i've actually thought long and hard about this

anonymous asked:

Hi! Would you please share some of your thoughts about The Handmaid's Tale? I've been trying to read it for weeks now, yet I still find it hard go through each chapter. I really want to like it though. Thank you!

Hiya, sorry it has taken me a long time to answer this! 

I don’t know where to start really because I’ve loved Atwood for so long. The Handmaid’s Tale is such a brilliant novel. I actually chose to write on it at A-Level and now I am glad to see that it is officially on the syllabus (nothing to do with me, obviously, just a nice coincidence).

It has been quite a long time since I read it but from what I remember, here are some themes / ideas to consider:

  • What is a ‘dystopian novel’ and why do they have such an enduring appeal? Is writing about the future a lot like writing about the past?
    [this article puts it fairly simplistically]
  • Is the narrator reliable? Can we trust everything that is recounted in the novel to be ‘true’? If not, how does Atwood deliberately create that sense through her writing? 
  • What is ‘free will’ and does it really exist, or is it a construct? Even Commanders – who are above Handmaids in the societal hierarchy – seem to live limited lives. How does society take women’s freedom from them? If Offred could be ‘free’, what would that really mean? Was she free before being a Handmaid?
  • Generally, women have less freedom because they are perceived as a lower social status due to their sex and fertility. How is this a reflection of our society as it currently operates? If you’re not familiar with the ideas put forward by feminist movements, it might be worth reading some feminist theorists such as Lorde, Rowbotham, Adichie, or Wollstonecraft.

Maybe my followers can contribute some other things to discuss! Hope this helps a bit – I’m sorry you’re finding it a tough read. Sometimes it’s just not the right time in your life to enjoy or understand a text. If you really don’t like it, don’t force it – maybe you should try some other dystopia first, or some of her other work. Oryx and Crake is also a good novel (one of my favourites). Having said that some literature is deliberately difficult, but if you persevere it can be very rewarding. 

p.s. I have not watched The Handmaid’s Tale yet but I heard that she approves, produces and has a cameo so I might actually watch it (I’m open to reviews)

anonymous asked:

I like the idea that Alfred fell in love with Marilyn Monroe. Also the idea that JFK had her murdered, and Alfred was actually the secret second shooter in Dallas when JFK died, and he organized the whole thing to get revenge. (Intense, i know lol) I've even written down a longer, detailed headcanon of it but it's too long to post here :p There is a fanfic I'm writing about it on AO3 though. Thoughts?

Wow, that is intense. I can’t say I know much about the history so it’s hard to give an opinion, though.

anonymous asked:

FIRST THINGS FIRST. I adore your writing style :D I love it!! Seriously. Secondly! Prompt? 49. Don’t apologize if you don’t mean it. Hannigram? Maybe post S3 finale angst + fluffiness? :) Thanks!

OMG THANK YOU. LIKE. I LOVE YOU. BLESS. *squeezes anon* I’ll be thinking of you as I bash my head against the next chapter of mail order bride (why does it torment me so? *cries*)

49. Don’t apologize if you don’t mean it. 

Will found Hannibal in the kitchen. Of course he was in the kitchen, where else would he be?

“You shouldn’t be walking,” Will murmured, a frown tugging at his lips, despite the still-healing gap in his cheek.

“Neither should you,” Hannibal returned without looking up.

“I can walk just fine,” Will protested, stepping around the stern dining table, “I wasn’t the one who got shot in the stomach.”

Hannibal’s stirring didn’t even stutter, “Liver, actually.”

Will’s lips pursed, striding over to Hannibal, meaning to brush him aside, “Let me stir, I can make soup.”

“No, sit,” Hannibal forced his shoulder under Will, somehow keeping the spoon just out of his grasp, “I haven’t had real food in weeks, I intend to cook this myself.”

“You haven’t been able to digest real food in weeks!” Will growled, “You should be in bed, just let me stir!”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No.”

“Hannibal! You have to-”

“Will-!”

The pot crashed to the floor.

Will stared at it, immobilized, trying to connect the hot soup on the stove with the upturned pot with yellow liquid, lemongrass, and chives seeping out of it onto the floor.

Hannibal took the oven mitts and immediately tried to bend to pick it up, wincing before he got halfway there.

“Don’t!” Will’s good arm flung out, “D-Don’t, don’t… let me… please.”

Hannibal handed him the oven mitts, grey-faced, and limped to the closest chair, sinking into it.

Will silently set the pot back on the stove, turned off the heat, and cleaned up the mess with a sponge.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled over the faucet, wringing out the sponge with difficulty.

“One has to be careful in the kitchen,” Hannibal murmured, “accidents do happen.”

“So you’re not even mad?” Will shut off the faucet with too much force, leaning heavily over the sink.

Hannibal shrugged, his back to Will, “Nothing irreplaceable.”

Will stomped in front of him, “Oh, so that makes it alright. I didn’t do any permanent damage, so you’re not going to be mad at me.”

Hannibal looked up at him, blinking.

“Even though it was my fault! Even though you could have hurt yourself trying to fix it! Even though we never would have ended up here, if I hadn’t…” Will’s voice broke off. He was white as a sheet, his breaths whistling out of him.

Hannibal pulled out the chair next to him. Will sat down shaking.

Hannibal waited for the shaking to subside, then spoke softly, “Never apologize, Will, unless you mean it.”

Will looked up in horror, then his face scrunched at Hannibal’s small smile.

“It was something I learned early on. If you regret your actions, you dishonor them. You dishonor who you were when you made them. Don’t regret, Will. And don’t apologize. There is nothing to apologize for,” Hannibal cocked his head, glancing at the pot, then back at Will.

Will swallowed slowly, but then nodded, “I’d… like if you made some more soup.”

Hannibal’s eyes sparkled like sunlight.