Panic

The Handmaid’s Tale is a story about a human’s experience in life. Margaret Atwood wrote this story through the point of view of Offred, a woman living in a dystopian society. A dystopian society is not something that any reader would have lived through, because it’s dystopian, it’s futuristic, it’s what could happen, right? Well, Atwood takes that definition and flips it, saying that she can only include things that happened in our own world history. So when Offred encounters something horrifying or crazy in her day-to-day life, it makes the encounter even more scary because most likely the reader knows people it has happened to, and how it very well could happen to them. This kind of writing keeps readers on their toes, keeps them curious, because at times, the reader can find themselves reading something of a memory.

Writing that appeals to the senses can also keep a reader interested. Using descriptive words that go above and beyond to describe even the littlest things, like a dresser or a flower entices the reader. Atwood’s use of this writing style is extremely effective at drawing the reader in and pretty much forcing them into situations that they aren’t really in. This can be an enjoyable experience, but it can also be uncomfortable, even off putting. Sometimes it almost makes the reader want to put the book down and take a cold shower, maybe take a walk in the city, enjoy the life they live instead of the one they’re being sucked into. It can also be confusing, the words at times are nothing normal and are structured in run on sentences that lead on and on into a vague answer.

The section that is most descriptive and resonating is the laughing scene. Here’s the context: Offred has just been to her first meeting with the Commander, and she’s reminiscing about what went on. She’s confused, flustered, relieved, and so much more. She feels like there could be an ulterior motive for the Commander to invite her into his room. She thinks, “Is this really just to play scrabble and give a quick kiss?” Nevertheless, she’s back in her room, safe and sound, with no harm done. She starts to remember a documentary that she saw as a little girl on the TV. It was about a woman who was with this Natzi and fourty years later is being interviewed about it. Her appearance is notable in its description: “She was carefully made up, heavy in the mascara on her eyelashes, rouge on the bones of her cheeks, over which the skin was stretched like a rubber glove pulled tight.” She goes on to explain how this woman defends her Natzi husband to this day, but days after the interview commits suicide. Offred then says the most she remembers of this is the makeup.

Perhaps this memory is what triggers the following scene, which is nothing like the one before, and isn’t like any other scene in the book so far. “Then I hear something, inside my body. I’ve broken, something has cracked, that must be it. Noise is coming up, coming out of the broken place, in my face.” Hold on. This sounds very similar to one of my experiences. Let’s continue: “Without warning: I wasn’t thinking about here or there or anything. If I let the noise get out into the air it will be laughter, too loud, too much of it, someone is bound to hear, and then there will be hurrying footsteps and commands and who knows? Judgment.” These few sentences described down to a tee one of my experiences from my past. When I was smaller I used to get panic attacks, and the first time I had one, it pretty much went down just like this. This scene was so descriptive that it brought me back to that moment, I remembered it clearly as day. It was freaky. It was uncomfortable. I remember the fear of other people finding out about it, the judgment. The judgment that Offred faces is far more dangerous than mine would’ve been, but to a ten year old’s brain, it isn’t much different. The only thing is that I would replace the word laughter with crying. In that lies an irony that really brings to life the mental anguish that Offred is put through. Atwood wraps up the chapter as well as the scene with, “All I can hear now is the sound of my own heart, opening and closing, opening and closing, opening–”. It ends with just a blank space, no more punctuation, just the rest of the page blank. I imagine Offred lying there, listening to her heartbeat, hoping it doesn’t rise again, and ultimately succumbing to sleep, just as I have done many times before.

I included the paragraph about the Natzi woman not just because it has good descriptions (although it does), but also because I believe that this is directly correlated to this freak-out. See, when I had a freak out, it was usually due to some sort of trigger, like a memory or a setting. But like Offred’s memory of the documentary, these triggers didn’t seem connected at first glance. However If you look deeper you can find connections that make sense. I think her freak out is due to guilt, being with the Commander even though there are terrible things going on, and women that can’t do half of what she does. See the connection between her and the Natzi women? They’re both playing the same role as the mistress who feigns ignorance and keeps living a more enjoyable life.