"I would like to believe this is a story I'm telling. I need to believe it. I must believe it. Those who can believe that such stories are only stories have a better chance." 
 Why did I not read this sooner? How could I possibly have overlooked such a masterpiece, such a thought-provoking dystopian nightmare, filled with simple writing, clear metaphors and deep symbolism? Why did I think that this was not for me, when it clearly was? How could I have been so wrong? 
 The thing is, "The Handmaid's Tale" is one of the most well-crafted dystopian novels that I have ever read. Atwood emphasizes the women's role throughout history as she takes one step back from our modern societies and leaves all women as simple birth-machines, servants and saintly wives, ultimately creating a feminist's worst nightmare. 
 Atwood's writing style is mesmerizing, constantly flowing between the present and the past. The main character is a part of the generation who has to adjust to this new world, and therefore she has a sense of loss. Atwood's dystopian world is not yet fully established when the novel begins; it is still in a phase of transition and exploration. 
 The result is so unlike any other well-known dystopia, the characters are suffering in very different ways than Guy Montag and Winston Smith, because in "The Handmaid's Tale" everybody know what they have lost. There is no rediscovery of a world covered in smoke; Offred has had a man, she has experienced love, born a child and lost a friend. She has been pulled apart from everything that she loved, and she longs for a past which is no longer possible. Her yearning flows through the novel, from beginning to end. 
 The novel is filled with powerful messages about love, identity, freedom and hope. The ending is not an intricate bow, but a loose knot, open for interpretation and discussion. And I can still feel its last words, lingering in the air around me. 
 "What I need is perspective. The illusion of depth, created by a frame, the arrangement of shapes on a flat surface. Perspective is necessary. Otherwise there are only two dimensions. Otherwise you live with your face squashed up against a wall, everything a huge foreground, of details, close-ups, hairs, the weave of the bedsheet, the molecules of the face. Your own skin like a map, a diagram of futility, criscrossed with tiny roads that lead nowhere. Otherwise you live in the moment. Which is not where I want to be."