The Handmaid’s Tale is a story of subjugation all the more horrific for how close to our current reality it seems. It plays on things we already know and premises we already accept to show us a future we begin to believe in more and more as the story unfolds.
Being born is terrifying. Noisy, disorientating and arduous, it’s quite possibly one of the most traumatic experiences in our lives.
It’s a good thing we don’t remember it, because our birth is also the most important process we’ll ever go through — and absolutely essential for everything that follows.
Communication is messy. Words are imprecise. Meaning is layered, and comes in many shades. Humans are just fleshy pods forever trying to share the images in their minds, shadowy representations of the world that shape how we think, act and live.
I remember running through forest as a kid. I remember the thrill of getting as lost as I could, stumbling upon hidden glades and streams and fields. I remember the rush of a world that was so much bigger and more beautiful than I had hoped — and the harmony that came with getting to know it.
“The author is always right.”
“It doesn’t matter what you think if the author says otherwise.”
“That’s not what the author meant… don’t you think you’re reading too much into this?”
Why are some stories so powerful even when their characters are bland, predictable, and archetypal?
I’m talking Sleeping Beauty. Gladiator. Beowulf.
Battlestar Galactica is about two peoples fighting a battle for survival. At first it seems like these forces are totally opposed and can never coexist, but in time the line between them becomes more and more hazy until it virtually disappears.
In Westworld, life is defined by suffering. Hosts are put through a daily ritual of abuse, torture and often murder. Their lives are set to the rhythm of their deaths.
Some games blow you away with their originality, their sense of being more than the sum of their parts, their sheer and captivating ownness.
And some just feel like pale imitations of movies you’ve seen.
For as long as humans have existed and started drawing symbols on rocks we have wondered what art is and what it means.
We’ve gazed at the crude markings, or listened to the primal wailings, and wondered why they pluck the strings sitting in our rib cages.
