ALSO BY MARGARET ATWOOD
NOVELS
The Edible Woman
Surfacing
Lady Oracle
Life Before Man
Bodily Harm
The Handmaid’s Tale
Cat’s Eye
The Robber Bride
Alias Grace
The Blind Assassin
Oryx and Crake
The Penelopiad
The Year of the Flood
MaddAddam
The Heart Goes Last
Hag-Seed
SHORTER FICTION
Dancing Girls
Murder in the Dark
Bluebeard’s Egg
Wilderness Tips
Good Bones and Simple Murders
The Tent
Moral Disorder
Stone Mattress
POETRY
Double Persephone
The Circle Game
The Animals in That Country
The Journals of Susanna Moodie
Procedures for Underground
Power Politics
You Are Happy
Selected Poems: 1965–1975
Two-Headed Poems
True Stories
Interlunar
Selected Poems II: Poems Selected and New, 1976–1986
Morning in the Burned House
Eating Fire: Selected Poetry, 1965–1995
The Door
NONFICTION
Survival: A Thematic Guide to Canadian Literature
Days of the Rebels 1815–1840
Second Words
Strange Things: The Malevolent North in Canadian Literature
Negotiating with the Dead: A Writer on Writing
Moving Targets: Writing with Intent 1982–2004
Curious Pursuits: Occasional Writing
Writing with Intent: Essays, Reviews, Personal Prose 1983–2005
Payback: Debt and the Shadow Side of Wealth
In Other Worlds: SF and the Human Imagination
FOR CHILDREN
Up in the Tree
Anna’s Pet (with Joyce Barkhouse)
For the Birds
Princess Prunella and the Purple Peanut
Rude Ramsay and the Roaring Radishes
Bashful Bob and Doleful Dorinda
Wandering Wenda
GRAPHIC NOVELS
Angel Catbird
The Handmaid’s Tale
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by O.W. Toad, Ltd.
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Nan A. Talese/Doubleday, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
www.nanatalese.com
Doubleday is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC. Nan A. Talese and the colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Cover illustration © Noma Bar / Dutch Uncle
Cover design © Suzanne Dean
Art by Suzanne Dean
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019940775
ISBN 9780385543781 (hardcover)
EBOOK ISBN 9780385543798
v5.4
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“Every woman is supposed to have the same set of motives, or else to be a monster.”
—GEORGE ELIOT,
DANIEL DERONDA
“When we look one another in the face, we’re neither of us just looking at a face we hate—no, we’re gazing into a mirror….Do you really not recognize yourselves in us…?”
—OBERSTURMBANNFÜHRER LISS TO OLD BOLSHEVIK MOSTOVSKOY, VASILY GROSSMAN,
LIFE AND FATE
“Freedom is a heavy load, a great and strange burden for the spirit to undertake….It is not a gift given, but a choice made, and the choice may be a hard one.”
—URSULA K. LE GUIN,
THE TOMBS OF ATUAN
CONTENTS
Cover
Also by Margaret Atwood
Title Page
Copyright
Epigraph
I
:
Statue
II
:
PRECIOUS FLOWER
III
:
Hymn
IV
:
THE CLOTHES HOUND
V
:
Van
VI
:
SIX FOR DEAD
VII
:
Stadium
VIII
:
CARNARVON
IX
:
Thank Tank
X
:
SPRING GREEN
XI
:
Sackcloth
XII
:
CARPITZ
XIII
:
Secateurs
XIV
:
ARDUA HALL
XV
:
Fox and Cat
XVI
:
PEARL GIRLS
XVII
:
Perfect Teeth
XVIII
:
READING ROOM
XIX
:
Study
XX
:
BLOODLINES
XXI
:
Fast and Thick
XXII
:
HEARTSTOPPER
XXIII
:
Wall
XXIV
:
THE
NELLIE J. BANKS
XXV
:
Wakeup
XXVI
:
LANDFALL
XXVII
:
Sendoff
The Thirteenth Symposium
Acknowledgements
About the Author
I
Statue
The Ardua Hall Holograph
1
Only dead people are allowed to have statues, but I have been given one while still alive. Already I am petrified.
This statue was a small token of appreciation for my many contributions, said the citation, which was read out by Aunt Vidala. She’d been assigned the task by our superiors, and was far from appreciative. I thanked her with as much modesty as I could summon, then pulled the rope that released the cloth drape shrouding me; it billowed to the ground, and there I stood. We don’t do cheering here at Ardua Hall, but there was some discreet clapping. I inclined my head in a nod.
My statue is larger than life, as statues tend to be, and shows me as younger, slimmer, and in better shape than I’ve been for some time. I am standing straight, shoulders back, my lips curved into a firm but benevolent smile. My eyes are fixed on some cosmic point of reference understood to represent my idealism, my unflinching commitment to duty, my determination to move forward despite all obstacles. Not that anything in the sky would be visible to my statue, placed as it is in a morose cluster of trees and shrubs beside the footpath running in front of Ardua Hall. We Aunts must not be too presumptuous, even in stone.
Clutching my left hand is a girl of seven or eight, gazing up at me with trusting eyes. My right hand rests on the head of a woman crouched at my side, her hair veiled, her eyes upturned in an expression that could be read as either craven or grateful—one of our Handmaids—and behind me is one of my Pearl Girls, ready to set out on her missionary work. Hanging from a belt around my waist is my Taser. This weapon reminds me of my failings: had I been more effective, I would not have needed such an implement. The persuasion in my voice would have been enough.
As a group of statuary it’s not a great success: too crowded. I would have preferred more emphasis on myself. But at least I look sane. It could well have been otherwise, as the elderly sculptress—a true believer since deceased—had a tendency to confer bulging eyes on her subjects as a sign of their pious fervour. Her bust of Aunt Helena looks rabid, that of Aunt Vidala is hyperthyroid, and that of Aunt Elizabeth appears ready to explode.
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