The Handmaid's Tale

by Margaret Atwood

There is more than one kind of freedom, said Aunt Lydia. Freedom to and freedom from. In the days of anarchy, it was freedom to. Now you are being given freedom from. Don’t underrate it.

But who can remember pain, once it’s over? All that remains of it is a shadow, not in the mind even, in the flesh.

“Keep moving,” she whispers. “Pretend not to see.” But I can’t help seeing.

I have a fork and a spoon, but never a knife. When there’s meat they cut it up for me ahead of time, as if I’m lacking manual skills or teeth. I have both, however. That’s why I’m not allowed a knife.

I would like to be ignorant. Then I would not know how ignorant I was.