Furies: Stories of the wicked, wild and untamed Margaret Atwood et al
Virago, the feminist publisher, is 50 years old and has published Furies, a collection of short stories to celebrate, rather than bemoan, her age. The imprint was founded by the late Carmen Callil and was, from the start, both worthy and witty. The word ‘virago’ means a heroic, warlike woman, but has many negative synonyms from which, as Sandi Toksvig explains in her introduction, each writer has chosen one for her title.
Toksvig mentions that Virago has published work by all the contributors previously, and comments in particular on Margaret Atwood whose story, ‘Siren’ opens the book. The eponymous mermaid is chairing the ‘Liminal Beings’ Knitting Group’ and the tale, which focusses to some extent on the narrator’s tail, is hilarious, as it explores the ludicrous outcomes of radical inclusivity. Atwood has been tiptoeing between the two polar positions on transgender issues, publishing and stating views which seem, sometimes, to contradict each other.
Here she presents a mocking and sardonic fable in which votes are taken, by raising a hand, wing, claw, fin or tentacle, as to which liminal beings may join the knitting circle: vampires, zombies and fungi? Francine, a platypus, emerges as the heroine because she can identify as mammal or bird, and she is lauded for having forced categorisers to sort differently. Atwood’s sense of humour does not, however, overlay the serious issues which she seeks to illuminate.
C. N. Lester’s contribution ‘Virago’ follows ‘Siren’ and it is a very different kettle of fish. Lester describes themselves as a trans/queer/feminist researcher whose Trans Like Me, also published by Virago, ‘shows us how to strive for authenticity in a world which often seeks to limit us by way of labels’. Not so much sort differently, as do not sort at all?
This piece, heavily influenced by the work of Richard von Kraft-Ebbing, the psychiatrist author of Psychopathia Sexualis, uses the male voice of a late 18th century medic. The case in question, here indicated as that of Nicholas, is based on the life of Sándor Vay, born with female sexual characteristics but who functioned within society as a man; duelling, graduating from university, and even marrying a woman.
Lester’s account, interesting though it is, stands out as an example of ‘masculine writing’ in that its style is objective. The assistant doctor, who gives his account, is constantly preparing his pen and paper, whilst his mentor, based on Kraft-Ebbing, makes ‘decisive scratches in a margin’. One cannot help but feel that these men, in working with, or on, Nicholas, have been, in a way, confronted by a platypus. How to categorise? How to sort?
The third yarn, Churail, is by Kamila Shamsie and introduces the concept of a Pakistani harpy. A woman can become a churail by dying – in childbirth or when pregnant or during lying-in or on-her-period or in bed or abused or unfulfilled sexually. There are plenty of churail in Pakistan, fewer in Europe as they like to hang out in humidity-loving peepul trees. According to men these creatures are evil and sexually incontinent, according to Shamsie this liminal being is ‘much older than the myths men wove around her, desperate to be the centre of her story’.
The fifteen stories fall into place like domino tiles – connected to each other in a straightforward or lateral manner until the labyrinthine structure is completed by Stella Duffy’s ‘Dragon’. They address the full panoply of ‘isms’ such as racism, ageism, heroism, terrorism and classism, all congregated under feminism. The ideas expressed are current, but the pieces may not stand the test of time as their creators’ best endeavours.
works cited
Furies. Margaret Atwood, Susie Boyt, Eleanor Crewes, Emma Donohue, Stella Duffy, Linda Grant, Claire Konda, CN Lester, Kirsty Logan, Caroline O’Donoghue, Chibundu Onuzo, Helen Oyeyemi, Rachel Seiffert, Kamila Shamsie, Ali Smith. Virago. 2023.
This review was first published on page 34 of the Weekend section in the Irish Examiner on August 12th 2023. It is reproduced here by permission of the Editor.
The launch: Waterstones, Piccadilly, London. Image: the Guardian.
The Testaments by Margaret Atwood
Nolite te bastardes carborundorum
In Margaret Atwood’s novels not all bastards are men. Women equally can grind you down, as can cruel young girls. Atwood is interested only in equality. In her moral code any idea of superiority is dangerous. White supremacists, like Donald Trump for example, are one of her bête noirs. So it is reductionist to see Atwood merely as feminist.
Elizabeth Moss as June/Offred in the Hulu series
In The Testaments, however, she does not give the narrative voice to a man. Instead there are three women narrators. Firstly, of course, there is Aunt Lydia, a central character of The Handmaid’s Tale and Hulu’s TV programmes. Offred’s absence from this trio of storytellers may disappoint those who chose not to indulge in the sequels provided by the writing team of second and third series. Others may agree with Atwood that the novel’s ambiguous ending was masterly as the van door slammed on Offred leaving her future unknown.
The Testaments takes a longer view than The Handmaid’s Tale. Offred’s story was in close-up. The gestation of the regime remained almost unnoticed by her peers who did not take the early intimations seriously. They were living their own busy lives, and it was only after assaults on herself and on her pre-Gilead child, Hannah, that Offred looked beyond and became political.
Ann Dowd as Aunt Lydia in the Hulu series.
Aunt Lydia was taken by surprise too, being arrested only minutes after she was told by colleagues that their bank accounts were being handed over to male relatives. She and other professional women were subjected to segregation, deprivation and physical torture. Her one chance of life was to collaborate with the commanders and devise the rules and laws under which women would live. As an architect of Gilead Lydia explains its inception as well as its continuation. Additionally she is able to foresee its putative crumbling and cessation.
It is Lydia, therefore, who is at the core of The Testaments because it is she who can see the theocratic regime of Gilead for what it is. Hers is the voice of maturity and experience whereas the other two narrators are ingénues whose accounts are tempered by the fairy tale tropes with which they have been raised. The stories they have heard include wicked witches, rescues from castles and flights through the forest. There are shades of Rapunzel, Little Red Riding Hood and Hansel and Gretel.
One of the youngsters, Daisy, was smuggled out of Gilead as a baby. She tells of a world which includes television news, protest marches and homeless people: Canada. This young woman, who has studied a couple of units on fanaticism at school, is part of what Commander Judd termed a ‘decadent and corrupt society’. His plan for Gilead was to ameliorate ‘the distressing lot of women’ by separating them from men and giving them their own sphere of existence.
Pink clad schoolgirls in the Hulu series.
The other teenager, Agnes, has grown up in Lydia and Judd’s restrictive world of wives, aunts, handmaids and Marthas. Her story focuses in particular on the months following her first period, during which she is being prepared for marriage. She leaves behind her childish clothes of pink and plum and graduates to the spring green of the prospective bride. Instead of sectarianism Agnes gets to study flower arranging, both Japanese and French methods.
In The Testaments Lydia is the guardian of a confidential file of witness statements; one that she is building and annotating as a type of insurance policy. Before ‘the advent of the regime’ Lydia, like Offred, had not foreseen the necessity of keeping such records to preserve her life and reputation but, as a family court judge, she had accrued the skills to analyse arguments and balance outcomes. And so she prepares and hides what she considers to be ‘the secret histories of Gilead’.
‘Stupid, stupid, stupid’ says Lydia to herself, in that she had ‘believed all the claptrap about life, liberty, democracy and the rights of the individual. These were eternal verities and we would always defend them. I depended upon that as if on a magic charm’. So as it dawns on her that there has been ‘a coup’ Lydia decides that she must revert to her ‘underclass background’ and reinvent herself as the dogged, mulish person she was before being educated out of her ‘deprived’ youth.
As in the MaddAddam trilogy Atwood makes extensive use of The Bible, not only hymns and biblical diction but also stories from the ‘Old Testament’. So menstruation is linked to ideas of corruption and purgation. Methodologies for removing red blood from white napkins are important for all women. Wives, must be schooled in these intricacies so that they can instruct and oversee the labour of the Marthas who will actually be tasked with the necessary soaking in cold water and scrubbing.
The colours red and white, of course, appear frequently in literature with white generally indicating purity whilst red suggests maturity. William Blake titled his collection of songs Innocence and Experience and his poem ‘Little lamb who made thee” is recited to Agnes by Tabitha, her ‘mother’. The name Agnes, meaning lamb in Latin, anoints her also with an affinity to Christ which may not bode well in terms of sacrifice.
In her set of feminist fairy tales, Angela Carter, includes ‘The Snow Child’ a story in which the red blood of a raped virgin is spilt on the blinding whiteness of a snowy landscape. And, as we all know, the red of the handmaids’ robes contrasts with the white of their bonnets. This idea comes from stories like Nathaniel Hawthorn’s The Scarlet Letter in which a red A is sewn onto the bodice of women accused of adultery. The symbol is a warning to men to avert their gaze and to control their lust whilst at the same time alerting passing women to the consequences of incontinent sexual behaviour.
The striking spring green shown in the cover design of The Testaments is reminiscent of Blake’s poems in which green is associated with fertility and growth. The hope in Gilead is that the affianced juveniles will provide many children inside their arranged marriages. If they do not undergo viable pregnancies, however, they will be replaced by scarlet women, or sluts, as the handmaids are known. Because these ‘sluts’ might stray from their often infertile commanders and slum it with more virile men Lydia must meticulously keep the stud records as incest is abhorrent in the fundamentalist society.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that in The Handmaid’s Tale Atwood included only ‘what human beings had done somewhere in the world already’. In her portrayal of Daisy’s life in the hands of the aunts, for example, there are allusions to the cruelty of some nuns in the Irish Magdalene Laundries. Inside the front cover of The Testaments the author addresses her readers directly saying, ‘everything you’ve ever asked me about Gilead and its inner workings is the inspiration for this book. Well, almost everything! The other inspiration is the world we’ve been living in’.
Margaret Atwood.
Fairy stories have always been used as cautionary tales, to warn nubile girls of the dangers of slavering wolves, or of wicked stepmothers. In The Testaments Atwood continues her mission, advocating alertness to incursions on freedom. Men, as well as women, must watch out for those who position themselves as superiors, be it old Etonians or super-rich global entrepreneurs. It is a fantastic novel but I just wish it didn’t remind me so much of The Hunger Games, reiterated with two Katniss Everdeen protagonists. I kept waiting for Peeta and Gale to appear and for the games to begin. Look out for President Snow! And do not forget that Katniss’s favourite colour is green.
Works cited
Atwood, M. The Handmaid’s Tale. McClelland and Stewart. 1985.
—. The MaddAddam Trilogy. McClelland and Stewart. 2013.
—. The Testaments. Chatto and Windus. 2019.
Carter, A. ‘The Snow Child’. The Bloody Chamber. Gallancz. 1979.
Collins, S. The Hunger Games. Scholastic. 2008-2010.
Hawthorne, N. The Scarlet Letter. Ticknor, Reeds and Fields. 1850.
A version of this review was first published on page 36 in the Weekend section of the Irish Examiner, 14th September 2019. It is reproduced here by permission of the Editor.
corkucopia 