It’s mid-morning. The air is warm. I’m wearing a sports bra, cotton shorts, a loose tank top, headphones. I’m running uphill, gentle and slow, the wind in my face, music keeping my rhythm measured.
I see a man, mid-twenties, posting leaflets. He catches my eye, notes my lipstick, lingers.
I pause, stretch. I turn. I’m running downhill, the wind at my back, music keeping my rhythm steady.
The man sees me coming back. He’s on the path. He stops, turns towards me deliberately. His lips curve upwards and his eyes meet mine.
‘Slut,’ he leers.
I quicken my pace. I change my route.
It’s mid-morning. The air is warm. I’m wearing a sports bra, cotton shorts, a loose tank top, headphones. I’m running uphill, gentle and slow, the wind in my face, music keeping my rhythm measured.
I see a man, mid-twenties, posting leaflets. He catches my eye, notes my lipstick, lingers.
I pause, stretch. I turn. I’m running downhill, the wind at my back, music keeping my rhythm steady.
The man sees me coming back. He’s on the path. He stops, turns, backs out of my way. He eyes dart downwards and his shoulders hunch.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbles.
I quicken my pace. I blow him a kiss over my shoulder.
Have you ever heard of the Many Worlds Interpretation?
In 1957, physicist Hugh Everett proposed a mind-blowing theory: that all possible realities are real. Reality, far from being a straight line in time, is a many-branched tree, twigs numbering infinitely many, creeping ever-outwards, reaching and grasping, dividing and spreading.
“The shape of power is always the same; it is the shape of a tree… It is the shape that lightning forms when it strikes from heaven to earth…This same shape grows within us, our inward tree of nerves and blood vessels. We are electrical… As on the outskirts, so at the very heart.”
So begins this novel, and the astute reader might, sooner or later in the book, make the connection with Everett’s interpretation – for The Power is the story of a universe that was, or is, or will be.
In the rich vein of incredible writers like Margaret Atwood and Ursula Le Guin (and, indeed, with acknowledgements paid to these novelists themselves), Naomi Alderman violently confronts the basis of our current society by imagining a new one. Even more like these writers before her, she successfully weaves a bridge of words between our world and hers – and lets plenty of monsters cross. It’s been years since I read a book that has shifted my vision so thoroughly. I will never be the same again.
Don’t be fooled into thinking this is a story with a happy ending, or a way to make the world better – that’s the genius of it. What are our human differences, and what are our similarities? How does power make us feel, think, behave? The full 100-watt treatment is given to violence: and the way it affects adolescence, sex, war, and politics. But, like a truly great writer, Alderman only gives us a glimpse by torchlight at the horrors and wonders alike, allowing us – forcing us – to fill in the gaps from within our own minds. This isn’t just a book about the changing effects of shifting power on men, either - in the brave and brilliant tradition of books like The Women’s Room (which should not be brave and brilliant, but goddamn commonplace and accepted), this is a fully-fledged, believable book about women, how they feel, how they interact with each other, how they choose and speak and act and live AND WHY. That simple fact would make it a good book — but it’s so much more than that.
I’ve spoken to guys who simply haven’t got this book, for whom it left them cold. I wanted to laugh like a maniac. ‘Of course you wouldn’t!’ I wanted to scream. ‘That’s exactly the point. You’ve never had to dream it. You’ve never felt the terror of a world that wants to harm you, touch you, grope you, control you, rape you – and makes you feel weak and small and shameful for wanting it to stop.’ I didn’t even know how much the power to hurt others was something I wanted until I read this. I’d always thought about how society makes space and gives respect for men’s aggression, but not mine, but never thought of what might happen if I could just take it.
The premise — that the power to physically hurt, to maim, to kill, is what shapes almost all our interactions, has always done, and will always do – takes some settling in. It’s uncomfortable to consider. But, like many painful truths, it can scar you into submission or jolt you into action. My action was to give this to my eleven-year-old daughter, much like I would give her a rape alarm, self-defence lessons, or the certainty that her body is her own and no-one touches it without her consent (not even me). I want her to imagine that flickering luminescence as I did, to hum with it, to feel a quiet glow of control, even if it’s merely imagined.
Because maybe it’s not. Maybe, somewhere far, far away, she’s ruling the world.
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If you’d like to buy a copy of The Power, doing so through this link will help support our writers!
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We’re giving away two copies of The Power by Naomi Alderman for one reader and a friend*! To enter, simply follow us on Twitter, tweet us the hashtag #PowerNope and tag the friend you want to enter with. You’ve got until 6pm (BST) Saturday 26th August 2017 – good luck!
*Giveaway open to UK residents only.
