Em The Handmaid's Tale, a vivência é a de uma prisão: a prisão ao corpo, do corpo, etária e social. O espaço distópico desta sociedade, em que às jovens compete gerar os filhos da elite, é controlado através de uma regulação gestualizada e ritualizada do seu quotidiano.
A linguagem cumpre o papel essencial de nos fazer experienciar essa distopia: prosaica, minimalista na ausência de verbos ou de adjectivação, fecha-nos nos espaços que, embora quase vazios, sufocam. Esta é a descrição do quarto da Aia Offred. Esta é a mestria de Margaret Atwood.
"A chair, a table, a lamp. Above, on the white ceiling, a relief ornament in the shape of a wreath, and in the center of it a blank space, plastered over, like the place in a face where the eye has been taken out. There must have been a chandelier, once. They've removed anything you could tie a rope to.
A window, two white curtains. Under the window, a window seat with a little cushion. When the window is partly open--it only opens partly--the air can come in and make the curtains move. I can sit in the chair, or on the window seat, hands folded, and watch this. Sunlight comes in through the window too, and falls on the floor, which is made of wood, in narrow strips, highly polished. I can smell the polish. There's a rug on the floor, oval, of braided rags. This is the kind of touch they like: folk art, archaic, made by women, in their spare time, from things that have no further use. A return to traditional values. Waste not want not. I am not being wasted. Why do I want?
On the wall above the chair, a picture, framed but with no glass: a print of flowers, blue irises, watercolor. Flowers are still allowed. Does each of us have the same print, the same chair, the same white curtains, I wonder? Government issue?
Think of it as being in the army, said Aunt Lydia."
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