Sunday, December 20, 2009

Warning To An Unruly Child in the Handmaid's Tale

In the dystopian novel, The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood, portrays a world controlled by the newly defined social conventions and practices of the “Republic of Gilead.” Atwood created a complex character, a tragic hero, who struggles internally to make sense of the alienation and chaos of the world in which she finds herself. Atwood stated that she did not “require a more heroic protagonist, for I think The Handmaid’s Tale offers something more important than a story of swashbuckling heroism by demonstrating that there is no safety and that the greatest danger is in ignoring that there is” (Green 15). Atwood creates a character who moves through life blithely with little awareness of impending danger, content to “lie low” and “live in the margins,” even when her very survival is threatened. The Handmaid’s Tale serves as a warning to readers who would fail to actively safeguard their freedoms.

One element that is often overlooked in the study of the oppressive governance in the fictional Gilead is the protagonist’s complicity in her subjugation. In “Discipline and Punish,” philosopher and critic Michel Foucault argued that “he who is subjected to a field of visibility, and who knows it assumes responsibility for the constraint of power…he becomes the principle of his own subjugation” (Foucault 555-556) He believed that the imprisoned or oppressed, like Offred, assume a mentality of resignation and constant awareness of their condition which causes them to accept and internalize their limited power and position – in effect allowing themselves to be oppressed.

Atwood employs imagery of childishness throughout the text to demonstrate the lack of maturity, responsibility and independence necessary to counter the newly established laws and societal conventions. Throughout the novel, Offred the handmaid is regularly treated like a child by those who are superior to her. Offred assumes the characteristics of a child, in both thought and action, framing her ideals or observations in childlike terms. It is Offred’s willing assumption of this persona which eases the subordination, of her, by others in the power structure. Her adoption of this childlike mindset relaxes her moral standards, allowing her the ability to rationalize. She cloaks behaviors that she recognizes as wrong or forbidden by setting them in terms of naughty or immature behavior. She also employs this sense of powerlessness as a ready excuse, to remove herself from any culpability for these unlawful and immoral actions.

The narrator acknowledges her transition from free American woman to limited child figure in Gilead with the observation that “I am like a child here, there are some things I must not be told” (Atwood 53). Offred, though prized for her womanly reproductive ability, is treated in a diminished manner befitting a child by characters at all levels of the power spectrum. The “Aunt” characters, from which Offred received most of her early indoctrination of her new purpose, demean their charges by calling them “girls” (instead of “ladies” as is the practice when the Wives are present). Even Rita, who is essentially a lowly domestic servant is able to debase Offred, who remarks that it is “surprising how much like a small, begging child she makes me feel…how importune and whiny” (207). The Commander indulges her by playing childish games with her such as hiding items behind his back for her to guess at or letting her win at the games they play together.

It is at the earliest point in the chronology of the story that the pattern of acceptance of subjugation is first revealed. As drastic changes begin to occur in the Untied States which leave her suddenly without a job or the ability to access her won bank account, she simply resigns herself to the new reality. She describes how many women have begun protesting the changes in marches and demonstrations, but content to “lie low”she admits, “Ididn’t go on any of the marches. Luke said it would be futile” instead, she continues, “I started doing more housework, more baking” (180). She describes the physical and emotional depression she experienced, but did nothing to advocate herself. The unnamed narrator realizes the impact of her diminishing power and childlike reliance on others to care for her, when her husband, Luke, promises to “take care” of her. Her initial reaction, disclosed through internal dialogue, is “already he’s starting to patronize me” (179). Almost immediately she acquiesces to him by agreeing that she knows he will care for her, and recognizing that she is at his mercy.

The activities of Offred’s daily life resemble her remembrances of childhood, offering a sense of familiarity and appealing to a sense of nostalgia for the experiences which range from the mundane to the impactful. The Handmaid notes the details of her everyday life, mimicking a youngsters, including daily naps and describing her meals, “a cheese sandwich, a glass of milk…a schoolchild’s lunch” (282). More profound events of her daily life such as her exposure to bible teachings and political programming are echoed by earlier events of her youth. The films that the Aunts present to demonstrate the radical feminist teachings from which the “girls” are being protected depict acitivist women, including her own activist mother. These screenings echo the ones which her mother watched with her, “when she was seven or eight, too young to understand it” (144). The Biblical teachings which are mandated by the government in the Republic of Gilead are also reminiscent of television programs, viewed around the same age, when she would watch “the Growing Souls Gospel Hour, where they would tell Bible stories for children and sing hymns,” adding the irony that “one of the women was called Serena Joy” (16), the wife of her latest commander. The Handmaid’s inability to distinguish between the modes of exposure to ideological dogma is profound. Offred compares, without distinction, the forced programming sessions she viewed as a handmaid with her childhood memories of documentary and television features that was optional and uncensored.

Offred’s diminishment to a childlike figure is not merely foisted upon her by the characters and circumstances of the novel, it is an image she adopts in terms of self identity, behavior and the way she perceives the world around her. In general terms, she speaks of how women’s bodies are like “unruly children.” In more personal terms, she describes herself as a “child who is being allowed up late with the grown-ups” (82). This distinction between herself and other members of the household is significant, because she views herself as inferior to each person, regardless of their level of power, and “grown up” when contrasted with herself.

She regularly exhibits child like characteristics and beliefs. In several scenes in the novel she assumes the posture associated with a good and obedient child, by sitting with her hands folded in front of her. She places herself into accepted postures – “without being told”. Her movements are youthful, and even the act of walking down a concrete sidewalk offers a regression to childish mannerisms and superstitions as “like a child, I avoid stepping on the cracks” (24). This childish mindset, which allows her to cling to superstition, also allows her to maintain an innocent or naïve way of viewing the horrific world around her. Both buildings and people are framed in terms of fairy tale language and imagery. She envisions herself and fellow handmaids as fairytale figures, moving through a world “as if enchanted. A fairy tale I would like to believe” (213). She offers a portrayal of her reality in this idealized literary tradition, in an attempt to ground herself with a frame of reference, but also offering herself hope for a “happy ending.”

Offred’s perception of the atrocities occurring around her, especially the men’s executions, is phrased in metaphor and simile consistent with juvenile experience. Confronted with the hooded bodies of three dead men the narrator describes them as faceless dolls, scarecrows, and melting snowmen. The appearance of blood on one of the cloth hoods is likened to “a mouth, a small red one, like the mouths painted with the thick brushes of kindergarten children” (32). Though she herself has just likened this seeping of blood on to the white hood of the executed as a mouth, she emphasizes that it is a “child’s idea of a smile” (32). The juxtaposition of childish perceptions with awareness of the reality of the situation indicate an intentional desire to escape from reality and her belief that she is unable to control any of the horrors she encounters.

In reaction to the stifling authoritarian regime she is forced to live under, Offred begins to test boundaries, as children often do. She describes a brief encounter with a Guardian in which she allows him to see her face and is tempted to touch his skin. She rationalizes the behavior as “a small defiance of the rule, so small as to be undetectable, but such moments are the rewards I hold out for myself, like the candy I hoarded, as a child, at the back of the drawer” (21). She couches these and other infractions in terms of youthful behavior – serving to diminish the serious of the infraction and allowing her to justify her actions. Her rebelliousness increases gradually from minor offenses like stealing sugar packets and butter, increasingly boldness allows her to cheating with the commander in word games and sharing non-sanctioned verbal exchanges with her fellow handmaids, and finally culminating in grievous offenses of maintaining ongoing relationships with both the Commander and Nick.

She attempts through her recounting of events to make herself appear sympathetic and justified, reminding the reader frequently of her inability to control the direction and outcome of her life. However, she acknowledges awareness of violating the rules and boundaries of her own personal standards, and even those of the society in which she was raised. When considering an object to steal from the household of the commander, she recognizes the futility of the object she covets, noting, I would like to steal something from this room…It would make me feel that I have power” (80-81). The rules she breaks in no way advance her ultimate freedom or protect others vulnerable to the oppressive system.

Her relationship with the commander is also morally problematic for her – she enjoys the forbidden rendezvous and distraction offered by the illicit activity despite the danger it represents to her. She realizes that this relationship has negative and hurtful consequences for the wife, Serena Joy, “I felt guilty about her. I felt I was an intruder, in a territory that ought have been hers” (161). She recalls discussions that she had with her friend, whose opinion she highly valued, and who showed disdain for the action of “poaching” another woman’s man. Yet Offred acknowledges her activity not as powerless sex slave, but empowered mistress. She realizes even from the audience perspective her actions are fundamentally wrong – apologizing, “I wish this story were different, I wish it showed me in a better light” (267). She acknowledges the power and privilege that her forbidden relationship with the Commander offers her. This relationship offers her a chance at redemption for her moral character, as it allows her the opportunity to act an informant for the resistance movement. But she dismisses this idea – and greedily focuses on her own selfish motives.

Many characters in the novel, oppressed similarly to Offred, affect their situations by actively choosing to counter the system which subjugates them. Her mother served as an emblem of political and social activism, whose efforts brought about real change (although not necessarily the kind she had intended.) Moira, her friend both during freedom and imprisonment, exemplifies constant challenge to authority and determination to control her destiny, ultimately leading to her escape. Offred recognizes the difference between women like Moira and herself, “I don’t want her to be like me. Give in, go along, save her skin…I want gallantry from her, swashbuckling, heroism, single-handed combat” (249).But Offred recognizes that Moira and her bravery are exceptional and rare. Other handmaid characters, more relatable to Offred, also find avenues for determining their own destiny, whether through aiding the resistance movement or committing suicide.. Regardless of the seemingly unalterable situations which they find themselves in, these other characters further act to witness against Offred’s assertion that she is unable to impact her life.

The recognition that she could have been taking action throughout the story to shape her own outcome is a theme repeated many times in the novel, yet in the end she still fails to act independently. In the last chapter of the novel she sits awaiting the arrival of the Guardians who are coming to remove her to an unknown fate, but instead using any number of exit strategies she has considered, she reverts to daydreaming as an escape from the uncertain reality which awaits her. The childlike Offred takes no action to protect or defend herself, but rather, once again allows, herself to be placed at the mercy of others (the Guardians).
The Handmaid’s Tale, though an imagined reality, challenges readers to consider the progression or logical outcome of behaviors present in today’s society. Atwood’s characterization of Offred as a citizen who is disengaged and non-reactive to social and political changes in her world serve as a warning for modern day readers to “grow up” and take responsibility, through remaining informed, involved and taking each opportunity to shape their destiny, else they could be dismissed like an unruly child.



Works Cited
Atwood, Margaret. The Handmaid’s Tale. New York: Random, 1986.
Foucault, Michel. “Discipline and Punish.” Literary Theory: An Anthology. Eds. Julie Rivkin and Michael Rivkin. Malden: Blackwell, 2004. 549-565
Greene, Gayle. “Choice of Evils.” The Women’s Review of Books­. July, 1986: 14-15. JSTOR­. MLA International Bibliography. Oviatt Library. 24, March 2009 http://www.jstor.org/stable/4019952.

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