By Margaret Atwood
© 1998, Vintage; 1st Anchor Books edition
978-0385490818
311 pages
If you haven’t yet read The Handmaid’s Tale, or seen the TV adaptation, you should—even if this is not your usual type of fiction. Even if you don’t usually read fiction. As the sixth of my six promised banned book reviews for 2024, this was a timely read. There are plenty of reasons why this book has been banned in a number of places—schools, libraries, even several countries. But before you accept that these reasons are valid, read it for yourself. See what all the hubbub is about. Here’s my take.
The Handmaid’s Tale takes place in the early days of the Republic of Gilead after that military dictatorship’s overthrow of the U.S. Government. Women are property. They have very limited lives and no rights at all. Ninety percent of the story is told by a young female character who goes by the name Offred, though that is not the name she was given at birth; it was assigned to her by the officials in the Republic of Gilead, a sort of nametag to designate that she is property, as in “Property of Fred.” That moniker will change once her “posting” to the story’s Commander is complete and she is reassigned to another Commander. It is through Offred’s eyes that we see Gilead’s treatment of women and, since it’s written in first-person narration as if she’s speaking to the reader, her experiences are that much more visceral.
For reasons that aren’t made clear until the last ten percent of the book, many adults are sterile; birth rates have dropped so low as to be unable to support an ongoing human populace. Thus, those women who have given birth in the past or who are deemed physically fertile are compelled into service as handmaids, a role in which they become surrogate mothers, portable wombs. They have absolutely no choice in the matter. Their entire purpose in this life is to provide children for those couples, especially the higher-ranking Commanders in the Gilead political structure, who cannot produce them on their own. Love, in any form, is irrelevant.
Much of Gilead’s political and social structure is based on Biblical teaching, and thus above reproach in the eyes of the men driving the regime. Women (and even men) who step outside those boundaries or perform any acts (sexual or not) that the Gilead officials deem non-Biblical or unholy are executed or, if they’re “lucky,” sent into service in toxic waste cleanup or other hazardous duties. Attempts to escape are rarely successful and, if the perpetrators are caught, the offense is usually punishable by death.
There is much more, all of it just as dark. Strong themes of enslavement, ritualized rape, subjugation, suicide, and other troubling social atrocities permeate the entire narrative. Offred’s tale is haunting. Especially as a woman, I could see how her life would be horrific. Yes, she’s “cared for” in that she’s fed, clothed (after a fashion), given free medical care (after a fashion), and protected. But she has no real life. She isn’t allowed to read or write, to have friends or walk around by herself. She is expected to speak only when spoken to, and even then she must use extreme caution in her choice of words. If she speaks freely about her thoughts (or anything, really), she risks punishment—a beating at the least, but there are much worse things. It isn’t just the women who are strictly limited in their freedoms, but they do bear the tightest chains.
Reasons given by some as to why this book has been banned include violence, offensive language, sexual content, LGBTQ characters, and the “anti-Christian” concept behind/beneath the storyline. All of those things are present, true, but in today’s U.S. political climate, where there is talk of rights (for women and many others), freedom of Self, bodily autonomy (“your body, my choice”), and so many other issues that are at risk, The Handmaid’s Tale provides an eerie glimpse into one possible future, especially as it might apply to women. Long after the last page is turned, the story lingered, and I don’t like the possibilities it foreshadows. At all. For that reason, there were moments when I wanted to put it down and walk away. But I’m glad I finished it. The Handmaid’s Tale is frightening, yes, but oh so relevant right now.
Without giving any spoilers (all the above is just the setting, not the story itself), do note that the handmaid’s story has an inconclusive ending, but I understand why the author did this. It adds a note of realism, which makes it even more chilling. If this were a true recounting, there would be slim chances of a “happily ever after.” The last ten percent is told from academics at some future date, where presenters at a symposium are sharing their research in connection to these “found tapes” with the The Handmaid’s Tale on them and revealing how the researchers tried to identify some of the people and places in the actual Gilead era from details in the story. Even they are unable to determine the outcome of Offred’s story.
The story’s style was loose, non-linear much of the time, and filled with flashbacks by the POV character of her life before the takeover, and during the early days when the fear was growing, as well as thoughts provoked by her given circumstances; but again, if the author is being true to the character and her situation, that would be realistic, so I understand its purpose. They do add to the depth of the character’s predicament and grant a bit of understanding into her mindset.
There is a second book, The Testaments, which I have not yet read. But Book 1, The Handmaid’s Tale, is an evocative story, filled with dark, chilling imagery and emotion. I highly recommend it.