The Handmaid’s Tale Chapter 37 Literary Analysis

Chapter Thirty-Seven: themes, motifs, character arcs, and style analysis for this chapter.

By Margaret Atwood

46 chapters

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter 37Literary Analysis

In Chapter Thirty‑Seven the narrative pivots from domestic confinement to a staged, opulent “club” that functions as a liminal arena where the regime’s visual apparatus is both amplified and subverted. The corridor described as “softly lit and carpeted… in a mushroom colour, browny‑pink” operates as a transitional threshold, echoing earlier passages where colour signals the handmaid’s prescribed identity; here the palette is deliberately profuse, signaling a rupture in the regime’s monochrome aesthetic.

The central courtyard, with its “round fountain spraying water in the shape of a dandelion gone to seed,” re‑introduces the dandelion motif that previously marked moments of fragile hope. The architectural verticality—“it goes up several storeys to a skylight at the top”—creates an axial sight‑line that mirrors the Commander’s gaze, reinforcing the omnipresent “ocular regime.” The glass elevators described as “giant molluscs” evoke a bio‑mechanical uncanny, suggesting the body’s absorption into institutional machinery.

Atwood’s catalog of women’s attire functions as a visual taxonomy of resistance. The “bright festive gear,” “old‑fashioned lingerie,” “crocheted affair with big scallop shells,” and “cheerleader’s outfits” constitute a patchwork of pre‑Gilead cultural artifacts, each signifying a reclaimed historical register. Their hyper‑feminine makeup—“eyes… too dark and shimmering, mouths too red, too wet”—intensifies the spectacle, turning the women into both objects of the Commander’s voyeuristic exhibition and agents who re‑appropriate the visual language of the regime.

The Commander’s performance, from his “sprightliness and jocularity of youth” to his “juvenile display” of winking, is a dramatized enactment of power that both flaunts and destabilizes the hierarchical order. His dialogue—“Nature demands variety, for men… it’s part of the procreational strategy”—re‑articulates the official doctrine while simultaneously exposing its absurdity through the overtly artificial variety of clothing. The paradox of “you can’t cheat Nature” juxtaposed with the manufactured diversity of the club underscores the regime’s reliance on symbolic, rather than biological, control.

Moira’s appearance provides a counter‑narrative of covert resistance. Her “black satin” costume, complete with a “sanitary pad… popped like a piece of popcorn” masquerading as a tail, functions as a literal “tail” for surveillance—both a marker that can be tracked and a subversive signifier that disrupts the male gaze. The silent signal—Moira’s head jerk and the shared cigarette ritual—re‑activates the earlier “signal” motif (the red hand on the door, the whisper of “Nolite te bastardes carborundorum”), reaffirming the handmaid’s reliance on embodied, performative code to navigate hostile spaces.

The scene’s dialogue about “washroom tags” illustrates the regime’s bureaucratic inscription of ownership onto bodies: “show them your tag… they’ll know you’re taken.” This bureaucratic token, reduced to a piece of plastic, epitomizes the internalization of surveillance; the handmaid’s physical imbalance without the Commander’s arm highlights how the state’s physical support is prerequisite for the woman’s navigational agency.

Overall, Chapter Thirty‑Seven intensifies the thematic trajectory of surveillance through spatial opulence, while foregrounding the handmaid’s adaptive resistance via sartorial reclamation, covert signaling, and the strategic use of ritualized consumption (the gin and tonic). The textual interplay of architectural description, colour symbolism, and dialogue constructs a multilayered tableau where power is both displayed and subtly contested.