But they are, for sure, Volvo-driving, vegan-eating lawyers for nonprofits who refuse to allow guns in the house. Though they marry, symbolically if not legally, midway through the book, it’s Cedar Hawk’s family that gets more of her love.Įrdrich won’t quite turn Cedar Hawk’s parents, Sera and Glen, into caricatures. There is a man in the picture, a gentle ecologist named Phil, with whom she shares a liberal Catholic worldview. Her sometimes breathless diary entries are intended to be read one day by the fetus she’s carrying. Offred’s narrator counterpart is Cedar Hawk Songmaker, a 26-year-old woman born in an Ojibwe reservation in upstate Minnesota and adopted by white Minneapolis liberals. More ominously, evolution seems to be moving in reverse, as creatures formerly seen only in museums of natural history loom in backyards and most babies look like eerie predecessors of Homo sapiens. Erdrich has imagined a world in which climate change has fast-forwarded from imminent to here-and-now.
In “Future Home,” it’s only hinted at as streets are renamed for Bible verses.Įcological disaster plays a larger and scarier role in the new book. What’s more, both patriarchies have emerged out of ultraconservative Christianity, though this genesis is more explicit in Atwood’s Republic of Gilead.
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