Illusions of Freedom: Hag-Seed as a Metaphysical Discourse with The Tempest.

Literature, the mirror of life, poses cages, no matter how much they look like choices. In our postmodernist world, where prisons are ever-present, they encroach and grow, setting their roots within you so glacial that you don't even realise it's happening; there lies the danger. This encroachment of fixed mindsets being detrimental to society sows anxiety within. So much that It has been stressed in literature across the centuries, from Shakespeare's 'The Tempest' to Margret Atwood's 'Hag-Seed', a pot modern adaptation that reframes the meaning of imprisonment. What are you to do? What are you to do when you've been cut off from experiencing the world, subjected to a constant stream of simulations daily, never ceasing nor subsiding? What do you do when these prisons are placed on you by society, media, friends, and family? And, ultimately, what do you do when you realise that the most brutal prisons to break are the ones you place on yourself?

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Prisons and identity:

Considering the interplay between people, media, and society, how one's identity is evoked is elucidated. We are ultimately indentured to this identity and internalize our assigned roles. Everything we do and say is concordant with this mental picture day in and day out for years until we can't act in any other way. Identity becomes a prison.

Prospero:

Prospero, though seemingly the most independent character on the island, Is the one most governed by his identity. Being the wronged Duke of Milan, armed with intellect and moral superiority, Prospero is entitled to have his will done. At the behest of this engrained privilege, he squanders his relationships, joy, and fulfilment to serve his entitled identity, clinging to power and control. In Act One Scene II, Prospero, having been stuck on the island for 12 years, brings up his past to Miranda for the first time:

"Thy father was the Duke of Milan and

A prince of power."

This quote encapsulates how enslaved Prospero is, spending 12 years plotting his revenge while not telling his daughter anything about what his life was like outside the island so he could eventually create organic 'love' between her and Ferdinand, which he carefully manipulates to ensure his reinstatement to power:

"They are both in either’s powers; but this swift business

I must uneasy make, lest too light winning

Make the prize light.”

In this line, Prospero claims he wants Miranda and Ferdinand’s love to develop with effort, suggesting he values its authenticity. However, this is deeply ironic. He manipulates Miranda’s relationship for political leverage and uses her to reclaim his dukedom, reducing her to a tool in his quest for restitution. This move undercuts the authenticity he professes to seek. It also exposes a contradiction in his character: though he once declared that his “library was dukedom large enough,” suggesting contentment with knowledge and Miranda’s presence. He ultimately sacrifices intimacy and ethical integrity to regain the power he previously admitted to neglecting. All of this boils down to his 'need' to recover a foundation for his flawless identity because a powerful, intelligent man who doesn't command enough power to stop his own brother from betraying him and isn't intelligent enough to see it coming is nothing. He is so convinced of his moral superiority that it takes a great deal of tumult to incite any self-reflection to realise this. So only once he has re-established his power and control does he relinquish his magic, forgive and seek forgiveness. This final act of redemption is just that: an act, a performance in which he never thoroughly interrogates the institutions he upheld.

Felix:

This, I believe, is one of the most poignant aspects of Atwood’s decision to reimagine The Tempest through Hag-Seed. Her postmodern approach brings greater depth and psychological nuance to the characters, particularly through her use of metafiction, performance layers, and irony; these devices allow her to interrogate identity not as something stable but as something performed and maintained. Like Prospero, Felix is imprisoned by an identity forged in loss and entitlement. After being ousted from his role as artistic director, he spends 12 years in exile (mirroring Prospero’s isolation) obsessing over those he holds responsible for his downfall. Yet, unlike Prospero, Felix is an ordinary man: he is just a human with no birthright, no magic, just a man fixated on the past and the fantasy of revenge. Atwood leverages this grounded humanity to raise the emotional stakes. Felix’s prison is not a remote island but a carefully constructed performance in which he scripts himself as the victim, mastermind, and grieving father.

One of the most striking features of Hag-Seed is its metafictional structure, which collapses the boundaries between reality and role. Felix is not just directing 'The Tempest'; he is living it, while Atwood is simultaneously retelling it within her novel. This recursive layering emphasizes that identity in a postmodern world is not possessed but performed. Emotionally stunted by trauma, Felix gradually loses the ability to distinguish between his role as a director and his role as Prospero. Just as Prospero uses Miranda and Ferdinand to stage his political restitution, Felix uses the inmates and the play to reassert control over his past. Yet this performance does not set him free; it only tightens the grip of illusion and denies him genuine emotional resolution.

The turning point comes when Felix is forced to confront his grief directly, especially the pain of losing his daughter. Realizing that his identity has been a charade, his interactions, his plays, even the ghostly Miranda, he keeps alive in his mind. Finally, he lets her go:

“What has he been thinking—keeping her tethered to him all this time?”

This moment of self-awareness underscores the performative nature of his grief: it has been a role, not a process of healing. Where Prospero’s final act is framed as redemption, it lacks introspection. Felix, however, dismantles the identity he’s constructed, choosing to move beyond vengeance. When he says, “To the elements be free,” echoing Prospero, it is with sincerity and self-understanding. In that moment, he steps off the stage of his self-imposed identity and into a space of true emotional liberation—something Prospero only gestures toward.

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The Irony of Freedom:

Margaret Atwood’s decision to rewrite The Tempest in Hag-Seed is a deliberate and layered choice, allowing her to expose the paradox at the heart of power and imprisonment. By setting her novel in a literal prison and having Felix, her Prospero figure, direct a production of Shakespeare’s play with inmates, Atwood flips the traditional power dynamics and underscores the irony that those who appear most confined may, in fact, be the most liberated. Though physically restricted, the prisoners experience emotional growth, creativity, and transformation through art—something the characters in charge, like Felix and the bureaucrats who betrayed him, remain largely incapable of until much later. This contrasts sharply with The Tempest, where Prospero, despite his control over the island and its inhabitants, is psychologically shackled by his past, entitlement, and need for vengeance. Atwood highlights that true imprisonment is not physical but psychological and that freedom lies not in control but in letting go. Through this parallel, she critiques the illusion of authority. She suggests that redemption and identity are more accessible to those who confront their vulnerabilities than those who cling to power.

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Finally, through the writing of this, I realised Atwood's ultimate motivation for choosing 'The Tempest' came down to one essential aspect of life: the ability to let go of the past, in her case, coming to the end of her career as an immensely influential author, and accepting it for all that it was. And providing a message to her readers from her experiences, which is to keep moving forward.