In One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, Ken Kesey’s main character, Chief Bromden, exists as a mostly-mute mental patient in a psych ward. As readers, we don’t really know if what Chief Bromden is saying is the truth or not. Bromden also keeps at us a distance, and Kesey reveals information about Bromden’s past slowly. Chief Bromden is a deeply guarded character. I think that Kesey wrote him this way so we could learn more about the psych ward through the lens of someone who doesn’t share that much about himself. This is important because too much personal information about Bromden too soon might taint our opinion of him and of the environment he exists in.

Chief Bromden lies to himself repeatedly. One instance of him doing this was when R. P. McMurphy was trying to get other patients in the psych ward to raise their hands to vote for their TV time to match up with when the World Series was happening. Chief Bromden raises his hand, but before, he tells the readers all the way that McMurphy has programmed him to raise his hand. Chief reasons, “McMurphy did something to [my arm] that first day, put some kind of hex on it with his hand so it won’t act like I order it” (pg. 123). Chief continues, referencing two large motifs in One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, wires and fog, “McMurphy’s got hidden wires hooked to it, lifting it slow just to get me out of the fog and into the open where I’m fair game” (123). Finally, Chief Bromden gives in to the honest truth, “That’s not the truth. I lifted [my arm] myself” (123). In this scene, we see Bromden start lying to himself and to us, but then corrects himself and tells the reader what actually happened. Lying to yourself is a habit that everyone experiences. I think of lying to myself as both self sabotaging and self protecting.

The times that I’ve lied to myself, I’ve done it semi-knowingly. Recently, my childhood dog died. I knew Angus from the time I was five to the time I was seventeen. He was, for all intents and purposes, my best friend. When he died, I told myself that I would be fine. Hours after he was euthanized, I drove myself to choir rehearsal. The next day, I performed a four-bar solo in a choir concert. The only reason I was able to do this was because I lied to myself. I told myself that he was only a dog, that he hadn’t been himself for a while, that I could just get a new dog. I told myself this so I could function. It was a measure of pure self preservation.

Another lie I tell myself is to soothe my driving anxiety. I have to drive upwards of two times a week, and every time I get in the driver’s side of the car, I have to tell myself that car accidents happen when drivers are drunk or distracted. If I promise myself that I won’t be intoxicated or on my phone, then I will never hurt myself or anyone else on the road. While this statistic has some truth to it, it’s nowhere near a complete analysis of causes for car accidents. I tell myself this so I am able to drive anywhere, but it might actually do more harm than good. Telling myself this could give me a sense of false confidence. Lying to myself can be both good and bad for myself.

When reading One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest and reflecting on Chief Bromden’s journey of self-deception and the illusions created by his mind and the environment he’s in, I recognize the parallel struggles in my own brain. Just like Chief Bromden, I struggle with denial when it comes to coping with grief and things that scare me. His moments of clarity—where he confronts the truth of his actions and experiences—serve as a reminder of the importance of self awareness. Reading One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest has made me realize that I lie to myself a lot more than I think I do, and that my self deception isn’t purely positive or negative. While I can recognize that lying to myself isn’t a terrible act, I still think that the most important step I can take is understanding when I’m doing it, and being responsible for my actions.

In The Handmaid’s Tale, Offred often experiences bouts of nostalgia, where she will go deep into her own mind. She thinks about the good and the bad times—though I think she recounts more good than bad—from the before times. She recounts stories from childhood with her mother, from a secret relationship with Luke, from a public relationship with Luke, and from being a mother. Margaret Atwood, the author of the Handmaid’s Tale, will often start these stories abruptly. Atwood will write about Offred and her companion, Ofglen walking to the market, and then Offred will recount a memory, somewhat randomly. Atwood writes, “Ofglen and I walk slowly today; we are hot in our long dresses, wet under the arms, tired… There used to be an ice cream store, somewhere in this block. I can’t remember the name… We would go there, when [my daughter] was little, and I’d hold her up so she could see through the glass side of the counter, where the vats of ice cream were on display, colored so delicately, pale orange, pale green, pale pink, and I’d read the names to her so she could choose. She wouldn’t choose by the name, though, but by the color. Her dresses and overalls were those colors too. Ice cream pastels” (164-165). This story, about an ice cream shop that no longer exists, and a daughter that, to Offred, no longer exists, comes to her after seeing a reminder of a previous time. This is interesting to me because instead of seeing something and moving on, she stays with the memory for as long as she can. Offred’s train of thought is powerful because she will give into it more than other people might. I also have this experience, because a lot of times I will distract myself with the first thing that comes to mind. When I was younger, this manifested itself in playing pretend games in my head, and now it manifests itself as getting distracted easily while doing work, and having a hard time getting back on task. I think I do this because my brain naturally turns away from the things it finds unfulfilling. For example, when I am doing math homework or chores, I’m not thinking about math or the trash, I’m thinking about summer camp or the last dentist appointment I had. These distractions reward my efforts. For all the grinding I’m doing with calculus or emptying the dishwasher, I at least can remember swimming with my friends and how clean my teeth felt. For Offred, I think this is similar. Gilead is such a cruel world, and Offred does not enjoy it. She distracts herself with memories of her past, which she enjoyed significantly more, even though she might not always recognize it. Atwood writes, “There seemed no end to [Luke]. We would lie in those afternoon beds, afterwards, hands on each other, talking it over. Possible, impossible. What could be done? We thought we had such problems. How were we to know we were happy?” (51). Offred recognizes that she was happier in a past life, where she wasn’t forced to give birth to babies that weren’t hers and perform rituals she probably would’ve called crazy as a teenager. Even though she knows that she can’t get back to her happier past life by thinking about it, she still does. Even though I know that I can’t stop doing my homework because I’m daydreaming about the summer time, I still do. We do these things as a form of escapism. We don’t like the current situation we’re in—although mine is quite a bit less dire than hers is—so we make up a new one from our heads that we’ve experienced before. Offred’s thoughts often end up straying to four characters: Her daughter, her mother, Luke, and Moira. These characters keep coming up both logistically (where has Luke ended up?) and emotionally (I hope my daughter is alive). These characters in her life are Offred’s chosen form of escapism because she loves and cares about them. It’s a lot easier for her mind to first wander to topics she thinks might cheer her up, when in the end, they might do more harm than good. This is because she spirals when she thinks about them, like when she imagined Luke dead or locked away somewhere. I also tend to spiral, and mine also tends to be about the stress of living and the wellbeing of loved ones. Offred and I both ‘escape’ to places in our minds, but it doesn’t necessarily make us feel better.

A CASE OF YOU - JONI MITCHELL: I was recently listening to Blue by Joni Mitchell, one of my favorite albums of all time. When I got to A Case of You, I stopped. It reminded me of The Handmaid’s Tale. Mitchell, the narrator of the song, sings about a relationship she is in. While the relationship Mitchell sings about is romantic, the parallels with The Handmaid’s Tale are more platonic. Offred, the main character has complicated feelings toward her friend Moira. She loves Moira, but she’s afraid of Moira. Most of all, we see that Offred—and some of the other Handmaids—are in awe of Moira. We see this in the text after Moira threatens Aunt Elizabeth, “Moira was like an elevator with open sides. She made us dizzy… Nevertheless Moira was our fantasy” (pg. 113). In A Case of You, Mitchell sings, “I’m frightened by the devil / And I’m drawn to those ones that ain’t afraid.” Mitchells ‘devils’ could be the Aunts in Gilead that Offred and the other Handmaids are scared of, and ‘the one that ain’t afraid’ is Moira, who does everything in her power to rebel against the Aunts.

RUN (TAYLOR’S VERSION) - TAYLOR SWIFT: Run (Taylor’s Version) is cozy and acoustic, and follows a couple trying to skip town. This song feels like it tracks the span of Luke and Offred’s relationship in the ‘before times.’ The obvious parallel is the couple leaving a space they find hostile, which Luke and Offred try to do when they drive with their daughter in the backseat to get to Canada. Swift even sings in the chorus, “And run, like you’d run from the law.” Something else I found interesting is just how comfortable and private the couple portrayed in the song is. The song is quiet and the instruments (specifically the acoustic guitar) have a muffled tone. This is similar to the quiet secrecy of the beginning of Luke and Offred’s relationship, when he was still married. Offred remembers a scene in a hotel room, “[Luke’s] knock would come at the door; I’d open, with relief, desire. He was so momentary, so condensed. And yet there seemed no end to him. We would lie in those afternoon beds, afterwards, hands on each other, talking it over” (page 51). The relief that Atwood describes is similar to the comfort Swift describes.

ILLICIT AFFAIRS - TAYLOR SWIFT: Illicit Affairs describes an extramarital affair from the perspective of the ‘cheater.’ Swift sings about the precautions the narrator has to take to not get caught by her husband. Atwood writes about how Offred, when summoned by the Commander, has to take extreme measures to not get caught by anyone in the house, but especially not Serena Joy. Swift also sings about the anger the narrator feels toward her lover. She sings, “And you wanna scream / Don’t call me “kid” / Don’t call me “baby” / Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me.” This rage is also felt by Offred. On the fourth night of their arrangement, she thinks, “My voice was angrier than I’d intended… For [the Commander], I must remember, I am only a whim” (page 159). Swift’s narrator and Offred both feel like afterthoughts.

KISS - PRINCE: Kiss is simple and fun, two things that The Handmaid’s Tale are arguably not. There is a scene, though, that feels a lot like Kiss. In chapter seventeen, Offred sneaks out of her room in the middle of the room and runs into Nick, “He too is illegal, here, with me, he can’t give me away. Nor I him; for the moment we’re mirrors. He puts his hand on my arm, pulls me against him, his mouth on mine, what else comes from such denial? Without a word. Both of us shaking, how I’d like to” (page 98). The kiss that Nick and Offred share perfectly describes the hunger that all of Gilead feels for any romantic connection. Without exchanging any words, they kiss each other, because they are both lonely. In Kiss, Prince describes not caring who he kisses, but wanting to kiss someone, “You don’t have to be cool to rule my world / Ain’t no particular sign I’m more compatible with / I just want your extra time and your kiss.”

RELAY - FIONA APPLE: The refrain of Relay is “Evil is a relay sport / When the one who’s burnt turns to pass the torch.” The idea is that those who have been hurt hurt others. We see this with Serena Joy, who is obviously not happy in Gilead taking out her grievances on Offred. After the ceremony, Serena Joy commands Offred to leave her, “There is loathing in her voice, as if the touch of my flesh sickens and contaminates her” (page 95). Even after all of the hate that Serena Joy throws at her, Offred doesn’t hate her exactly, and isn’t jealous, necessarily. Atwood writes, “Partly I was jealous of her; but how could I be jealous of a woman so obviously dried-up and unhappy?” (page 161). Offred realizes the same thing that Apple does in Relay. They realize that it’s not worth it to be hateful to those who are hateful to them, because they don’t realize that they are just continuing in a cycle.