In order to identify the themes embodied in Atwood’s work, the reader must examine the women she chooses as spokespeople, and the company they keep. Each voice serves a distinct purpose in representing the role of woman within Atwood’s dystopian world, and by extension, our own. Though each is her own complex and fully-realized character, Toby, Ren and Lucerne can all be broken down into familiar female archetypes. These archetypes illustrate the dichotomy Atwood chooses to establish between traditional values of femininity and the necessity of survival.
The principle voice in ‘The Year of the Flood’ is that of quick-thinking, practical, survivalist Toby. Her narrative is the least colored by emotion, and seemingly the most reliable. Toby’s account is told in third person, effectively making everything that happens to her a statement of fact within the reality of the novel. This allows the character of Toby a degree of power that the other narrator, Ren, never commands: the reader can always rely on Toby-centered chapters to ground them in “facts” about the setting and characters. The semi-omniscient narrator that shows the world through Toby’s eyes assures the reader that her perspective is the most valid.
If Toby’s viewpoint is more legitimate – why? The factor that sets Toby apart from Ren, or for that matter, the other significant female characters is a lack of traditional femininity. She has no stereotypical feminine traits: little concern for her appearance, an absence of maternal characteristics (unable to bear children, also), very little sexuality, and no interest in romance whatsoever. The first we learn of Toby is her traditionally masculine name. She is described as being “kind of scrawny” and “flat as a board, back and front”. Once out on the street, Toby barters away her physical femininity: first her long hair, then her fertility. She is uncomfortable with the feminine aspects that Gardener culture demands of her – when she arrives at Edencliff, her hair is short, and in order to fit in, she is told she must grow it out. This “smiling, bossy sanctimoniousness”, according to Toby, is “a little too pervasive” in Edencliff, “especially among female members of the sect”. Toby is unwilling to take on Pilar’s mantle as Eve Six. The reasons for this are vague, (“To be a full-fledged Eve… it would be hypocritical!”, she says when confronted) but could easily be ascribed to Toby’s unwillingness to fully give herself to the feminine role of matron and caregiver. She is often described as ‘hard’, ‘tough’, and ‘dry’ while other women are ‘soft’ or ‘squashy’, or at worst, “wet”. The last example is perhaps the most significant: Nuala is mocked as being the “wet witch” for her emotional vulnerability, but there is also a definite allusion to female sexual biology, something Toby, the “dry witch” is uninterested in. Toby’s rejection of all qualities assumed to be feminine, including sexuality, passionate displays of emotion, and romantic love, is seen as a sign of her strength and her independence.
Ren, on the other hand, is like a damsel in distress. If not for her sexual experience, she could be a textbook example of the ingénue. She needs perpetual rescue – most literally from her imprisonment in Scales, but also from her mother, from the Gardeners, from the streets. Ren’s age at the time of the Waterless Flood is never revealed, so it’s easy to see her as a little girl throughout the novel, even though she is surely as old as Toby was at the earliest point in her story (when we witness her bury her father in secret, with such calculated maturity). She easily develops attachments to people, even though they are often shown to be unworthy of her regard – she resents her mother for forcing her into the Gardener life because she misses her biological father, but when they are reunited it is clear that he was neglectful all along. She adores Mordis, her pimp (despite his ominous name!). And she worships Amanda, so often her rescuer. Ren is highly romantic, and is devoted (romantically, if not physically) to a single man (and a single woman: Amanda) for her entire adult life. When she speaks of Jimmy, her affection is an obsession, hurting her deeply and causing her more acute unhappiness than her traumatic childhood, her dysfunctional family and the impending apocalypse combined. While Toby never sees sex as a source of happiness or fulfillment, Ren enjoys her own sexuality, and is comfortable working at Scales. She is proud of her body and her ability to attract men. At one point she describes her own body as “Chickin’-lickin’ good”. Ren is loveable and sympathetic, but by her own admission, she is lost without stronger characters to guide her. And within Atwood’s world, it is her femininity that makes her vulnerable.
Then there is Lucerne. While she is not a narrator, her character is a recurrent and inescapable condemnation of traditional femininity. Helpless as her daughter may be, at least Ren is sympathetic – Lucerne is an object of scorn. And she is every feminine stereotype rolled into one. Blonde, buxom, violently emotional, deeply in love. A “bitch”. A “slut”, called so even by her own daughter. She is materialistic, she fixates on her appearance and she cares about what others think of her. She is smitten with Zeb’s uber-masculinity, and she is possessive of him, and jealous. When we briefly see her perspective, it is through the purple prose of her memory, turning her first tryst with Zeb into a cheap paperback romance, full of sunsets and rose petals. Perhaps even her role as a mother is condemnation enough: there are several mothers in the book, and all of them are directly responsible for heartbreak in their children’s lives. It is easy to dislike Lucerne, especially in Ren’s account, but it certainly seems like she gets the short end of the stick throughout the novel. It is her willingness to love that makes her weak; her belief in an ideal world very unlike the one in which she lives. It is undeniable that Lucerne is trapped in an abusive relationship, and yet she is always portrayed as the guilty party. It is her fault for falling for Zeb in the first place, and her fault for crying and allowing herself to be hurt. When she finally chooses liberation, it is to the scorn and derision of everyone she knows. It is not just that her femininity makes her weak and unlikeable: it makes her guilty.
‘The Year of the Flood’ seems to have a negative, even hostile attitude towards traits associated with traditional femininity, equating them with weakness and the inability to survive. Toby’s sterile practicality is promoted as a more mature and substantial alternative.
