This book has been on my radar since at least 2015, so I’m glad I finally got the chance to get around to it this year. (It was top on my TBR in terms of popularity on Goodreads.) It was also my first introduction to Margaret Atwood. The Handmaid’s Tale is a powerful dystopian read that has cemented itself as a modern classic—everything about it was so familiar to me from pop culture and media, yet that didn’t dampen my enjoyment of it.

The narrative is fragmented and disjointed since it is presented as a recollection or memoir by the protagonist; consequently, it is also in first-person POV. Atwood handled this rather well—Offred’s reflections on her past and the current state of dystopia felt genuine. Her difficulty in recollecting older things or ruminations on the future were palpable and lent a sense of realism. Many authors fail to do first-person convincingly; here, it helps that Offred is telling us her story, but not altogether subsuming the reader into her life—partly because of the conceit of the novel. (I won’t get into that too much, but it is brilliant.) Go into the novel with no expectations or spoilers, even though you may be familiar with its overarching points from media. It is well worth seeing how it all unfolds.

I also found the characters memorable—some are stereotypical, but to a reasonable degree. Offred is the highlight of the novel, and her character arc is entirely flawed—as she admits herself—which makes her an even more sympathetic and endearing character. Her struggles are somewhat emblematic of women generally in Gilead, but her particular outlook on them nonetheless strikes its own chord. The supporting characters were also surprisingly well-developed—her partner, Ofglen, is devious and scheming and I felt quite affected by what happens with her.

The dystopian themes were incredible to read and felt extremely prescient for 2024. Oppression championed by the oppressed class themselves; the faulty nature of collective memory; the consequences of contrarian thought; the passive acceptance of oppressive forces and imposed hierarchy; and so on. So often while reading the book, I went through cycles of thinking ‘this is too unrealistic’ and a few moments later switching to ‘this is exactly on the nose’. I did find myself uncomfortable at times with the reversal of certain tropes, like the female gaze; it is a good example of how easy it is to take certain aspects of literary narratives for granted (i.e., the male gaze).

That there are people today who openly align themselves with the sort of values embraced by Gileadean society is a disturbing thought. Atwood herself must have felt this, too, since she ended up writing a sequel to the book. (I may or may not read the sequel—we’ll see; I don’t want it to unnecessarily ruin my impression of the first.) I can only hope her preface to the book holds true—that we must not and can not let ourselves fall to such disgraceful states, whether as people or as a country.

I definitely do want to see the show next—it seems to have good reviews, and I am curious how they capture some of these moments in the book. I was somewhat (though not entirely) surprised that there are several tender and even happy moments in the book, though they are almost drowned out by all of the depressing and bleak ones. Also—the one definitive word for this book must be ‘bleak’, because I saw that so many times.