Margaret Atwood's Modest Proposal the Handmaid's Tale '
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Karen Stein Margaret Atwood's Modest Proposal The Handmaid's Tale ' IVIargaret Atwood begins her novel The Handmaid's Tale with two dedications and three epigraphs: a passage from Genesis, a passage from Jonathan Swift's "Modest Proposal," and a Sufi proverb. This abundance of preliminary matter establishes a frame through which we read the novel, just as a frame around a painting tells us to read the enclosed space in a certain way, as an art object, an object re-presented in a way that calls attention to its special relationship to surrounding objects. We look through—not at—the frame, but its presence has already categorized the object within and structured the way we will view it. Similarly, Atwood's interpolated texts set up a frame that asks us to read the rest of the book in a particular way. To frame means, among other things, to utter or articulate, to fit or adjust to something, to enclose, to shape or fashion, to invent or imagine, to plan or contrive, to devise falsely (to frame up); all of these meanings resonate in Tale. In Gilead, women have been framed. Framed by their red robes and wide wimples, the handmaids are clearly visible, marked and delimited by their social status. For the wearer within the frame, the wimples serve as blinders; to look through them is to see only straight ahead, a narrowed view of the world. For us as readers, to look at the wimples is to read the authori- tarian practice of Gilead which attempts to control women, and to permit only one view of reality. By decoding Atwood's framing texts, we can read the frame itself as well as reading through it. Such a reading may in fact expand our view, for it adds layers of inference and possibility. Many critics 57 Atwood have discussed one of the framing texts, the Historical Notes section at the end. Indeed, this topic is the focal point of articles by Arnold E. Davidson and Patrick D. Murphy. Davidson considers the political implications of the Notes, while Murphy examines this section of the novel as a structural device. For other analyses of the Historical Notes, see, for example, Deer, Lacombe, LeBihan, Rubenstein, Stein, Tome. Thus, while this section has received substantial attention, few critics have spoken about the prefatory material. Lucy M. Freibert addresses the dedication and all of the epigraphs, although she speaks in detail only about the material from Genesis. She remarks that the epigraph from Swift prepares us for political satire. Nancy V. Workman analyzes the Sufi proverb and its meanings for the novel. She mentions the Swift epigraph in passing, notes that it is "readily understood" and relates Swift's exaggerated satire to Atwood's exaggerated satire of American Puritanism and the Moral Majority (n). Linda Wagner-Martin discusses the novel's dedications briefly. Sandra Tome explores in greater depth some of the ironic implications of the dedications. I will consider all of the prefatory framing matter here, and focus in particular on the Swift epigraph. I shall argue that this epigraph serves larger thematic and stylistic purposes in Atwood's novel. By examining these initial framing devices, I hope to ask useful questions about the narrative voice and to extend our readings of the novel. Before considering the preliminary framing matter which will be our central concern here, it will be useful to sketch out the workings of the book's "Historical Notes," the concluding frame. This chapter, a report of an academic conference about Gilead held at the University of Denay, Nunavit ("deny none of it"), serves many functions. For one, the academic discourse satirizes academic pretension. More seriously, through its sexism and moral relativism it establishes ideological parallels between the dystopias of Gilead and the post-Gileadean society. Rhetorically, the speaker at the conference, Professor James Darcy Pieixoto, continues the process of ironic layering of texts which the multiple epigraphs have initi- ated. Pieixoto has in fact assembled Offred's story, rearranging and transfer- ring her audiotaped oral narrative into the written text that is the eponymous story. Thus, through his editorial acts, and now, in the novel's narrative present, through his conference presentation, Pieixoto provides another narrative voice, another layer of interpretation to frame the hand- maid's narrative. His narrative includes information about Offred's escape from Gilead and her recording of the story which, puzzlingly, she does not provide. Moreover, in bracketing her tale, his text reiterates the tension between Offred's words and patriarchal control of her story which forms the crux of her tale. We shall have more to say later about the ways in which Pieixoto misreads Offred's tale. Additionally, the "Historical Notes" section furthers the satirical purpose of the novel. In describing the function of this frame, Patrick Murphy explains it as a device to solve a problem facing writers of dystopian specu- lative fiction: if the dystopian world is too far removed from ours, our read- ing may lead to "cathartic reduction of anxiety" (26) with no impulse to act in our world. The reader who is too comfortable may read for escape or to "reinforce smug assumptions" (26). To reduce this distance, and induce a "discomforting" reading, the author employs a framing device "intended to reduce the distance between tenor [relations in the empirical universe] and vehicle [relations in the fictional universe] and thereby further the funda- mental purpose of this SF subgenre: to prompt readers to change the world" (Murphy 40, bracketed text from Suvin 70). Murphy notes that while it has "historical precedents in the 'discovered manuscript' device used by Swift... and others, pseudo-documentary framing" is a more appropriate strategy for contemporary readers because it is closely related to "journalistic and academic writing conventions... [influenced by] 'new journalism' and the popularity of the 'non-fiction novel' " (27). To Murphy's categorization of Tale as dystopian science fiction, I would append, as others have suggested, the label of satire (and also, the labels of journal, epistolary novel, romance, palimpsest).2 Satire, like dystopian science fiction, is a genre which addresses its exaggerated version of present evils to readers who have some power to act and, by this means, hopes to bring about social and political change. Offred's original text, recorded on audiotape, is presumably intended to inform a larger audience about Gilead and thus to serve the same purpose of bringing about action to extirpate the horrors of the dystopia. This dystopian-science fiction-satirical-journal-episto- lary-romance-palimpsest text, then, this Tale, is the story of a rather ordi- nary, educated, middle-class woman who is framed by, but (presumably) escapes from, a dystopian misogynist society. How appropriate to frame (bracket) her story with a dedication to Atwood's ancestor, Mary Webster, who escaped hanging as a witch at the hands of the dystopian misogynistic 59 A t w o o d Puritan Massachusetts. Because the rope broke and the law of double jeop- ardy saved her from being tried again, Webster escaped from death and subsequently moved to Nova Scotia, a more liberal society. Counterpoised to Webster, the novel's other dedicatee is Perry Miller, an American scholar of Puritanism (a teacher of Atwood's when she was at Harvard). Sandra Tome demonstrates that the juxtaposed dedications posit the ironic rela- tions between scholars and the texts they (mis)read, between the events of history and the historians who (mis)interpret them. In explicating and val- orizing the texts they interpret, both Pieixoto and Miller ignore the deeply misogynist strain of Gileadean and Puritan cultures. Pieixoto urges the con- ference audience to suspend moral judgment in studying Gilead; Miller was in the vanguard of American scholarship that celebrated the Puritan vision as quintessentially American (Tome 80). Observing that the ironic pairing of Webster and Miller at the start parallels the pairing of the handmaid Offred and Professor Pieixoto at the end, Tome notes "the issue in both cases is the failure of the female object of study to fit the patterns of inquiry set out by her male scrutinizer" (81). Moreover, because they do not fit these "patterns of inquiry," Offred and Mary Webster are able to escape from the traditional plots scripted for (or rather against) women, and thereby to elude not only the scholars who study them, but also the rigidly punitive societies that seek to destroy them. Like the dedications, the epigraphs chosen as framing texts are drawn from the domains of history, literary history and religion, thus pointing to a wide scope of issues, to a seriousness of purpose and, also, to the persistence over time of the problems the novel will raise. These preliminary interpo- lated texts signal the reader that several discourses will be juxtaposed; sev- eral layers of meaning and language will be superimposed upon each other, and played against each other to produce ironic effects. Because irony is a chief feature of the novel, and one of the components of satire, a brief discussion of its purposes is in order. A useful place to begin our understanding of irony is Linda Hutcheon's discussion. Describing the complex, multifaceted uses of irony, Hutcheon notes that its tone extends along a range that begins with the mildly emphatic and con- tinues through the playful, ambiguous, provisional, self-protective to the insulting, the subversive or the transgressive (221). She offers a definition of "irony as the interaction not only between ironist and interpreter but between different meanings, where both the said and the unsaid must play 60 off against each other (and with some critical edge)" (220).