When I saw a copy of this graphic novel on the library shelf, I almost couldn’t believe it. Like Muslimah authors’ works, The Handmaid’s Tale rarely spends long on the shelves. I felt like I was snatching away something when I checked it out. Now that I’ve finished reading, I’m going to return it asap. 

It’s been a few years since I’ve read the novel. So, as far as I remember, I can say the graphic adaptation hits all the same plot beats. Atwood’s words remain largely untouched. Offred—or June, if you’ve watched the Hulu adaptation—is still a Handmaid in the new totalitarian Republic of Gilead. Created by the rich, white patriarchy, Gilead’s militaristic oligarchy launched to “solve” the fertility crisis. Said crisis was brought on by the same rich, white men polluting the planet and hindering any attempts to control the spread of a super-form of syphilis. It all sounds blood-freezing familiar, especially the part about the homegrown terrorists gunning down Congress and the President. I first read The Handmaid’s Tale in 2015, and it’s a gut-punch how much closer we are to Gilead. 

Nault’s art is beautiful. Her linework’s thin delicacy is complimented perfectly by the deep watercolors. Reading the book, I hadn’t realized how colorful Atwood’s work was. Or it’s one thing to read that a cloth is red as blood; another, to see it. I noticed more how visually labeled the women are: June’s red, Serena Joy’s blue, Aunt Lydia’s muddy green. Nault brushes the architecture a dull earthy gray, which forms as gasping contrast to June’s vibrant flashbacks. I found myself noting hair a lot more—who is allowed to have it, how much of it, when is it shown. Though a lot of the female characters wear similar form-hiding outfits, I could always tell who was who, which speaks to Nault’s sense of expression and shape. 

Overall, the graphic adaptation is as beautiful and heart-rending as the novel. I’m wondering how much the United States will have changed by the time I get to watching the Hulu series or reading The Testaments.