A review by chirson
The Testaments by Margaret Atwood
4.0
3.5 stars.
Atwood knows how to write a propulsive, gripping thriller, and The Testaments certainly is that, even if its tendency towards melodrama renders all plot twists fairly predictable. There are some brilliant small moments and turns of phrase that have some power, but this is also very visibly not a book of new ideas or power but a bit of literary fanservice, and there's nothing wrong with that, but I don't really see the award-worthy material here.
The novel brings together three narrations - of Aunt Lydia (my least favourite story, and not quite convincing; the origins just don't quite work in my head, and her role is very obviously meta-referential); a girl living in Canada named Daisy (who I see some reviewers disliked; I think she doesn't quite get as much interiority as I might have liked, and the second half of her story in particular makes her flat, but the early parts and her trauma resonated at least a little); and a girl growing up in Gilead, named Agnes. Agnes is the stand-out for me, and an opportunity for Atwood to let her ability to write the human heart shine. Her feelings towards her family are complex; her later friendship with Becka - well-written and genuine.
I am curious how "redemptive" other readers see Lydia's narrative. It's a curious thing, really. I mean, there's certainly some redemption in writing her as a covert ally of Mayday - but then, she's mostly doing it out of spite and vengefulness, isn't she, and she still survives by being a monster; the secret good doesn't obliterate the obvious evil.
She writes her own story, and her way of telling it is clearly meant to be self-serving, so everything she says should be taken with a grain of salt - and her true nature is still revealed in her deeds. She's as willing to persuade another aunt to kill an obviously evil character (or two) as she is to persuade Becka to commit a heroic suicide (I assume that's what she meant Becka to do all along; people talk when tortured, after all). She's a collaborator hedging her bets, and her lack of true belief is only a symptom of how bad the world is that she helped build. She is a useful illustration of how humans change to fit warped systems. She's terrifying.
Atwood knows how to write a propulsive, gripping thriller, and The Testaments certainly is that, even if its tendency towards melodrama renders all plot twists fairly predictable. There are some brilliant small moments and turns of phrase that have some power, but this is also very visibly not a book of new ideas or power but a bit of literary fanservice, and there's nothing wrong with that, but I don't really see the award-worthy material here.
The novel brings together three narrations - of Aunt Lydia (my least favourite story, and not quite convincing; the origins just don't quite work in my head, and her role is very obviously meta-referential); a girl living in Canada named Daisy (who I see some reviewers disliked; I think she doesn't quite get as much interiority as I might have liked, and the second half of her story in particular makes her flat, but the early parts and her trauma resonated at least a little); and a girl growing up in Gilead, named Agnes. Agnes is the stand-out for me, and an opportunity for Atwood to let her ability to write the human heart shine. Her feelings towards her family are complex; her later friendship with Becka - well-written and genuine.
Spoiler
I didn't particularly like the tidy ending. Bringing Offred back into it, even by implication, gives us the impression of Gilead as smaller, more intimate, and reduces its story to a personal drama for me.I am curious how "redemptive" other readers see Lydia's narrative. It's a curious thing, really. I mean, there's certainly some redemption in writing her as a covert ally of Mayday - but then, she's mostly doing it out of spite and vengefulness, isn't she, and she still survives by being a monster; the secret good doesn't obliterate the obvious evil.
She writes her own story, and her way of telling it is clearly meant to be self-serving, so everything she says should be taken with a grain of salt - and her true nature is still revealed in her deeds. She's as willing to persuade another aunt to kill an obviously evil character (or two) as she is to persuade Becka to commit a heroic suicide (I assume that's what she meant Becka to do all along; people talk when tortured, after all). She's a collaborator hedging her bets, and her lack of true belief is only a symptom of how bad the world is that she helped build. She is a useful illustration of how humans change to fit warped systems. She's terrifying.