Language as a Tool of Power and Resistance in The
Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
Arunima Singh,
Ph.D. Research Scholar,
Department of English,
Tilka Manjhi Bhagalpur University,
Bhagalpur, Bihar.
Abstract: Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale depicts a
dystopian world where language functions both as a medium for executing power
over the oppressed and as a powerful tool for resisting patriarchal dominance
and the slaughtering of individual agency. This paper investigates how the
bleak, murky, hell-like regime of Gilead uses language as a mechanism to
control and instil a sense of subordination among the oppressed on one hand,
and how the protagonist Offred – representing all the helpless, especially
women – reclaims control and gains agency by using language on the other. Thus,
applying feminist linguistics literary analysis, and power theory, this study
argues that language has been instrumental not only in subjugating the weaker
ones but also in establishing identity and demonstrating rigorous rebellion.
Keywords: Dystopian, Language, Power, Patriarchal dominance,
Regime, Subordination, Feminist linguistics, Identity
What makes Margaret Atwood’s 1985 speculative fiction The
Handmaid’s Tale unique and praiseworthy is its blending of literary excellence
with urgent socio-political themes, reflecting on the precariousness of freedom
and the importance of resistance, memory, and voice. The Handmaid’s Tale
is a story of women, or maidens, who are forcibly made into maids—maids not
only for household chores but also for bearing children for the dominant
communities of society. They are much like vessels—reproductive and fertile
ones—revealing the patriarchal subjugation and reduction of women. Often hailed as a feminist dystopian classic,
The Handmaid’s Tale resonates with the themes of patriarchal domination,
reproductive rights, and gender oppression. With this seminal work, Margaret Atwood
carefully constructs a portrayal of twenty-first-century America on the one
hand, and on the other, interrogates contemporary cultural and societal
dynamics through irony, wit, and critical insight.
Drawing on Michel
Foucault’s conception of power and resistance—particularly his assertion that
“where there is power, there is resistance” (Foucault, 1978)—it becomes evident
that language in Gilead operates not only as a tool of control, but also as a vehicle
for subversion and rebellion. Language is the
most essential and powerful tool the Republic of Gilead uses to construct and
maintain its totalitarian regime. And Atwood’s narrative offers a compelling
portrayal of how language serves both roles: one of oppression and the other of
insubordination. It highlights the dual function of language in both
reinforcing and resisting patriarchal dominance. To shape thought and suppress
individuality, official language has been ritualized in Gilead. In the words of
Arbaoui, “The controlled language ensures that women internalize their roles
within the social hierarchy” (Arbaoui 4). Thus, from being a way to express
feelings, ideas, and emotions, language is deemed to subjugate and marginalize
the second sex by disabling them from expressing themselves on their own terms
and in their own language.
To control language is to
control reality—and the stark reality is that such control eliminates any
possibility of intellectual autonomy. The
restrictions on reading, even of store signs or books, symbolise Gilead's total
autonomy and desire to create a world where women's cognitive independence is
neither appreciable nor approved in order to erase their existence. As Aunt
Lydia teaches, "The pen is envy(Atwood 192)," while eroding the true
and real meaning of the phrase, "The pen is mightier than the sword",
that reveals the power of words and ideas can transform the world in ways
violence never can. While a sword may conquer bodies, the pen influences minds,
shapes societies, and changes the course of history. As Offred puts it, “The
pen between my fingers is sensuous, alive almost, I can feel it’s power, the
power of words it contains” (192). Offred acknowledges that “pen is envy,” a
phrase attributed to Aunt Lydia, and in doing so, she also admits that such
objects—symbols of literacy and male authority—are indeed worthy of envy. The
pen, reserved for men in Gilead, becomes a powerful symbol of control,
knowledge, and expression. By holding and imagining its use, Offred not only
envies the Commanders but also desires to reclaim the authority they possess.
Her attraction to the pen reflects a deeper yearning to access the power that
has been systematically denied to her. In imagining herself stealing and using
this object of envy, Offred symbolically challenges the gendered power
structure of Gilead, hoping that possession might grant her the same autonomy
and voice that men enjoy.
This twist in the tale of this powerful weapon called pen
as stated by Aunt Lydia glorifies the terror of Gilead's atmosphere, where
women remain passive recipients of state discourse, unable to question or
articulate dissent. Women, especially Handmaids, are deprived of any linguistic
freedom and self assertion as they denied access to literary. The most
effective way to prevent critical thinking is to restrict individuals from
reading, writing and from anything that promotes creativity and mental
engagement. This is precisely the case for the women of Gilead, where critical
thought is nearly impossible due to their exclusion from activities that
stimulate intellectual development. This phenomenon aligns with the theory
called Muted Group Theory developed by Cheris Kramarae, a renowned feminist
scholar, who propounds that dominant groups suppress the communicative
practices of marginalized individuals (Kramarae 55).The restricted access to
self-expression imposed upon women in Gilead underscores male supremacy over
power and liberty.
The concept of linguistic
ownership in Gilead is closely tied to the region’s system of naming. The women of Gilead are handicapped by their names, as
they do not have their own but are instead called by the names of their
masters. They are the faces, and their names are symbols that reflect their
objectification—symbols of their status as mere property rather than
individuals. Their individual identities are stripped away, and they are tied
to the men they serve; they are commodities at the whim of their masters. This
naming system forces them into a shackled role and robs them of their personal
past, cultural identity, and both personal and collective agency. “My name
isn’t Offred,” the narrator confesses. “I have another name, which nobody uses
now because it’s forbidden” (Atwood 84).Denying women names is a mechanism of power,
a form of control rooted in dehumanization—manipulating, subjugating, and
erasing individuality.
Margaret Atwood and her acumen in using naming
conventions to delineate the oppression faced by women is worth noting, as it
forms the foundation upon which much of The Handmaid’s Tale relies. The
naming system in Gilead can be categorized in three ways. Firstly, the
handmaids are named in relation to the Commanders they serve. The names Offred
and Ofglen are Of-Fred and Of-Glen, respectively, which identify them only in
relation to the male Commanders they are assigned to. These names of women do
not signify their identity; they give a sense of belonging as if they are
non-living objects belonging to some living creatures (men). This erasure of
identity and removal of any trace of the woman’s original name is harsh on the
personal being and a setback to the psychological aspect of women who lose
their self-worth to the extreme where they no longer exist on their own. Even
their former names, like Offred, who was known as June earlier, and others like
Moira and Janine – are not called out in public, preventing the women from
recalling their pasts. They whisper their original names secretly among
themselves, an act that becomes symbolic of resistance and memory. Secondly,
women in Gilead have their names referred and reduced to their roles – they are
often called ‘Marthas’, which reduces them to their domestic functions.
Thirdly, the ‘Aunts’, such as Aunt Lydia, represent authority within the
authoritarian regime, while maintaining a sanitized, matronly tone. All these
depict a power structure where language plays an important part in maintaining
gender hierarchies—representing inequality as well as a profound view of the
aspects of its construction and legitimization.
In spite of the repressive and tyrannical linguistic
reign, language remains not just a medium but a space of resistance. The
protagonist, Offred, not only narrates her experiences but also documents her
trauma, her agony, and her pain. Her narrative is not mere storytelling; it is
a reflection of her dishevelled demeanour and shattered identity that she seeks
to preserve and communicate to an imagined audience in an attempt to somehow
lessen the effect of ongoing maltreatment inflicted upon her entire being.
Offred’s subtle way of reclaiming narrative power is by portraying her inner
world through internal monologue. All her hidden discourses, though invisible
to her surroundings, are very much seen and felt by her. As she reflects, “When
we think of the past, it’s the beautiful things we pick out. We want to believe
it was all like that” (Atwood 36).
Memory plays a pivotal role, not in reclaiming what has been lost but in
becoming a linguistic rebellion—a way to preserve reality and truth. As linguist
Deborah Cameron observes, “Reclaiming the right to speak is often the first
step towards reclaiming the self” (Cameron 98). Offred’s sense of individuality
and autonomy is reflected in her use of puns, metaphors, and wordplay. What
becomes her mantra for silent rebellion, defiance, endurance, and hope against
hope is a linguistic relic from a former Handmaid that she discovers scratched
into her closet, passed down from one Handmaid to another:
“Nolitetebastardescarborundorum”—a pseudo-Latin phrase meaning “Don’t let the
bastards grind you down”. It symbolizes
underground yet potent linguistic solidarity that ties all subjugated souls in
unison.
Offred maintains a cognitive independence that defies
Gilead’s attempts at total control. Her personal take on language makes her
inner self determined to live within an outer authoritarian world, a realm of
recluse and rebellion. As a form of mental escape, Offred often puns silently
to herself. Wordplay and storytelling thus become both a coping mechanism and a
subtle form of rebellion. “Waste not, want not. I am not being wasted. Why do I
want?” (Atwood 13). This familiar cliché is enough to reveal her psyche and
condition. She twists its meaning to reflect her own emptiness and longing,
revealing her disguised intellect and suppressed agony. Furthermore, her
metaphorical reflection on her dismal state, expressed in an ironic tone,
highlights her bottled-up self that longs for the fresh air of freedom. Her
comparison of herself—and women like her—to a trapped rat is emblematic of the
complex and confining environment, where bondage and exploitation permeate
every breath of air: “ A rat in a maze is free to go anywhere, as long as it
stays inside the maze” (170). Offred’s storytelling can be deemed both a survival
strategy and an act of political defiance. As she puts it, “I would like to
believe this is a story I’m telling. I need to believe it” (45). Storytelling
is a poignant way to regain agency that allows her to recanvas her identity and
experiences and establish subjectivity. Making it a means of survival is the
only option to keep herself sane and alive. As a political defiance, it
represents the conscious and subconscious desire to be free from any
obligations and restraints, questioning the existing domination of power.
In portraying women and their demeaned selves, Margaret
Atwood critiques how the patriarchal system uses language to guard and control
female bodies and identities. The linguistic reduction of women to their
reproductive functions (e.g., Handmaids, Wives, Marthas) represents the
dehumanization innate to Gilead’s social and political domain. It is important
not to forget celebrated feminist theorists like Julia Kristeva and Hélène
Cixous, who supported and coined Écriture Féminine—a form of writing that
allows women to express themselves. The idea behind this notion is to emphasize
the role of language for the psychic understanding of self, challenging the
conventional mind-set that considers language a male-oriented phenomenon. Here,
the narrative of Atwood’s protagonist aligns with this form of expression,
using language not just as a means of communication but as a medium where her
position as ‘other’ in a masculine symbolic order does not matter, where she
places her experiences before language, abolishing all repression, breaking
linearity, and incorporating emotion and memory. Ultimately, Atwood affirms the
human urge to communicate, remember, and resist, while also warning of the
perils of the domination of thought through language.
Works Cited
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