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4.5/5

Margaret Atwood has such a way with metaphors. Give her a calm pond filled with normal plant life, and she'll make you see corpses floating in their own blood. An addictive sort of morbidity.

Anyways. It seems like every time I turn around there's another dystopia floating by in all its screwed up glory. Well. That depends on the quality (cough Hunger Games cough).

Here we have one that doesn't explain itself as much as others do, at least not very consistently. I enjoy this kind of writing if it is done well; you sink into the world so much more if you have to feel your way around in ignorance for a while before getting the big picture. Atwood's style is uniquely suited to this, as she can wrap you in such disturbing visualizations that you're always trying to catch your balance from yet another normal scene gone twisted and stunningly grotesque. You can feel the main character succumbing to these horrible waves brought upon by her unthinkable situation; never have I sympathized more with a tenuous hold on sanity, or felt more mentally threatened by words on paper. It doesn't help that current politics seeking to control women's bodies would use many of the reproductive problems the dystopia sought to solve as logic behind their decisions. Definitely put my teeth on edge.

In summary, this book will disturb you with its overt sexual power plays and Old Testament viciousness. It's unsettling in a good way though, in that it gives you plenty of food for thought. Atwood's prose definitely gives new meaning to the phrase 'morbid fascination'.