‘The Testaments’

Margaret Atwood’s ‘The Testaments’ sends readers further into the future (Spoiler: the future sucks) 

Lilly McEachern

Margaret Atwood’s long-anticipated sequel to “The Handmaid’s Tale” is finally here: 35 years later, “The Testaments” is constructed by three points of view: Aunt Lydia’s secret journal, a daughter of a Commander, and a young teen living in Canada. My math places this book about 15 years into Gilead’s regime. A chilling dystopian novel that’s a worthy sequel to Atwood’s infamous 1985 “The Handmaid’s Tale,” “The Testaments” unveils Gilead’s flailing grasp for power through the eyes of a veteran (Aunt Lydia), a child of Gilead (Agnes) and a child of the resistance (Daisy). 

Her voice sounds almost disembodied — the coldblooded observations about the world around her reveal an inner conflict that continuously builds until it erupts near the end of the book.

Aunt Lydia’s chapters are constructed by a secret journal she keeps in Ardua Hall, the training facility for Aunts. Aunts are the gamemakers of Gilead’s value of women. They create and enforce the laws that govern the Handmaids. Aunt Lydia often addresses the reader directly, as if we were a confidant in her narrative of how she came to be one of the most powerful women in Gilead, and how refuses to “die quietly.” A former judge, Aunt Lydia had a long road to power, paved with subordination and betrayal but ultimately a will to survive. Her voice sounds almost disembodied — the coldblooded observations about the world around her reveal an inner conflict that continuously builds until it erupts near the end of the book. Atwood devotes a significant portion of the novel to Aunt Lydia’s account, developing her character arc beyond the brash supporting character played by Ann Dowd in Hulu’s TV adaptation of “The Handmaid’s Tale.” Unlike the show, “The Testaments” is less focused on the gruesome details of living in Gilead and more on the individual’s response to living under these conditions. Atwood’s writing is not aggressive or dramatic; the three main voices are more accepting of their circumstances, realizing there is no way out of the present. 

To Agnes, uniform colors are so vital to enforcing the hierarchy of Gilead, indicative of the notion that one cannot envision success if there is no model for success. 

The brilliance of “The Handmaid’s Tale” — both the TV show and the books — is its ability to hyperextend contemporary politics to their most aggressive end. In “The Testaments,” the ideologies of Canada and Gilead are made evident through the voices of two impressionable teens — Daisy, a 14-year old Canadian, and Agnes, the daughter of an important Commander. Atwood mainly uses children’s voices to establish social paradigms, culture and language. The thoughts and voices are noticeably different between the two, yet Agnes and Daisy suffer in similar ways. There’s a notable inconsistency in the ages of the two girls: Agnes was born before Gilead was established, yet she is younger than Daisy, who was born post-Gilead. Then again, Atwood may be subverting the concept of age as she does other identities, such as a person’s name or their family history. For example, Agnes’ mother is not her “real” mother, as she was born from a then-citizen, now-Handmaid. Daisy’s name is not really Daisy, and Handmaids are stripped of their real names and are referred by whichever Commander they currently serve. 

In Gilead, Agnes lives her life in muted colors. She talks of the pale pink uniforms worn by younger girls in preparatory school, the all-blue ensembles that distinguish Commander’s wives from the grey uniforms worn by “Econowives” of a lower class status, and the dreaded interim green uniform that young girls wear before they are married off to begin their lives as baby-making machines. Agnes cannot fathom what Aunts would look like in pink outfits instead of brown. To Agnes, uniform colors are so vital to enforcing the hierarchy of Gilead, indicative of the notion that one cannot envision success if there is no model for success. 

“The Testaments” is a not-so-subtle reminder of how ignorance quickly turns into complacency, and the radicals of today are the regimes of tomorrow.

In our contemporary political climate, I often refer to Atwood’s novels as a cautionary tale for what can happen if we allow racism, sexism and environmental destruction to continue as it exists today. My expectations were high, and Atwood delivered yet another remarkable book that develops the world she (and Hulu) have created. The book and the tv show work side by side to keep Gilead at the forefront of our minds. “The Testaments” is a not-so-subtle reminder of how ignorance quickly turns into complacency, and the radicals of today are the regimes of tomorrow.