The Knife of Never Letting (oppression) Go

TW: violence, animal abuse, speciesism, sexism

Contains spoilers. If you intend to read this book, DO NOT READ FURTHER. The impact of the plot completely rests on suspense.

The Knife of Never Letting Go (2008) by Patrick Ness is a teen fiction dystopian novel examining the consequences of colonising a new planet and the dangers of maturing into a world filled with lies, violence, and difficult choices. The narrator, Todd Hewitt, is a 12 year old boy living in a settlement called Prentisstown years after humans have colonised a planet named ‘New World’. Todd is told that when the settlers first arrived, a species called ‘Spackle’, who are native to the planet, released a germ that allowed the humans to read the thoughts of other men, Spackle, and nonhuman animals – but not the thoughts of women. Thoughts that can be read are referred to as ‘Noise’. Todd is also told that the infection eventually killed all of the women on New World, and that the Spackle all died following a war that broke out between humans and the native species. Todd’s entire world is shaken when he finds a girl, Viola, in the swamp surrounding Prentisstown. He is urged to leave by his carers who know this discovery has put Todd into danger. The journey that unfolds is tense and fast-paced, telling a tale of friendship and love. In this post, I will examine the ever-present theme of violence resulting from Otherness and difference.

Ness relies heavily on the theme of the ‘Other’, arguably the most prevalent concept in the SF genre. The process of turning a sentient being into an Other ‘enables difference to be constructed in terms of binary oppositions which reinforce relations of dominance and subordination’ (Wolmark, 2, 1994). This highlights the anthropocentricity of the human experience, as Othering typically shows humans as dominant and powerful, relatable to readers as human superiority is the norm. Settlers in The Knife reflect this, and the native alien species are depicted as different, less-than human creatures. When Todd sees a Spackle for the first time, Todd narrates –

‘[h]e’s tall and thin like in the vids I remember, white skin, long fingers and arms, mouth mid-face where it ain’t sposed to be, the ear flaps down by the jaw, eyes blacker than swamp stones, lichen and moss growing where clothes should be’ (271).

Firstly, Todd assumes that the Spackle is biologically male – possibly because he has, lived in a world only inhabited by men – but cannot possibly know how to identify the sex of the species. Secondly, Todd assumes that the Spackle should be wearing clothes. Perhaps this shows that Todd does place the Spackle on a species hierarchy closer to humans than nonhuman animals, but more likely highlights Todd attempting to enforce human characteristics onto nonhumans. The Spackle is clearly closer to the natural world of the planet than the settlers, described with terms like ‘swamp stones, lichen and moss’. Despite this natural appearance, in comparison with the humans the Spackle is ‘[a]lien. As alien as you can be’ (271), according to Todd.

In response to Todd intruding on the Spackle’s camp with a knife drawn, the Spackle emits ‘feelings of fear’ (272) and is clearly weaker than Todd – ‘he’s so light’ (273). Todd notices that the Spackle’s noise is filled with ‘terror and panic’ (273), but Todd’s anger is overwhelming. He justifies his consequent attack by saying ‘[t]hey started the war. They killed my ma! All of it, everything that’s happened, it’s their fault!’ (275). Prentisstown villagers and the other settlers of New World have effectively scapegoated the Spackle so that the Spackle are persecuted and punished for crimes they never committed. The lie that the Spackle were responsible for the Noise ‘germ’ and the war has been so effective because, as a species, they are separated from humans by their difference. Later in the novel, Todd learns that his mother wrote about the native species in her diary –

 ‘they’re very sweet creachers. Different and maybe primitive and no spoken or written language that we  can really find but I don’t agree with some of the thinking here that the Spackle are animals rather than intelligent beings’ (417).

This is problematic. On the one hand, Todd’s mother understands that Spackle are intelligent beings, but assumes that nonhuman animals aren’t. We know this isn’t true – chimps, dolphins and pigs are a few of the many incredibly smart and social sentient beings that inhabit our planet. Furthermore, judging and discriminating humans based on their intelligence and ability is unacceptable – so why is intelligence an argument used to oppress nonhuman animals? The foundations of our society are built on the belief that intelligence is key to a higher social status as ‘the role of education in maintaining the class system is well established’ (Species and Class, 2014). Humans are therefore conditioned to look more favourably on those deemed intelligent and educated because education is equated with wealth and power. The widespread conviction that nonhuman animals are less intelligent than humans automatically places them at the bottom of an unfair and prejudiced hierarchy.

Todd frequently employs intelligence as a justification for the cruel abuse that he inflicts on his companion dog, Manchee. At the beginning of the novel, Todd and Manchee are walking through the swamp collecting apples when Manchee starts chasing a squirrel. Todd thinks, ‘[g]oddam, animals are stupid’ (5), and appears to use this as a reason to abuse Manchee by hitting him – ‘I grab Manchee by the collar and hit him hard across the back leg. “Ow, Todd? Ow?” I hit him again. “Ow? Todd?” (5). Manchee is clearly hurt and confused by Todd’s actions, and Todd continues despite being aware of Manchee’s thoughts of pain. Shortly after, Todd is angered by another man from the camp, and uses violence towards Manchee as a release, justifying this by remarking ‘[h]is head as empty as the sky. I smack his rump’ (8).

Continuing on his journey, Todd is starving and exhausted when he discovers a turtle sunning themselves. Todd plans to murder and consume the turtle. ‘Its Noise ain’t nothing but a long ahhhhhhh sound, exhaling under sunlight’ (303). Todd can see that the turtle is a thinking and feeling living being, relaxing happily in the warm weather, but still objectifies the turtle by calling them ‘it’. The process of Othering is repeated, with Todd setting a clear distinction between himself as a human with needs that rank higher above the interests of the turtle. Todd reaches for his knife, but remembers his guilt and shame from killing the Spackle. He can’t continue, stating ‘I can’t hunt’ (303). This is an important moment for Todd. Although he imagines this as a weakness, it is the first step in his realization that killing any living being is a moral and ethical choice, and that we can reject the norms and standards society teaches us about eating nonhuman animals.

On New World, women are also alienated and differentiated from men. Viola and Todd eventually reach a settlement called Carbonel Downs, where women and men are intentionally separated by those in charge – the ‘eldermen’. Viola tells Todd that the women ‘clean and they cook and they make babies and they all live in a big dormitory outside of town where they can’t interfere with men’s business’ (362). The men refuse to listen to Viola’s warnings, calling her ‘little girl’ and patting her on the head. Viola is also forbidden to attend a meeting with Todd and the ‘eldermen’, as apparently no-one can ‘trust the word of a woman’ (379). The lack of Noise, the silence that emits from women as men cannot read their thoughts, is the clearest mark of women’s difference to men in the text. In Prentisstown, this Otherness was used to present women as a scapegoat for all Noise related problems. Women – the unknown – were chastised as evil. Eventually, this culminated in the mass murder of all women in Prentisstown, along with any men who stood in solidarity alongside them. Therefore, subjects that are effectively turned into Others through their difference to the dominant majority – in this case, the male settlers – are perceived as ‘less than’, which is seen as a defence for the violence used against them.

The only way to end violent oppression is to dismantle the hierarchy that human society is structured upon. This means disassembling the ideas of human superiority and the importance placed on intelligence. The settlers of New World carried with them the values of entitlement of privilege, and as a result continued to exploit and cause damage to the detriment of the population of all living beings.

Resources: 

Ness, P., 2008. The Knife of Never Letting Go. Candlewick Press.

Species and Class, 2014. Cognition-based excuses for oppression of animals and humans. 

Wolmark, J., 1994. Aliens and Others. University of Iowa Press.

‘Tradition was safety; change was danger’ – The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell

TW: Rape, violence

Contains spoilers. 

It’s been a while since I’ve visited my writing space. My new job has meant that my headspace has been chaotic, so I’ll apologize that this post isn’t particularly critical but more to re-familiarise myself with the rhythm of an essay. And mostly for fun.

The Sparrow (written in 1996 by Mary Doria Russell) is a huge first-contact novel. Russell poses incredibly thought-provoking religious, theological and ethical questions about what it means to be human, and I’ve been struggling for weeks just wondering where to begin. The Sparrow is told in two time frames – the first in 2019, detailing the experiences of a crew who journey to a distant planet after radio broadcasts from the area are picked up on Earth. The second part is set in 2059 after the expedition returns to earth. Emilio Sandoz, a Jesuit priest, is the only survivor. Sandoz slowly retells the events of the mission to Rakhat to his superiors, and the story that unfolds is a tense, emotional and spiritual investigation of faith. For me, the most interesting aspect of this novel is Rakhat’s societal structure. By travelling to a new planet, Russell has effectively created a space to explore issues our society has from a different perspective. Rakhat has no unemployment, no overcrowding and no starvation – but this comes with a price.

Two different sentient alien species create the society on Rakhat. The Jana’ata are dominant carnivores, educated with many skills. On the other hand, the Runa are herbivores, living communally and travelling in groups. The Runa form the majority of the population. The humans often remark on the slow and gentle pace of the Runa, becoming bored and impatient with their lack of academic intelligence. It is clear that the Jana’ata and Runa were once involved in a predator/prey relationship similar to carnivores and herbivores on Earth. Male Jana’ata and female Runa are similar in size and appearance, leading the humans to suggest that survival in the past probably depended on the ability of the Jana’ata to blend in with the Runa when hunting. It is surmised that the Runa children and males would form the inner circle of the herd, with the females on the outside. Sandoz admits ‘we were confused about their gender because … their sex roles did not match our expectations’ (406). (Side note: gender refers to cultural characteristics ascribed to masculinity and femininity, sex to biological characteristics.) In Runa culture, the males are smaller and take on the role of caring for young. Female Runa carry out trade negotiations and choose to marry males who will make good social fathers. The Runa gender roles are essentially the reverse of human gender roles, and thus the Runa are similarly confused about the human explorers. In both instances, gender binaries and assumptions based on traditional social roles cause the humans and Runa to misinterpret and misperceive one another.

The Jana’ata, as the dominant carnivores, are able to control every aspect of life on Rakhat through the power they have gained by being ‘top of the food chain’. Here, we can draw links between Jana’ata and humans, as our society also equates eating meat with power. In the Sexual Politics of Meat, Carol J. Adams remarks that ‘[t]he hierarchy of meat protein reinforces a hierarchy of race, class, and sex’ (53), as ultimately meat is a valuable economic commodity and thus those in control of meat production achieve power (Adams, 58). On Rakhat, there are only two species and two classes, but it is clear that those in charge of food hold power. There is no monetary system, but goods are traded to keep the Runa working to provide for the Jana’ata. The Runa are gatherers, farming plants and flowers for the Jana’ata. In return, the Runa are paid in manufactured goods like perfume and ceramics. The Runa also ‘buy’ the right to reproduce by having a good trade year. The Jana’ata ensures the libido of the Runa remains low by forcing them to travel to naturally grown food, which uses energy. If a Runa village reaches the produce quota set by the Jana’ata, they are granted extra food to encourage them to have children. Yet, the Runa are still ‘bred to the standards of the Jana’ata’ (468), meaning that if the Jana’ata officials are not pleased by the Runa births, the babies are immediately removed and consumed by the Jana’ata public. Sandoz explains their flesh is a ‘sort of veal’ (468), and this process is ‘quite a humane system, compared to the way we breed meat animals’ (468). Assumingly, Sandoz means that the Runa are allowed a measure of freedom and independence in comparison to factory farmed non-human animals on Earth. Dairy cows, forced to live in a constant state of pregnancy, often give birth to male calves who are considered unsuitable for the beef industry. These male calves are kept in tiny, dark crates and slaughtered for ‘veal’. Runa young apparently don’t endure this suffering before being killed for food. The term ‘humane’, by definition, means ‘having or showing compassion or benevolence’ (Oxford Dictionary). Can sentient beings be killed with compassion? Does ‘humane’ meat exist? I don’t think so. There is nothing kind or caring about the murder of a living being for the ‘needs’ of a more powerful species. (Obviously, this is problematic as the Jana’ata are carnivores, and presumably need animal tissue to create energy to survive, whereas humans can live on a plant-based diet).

The Jana’ata impose strict population control on their own species. The first two children born to a Jana’ata family are allowed to reproduce, but any other children born in the family are forcibly sterilized. The Jana’ata use the Runa as sexual partners as a form of ‘birth control’ (411) because interbreeding is impossible. Sandoz is asked whether the Runa consent to being ‘concubines’ (411), and responds that ‘they are essentially domesticated animals. The Jana’ata breed them as we breed dogs’ (411). So, the Jana’ata exploit the Runa as a productive workforce and as slaves for sexual purposes. Sandoz assumes that the Runa are only alive to submit to and serve the Jana’ata, and therefore the concept of consent cannot exist. This is dangerous. Sex without consent is rape. Furthermore, supposing that the Runa have no interests of their own outside of Jana’ata purposes is speciesist, and similar to how many humans perceive animals in our society. The poignant comparison Sandoz makes about dog breeding highlights how the Jana’ata view themselves as the superior species on Rakhat, which consequently gives them the belief that they can use and exploit the Runa. On Earth, dog breeding is largely due to human entertainment and pleasure, without taking the interests or consent of the nonhuman animals involved into consideration.

Can a society exist without oppression? On the surface, Rakhat does not suffer from hunger or overpopulation, but this is because the Jana’ata impose strict rules on trade and production. The Runa are perceived as having no autonomy because the species still retains their primitive herd mentality – but perhaps their lack of academic intelligence is a result of their separation from Jana’ata culture. The Runa are seemingly exploited by the Jana’ata because of their difference. Speciesism – the Jana’ata’s belief in the superiority of their species – results in the rigid control of the Runa for the interests and purposes of the Jana’ata. Of course, the traditional balance of society in Rakhat is damaged by the ignorance of the human explorers – but I wouldn’t want to spoil to much for anyone who hasn’t read the novel yet.

‘Under the Skin’ – Linked Oppressions and Farming Humans for Consumption

TW: Violence

This post contains spoilers. You have been warned.

A brief plot introduction: Under the Skin by Michel Faber was published in 2000, and is one of my favourite contemporary SF novels. Isserley, the protagonist of the story, is a female extraterrestrial who leaves to work in Scotland. She works at Ablach farm and is employed by a company from her home planet to pick up male hitchhikers to be killed, processed, packaged and sent home as a delicacy for the extraterrestrial elite. The arrival of Amlis Vess, the son of Isserley’s employer and voice of animal rights in the text, forces Isserley to question some of her preconceived and learned beliefs. [Side note:  in reality, the majority of animal rights activists are women (1, 2011, Gaarder) and the decision to use an upper class male to represent the movement really bothers me]. Isserley refers to herself and other members of her species as ‘human’ although they are described as appearing more like our perception of nonhuman animals – they have four legs, a tail, long ears, a snout, large eyes and are covered in fur (110). This produces a hierarchy where the extraterrerstrial species are superior to Earth humans – who are referred to as ‘vodsels’ or ‘animals’. Straight away, language sets up a distinction between extraterrestrials and Earth humans which prevents Isserley from identifying with or even seeing Earth humans as sentient beings.

I want to begin by highlighting the interconnected oppressions at work in Under the Skin, as Faber accurately accentuates hierarchy and conditioned discrimination to show how those who experience one type of oppression can often be unconsciously supporting another. ‘Oppression is propagated by ideologies and institutions, whereby individuals are socialized to oppress and be oppressed. This creates a system of linked oppressions.’ (13, 2011, Kemmerer). Classism, sexism and speciesism are the inequalities this essay will focus on, and I am attempting to show how impossible/hypocritical it is to fight one injustice without recognizing others. These oppressions all stem from the same patriarchal root of dominance and are often codependent.

The class division between elite and working class on Isserley’s home planet is the reason she leaves. Anyone who does not belong in the upper class are forced to live and work underneath the surface of the planet in extremely crowded conditions with ‘bad food’, ‘bad air’ (64) and no medical care. Facing a life of poverty as well as ‘[d]ecay and disfigurement’ (64), Isserley sees no alternative but to accept the job on Earth. Just as a quick reality check, US factory farm workers are often undocumented immigrants who are exploited by working long shifts for little money to maximise profits. In the UK, a quarter of ‘farmers’ live below the poverty line with little opportunity to work at different occupations. I am in no way attempting to justify factory farming, merely pointing out one point of intersection between speciesism and classism. Furthermore, despite being from the lower class herself, Isserley has internalized class hate and often calls the farm butchers ‘estate trash’ (91). Isserley’s perception of herself as superior because she believes her role as deliverer of ‘goods’ is more valuable is just one example of how the oppressed in turn becomes the oppressor of another group.

In order for Isserley to live and work amongst the Earth humans, she is forced to undergo incredibly painful surgery. She is told to only obtain male ‘vodsels’ as, typically, they have more muscle mass than females and so produce more meat. The company decided that a female extraterrestrial would be more effective in enticing and easing the hitchhikers into revealing any family who might notice an absence. So, using Earth magazines containing pictures of Earth women, Isserley has surgery to force her body into an upright ‘vodsel’ shape, removing her tail, ears and teats. She is given large artificial breasts designed with the magazines as a guide. As a result, Isserley is plagued with incessant back pain, not to mention having to frequently shave her entire body to remove her natural fur – practically eliminating her personal identity. Faber’s ability to present the narrow portrayal of women in media is quite accurate, demonstrating how attempting to attain the contemporary Western beauty standard often results in both physical and mental suffering. When Isserley becomes particularly upset ‘over what had been done to her once beautiful body’ (64), she imagines what her life might have been like on the New Estates, thus competently weaving issues of sex and class together.

Consequently, Isserley is oppressed by being both working class and female. How can she continue to oppress other groups after experiencing the misery of oppression herself? I have already discussed the role of language in creating a barrier between ‘humans’ and ‘vodsels’. This is intensified by the myth widely spread by the extraterrestrial species that Earth humans are merely ‘vegetables on legs’ (171), as if ‘vodsels’ are insentient, unconscious, unaware or unintelligent objects. In reality, it is (for the most part) known that nonhuman animals are sentient beings capable of emotions and thought. However, despite gorillas and monkeys being able to communicate through sign language and pigs having higher cognitive abilities than dogs and young humans, the argument that nonhuman animals are less intelligent than (and thus, inferior to) humans is used as a justification for consuming them. Using intelligence as a reason for discrimination should not be tolerated in relation to humans, yet it is the norm for subjugating nonhuman animals. In 1780 Jeremy Bentham wrote ‘The question is not Can they reason? Or Can they talk? but Can they suffer?’ Yes, they can suffer. So why do humans exploit them?

Although Isserley is aware that Earth humans have a language, she attempts to justify their oppression by telling herself that ‘vodsels couldn’t do any of the things that really defined a human being’ (174). Therefore, difference to the extraterrestrial species is the only reason for their persecution. Isserley feels an affinity towards nonhuman animals because she is able to identity with their appearance. She describes a sheep by saying ‘[i]t was so hard to believe that the creature couldn’t speak … there was something deceptively human about it’ (63). Despite her obvious sympathy, she still objectifies the sheep, most likely because the power structure is so deeply ingrained within her consciousness.

Finally, the oppressions discussed combine to create the continuity of Ablach farm. After capture, the Earth humans are ‘shaved, castrated, fattened, intestinally modified, chemically purified’ (97) until they look like ‘hairless pink animals’ (97). In reality, ‘[f]armed animals are genetically and physically manipulated from birth to premature death’ (19, Kemmerer). Chickens, for example, have been intensively selectively bred to increase their size in a very small amount of time, reaching twice the size of chickens living 50 years ago. Unnatural growth puts pressure on their legs and causes horrible suffering. In Under the Skin, there is an instance where some ‘vodsels’ attempt escape. They can barely walk under the excess weight, let alone make a dash for freedom. The natural lifespan of a chicken is around 7 years. In a factory farm, laying hens live for 2 years or less. Broiler chickens (chickens raised for consumption) are slaughtered from 6-14 weeks of age. In the novel, Isserley doesn’t capture men over middle-age. All ‘food’ animals die young, after experiencing unnatural grown and severe pain.

Isserley has never actually entered the farm or slaughterhouse until the arrival of Amlis Vess. Have you ever heard the quote ‘if slaughterhouses had glass walls, everyone would be a vegetarian’? The farming industry is very secretive and hidden from most of our experiences. Isserley separates her work from the process of mutilating, feeding and killing the earth humans, much like how people who eat meat are distanced from the living being that died to become their food. After deciding to visit the farm, she notes that the cages are grimy and cramped, and that a horrid stench fills the air (168). Isserley escaped the crowded and dirty environment of the New Estates, but cannot comprehend that the farm setting is very similar to the life she faced. Again, language helps her block the connection as she refers to caged Earth humans as ‘livestock’ (168) and maintains that the ‘vodsels’ are ‘slowly maturing towards their destiny’ (170) as if they fundamentally exist to provide food for Isserley’s species. In truth, the majority of farmed nonhuman animals are kept in dirty, small cages for the entirety of their lives, exploited for human ends. Following this visit, Isserley also asks to watch the slaughter of the Earth humans. The butcher ‘slashed the arteries in the vodsel’s neck, then stood back as a jet of blood gushed out’ (219). Afterwards, the Chief Processor tells Isserley ‘We are doing a job here… Feelings don’t enter into it’ (219). His perspective clearly shows that separation of emotion is necessary when slaughtering living beings. Therefore, the perceived inferiority and otherness of the ‘vodsels’, combined with their objectification and finally the divorce of emotional and ethical obligation from consciousness allows their continued subjugation. This is the foundation systematic oppression blooms from.

I wish I was able to provide a smooth conclusion to this (rather long) post. If you’ve made it this far, I hope this has been somewhat concise, but I am guilty of poor planning and almost engaging in a stream of consciousness style (that’s the only problem with writing, once I start I find it difficult to stop). Honestly, I was unsatisfied with the ending of the novel. I’ve spilled enough, I really recommend you read it and form your own opinion. There has been so much content I wanted to discuss – the differences between class and types of food, the relationship between Isserley and Amlis Vess, sexual violence, SF and otherness, Isserley’s identity as both extraterrestrial and human… I also haven’t completely captured how disturbing killing and eating humans is, and I experienced a large amount of discomfort following the descriptions of the farm. Under the Skin is particularly thought-provoking and while I don’t agree with some of Faber’s choices, I’ve been contemplating this novel for weeks.

A few notes:

I found a brilliant essay available online by Sarah Dillon discussing how language creates species differentiation in the text for further reading here.

Strangely for me, I watched the film before I was aware the text existed. The film is interesting, but focuses on the journey of a female alien beginning to sympathise with humans. In my opinion, the main theme of the book concerns the ethics of industrialised farming, and by erasing this, the emotional impact of the original story is removed. 

Surprisingly enough, Michel Faber is not a vegetarian, he just doesn’t agree with present farming techniques. I have no time for the ‘humans are naturally omnivorous’ debate as just because we can process both plants and animals doesn’t necessarily mean we should.  

 

Other Resources

Under the Skin. Michel Faber (2000), 2014.

Women and the Animal Rights Movement. Emily Gaader, 2011.

Sister Species: Women, Animals, and Social Justice. Ed. Lisa Kemmerer, 2011.

‘Don’t let the bastards get you down’: The Handmaid’s Tale and non-human animal oppression

TW: Rape

A few notes:

-This post specifically engages with appearances of speciesism in the novel. The Handmaid’s Tale is an incredibly distinguished text and has been analysed by literary critics numerous times. For anyone interested in further reading, there are some brilliant feminist readings available online.

-I have a few problems with calling the narrator ‘Offred’, so I have referred to her as ‘the narrator’ or ‘the protagonist’. This is not ideal and does make me feel uncomfortable, so I apologize.

-Also: this is predominantly a close-reading exercise and I am aware that there is an abundance of content that is unmentioned. These are only a handful of my initial thoughts post-read and I hope they stimulate further personal consideration of the material. As you can probably tell, I’m not a big fan of authorial intent – using texts as a platform for my own ideas is much more interesting.

A very basic overview of the story: The Handmaid’s Tale (1985) is a speculative fiction novel written by Margaret Atwood and set in the dystopian future of the Republic of Gilead – a patriarchal, Christian and totalitarian state. The Republic takes power after a series of terrorist threats and maintains control by restricting human rights (most notably the rights of women). One of the major issues faced by the society is that successful reproduction is almost impossible. As a ‘solution’, selected women are trained as Handmaids and assigned to elite married couples to conceive and carry the husbands’ child. The novel is narrated by a Handmaid who interweaves her life before and after the Republic takeover into the fabric of the story.

To illustrate the narrator’s lack of agency, she frequently compares her low status to the treatment of non-human animals in Western culture – for example, she imagines herself feeling ‘like a prize pig’ (79), and as ‘a rat in a maze’ (174). Readers can understand the impact of this metaphorical language on some level because we are socialized in a culture that places all animals into a hierarchy (humans, companion animals, ‘food’ animals, etc.) and can therefore recognize that the life of a pig or rat is not valued as much as that of a human. To further reduce her legitimacy, the Republic removes the individual names of each Handmaid. By stripping the narrator of her name, part of her identity is dismissed. Instead, Handmaids are appointed the name of the household (or, more appropriately, the man) that owns them. The protagonist is known by readers as ‘Offred’ (literally ‘Of Fred’). Already, the link begins to form between Handmaids – who are treated as property and named as such – and non-human animals owned by farms or factories and who are tagged or numbered accordingly.

The narrator makes this link explicitly clear when the Commander of her household takes the narrator (her) to a forbidden hotel (where the elite men keep women unsuitable for Handmaid positions for sexual purposes). Atwood keeps the allusion present by including a guard outside the women’s bathroom armed with a ‘cattle prod’ (253). Subsequently, the narrator is taken to a room by the Commander and describes the interaction between them –

‘He’s stroking my body now, from stem as they say to stern, cat stroke along the left flank, down the left leg. He stops at the foot, his fingers encircling the ankle, briefly, like a bracelet, where the tattoo is, a Braille he can read, a cattle brand. It means ownership’ (266).

The language chosen for this section is particularly interesting. She begins by metaphorically turning her body into a ship – perhaps because under the Republic, her body is merely seen as a vessel of transport for the Commander’s offspring. Using the term ‘cat stroke’ is a strange decision, but most likely implies the imagery of stroking a cat in a gentle and affectionate manner. Furthermore, ‘flank’ is most commonly used to describe the side of an animal – usually horses. The protagonist has transformed the image of her body into both object and animal to make her final point: she bears a brand that ‘means ownership’. Therefore, we can see that both objects and animals are property.

In Miss Representation, feminist writer and film maker Jean Kilbourne states that ‘turning a human being into a thing is almost always the first step toward justifying violence against that person’. The narrator is stripped of her identity and continually objectified in order to condone the control of her body. So, if we can turn humans into ‘things’ in order to justify oppression and violence, the same can be said of non-human animals too. For me, one of the most poignant quotes in the text succeeds a discussion set pre-Gilead between the protagonist and her husband concerning their companion animal. They are planning to flee their home under the guise of a day trip, and realize that taking the cat with them could potentially alert suspicion.

‘I’ll take care of it, Luke said. And because he said it instead of her, I knew he meant kill. That is what you have to do before you kill, I thought. You have to create an it, where none was before’ (202).

Firstly, as a result of the animal hierarchy, it is clear that they do not regard ‘the cat’ as a valid member of their family but rather as a commodity or object easily left behind as no discussion is made about the possibility of her joining the escape. Therefore, freedom is seemingly not a right that ‘the cat’ has any chance of sharing. Secondly, objectification is the first tool used to remove emotion. If Luke sees ‘the cat’ as an object rather than as a living, sentient being, he can eradicate any moral or ethical obligations. This is how the Republic treats Handmaids, and so it is apparent that Atwood is attempting to forge links between the oppression of the protagonist, a human woman, and the oppression of the unnamed cat, a non-human (and female) animal.

On the surface, it seems remarkable that the intersection between the oppression of women and the oppression of non-human animals is being explored. However, while the reader can recognize the horror of the human woman being reduced to less than human, the impact of exactly WHY and HOW this is horrific is lost if the reader is unaware of the suffering of the non-human animals mentioned. As highlighted, the narrator often compares her experience to that of a cow. It was then impossible for me not to find more connections between narrator and cow in parts where non-human animals are not specified. For instance, the value of the narrator is judged in terms of her fertility. To maintain control over the children born, the state has effectively ‘sanctioned rape’ (61, Stein) by normalizing the situation whereby children are produced. Handmaids are basically given an ultimatum – have sex or die – and are conditioned into believing that they can and are consenting to the process. So, the protagonist tells us that rape doesn’t cover the ‘Ceremony’ (105). Then we have the dairy cow. Dairy cows are only profitable when they are fertile because milk can only be produced while pregnant. To keep up this constant state of pregnancy, the cows are artificially inseminated by a device that the industry has nicknamed the ‘rape rack’. She cannot consent to this procedure. Society is predominantly unaware that this is one way our culture normalizes rape. Can you see the similarities? After birth, her baby is taken from her and usually slaughtered for meat or kept for veal ‘production’ while insemination is repeated. After birth, the Handmaids are forced to leave their child with the household and move to another to continue the process. The only difference I can see is that one baby is not killed for human consumption.

Here is where using non-human animals to illustrate human suffering becomes problematic. Without direct reference to non-human animals, most of the similarities go unnoticed. Carol J. Adams’ concept of the absent referent is incredibly useful in analysing this issue. By using non-human animals to describe the experience of the Handmaid, the reader forgets that ‘the animal is an independent identity’ (66), thereby assimilating the ‘original meaning of the animals’ fates … into a human centred hierarchy’ (67). The oppression of the non-human animal is therefore marginalized to accommodate the oppression of the human – the reader can acknowledge the immoral treatment of the protagonist but ignore the everyday torment of the dairy cow. Used in this way, non-human animals are a tool to describe human suffering rather than to question the systematic oppression of other living beings. We shouldn’t be exploiting the pain of one sentient being to highlight the unacceptable injustice another faces.

Resources:

The Handmaid’s Tale. Margaret Atwood, (1985) 2010. Vintage.

Miss Representation. Dir. Jennifer Siebel Newsom & Kimberlee Acquaro, 2011.

Margaret Atwood’s Modest Proposal: The Handmaid’s Tale. Karen Stein, 1996. University of Rhode Island.

The Sexual Politics of Meat. Carol J. Adams (1990), 2013. Bloomsbury Academic.

And a big thank you to my good friends Fran, Aga & Alex for proofing this post.

A general introduction

Science Fiction (also referred to as speculative fiction or SF) captivated me at a young age. As a teenager, SF was my favourite form of escapism, yet it’s only been recently that I’ve begun to seriously consider texts in the genre as vehicles for exploring social issues and holding the potential for revolutions in thought. Science Fiction pushes the boundaries of science to imagine a world where extensive space and time travel is possible, or present the consequences of nuclear weapons/artificial intelligence, or explore alternate realities… the tropes of the genre are almost endless, not to mention the many subgenres that have appeared over the years. The vastness of SF and the wide scope of creative themes should suggest that there is an abundance of space for discussions of alterity (difference).

SF really started to become a viable commodity with short stories in pulp magazines during the 1920s and 30s. The ‘Golden Age’ of SF is regarded by many critics as ending in the 50s. Why this is a ‘Golden Age’ at all utterly baffles me – as with most canonical literature, writers during these periods were predominantly cisgender, white, heterosexual men, meaning that the majority of the population was marginalized and under-represented. Readership was assumed to be male, which probably accounts for the continuation of the sexual status quo. To keep the audience purchasing the texts, patriarchy was not typically dismantled or discussed. Thankfully, second wave Feminism in the 1960s encouraged women to become more involved in the genre as SF holds the capacity to disrupt the norm. Thus, women writers (such as Ursula le Guin, Octavia Butler and Joanna Russ to name a few) begin to create stories involving gender as well as race and class anxieties to oppose dominant and oppressive structures.

So, Science fiction is often a reflection of human issues. It is therefore no surprise that in encounters with the alien ‘Other’, writers often humanize alien individuals or races in order for readers to sympathise and understand the alien point of view. Aliens that cannot communicate with humans are often portrayed as being incapable of reason or compassion and not as worthy of life as humans. This is a topic frequently discussed by critics, so I will not spend much time here. I merely wanted to point out how anthropocentric (humans as the most important being in the universe) almost every single SF text I have ever read is. With this in mind, I’ve been thinking a lot about speciesism (the assumption of human superiority over non-human animals) and science fiction – mostly because once your eyes have been opened to discrimination, it is difficult not to see it everywhere. And trust me, the exploitation of non-human animals for human benefit is EVERYWHERE in our culture.

While I’m sure the relationship between human and alien is bound to be discussed somewhere on this blog, I will be focusing on the non-human animals we are familiar with in our society and their portrayal in SF. Side note: our language allows a divide between ‘human’ and ‘animal’ to form as if humans are not animals. So, the term ‘non-human animal’ will be used for any animal who is not human. SF is becoming a source of continual disappointment for me on this particular issue – in my opinion; texts that question or dismantle oppressive structures should include non-human animal liberation. Non-human animal exploitation – for ‘food’, testing, entertainment etc – causes cruel suffering and the unnecessary death of billions of living beings a year. We should not be continually reproducing this systematic oppression in our fiction, and SF is the perfect genre to explore alternative possibilities.