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Margaret AtwoodA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
The objectification and subordination of women is central to Gileadean politics and is a recurrent theme in the novel. Following traditional patriarchal social organization, women are seen as members of a man’s household and are, effectively, his property. They are banned from working, owning property or money, and even reading. However, while all women are oppressed, they are not oppressed in identical ways. Rather, a spectrum of oppression runs from the relatively privileged Wives and the authoritarian Aunts down to Econowives, or wives of lower-ranking men; Marthas, or domestic servants; and “Unwomen,” women who do not or will not conform to Gilead’s misogynistic structures and are sent off to enforced brothels like Jezebel’s, or to the Colonies, to live out their short lives “sweeping up deadly toxins” (265).
The Handmaids experience a particular form of oppression that is intimately enmeshed with objectification. Rare in a world of declining birth rates, their fertility means they are simultaneously precious and subordinated in Gilead. They are celebrated for their fertility in such a way that they lose their autonomy and personhood and are reduced, as Offred phrases it, to the status of “two-legged wombs” (146). Like the other Handmaids, Offred is forced to endure the Commander “fucking […] the lower part of my body” (104) in an effort to conceive a child. If a Handmaid does bear a child, the baby will be taken from her and given to the Commander and his Wife, and the Handmaid will “be transferred, to see if she can do it again” (137). Neither her trauma nor any connection she has to the child is considered of any consequence in this process.
The specter of a supposedly far worse life before Gilead rose to power is frequently used to justify this curtailing of women’s freedoms. At the Centre, Aunt Lydia talks about the lack of modest clothing as the cause of sexual violence, concluding, “[N]o wonder those things used to happen” (65), and shows videos of violent pornography, telling the Handmaid’s to “[c]onsider the alternatives […] You see what things used to be like?” (128). The Commander also uses this reasoning, claiming that “we’ve given [women] more than we’ve taken away” because now that women are “protected, they can fulfil their biological destinies in peace” (231). This again reflects an image of traditional values in which women are powerless objects that men provide for and protect in exchange for their obedience. Due to a rise in reactionary, conservative politics in America, the United Kingdom, and elsewhere, the ideas of a return to traditional political values and “the sanctity of the home” (55) were gaining popularity when the book was published in the 1980s. In many respects, The Handmaid’s Tale serves as a warning of where such thinking can lead, and the terrible impact it has on the lives of women.
Running alongside the subordination and oppression of women is Gilead’s effort to control the sexuality of its citizens. The most obvious example of this is, of course, the Handmaids. The state hijacks their sexuality, leaving them unable to choose who they have intercourse with or to have sex for pleasure or any reason other than reproduction. Their bodily autonomy is entirely denied, and they are reduced to objects to be used like a national resource, passed around from Commander to Commander to help increase Gilead’s birthrate.
However, Handmaids are not the only ones who face restrictions. In general, Gilead has a puritanical view of sex that, theoretically, applies to everyone, albeit in different ways. Even for the Commanders (and certainly the Wives), the Ceremony is supposed to have “nothing to do with sexual desire” (105). It is “a serious business” (105), an impersonal, perfunctory encounter in which “kissing is forbidden” (106) and everyone is almost entirely clothed. Homosexuality is outlawed, and those accused of same-sex sexual contact are executed for “Gender Treachery” (53). Sex outside marriage is also outlawed. This is particularly significant because marriages are arranged and allowed only to particular men. The Commanders, as the highest-ranking officials, are allowed to marry. Members of the security forces or “Angels” may be rewarded with “white-veiled girls” (233) in public group weddings. Other men are not allowed Wives, however. As Offred observes of Nick: “[l]ow status: he hasn’t been issued a woman, not even one” (27). As such, many men “aren’t yet permitted to touch women” and “have no outlets now except themselves, and that’s a sacrilege” (32).
Of course, this control of sexuality is far from absolute. Quite aside from the existence of Jezebel’s, the Commanders’ secret sex club, the fact that Offred has some form of “affair” with both Nick and the Commander highlights the fact that Gilead’s attempt to control sexuality is not successful. Atwood implies that any such efforts are doomed to failure because human beings cannot be reduced to such mechanistic, passionless figures. Again, this theme reflects the ongoing conflict over women’s bodily autonomy and reproductive rights that was highly pronounced at the time of the book’s publication.
One of the ways Gilead seeks to justify its repressive policies and regulations is by presenting them as traditional religious values with Biblical precedents. Perhaps the most significant example of this is the Ceremony, which is modeled on a story from the Bible, the “mouldy [sic] old Rachel and Leah stuff” (99) in which Rachel tells her husband Jacob to have sex with her maid Bilah so that the maid may serve as a surrogate mother for their children. The overall idea of the Ceremony, the physical arrangement in which Handmaids lie on the Wives’ stomachs, and even the title “Handmaid” itself all come from this story.
There are numerous other examples of Gilead using religious ideas and language to add credibility and authority to aspects of its culture, ranging from giving cars, shops, and even the Commanders and the Angels religious names to Wives being entitled to strike Handmaids because “there’s Scriptural precedent” (26). Though the novel offers an indictment of the way religion can be coopted for political purposes, members of other religions and other forms of Christianity are often presented sympathetically as members of a persecuted class. They are executed and their bodies displayed on the Wall for following their spiritual practices. Some, like Quakers, are said to frequently help fleeing Handmaids and other refugees escape from Gilead. Offred herself provides a positive view of Christianity, too. Despite the way religion is used to justify her oppression, she actually prays to God, presenting prayer as a source of strength and connection that helps her keep going despite her ongoing oppression. Once again, the treatment of religion in the novel reflects the use of religious language and imagery, along with cherry-picked Bible passages, to support oppressive, right-wing political ideologies.
The ways complacency and complicity help maintain an oppressive social order is a key concern of the novel, appearing in numerous guises. One particularly significant example is the role women play in directly enforcing and ideologically supporting the Gileadean regime. The Aunts, despite being women themselves, are among the fiercest supporters of Gilead’s policy of forcing fertile women to serve as Handmaids. They provide ideological justification for this, blaming women for past sexual violence and presenting the Handmaids’ new position as something that benefits them, insisting that “[y]ours is a position of honour [sic]” (23). Armed with cattle prods, they also threaten and even torture the Handmaids if they refuse to accept this “honour [sic].”
Serena Joy also conspires with a regime that is actively curtailing her rights, albeit not as harshly as it limits the rights of other women. Even prior to Gilead’s rise to power, she was offering ideological support for its ideas, giving speeches “about the sanctity of the home” (55) and the need to return to traditional values. In her relatively powerful position as a Wife, she enforces and benefits from the regime, threatening Offred and potentially being responsible for the previous Handmaid’s suicide. These women who are directly complicit in the regime show that there are always those who will support a state that oppresses them because it brings them small benefits and advantages or allows them to hold a higher, less exploited position in the hierarchy of the oppressed.
Luke does not appear to be entirely shocked and appalled when women are banned from working or owning property and money. In fact, he is extremely complacent about it, secretly enjoying the boost this gives to his status as a man and the way that, as Offred describes it, he and Offred “are not each other’s, any more. Instead, I am his” (191-92). Alongside this, however, is Offred’s own complacency. Though she recognizes this behavior in Luke, she dismisses it as simply her starting “to get paranoid” (188) and does nothing to protest the changing laws and regulations, accepting Luke’s suggestion that “it would be futile” and doing “more housework, more baking” (189) as is expected of her in the reactionary politics of Gilead. This complacency continues after Gilead’s rise. Unlike Moira, who attempts to escape from the Centre (eventually succeeding after having been tortured for a failed attempt), Offred accepts her position, however resentfully, and even finds the idea that Moira has escaped “frightening” (143). This continues at the Commander’s house where Offred seems, on some level, to genuinely wish to conceive a child for the Commander and Serena Joy, noting that “the expectation of others […] have become my own” (83).
However, her relationships with men produce the most significant complacency and, arguably, complicity in Offred. The “little present[s]” (164) and opportunities she receives from the Commander improve her life just enough that she begins to accept her reduced circumstances and become more comfortable with the Commander himself. Despite the abuse and exploitation, her “body’s lax, cosy [sic] even” in his presence, and she is “entertained” (193) by her visits to his study. Once Offred begins a passionate affair with Nick, this complacency becomes even more pronounced. She ceases to wish to challenge, or escape from, the regime, refusing Ofglen’s attempts to get her to spy on the Commander and even acknowledging that “I no longer want to leave, escape, cross the border to freedom. I want to be here, with Nick, where I can get at him” (283). Offred is aware of her complacency and appears to feel guilty about it, denouncing herself as “a wimp” (306) and wishing that “this story […] showed me in a better light […] more active, less hesitant, less distracted by trivia” (279). However, this does not stop her complacent attitudes and actions. By being a complex, problematic protagonist who is arguably complicit in her own oppression, Offred raises questions about how indoctrination and social control operate and how far one might go to survive in a repressive regime.
By Margaret Atwood