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The work is set in Cambridge, Massachusetts - commonly referred to under the new regime as the Republic of Gilead, following the overthrow of the U. S. government several years earlier. Having been taken over by a politically powerful group of Christian fundamentalists, Gilead has been transformed into a theocratic state totally inaccessible to the outside world. A victim of the new system, Offred is separated from her husband and child and given the horrific choice of going out to work in the Colonies, where she would inevitably die of radiation sickness, or face becoming a handmaid. Choosing the latter she becomes demoted to the status of personal property to one of the powerful Commanders, forced to be one of the few fertile women left after an unexplained environmental distaster into a life with a single purpose: to breed.
The world in which Offred struggles to survive, waiting hopelessly for news of her daughter and desperately concealing both a forbidden affair and her part in a quiet underground resistance, is one of the terrifyingly inhumane systems of social hierarchy and control entirely dominated by men. Disturbingly horrific, alien existence of life of Gilead is portrayed by the narrator in an objective and almost matter-of-fact manner; the descriptive images of brilliant, bleak emptiness being all the more powerful for their lack of emotion.
Repression and surveillance are central themes within the novel and the populace are subjected to a shocking lack of personal freedom and status within the social hierarchy. This is enforced by sumptuary laws that define who you are and resulting in a complete lack of freedom of thought, belief or expression. Sexual and emotional repression are an everyday reality; friendship is considered suspect and unnecessary. Punishments for treason are shockingly harsh in order to terrify the citizens into complying with the new system. This destruction of human life in a state so desperate to increase its own population demonstrates the chilling, irrational inconsistencies of the system and is one of many examples of the novel's caustic employments of satire.
Ultimately this is a darkly frightening and highly intelligent novel exploring the horrors of totalitarianism, beautifully written in astute, vivid and sharply satirical prose. Both moving and terrifying, this book has a shocking sense of impact and will hold you captivated right up until its fascinating, ambiguous conclusion.
You've managed, amazingly, to miss the fundamental characteristic of this book: feminism. It's problably the most overt expression of Atwood's feminist concerns of all her works, and the whole driving force behind this novel.
Who are you talking to? This was written over three years ago. The contributor hasn't written for The Yorker since March 2008.
Gillian Love is an anagram of Evil Lion Gal. A pseudonym for her catty, feminist remarks. Blatant troll.
#2 Because the article is still here to be read and commented on by readers, and it's one of my favourite books, I felt compelled to comment.
#3 Pointing out another person's feminism isn't in itself feminist. But yeah, I blame the patriarchy, etc. etc., insert stereotypes here.
You do realise this person has probably graduated, left York and hasn't looked at or thought about The Yorker for a long time? So you are basically just talking to yourself. Bizarre.
Do you ever switch off? Can't you go write an essay on feminism, or even better actually write an article with your opinion for The Yorker, rather than drag up years-old articles and try and shove feminism into them?
I have just finished writing an essay on feminist readings of medieval virgin martyrs lives.
I write for the Yorker and am in the process of writing an article on Internation Women's Month, which was last month.
Go and read the book, educate yourself.
Any more questions? Because I can go all day.
Will you be writing anything, or commenting on anything, that is not about gender politics?
I have, and do. I write for the Satire section and I wrote a piece about the NUS march in November in the comments section. But gender studies is my interest and passion.
Anyone else need me to justify myself?
Gillian, you just a hater. I love bitches.
MWAH! x
Sounds like a barrel o' laughs!
One thing I love about The Handmaid's Tale is that instead of merely preaching about feminism in an abstract way which isn't really that accessible. The novel actually demonstrates the possible repercussions of the 80s feminist backlash which I feel makes much more of an impact on the reader and questions their beliefs in a way which simply barking militant questions at them would not.
I can't help but feel your approach to feminism somewhat alienates others from really engaging with your cause. One of the things that constantly puts me off labelling myself as a feminist (although I do count myself as one) is this attitude that one person's feminist views are more true to the cause than another's. Tessa Blake may not have used the word 'feminism' in this article but in phrases like 'inhumane systems of social hierarchy and control entirely dominated by men' you can tell that ideas of women's freedom dominate the book. I do admire your passion, but at the same time I think it's ridiculous that you lord your feminist views over everyone from the word go instead of advocating WHY these views are important, which is exactly what Atwood does. There's no need to be so defensive all the time, people can be a lot more open-minded than you give them credit for.
If you read my first comment, I gave no indication of my views, feminist or otherwise, and certainly didn't present the attitude you are taking objection to. Correct?
I found it very strange that a review of this book didn't mention feminism and spent very little time on the aspects of the novel which you've rightly pointed out are so well-written.
The defensiveness came in when Anon1 and Anon2 came in with personal comments. I think we're all entitled to defending ourselves against being called a 'catty feminist' or being asked why commenting on an article is necessary.
So, thanks for your advice, but when attacked for 'shoving' feminism into an Atwood review, I feel my response is justified. Patronise me if you will, but get your facts straight: have I preached or barked my feminist viewpoints to anyone here? No.
Gillian, you have now become known on The Yorker for getting angry and being a feminist and picking arguments. For example, your comment here, picking apart a three year old article??? I wouldn't get so defensive if I were you!
No indication is needed. Of late you have become known for increasingly desperate attempts to shoe-horn your feminism into debates and, more amusingly, spend time dredging up ancient articles in order to insert the same. As your comments tend to be humorless, and rather sour and preaching in character, you'll hopefully forgive people for cutting to the chase as has happened here. Feminism as obsessive, overbearing dogma is (rightly) ridiculed in The Handmaid's Tale, if memory serves?
Who cares? If Gillian wants to comment on 3 year old articles where the author is never going to respond (and this isn't the first one), moaning on endlessly about feminism, and attacking anyone who questions her constantly doing so, then I say just leave her to it.
Rule #1 for dealing with trolls: Do Not Engage.
Mr Spelling, bless you, don't be afraid to put your name to your opinions.
She's so transparent! 
16 actually makes a point about the novel and it's ignored she's accusing 17 of being someone she knows writing anonymously! She's just here for a scrap, folks, and 17's rule is a good'n.
Nah, it's #16 I recognise.
You would do well to heed your own advice, #19, otherwise I'll keep this up, shoving my overbearing dogma down your throats.
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