Waiting For Him – The Wife in The Handmaids Tale
In The Second Sex, de Beauvoir writes that as a woman gets married she “breaks with her past more or less brutally, she is annexed to her husband’s universe; she gives him her person” and through the marriage union “ensures the even rhythm of the days and the permanence of the home she guards with locked doors; she is given no direct grasp on the future, nor on the universe.” The traditional role of the wife is a woman anew, given and created for a man – what is a ‘housewife’ if not something owned, belonging to the home, tasked only with keeping the days at an ‘even’ kilter? In The Handmaid’s Tale, there is not the housewife de Beauvoir talks of. In the Commander’s household there is not a singular woman who takes on all the tasks of this particular role rather, the ‘housewife’ becomes a hareem of women who’s sole purpose is creating comfort for their patriarch. Offred there to bear children, the Martha’s there to cook and clean and tidy, and Serena there for… well for not much at all.
What role does Serena Joy play for the commander in the traditional understanding of a housewife? She doesn’t clean nor cook nor sleep with nor bear children for. In the hyper traditionalist landscape of Gilead, where does she fit? She is a simulacrum of a wife, not a true one in any sense but she holds the hole in the middle of wifedom that has been pitted out by the Martha’s and the Handmaids. Left over is a woman who waits. Central to Serena Joy’s vacuous relationship with the Commander is the fact that she waits for him to come home from work. The 1950s housewife aesthetic which makes up her character in most on-screen adaptations proves the power that a woman waiting for a man has over almost all interpretations of her character. A woman waiting for a
man, lounging around the house for her husband to return to her, lazing and gardening and knitting are often falsely attributed symptoms of housewifery. The domestic shift is an arduous process – maintaining a house isn’t easy. Often this literary device of the Betty Draper housewife is misplaced and inaccurate, domestic duties are not as easy as media would have people believe. However, for Serena Joy this stereotype is at least accurate. She has nothing to do, nothing to read and is absolved of both wifedom and the traditional servile positions that she would be placed in. Even the sex drive
given to wives, the Tennessee Williams’ esque women pining for her husband to sleep with her like he used to that is so often associated with housewives, is taken from her. Sexless, jobless, hobbyless, activityless – it has hard not to feel sorry for Serena, who’s days stretch out endlessly and cyclically before her. What can she do, then, but wait for her husband to come home?
The robotic women of Ira Levin’s Stepford Wives are a longsighted comparison to the life of a housewife. Cooking and cleaning and doing everything which their husband desires have, for a long time, been traits culturally ascribed to women who are less intelligent or less worthy of autonomy. Somehow, the message of Levin’s novella has been baked down to a modern day insult for the housewife. The real tragedy of Serena Joy is that she is not a robot, not an unintelligent woman, not a Stepford Wife but has been forced to play the role of the robot that has so convincingly become
the idea of what women who long to be housewives are looking for. She is fiercely ambitions, intelligent, well-spoken and, critically, she still IS those things, regardless of her reduced social mobility. Literally forced to walk with a cane, to stay within a home, to be trapped alone in a house with people she cannot talk to about anything beyond ‘gossip’, lest she be punished at the hands of the colonies or the cane or the noose. Arguing that Serena Joy self-willed this is only half true. Her character was a campaigner for women going back to the kitchen, of course, yet considering the enormous and painful experience of women in the workplace, it is not hard to see exactly why so
many women have been looking to return to the home. Specifically in the 80s but still applicable today is the fact that, in places of work, women are likely to be sexually harassed, mistaken for a junior employee, not credited for their work, not given promotion, passed up for further job opportunities, and not taken seriously. Why should Serena not see the return to the home an alternative to this life?
Her visions of domesticity were not visions of Gilead. They were of housewife-dom, but even the promise of that especially female freedom – to laze and to read and to cook and to clean – has been destroyed by the patriarchy of Gilead.
All that is left for Serena is to wait for her husband.