We’re more than halfway through the month of #MARM and today is Margaret Atwood’s 80th birthday. Naomi and I are supposed to be deep into discussions about The Handmaid’s Tale and The Testaments (her spoiler-free launch of The Ts discussion is here). But I’ve still got my head in Handmaid’s.
Even though I finished rereading more than a week ago. I’m rewatching the Hulu Originals series (more on that soon – and I’m only on episode four, you can still catch up if you care to), and I’m reading the graphic novel adaptation by Renee Nault too. But I’ll probably start with TheT tonight. Even so.
When I was in my twenties, I was flummoxed by the fact that Atwood did not identify as a feminist. I could pinpoint, to the day, the incident which spurned my discovery of feminism, and I didn’t understand her equivocating about the term, when I had so recently and passionately adopted its usage.
Instead, when the F-word comes up, Atwood often speaks about her commitment to equality. And it often comes up. And it’s often complicated. Because everyone who challenges her on the matter has their own personal understanding of feminism (and is perhaps just as puzzled by, or oblivious to, her lifelong insistence that she is committed to equality not to feminist ideology, as I was).
These days, more and more people are taking their truth from the media (including social media, not necessarily journalism) rather than from the source, assuming that when other people declare Margaret Atwood a feminist spokesperson or a prophet (which also comes up fairly often, in regards to Handmaid’s), that she identifies as such herself.
Her-storically, that’s not been the case, although the topic often comes up in her writing. And in her writing about writing. In the earliest days of her career and in the present-day, everyone has questions (and assumptions) about her position in relationship to feminism. Her answers are not always what you might expect. Take this one, for instance, kinda from the middle.
In 2002’s Negotiating the Dead, Atwood writes:
“For instance, there’s the F-word. If you’re a woman and a writer, does the combination of gender and vocation automatically make you a feminist, and what does that mean, exactly? That you shouldn’t put a good man into your books, even though in real life you may have managed to dig up a specimen or two? And if you do courageously admit to being one of those F-word females, how should this self-categorization influence your wardrobe choices? I know that’s a frivolous comment, but if the wardrobe matter is all that frivolous, then why have so many earnest commentators made such ideological heavy work of it? And even if you aren’t an F-word feminist in any strict ideological sense, will nervous critics wallop you over the head for being one, simply because you exemplify that suspicious character, A Woman Who Writes? If, that is, you put any female characters into your books who aren’t happy, and any men who aren’t good. Well, probably they will. It’s happened before.”
In this series of questions, you can catch glimpses of all the accusations and praise that have swelled around her over the years. She’s been asked about her wardrobe. She’s been walloped over the head for the way she looks. Queries about male characters who aren’t good and female characters who aren’t happy: the answers to these could lead to walloping as well. But the list of questions begins with what does it mean, being a feminist.
In recent years, as more people have begun to adopt Aunt Lydia’s either/or thinking, I have questioned my own use of the term ‘feminist’.
That’s a way of looking at the world – this either/or perspective, I mean – that I used to associate with conservative, right-wing outlooks. It’s something I associate with the Republican government in the United States’ ultimatum in the wake of 9/11: “You’re either with us or against us.”
More recently, either/or thinking has become just as prominent in liberal, left-wing groups. (Of course these are generalizations: traditionalists and progressives. It’s never that simple.)
These days, if you declare yourself a supporter of one thing, an “either”, others will declare on your behalf that you cannot also be a supporter of another thing, an “or”. There’s no room for both/and, not in the either/or perspective on the world.
I think about the Commander’s observation in The Handmaid’s Tale: “Better never means better for everyone, he says. It always means worse, for some.”
And I think about a passage from the perspective of a female character in Guy Gavriel Kay’s A Brightness Long Ago: “It was a good thing, she thought, that there were women working to widen the world in different ways. They could nod at each other in passing, in recognition, then carry on expanding what was allowed.”
In a both/and view, both characters are speaking the truth here. And I’m good with that. I would like to redefine ‘better’, so that more people would come to see that equality is ultimately better for all (and only temporarily worse for some). And I’m good with other women working to widen the world in their own ways, “expanding [what’s] allowed”.
One thing that I could have learned earlier on, from Margaret Atwood’s stance, was the importance of defining your own position. Of recognizing when my position aligns and intersects with that of other women. But not allowing anyone else to do that thinking for me. Taking responsibility for doing it myself.
When I’m doing the ‘feminist’ thing these days, engaging with women who self-identify as feminists – listening to a panel or a podcast, reading an article or an academic paper, attending a march or a strike – I often disagree.
Maybe not more often than I agree. Certainly more often than my younger self would have expected to disagree. But more than anything, what I disagree with is this idea that there is only one way to be a feminist. That there is only one way to address the myriad systems of oppression in this world.
I suppose what it comes down to, is that I’m okay with using the word about myself and defining it for myself, but not necessarily okay with having someone else use it to define me.
And maybe that’s what Margaret Atwood was saying from the beginning, back when I needed to hear her saying something else, because I hadn’t done the work for myself yet.
Did you/ Have you/ Do you identify as a feminist and did you/have you/do you find tenets of your belief system reflected in/challenged by The Handmaid’s Tale?
I love that your rereading of Handmaid’s Tale has you thinking about so many things! As for feminism, yes I call myself that because I believe in social/political/economic equality for women. It’s been too long since I’ve read Handmaid’s for me to say anything in relation to it and feminism other than Gilead is clearly an anti-feminist world. I suspect Atwood’s comments on feminism are linked to some of what you have said. We all share the same goal but how we get there, how we think we should get there, is not the same. I think all too often groups, and even whole movements, decide this is what it looks like and if you don’t agree then you are wrong. She is clearly a feminist but doesn’t want to ally herself with any one group or system, etc. I can’t say I blame her. But it is also like when she insists she doesn’t write science fiction. Her stance is a bit frustrating.
Gosh I feel like this is such a loaded question now, although I will probably say that yes, I do identify as a feminist. But! equality is always what I’m striving for, and I don’t like putting down men, or other women who don’t identify as feminists in the process. Know what i mean? I know we keep talking about this terrible either/or trend that is going on right now, but it separates people who really want the same things, which I think most women do. I think some women are in denial or a little sheltered about the inequality that other women face in our world, which may be why some women claim we already have equal rights? I mean technically we do by law, but the wage gap itself is a sign that we have more to work for.
Perhaps fittingly, this reminds me of a Margaret Atwood quote: “A war among women, as opposed to a war on women, is always pleasing to those who do not wish women well.” And this one: “In times of extremes, extremists win. Their ideology becomes a religion, anyone who doesn’t puppet their views is seen as an apostate, a heretic or a traitor, and moderates in the middle are annihilated.” I’ve been following some of the links in Naomi’s post, and, then, flitting about, on the ‘net, as one does: so much to think about. I also wonder if some of the young women who are struggling professionally these days are being led to believe that employment-related conflicts are not related to s*xism, and because they are not aware of other women’s struggles on that score (in the past, and ongoing), they see no reason to look for other explanations, which just makes it easier for employers to reignite/perpetuate inequity. Maybe that’s what you’re meaning, too, when you mention ‘denial’?
Yes, that’s exactly what i mean! Sometimes it’s just easier to turn a blind eye than accept that an entire system needs fixing.
I do identify as a feminist and like Liz not a separatist one (that just seems counterproductive). It’s a word that often changes meaning, it seems, and I first used it about myself in the 1970s. I guess I don’t always agree with how modern women regard it, but it’s that thing about being equal but different, as the wonderful band The Au Pairs put it. We’re all human beings and we should respect each other. As whisperinggums says, equal is not meaning we all have to be the same.
I could count on one hand the number of bands/groups outside of North America that I knew about when the Au Pairs were singing. But what fun to be chatting about Margaret Atwood and have a good reason to watch a video. I’m trying to make a point of checking in with members of the younger generations’ ideas about feminism (if that’s even a word with any personal relevance to them – not always). My views seem to diverge just as often with people my own age/older as with younger ones. Maybe it’s not as much about a generational divide as it once was? Not sure.
I do define myself as a feminist (and also an egalitarian – I’m not a separatist feminist and I think it’s important to continue the fight intersectionally for other marginalised and suppressed and othered people). I am less of the feminist my 18yo feminist self thought I should be – although I do get paid to do the big brunt of the housework!
I saw a lot of my thoughts about the patriarchy reflected in the book. The “feminism” of the other generation of women is seen as being a bit irrelevant and his/herstorical in the novel, isn’t it, but I think of that as reflecting how new times overwrite old ones. I saw enough feminism in it to love it then and admire it now, and I didn’t know at the time about Atwood’s words because I early subscribed to the “Death of the Author” theory so wasn’t too bothered about what the author said (I’ve softened a bit on that one, too).
Interesting discussion – thank you!
I remember you mentioned, as well, that you noticed more about where different women fit into this system, on rereading in your 40s, which also fits with noticing Offred’s mother. (Interestingly, she plays a significant role in the TV adaptation too – I’m so glad they troubled to write those flashbacks in.)
How dismissive Offred was about her mother’s struggles. And, when Atwood was writing this, she was in her middle years, too, well aware of how thoroughly she was being/would be dismissed by the younger women who weren’t any more interested in what barriers she’d broken down than June had been impressed by the ones her mother had smashed. How easily June dismissed her mother’s resistance efforts, even though June’s mother has such a good point that, had her generation not struggled in their own way, women would still be confined to the kitchen and men would never even be in a kitchen (whether contributing to household chores or finding pleasure in the art of cooking).
Wonderful post, Buried. Yes, I do identify as a feminist, but I can’t answer your question about how my views are reflected in A handmaid’s tale because I haven’t read it since it came out. I do sometimes get frustrated with strong women not identifying as feminist, but your sharing Atwood’s comments help me understand why they may not. Still … they could do so much for feminism by standing up for it!
That said, I have always made clear that my fundamental meaning of feminism is that it’s about equality – not about sameness – but about equality and respect for all regardless of gender, race, religion, ability, etc. It’s never been for me about being pro-women and anti-men. (Love that comment from Atwood: “That you shouldn’t put a good man into your books, even though in real life you may have managed to dig up a specimen or two?”!) Anyhow, I think many people get really confused about the difference between being EQUAL and being THE SAME. This confusion undermines so many discussions.
I am hugely bothered by either/or thinking.
And, yet, for so many feminists, she has been that figure, even though she doesn’t outwardly identify as a feminist. It’s strange, to think of that. In the Women’s March in January 2017, when I and Mr. BIP were shivering our butts off outside the parliament buildings, she was there in the crowd. (She was wearing a hat, but not a “pussy hat”!) And early on she was a public advocate for the LGBTQ community too – check out this 1981 video, just four years ahead of Handmaid’s and more talk about the misuse of power. (And she’s funny.)
Your point about how discussions get snarled up on the question of being equal and being the same is a good one. When Offred talks about how Martha and Rita are distant, how they just view her as more chores to be done, she’s simultaneously resentful of their being separate and also grateful for her status (and also angry about it – complicated!). Not only are women’s positions in Gilead unequal in comparison to the other s*x, but also relative to each other (although we only occasionally glimpse this because everything is from Offred’s POV).
I read The Handmaid’s Tale for the first time relatively recently and was a bit surprised by her take on what feminism was. (I had thought I knew all about the book before I’d even read it. Everyone was talking about when I was a grad student, so how could I have missed something? Ha! Mistake!) It did strike me as a book of the 80s, and the style of ‘feminism’–rather Victorian and designed to ‘protect’ women–that contributes to the dystopia was bigger then and is in some abeyance now. Fortunately.
But, yes, of course Margaret Atwood is a feminist. Now we just have to decide what that slippery word means…and Atwood’s got a few things to say…
This point you’ve made – about feeling like you already knew all about the book before you read it – I feel like that’s key to discussing her inspiration and exploration. Because I think it’s awfully easy to pull out elements of the book to suit a perspective, but there are other elements there too, so it’s not usually straightforward. For instance, isn’t she also commenting on inequality more broadly? Particularly in noting that not all men benefit from this power structure in Gilead either? Offred dismisses Nick summarily, at first anyway, because he’s not even been assigned a wife. I know in earlier readings I’ve read the novel as a feminist manifesto, but knowing how carefully she has eschewed writing feminist fiction, eschewed the identification as a ‘feminist’ in general, I’m looking at it differently now. It’s funny how long we can go without reading touchstone works of literature – better late than never!
It’s not straightforward (which is one of the things that makes it a classic, of course!) and is available for multiple interpretations, which helps it live longer. (It’s also stylistically interesting, I think.)
I hadn’t read any Atwood before moving to Canada, and the first one I read was The Robber Bride, which I partly read because I wanted to read a Toronto novel on moving to Toronto. Very good, but not, I’d say, very typical Atwood.
Even serious readers can’t have read all the great works of literature, but maybe that’s a good thing. It’s nice to have more to read!