The Handmaid's Tale

In sixth form I studied Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale. Politically unaware, I was naive to her broadside against patriarchal rule. Despite this, I loved the book. I enjoyed it because on a basic level it’s an underdog story of a character struggling against a system. Like Winston Smith in 1984 and Montag in Fareneheit 451, Offred is an enemy of the state, trying to destabilise it with minor acts of revolt. At the time, I had no idea these science-fictions were rooted in fact; I perceived them to be works of imagination, unfounded in reality. Especially when it came to The Handmaid’s Tale, I just didn’t have the context. I didn’t know that creating ‘false’ enemies distracts a populace from resisting political corruption. I didn’t know that keeping people scared is a surefire way of a Government holding onto power. I didn’t know that women hadn’t achieved parity with men. As far as I was concerned, sexism ended in 1928 when all women gained the vote. I had no idea that in Saudi Arabia women couldn’t drive. I had no idea that in Northern Ireland women couldn’t get an abortion. I had no idea that women were under-represented in top jobs. When it came to the issue of feminism I was completely oblivious. For me, the book was completely hypothetical; it could never happen. The truth, of course, was in so many ways it already had.

Everything was fine after 1928.

I’m revisiting The Handmaid’s Tale this week because of Bruce Miller’s TV adaptation. Unquestionably, it’s the show of the moment. Nothing is capturing the zeitgeist more than this piece of programming. In electing a president that brags about grabbing women by the pussy, who in turns appoints a running-mate that's virulently anti-choice, the political climate in America feels horrifyingly akin to the book. In The Handmaid’s Tale a president is assassinated- middle-eastern terrorists are falsely accused -amidst the instability a far-right Christian organisation seizes control. Sound familiar? Trump too created an atmosphere of chaos by making scapegoats out of the free press and immigrants; from this he and his male cronies took power. Distraction is the friend of the illusionist; it can make a man appear magical when he’s simply a man. It can make you miss what’s going on. One minute he’s there standing in front of Trump Tower, the next he’s in front of The White House. This 1985 novel is a warning to pay attention, because nothing changes instantly. As the book's narrator says, 'in a gradually heating bathtub you’d be boiled to death before you knew it.’

"Hands up if you believe life should be about serving your own narcissistic interests." 

The adaptation of the novel begins in a different place to the source material. One of the things I’ve enjoyed in re-reading Handmaid’s is seeing how Miller has achieved the paradox of being unfaithful and faithful to the text. It’s unfaithfulness lies in its sequencing: his starting point is a woodland chase, which culminates in the kidnapping of June’s daughter. This foot-chase is thrilling and disorientating: why are officials seeking a child? Why is a family on the run? Conversely, the book begins with a description of a gymnasium with ‘Aunt Sara and Aunt Elizabeth patrolling.’ What type of society are we in? Why are adult women being infantilised and made to sleep in dorms? Who are these Aunts? It’s a benign title Aunt: warm, familial, your Nan’s friend. Why are these women on guard? The TV’s cold opening is heart-racing, whilst the book is more head-scratching: both do the job of hooking the audience into Atwood’s world.

On the run.

In terms of faithfulness, Miller may have juggled with the order, but he hasn’t dropped the ball on content. The TV version doesn’t divert from telling the story of how June became Offred, and how Offred seeks to reclaim June. Just as the book flits in and out of past and present, Miller’s version does too. Sure some details are updated: Moira and June discuss Tinder profiles; Luke meets June when he’s asked for his opinion on the profile; June works at a publisher’s as opposed to a library – however, these modifications are necessary: it makes the show current, illustrating how this could happen today.

June has become Offred because the new state of Gilead requires handmaid’s, women whose sole purpose in life is to procreate. An environmental fall-out has brought this world into being: fertility rates are low, meaning functioning wombs are in short supply. If you can’t breed, you can accept monotonous labour or take your chances with radiation out in 'the colonies.’ The regime then has poured petrol on Offred’s former life of love and literature, from these dying embers she must find the hope to keep on existing.

Sex without intimacy.. 

Each month Offred must lie back and think of Gilead. A Commander visits her bedchamber reciting the Rachel and Leah story of the maid who had a baby on her mistress’s behalf; he then proceeds to fuck her lower half – it can’t be called copulating because ‘that would imply two people and only one is involved.’ In a warped reading of religion, the clock has been turned back, women here are nothing more than a vagina and a womb; the brain they once cultivated with learning has gone to seed – lies and indoctrination have made sure of that. Yet Offred hasn’t quite relinquished control. The regime may have nationalised her body, but it hasn't yet bought out her mind. She is the heroine of our story. On the surface she's demure in her red conservative robes, yet she conceals a wolf within, one that chews up Gilead with caustic narration. 

A wolf in sheep's clothing.

With the TV show having included much of the source material already, I’m surprised to hear that the series will run and run. It stands to reason that the subsequent seasons will be fresh material, maybe exploring the Historical Notes of the book for ideas. All we can hope is when the writers do consider future story ideas, they tune in to the deep recesses of their mind and not the news for inspiration.

The Handmaid’s Tale is on Channel 4, Sunday at 9pm.