Research Question: How does Atwood position Crake’s act of remaking the world within the larger patterns of social and cultural damage caused by corporate and institutional forces? Where does Crake mirror the values of his age, and where does he resist or subvert them?

Argument: Crake’s destruction/creation is not true resistance—rather, it is the ultimate expression of the corporate, technocratic values that already define his society.

*I had two sources that I could not cite. Also, it was quite difficult to pick out the best articles for my paper, but I was able to pick the best ones. Although, some sources might be subject to change—if needed. 

Chen, Chien-Hung. “Subjectal scale and micro-biopolitics at the end of the anthropocene: Margaret Atwood’s Maddaddam Trilogy.” Mosaic: An Interdisciplinary Critical Journal, vol. 51, no. 3, Sept. 2018, pp. 179–198, https://doi.org/10.1353/mos.2018.0037. 

https://www-jstor-org.proxy.wexler.hunter.cuny.edu/stable/26974117?sid=primo&seq=1

• Chen explains that corporations in the novels use genetic engineering to manage life itself, shaping people, animals, and ecosystems to fit their goals. I can use this argument to explain Crake’s plan works in the exact same way; he tries to “fix” humanity by redesigning their biology, which mirrors the corporate micro-control the article describes. Chen also argues that Atwood’s world shows how individuals absorb and internalize the values around them, which helps explain why Crake thinks he is doing something logical and necessary rather than destructive. Crake’s remake of the world continues the same biopolitical logic that corporations already use, rather than breaking away from it.

Kroon, Ariel. “Reasonably insane: affect and crake in Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and crake.” Canadian Literature, no. 226, autumn 2015, p. 18. Gale Academic OneFile, link.gale.com/apps/doc/A462787735/AONE?u=cuny_hunter&sid=bookmark-AONE&xid=6f18de97. Accessed 8 Dec. 2025.

https://go-gale-com.proxy.wexler.hunter.cuny.edu/ps/i.do?p=AONE&u=cuny_hunter&id=GALE%7CA462787735&v=2.1&it=r&aty=ip

• I was glad to stumble upon this article because I had a hard time finding articles that particularly explored Crake’s character. Kroon describes how Crake’s “rational” way of thinking makes him seem controlled and intelligent, but actually leads him to make cold, destructive decisions. It shows that Crake’s creation of the Crakers and his destruction of humanity are not acts of rebellion or resistance—they come from his emotional emptiness and detachment from others. The article also explains that Crake believes emotions make humans weak and irrational, which helps justify his violent solution to human problems. Kind of like how Crake’s personality mirrors the cold, corporate world around him, rather than challenging it.

Kozioł, Sławomir. “From Sausages to Hoplites of Ham and Beyond: The Status of

          Genetically Modified Pigs in Margaret Atwood’s MaddAddam Trilogy.” Papers on

          Language & Literature, vol. 54, no. 3, July 2018, pp. 261–95. EBSCOhost,

          research.ebsco.com/linkprocessor/plink?id=07978dd3-6cbc-3bf4-ae2e-9904de66c84e.

https://research-ebsco-com.proxy.wexler.hunter.cuny.edu/c/lyrnq6/viewer/pdf/4mv3zzejxz?route=details

• This article talks about genetically modified pigs in Atwood’s trilogy revealing the dangerous mindset of a society that treats living beings as corporate products. Kozioł explains that the pigoon show how corporations believe they have the right to redesign life for commercial gain. Crake grows up inside this same logic and eventually applies it to humans themselves when creating the Crakers. Genetic engineering in the novel is less about helping society and more about expanding corporate control.

Ray, Swagata S. “Speculative Fiction, Biocapitalism and being Tentacular: Reading the MaddAddam Trilogy as Posthuman Saga.” New Literaria, vol. 3, no. 1, 2022, pp. 106-119. ProQuest, http://proxy.wexler.hunter.cuny.edu/login?url=https://www.proquest.com/scholarly-journals/speculative-fiction-biocapitalism-being/docview/2674049506/se-2,   doi:https://doi.org/10.48189/nl.2022.v03i1.012. 

• Using this article, I obtained the term “biocapitalism,” meaning companies treat biology as a product for profit. To show how companies treat genes, bodies, animals, and even entire species as resources, just like money or machinery. Under biocapitalism, science and capitalism work together: corporations use biotechnology to create new forms of life (like the pigoons or ChickieNobs) and then profit from them.

SCHMEINK, LARS. “The Anthropocene, the Posthuman, and the Animal.” Biopunk Dystopias: Genetic Engineering, Society and Science Fiction, Liverpool University Press, 2016, pp. 71–118. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt1ps33cv.6. Accessed 8 Dec. 2025.

https://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt1ps33cv.6?searchText=%28%28%28Crake%29+AND+%28Genetic+engineering%29%29+AND+%28Maddaddam%29%29&searchUri=%2Faction%2FdoAdvancedSearch%3Fq0%3DCrake%26q1%3DGenetic%2Bengineering%26f0%3Dall%26c1%3DAND%26f1%3Dall%26acc%3Don%26c2%3DAND%26q2%3DMaddaddam%26f2%3Dall%26so%3Drel&ab_segments=0%2Fspellcheck_basic_search%2Fcontrol&refreqid=fastly-default%3Ab82d3d76500f56defb71a1495bff5845&seq=1

• Oryx and Crake shows a world where humans have pushed nature to the breaking point through corporate science, greed, and carelessness. The chapter’s discussion of “posthuman” ideas helps explain how Crake tries to create a new kind of human that avoids the flaws of the old one. Supporting my claim that Crake is both shaped by his world and trying to resist its destructive tendencies. With his project fitting into a bigger pattern of humans trying—and failing—to control nature and redefine humanity in response to environmental damage.

*Manifesting Extinctathon: Virtual Reality and Terrorism in Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake by Hodge, Patricia Mary

https://openurl.ebsco.com/EPDB%3Agcd%3A16%3A1085296/detailv2?sid=ebsco%3Aplink%3Ascholar&id=ebsco%3Agcd%3A155700174&crl=c&link_origin=scholar.google.com

https://gmj.manipal.edu/issues/JUNE2021/S3Manifesting%20Extinctathon%20Virtual%20Reality%20and%20Terrorism%20in%20Margaret%20Atwood%E2%80%99s%20Oryx%20and%20Crake.pdf

• This was also one of the sources I really found helpful because it dives into Extinctathon, where we saw the effects of it on Crake (or rather emphasized his tendencies). Hodge argues that the game trains players to detach from real-world consequences, treating violence, extinction, and destruction as strategic moves rather than moral decisions. In a way we can see that these corporate values not only apply to the real world but also the digital. The article also explains how technology blurs the line between play and reality, making Crake’s global “reset” feel like just another level of the game.

Dos Santos, Sara,Catarina Melo. (Un)Making the (Post)Human : Biopolitics and the Corporatization of the Body in Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake, Universidade de Lisboa (Portugal), Portugal, 2016. ProQuest, http://proxy.wexler.hunter.cuny.edu/login?url=https://www.proquest.com/dissertations-theses/un-making-post-human-biopolitics-corporatization/docview/3110427112/se-2. 

• Dos Santos argues that in Oryx and Crake, human bodies are treated like products that corporations can shape, sell, and control. Crake’s plan to “remake” humanity follows the same mindset—he designs the Crakers as if they are corporate projects, not living beings with freedom. The article makes it clear that the society in the novel already reduces life to something market-driven, and Crake simply takes this logic to the extreme. We also touch upon biopolitics which I think could help with my paper. Dos Santos explains how biopolitics allows institutions to quietly manage populations.

*NEOLIBERAL BIOPOLITICS IN MARGARET ATWOOD’S ORYX AND CRAKE by Venla Venäläinen

https://trepo.tuni.fi/bitstream/handle/10024/120803/Ven%C3%A4l%C3%A4inenVenla.pdf

• Venäläinen reads the novel through biopolitics, arguing that neoliberalism shapes bodies, desires, and populations. Her thesis stresses that institutions produce subjects who unconsciously replicate the values of the system. This can reinforce how Crake imagines himself as a revolutionary, but he is actually the perfect biopolitical subject, reproducing the logic of control, optimization, and population management. Crake does not break free of institutional values, he recasts them in technocratic terms (meaning: relating to or characterized by the government or control of society or industry by an elite of technical experts).

Was the involvement of Crake in humanity’s self-destruction the driving force, or was the outcome inevitable? What was seen before Crake that could/would have alluded to a destructive outcome?

One of the most compelling themes that emerges from Offill, is the tension between daily life and looming catastrophe. Offill constructs a narrative in which Lizzie moves between errands, childcare, library work, and small interpersonal crises, all while absorbing a constant stream of climate-related dread. She renders the end of the world in the same form as shopping lists or neighborly gossip. This collapsing of scale – placing the global and the mundane side by side – suggests that the true emotional weight of modern life lies not in catastrophe alone, but in the psychological labor of holding both realities at once.

Offill deepens this theme through her use of fragmentary prose, which creates interruption and disorientation. Lizzie’s mind flickers between questions from climate-anxious podcast listeners, her brother’s recovery efforts, and practical tasks like fixing her son’s bike. The fragmentation mirrors the cognitive overload of the contemporary moment; the sense that our attention is pulled in countless directions while we are still expected to function normally. What struck me is how recognizable this feels – this sense that daily responsibilities continue even when the news cycles are filled with warnings, outrage, or grief. Offill captures that emotional multitasking with precision.

At the same time, Part 2 foregrounds the emotional labor Lizzie performs for others. Her instinct to “fix” or soothe people becomes both her strength and her vulnerability. She answers Sylvia’s fan mail, reassures her recovering brother, supports Ben, and fields small emergencies from people in her orbit. Yet she rarely articulates her own fears openly. This imbalance highlights another layer of the book’s thematic core: the cost of caretaking in a world defined by uncertainty.The novel suggests that compassion can become exhausting when the surrounding environment, literal and emotional, is unstable.

Another notable element in this section is the subtle humor threading through the dread. Offill presents climate anxiety for irony, absurdity, and the strange comedy of human behavior. These moments prevent the narrative from collapsing into despair, instead creating a bittersweet tone that feels true to lived experience. Life does not pause for crisis; people still make jokes, argue about small things, and misinterpret each other. I found myself appreciating how the humor doesn’t undermine the seriousness of the themes; rather, it exposes the ridiculousness of trying to find meaning in a world that increasingly resists coherence.

Ultimately, what Part 2 conveys most powerfully is a portrait of life under slow-burn catastrophe. Nothing “happens” dramatically, yet everything feels heavy. The dread accumulates in small, almost invisible increments, the way climate anxiety does in reality. Offill’s attention to this psychological atmosphere feels both familiar and unsettling. Reading these pages, I felt a quiet recognition – an awareness of how often I, too, move through ordinary days while part of my mind is preoccupied with larger, unanswerable questions about the future.

In this way, Offill transforms Lizzie’s ordinary routines into a reflection of contemporary existence. Weather suggests that the true drama of the modern world is internal. Part 2 makes this theme palable through its careful blend of humor, anxiety, and intimate detail. It leaves the reader with a lingering question  – how do we live fully in the present when the future feels increasingly uncertain?

In the first part of Weather, Jenny Offill explores what it feels like to live in a world shaped by two very different kinds of time – the fast, noisy time of media and the slow, almost unimaginable time of climate change. Her narrator, Lizzie, moves through ordinary days filled with family, work, and worries, yet her mind constantly drifts toward the planet’s future and the threat of collapse. The book captures the tension between these scales of experience: the small details of daily life and the vast timeline of environmental crisis. In doing so, Offill shows how difficult it is for modern people to hold both in mind at once.

I think one of the most striking things about Part I is the novel’s fragmented form. Offill writes in short, sharp bursts – single sentences or brief paragraphs that resemble thoughts, texts, or news alerts. This style mirrors how information reaches us today: in constant fragments, notifications, and headlines that compete for attention. Or the surprise of it just materializing on your phone without any warning (like the deaths of relevant news today). The form makes readers feel the mental overload of living in a media-saturated world. It also reflects Lizzie’s state of mind – her worry, distraction, and restless effort to make sense of everything. By shaping the novel this way, Offill doesn’t just tell us about anxiety; she makes us experience it.

Offill also uses the idea of “weather” as both a literal and symbolic theme. On one level, weather refers to everyday concerns, rain, heat, changing seasons, but it also points to the larger, slower forces of climate and “deep time.” The narrator’s thoughts about storms or droughts are never just small talk; they hint at fears about global change and human survival. Through her focus on the ordinary – a conversation, a commute, a child’s question – Offill shows how global problems quietly enter daily life. The novel asks how people can keep living and caring for others when the future itself seems uncertain.

Part I further examines how people deal with information in an age of crisis. Lizzie reads articles, listens to experts, and tries to share useful advice, but she never feels fully sure what is true or what to do about it. Offill uses this uncertainty to question who has authority in a world overflowing with facts and opinions. The novel suggests that moral action today might begin with something small: paying careful attention, choosing what to believe, and thinking about how our choices affect others. Knowing is no longer simple; it’s a constant process of sorting and caring.

By the end of Part I, Offill invites readers not to find easy answers but to stay aware, even when things feel confusing or hopeless. Her fragmented writing style becomes a form of resistance – a way to stay alert in a distracted age. Through Lizzie’s anxious but searching voice, Weather shows how to live thoughtfully in a time when media and deep time collide. The novel suggests that even small acts of awareness and empathy can matter when the larger future feels beyond our control.

In the final chapters of The Hungry Tide, it explored sacrifice and human connection. These chapters bring together the personal journeys of Piya, Kanai, and Fokir in a way that feels both tragic and meaningful. As I read, I felt that the tide country itself – its unpredictability, danger, and beauty – became a symbol for how fragile life can be. The story no longer felt like just a study of culture or nature; it became a meditation on what it means to live with compassion in a world shaped by constant change.

The cyclone scene was one of the most powerful parts of the novel. The imagery of Piya and Fokir trapped in the storm felt terrifying but inspiring. I could almost hear the wind and feel the force of the water around them. When Fokir died trying to protect Piya, it showed his courage and unwavering determination to save a person. This quiet strength and selflessness convey how some people, even without words or education, show a deeper understanding of life and care for others. Fokir’s death is a reminder that love and bravery often exist in silence. Or relating back to the topic of language – that connection transcends the spoken form – often shown through emotions and actions.

We can see how Piya’s view changes after the storm. Earlier in the book, she viewed the tide country mostly as a place of scientific interest, but after losing Fokir, her understanding deepens. Through Fokir’s death, Ghosh explores the limits of knowledge and control. Piya, the trained scientist, represents Western rationality and empirical understanding, while Fokir embodies intuitive knowledge of the tide country. During the storm, it becomes clear that no amount of science can truly master the natural world. This realization humbles Piya and transforms her understanding of the people she studies; she begins to see that lived experience and local wisdom hold truths that cannot be measured by data alone. When she decided to continue her dolphin research in the Sundarbans, I saw it as a tribute to Fokir and the people who live with nature’s challenges every day.

Kanai’s emotional transformation also stood out to me. Reading his uncle Nirmal’s diary and witnessing the cyclone changes him from a confident, somewhat detached man into someone more aware of his own limitations. He recognizes the moral weight of remembering – how personal and collective memory shapes identity and responsibility – that makes him confront his privilege. The diary entries about the Morichjhapi tragedy show that the tide country holds not only natural dangers but also human suffering caused by politics and injustice.

The ending suggested that even in the face of destruction, life continues, just like the tides that never stop moving. Personally, I finished the book feeling grateful for the quiet heroism of ordinary people and for Ghosh’s ability to blend emotion, history, and nature so beautifully. Ghosh suggests that resilience is not about overcoming nature but learning to live within its rhythm. Ultimately, closing the novel on a note of acceptance and renewal.