_The Farm_ by Joanne Ramos is not a new _Handmaid's Tale_, other than dealing with women and pregnancy. Nor is it the sci-fi thriller I was expecting, based on various reviews. It's not really that dystopian, at least in the eyes of someone who knows nearly nothing about contemporary surrogacy and the current legalities behind the business of "making babies."
After extensive screening, beautiful, young, economically needy Hosts are selected to carry the babies of extremely wealthy and successful Clients (who either can't or don't want to give birth themselves due to crazy schedules or the risk of marring their figures). After ejection from her current job as nanny, protagonist Jane is urged by her elderly cousin Ate to apply to be a Host at the titular farm, Golden Oaks.
The farm is a very high-end resort, in some ways. Hosts earn bonuses for successfully carrying their babies through each trimester while dining on organic food, getting massages, and having their cargo's health constantly monitored via WellBands. Golden Oaks, however, is also a prison: Jane is punished for lying by not being allowed to see her beloved daughter Amalia, Host Lisa has to ditch her WellBand and sneak onto a forest trail away from cameras to quickly have sex with her visiting boyfriend, Coca-Cola and Snickers bars are forbidden, and Golden Oaks' head Mae watches via the "Panopticon." Anything that might put a fetus at risk is strictly forbidden. At Golden Oaks, for nine months, you are a carefully protected womb. You can't leave, unless you have permission from Golden Oaks and your Client, which is rare.
Hence one of the novel's primary themes: the ethics of motherhood-for-hire. Does Golden Oaks exploit its Hosts or help them with its offer of nine months of sequestered security? Do Hosts contractually know what they're getting themselves into, or does Golden Oaks take too many liberties with their emotional health and physical freedom? Should Golden Oaks deliberately lie to a Host about her Client, for the perceived well-being of a Host? Is a baby a commodity? Should it be, ever?
The book is also necessarily about motherhood, specifically the obligations of a mother for her biological child. Jane, in need of money, becomes a Host but must leave her own daughter behind to do so. Much of the novel centers around Jane's love for Amalia and her growing concern that Amalia is being neglected. If she can't trust Golden Oaks, and she can't trust her cousin Ate, whom can she trust? What can she do? What should she do?
The novel includes vivid characters beyond Jane: Ramos gives rich backstories to fellow Hosts Lisa and Reagan, as well as Mae and Ate, that enrich the narrative.
Ramos crafts a pleasant, albeit far-fetched ending for Jane. In some ways, it also sets the author up for a sequel, as Golden Oaks spawns a second facility and Mae's brainchild (both puns intentional) for a "more financially accessible premium" level of surrogacy.
While there's no creepy governmental overseer or hatching alien babies within its pages, _The Farm_ is still a thought-provoking read.
After extensive screening, beautiful, young, economically needy Hosts are selected to carry the babies of extremely wealthy and successful Clients (who either can't or don't want to give birth themselves due to crazy schedules or the risk of marring their figures). After ejection from her current job as nanny, protagonist Jane is urged by her elderly cousin Ate to apply to be a Host at the titular farm, Golden Oaks.
The farm is a very high-end resort, in some ways. Hosts earn bonuses for successfully carrying their babies through each trimester while dining on organic food, getting massages, and having their cargo's health constantly monitored via WellBands. Golden Oaks, however, is also a prison: Jane is punished for lying by not being allowed to see her beloved daughter Amalia, Host Lisa has to ditch her WellBand and sneak onto a forest trail away from cameras to quickly have sex with her visiting boyfriend, Coca-Cola and Snickers bars are forbidden, and Golden Oaks' head Mae watches via the "Panopticon." Anything that might put a fetus at risk is strictly forbidden. At Golden Oaks, for nine months, you are a carefully protected womb. You can't leave, unless you have permission from Golden Oaks and your Client, which is rare.
Hence one of the novel's primary themes: the ethics of motherhood-for-hire. Does Golden Oaks exploit its Hosts or help them with its offer of nine months of sequestered security? Do Hosts contractually know what they're getting themselves into, or does Golden Oaks take too many liberties with their emotional health and physical freedom? Should Golden Oaks deliberately lie to a Host about her Client, for the perceived well-being of a Host? Is a baby a commodity? Should it be, ever?
The book is also necessarily about motherhood, specifically the obligations of a mother for her biological child. Jane, in need of money, becomes a Host but must leave her own daughter behind to do so. Much of the novel centers around Jane's love for Amalia and her growing concern that Amalia is being neglected. If she can't trust Golden Oaks, and she can't trust her cousin Ate, whom can she trust? What can she do? What should she do?
The novel includes vivid characters beyond Jane: Ramos gives rich backstories to fellow Hosts Lisa and Reagan, as well as Mae and Ate, that enrich the narrative.
Ramos crafts a pleasant, albeit far-fetched ending for Jane. In some ways, it also sets the author up for a sequel, as Golden Oaks spawns a second facility and Mae's brainchild (both puns intentional) for a "more financially accessible premium" level of surrogacy.
While there's no creepy governmental overseer or hatching alien babies within its pages, _The Farm_ is still a thought-provoking read.
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