A Lasting Connection

At first glance, Miles, otherwise known as Pudge, the gawky, awkward, self-conscious teenage protagonist of John Green’s novel Looking for Alaska, was not someone I’d choose as a friend. I found him obnoxious; I couldn’t relate to him at all, a similar experience to my inability to understand  Holden Caulfield at first when reading Catcher in the Rye; sometimes teenage boys seem like another species to me. I live with one, and I still can’t quite figure him out. However, when I look past Pudge’s sexual fantasies and persistent desire to conform, I found that we share something essential, something that not many teenagers do: the heart-wrenching, mind-boggling experience that is grief. Though everyone experiences grief in a different way, I found common ground with Pudge, where loss meets youth.

At age ten, when my dad died from Hodgkin's Disease, one of the most taxing parts of my grief was my inability to connect with the people around me. My mom and several other family members were there for me, but as soon as he died, I felt distanced from my peers. In my diary several months following his death, I wrote: “I want to talk to my friends about dad, but how? They’d probably just say ‘it’s okay’ or ‘think on the good side.’ I really wish they could [understand]. But they can’t.” One of my most distinct memories in the early weeks of loss was when my friend came up to me and asked, “Do you still miss your dad?” I was shocked; I couldn’t believe that my friend thought I could move on so quickly. I soon realized, though, that it wasn’t that my friends didn’t care, but that they hadn’t experienced struggles that would enable them to empathize with me. Grief writer Jill Brooke explains that “it’s important to experience your feelings and express them,” but it wasn’t easy for me to do this without having people to which I could relate (Brooke 18). Then reading Looking for Alaska,  I found an unlikely connection in Pudge, who loses his friend Alaska in a car accident.

Pudge also desperately tries to find people who could understand how it feels to lose a loved one. His conversations with his parents over the phone regarding Alaska’s death are brief and shallow. However, his conversations with his friend the Colonel, who was also grieving Alaska’s death, are profound. He feels relieved when he learns that they share similar irrational feelings. The Colonel says tells Pudge that he “sometimes liked it that she was dead.” Pudge was pleased that he wasn’t the only one to feel such strange and awful things” (Green 213). I would have loved to have a connection similar to that of Pudge and the Colonel, especially in the height of my grief. 
Beyond my disconnect from my peers, my initial grief was characterized by a heavy, deflated feeling that enveloped my being, a feeling which Ashley Prend describes as “primal pain… dull and aching one minute and searing and stabbing the next” (Prend 28). In my journal from the month after my dad’s death, I described my pain as a “shiver that ran through my body.” I then wrote, “I think that shiver is what real pain feels like.” I felt this “shiver” when I first found about about my dad’s death, but many other instances triggered the “shiver:” a slow song in a minor key on the radio, a sighting of a father-daughter pair, a mentioning of his name. When Alaska dies, Pudge feels “a dull endless pain in my gut that wouldn't go away even when I knelt on the stingingly frozen tile of the bathroom, dry-heaving.” He feels trapped in his inability to maintain stability. Even in moments that should have been joyful, that pain “in his gut” would not budge.

As I progressed through my grief, a dense pang of pain mixed with an overarching sense of fear. Ashley Prend attributes this fear to “a dawning realization that you can’t control your world” (Prend 30). My mind buzzed with questions about what path my life would take without my dad. These questions prompted unease, but no answers. In my diary, I wrote, “I just want a huge hug from him NOW! Why couldn’t his cancer wait 30 more years? Why not? Why did this happen to him? Too many questions but no answers.” One of the scariest parts about coping with loss was coming to the realization that answers weren't going to come. At the end of the novel, Pudge attempts to make sense of Alaska’s death, sorting through what components contributed to her being, and what happens to those components in death. He thinks about the parts of her that go beyond her physical body and tosses around the thought that those parts “have to go somewhere” and “cannot be destroyed” (Green 220). Neither Pudge nor I find answers. We find coping tools and develop greater understanding, but answers remain unfound. As unsettling as that is, I have learned that closure isn’t necessary. In Nancy Berns’s book, she describes the drawbacks of our societal “rush to end grief” (Berns 7). Pudge and I can both lead fulfilled lives without this closure for which we both once searched in desperation. 

Literature’s ability to create lasting connections between readers and characters comforts me. Just as my grief will never fully disintegrate, just as my memories and longing for a relationship to my dad will last, John Green has captured Pudge’s grief forever in writing. As the years since my dad’s death sail past me, people stop asking about my loss. It fades to the back of their minds, though it remains at the front of mine. My friends may not always be there to help me work through loss, but Pudge will be. He may be fictional, but in Pudge, I’ve found what I’ve been searching for for years: a friend who understands.

Works Cited

Berns, Nancy. Closure: The Rush to End Grief and What It Costs Us. Philadelphia: Temple UP, 2011.  Print.

Brooke, Jill. Don't Let Death Ruin Your Life: A Practical Guide to Reclaiming Happiness after the     Death of a Loved One. Toronto: Penguin, 2001. Print.

Green, John. Looking for Alaska: A Novel. New York: Dutton Children's, 2005. Print.
 
Prend, Ashley Davis. Transcending Loss: Understanding the Lifelong Impact of Grief and How to Make It Meaningful. New York: Berkley, 1997. Print.

You Get It

What's Left?

Grief made a home in the body that once was my shelter;

I felt her ripping my guts

Gnawing at my bones

Grasping my heart in her slimy tail

Compressing my lungs

Until only a miniscule pocket of air remained.

Now grief has slithered out of me

And feeds on the body of another victim.

When she first left I felt hollow.

Devoid.

Blank and barren.

Though vicious,

Grief had been reliable

Always there

Steadfast

True.

Now in her absence

All that remains

Are torn guts

Decaying bones

A crumpled heart

Smashed lungs

And a longing to fill the empty space.

Dear Pudge

May 18th, 2014

Dear Pudge,

    Right now it probably feels like your world is crashing down. You believe that Alaska is “just dead. Just darkness” (Green 219), just as I believed that my dad was “gone for good. Not his soul, his memory, or what he gave us, but everything else.”

Yes she is gone, yes it hurts, and quite honestly Pudge, it’s hard to spin this in a positive way. I doubt you want to. You likely shake your head when your peers tell you that “Alaska is in a better place” or that “you are going to get through this” or that “you are so lucky compared to most people.”  Many people, including myself, have attempted to focus on the benefits that come from the death of a loved one. And, I’m not going to deny, there are quite a few. Bereaved children often have a mature perspective on the world. As Jill Brooke explains in her book, grief makes children feel like outsiders, and this allows them to see the world “in a nontraditional way.” This bereavement prompts abstract thought, which “builds empires because you see what others may not, and bereavement spurs the child to be introspective” (Brooke 120). She goes on to mention many successful people, including great leaders, thinkers, and artists who lost a parent at a young age. Among this list were Theodore Roosevelt and Abraham Lincoln.

Pudge, I’m not trying to say that you are going to become president of the USA because you are experiencing grief. The truth is, you probably won’t. (Sorry if that comes as a shock.) What I am saying is that although it’s painful, and to be honest, it might continue to be painful for much or all of your life, you might gain a perspective that is unique from that of your peers as a result. One way that I see this manifested in me is that I don’t conform to my peers. I know myself, I know my limits, I am confident in my choices, and I’m not easily swayed. Knowing yourself and respecting yourself is important, Pudge. It’s really important.

    So, yes, maybe you’ll gain a unique perspective from this. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck. My dad died eight years ago. Eight years is a pretty long time. Yet, I still think about him every day. I still long for him to be a part of my life. There are moments when my dad’s death will come up in conversation somehow, and my peers will change the subject as quickly as possible. What they don’t understand is that I still want to talk about it. By talking about it, in a way, I can keep him alive. I especially feel sad at special times in my life. As I near the end of my senior year, I’m at a turning point in my life. I would LOVE to have my dad there to see what I have accomplished. I want him to be a proud dad, and he doesn’t get to be. When I look out the window into the park next to my house, I see little girls playing with their dads in the sandbox, and it kills me (metaphorically, of course.) I would give anything to hit the rewind button on my life story and sit in the sandbox with my dad. But of course I know that will never happen. This is my life. I don’t have a father. I am fatherless. And I hate that. I doubt I will ever feel okay about that. But you know what, Pudge? I have learned that it’s okay not to have closure. Acceptance can come without closure. In a book by Nancy Berns, she explains that in our society, there is an emphasis on rushing to end grief and that this rush hurts us. She says that “the closure frame may be appealing since it keeps grief and loss tidy and short lived, but it is a poor reflection of what many people experience when grieving a deep loss” (Berns 166). She goes on to say that some people have emotions and memories that they “never want to pack away,” and that’s okay. There is a social expectation that grief will follow a pattern, but that’s not the case. People grieve in all different ways. I and many others can’t stand the “stages of grief” that we learn about in Psychology class. There is no roadmap. You can’t condense grief into “stages.”

    Pudge, I know I just rambled quite a bit. The main point I want you to take away is that it is okay to not fold your feelings into piles. Maybe your feelings are strewn across the floor. That’s okay. However you feel, be kind to yourself. Find ways to release. As Ashley Prend explains in her book, “No one can sustain intense feelings twenty-four hours a day” (Prend 27). Let yourself have a break from your grief, but also know that your grief is acceptable, no matter what form it takes.

    I’m thinking about you.

    I’m not going to say that I know how you feel, because I don’t. But even though I don’t totally understand you, and my grieving process doesn’t 100% match yours, I feel connected to you in a way that I don’t to most other teenagers. Maybe you can find some peace in that knowledge.

Yours Truly,

Natalie Jacobson (Who by the way, still doesn’t have the answers)

riegf

A plastic ball filled with torn shreds of paper, which includes excerpts from my diary, feelings I wrote down during grief group, and quotes from Looking for Alaska.

Reflective Letter

Dear Readers,

The creative process for this multi-genre project was an important one for me. When I started reading Looking for Alaska, I had no idea what my project’s focus would be. To be honest, I didn’t even know what the book was about. All I knew was that I wanted to give John Green a try, as people seem to LOVE him. I get it now. He has a fantastic way of creating complex characters to whom many teens can relate. When I reached the late middle of the book and realized that loss was an integral part of the story, I knew I wanted to explore grief. As I read, I found myself connecting to Pudge, feeling almost as though I knew him as I saw him grieve. So much of what he experienced, I had experienced through the loss of my dad. I wanted my project to center around the connection that I felt between me and Pudge and what that teaches me about grief.

In the few years following my dad’s death, I kept a diary in which I wrote about feelings in my everyday life, many of them pertaining to my loss. My golden thread for this project is excerpts from my diary, which I have incorporated in every genre plus my expository essay. I chose to thread my diary excerpts throughout my piece to show an honest, raw portrayal of my grief. Sometimes it’s hard to remember how I felt a few years ago, so to see my emotions in writing word-for-word helps to resurface those feelings. I want to explain where my golden thread is in each of my genres in case that isn’t clear. My poem titled “What’s Left?” is a portrayal of grief from my perspective, much of which is also how Pudge feels. The three words that are highlighted in grey in that poem were pulled from my diary. My next genre, titled “You Get It,” is a series of text messages between me and Pudge. I created this because besides my grief group, from which I did not form lasting friendships, I’ve never had friend who has lost a loved one. I wanted to see what it would feel like to have a conversation over text messages with someone experiencing grief. I actually found it to be a quite comforting conversation. When I talk about visiting Whitewater in the text message, I pulled those sentences straight from my diary. My third genre titled “Dear Pudge,” is a letter from me to Pudge, in which I talk about my experiences with loss and try to give him some helpful advice, incorporating my own perspective and supporting that with some of my research. I start off the letter with an excerpt from my diary showing how I felt when he first died. Lastly, my final genre, the art piece titled “riegf,” (the word “grief” scrambled up) is a plastic ball filled with torn shreds of paper, which includes excerpts from my diary, feelings I wrote down during grief group, and quotes from Looking for Alaska. The point of this piece is to show that grief is not one dimensional; grief is complicated and confusing, and it’s virtually impossible to sort together the disjointed pieces that make it up. It shows that grief is not just “sadness.” It is far more complex than that. This piece shows the layers that compose grief and the overlaps between my grief and Pudge’s grief in a visual way. Even though this project has presented a connection between me and Pudge and similarities in our grieving processes, this does not mean that grief happens in a universal way; I've discovered that grief vastly differs from person to person.

This project was an important, introspective process for me. Thinking about my experiences with loss 
and writing about them are coping mechanisms for me, and the more I do it, the better I can understand myself.

Thanks for reading!

Natalie

Looking for Alaska: In Process Post #2

After finishing Looking for Alaska, I am looking forward to exploring the topic of grief more in depth. Grief is a topic that is very personal to me. After my dad’s death, I went through a long, hard process of sorting through my grief. Even though my “grieving period” is technically long over, the loss of a loved someone is something that stays with a person for their whole life. I don’t think I’ve gone a day without thinking about my dad, and I don’t think I ever will. That’s something that’s so complex about death- the seemingly neverending nature of its impacts.

I think it would be interesting for me to learn about the components that make up the grieving process and then see how my grieving process and that of Alaska’s friends, especially Pudge compare or contrast from my research about grief. Looking back at my journal from after my dad’s death, I see lots of similarities to Pudge’s experience following Alaska’s death. The death of a close friend is very different from the death of a father, but the similarities are leading me to realize that there might be some universal symptoms of grief. Prend says in her book that “primal pain” is at the root of grief. In my journal from the month after my dad’s death, I described my pain as “shiver that ran through my body.” I then wrote, “I think that shiver is what real pain feels like.” Pudge also feels a painful physical sensation unlike anything he has felt before. He describes “a dull endless pain in my gut that wouldn't go away even when I knelt on the stingingly frozen tile of the bathroom, dry-heaving.”

Another similarity that I found is the intense desire that people dealing with grief have to connect with others and have a shared experience. When my dad died, I felt like I was the only kid with a dead dad, and I longed to find people who could understand what I was going through. In my journal I wrote: “I wish I could talk to my friends about it but they just don’t understand. They’ve never had something like this happen to them.” A couple of months later, when I began attending a grief group, I wrote: “It’s great to be around people who have had the same experience. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who’s suffering.” In the book Don’t Let Death Ruin Your Life, author Jill Brook explains that “it’s important to experience your feelings and express them...don’t hold it in. Talk about your anger, talk about the unfairness, talk about how much you miss your loved one.” This is why grief group was so comforting to me and why I felt such a disconnect from my friends; I wanted to express my feelings, but only in an environment  that felt comfortable and supportive through shared experience. Pudge feels the same way. He tells his friend, the Colonel, who is also grieving Alaska’s death, "Sometimes I liked it...Sometimes I liked it that she was dead." The Colonel asks, "You mean it felt good?" Pudge responds, "No. I don't know. It felt..pure…. It's natural. I mean, it must be natural." Then Pudge thinks, “It always shocked me when I realized that I wasn't the only person in the world who thought and felt such strange and awful things.” This connection that these grieving friends share helps them feel connected and enables them to express their grief together. I find it so interesting that I’m discovering similarities between the grieving process of a ten year old with a dead father and a seventeen year old with a dead friend. I don’t think that types of grief are universal and formulaic, but there are shared feelings and processes that coincide with grief.

In Process Blog #1

I am currently reading Looking for Alaska by John Green. It's the first book I've read by John Green, and I'm hooked. Now I see what all the buzz is about. One of the most interesting concepts that emerges in the novel is the always perplexing idea of death. In the book so far, the characters are forced to come to terms with death in a number of ways, both in their class work and in their lives. I've realized that something that underlies this confrontation with death is the desire for connection with others. Death is scary because it means that we cease to have connections with the people around us and with our surroundings. Something that humans have in common pretty much universally, is the desire to form close connections with one another. This is true for Pudge, the novel's protagonist, who has lived a sheltered, dull life; through his school years, his peers have ignored him, leaving him with low self esteem. When he arrives at Culver Creek boarding school, his life gets interesting. He finds friends who understand him, and he begins to understand his desire for interpersonal connections and longs to build and strengthen his relationships. A detail that threads throughout the book is the idea of being close to someone, yet still not being fully connected. When Pudge is lying next to Alaska, his classmate and crush, he depicts his “chest touching the bottle and her chest touching the bottle but not us touching each other” (81). This moment reinforces the idea that it is difficult for people to ever fully connect. 
This intense desire for connection impacts how people cope with death. Alaska’s mom died when she was a young girl from a brain aneurysm. She saw her mom lying on the floor jerking around. Being a young, timid, confused little girl, she didn’t call 9-1-1, and her mom died. Alaska holds immense guilt inside her surrounding her mom's death. Sometimes Alaska says that she “failed everyone” or that she “fucked everything up” (120). These statements show her guilt, but they also show her desire to make connections and please the people around her. Alaska wanted a relationship with her mom, was so close to having one, but lost it in a fleeting moment. Later in the book, when Pudge and his friends face Alaska’s death, they too undergo a host of emotions: guilt, pain, and numbness included. Pudge, like Alaska in response to her mother’s death, feels responsible for Alaska’s death. He also feels intense pain and inability to come to terms with her death. At the root of it is his desire to finish forging a connection that he started. I’ve started doing research on grief in a book called Transcending Loss by Ashley Prend, and I’ve found that at the root of anger, guilt, and all those other complicated emotions lies pain, “primal pain… dull and aching one minute and searing and stabbing the next” (Prend 28). One of the most challenging parts of working through this pain is realizing that a dream is lost. As Prend describes it, “you must detach yourself from the lost dream as well as from the lost person” (28). For Pudge, his dream was a deep connection with Alaska. Amid his grief, pain envelopes him and he cannot stop thinking about that “dream.” This highlights the complexity of the roots of grief. I’m looking forward to continuing my research about grief and drawing connections with Looking for Alaska.

Final Thoughts on The Handmaid's Tale

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood has many powerful messages. One of the main themes presented in the story is that governments use women’s bodies to make political decisions. Because of Gilead’s declining birth rate, the government makes the decision to strip away all of women’s power and use them solely as reproductive beings to raise the birth rate. This theme relates to current day society as well. Like I mentioned in my third blog post, this novel exaggerates issues that exist in the today’s world. These connections between the two societies force readers to think about the policies and societal norms that benefit us and those that harm us. Today, the government makes political decisions about women’s bodies including laws about health care’s birth control coverage as well as rights about whether or not a woman can make the decision to get an abortion. Another theme that I saw emerge is the idea that abusive power trickles down in society. Similar to Hitler’s rule, in The Handmaid’s Tale, the people with the most power are not the only ones acting abusively. Complacency is a major issue; the Handmaids do not stand up for themselves or attempt to retaliate. Even worse, the women with a little bit of power, such as the Commander’s wife Serena, do not stand up to help the abused women. Serena became a part of the tyrannical social structure and abuses the women who have a low societal rank. This shows that when a government abuses its people, the abuse has a domino effect, changing the morals of many involved parties. This theme became evident to me later in the book. When I started reading, I was mainly upset at the people with the most power, but then I began to realize that there are many people to blame.

Through my reading, I tried to use the close reading techniques described by Nabokov, Prose, and Foster. Nabokov teaches us that it is important to view the world of the story as its own world, separate from the world in which we live. I used this technique to immerse myself in the story. Later, I analyzed similarities between our society and the story’s society, but while I read, I remained present in the text. I also used Foster’s strategy of not reading with my own eyes, but from the eyes of the characters within the context of their society. I tried to refrain from vilifying characters such as Serena, who from my own perspective, seems like a horrible woman. However, from the context of her society, her actions are expected. When one of the Handmaid’s has a baby, which Serena takes, she “looks down at the baby as if it’s a bouquet of flowers: something she’s won, a tribute”(126). This seems like a distorted reaction from my perspective, but in Gilead, this attitude towards birth is typical. I’ve also applied Prose’s lesson of paying attention to the language and analyzing the text word-by-word to my reading of The Handmaid’s Tale. For example, at the story’s end, as the government takes Offred away in a van, Atwood writes, “The two of them… take me by the elbow to help me in. Whether this is my end or a new beginning I have no way of knowing: I have given myself over into the hands of strangers, because it can’t be helped”(295). Paying close attention to language, I notice the use of the word “help” in opposing ways. She uses “help” in a positive context as they aid her when entering the van. She also uses it in a negative context because she has no control over the situation. I think that these differing uses of the word show Offred’s internal conflict and uncertainty as she enters a new chapter of her life.

I highly recommend this book to any teen or adult reader, male or female. I think that this is an important book for women to read because it reminds us that we need to stand up for ourselves and maintain control over our bodies. It sends a message that women should be aware of the injustice surrounding our sexual political rights, but also the unspoken laws surrounding sex, such as the double standard that I mentioned in my third blog post. I also think that this is an important book for men to read because it would open their eyes to the injustice that women often face in society and might remind them to view women as equals and treat them and their bodies with respect. This is a book that prompts serious thought about the role of government and gender in everyday life. It is also beautifully-written with poetic language and a writing style unlike any story I’ve read before. Atwood uses flashbacks throughout the story to tie Ofred’s past to the woman she has become in the present. Not only is the novel well-written stylistically speaking, but it also has an intense plot that keeps readers on their toes. I thoroughly enjoyed it and plan on reading more books by Atwood in the future. I’m thinking of reading Cat’s Eye next!

Independent Reading Blog: Post #3

As I continue reading The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood, I have started looking at issues presented in the text and how those issues relate to issues that our current society faces. The main issues addressed in this novel relate to gender roles, religion, and politics. Although the novel takes issues to the extreme, sadly, I haven’t found it too difficult to imagine our current society transforming into the horrific dystopia which Atwood creates. One issue that our current society faces is the stigma surrounding rape. Some individuals, including high-powered politicians, argue that rape is somehow the victim’s fault. The Handmaid’s Tale exaggerates this mindset. Aunt Helena, a woman who oversee the Handmaids, chastises a woman for being raped. She leads the Handmaids in a chant: “But whose fault was it? Aunt Helena says… Her fault, her fault, her fault, we chant in unison. Who led them on? Aunt Helena beams, pleased with us. She did. She did. She did”(72). This scene depicts a society that brainwashes women through humiliation and skewed values, not too far off from today’s rape stigma. The novel also showcases other issues relating to gender and sex including a commentary on the “double-standard” that society emphasizes today. Today, men have more sexual freedom than women. If a woman has sex with many men, others will likely label her as a “slut.” However, if a man has sex with many women, others will likely applaud him. In the novel, society expects women to remain chaste; men, on the other hand, are allowed much freedom. The Commander defends this by saying, “Nature demands variety, for men. It stands to reason, it’s part of the procreational strategy. It’s Nature’s plan”(237). The society in the novel uses this flawed logic to defend men’s sexual freedom.

Another issue presented in the novel is that governments and individuals often use religion to defend unjust acts. During a ceremony, the Commander says, “But I suffer not a woman to teach, not to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence. For Adam was first formed, then Eve”(221). This Commander and this dystopian society as a whole uses religion frequently as their reasoning for male supremacy. Although in the novel, this sort of “evidence” appears ridiculous, people use often religion to justify injustice in today’s society. I picked up a brochure at a Wisconsin county fair on homosexuality, printed from the Catholic church. The brochure says, “The rejection of homosexual behavior that is found in the Old Testament is well known”(Catholic Answers). The brochure then creates an argument that gay people are sinners, almost entirely based upon the words of the Bible. This type of argument against gay rights and the argument presented in the novel share similarities.

Blog Post #2: The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood

While reading the Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood, I have paid close attention to the emotions and actions of Offred, the protagonist, and the ways in which Atwood develops Offred’s identity. To refresh, Offred is a “Handmaid,” whose duty is to make babies for the Commander and his wife, to whom she has been assigned. The main element of Offred’s identity that I have observed is her desire to have ownership over something. Everything that was once her’s has been stripped from her: her husband, her child, her home, her material possessions. Because she is now living as a person with little control or power in her life, she lacks a sense of who she is and what belongs to her. As the Commander approaches her room she says, “Was he invading? Was he in my room? I called it mine”(49). Here, Offred reveals her conflicted view on ownership. She says her room belongs to her, but inside, she doesn’t feel like it’s hers. She feels more like a temporary guest, or a tenant who could be evicted at a moment’s notice. Because nothing in the household of the Commander is truly hers, as she lies in bed at night she thinks, “I want to steal something”(97). She then creeps out of her room and thinks, “What I would like to steal is a knife, from the kitchen, but I’m not ready for that”(97). Because Offred can’t cling to her own belongings and loved ones from the past, she has the urge to steal something so that she can gain control over her life.

Offred doesn’t even feel in control of her own body: “I used to think of my body as an instrument, of pleasure, or a means of transportation, or an implement for the accomplishment of my will… now the flesh arranges itself differently. I’m a cloud”(73). A healthy person has a connected mind and body, but Offred does not feel connected with her body. I find it very interesting that she compares herself to a “cloud.” It reminds me of the poem we read in class, “I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud” by William Wordsworth; in class we talked about how Wordsworth’s choice to compare himself to a cloud is fitting because a cloud is neither on the ground nor in space, but rather floating in between. Offred, too, feels a disconnect between herself and the world around her.

In addition to a desire for ownership, I’ve also noticed Offred’s desire for interpersonal connections. She highly valued her relationship with her husband Luke, and now that he is gone, she can’t stop thinking about him. She says, “I want Luke here so badly. I want to be held and told my name. I want to be valued, in ways that I am not; I want to be more than valuable”(97). Offred feels lost and lonely without her husband, and in losing him, has lost her sense of self-worth. Similarly, she desires friendship. She says, “It’s hard to imagine now, having a friend”(25). One of the only significant and meaningful group dynamics that remains for Offred is the group of Handmaids who join together and help each other give birth. When they are a part of a birthing ceremony, they share pain, even if they aren’t the one physically giving birth. “Each of us holds in our lap a phantom, a ghost baby… You wanted a woman’s culture. Well, now there is one”(127). The community aspect of these birthing ceremonies is at least some sort of connection for Offred to latch onto, but it’s not a healthy, interpersonal connection which she desires.

Blog Post #1: The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood

I am reading The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood, a novel depicting a future dystopia set in the Republic of Gilead, in which women of a certain class are solely valued if they have working ovaries. The protagonist, Offred, is a Handmaid in this dystopia, whose job is to become pregnant for the Commander and his wife, to whom she has been assigned. Women in this society used to live like women in our society today; Offred clearly remembers the past with her husband Luke and her daughter. Now, however, the government has taken her family from her, and she is forced into the cruel customs of her new, restricted life. One aspect of the novel that I find really interesting is the author’s style. Attwood tells the story through Offred’s eyes in the present moment, but she also seamlessly integrates Offred’s memories of the past into the novel. She does so without introducing the flashback; she goes directly into it. For example, Offred starts out in a conversation: “Don’t think it’s easy for me either, said Aunt Lydia,” and then without any introduction she begins depicting a memory: “Moira, breezing into my room, dropping her denim jacket on the floor. Got any cigs, she said”(56). This style helps blur together Offred’s longing for the past with her present reality, showing the reader that Offred’s life is confusing and muddled. I think this also helps to indicate that Offred is unclear about her identity: is she still the woman she used to be?

Another interesting stylistic choice is that Atwood writes as if the thoughts are pouring directly from Offred’s head to the page, making Offred’s thoughts and actions develop organically. Her sentence structure and punctuation use also reflect the nature of Offred’s thoughts. As she describes the Commander approaching her room, she says, “The hall is dusky, this is a man, his back to me; he’s looking into the room, dark against its light… He hears me coming, turns, hesitates, walks forward. Towards me”(49). This sentence is not completely grammatically correct, but its structure mirrors Offred’s emotions in this moment. Here, she writes in a choppy manner, reflecting the fear that Offred feels. Perhaps she can’t articulate her thoughts in a streamlined way because of the fear that overtakes her in this moment. Atwood writes in a choppy style throughout most of the novel, yet her writing still remains poetic with the use of vivid imagery and other poetic devices such as similes. Here, Offred describes seeing herself in the mirror: “I can see it as I go down the stairs, round, convex, a pier glass, like the eye of a fish, and myself in it like a distorted shadow, a parody of something, some fairy-tale figure in a red cloak”(9). Atwood uses this beautifully descriptive writing style throughout the novel, drawing readers in and letting them create a clear picture in their head. The picturesque language in combination with the choppy sentence structure and organic sentence development creates an emotionally-charged, captivating writing style.