Egg

The Egg is a central, recurring object in Offred's life in the Republic of Gilead, appearing most prominently on her breakfast tray. It is a white, smooth, grained object that she examines with intense pleasure, describing it as a "barren landscape, yet perfect" and comparing it to the desert saints entered so their minds would not be distracted by profusion. She thinks that "this is what God must look like: an egg. The life of the moon may not be on the surface, but inside." This moment of contemplation, in which the egg glows as if it had an energy of its own, represents one of the few permitted pleasures in her severely restricted existence, a "minimalist life" where "pleasure is an egg." The egg is a blessing that can be counted on the fingers of one hand, and Offred is aware that this is how she is expected to react: "If I have an egg, what more can I want?"

The Egg as a Symbol of the Regime's Control

The egg is not merely a food; it is a carefully rationed token of the state's power over women's bodies. Offred's breakfast tray includes a vitamin pill, a spoon, toast, honey, and an eggcup that looks like a woman's torso in a skirt, with a second egg being kept warm under the skirt. This anthropomorphic eggcup reinforces the regime's reduction of women to reproductive vessels. The egg itself is a symbol of fertility and potential life, which the state seeks to control absolutely. Offred's monthly cycle is a source of dread, as the arrival of blood means "failure" to fulfill the expectations of others, which have become her own. The egg, then, is a daily reminder of the biological function she is expected to perform, a function that defines her entire existence as a Handmaid.

The Egg and the Buttering Ritual

The egg is also connected to Offred's secret, private rituals of resistance and self-preservation. After the Ceremony, she rubs butter over her face and hands, a trick she learned at the Red Center. She notes that her predecessor in the room, the woman with freckles, must have done this too. "As long as we do this, butter our skin to keep it soft, we can believe that we will some day get out, that we will be touched again, in love or desire." This buttering ritual is a small act of defiance against the regime's decree that Handmaids should not have hand lotion or face cream, as such things are considered vanities. The butter, like the egg, is a basic, organic substance that Offred repurposes to maintain her sense of self and hope. The egg itself is a source of nourishment, but the butter she hoards and uses on her skin is a form of self-care that affirms her humanity.

The Egg as a Site of Contemplation and Hope

Offred's contemplation of the egg is a form of meditation that allows her to escape, however briefly, the oppressive reality of her life. She fingers the warm egg, remembering that women once carried such eggs between their breasts to incubate them, and thinks "That would have felt good." This tactile, sensual memory connects her to a past of bodily autonomy and pleasure. The egg, in its simplicity and perfection, becomes a focus for her desire to live. In "reduced circumstances," she notes, "the desire to live attaches itself to strange objects." The egg is one such object, a small, tangible source of beauty and meaning in a world designed to strip her of both. It is a symbol of the life she might bear, the life she once had, and the life she still hopes for, however faintly.