I am not at all pleased with the new series based on The Handmaid's Tale. I watched the first episode recently, and not only was the tone of the whole thing wrong, at the very end of the episode the writers made a deviation from the book that is, in my opinion, totally indefensible. (Yes, there was some yelling at the television.) Dishearteningly, I have yet to read a negative review of the series; I'm counting on Emily Nussbaum to deliver for me where no one else has. (Megan McArdle has a sharp take, which is worth reading, but she's concerned with the book, not the show.)
My main beef is this: in the book, Atwood finds everyone guilty—the new regime and the old. In the show, the Republic of Gilead is purely evil, a theocratic society radically imposed upon an otherwise virtuous and free people. In the book, Atwood is very clear that Gilead is a direct product of the free and liberal society that came before it. We often want to imagine that tyranny arrives suddenly and with no chance to avert it, but the book (and history) generally indicate otherwise. The most interesting theme of the novel is an exploration of the close relationship between freedom and tyranny, but the show ignores that. I'm sure no one wants to be accused of blaming the victim.
I ended up yelling at the television at the end of the first episode because of something else, though: the show gives Offred, the main character, a name. In the book, her only name is Offred (meaning "of Fred," in reference to the man who owns her) and the reader never learns her real name. This reflects not only the narrative intimacy of the book—it's mostly interior monologue—but also something very important about Offred herself: she could be anyone. Indeed, she isn't special in any way; she isn't particularly beautiful, brave, ingenious, or even kind. By giving her a name (and in a triumphant way), the show negates all that. It suggests that Offred is special, that she is a hero. The book is about the quiet desperation of everyday life in an oppressive regime, and there is no heroism in it. But I guess that story would not be much fun to watch on television.
And finally: no matter what the critics might say, the novel sheds no light whatsoever on Trump. (Megan McArdle covers this point better than I could.) Good novels remain good no matter who the president is. This could have been a great series, too, but it would have required the writers to trust the audience a bit more. It's really a shame that Margaret Atwood didn't insist on that.
My main beef is this: in the book, Atwood finds everyone guilty—the new regime and the old. In the show, the Republic of Gilead is purely evil, a theocratic society radically imposed upon an otherwise virtuous and free people. In the book, Atwood is very clear that Gilead is a direct product of the free and liberal society that came before it. We often want to imagine that tyranny arrives suddenly and with no chance to avert it, but the book (and history) generally indicate otherwise. The most interesting theme of the novel is an exploration of the close relationship between freedom and tyranny, but the show ignores that. I'm sure no one wants to be accused of blaming the victim.
I ended up yelling at the television at the end of the first episode because of something else, though: the show gives Offred, the main character, a name. In the book, her only name is Offred (meaning "of Fred," in reference to the man who owns her) and the reader never learns her real name. This reflects not only the narrative intimacy of the book—it's mostly interior monologue—but also something very important about Offred herself: she could be anyone. Indeed, she isn't special in any way; she isn't particularly beautiful, brave, ingenious, or even kind. By giving her a name (and in a triumphant way), the show negates all that. It suggests that Offred is special, that she is a hero. The book is about the quiet desperation of everyday life in an oppressive regime, and there is no heroism in it. But I guess that story would not be much fun to watch on television.
And finally: no matter what the critics might say, the novel sheds no light whatsoever on Trump. (Megan McArdle covers this point better than I could.) Good novels remain good no matter who the president is. This could have been a great series, too, but it would have required the writers to trust the audience a bit more. It's really a shame that Margaret Atwood didn't insist on that.
