admit, The Handmaid’s Tale is one of those books that has completely passed me by until recently. Never mind that fact that is has over a million Goodreads ratings, has sold millions of copies, and has a hit TV show; it still hasn’t ever really entered my field of vision, or indeed, my TBR pile.
But when my local Waterstones announced they were starting a book club and the first book would be The Handmaid’s Tale in anticipation of its sequel, The Testaments, being released later that month, I finally picked up a copy. And as soon as I read it, my first dominant thought was: why the hell haven’t I read this before?!
The Story of The Handmaid’s Tale
Set in a miserable dystopian world in 21st century America, The Handmaid’s Tale tells the story of Offred, a handmaid who belongs to the family of a commander and his wife, an ex-celebrity who now spends all her days sitting silently in her home, being waited on hand and foot. We learn pretty quickly that handmaids like Offred have one purpose: to bring their Commander’s children into the world, replacing the job of the Wives, who were made infertile by – I assume – radiation sickness. That’s all the handmaids are there for: child-bearing objects that fulfil the only role their superior women can’t.
The story and the world are so rich in details, and every page leaves you wanting to find out more: about Gilead, the mysterious place in which they live; about the roles that society has seemingly been divided into; and about Offred, who dwells on her past and seems desperate to escape the confines of this dismal world where women are to be seen, not heard, and whose primary purpose is to bear children but not, under circumstances, feel any desire towards the people they must procreate with. (If you were in her Offred’s position, wouldn’t you want to get the hell out of there, too?)
The Writing Style
One of the first things I noticed was the incredibly poetic language Atwood uses throughout, and you can tell she’s written her fair share of poetry. She has a unique way of describing things that makes you hang onto every single word. Take, for instance, this part on the very first page, where Offred is simply describing an old gymnasium:
“Dances would have been held there; the music lingered, a palimpsest of unheard sound, style upon style, an undercurrent of drums, a forlorn wail, garlands made of tissue-paper flowers, cardboard devils, a revolving ball of mirrors, powdering the dancers with a snow of light.”
As well as the poetic language, Atwood describes things in such a way that breaks the modern “rules” that state a writer shouldn’t describe anything in the scene that’s not imperative the action. However, Atwood does it so well that it never feels like an ‘info dump’ (ahem, I’m looking at you, Ready Player One).
For example, in Offred’s bedroom, from just one page of description, we know that there is: a chair, a table, a lamp; on the ceiling, a relief ornament in the shape of a wreath, and in the centre of it, a blank space, plastered over like something has been removed (so there’s nothing to tie a rope to); the sunlight coming through a partly-open window with white curtains and a window seat containing a little cushion; a highly polished floor made of narrow boards; an oval rag rug; a picture of blue watercolour irises on the wall (framed with no glass); and a single bed, medium-hard, with a flocked white spread.
Yep – all of that, we get from one single page.
Usually, I’d wonder why the author needed to go into so much detail. However, in this case, it’s a perfect way to realise the monotonous nature of Offred’s life. She sees this room all day, every day, and by now, she has studied every crack and every fleck of dust. She even repeats some of her descriptions later on to further emphasis the monotony. You can see her mind slowly start to unravel as she’s stuck in the same endless cycle of being practically part of the furniture.
The Focus on Women Reclaiming Their Power
I knew before reading this book that it centres heavily on oppression of women and their fight to get back some power. What I didn’t realise is how many profound statements Atwood makes throughout the book that genuinely made me say “oh my god,” and immediately reach for a highlighter so I can remember them forever. For instance, there’s a paragraph at the beginning of chapter thirteen in which Offred is describing paintings depicting women that men see as erotic:
“Dozens of paintings of harems, fat women lolling in divans … Studies of sedentary flesh, painted by men who’d never been there. These pictures were meant to be erotic, and I thought they were, at the time; but I see now what they were really about. They were paintings about suspended animation, about waiting, about objects not in use. They were paintings about boredom. But maybe boredom is erotic, when women do it, for men.”
I honestly think that one paragraph right there encapsulates the whole purpose of women in Gilead. Just one sentence – the one at the end – is enough to give you chills, and realise just how sad it is that it’s still very much true.
Closing Thoughts
If you want a book full of heart-racing action, this probably isn’t for you. The majority of the book (until the pace suddenly picks up in the last third) is slow, but its slow pace is necessary – it takes an in-depth look at Gilead and the people – especially the women – who live within its boundaries.
Unlike a lot of contemporary dystopian tales that pack in as much action and heroism as they can squeeze into a few hundred pages, The Handmaid’s Tale is more of a sociological perception of the world we live in, or more so, the world we could live in. It looks at the gender divide and offers surprisingly accurate insights into how the world (sadly) works, despite the fact that it’s set in a dystopian future. Okay, it’s an exaggerated view – but without the extreme sci-fi-like elements, the values that Atwood explores are terrifyingly close to reality.
I probably have so much more I can say about this book, but without it turning into a whole thesis, I’ll just end by saying this: it’s not often that a book makes me think deeply about society and how things could be if the patriarchy was taken to the extreme lengths we see in this book.
The Handmaid’s Tale grabbed me at the beginning and didn’t let me go – and maybe it never will. And I’m completely okay with that.
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