The Handmaid's Tale Overview

In the world of the near future, who will control women's bodies?

Offred is a Handmaid in the Republic of Gilead. She may leave the home of the Commander and his wife once a day to walk to food markets whose signs are now pictures instead of words because women are no longer allowed to read. She must lie on her back once a month and pray that the Commander makes her pregnant, because in an age of declining births, Offred and the other Handmaids are only valued if their ovaries are viable.

Offred can remember the days before, when she lived and made love with her husband Luke; when she played with and protected her daughter; when she had a job, money of her own, and access to knowledge. But all of that is gone now....

Funny, unexpected, horrifying, and altogether convincing, The Handmaid's Tale is at once scathing satire, dire warning, and tour de force.
(From back of book)

Oryx and Crake Overview

Oryx and Crake is at once an unforgettable love story and a compelling vision of the future. Snowman, known as Jimmy before mankind was overwhelmed by a plague, is struggling to survive in a world where he may be the last human, and mourning the loss of his best friend, Crake, and the beautiful and elusive Oryx whom they both loved. In search of answers, Snowman embarks on a journey–with the help of the green-eyed Children of Crake–through the lush wilderness that was so recently a great city, until powerful corporations took mankind on an uncontrolled genetic engineering ride. Margaret Atwood projects us into a near future that is both all too familiar and beyond our imagining. (From back of book)

Oryx and Crake Passage, Margaret Atwood, Pages 10-11

“Now I’m alone,” he says out loud. “All, all alone. Alone on a wide, wide sea.” One more scrap from the burning scrapbook in his head.

Revision: seashore

He feels the need to hear a human voice—a fully human voice like his own. Sometimes he laughs like a hyena or roars like a lion—his idea of a hyena, his idea of a lion. He used to watch old DVDs of such creatures when he was a child: those animal-behaviour programs featuring copulation and growling and innards, and mothers licking their young. Why had he found them so reassuring?

Or he grunts and squeals like a pigoon, or howls like a wolvog: Aroo! Aroo! Sometimes in the dusk he runs up and down on the sand, flinging stones at the ocean and screaming, Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! He feels better afterwards.

He stands up and raises his arms to stretch, and his sheet falls off. He looks down at his body with dismay: the grimy, bug-bitten skin, the salt-and-pepper tuffs of hair, the thickening yellow toenails. Naked as the day he was born, not that he can remember a thing about that. So may crucial events take place behind people’s backs, when they aren’t in a position to watch: birth and death for instance. And the temporary oblivion of sex.

“Don’t even think about it,” he tells himself. Sex is like drink, it’s bad to start brooding about it too early in the day.

He used to take good care of himself; he used to run, work out at the gym. Now he can see his own ribs: he’s wasting away. Not enough animal protein. A woman’s voice says caressingly in his ear, Nice buns! It isn’t Oryx, it’s some other woman. Oryx is no longer very talkative.

“Say anything,” he implores her. She can hear him, he needs to believe that, but she’s giving him the silent treatment. “What can I do?” he asks her. “You know I…”

Oh, nice abs! comes the whisper, interrupting him. Honey, just lie back. Who is it? Some tart he once bought. Revision, professional sex-skills expert. A trapeze artist, rubber spine, spangles glued onto her like the scales of a fish. He hates these echoes. Saints used to hear them, crazed lice-infested hermits in their caves and deserts. Pretty soon he’ll be seeing beautiful demons, beckoning to him, licking their lips, with red-hot nipples and flickering pink tongues. Mermaids will rise from the waves, out there beyond the crumbling towers, and he’ll hear their lovely singing and swim out to them and be eaten by the sharks. Creatures with heads and breasts of women and the talons of eagles will swoop down on him, and he’ll open his arms to them, and that will be the end. Brainfrizz.

Or worse, some girl he knows, or knew will come walking towards his through the trees, and she’ll be happy to see him but she’ll be made of air. He’d welcome even that, for the company.

He scans the horizon, using his one sunglassed eye: nothing. The sea is hot metal, the sky a bleached blue, except for the hole burnt in it by the sun. Everything is so empty. Water, sand, sky, trees, fragments of past time. Nobody to hear him.

The Handmaid's Tale Passage, Margaret Atwood, Pages 87-88

The Commander sits down and crosses his legs, watched by us. The bookmarks are in place. He opens the book. He clears his throat a little, as if embarrassed.

    “Could I have a drink of water?” he says to the air. “Please,” he adds.

    Behind me, one of them, Cora or Rita, leaves her space in the tableau and pads of towards the kitchen. The Commander sits, looking down. The Commander sighs, takes out a pair of reading glasses from his inside jacket pocket, gold rims, slips them on. Now he looks like a shoemaker in an old fairy-tale book. Is there no end to his disguises, of benevolence?

    We watch him: every inch, every flicker.

 

To be a man, watched by women. It must be entirely strange. To have them watching him all the time. To have them wondering, What’s he going to do next? To have them flinch when he moves, even if it’s a harmless enough move, to reach for an ashtray perhaps. To have them sizing him up. To have them thinking, He can’t do it, he won’t do, he’ll have to do, this last as if he were a garment, out of style or shoddy, which must nevertheless be put on because there’s nothing else available.

    To have them putting him on, trying him on, trying him out, while he himself puts them on, like a sock over a foot, onto the stub of himself, his extra, sensitive thumb, his tentacle, his delicate, stalked slug’s eye, which extrudes, expands, winces, and shrivels back into himself when touched wrongly, grows big again, bulging a little at the tip, traveling forward as if along a leaf, into them, avid for vision. To achieve vision in this way, this journey into a darkness while he himself strains blindly forward.

    She watches him from within. We’re all watching him. It’s the one thing we can really do, and it is not for nothing: if he were to falter, fail, or die, what would become of us? No wonder he’s like a boot, hard on the outside, giving shape to a pulp of tenderfoot. That’s just a wish. I’ve been watching him for some time and he’s given no evidence, of softness.

    But watch out, Commander, I tell him in my head. I’ve got my eye on you. One false move and I’m dead.

    Still, it must be hell, to be a man, like that.

    It must be just fine.

    It must be hell.

    It must be very silent.

 

The water appears, the Commander drinks it. “Thank you,” he  says. Cora rustles back into place.

    The Commander pauses, looking down, scanning the page. He takes his time, as if unconscious of us. He’s like a man toying with a steak, behind a restaurant window, pretending not to see the eyes watching him from hungry darkness not three feet from his elbow. We lean towards him a little, iron fillings to his magnet. He has something we don’t have, he had the word. How we squandered it, once.

Close Reading Prose Essays

An In-Depth Look at Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake

            Margaret Atwood writes of a future in which the world’s general population was wiped out by a plague. She writes of a world in which the survival of any humans is unknown—with the exception of one man: Snowman. Throughout Oryx and Crake, Margaret Atwood uses repetition, dashes and metaphors to demonstrate the devastating effects of isolation as well as the dangers of the world. The repetition serves to create a sense of overwhelming isolation; a sense of inescapable isolation. The dashes allow for glimpses into the previous condition of the world and work as commentary on Snowman’s part in order to emphasize his isolation, but also to introduce some of the dangers the world holds. And the metaphors are incorporated to explain that each entity possess good and evil, but because of the presence of evil, each aspect of life should be approached with caution—as the world is dangerous.

Here, Atwood uses the repetition of the word “alone” several times in close proximity to one another—as he says, “Now I’m alone…all, all alone”  in order to convey an overwhelming sense of loneliness for the main character, Snowman (Atwood 10). This leads to the conclusion that some disaster has occurred which, consequently, wiped out the rest of the human population. The repetition is used to allow the idea to really sink in that Snowman is truly alone as a human. This isolation becomes a main theme throughout the rest of the novel in what is necessary to survive—mentally and physically—in such an isolation.

      The dashes which Atwood uses like “hear a human voice—a fully human voice” are designed to qualify the preceding statement, but also serve as insights into the world before the aftermath (Atwood 10). The implication here is that there are some who are not completely human—again signifying the idea of experimentation, which is a current cultural debate. Invented words and species such as “pigoon” and “wolvog” also work to further the discussion about genetic experiments (Atwood 10). The dashes can also represent his internal thoughts, though they still include information about Snowman’s past.

      By incorporating Snowman’s screaming by the sea, Atwood furthers the idea of isolation and the toll it can take. As he has no one else to talk to, he must talk to the land. As life is so full of misery and “dismay” he must express his frustration by shouting (Atwood 10). And only by using foul language is he able to make the situation feel any better—which speaks to the emotional toll isolation takes on an individual.

      The metaphors about the “beautiful demons” and the mermaids also shows the emotions of Snowman when he is remembering his past (Atwood 11). The memories, at first, seem pleasant and beautiful, but then they bring back the misery of loss and end up swallowing him in sadness. The incorporation of this metaphor also introduces the idea that each entity can possess good and evil traits. That those people or creatures, even activities, which may at first, illicit pleasure or a sense of good, may prove to be harmful and should be avoided. This is a lesson Snowman is forced to learn in order to survive—and it is one needed by every individual.

     This passage demonstrates Atwood’s ability to turn simple words and structures into more meaningful and profound ideas about the complexity of humanity. The two ideas of isolation and worldly dangers work together to further Atwood’s discussion of humanity, as in order to escape some of the dangers, isolation is necessary, but isolation, itself, has both good and bad sides. Through her use of repetition, dashes, and metaphors, Atwood explores the complexity of man and how the dangers of the world and isolation from the rest of humanity can have a devastating effect, though can mean the difference between failure and survival.

An In-Depth Look at Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale

            Margaret Atwood writes about a future dystopian society called the Republic of Gilead in her novel The Handmaid’s Tale. In her book, she uses strategically placed short sentences, detailed diction, and the use of internal thought in order to examine the value of women in society as well as explore the hypocrisy and complexity of authority. The short sentences allow for Atwood to clearly express an important message and the diction often comes with a negative connotation to reveal the unhappiness faced in society. The internal thought explores the idea of rebellion on the inside versus conformity on the outside. And each of these elements of Atwood’s writing build up the questions about life, authority, and the purpose of women.

            Atwood is able to communicate her extremely complex ideas about society through the use of short and simple phrases. Through her strategic placement of these sentences, she is able to signify important themes of her novel—while maintaining subtlety. When she incorporates the three short sentences, “It must be just fine. It must be hell. It must be very silent.” she is able to portray the themes that will later be explored in detail, in just a few short words (Atwood 88). The concepts of Hell and silence play an important role in all of the events which follow the introduction of Offred and her place in the dystopian society: The Republic of Gilead. The significance of these themes is indicated and furthered through Atwood’s use of the repetition in each of these sentences. This creates a lasting impression as well as shows that, though Offred is not permitted to speak, she is still able to think for herself.

That introduces another concept: the value of women in society. This is discussed in great detail through the use of internal thought—which also shows the internal rebellion that is growing in Offred even as her exterior remains unchanged. Offred reflects on the order of society and while she asks this question, her internal questioning of society becomes evident. Atwood says, “To be a man, watched by women” which shows both the significance of men, and the inferiority of women (Atwood 87). While one man is watched by several women, and as he is watched at all, the women are the ones who watch the men, and they “flinch” at any movement of them (Atwood 87). This also demonstrates the idea of women’s fear of men and oppression by authority—all in a few simple words by Atwood. And all key concepts in her novel.

            The detailed diction also works to create a negative view of authority as well as the hypocrisy and irony in life. The irony of the statement that the “Commander sits, looking down”, which juxtaposes a man with a high rank and an act of inferiority, furthers the questioning of authority, but is also furthered by the negative diction which is used to describe different aspects of authority throughout Atwood’s novel (Atwood 87). One strong instance of this diction is when Atwood describes the reproductive organs of the authority in Offred’s home as a “tentacle” (Atwood 88). As the connotations of the word “tentacle” bring images of danger and oppression—as octopi use their tentacles to help suffocate their prey—the negative portrayal of authority in Atwood’s novel becomes inescapably clear (Atwood 88). This negative diction in regards to authority continues throughout the book and bring into question the proper role of authority in society.

            Atwood uses a variety of intelligent writing techniques in order to reveal the messages within her writing and it is through her use of simple sentences, fitting diction, and internal thoughts that she is able to bring into question the purpose of authority and of life itself—in both Offred’s life as a woman in the new world and on a more universal scale in the present.

William Shakespeare's "Sonnet 50"

Sonnet 50: How heavy do I journey on the way by William Shakespeare

How heavy do I journey on the way,
When what I seek, my weary travel's end,
Doth teach that case and that repose to say,
"Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!"
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me,
As if by some instinct the wretch did know
His rider loved not speed being made from thee.
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide,
Which heavily he answers with a groan,
More sharp to me than spurring to his side;
For that same groan doth put this in my mind:
My grief lies onward and my joy behind.