I've always loved comparing the two books because they feel like cousins rather than carbon copies. 'The Testaments' is indeed a sequel to 'The Handmaid's Tale' — it picks up years after the events of the first novel and expands the world of
Gilead instead of retreading the same ground. Where 'The Handmaid's Tale' is told in a single, intimate voice focused on Offred's present-tense survival and internal life, 'The Testaments' opens up the view: it uses three narrators (including a startlingly candid set of writings from Aunt Lydia and two young women with very different lives) to reveal how Gilead operates from both inside and out. The sequel gives more of a political and procedural lens, showing institutions, power plays, and quieter forms of resistance that feel richer because you already know the stakes.
I read both novels a few years apart, and what struck me was tone and technique. 'The Handmaid's Tale' is claustrophobic and elegiac — a single voice submerged
in memory and trauma. 'The Testaments' deliberately widens the frame, leaning into
suspense, plot maneuvers, and moral complexity. That means it answers some questions fans had (and opens new ones), but it also stands on its own in many ways. You don’t absolutely have to
reread the first book to understand the sequel, but knowing Offred's story deepens the emotional punch. The sequel also engages with the idea of myth-making — how stories get used, edited, and weaponized — which made me want to go back and re-examine small details in the original.
If you're coming from the TV show, be prepared: the series diverged and then outpaced the book long before 'The Testaments' arrived, so both adaptations and the new novel take different paths. For me,
the companion feeling between the two books is what matters — one is a tight, haunting testimony; the other is a strategic, often cunning follow-up that brings other voices into the conversation. I loved seeing Aunt Lydia fleshed out as a complex, sometimes infuriating character, and reading 'The Testaments' felt like stepping into a room whose walls I'd already painted but were now being rearranged; it left me thinking about power and storytelling long after I put it down.