Choice Within Control
The Ceremony scene in The Handmaid’s Tale reveals how ritual can become a form of control. Atwood builds a moment that feels calm on the surface, but is full of quiet terror. My first reaction to this passage was discomfort, then an after, a kind of numbness. The emotional shift mirrors what Offred feels in the book. Reading it, I understood how Gilead’s power doesn’t rely only on violence. It relies on repetition, silence, and forced participation.
Offred describes the setting with plain observation. “My red shoes are off, my legs are on the bed, spread open, and the Commander is fucking” (pg. 94). The flatness of this sentence hit me; there is no emotional word. No protest, no metaphor. It’s written the way a person describes a task. That lack of feeling is what makes it so hard to read. Offred is detached because feeling would make the act unbearable. The state has made her body public property, so she protects what little remains of herself by refusing to feel. That is survival disguised as obedience.
When I read this line, I felt the tension of the scene. The Commander’s wife, Serena Joy, sits with Offred and holds her hands during the act. Atwood writes, “Serena Joy’s rings glitter near my face, her perfume thick and sweet” (Page 95). The image of glitter and perfume contrasts with the violence of what’s happening. That detail stuck with me. It shows how Gilead turns cruelty into a ritual. Everything is dressed up to look holy decent. I thought about how control often hides behind ceremony in the real world. When rules are wrapped in tradition, people stop questioning them. That is what happens in Gilead. The scene is quiet. There is no struggle, no shouting. Everyone plays a part. Offred lies still. Serena grips her hands. The Commandeer finishes and leaves. It feels mechanical. The silence is the loudest thing in the chapter. Offred says, “One detaches oneself. One describes” (Page 96). That line explains how she survives. She steps outside herself; she becomes the narrator instead of actually being in the scene. My reaction changed as I reread the scene. The first time, I was shocked by the act. The second time, I paid more attention to Offred’s thoughts afterward. She says, “We are two-legged wombs, that’s all: sacred vessels, ambulatory chalices.” (Page 136). That word choice is very brutal and specific. It reduces women to objects. But the sarcasm in her tone matters. She knows the system’s language but uses it with irony. That irony is her defense. She understands the lie but pretends to accept it.
In the middle of the chapter, there is a moment that also shows how Offred is managing this oppression. She says, “Nor does rape cover it: nothing is going on here that I haven’t signed up for. There wasn’t a lot of choice, but there was some, and this is what I chose” (Page 94). She recognizes the limited control she has but asserts ownership of her actions. The phrase “there wasn’t a lot of choice” shows the pressure Gilead places on women; the system limits options and forces compliance. The phrase “this is what I chose” emphasizes her effort to maintain autonomy within those limits. Even small decisions become meaningful in a system designed to erase them. Offred weighs risk, emotion, and appearance to protect her inner life. This line also illustrates the complexity of consent under pressure. Offred acknowledges that the act is not freely desired, yet she claims responsibility for how she endures it. Gilead does not need violence to control women; it requires compliance framed as consent. Atwood shows that survival demands compromise and calculation. Reading this passage, I felt the tension between helplessness and control. I noticed how Offred’s observation of her own participation is a form of resistance. She frames her experience as a choice, even though she was constrained; it allows her to preserve a sense of self that the system seeks to destroy.
At the end of the scene, Offred retreats to her room as she says, “Nolite te bastardes caborundorum.” The phrase, meaning “Don’t let the bastards grind you down,” is secret resistance. It shows survival is sometimes internal and quiet. Every sentence she writes proves she exists, observes, and thinks. That inner voice becomes her power. Reading the Ceremony scene, especially lines like the one about her limited choice, changed how I understood the novel. Gilead is built on the absence of feeling, yet Offred retains control through observation, reflection, and private decisions. Her calm voice and awareness form the subtle acts of resistance that keep her self intact. The quietness, routine, and constrained choice make the world believable and terrifying. Offred’s survival depends on small acts of mental autonomy, a reminder that even in extreme oppression, individuals find ways to assert themselves.
