The second book I chose was The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood. A work of fiction, this was a change of pace from the first book I reviewed. Also, while Klosterman’s book was a collection of short essays, this book is in the more traditional novel format. Since the genre and style of the book has changed, so must my reviewing style, and I will be writing this review with the assumption that you have already read the book. So be advised, if you aren’t familiar with the story, you will encounter spoilers below.
I finished reading The Handmaid’s Tale almost two weeks ago, and am just now getting around to writing my review of it. I wish I could say that I consciously did this, purposely taking the time to digest and reflect upon the book. The truth is, I have just been extremely busy and have not gotten around to it until now. Now, that is not to say that I didn’t find myself reflecting on the story anyway, I just didn’t plan to take a two week break between reading and writing. This break, however unintentional, was very useful in delving deeper into the themes of the story, and exploring the symbolism within (I now plan on giving future books a little time to “settle” before I review them).
Unfortunately, I often find myself drawing conclusions about a story while I am still reading it. While this initially seems intuitive, it actually is a direct affront to many works. In fiction, the climax of the story typically comes at the end, along with the most unexpected twists. It is usually the most memorable, and more importantly the most representative part of the plot. The same hold true in movies, as The Usual Suspects immediately comes to mind: widely considered to be a great movie, it is actually composed of 95% (in terms of portion/length/time) good movie, and 5% awesome ending. Had you only watched 2/3 of this movie and walked away, you would probably wonder what all the fuss was about. The same holds true when drawing conclusions about a book before it’s read in its entirety. In fact, the beginning of most classic fiction is extremely boring to me—it’s the painting of the backdrop; literature’s equivalent of set design. To begin drawing conclusions on merit of plot at this point would simply be uninformed, unintelligent, and most of all unfair to the author, yet I still catch myself doing it. So, my little break helped me overcome this approach and look at the book in its entirety, rather than in portions.
In the case of The Handmaid’s Tale, the setting/climate of the book is arguably a more important character than our protagonist Offred. It was absolutely essential for Atwood to go into the depth she did about the setting and culture of dystopian Gilead for several reasons. First, and most obviously, this is a work of western literature/fiction—there is no comparable culture to Gilead in this realm. The entire concept of this way of life is foreign to most readers, I would suspect. Secondly, the day to day life of Offred is quite mundane. While her feelings are not simple, her way of life is, hyper-structured to the point that walking to the market is the highlight of her week. In other words, the events and items that are of interest to Offred–a walk, a pillow, the smell of flowers—are those that are often overlooked by us since we have so much more stimuli in our lives. Thirdly, and most importantly, is the need to convey the claustrophobic nature of the world in which Offred lives. Atwood goes to great lengths to detail every aspect of Offred’s world, down to the stitching of her garments.
On an intangible level, the one word that best describes this story is tension. From the very beginning of the book we are thrown into this strange new world, much like the main character. Unsettled and disoriented, we the reader are then thrust into a lifestyle where the slightest action is regulated, down to where one even directs their gaze. As I continued on in the book, I felt the same growing restlessness and oppression Offred must have felt. The same restlessness any prisoner must feel, especially one who is held in a prison without walls—a prison where there is the possibility of escape, if the captive could only muster the courage to leave. The mere existence of this environment should be enough to foretell to us the reader that something is bound to give. Alas, we not only see the actions of Offred become more reckless, but also those of the people surrounding her, which is logical, as they are all residents of this same environment, albeit on a different side of the “bars”.
**One interesting thing I noticed was that there was no clear cut antagonist, apart from the culture/government itself. It wasn’t Offred vs the Commander, or even Offred vs Serena Joy. Atwood makes it clear that these flawed characters are just as unhappy and victimized as Offred, possibly even more so.
Another point: symbolism. It’s present in many forms throughout the novel, but one image sticks out more than the rest to me–flowers. Offred shows a clear fascination with flowers, and while she never spells it out for the reader, I believe she is truly remarking on the handmaids and herself. Beautiful, wild flowers, blooming and wilting as direct consequence to the environment they are subjected to, and seemingly powerless to leave it. The handmaid as a blossoming flower full of life (hopefully, literally when impregnated), and also often withering in spirit (often ending in suicide); unable to leave on their own. I didn’t really catch it at first, but I began to notice the repeated in-depth detailing of flowers, especially the ones in Serena Joy’s garden.
While I can definitely see the book’s merit as a sociopolitical commentary, that is probably the element of the novel that interests me the least. I care much more about what the characters are feeling on an emotional level as opposed to what point Atwood is trying to make about society. It may be that she is advocating a strict separation of church and state. Or perhaps her motives are more feminist in nature, implying women have been forced into submissive roles in our culture. None of those conclusions would be incorrect, they simply don’t hit home with me as much as it does to think about Offred, alone in her prison-room, not knowing the fate of her child and lover.
I know I am getting long winded here, but let me share one final thought. The most chilling thing about this story to me wasn’t the society in which they lived. It wasn’t even the dehumanization of the handmaids that the society dictates, turning them into procreational vessels. For me the most heart-rending thing to endure was Offred’s slow, steady loss of hope. Near the end, she even becomes appreciative of her station in life, thankful for its simplicity, finally successfully brainwashed.
***While I liked the open ending of the book, I did not feel the epilogue was necessary. It seemed self-indulgent to me, but at the same time, easy to disregard as not a part of the real story.
Final verdict: read this book, but read it with patience. Don’t gloss over all the imagery (as I tend to do) because in this book, it really is necessary. Its not just the author trying to be eloquent.
Up next….Rabbit, Run by John Updike
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