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57 pages 1 hour read

Margaret Atwood

The Handmaid's Tale

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 1985

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Chapters 3-4Chapter Summaries & Analyses

Chapter 3 Summary: “Night”

Back in her room, Offred considers how the night is “my own time, to do with as I will” and wonders, “Where should I go?” (47). She goes first to a memory of her best friend, Moira, sitting on her bed at college “in her purple overalls, one dangly earring, the gold fingernail she wore to be eccentric” (47).

From this memory, she goes to a memory of being a child in “a park somewhere, with my mother” (48). Ostensibly, they were there to feed the ducks, but in reality, they were attending a feminist protest where women burned pornographic magazines. Offred remembers how “big flakes of paper came loose, sailed into the air, still on fire, parts of women’s bodies, turning to black ash in the air” (48).

Next, she remembers coming to after attempting to escape across the border to Canada and being told that her daughter had been taken away and rehomed with “people who are fit. You are unfit, but you want what is best for her” (49). They showed her a picture of her daughter holding a stranger’s hand.

Addressing the reader, Offred says that she “would like to believe that this is a story I’m telling” because “[i]f it’s a story I’m telling, then I have control over the ending” (49). Also, if it is a story, then “I must be telling it to someone. You don’t tell a story only to yourself. There’s always someone else” (49). She thinks that a “story is like a letter,” begins it “Dear You” (49), and “pretend[s] you can hear me” although “I know you can’t” (50). 

Chapter 4 Summary: “Waiting Room”

Offred and Ofglen visit the Wall again. A priest hangs there along with two men wearing placards accusing them of “Gender Treachery” (53), or homosexuality. On the way home from the wall, Ofglen remarks, “It’s a beautiful May day,” and Offred thinks, “Mayday used to be a distress signal, a long time ago” (53).

They watch a funeral procession of poor “Econowives,” or wives of lower-ranking men. One carries a jar so small that it must contain miscarried remains of a fetus only two or three months old and too small to know if “it was an Unbaby,” a child born with a deformity or birth defect (54).

When Offred returns, Nick asks, “Nice walk?” (55), a dangerous rejection of protocol, and Offred remembers “Aunt Lydia” telling her that men are easily tempted because “God made them that way” so “it’s up to you to set the boundaries” (55). As she passes Serena Joy, she recalls how the woman went from gospel singing to making speeches “about the sanctity of the home” (55). Offred’s husband, Luke, had found her funny, but Offred “only pretended to think so. Really she was a little frightening. She was in earnest” (56).

Upstairs, Offred is shocked to see the Commander “near the door to the room where I stay” (59). She does not understand why he is “violating custom” (59) or what significance it holds. She wonders if he was “in my room” and realizes that she“ called it mine” (59).

Concluding that it is “MY room, then” (60), she remembers exploring it when she first moved in, taking it section by section over several days to pass the time. On the third day, she explored the cupboard and found the words “Nolite te bastardes carborundorum” scratched into the floor in “tiny writing” (62). She does not know what the words mean but realizes that another Handmaid must have lived there before her.

Offred imagines the woman being like “Moira as she was when she was in college […] quirky, jaunty, athletic […] Freckles, I think; irreverent, resourceful” (62). She remembers asking Rita about the previous Handmaid, but Rita would only say, “She didn’t work out” (63).

Offred recalls Aunt Lydia “training” the Handmaids, condemning women of the past for sunbathing or walking around scantily-clad and concluding, “[N]o wonder those things used to happen” (65). She remembers Moira talking about “giving an underwhore party […] like Tupperware, only with underwear” and wonders “[i]s that how we lived then?” (66).

Thinking about how Gilead came about, she realizes that “we lived, as usual, by ignoring. Ignoring isn’t the same as ignorance, you have to work at it” and observes that “[n]othing changes instantaneously: in a gradually heating bathtub you’d be boiled to death before you knew it” (66). From her window, she watches the Commander get out of his car and thinks, “I ought to feel hatred for this man […] but it isn’t what I do feel. What I feel is more complicated than that. I don’t know what to call it. It isn’t love” (68).

Offred goes to the doctor for obligatory tests: “urine, hormones, cancer smear, blood test” (69). There, she takes off her clothes and covers herself with a sheet. Another sheet hangs from the ceiling level with her neck and “intersects me so that the doctor will never see my face. He deals with a torso only” (70).

The doctor is unorthodoxly talkative and says he can “help” (70) Offred by having sex with her, in order to get her pregnant, as many of the Commanders are sterile. Offred is shocked that “he’s said a forbidden word. Sterile” and notes that “[t]here is no such thing as a sterile man any more, not officially. There are only women who are fruitful and women who are barren, that’s the law” (70-71).

The doctor says that he “hate[s] to see what they put you through,” and Offred recognizes “genuine sympathy” but that he is also “enjoying this, sympathy and all” (71). Offred declines but is careful to be polite because the doctor “could fake the tests, report me for cancer, for infertility, have me shipped off to the Colonies with the Unwomen,” or those who do not submit to Gilead’s oppressive social structures (71).

The bathroom in the Commander’s house has “an oblong of tin,” instead of a glass mirror, and no razors, because “[t]here were incidents in bathrooms at first; there were cuttings, drownings” (72). Undressing, Offred avoids “looking down at my body, not so much because it’s shameful or immodest but because […] I don’t want to look at something that determines me so completely” (73).

In the bath, she thinks of her daughter and considers that “they were right, it’s easier, to think of her as dead” (74). Afterward, Cora, a Martha, brings her a supper of “bland” and “healthy” food (75), and Offred takes a pat of butter, wraps it in a napkin, and places it “into the toe of my right shoe” (76).  

Chapters 3-4 Analysis

Offred remembers her mother taking her to a park to burn pornographic magazines with a group of radical feminists. The image of “parts of women’s bodies” (48) separated and severed appears several times throughout the novel, highlighting the objectification of women and their reduction to specific, “useful” body parts to be utilized by others. The women’s censorship and destruction of texts and images parallels Gilead’s own censorship and its efforts to outlaw expressions of sexuality that it deems inappropriate, providing a brief critique of some more restrictive models of feminism.

The sheet at the doctor’s surgery that “intersects me so that the doctor will never see my face” (70) prevents Offred from being a whole human being, reducing her to headless body parts to be inspected for their reproductive value. Aside from the examination itself, the doctor confirms this understanding in his “offer” to impregnate her and in the tacit knowledge that he has the power to have her sent to the Colonies, toxic wastelands where the “Unwomen” are sent. When Offred refuses to look at her own body because she does not want “look at something that determines me so completely” (73), it shows her intimate, troubled awareness that in Gilead she is not a person but a body, valued only for its ability to carry babies.

The process of telling stories serves several functions for the characters, including ensuring their lives, their narratives, do not get drowned out or erased by official dogma and the revisionist manipulation of language that labels homosexuality as “Gender Treachery” (53) or a deformed baby as “an Unbaby” (54). Here, it serves as a lifeline, allowing Offred to imagine a listener, someone who might be on her side or who at least will hear of her suffering, pain, and isolation.

In a similar way, the Latin writing Offred finds in her cupboard reminds her that other people are suffering through the same thing she is, people who leave messages and tell their own stories. Like the Handmaids exchanging names and like the process of Offred recounting her experiences, this graffiti serves as a point of connection to others and as a reminder that resistance, however small, cannot be entirely stamped out. That Offred imagines the unknown writer to resemble Moira is significant because, Moira represents rebellion, freedom, and strength to Offred, a reminder that fighting back is possible even when she herself often leans more toward compliance.

The theme of complicity and complacency also appears in this section. First, it is seen in Offred’s memories of Serena Joy’s speeches “about the sanctity of the home” (55) and the way the Commander’s Wife actively worked to establish a state where she herself, along with all other women, is subordinated and dominated by men. The fact that Luke finds her funny while Offred, who would be more directly affected by her views, finds her “a little frightening” (56), indicates his complacency about the threat Serena and those like her pose. Offred herself is aware of such things when she notes that they let things gradually slide politically “by ignoring” what was going on, something one actively “[has] to work at” (66).

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