This masterful first episode begins exactly where season one left off: With Offred in the back of the Eyes’ van, unsure whether she’s being rescued, arrested, or carted off to her execution. I hoped that feeling - with more parenting, a little less fear, and entire season under my belt - would abate the second time around after which I could enjoy the craftsmanship of Handmaid’s Tale more and relive it in my nightmares less.īut if you think, like I did, that you now have a handle on the dark emotional depths that Handmaid’s Tale can take you to, you are very wrong. I don’t think I was alone: “ It’s so good, but it’s so hard to watch” was a frequent reaction. I cried, often, wondering why I’d brought a baby into this flimsy world, and so a television show that depicted women forced to bring babies into an even flimsier world rubbed all my raw spots. It was too good for rapid consumption, its terrors too premonitory in those early, turbulent days of Trump’s presidency, when it felt like airport protests and the ACLU were the only forces standing between our former democracy and our future authoritarian state. Instead, it took me nearly nine months to make it through the first season. I was also a freshly minted mother with a 3-month-old baby at home, and one of the few pleasures of those early, exhausted days of parenthood is the free rein you afford yourself to indulge in episode after episode of prestige TV. I’m an avid fan of Margaret Atwood’s work (dystopian and otherwise), and my copy of the novel was creased and greasy from the sandwiches and pastries I’d consumed over it the half-dozen or so times it had been reread since college.
When the first season of Handmaid’s Tale debuted last year, I itched to suck it all down.
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