Women of Ice and Fire: Gender, Game of Thrones and Multiple Media Engagements 9781501302893, 9781501302909, 9781501302923, 9781501302916

Table of contents :
FC
Half title
Title
Copyright
Contents
Introduction Rikke Schubart and Anne Gjelsvik
Chapter 1 Adapting Sex: Cultural Conceptions of Sexuality in Words and Images Mariah Larsson
Chapter 2 Adapting Desire: Wives, Prostitutes, and Smallfolk Shannon Wells-Lassagne
Chapter 3 Unspeakable Acts of (Sexual) Terror as/in Quality Television Anne Gjelsvik
Chapter 4 Sworn Swords and Noble Ladies: Female Characters in Game of Thrones Video Games Felix Schröter
Chapter 5 Woman With Dragons: Daenerys, Pride, and Postfeminist Possibilities Rikke Schubart
Chapter 6 Power Play and Family Ties: Hybrid Fantasy, Network Narrative, and Female Characters Helle Kannik Haastrup
Chapter 7 “Maiden, Mother, and Crone”: Motherhood in the World of Ice and Fire Marta Eidsvåg
Chapter 8 Women Warriors From Chivalry to Vengeance Yvonne Tasker and Lindsay Steenberg
Chapter 9 Female Machiavellians in Westeros Elizabeth Beaton
Chapter 10 The Expert Female Fan Recap on YouTube Susana Tosca and Lisbeth Klastrup
Chapter 11 “I’m Not Going to Fight Them, I’m Going to Fuck Them”: Sexist Liberalism and Gender (A)Politics in Game of Thrones Stéphanie Genz
About the Contributors
Index

Citation preview

WOMEN OF ICE AND FIRE

WOMEN OF ICE AND FIRE

Gender, Game of Thrones, and Multiple Media Engagements

Edited by Anne Gjelsvik and Rikke Schubart

Bloomsbury Academic An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Inc

Bloomsbury Academic An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Inc 1385 Broadway New York NY 10018 USA

50 Bedford Square London WC1B 3DP UK

www.bloomsbury.com BLOOMSBURY and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published 2016 © Anne Gjelsvik, Rikke Schubart and Contributors, 2016 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. No responsibility for loss caused to any individual or organization acting on or refraining from action as a result of the material in this publication can be accepted by Bloomsbury or the author. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Gjelsvik, Anne, editor. | Schubart, Rikke, editor. Title: Women of ice and fire : gender, Game of thrones and multiple media engagements / edited by Anne Gjelsvik, Rikke Schubart. Description: New York : Bloomsbury Academic, 2016. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2015037181| ISBN 9781501302893 (hardback) | ISBN 9781501302909 (paperback) Subjects: LCSH: Game of thrones (Television program) | Women heroes in mass media. | Women in mass media. | BISAC: PERFORMING ARTS / Television / History & Criticism. | SOCIAL SCIENCE / Gender Studies. Classification: LCC PN1992.77.G35 W86 2016 | DDC 791.45/72--dc23 LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015037181 ISBN: HB: 9781501302893 PB: 9781501302909 ePub: 9781501302923 ePDF: 9781501302916 Typeset by Fakenham Prepress Solutions, Fakenham, Norfolk NR21 8NN

CONTENTS INTRODUCTION Rikke Schubart and Anne Gjelsvik

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Chapter 1 ADAPTING SEX: CULTURAL CONCEPTIONS OF SEXUALITY IN WORDS AND IMAGES Mariah Larsson

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Chapter 2 ADAPTING DESIRE: WIVES, PROSTITUTES, AND SMALLFOLK Shannon Wells-Lassagne

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Chapter 3 UNSPEAKABLE ACTS OF (SEXUAL) TERROR AS/IN QUALITY TELEVISION Anne Gjelsvik

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Chapter 4 SWORN SWORDS AND NOBLE LADIES: FEMALE CHARACTERS IN GAME OF THRONES VIDEO GAMES Felix Schröter

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Chapter 5 WOMAN WITH DRAGONS: DAENERYS, PRIDE, AND POSTFEMINIST POSSIBILITIES Rikke Schubart

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Chapter 6 POWER PLAY AND FAMILY TIES: HYBRID FANTASY, NETWORK NARRATIVE, AND FEMALE CHARACTERS Helle Kannik Haastrup

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Chapter 7 “MAIDEN, MOTHER, AND CRONE”: MOTHERHOOD IN THE WORLD OF ICE AND FIRE Marta Eidsvåg

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Chapter 8 WOMEN WARRIORS FROM CHIVALRY TO VENGEANCE Yvonne Tasker and Lindsay Steenberg

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Chapter 9 FEMALE MACHIAVELLIANS IN WESTEROS Elizabeth Beaton

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Chapter 10 THE EXPERT FEMALE FAN RECAP ON YOUTUBE Susana Tosca and Lisbeth Klastrup

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Chapter 11 “I’M NOT GOING TO FIGHT THEM, I’M GOING TO FUCK THEM”: SEXIST LIBERALISM AND GENDER (A)POLITICS IN GAME OF THRONES Stéphanie Genz

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About the Contributors 267 Index 271

I N T R O DU C T IO N Rikke Schubart and Anne Gjelsvik

George Stroumboulopoulos: “There’s one thing that’s interesting about your books. I noticed that you write women really well and really different. Where does that come from?” George R. R. Martin: “You know, I’ve always considered women to be people.”1

Key Questions

With his bestselling book series, A Song of Ice and Fire (1996–), George R. R. Martin has been credited with changing the status of fantasy from geek culture to mainstream box office, from a light and utopian genre to a grim, dark, and dystopian place, and from attracting not only men, but also women. His book series grew into a transglobal media, what we, here, refer to as the “transmedia GoT universe”. This includes the books and their adaptation into the HBO TV series Game of Thrones (2011–), wikis, various online fan activities, and computer games.2 While there are, surely, many explanations for this success, in Women of Ice and Fire we focus on Martin’s female characters who have generated praise, intense attention and fascination, heated debate, controversy, and have been read as both feminist and antifeminist, as subversive and repressive, and, coined in the discussion of the TV series, as tools for “sexploitation”. Female characters are, we think, key to the originality and, thus, to the appeal and popularity of the GoT universe. Our anthology lays out two tracks that are intertwined: We examine the female characters in GoT, and we focus on how women operate in the transmedial GoT universe. Thus, our anthology explores the female characters of GoT, and how a transmedial GoT is inhabited and used by women, both fictional characters and real women. As mentioned, there are many ways in which Martin’s book series is unique, one being that it offers more than thirty first-person narrators, of which half are women, and several of those are central protagonists and potential candidates for the fought-over Iron Throne. Women are everywhere—as

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protagonists, side characters, and smallfolk (Martin’s term for peasantry and common folk)—and we find all kinds of stereotypes. Here are the fair Princess Daenerys, who can survive fire and has three dragons, the scheming and evil Queen Cersei, a passionate Lady Catelyn, the ambitious Red Witch Melisandre, vengeful tomboy Arya, romantic teen Sansa, chivalric knight Brienne, clever prostitute Ros, and many others who are not run-of-the-mill fantasy women, but rather complex, multi-faceted, intriguing, and highly engaging characters. The overall plot in GoT is a battle for the Iron Throne. Here, female characters are as ambitious, active, and able as men. However, how they navigate their world is a matter of narrative, of author decisions, of television producers’ calculation in audiences and commercial strategies, of game producers’ choice of design, and of users and fans’ interactions with the various media forms. In the transmedial GoT especially, representations of sex and violence and sexualized violence have proven both provocative and problematic. In Season 1, one scene which raised a cacophony of protests was when Drogo had sex with his teenage bride, Daenerys, on their wedding night. It led a feminist blogger to comment: “The beautiful setting and soft music is a subliminal cue … you give when the romantic leads are about to kiss and fully recognize their passion for one another. In this scene, those cues are perverted with a message that rape is romantic, rape is love.”3 On the other hand, author and editor Caroline Spector, writing about the same events in the TV series and books, states, “the canard of the woman who falls in love with her rapist is extremely difficult to overcome … [yet] by creating such diverse and fully rendered female characters and thrusting them into this grim and bitter world, Martin has created a subversively feminist tale”.4 The contributors to the present volume disagree, as do audiences, about how to see women in GoT. Are they feminist characters, or a perversion of feminism? Is this postfeminist entertainment for a neoliberal age? Is it a backlash dressed up in prefeminist medieval clothes (which often has naked women in the background of exposition or dramatic action)? Or is Martin a feminist, as he claims,5 and these women, then, the role models in a complex and conflicted contemporary world that has abandoned utopian illusions and in which fantasy is transformed from light to dark and from the ethically simple to conflicted? Whether you find the women in GoT subversive, repressive, or ambiguously mixed, they are more than mere spectacle. In the episode “You Win or You Die” (1.07), Queen Cersei (Lena Headey) warns Lord Ned Stark (Sean Bean) that, “when you play the game of thrones, you win or you die”. And Daenerys (Emilia Clarke) warns an abusive brother that, “the next time you raise a hand to me will be the last time you have hands” (1.04). These are not empty threats. Cersei and Daenerys’s passionate approach to men and politics is shared by other female characters and by audiences (and here we include fans, critics, and academics). Women of Ice and Fire explores this passionate engagement in the hope of both carving out new roads in the gendered terrain of GoT, and also mapping new territory in women’s engagement with transmedial fantasy.

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Figure 1: “Mother of Dragons.” Original artwork of Daenerys and her three dragons in A Song of Ice and Fire by Uruguayan artist Yama Orce.

Context Today, the size and appeal of GoT is overwhelming. Thus, when Season 5 premiered, in April 2015, and four episodes were leaked onto the Internet, these counted for eight out of the ten most popular torrents for illegal downloads.6 Through HBO’s adaptation, active websites like Westeros.org, Winteriscoming. net, and Watchersonthewall.com, comic book adaptations, computer games, memes and wikis, and a growing body of fan fiction, Martin’s book series has become probably the most popular transmedial fantasy world yet seen. However, to begin with the series, A Song of Ice and Fire, was no bestseller. It started as a single book, A Game of Thrones (1996), which, as Martin has written, he decided should be a trilogy. After finishing the second book, A Clash of Kings (1998), he decided that the trilogy should become a quintet—A Storm of Swords (2000), A Feast for Crows (2005), and A Dance with Dragons (2011). Along the way, the quintet evolved into the now awaited seven-book series, with The Winds of Winter and A Dream of Spring ending it. At the time of writing (September 2015) the saga nears 6,000 pages and has 1,000 named characters. The first book, A Game of Thrones, was published in only a few thousand copies in the US, and UK publisher HarperCollins’ edition a mere 1,500 copies.7 Not until the fourth book, A Feast for Crows, did the series reach the New York Times bestseller list in 2005, and, in 2011, the fifth (and latest) book, A Dance with Dragons, sold 298,000 copies on its first day of publication. Today, Martin’s saga has sold more than 58 million copies across the five titles globally. In 2007, HBO started developing the fantasy television series Game of Thrones, which premiered in 2011. It is planned to run for eight seasons. Game

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of Thrones fits well with HBO’s other series, known for fascinating and complex characters within a frame that now is usually referred to as the “new golden age of television”. HBO has been an important player in the development of critically acclaimed quality television series since the 1970s. Notable benchmarks of influential drama series are The Sopranos (1991–2007) and The Wire (2002–8). However, HBO has received a lot of criticism for the portrayal of women in its shows, in particular when it comes to nudity, sex scenes, and prostitution. It has also been hard to find female protagonists as complex and interesting as male figures such as Tony Soprano or Jimmy McNulty. This has led television scholars Kim Akass and Jan McCabe to ask the question: “What has HBO ever done for women?”8 Their answer, however, is: quite a lot. In an age of cultural ambivalence when it comes to emancipation, female identity, feminism, and postfeminism, HBO has created individual characters reflecting “the contradictions we all live with each and every day”, Akass and McCabe argue.9 The controversies surrounding Game of Thrones, as well as its success, is, to a large degree, the result of HBO’s position in popular media culture. Albeit a fantasy series for adults, Game of Thrones became an instant prize-winning success, as shown by U.S. audience figures, which have grown from 2.2 million at the premiere of first season to reach 3 million in Season 1, 4 million at the end of Season 2, 5 million in mid-Season 3, and 5.39 million at the end of the season. At the end of Season 4, audience figures were more than 7 million and more than 8 million people watched the premiere of Season 5 in 2015,10 and the Season 5 finale had 8.11 million viewers and generated no less than 437,000 Tweets. As numbers indicate, the GoT phenomenon is unique in its popularity. As such, it is influential and is especially interesting, in our opinion, when it comes to the question of gender. Both the television and book series, Game of Thrones and A Song of Ice and Fire, respectively, have passionate fans. Also, individual characters have dedicated followers who love some characters and love to hate others. Queen mother Cercei, a favorite character for fans to despise, has, for instance, received a lot of attention on different Internet forums.11 GoT fans are numerous and dedicated: some fans even have names, such as those who complain that Martin can’t ever finish his novels soon enough, who are nicknamed “GRRuMblers”. Different fan groups have created wikis, forums, podcasts, and review practices that count a large number of followers and fans in their own right, and the topic of gender is central to many of the debates and reviews on these platforms (see Tosca and Klastrup, Chapter 10). And since GoT is typical of our current media environment in transcending borders between media, we investigate gender in GoT from multiple media perspectives that include asking questions of adaptation and fan reception.12

Introduction

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Genre George R. R. Martin has been called an American J. R. R. Tolkien, and A Song of Ice and Fire has been proclaimed fantasy on a par with Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy. Martin’s story takes place in an alternate world in which the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros are ruled from the Iron Throne in the city of King’s Landing. In the beginning, the ruling king, Robert Baratheon, is murdered, and war breaks out in Westeros, spreading to neighbor realms and continents. Families fight each other in the so-called “game of thrones”, employing Machiavellian politics, and methods of torture, murder, and massacre. The Lannister family—which includes Queen Cersei, her twin brother, Jaime, their father, Tywin, and dwarf brother, Tyrion—are cast as villains, and the Stark family—Ned and Catelyn, and their children, Robb, Sansa, Arya, Brandon, Rickon, and the bastard Jon Snow— are the “good guys”. However, nothing is simple in Martin’s world. Magical beings, previously thought long extinct, now return, and among them are old gods, and dragons, white walkers (a race of undead warriors), and wights (reanimated dead humans) from beyond the Wall in the North. Black magic is rife. The popularity of Martin’s (and subsequently HBO’s) epic has been explained by his original take on high fantasy, a genre traditionally set in a secondary world full of adventure, supernatural elements (such as magic, monsters, witches, and wizards), a hero’s quest, or coming-of-age story, and, perhaps most importantly, a utopian spirit shared with the fairy tale. In The Fantasy Film (2010), Katherine Fowkes writes that, “as a rule, fantasy tends to favor happy endings, and eschews not only tragedy, but cynicism, providing solace and redemption in a world of evil and violence”.13 It is this naive quality of fantasy that Marxist Ernst Bloch (1930) saw as enlightening: “[C]onsider yourself as born free and entitled to be totally happy, dare to make use of your power of reasoning, look upon the outcome of things as friendly.”14 Bloch found social hope in fantasy, where “the little guy” could become a king. It was the same hope that Tolkien expressed in his famous essay “On Fairy-Stories” (1937–49) as central to the fantasy genre, where death and disaster is avoided by “the sudden joyous ‘turn’” which jolts the narrative from dyscatastrophe to eucatastrophe, the latter being Tolkien’s coinage of “the joy of deliverance”.15 We experience this joy when an evil world, against all the odds, turns out to become good after all. For the Catholic Tolkien, writing during the Second World War, fantasy was an evangelium that delivered escape, consolation, and recovery from a world where the human imagination was entrapped.16 Finally, in the fantasy genre characters are often stereotypes in the sense that they do not change very much. Thus, Aragon in Lord of the Rings may turn out to be king, a timid hobbit may even prove heroic, however, orcs do not become brave men, and men, elves, and hobbits do not become evil orcs (except, perhaps, for Gollum …).17

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In contrast, Martin’s high fantasy comes with multiple twists, taking traditional genre conventions and tropes, and expanding, playing with, and subverting them. Thus, Martin draws on both social realism and historical fiction, turning his genre writing into pitch-black fantasy, which holds torture, terror, sexual abuse, murder, and suffering; elements that are accentuated and expanded in the HBO adaptation, as our contributors point out. Dark fantasy is commonly understood as fantasy with a horror-like atmosphere, or horror with supernatural elements. Here, however, “darkness” is in excruciating realism, in the numerous, overwhelming facts and details, and the undeterred focus on pain, pathological behavior, and death. Also, rather than solely focusing on noble lords and ladies, Martin includes smallfolks and numerous prostitutes, and pursues the long-term effect of war on a people.18 Daenerys may free slaves, but when she is a ruling queen she learns that it is impossible to force freedom on a people, and even more impossible to rule with her heart in a time of war. Martin has criticized fellow fantasy writers for creating “a sort of Disneyland middle ages, where they had castles and princesses and all that. The trappings of a class system, but they didn’t seem to understand what a class system actually meant”.19 To Martin, clearly, a class system means violence, war, and death. Embedded in Martin’s fantasy are also the genres and styles of the fairy tale, adventure, Arthurian legends, and the medieval romance, and the melodrama with its heightened emotional feeling that every character and every element “build-up the sense of a whole world bearing out the audience’s traditional patterns of right and wrong, good and evil”.20 Just as melodrama can have tragic ends, so can Martin’s epic. Especially since yet another genre thread in his literary carpet is historical fiction inspired by the English War of the Roses, fought from 1421 to 1487. Thus, the Lannisters have been read for the Lancasters, the Starks for the Yorks, and the Tyrells for the Tudors;21 and Daenerys has been seen as a “victorious” Henry VII. Speculations abound among fans as to how Martin’s characters will fare and who might end on the Iron Throne. With the “darker” genres of melodrama and historical fiction come characters with psychological depth. Thus, although few characters are pure evil (such as torturer Ramsay Bolton), and fewer still pure good (Ned Stark tried to rule with the people in mind), most are flawed, mixing good and bad traits into scales of grey. Queen Cersei may be incestuous and vengeful, but she is also a devoted mother, and Catelyn Stark may be a devoted mother, but she is also a hateful stepmother to Jon Snow, and a fallible political advisor to her son Robb, when he is King of the North.22 A Song of Ice and Fire is, essentially, a grand and global war narrative, and Martin’s story takes surprising turns, leaving every character vulnerable to the dyscatastrophe of death and disaster. By book five, there is still no joyous end in sight, no simple Manichean morality, but rather an ambiguous blend of good and bad deeds, choices, and acts. Daenerys’s freed slaves become murderers. The morally just are executed. Children become victims of war. Women are

Introduction

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beaten, abused, and raped, including the innocent, young, and beautiful. Men are mutilated, tortured, and castrated. This, then, is the pitch-black fantasy world that women inhabit, too.

Gender, Sex, and Politics Caroline Spector, in “Power and Feminism in Westeros”, draws attention to the fact that “a powerful point about the dangers inherent in fantasy [is] how fanciful myths hide—and perpetuate—a fundamentally oppressive social structure”.23 A female fantasy hero was once considered “female exceptionalism”,24 and female autonomy seen as “the real fantasy” of fantasy.25 Today, however, the centrality of the female fantasy hero is not questioned.26 “The real fantasy” in GoT is not female autonomy, but any autonomy, be it male or female. No, the heated debate is not over female characters’ visibility or agency, but instead over how these factors are interwoven with sex, sexualized violence, and nudity. Thus, female characters are visible, yet embedded in carnal politics, or as Stéphanie Genz, one of our contributors, calls it, “fuck politics”. Oppressive social structures are made explicit—but are they still perpetuated? When Martin created his female characters, he took inspiration from the European medieval age, during which royal marriages were political, and women used as pawns.27 However, they could be political players too. Thus, Lucrezia Borgia was married strategically for the third time in 1502, and became known for her Machiavellian scheming. She survived the fall of the dynastically important Borgias, and Anne Boleyn, a member of the Norfolk family, convinced Henry VIII of England to divorce his first wife, Katherine of Aragon, so that he could marry her, causing a break with Rome and setting off events that led to the establishment of the Church of England. These historical women have inspired Westerosi politics: Queen Cersei rules behind her sons Joffrey and Tommen, and Lady Catelyn promises her son, Robb, in marriage to the Freys, in exchange for their martial help. When the latter promise is broken it leads to Robb’s death at the infamous Red Wedding, a fact that left audiences in tears and made headline news. To be a noble woman means to have a stake in the game of thrones. “I don’t want to be a Lady”, says Arya in Season 1, before she becomes an orphan. “I could never understand why they treated us differently,” Cersei complains about her and her brother. “Jaime was taught to fight with sword and lance and mace, and I was taught to smile and sing and please. He was heir to Casterly Rock and I was sold to some stranger like a horse to be ridden whenever he desired” (2.09). Similarly, when Daenerys sees Drogo, she protests, “I don’t want to be his queen.” Yet, her brother Viserys doesn’t care: “I’d let his whole khalasar fuck you if need be, sweet sister, all 40,000 men, and their horses,

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too, if that was what it took to get my army.”28 (See Chapter 5, Schubart, for further discussion of this.) Later, when she needs allies and is queen, Danerys sells herself in marriage. And Sansa, in Season 5, accepts Petyr’s advice to marry torturer Ramsay Bolton, who will soon be killed, predicts Petyr, and Sansa, then, will become the Warden of the North. Thus, women learn to trade themselves (but men too, we must keep in mind, are sold like horses, and Robb pays with his life). In GoT’s transmedial perspective, sex is controversial in more ways than its use in medieval politics. A Song of Ice and Fire takes place in a world with brothels, rapes, incest, and sexual torture, where girls and women, noble, peasant, and prostitute, are rapable. Abuse and violence are, thus, an integrated part of the sexual politics of A Song of Ice and Fire. And, when the book series was adapted into HBO’s Game of Thrones, the carnal sex politics became, some critics argue, the “fuck politics” and strategy to gain audience appeal. HBO’s staging of naked women having sex (if not in the foreground, then in the background), while male characters offer information (exposition) was coined as “sexposition”, in 2011, by blogger Myles McNutt, a neologism instantly picked up by the media and applied in retrospect to other HBO shows, and to its gender politics in general.29 Neil Marshall, the director of the episode “Blackwater” (2.09) was urged by producers to make his characters “go full-frontal”, which Marshall described as a “pretty surreal” experience.30 Adapting sex and sexual politics from words to images has proven both controversial and problematic in several ways. One issue was to do with who exactly was allowed to be naked: thus, some female characters are shown with full-frontal nudity, while there is no full-frontal male nudity.31 Also, in the books, some female characters are described as naked in certain scenes, but when converting words into images were changed into dressed women, thus altering the various functions that nudity serves in the books. For example, Eidsvåg discusses how mothers Cersei and Catelyn are described as naked during certain events in the books, but are portrayed dressed in corresponding scenes in the show. Another issue concerns changes in the representation of sex, violence, and politics, which finds different expressions; one is that nudity and sex are inserted into scenes of violence and torture (an issue Gjelsvik explores in her examination of Theon’s sufferings at the hands of Ramsay). And, in other cases, consensual sex is changed into rape, such as on Daenerys’s wedding night with Drogo in Season 1, or Jaime having sex with his sister next to their son’s coffin in Season 4. And then, of course, age is a concern when adapting any story from books to mainstream television, because the children and the teenage protagonists are considered too young to act on the small screen in the same way that they can do in books. Thus, Daenerys is thirteen years old in the books at time of marriage, but fifteen in the HBO adaptation (and, in fact, is played by twentyfour-year old Emilia Clarke). Similarly, eleven-year old Sansa is made thirteen

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in the HBO version, when she is King Joffrey’s fiancée, and he has her beaten in public. Arya is aged from nine to eleven, when she watches her father, Ned Stark, being publicly beheaded; and Daenerys’s scribe, Missandei, changes from being ten in the books to a young woman on screen (played by twenty-three-year old Nathalie Emmanuel). Thus, children become “tweens” or teens, and teens are themselves played by young women, so the provocative and problematic elements of sex and violence can be made more palatable to television audiences. GoT’s sexposition and “fuck politics” have been received in various ways. The recurring use of nudity is often gratuitous and titillating, and when coupled with torture and murder, appears both highly provocative and also is seen by audiences as “too much”. Case in point, when child-king Joffrey Baratheon sexually tortures and kills prostitutes. The differing receptions and evaluations of the gender politics of GoT have several explanations, which involve not just the above mentioned complexity and genre hybridity, weaving together historical fiction, fantasy, and social realism, but also questions of adaptation, and of audiences’ transmedial knowledge. Thus, as the contribution in this book by Tosca and Klastrup shows, audiences who have read the books were not troubled by the rape scenes in the HBO show, but rather saw the HBO show as having altered the scenes in the books. Martin has said of his gender politics: “I try to reflect a whole spectrum of humanity as best I can.”32 And the actors of Game of Thrones have, in interviews, underlined the story’s feminist potential, rather than its possible sexploitation aspects. “When you put it into perspective and look at what these women have accomplished and what they are capable of doing against all odds, I definitely think it’s empowering,” says actress Emilia Clarke, who plays Daenerys.33 Opinions differ as to whether GoT exposes or exploits women, and many (among them some of our contributors), remain conflicted in their engagement with the female characters. We take this conflict as a sign that the women in GoT are psychologically complex, sexually transgressive, ideologically ambiguous, and intimately grounded in human emotions. And we have not seen it as our aim here to solve such disputes by providing clear cut or singular readings but, conversely, we hope to open up the contested terrain of women in GoT and our engagement with them.

Women of Ice and Fire Our anthology explores women in a transmedia GoT universe that includes Martin’s book series, the HBO show, computer games, and online activities. Drawing from studies in gender, film and television, and new media, the contributors investigate gender in relation to female characters; genre;

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representations of sex, violence, and politics; choices of adaptation; and female audience engagement. We address representations of female characters as types and stereotypes and ask what is altered when storytelling moves between media, and how these alterations affect gender, and the representations of female characters. Sex creates engagement and, in her contribution, Swedish film scholar Mariah Larsson discusses both historical perspectives on, and contemporary ideas about sex, love, and marriage, and how these all influence the adaptation of sex from word to image. Larsson analyzes the marriages of some of the primary contenders for the Iron Throne: Sansa Stark and Tyrion Lannister, Daenerys Targaryen and Khal Drogo, and Robb Stark and Talisa Maegyr. In Western culture, sexuality is a social and cultural construct which determines how, why, when, and with whom we have sex. Larsson elaborates on how sexual positions reflect different ideas about true love, virginity, and innocence. The adaptation, she argues, extrapolates the binary between the “modern, equal, and recognizable” and the “fantasy–historical, horrific, and alien”, making for an ambiguous entertainment that may influence how we think about sex and marriage. George R. R. Martin has been recognized for his attention to “smallfolk”, and the impact of the political maneuverings of the ruling classes on their lives. French literature and adaptation scholar Shannon Wells-Lassagne examines the female characters Ros and Talisa who were specifically created by showrunners and writers David Benioff and D. B. Weiss for HBO, in order to give recurring faces to some of the hundreds of minor female characters described in the books. These women function in different ways: where Ros condenses the books’ many prostitutes into a single character, Talisa replaces and expands the book character Jeyne, who marries Robb, only to disappear after his death. Wells-Lassagne argues that these two characters become proxies for smallfolk women in the HBO series, making the latter not just more commercial, but also more political. By adding these two characters, the show heightens our engagement with smallfolk, and also strengthens our empathy with the powerless. Sex and violence are central in the game for power in both the book series and the HBO show. However, in the HBO adaptation, several alterations and additions are quite remarkable. Norwegian film and television scholar Anne Gjelsvik discusses how certain changes between the book and the TV series alter perspectives on gender and power on a narrative and discursive level to create sexual victimization. She bases her discussion on, first, the reception of the series, and, second, on close readings of three episodes (two directed by the only female director on the production, Michelle MacLaren), with scenes featuring rape or torture: the torture of Theon (3.07), the threat of rape against Meera Reed (4.05), and Jaime’s rape of his sister, Queen Cersei (4.03). In the latter scene, the alterations from book to show were so fundamental that Martin apologized if people found the scene disturbing for “the wrong

Introduction

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reasons”. Drawing on adaptation and medium specificity theories, on recent discussions of quality television, and on both fans’ and critics’ reactions, Gjelsvik shows why these specific scenes were seen as “too much”. In the contribution of German computer game scholar Felix Schröter, the use of GoT’s female characters in the medium of computer games is explored. At the time of writing, there are four licensed games: the adventure Game Of Thrones (Telltale 2014/15), the real-time strategy A Game of Thrones: Genesis (Cyanide/Focus Home Interactive 2011), the action/role-playing Game of Thrones (Atlus/Focus Home Interactive 2012), and the Facebook Game of Thrones Ascent (Disruptor Beam 2013). Using the concepts of mythos (story), ethos (morals), and topos (world), Schröter shows how the last three games differ in their integration of female characters into game mechanics. Thus, in the role-playing Game of Thrones there are no playable female characters; in the strategy game, women become de-individualized “commodities”, and in the Facebook game, they are gender-neutral game pieces (since male and female game pieces have exactly the same qualities). Thus, the computer games retain little of the original complexity in their use of female GoT characters, but, conversely, adhere to a conservative gender logic where action-games are designed with male players in mind and social games with female players in mind. Danish film scholar Rikke Schubart starts from the point of her own excitement at watching teenager Daenerys rise from the ashes and become a mother of dragons. Fiction can serve as an arena for experimentation and play, Schubart argues, and she shows how Daenerys transforms into a subversive fantasy hero both in Martin’s novel A Game of Thrones and in Season 1 of HBO’s series. Drawing on cognitive theory, emotions studies, postfeminism, and fairy tale studies, Schubart demonstrates how the emotion of pride is central to making Daenerys a strong contender for the Iron Throne. Fantasy, says Schubart, unites myth, melodrama, and the fairy tale, and Daenerys combines traits from Campbell’s universal hero (coming-of-age), the fairy tale hero (adventure and magical helpers) and the fairy tale heroine (marriage). Daenerys faces three trials in her confrontations with her brother, Viserys, her husband, Drogo, and the witch, Mirri Maz Duur. But where women in fairy tales are usually victimized and domesticated, Daenerys ends up with magical powers, queenhood, and dragons. How does narrative structure and genre then influence how we engage with female protagonists? In “Power Play and Family Ties: Hybrid Fantasy, Network Narrative, and Female characters”, Danish film and television scholar Helle Kannik Haastrup situates the HBO series in the present golden age of complex quality television drama, and draws on theories of network narratives, televisual storytelling, and genre to investigate how different genre formulae are twisted and interwoven in Martin’s epic saga about power and family. Using the eventful episode “The Children” (4.10) as her primary example, Haastrup investigates the parallels and differences of male and female power

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in a universe in which men and women alike can be seen as both flawed heroes and complex characters. A story without a hero has more room for the mother, argues Norwegian writer Marta Eidsvåg in her article “Maiden, Mother, and Crone: Motherhood in the World of Ice and Fire”, taking her departure from literary studies. This is the case in Martin’s novels, where both mothers Catelyn Stark and Cersei Lannister are important point-of-view characters and, accordingly, make for interesting exceptions to the rule in fantasy literature that mothers are few and far between. However, the transfer from literature to television radically changes the depiction of motherhood, Eidsvåg argues. In portraying these mothers, HBO has chosen, unlike in most other aspects of their adaptation, to downplay controversial content, and taboos such as sex and abortion. The Cersei on television is more maternal and less monstrous, while Catelyn is transformed from a wise and strong woman into a more passive character. While violent women have become increasingly visible in contemporary popular culture, they are still an exception to the rule. Women warriors usually have limited powers at their disposal, for instance either masculinity or sexuality, but in Game of Thrones, the range of possibilities seems more wide. In “Women Warriors From Chivalry to Vengeance”, British film and television scholars Yvonne Tasker and Lindsay Steenberg explore three types of female fighters in the television series: warriors, cross-dressers, and military leaders, as represented by the characters Arya, Brienne, Yara, and Daenerys. While these female characters defy easy categorization within popular genre, the television series still falls back on stereotypes that the authors find problematic, hybrid, and troubling, such as the vengeful tomboy, the anachronistic female knight, and the messianic leader. Our last three articles shift focus from the fictional GoT universe to look at gender in relation to politics and audiences. Politics is understood as cultural and real, and contributors use postfeminist theory, political theory, and new media theory. Australian literary scholar Elizabeth Beaton examines Machiavellian strategies used by female characters in the book series and the HBO show. Machiavelli’s The Prince (1532), a Renaissance treatise providing advice on governing a principality, is infamous for its pragmatic instruction. With its turbulent political and dynastic struggles, Westeros mirrors Machiavelli’s Renaissance Italy, and the Westerosi women employ Machiavellian strategies. Beaton examines Machiavellian moments on Game of Thrones, featuring Cersei, Daenerys, and Yara (who in the novel is called Asha) Greyjoy. Exploring the idea that Machiavellian strategies empower female characters, she examines their military forays and political maneuvers. How does the show’s visuals demonstrate the success of female Machiavellian princes (the term “prince” meaning any ruler of a state)? And do Cersei, Yara, and Daenerys leave themselves open to difficulties in later political endeavors by exhibiting bold and ruthless behavior? Beaton combines close analysis of select scenes

Introduction

13

from Seasons 1, 3, and 4 with text sections of A Song of Ice and Fire, and draws on Machiavelli’s The Prince, as well as on interviews (including her own) with author Martin. Next is the contribution by Spanish Susana Tosca and Danish Lisbeth Klastrup, both new media scholars, on female fan expert reviews on YouTube. The review genre is popular on YouTube, where fans and users of all kinds of products comment on their experiences. In the GoT review, the fan reviewer comments on the latest episode of the show. Some review channels have a huge following, with single episodes viewed by over a million fans (for example, the channel of Comicbookgirl 19). These fan experts become “YouTube stars” who breach the professional and amateur divide. Tosca and Klastrup characterize the fan review, a genre previously unnoticed by academics, and relate it to older media reviews in television and newspapers, before discussing how female fan reviewers perform and stage themselves as experts on GoT. They analyze whether women are more or less active than men, if female fan reviewers comment on different themes than men, and they examine the relation between gender and the fan’s knowledge of the GoT universe. How do other fans respond to a female expert? And which forms of authority come into play in the reception of these reviews? Klastrup and Tosca combine content analysis of a select number of YouTube fan reviews, with in-depth interviews with the fan experts. Ending the anthology on a more apprehensive key is British gender scholar Stéphanie Genz, who finds that the carnal and visceral gender politics of the HBO series belies gender equality and sexual freedom. She argues that the early twentieth-first century is both characterized by a sexualization of Western culture, and also a mainstreaming of pornography. Such sexualized aesthetics are linked to ideas of postfeminist empowerment and neoliberal agency; however, rhetoric of empowerment is problematized in a recession by social conflicts and political controversies. Today’s cultural climate has a complex relation to gender, with fears about “the end of men” and “the rise of women”, as argued recently by journalist Hanna Rosin.34 With its pseudo-medieval setting and patriarchal structure, Game of Thrones is in line with historical drama series like The Borgias and The Tudors which also use sexual licentiousness and aggressive physicality. This fictive past, argues Genz, has the immediacy of a time stripped of social coherence. Caught in contradictory political forces, women’s principal resources are fertility and sexuality, and “fucking” becomes a survival strategy and a carnal tactic with which to negotiate the exploitation in Westeros. The liberal sexism—and sexist liberalism—reminds us that “Winter is coming”, and it may be a while before Daenerys, Cersei, Sansa, Arya, and the rest can change history. But where it comes to fiction, the women of Westeros have already changed history by making the transmedia GoT universe a uniquely popular and engaging fantasy world where women take the lead.

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Notes   1. On George Stroumboulopoulos Tonight, March 13, 2012, available online: https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=b3Guf-T3U1U&feature=youtu.be (accessed April 20, 2015).   2. See, for instance, Lisbeth Klastrup and Susana Tosca, “Transmedial Worlds— Rethinking Cyberworld Design.” In Proceedings of the 2004 International Conference on Cyberworlds, 2004, 409–16. Los Alamitos, CA: IEEE Computer Society, available online: http://www.itu.dk/people/klastrup/klastruptosca_ transworlds.pdf (accessed September 1, 2015).   3. “Daenery’s Wedding Night, or This is Not a Rape Scene,” blog entry by ElegantPI, April 25, 2011, available online: http://elegantpi.dreamwidth.org/747684.html (accessed February 15, 2013).   4. Caroline Spector, “Power and Feminism in Westeros,” in Beyond the Wall: Exploring George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire, ed. James Lowder (Dallas: BenBella Books, 2012), first part of this quote is location 2715, second part of the quote is location 2757.   5. Jessica Salter, “Game of Thrones’s George R. R. Martin: ‘I’m a Feminist at Heart,’” interview, available online: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/ womens-life/9959063/Game-of-Throness-George-RR-Martin-Im-a-feminist.html (accessed April 18, 2015).   6. David Gilbert, “Game of Thrones Season 5: Millions Download Pirated Copies of Opening 4 Episode. “According to the torrent tracker service Demonii, of the top 10 most popular torrents online at the moment, eight of them are illegal copies of Game of Thrones episodes from Season 5,” available online: http://www.ibtimes. co.uk/game-thrones-season-5-millions-download-pirated-copies-opening-fourepisodes–1496048 (accessed April 15, 2015).   7. See John Jos. Miller, “Collecting Ice and Fire in the Age of Nook and Kindle” for a history of the book series’ print history, in Beyond the Wall: Exploring George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire, From A Game of Thrones to A Dance With Dragons, ed. (Dallas: BenBella Books, 2012), Kindle edition.   8. When it comes to representation of women, few, if any, series have been as important as Sex and the City (1998–2004) for which HBO was accused of “killing feminism.” Janet McCabe and Kim Akass, “What Has HBO Ever Done for Women?” in The Essensial HBO Reader, ed. Gary R. Edgerton and Jeffrey P. Jones (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2008), 303–14, 304.   9. McCabe and Akass, “What Has HBO Ever Done,” 314. 10. The numbers for the five seasons are from Rick Kissell, “‘Game of Thrones’ Finale Sets Ratings Record,” Variety, June 16, 2015, available online: http://variety. com/2015/tv/news/game-of-thrones-finale-ratings-jon-snow-cersei–1201519719/ (accessed August 28, 2015). The 6.8 million figure is from Paul Tassi, “‘Game of Thrones’ Season 5 Premiere Sets Ratings Record, Despite Episode Leak,” available online: http://www.forbes.com/sites/insertcoin/2015/04/14/game-of-thronesseason-5-premiere-sets-audience-record-despite-episode-leak/ (accessed April 16, 2015). Other sources say as high as 7.1 million viewers, see http://www.reuters. com/article/2014/06/16/us-television-gameofthrones-idUSKBN0ER2N520140616 (accessed April 15, 2015). For a discussion of numbers of earlier Game of Thrones

Introduction

11.

12.

13. 14. 15. 16. 17.

18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

15

seasons, see James Hibberd, “HBO talks Game of Thrones future: More than 7 seasons wanted,” Entertainment Weekly, March 11, 2015, available online: http:// www.ew.com/article/2015/03/11/game-thrones-end/article_2137333 (accessed April 10, 2015). See for instance Erin Whitney, “Cersei is officially the most hated character on ‘Game of Thrones’” in The Huffington Post, available online: http://www. huffingtonpost.com/2014/05/07/game-of-thrones-cersei_n_5280773.html (accessed August 28, 2015), and interview with Lena Headey at Conan https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=eeuBm2CJF24 (accessed September 1, 2015). Henry Jenkins formulated transmedia storytelling as “a process where integral elements of a fiction gets dispersed systematically across multiple delivery channels for the purpose of creating a unified and coordinated entertainment experience.” Henry Jenkins, Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide (New York: New York University Press, 2006), 95–6. Katherine A. Fowkes, The Fantasy Film (Malden: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010), 6. Ernst Bloch, “The Fairy Tale Moves on its Own in Time” (1930), quoted in Jack Zipes, Breaking the Magic Spell: Radical Theories of Folk and Fairy Tales (Lexington: University of Press of Kentucky, 2002 [1979]), 153. Tolkien quoted in Zipes, Breaking the Magic Spell, 162, 163. For a discussion of Tolkien’s ideas on genre and monsters in relation to A Song of Ice and Fire see Susan Johnston, “Grief Poignant as Joy: Dyscatastrophe and Eucatastrophe in A Song of Ice and Fire,” Mythlore 31, no. 1/2 (2012): 133–54. There are of course works by female fantasy writers such as Ursula K. Le Guin, Kat Wilhelm, Sarah Monette Mélusine, Anne Bishop, and Jacqueline Carey. However, fantasy is still dominated by male authors and male protagonists unless we include horror/paranormal romance (for instance The Vampire Diaries book and television series, books by L. J. Smith; and Twilight books and film series with books by Stephenie Meyer) and science fiction (for instance The Hunger Games book and film series, books by Suzanne Collins). See also Robin Anne Reid, ed., Women in Science Fiction and Fantasy, Volume One & Two (Westport: Greenwood Press, 2009). See Wells-Lassagne in this volume, pages 39–55. Quoted in Jes Battis and Susan Johnston, eds, Mastering the Game of Thrones: Essays on George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire (Jefferson: McFarland, 2015), Kindle edition, location 87. John G. Cawelti, Adventure, Mystery, and Romance (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1977), 45. A reading supported by the fact that ambitious character Margaery Tyrell in HBO’s version is played by actress Natalie Dormer, who played Anne Boleyn in the historical drama The Tudors (Showtime, 2007–10). See Eidsvåg on moterhood in this volume. Spector, “Power and Feminism in Westeros,” location 2597. Jane Tolmie, “Medievalism and the Fantasy Heroine,” Journal of Gender Studies 15, no. 2 (July 2006): 155–8. Carol Clover, “Maiden Warriors and Other Sons,” Journal of English and Germanic Philology 85, no. 1 (January 1986): 35–49. See Tasker and Steenberg in this volume. See Larsson on sex and marriage in this volume.

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28. George R. R. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire, Books One to Four: A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords, A Feast for Crows. Sydney: HarperVoyager, 2011, Kindle edition, Daenerys’s first chapter, location 907. 29. See Wells- Lassagne in this volume for a different take on this, see pages 39–55. 30. See Gjelsvik in this volume for a discussion of sex added to violence, see pages 57–78. For sexposition, see wikipedia, available online: http://en.wikipedia.org/ wiki/Sexposition (accessed April 18, 2015). 31. Generating a lot of attention on the Internet, such as Kevin Bacon’s video campaign “Free the Bacon”. 32. Martin quoted in Battis and Johnston, Mastering, location 204. 33. Clarke quoted in Valerie Estelle Frankel, Women in Game of Thrones: Power, Conformity and Resistance (Jefferson: McFarland, 2014), Kindle edition, location 23. 34. See Hanna Rosin, “The End of Men,” available online: http://www.theatlantic. com/magazine/archive/2010/07/the-end-of-men/308135/ (accessed April 20, 2015).

Bibliography Battis, Jes and Susan Johnston, eds. Mastering the Game of Thrones: Essays on George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2015. Kindle edition. Frankel, Valerie Estelle. Women in Game of Thrones: Power, Conformity and Resistance. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2014. Kindle edition. Martin, George R. R. A Dance With Dragons (A Song of Ice and Fire, book 5). New York: Bantam Books, 2011. Kindle edition. McCabe, Janet, and Kim Akass. “What Has HBO Ever Done for Women?” In The Essensial HBO Reader, edited by Gary R. Edgerton and Jeffrey P. Jones. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2008, 303–14.

Chapter 1 A DA P T I N G S E X : C U LT U R A L C O N C E P T IO N S O F S E X UA L I T Y I N W O R D S A N D I M AG E S Mariah Larsson

The sex scenes in the Game of Thrones TV series have drawn a lot of attention. Bloggers, journalists, and other commentators have discussed, in particular, the frequent display of female nudity and sexual violence in the series, complaining that it is gratuitous, excessive, and misogynist.1 In general, the TV-adaptation of Game of Thrones contains more sex and nudity than the novels. Sex is referred to at least as often in the novels, but the mere mention of a naked sex worker in words makes for quite a different impression than an actual naked woman in a scene on TV. George R. R. Martin himself has responded to criticism by stating that it would be “fundamentally false and dishonest” to avoid depictions of rape and sexual violence, since these have been part of human history “from the ancient Sumerians to our present day”.2 A lot of the strength of the Game of Thrones series—both the novels and the TV adaptation—comes from the sense that, although belonging to the fantasy genre, they are somehow simultaneously realist, and that, in Martin’s own words, “the true horrors of human history derive not from orcs and Dark Lords, but from ourselves”.3 However, that some scenes in the TV series further develop, exaggerate and even add sexual violence to the story—like the rape of Cersei by Jaime beside the body of their son, or the abuse of the women at Craster’s Keep by deserter Crows (Season 4)—might well be argued to be gratuitous and to exploit a viewer pleasure that is at least as horrific as the horrors portrayed.4 In this chapter, however, focus is not sexual violence per se (although violence may be an element in some ways), but on the institution of marriage and how the sex scenes in A Song of Ice and Fire (novels) and Game of Thrones (TV series) negotiate our modern understanding of sexuality and intimate relations on a cultural and social level with our preconceived ideas about sexuality and intimate relations in another time and place. Since written narratives and audiovisual media have different impacts on readers/viewers, the changes made in the adaptation are of particular interest here. As Anne Gjelsvik has argued, one of the changes made in the transformation from

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written word to (mainstream) audiovisual representation, is a “‘downplaying’ of taboos and provocative content, where challenging depictions of violence and sex are modified to suit the conventions of cinema”.5 Some of these modifications have definitely occurred in the adaptation of A Song of Ice and Fire (downplaying, in particular, the taboo of pedophilia, as I will discuss further on). However, since we engage with moving images differently, in particular with regard to depictions of sex and violence, than we do with written fiction— in a sensorial and embodied way—the perception of sex and violence in the TV series comes across as stronger than in the novels,6 regardless of whether there actually is more violence and sex or not. Certain changes in the adaptation are made because of legal issues and regulations, others are made because of this embodied and sensorial engagement of the viewer, and others again have to do with informal and implicit norms and conventions. The latter are the ones that are in focus here, but all three are interconnected and inform each other. It is my contention that the universe of Game of Thrones in some way functions as a “projection of our own gender nightmare on to the screen of a very different culture”.7 Representations that combine sex and violence—that, for instance, depict rape—are located on a disconcerting threshold between discursive reality and fictional discourse. Feminist scholarship on rape usually draws a clear line between sexual violence and sex,8 which is both reasonable and, in my opinion, imperative, in relation to actual, physical acts of sexual violence. However, without disregarding the sometimes precarious discursive relationship of fiction to reality, I would claim that representations of sexual violence can, indeed, be sex; that is, they can evoke sexual feelings in the viewer, regardless of whether the viewer wishes to engage in such actions in reality. An example of this would be the scene in which Theon’s manhood is cut off by Ramsay Snow, during a prolonged torture session designed both to break down Theon and to annihilate his identity. Although this is a situation that few would like to see realized, this does not preclude the fact that a handful of viewers might actually find sexual pleasure in watching the scene—either through a masochist identification with Theon, a sadist identification with Ramsay, or on a different level altogether.9 Using the marriages of Daenerys and Khal Drogo, Robb and Talisa/Jeyne, and Tyrion and Sansa as examples, I will discuss themes of the meanings of sexual positions, sex as the expression of true love, and innocence and virginity. For my discussion, I will use concepts from the work of two sociologists, John H. Gagnon and William Simon, namely their sexual script theory, which stipulates that sexuality is socially conditioned rather than biologically determined.10 In addition, a historical perspective on sexuality, marriage, and love will provide a background to my analysis of the adaptation of these sex scenes from Martin’s novels to screen.



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Background and Theory Certain cultural and social ideals shape our perception of love, sexuality, and intimate and romantic relationships. These ideals are in no way all pervasive or universal, but are actually quite closely connected to our socio-cultural circumstances, and the predominant ideological values and economic organization of society. Today, in democracies, we perceive marriage to be the outcome of romantic love, in which sexuality plays a significant part, but is still subordinate to the romantic feelings between a couple. Although prosecution might prove very difficult, in theory, at least, it is not legal for a husband to rape or beat his wife.11 Neither does he enter into guardianship of his wife. Marriage as a completely gender equal union might be far from the reality in many cases (and what exactly is meant by that can obviously be debated), yet spouses are much more equal today than in, for instance, the eighteenth century. Historically, marriage was a financial and reproductive arrangement, used to forge alliances, combine wealth, and ensure rightful heirs, but also to provide protection for women and children in a world in which they had extremely few rights. The concepts of romantic love, gender equality, and sexual equality are of a quite recent date in human history—romantic love appears in the late eighteenth century, and ideals of sexual equality and equality between genders have an even shorter history, gaining influence as late as the second half—or even the last quarter—of the twentieth century.12 Considering the brevity of such notions in human history, it is no wonder that they are still entrenched with a much longer tradition of unequal power relations and financial arrangements. Although George R. R. Martin’s series A Song of Ice and Fire belongs within the genre of fantasy, it still needs to connect with our concepts of history in order to provide that “suspension of disbelief ” necessary to appreciate any story.13 Likewise, the TV series Game of Thrones is produced and consumed under the same conditions. A detailed and carefully constructed mise-en-scène provides a strong sense of realism, which functions to draw us into the narrative, but also provides a sense of verisimilitude, that the series is true to its own universe. Accordingly, the sexuality depicted in the series—both in the novels and in the TV series—needs to align itself with our contemporary ideas and conceptions of what sexuality might have been like in a different time and place. The use of marriage as a vital part of various power intrigues both concurs with our more or less diffuse perceptions of the historical meanings of the institution of matrimony, and, at the same time, conflicts with our modern ideals of true love and (some kind of) gender equality. This is one of the reasons that the wildlings stand out in a sympathetic light—in contrast with the arranged marriages of Westeros, their notions of love and sexuality concur more with ours, than those of many other cultures of A Song of Ice and Fire.

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Although sexuality is often perceived as a universal natural force or biological drive, according to Gagnon and Simon, sexuality is socially constructed. What they term the “sexual script” shapes when, how, why, and with whom we have sex.14 The sexual script exists and functions at three different levels— intrapsychically, interpersonally, and as a cultural scenario. Since sexuality is rarely practiced or spoken of openly in society, our learning of the script is constructed from bits and pieces out of varied sources, such as jokes and asides, taboo words and behaviors, sex educational material, love scenes in books and movies, and various sensations in our own bodies in connection with outside stimuli like pornography or literary erotica. The term script is a metaphor for how our feelings and behavior are shaped by a social context, and could rather be understood as certain premises for improvisation than as a specific script that is learned by heart. The intrapsychic script is individual and forms each person’s desires and sexual behavior—it is, thus, how “a private world of wishes and desires that are experienced as originating in the deepest recesses of the self ” are “bound to social life: the linking of individual desires to social meanings”.15 The interpersonal script informs the behavior between people—this is where the improvisational aspect becomes the clearest. Finally, the cultural scenario both functions as a source of information for individuals in society, and also as a backdrop, or a stage, for the interpersonal and intrapsychic scripts. For the purposes of this chapter, the cultural scenario is the most important. However, all three levels are interconnected and influence each other. In traditional societies, the cultural scenario is more set than in modern societies—in Simon and Gagnon’s words, traditional societies are paradigmatic, implying that sexuality is often ascribed a single meaning and that the cultural scenario is more or less uniform, whereas modern societies are postparadigmatic and several understandings of sexuality co-exist.16 The term “postparadigmatic” includes both the changes in sexual norms that developed from the 1960s’ sexual revolution—acceptance of casual sex, women’s sexual emancipation, gay liberation and so on—and an increasingly globalized, multicultural world in which various sexual worldviews have to negotiate their co-existence. A Song of Ice and Fire contains many different paradigmatic societies, with little variation between the paradigms. For the lords of Westeros, a very traditional and patriarchal view of marriage and sexuality guides sexual behavior: marriages are arranged in accordance with allegiances and finance, children born outside of wedlock are illegitimate, and are given generic last names (Snow, Stone, Sand), and women are regarded as belonging to their husband’s family (symbolized by the “cloaking” ceremony during the wedding, when the bride is covered with the cloak of her groom’s house). In Dothraki society, titles are not inherited, they are earned through force and courage and the protection of the father/husband. Among the wildlings, sexuality is freer, but a woman can be willingly “stolen” by a man, and her children are cared for by the group. In Dorne, sexual morals are more open than in the rest of



Adapting Sex

21

Westeros—Oberyn Martell can be overtly bisexual, for instance. From a gender perspective, too, Dorne is different, since daughters have an equal right to inherit titles. Nevertheless, titles are still inherited and, thus, a clear bloodline needs to be established. In addition, there is the issue of whether sexuality—and representations of sexuality—reflect social (gendered) order and power relations, or whether they are individual expressions.17 Simon Hardy argues that it is near impossible not to read historical sexual representations (which is what we have left to study) without the perspective of modern perceptions, and that we, thus, might have incorrect readings of, for instance, the sexuality in ancient Greece. These have been understood, since Michel Foucault’s analysis of sexual relations there, as separated into an active–passive dichotomy, with the active party being the one who penetrates, and the passive the one who is penetrated. However, Hardy argues, with reference to a number of different scholars on ancient Greece, that from a modern perspective, although we might understand that dichotomy as active–passive, for the Greeks it had more to do with several other issues such as self-mastery and control versus an uncontrolled appetite for anything pleasurable.18 Since A Song of Ice and Fire and the TV series Game of Thrones are products of our modern times, the various paradigms featured in the fictional universe of Ice and Fire are constructed from ideas about how sexual relations were organized in a long gone, pre-modern world. As mentioned before, while the narrative is fantasy, implying that any social organization can be constructed within the conditions set up by the narrative, it still connects with our perceptions of history in order to maintain a sense of verisimilitude. Simultaneously, the paradigms are understood from a modern, realist perspective of sexuality and intimate relations. Thus, ideas of gender equality, mutual pleasure, consent, and romantic love color the reception of the sex scenes in Game of Thrones, but also any notions about sexual positions, virginity, female and male sexuality, submission and domination, sex work, and so on. The novels deal with these paradigms of Martin’s world in one way, and the TV series in a similar, but yet profoundly different way. As Linda Hutcheon asserts, it is a common and problematic conception that adaptations are often regarded as “secondary” or “derivative”, at least when it comes to adaptations of literature into a visual medium, such as film or television.19 Words—in the form of literature—have a higher status than (moving) images, and, thus, it seems as if by transforming words into images the material is somehow degraded. There are many ways of side stepping this conception— and others, such as comparing and seeing how well an adaptation relates to the “original”—for instance, regarding them as being in a dialogic relationship, together creating a storyworld in which the reading of one might inform the watching of the other and vice versa.20 However, in the case of A Song of Ice and Fire and Game of Thrones, one might debate which one is the “original”, and which one is the “adaptation”.

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Obviously, the TV series is based on the novels, but these were not widely read until the TV series made the suite of novels famous. In addition, Martin has been closely involved with the production of the TV series, which makes his authority as “author” less questioned (and rendering the question of the adaptation being true to the artist’s “vision” more or less moot). Nonetheless, the rules and norms regulating written text in comparison with those for visual media are different, especially in regards to depictions of sexuality, and, thus, an actual comparison, point by point, in this case is not made in order to privilege text over image. Rather, I compare the two texts in order to extrapolate certain ideas about sexuality that are prevalent in modern society today.

Daenerys and Khal Drogo In the novels, Daenerys is only thirteen years old when coerced into an arranged marriage with Khal Drogo by her brother. In the TV series, Daenerys’ (Emilia Clarke) age has been changed to fifteen, which actually has consequences for the entire timeline of the story and for making the Stark children older, as well. The notion of selling a thirteen-year-old girl—in all modern sense, and in most countries, a minor—into marriage would have become much more visceral when shown in images rather than conjured up by words, not to mention the fact that casting the role would have been very difficult and even might have resulted in accusations of creating child porn. Although cable television in the US is not regulated to the extent of broadcast television, the legal freedom of written fiction in general is broader than the legal limits on images, in particular moving images, and in particular pertaining to depictions of sexuality. In addition, both the TV series and the novels depict several extremely cruel actions and events. Actually, cruelty could be said to be one of the defining aspects of A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones, since not only are the characters commiting acts of it or exposed to it, the novels and the TV-series expose readers and audiences to cruelty as well. The reactions to episodes such as “The Rains of Castamere” (3.09) or “The Mountain and the Viper”(4.08), on social media, show how mercilessly Martin and the production team treat the consumers of the series. However, while most of the cruel acts in the novels are retained for the TV series and some new ones have been added, one amplifying effect of the cruelty depicted in the novels is that it is inflicted on very young children. Thus, by adding two years to the timeline and some other adjustments, Bran is ten when pushed from the tower by Jaime, (although he is played by an actor born in 1999, making him eleven at the time of the production of the first season of Game of Thrones), and not seven, as in the books. Similarly, Sansa Stark is eleven at the beginning of the books, but thirteen in the TV series, and Arya Stark ages from nine to eleven.



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One such cruelty is how Viserys uses his sister as a way to extract support for his plan to gain the Iron Throne from the Dothraki. The irony of this action is that although the prospect of marrying the massive, fierce Khal Drogo frightens the thirteen-year-old Daenerys, the marriage itself leads to a reversal of the power relations between brother and sister. By becoming Khaleesi, Daenerys frees herself from her brother’s coercive influence. Sexuality plays a not insignificant part in Daenerys assertiveness, but in different ways in the novel and in the TV series. In the novel A Game of Thrones, the consummation of the marriage is depicted in tender terms. The young girl and the fearsome warrior (the juxtaposition setting up for apprehension on behalf of the reader) withdraw from the festivities and Khal Drogo is revealed to know one word in the common tongue: “no”, putting this single word to surprisingly eloquent use in order to ensure his wife’s consent. The description of Khal Drogo’s tender seduction of Daenarys covers more than two pages, and although she is frightened and reluctant in the beginning, it is quite clear towards the end that she is more than willing to have intercourse with him. He stopped then, and drew her down onto his lap. Dany was flushed and breathless, her heart fluttering in her chest. He cupped her face in his huge hands and she looked into his eyes. ‘No?’ he said, and she knew it was a question. She took his hand and moved it down to the wetness between her thighs. ‘Yes,’ she whispered as she put his finger inside her.21

The apprehension of the reader transforms into relief, because from what we have learned about the Dothraki before—no Dothraki wedding is complete without deaths, sex from behind, pride, etc—and what we know from young Daenerys, a more brutal wedding night has been anticipated. In addition, her youth has been emphasized (and continues to be emphasized): “She felt like a child once more, only thirteen and all alone, not ready for what was about to happen to her.”22 It is as if in abandoning the child aspect of Daenarys, the TV series needed to emphasize the rape aspect of the wedding night more, in order to provide the same sense of victimhood as the novel does by making her so young. In the TV series, on the other hand, the wedding night is depicted with a much briefer dialogue between the newlyweds. The differences between Daenerys and Khal Drogo (Jason Momoa) are emphasized—her fair coloring, her tininess and softness against his dark coloring, and large, massive body— and Khal Drogo bends her forward to have sex with her from behind as the Dothraki do. This is quite hastily shown, but we see enough to know that it is not an enjoyable experience for Daenarys. Also, in the novel, we do not know whether the couple have intercourse from behind—the scene ends with Daenarys on Khal Drogo’s lap, but the act of penile penetration is not described.

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That sexual positions reflect and influence power balances is not only a modern, implicit understanding of sexuality, but also invests various positions with symbolic meaning and power. These meanings and implicit understandings are dependent on the cultural scenario of the sexual scripts, but also on the context in which they appear. Depicted in visual media, they are guided by two very different principles. In hardcore pornography, the reigning principle is maximum visibility.23 The standard variation of the missionary position, with the man lying on top of the woman, as if in an embrace, is thus shunned, not because it seems to express love and care, but rather because it hides much of the bodies of the participants. Instead, variations, such as the man standing up between the woman’s legs, or the woman putting her legs up on the man’s shoulder or around his waist, are more common, since they allow both a view of the respective bodies and close-ups of the genitals. In non-pornographic, mainstream media, however, the variety of positions is not reduced by the principle of maximum visibility. Even with positions that potentially allow for much visibility, camera angles and framing function to show “just enough” of nudity and sex. However explicit, Game of Thrones never crosses the line into hardcore territory through showing erect penises, close-ups of genitals, close-ups of genitals during intercourse, or cum shots. Nonetheless, within mainstream media, the cultural understandings of sexual positions often serve to underline an emotion or characterize the people involved in the intercourse. The missionary position is actually the most versatile of these, since it can be used to show rape or non-mutual, non-consensual sex (e.g. The Color Purple, 1985), as well as loving, romantic sex (Cruel Intentions, 1999). Since it can show a lot, without showing too much, it is quite commonly used. Illicit sex is often performed standing up (as in Fatal Attraction, 1987; Atonement, 2007), whereas sex on the initiative of the woman, or with a dominant, professional, or dangerous woman with the woman on top (Monster’s Ball, 2001; The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, 2009; Boardwalk Empire, 2010–; Basic Instinct, 1992), and so on. Sex from behind is used when representing degrading, primitive, or abusive sex and rape (Clan of the Cave Bears, 1986; The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, 2009; 2011). Our attached meanings to what is sometimes called “doggy style” are, however, problematic, because our sense of how this position is animalistic and degrading comes not simply from the fact that this is the way some animals have sex, but that it is associated with anal sex and sexual anonymity. There is a homophobic streak in the negative associations to sex from behind.24 In the first Game of Thrones episode, furthermore, it is also connected to incest, since that is how we see Jaime and Cersei having sex. Accordingly, Game of Thrones very clearly aligns itself with (modern) cultural conceptions of sexuality and conventions surrounding the representation of sexual intercourse. Sexuality is used to characterize people, groups of people, and relations between people. The sexual position of the Dothraki, explained in the novels to be in imitation of how horses mate, is associated with something primitive and animalistic. That it, additionally, is a visually striking



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sexual position, which can look pornographic without actually being hardcore, is a “bonus”—the image of Daenerys in the foreground, white and almost shimmering, when contrasted with the dark figure of Khal Drogo behind her and the sunset in the background, adds to the sense of rape in this scene, and when she is bent over, it is like she is bent over in submission or for a sacrifice, which serves to underline the victimization of Daenarys. Although it releases her from her abusive brother, the marriage starts out as an unequal relationship, with Daenarys as the possession of Khal Drogo. However, Daenarys has one slave who is knowledgeable in the art of lovemaking, and Daenarys asks to be taught. In the TV series, a brief but highly charged intimate scene presents Doreah and Daenarys—fully dressed—during this lesson. Doreah both shows and tells her what to do, and claims that the dothraki “take a slave like a hound does a bitch”. She asks Daenarys: “Are you a slave, Khaleesi?”, thus underlining the cultural significance of sexual positions. The lessons allow Daenarys to carefully manipulate Khal Drogo into other sexual positions. When Daenarys and Khal Drogo begin to have sex face-toface, with Daenerys on top and in the missionary position, their relationship becomes more respectful and equal. The development of the relationship and Daenarys’s increasing sense of power within the Dothraki community mirrors the one in the novel. Nevertheless, the way in which this process occurs is portrayed quite differently. In the novel, there is already in the beginning a readiness on behalf of the Khal to respect and honor Daenarys—something which is not emphasized in the TV series where she is, albeit older and (somewhat) more mature, more of a victim that turns her own situation to her own advantage through the means of sex. Her days are described as excruciatingly painful (muscle aches

Figure 2: An unequal relationship. Game of Thrones: Season 1, Episode 1 (“Winter is Coming”). © HBO, 2011.

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Figure 3: An equal relationship. Game of Thrones: Season 1, Episode 2 (“The Kingsroad”). © HBO, 2011.

and saddle sores from riding all day, loneliness in the evenings when the Khal is socializing with his male friends, emotionless sex from behind at dawn): “He always took her from behind, Dothraki fashion, for which Dany was grateful; that way her husband could not see the tears that wet her face, and she could use her pillow to muffle her cries of pain.”25 One day, she feels as if she will not be able to go on, but has a dream about a dragon at night, from which she draws strength, and after that things improve. She becomes better at riding, and begins to understand the ways of the Dothraki. A sense of her own power begins to grow within her, and she defies her brother.26 Then she learns lovemaking from her slave and in front of the Dothraki has sex face-to-face with the Khal: “His were the only eyes that mattered, and when she mounted him she saw something there that she had never seen before”.27 In the TV series, however, the sex is given even more significance—not only is her early sex with the Khal depicted as more or less rape (which Daenarys endures by watching her dragon eggs), but the scene of learning lovemaking and manipulating the Khal into face-to-face positions—in private, inside the tent—comes before she defies her brother (see Schubart, pages 114–16, for a more detailed analysis of both the face-to-face lovemaking, and this confrontation).

Robb Stark and Talisa Maegyr/Jeyne Westerling A quite radical change from the novels to the TV adaptation is the marriage of Robb Stark. In both narratives, Robb Stark has, through his mother’s negotiations, been promised to one of Walder Frey’s daughters in order that he might



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gain passage with his army through the Twins, across the Green Fork.28 Robb is fighting the Lannisters on his way to King’s Landing, and Frey is a sworn ally to the House of Tully (Catelyn Stark’s father’s House). However, he is usually called “the late Walder Frey” because he only very grudgingly (and belatedly) offers his support, in order to secure the best deals possible. In the third novel, Robb has broken the promise to marry into the Frey family, and has married instead Jeyne Westerling, the daughter of a conquered lord, who cared for him when he had been wounded during the battle. “… Jeyne had me taken to her own bed, and she nursed me until the fever passed. And she was with me when the Greatjon brought me the news of … of Winterfell. Bran and Rickon.” He seemed to have trouble saying his brothers’ names. “That night, she … she comforted me, Mother.” Catelyn did not need to be told what sort of comfort Jeyne Westerling had offered her son. “And you wed her the next day.” He looked her in the eyes, proud and miserable all at once. “It was the only honorable thing to do. She’s gentle and sweet, Mother, she will make me a good wife.”29

It is quite clear that although Robb speaks of “follies done for love”, it is more honor than love that has made him marry Jeyne. Since he took the virginity of a lord’s daughter, the “only honorable thing to do” was to marry her. That Jeyne is afraid of the direwolf, Grey Wind, and Robb, thus, needs to keep the wolf at a distance, might let us know that the marriage—although the wolves’ symbolic meanings in the narrative are a lot more ambiguous and tricky than we are at first led to believe—is not ideal. From Lady Catelyn’s perspective, Jeyne is described as “terrified”, pretty, slender, “with good hips”. She notes, “She should have no trouble bearing children, at least.”30 Jeyne seems shy and eager to please. Talisa Maegyr (Oona Chaplin), on the other hand, is the reverse of Jeyne Westerling. Entirely a new addition to the narrative in the TV series, Talisa is introduced, tending wounded soldiers after battle. Competently, she examines the leg of a young man from the Lannister side and declares that it has to come off. The man struggles in pain and panic, but she does not hesitate. Robb (Richard Madden) sees that she needs help in holding him down, and assists her. When Roose Bolton protests that she is helping “one of theirs”, she retorts “your men are not my men” with authority and starts to saw it off. Robb looks at her admiringly, but she is unimpressed by him and his war (2.04). Their relationship develops over several episodes: they meet in episode 4, and have sex for the first time in episode 8 of the second season. Jeyne is of a lesser house, but a lord’s daughter. Talisa is of noble birth, from Volantis, which makes her somewhat exotic in the context of Westeros. More importantly, her choice of a life as a healer instead of a noble woman, marks her out as independent, good-hearted, and confident—something which is

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evident in the way she contradicts lords and high-born men. In comparison with many of the women in the whole saga, she is something of an anomaly— “modern” in the sense that her life path is a result of her own independent choices. Although several of the female characters in A Song of Ice and Fire, as well as in the TV series, can be described with the much derided cliché “strong women”, few are modern in the sense of choosing an independent career or a profession (outside of selling sex), but are strong in that they do the best with what life has handed them. This is just as true of Daenarys, as of Arya, Brienne, Cersei, and Shea, as well as Osha.31 The way that Robb and Talisa’s budding love and subsequent marriage is depicted also concurs with modern concepts of romantic love—there is a growing respect and admiration, intellectual and emotional exchange in conversations, and mutual physical attraction. This further reinforces our sympathies for Robb Stark, and increases the feelings of devastation experienced by viewers at what is usually referred to as the “Red Wedding” in “The Rains of Castamere” (3.09). In the novels, Jeyne Westerling does not accompany Robb to the Twins for the wedding, but Talisa in the HBO series does, and it is the unborn child in her womb that is the first victim of the massacre. Talisa’s “exotic” qualities, furthermore, provide a justification for showing her sensual nudity. Although Game of Thrones’ lavish display of naked bodies (mainly female, but also male) has been much discussed in the viewers’ reception of the series, there is a clear hierarchy to the who, when, and how of those shown naked. Higher-ranked people are more rarely shown in the nude, whereas sex workers, slaves, servants, and minor characters are shown naked far more often. One illustration of this is that as Daenarys’ position in the series becomes increasingly elevated, and Emilia Clarke accordingly becomes stronger as a star, Daenarys is shown naked much less often than early on in the series. In episode 7 of Season 3, we are shown Robb and Talisa making tender and intense love. Their bodies are entwined, and they kiss as in the afterglow of satisfying sex. The room (or tent) is lit with candles, providing a golden radiance to the images. Robb gets up and puts on a robe, but Talisa remains naked on the bed, her skin luminous in the soft light. A playful lovers’ banter ensues, as Robb claims he cannot concentrate with her like that, and the scene continues with an affectionate dialogue during which Talisa reveals that she is pregnant. Overcome with emotion, Robb kisses her and they embrace again on the bed. The relation between Talisa and Robb, thus, departs radically from the novels, sanctioned and developed by Martin himself.32 Although retaining the function of the broken promise to marry one of Frey’s daughters, the change allows a deeper characterization of Robb, whom we see in the novels through the eyes of his mother. In the novels, chapters are told from the perspective of one character, albeit in a third-person narrative, and in the chapters dealing with the rise of the North and Robb’s warfare, they are told from the perspective of Catelyn. In addition, this change, and the resultant deeper characterization



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of Robb, also provides an even stronger investment in him from the point of view of the viewer. Whereas his marriage to Jeyne emanates from a sense of personal honor and duty, Robb’s marriage to Talisa is definitely the result of “the follies of love”. Walder Frey puts it in more crude terms when they meet and he inspects Talisa like a piece of livestock: “Your king says he betrayed me for love. I say he betrayed me for firm tits and a tight fit.” Contrasting the young and romantic love of Robb and Talisa—as witnessed by us two episodes earlier in the sensual and lyrical scene in which Talisa reveals that she is pregnant, and also, as it develops over the course of several episodes from Season 2 to Season 3—with the sleazy comments made by Frey, all sympathies are obviously on the side of young, romantic love. That said, the same audience has also enjoyed watching the luscious body of Talisa and/ or the perfect abs of Robb. Thus, a kind of double standard is at work whereby Walder Frey’s comments are actually more correct than most people would care to admit. In the novel, Walder Frey says something similar: “The young remember nothing when they see a pretty face and a nice firm pair of teats, isn’t that so?”33 Although Frey is just as abominable in the novels, he does not say this in front of the woman he refers to, and the comment is not preceded by an inspection of her with accompanying salacious remarks (“bet everything stays in place when you take that dress off ”).

Sansa Stark and Tyrion Lannister Sansa stared down at her hands and said nothing. “How old are you, Sansa?” asked Tyrion, after a moment. “Thirteen,” she said, “when the moon turns.” “Gods have mercy.” The dwarf took another swallow of wine. “Well, talk won’t make you older. Shall we get on with this, my lady? If it please you?” “It will please me to please my lord husband.” That seemed to anger him. “You hide behind courtesy as if it were a castle wall.” “Courtesy is a lady’s armor,” Sansa said. Her septa had always told her that. “I am your husband. You can take off your armor now.” “And my clothing?” “That too.” He waved his wine cup at her. “My lord father has commanded me to consummate this marriage.”34

The marriage of Sansa Stark and Tyrion Lannister, on the other hand, has very little to do with notions of true love. We, as readers and viewers, know that Tyrion

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is a good man—one of the few good men in the series, and that Sansa, as the hostage of the Lannisters at King’s Landing, could do a lot worse. Nonetheless, for Sansa, who loves beauty, valor, knighthood, and fairy tales, Tyrion is not only an enemy (being a Lannister) but also hopelessly, revoltingly ugly. In the book, she obediently undresses and lies in the bed next to him, keeping her eyes closed as he undresses. When Tyrion tells her to open her eyes, she obeys and looks at him: Look at him, Sansa told herself, look at your husband, at all of him. Septa Mordane said all men are beautiful, find his beauty, try. She stared at the stunted legs, the swollen brutish brow, the green eye and the black one, the raw stump of his nose and crooked pink scar, the coarse tangle of black and gold hair that passed for his beard. Even his manhood was ugly, thick and veined, with a bulbous purple head.35

Tyrion Lannister is a remarkable character, perhaps especially in the TV series, but also, I would claim, in fiction generally. Dwarfs have been ridiculed or used as figures of comedy (“Mini-me” in two of the Austin Powers films ([Jay Roach, 1999 and 2002]), symbols of evil (the evil spirit embodied in a dwarf in the TV series Twin Peaks [David Lynch, 1990–1]), or as symbols of something gone wrong. Rarely are they allowed to be fully fleshed-out, complex characters, or only in fiction that is published with a particular didactic intention. For Tyrion, being a dwarf is actually a severe disability, since the world that he lives in demands that a man needs to be able to defend himself. Fortunately, he has the Lannister family and the Lannister gold which he uses to that effect quite efficiently at several points in the story. During the course of the narrative, it is quite clear that he is a tragic figure—his father hates and despises him, not only because he is a dwarf, but also because his mother died giving birth to him. In addition, there is a backstory of his first marriage, which came to a cruel conclusion when it was claimed that the young woman he had married was a sex worker, paid for by his brother to play the part. This has convinced Tyrion that the only love he can receive is one paid for (later Jaime Lannister discloses that she was not, in fact, a sex worker, but simply a young woman of simple birth and exactly what she purported to be, which triggers the actions that lead to the murder of Tywin). In spite of being a tragic figure, Tyrion is not a figure of pity. He commands a lot of respect from early on in the series, and even more so as we as readers or viewers get to know him. An important change regarding Tyrion in the TV adaptation, however, is that whereas he is described as hideously ugly in the novels (see the description above), Peter Dinklage who performs the role in the TV series has symmetrical, good-looking features, making the character easier to like when the conveying of his character is dependent on audiovisual means rather than as in a text, when readers can follow his inner monologue, and only be reminded of his looks when the narrator draws our attention to it.



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Sansa Stark is eleven at the start of the novels and thirteen in the TV series (in which she is played by Sophie Turner). She is, thus, very young in both, and her age is emphasized in both wedding night scenarios. The line, “talk won’t make you older”, is spoken by Tyrion in the TV series, as well. When the narrative begins, Sansa is the perfect little lady, enjoying needlework, romantic poems, songs of chivalry and heroic deeds, and pretty things. Her naiveté and idealism conflict heavily with the brutal situation she finds herself in—imprisoned in an abusive betrothal to Prince Joffrey, held hostage by the Lannisters at court, beaten and threatened, used as a pawn in the royal intrigues, and finally married off to the Imp. The childishness and hopelessness of her infatuation with all things chivalric and beautiful becomes a cruel joke for the reader/ viewer, since it makes her fall in love with a gay man, Ser Loras Tyrell. The development of Sansa’s character during the series begins from what seems like a “silly girl”, perfectly adapted to a stereotypical femininity, a cliché of fanciful girlhood. This creates a contrast between her and her tomboyish sister, Arya, and readers/viewers may very well find it easier to like and sympathize with Arya, since she adheres more to modern ideals of “strong girls” who want to climb trees, fight, and get dirty just like the boys.36 So, although Sansa in the narrative conforms to the ideals of femininity and is, in the beginning, applauded by both parents and others for it, the reader/viewer possibly might find her silly, naive, and boring. The contemptuous view in society of girlishness and girlhood colors the reception of Sansa by audiences, but also how she is regarded by some characters within the series. Cersei calls her “little dove” with a mix of pity and contempt. Sandor Clegane, The Hound, both mocks her and seems to respect her, and, eventually, perhaps even falls in love with her. Early on, Sansa is enchanted by the idea of marrying the prince. She creates an image of Joffrey that fits in with her romantic ideals, constructed out of songs and tales. However, as Joffrey shows his true colors further on in the story, her dream turns into a nightmare. Her fear when she begins her menarche—and, thus, is considered old enough for marriage—is echoed in an actual nightmare that she has on the morning when she wakes up to find blood in her bed. In the novels, she panics and attempts to set fire to her bed clothes.37 In the TV series, the chambermaid, Tyrion’s mistress, Shea, tries to help her get rid of the evidence of her “flowering” (2.07). In both, she tells Cersei that she didn’t think would be so “messy”, and the realities of sexuality and reproduction would seem grossly carnal in comparison to her delicate dreams of life. Nevertheless, it is the same delicate pathos that makes her look unflinchingly at The Hound, even though he frightens her, and to try to find beauty in her ugly husband. Her courtesy becomes her armor, but there are many occasions when there is actual kindness behind that courtesy, and it allows her to retain integrity and dignity in the face of humiliation and defeat. Although her illusions are savagely shattered, she remains somehow innocent and that provides her with an ethics of conduct that is absolute and incorruptible, even

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when she encounters Littlefinger and her crazy aunt further on in the narrative of the novels. In the TV series, however, Sansa seems to be on her way to become a master of the deceptive mask much like Littlefinger himself, when she is married off to Ramsay Bolton and subjected to marital rape.38 So the marriage of Tyrion Lannister and Sansa Stark is, in a way, a true tragedy, in which we as readers/viewers know that both these people are good despite the fact that they can never reconcile and become friends and lovers. This is reinforced by the chastity of the marriage, although more strongly emphasized in the TV series. In A Storm of Swords, both of them undress and Tyrion’s nakedness is described, as well as the fact that he has an erection, and he explicitly states that he wants her. In Season 3, both of them keep their clothes on—Sansa begins to undress, but he asks her to stop. Furthermore, although the dialogue is very similar, one significant change is Tyrion’s response when Sansa, upon his declaration that he will not share her bed until she wants him to, asks: “And if I never want you to?” In the novel, he says simply, “that is why the gods made whores for imps like me”,39 whereas in the TV series he quotes the oath of the Night’s Watch: “And now my watch begins”, implying a state of celibacy and, thereby, too, that he will not be unfaithful to her even though she will not let him into her bed (3.08). Although sexual promiscuity is more accepted—sometimes even applauded—in men than in women, there is still a cultural conception that a good man does not fuck around, and definitely not if he is married. However, in a situation where one partner cannot or will not offer sex, there is a bit more understanding for sex outside of marriage, maybe in particular if he is a man since there is an idea that men have a stronger need (or even urge) for sex than women. By implying that he will be faithful to his wife, Tyrion conforms to our notions of what a good man is. Moreover, in both renditions, he also evades charges of pedophilia by being put off by her young age, but this is even further reinforced in the TV adaptation since they do not undress and he is not shown as being physically aroused by her. Although Sansa’s age in the TV series is fifteen, she is still under the age of consent in many countries.40

Concluding Discussion The cultural scenario for sexual scripts in modern, Western society can be described as post-paradigmatic (Simon and Gagnon, 1986): there are many different ways to organize sexuality and to operate sexually, although heterosexual, monogamous relations are still privileged. However, from a historical perspective, our notions and norms surrounding ideals of romantic love and mutual sexual pleasure are quite recent, and it seems that we both enjoy being repelled by earlier, more paradigmatic and less equal, societies as well as are attracted to those glimpses of something akin to what we ourselves expect



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from sexual relations in Game of Thrones. The changes regarding sex between married couples made in the adaptation of the novels—from words to images— all function to further enhance this repel/attract-element of the series. Nevertheless, this repel–attract element is an ambiguous binary insofar as some of the things that repel us also, simultaneously, attract us. Thus, the “gender nightmare” might, in fact, be a gender fantasy. On the one hand, modern conceptualizations of romantic love and of gender roles are used to enhance our attachment to and understanding of some of the characters and relationships. On the other, this fictionalized universe offers us a possibility to find pleasure in the sexual behaviors and morals of a different place and time. The adaptation of the novels to TV series extrapolates this binary between modern, equal, and recognizable (which we strive for) on the one hand and fantasy-historical, horrific, and alien (which we ostensibly condemn) on the other. The couples Robb and Jeyne/Talisa and Tyrion and Sansa have been reshaped to fit with our ideals of sexual behavior—in the situation between Robb and his wife, the entire character has been exchanged for someone completely different, which fills the same narrative function (of making Robb break his promise to Walder Frey and thus open for the “Red Wedding”), but has different ramifications for the viewer’s impression of Robb as a character. By letting Robb fall in love in a modern way with a modern woman, we become more attached to him. With Tyrion and Sansa, the changes are more subtle, but still significant, since they omit Sansa’s disgust at her ugly husband, which might serve to render her less sympathetic, especially since we have come to like Tyrion quite a lot by this point, and Tyrion’s arousal at the sight of Sansa’s naked body, making him less susceptible to accusations of pedophilia. In addition, evoking the oath of the Night’s Watch implies that he will abstain from sex, whereas Tyrion’s quip about whores for imps, which occurs in the books, might have come across as gross in the context of the bedchamber (although it actually refers to Tyrion’s complex relationship to paid love and the story of his first wife, which is told in the series as well). Regarding Daenarys and Khal Drogo, the changes are even less evident. In both novel and TV series, sexual positions play an important role in developing the relationship between the couple. As their sex life improves, their love can begin to grow. In the TV series, this is extrapolated and actually made explicit when Daenarys’ servant instructs her not to be a slave to be taken from behind like “the hound does the bitch”—to make Khal Drogo respect her, she needs to look him in the eyes while they have sex. In addition, the reversal of the order of events—defying Viserys leads to Daenarys taking charge of her position in the khalasar and in relation to the Khal in the novels, whereas in the TV series, her changing sexual relationship with Khal Drogo leads to her becoming strong enough to defy her brother. In a sense, then, one can say that in the novels, defying the brother—the original abuser—is key to an assertive Daenarys, whereas in the TV series, looking her husband in the eyes while making love provides her with the ability to stand up to Viserys.41

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While the novels undoubtedly convey more information regarding how characters think and feel, the TV series shows us more of Martin’s universe of Ice and Fire. Although the series has added scenes of sex, violence, and sexual violence, and sometimes modified or even downright changed some events, there has also been a downplaying of several acts of cruelty and exploitation of minors—and even some nudity, like the manner of women’s fashion in Qarth (which leaves one breast exposed). In addition, adjustments have been made in order to further connect to our understanding of a fantasy past from a modern perspective. As a projection of “our own gender nightmare on to the screen of a very different culture”,42 the popularity of Game of Thrones indicates that that culture is not so different as we would like to imagine, and that we are not yet done with past cultures’ norms regarding sexuality, that they still inform the cultural scenario of our sexual scripts and influence our on-going discourse on gender, sexuality, and love.

Notes   1. See, for example, Emily Anderson “Ugh, Game of Thrones, Why So Much Unnecessary Humping?”, Jezebel, April 23, 2012, available online: http://jezebel. com/5904429/ugh-game-of-thrones-why-so-much-unnecessary-humping¸ Bethany Jones, “‘Game of Thrones,’ Sex and HBO: Where Did It Go Wrong For TV’s Sexual Pioneers?,” Indiewire, June 2, 2014, available online: http://blogs. indiewire.com/bent/game-of-thrones-sex-and-hbo-where-did-it-go-wrong-fortvs-sexual-pioneers–20140602, or Valerie Estelle Frankel, Women in Game of Thrones: Power, Conformity and Resistance (Jefferson: McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2014).   2. Dave Itzkoff, “George R.R. Martin on ‘Game of Thrones’ and Sexual Violence,” New York Times, May 2014, available online: http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes. com/2014/05/02/george-r-r-martin-on-game-of-thrones-and-sexual-violence/?_ php=true&_type=blogs&_php=true&_type=blogs&_r=1 (accessed February 18, 2015).   3. Itzkoff, “George R.R. Martin on ‘Game of Thrones’”.   4. Jones 2014, see Anne Gjelsvik in this volume, pages 57–78.   5. Gjelsvik, “What Novels Can Tell that Movies Can’t Show,” in Adaptation Studies: New Challenges, New Directions, ed. Jørgen Bruhn, Anne Gjelsvik and Eirik Frisvold Hanssen (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013), 245–64, 246.   6. Gjelsvik, “What Novels Can Tell”.   7. James N. Davidson, Courtesans and Fishcakes: The Consuming Passions of Classical Athens (London: Fontana Press, 1998), 176, as quoted by Simon Hardy, “The Greeks, Eroticism, and Ourselves,” Sexualities 7, no. 2 (2004): 201–16, 214, doi: 10.1177/136346070404216/.   8. See for instance Tanya Horeck, Public Rape Representing Violation in Fiction and Film (London: Routledge, 2004) or Sarah Projansky, Watching Rape: Film and Television in Postfeminist Culture (New York & London: New York University Press, 2001).



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  9. See also Gjelsvik’s chapter in this volume, pages 57–78. 10. John H. Gagnon and William Simon, Sexual Conduct: The Social Sources of Human Sexuality, 2nd edn (New Brunswick: AldineTransaction, 2005). 11. The criminalization of marital rape is actually quite recent in many countries. In Sweden, for instance, it was criminalized in 1965. 12. See, for example, Anthony Giddens, The Transformation of Intimacy: Sexuality, Love and Eroticism in Modern Societies (Cambridge: Polity, 1992). 13. The phrase “suspension of disbelief ” comes originally from Samuel Taylor Coleridge in his Biographica Literaria from 1817. It is commonly used to refer to how the reader allows him/herself to be swept into a more or less fantastic fictional world and accept the conditions of that world. 14. Gagnon and Simon, Sexual Conduct. 15. William Simon and John H. Gagnon, “Sexual Scripts: Permanence and Change,” Archives of Sexual Behavior 15, no. 2 (1986): 97–120, 100, doi: 10.1007/BF01542219. 16. Simon and Gagnon, “Sexual Scripts”. 17. See Michel Foucault, The Use of Pleasure: The History of Sexuality, Volume Two (London: Penguin and Hardy, 2004 [1987]). 18. Simon Hardy, “The Greeks, Eroticism and Ourselves”, Sexualities (7 May 2004): 201–16. 19. Linda Hutcheon, A Theory of Adaptation (New York: Routledge, 2006), 2–3. 20. Cf. the reading of Let the Right One In in Jørgen Bruhn, Anne Gjelsvik & Henriette Thune, ”Parallel Worlds of Possible Meetings in ‘Let the Right One In’,” Word & Image 27, no. 1 (2011): 2–14. 21. Martin, George R. R. A Game of Thrones. (New York: Bantam Books, 2011 [1996]), 108. 22. Martin, A Game of Thrones, 106. 23. Linda Williams, Hard Core: Power, Pleasure, and the “Frenzy of the Visible”, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999 [1989]). 24. For a similar discussion of the uses and meanings of sexual positions in moving images, see Mariah Larsson, “En queerfeministisk utopi? Sexualitet i Millenniumserien,” in Den nya svenska filmen: kultur, kriminalitet, och kakofoni, ed. Erik Hedling and Ann-Kristin Wallengren (Stockholm: Atlantis, 2014), 111–26. 25. Martin, A Game of Thrones, 228. 26. Ibid., 230–3. 27. Ibid., 236. 28. Ibid., 650. 29. George R. R. Martin, A Storm of Swords (New York: Bantham Books, 2011 [2000]), 195–6. 30. Martin, A Storm of Swords, 194. 31. Cf. Tasker and Steenberg, this volume, pages 171–91. 32. At least according to A Wiki of Ice and Fire, available online: http://awoiaf. westeros.org/index.php/Talisa_Maegyr (accessed July 25, 2014). 33. Martin, Storm of Swords, 676. 34. Ibid., 392. 35. Ibid., 393–4. 36. See Tasker and Steenberg in this volume, pages 171–91. 37. George R.R. Martin, A Clash of Kings. (New York: Bantham Books 2011 [1999]), 757–9

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38. In the novels, it is actually Jeyne Poole, Sansa’s former best friend, who is forced to impersonate Arya Stark and marry Ramsay. Although the wedding night rape of Sansa in the TV series is gruesome, what happens to Jeyne Poole is even more so. See A Dance with Dragons, 498–9, 682–4. 39. Martin, A Storm of Swords, 394 40. Sophie Turner is born in 1996, and was thus sixteen during the filming of Season 3. 41. See Rikke Schubart’s contribution to this volume for a more extensive discussion of the relationship between brother and sister. 42. Davidson, Courtesans and Fishcakes, 176.

Bibliography A Wiki of Ice and Fire. Available online: http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Main_ Page (accessed February 13, 2015). Anderson, Emily. “Ugh, Game of Thrones, Why So Much Unnecessary Humping?” Jezebel, April 23, 2012. Available online: http://jezebel.com/5904429/ugh-game-ofthrones-why-so-much-unnecessary-humping (accessed August 4, 2014). Bruhn, Jørgen, Anne Gjelsvik, and Henriette Thune. “Parallel Worlds of Possible Meetings in ‘Let the Right One In’.” Word & Image 27, no. 1 (2011): 2–14. Davidson, James N. Courtesans and Fishcakes: The Consuming Passions of Classical Athens. London: Fontana Press, 1998. Foucault, Michel. The Use of Pleasure: The History of Sexuality, Volume Two. London: Penguin, 1987. Frankel, Valerie Estelle. Women in Game of Thrones: Power, Conformity and Resistance. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2014. Gagnon, John H., and William Simon. Sexual Conduct: The Social Sources of Human Sexuality. Chicago, IL: Aldine Publishing, 1973. Giddens, Anthony. The Transformation of Intimacy: Sexuality, Love and Eroticism in Modern Societies. Cambridge: Polity, 1992. Gjelsvik, Anne. “What Novels Can Tell Us that Movies Can’t Show.” In Adaptation Studies: New Challenges, New Directions, edited by Jørgen Bruhn, Anne Gjelsvik, and Eirik Frisvold Hanssen, 245–64. London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013, Hardy, Simon. “The Greeks, Eroticism and Ourselves”, Sexualities May 2004 7: 201–16. Horeck, Tanya. Public Rape Representing Violation in Fiction and Film, London: Routledge, 2004. Hutcheon, Linda. A Theory of Adaptation, New York: Routledge, 2006. Itzkoff, Dave. “George R.R. Martin on Game of Thrones and Sexual Violence.” New York Times, May 2014. Available online: http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes. com/2014/05/02/george-r-r-martin-on-game-of-thrones-and-sexual-violence/?_ php=true&_type=blogs&_php=true&_type=blogs&_r=1 (accessed February 18, 2015). Jones, Bethany. “Game of Thrones, Sex and HBO: Where Did It Go Wrong For TV’s Sexual Pioneers?” Indiewire, June 2, 2014. Available online: http://blogs.indiewire. com/bent/game-of-thrones-sex-and-hbo-where-did-it-go-wrong-for-tvs-sexualpioneers-20140602 (accessed June 27, 2014).



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Larsson, Mariah. “En queerfeministisk utopi? Sexualitet i Millenniumserien.” In Den nya svenska filmen: kultur, kriminalitet, och kakofoni, edited by Erik Hedling and Ann-Kristin Wallengren, 111–26. Stockholm: Atlantis, 2014. Martin, George R. R. A Game of Thrones. New York: Bantam Books, 2011 (1996). Martin, George R. R. A Clash of Kings. New York: Bantam Books, 2011 (1999). Martin, George R. R. A Storm of Swords. New York: Bantam Books, 2011 (2000). Martin, George R. R. A Dance with Dragons. London: Harper Voyager, 2011. Projansky, Sarah. Watching Rape: Film and Television in Postfeminist Culture, New York: New York University Press, 2010. Simon, William, and John H Gagnon. “Sexual Scripts: Permanence and Change.” Archives of Sexual Behavior 15, no. 2 (1986): 97–120. Williams, Linda. Hard Core: Power, Pleasure, and the “Frenzy of the Visible”. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999 [1989].

Chapter 2 A DA P T I N G D E SI R E : W I V E S , P R O ST I T U T E S , A N D SM A L L F O L K Shannon Wells-Lassagne

In his saga A Song of Ice and Fire, George R. R. Martin challenged innumerable stereotypes related to the high fantasy genre, notably by choosing to depict the brutality of the medieval period the genre invokes, and to countermand the assumption that good always triumphs. However much a fan of J. R. R. Tolkien Martin claims to be, his saga has been relentless in subverting the genre expectations The Lord of the Rings created, something that the author readily admits: “Tolkien, […] as much as I admire him, I do quibble with.”1 Among these subversions is Martin’s insistence on the attention he pays the “smallfolk”, and the impact of the ruling class’s political maneuverings on their wellbeing. Rather than concentrating on the commoners only when they will later become heroes (like The Rings’s beloved hobbits), Martin populates his world of Westeros with commoners who are victims of the feudal system, mostly unwilling or unable to avenge themselves on those who abuse them. In so doing, Martin refuses to relegate his saga to the nostalgia or escapism of his predecessors, and has contributed to the creation of a new and dark fantasy genre where Middle Earth takes on a decidedly more gritty feel. In this chapter, then, I will explore how the creation of two female characters in the television adaptation, Ros, a prostitute from Winterfell, and Talisa Maegyr, the love interest for Robb Stark, the “King in the North”, go beyond what might initially seem commercial aims, and instead strengthen the depiction of the smallfolk that Martin has privileged in his novels. Ironically, given the author’s own refusal to perpetuate the tropes of fantasy, the television adaptation of A Song of Ice and Fire is perhaps the most faithful long-running television adaptation to date: unlike series like True Blood (HBO, 2008–), Vampire Diaries (The CW, 2009–), or Justified (FX, 2010–), where the show essentially adapts the premise of its literary inspiration while leaving the details of the text behind, Game of Thrones has seemed to follow in the footsteps of the more faithful medium of the limited-run miniseries. Like the makers of the adaptations of Austen or Dickens, the bread-and-butter of public broadcasting, showrunners David Benioff and D. B. Weiss show the same meticulous

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zeal in their attempts to recreate the world of Martin’s books, to the extent that their opening credits essentially open with an animated version of the maps that serve as paratext for each volume of A Song of Ice and Fire.2 Indeed, the leeway the series allows itself from the source text can often also be laid at the feet of the criteria of fidelity, this time to HBO’s canon: increased use of explicit imagery, both violent and sexual, have become part and parcel to HBO’s claims that: “It’s not TV”. This analysis will seek to demonstrate that while commercial constraints like HBO’s provocative policies may have played a part in creating these characters and their storylines, ultimately these characters play larger roles in representing the “smallfolk” dear to George R. R. Martin.

Adding women At first, the creation of two original female characters, Ros (Esmé Bianco) and Talisa Maegyr (Oona Chaplin), seems to fit into this category of fidelity to the commercial demands of premium cable. Their very presence was necessarily cause for debate, given that there are relatively few characters original to the series; since Ros and Talisa are the original characters that have been given the largest amount of screentime, their impact on Game of Thrones merits consideration. Each character is the result of a different adaptive strategy: Ros represents an attempt at narrative economy, making the different prostitutes of the books into a single character. She appears in the very first episode and becomes a series regular in the three seasons which follow. Indeed, criticism of the television series has largely focused on what some have seen as the excessive use of titillation typical of HBO, going so far as to coin the term “sexposition” to describe the many moments when sex scenes are used to make exposition more palatable.3 Here, the character of Ros, who is often present in these scenes, has been seen as a sop to the prurient pleasures of the channel and the series. Talisa Maegyr represents an expansion of the original text, as her textual equivalent, Jeyne Westerling, remains largely off-screen in her relationship with Robb Stark and drops out of the narrative upon his death. Here again, the divergence from Martin’s text may at first glance seem to be motivated not by artistic intent, but by an attempt to satisfy audience expectations for an HBO series; showrunner D.B. Weiss was quoted as justifying the new storyline and the new character from a purely commercial standpoint: “If we didn’t have Richard Madden [who plays Robb Stark] on the show, teenage girls everywhere would abandon us en masse.”4 Weiss goes on to promise nudity for previously clothed characters (and both Talisa and Robb end up in nude love scenes in episode 8, Season 2). Once again, it initially appears that the adaptation is motivated by the importance of desire to capture HBO viewers. However, though these characters allow sexuality to be foregrounded, bringing the relationship between Robb Stark and his future wife to the fore,



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or showing Ros plying her trade as a sex worker, it seems equally important to recognize that these characters in fact serve as a clever transposition of what is a crucial topic for Martin (and one of the key elements in his own subversive take on the genre). Talisa and Ros, rare examples of the showrunners distinguishing the series from the novel in a normally faithful adaptation, are proxy for the smallfolk and their suffering. Indeed, one might argue that by creating the characters highlighting the plight of the commoners, HBO’s adaptation in effect goes further than does Martin. However much this theme is dear to the author, given the ever-widening scope of George R. R. Martin’s books (which currently include hundreds of named characters), inevitably, the appearances of the populace are fleeting. Likewise, Martin’s narrative style, consisting of chapters focusing on different point of view characters, has only rarely made use of smallfolk focalizers, and, as a result, the reader’s loyalties and interest continue to reside with the royal houses.5 In adapting the saga for the small screen, David Benioff and D. B. Weiss chose to create Ros and Talisa, two female characters who heighten both the titillation of the series and the viewer’s identification with the populace. As such, we can see in these two characters not just a rare exception to Game of Thrones’s textual fidelity, but an attempt to translate the spirit of Martin’s works in more purely televisual terms, allowing the showrunners to demonstrate its relationship to both source text and adaptive media, and so ultimately becomes a statement on the elements unique to the HBO version of the tale.

Both personal and political The introduction of each of these original characters immediately suggests an identification between the individuals and the populace that they are meant to represent. In the case of Ros, the identification is direct: we first meet Ros at work, as she welcomes Tyrion to Winterfell. We see Tyrion first, drinking a tankard of ale and making grimaces of pleasure as he is serviced—it is not until he has finished both of his activities that Ros rises from the bottom of the screen for the first time. She is seen from behind while the camera focuses on Tyrion, making it clear that just as society has deemed one of the characters superior to the other (the working girl is there for the pleasure of the aristocrat), so the viewer to is given an implicit hierarchy: Tyrion is central, while Ros is secondary.6 Ros is naked, while Tyrion is clothed, and she is initially nameless, but is well aware of both Tyrion’s name and his family background, as a lofty Lannister. Tyrion’s reaction to Ros’s talents suggests that she is, indeed, less an individual than a type: “It is true what they say about the Northern girls” (1.01), and as the scene ends, she will literally be one of many, as Jaime Lannister invites several other prostitutes into Tyrion’s

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bedchamber in hopes of satisfying him before the evening banquet with the Starks in Winterfell. Though the character is given some individuality, only gradually revealing her knowledge of Tyrion and being rewarded with a “Clever girl” (1.01), this individuality is hemmed in by her function as one girl representing many. Talisa’s introduction has a number of similarities to Ros’s; though as she appears in Season 2, it would seem that the power relations have already shifted, and the viewer is enticed to consider working women with more sympathy. After another successful battle, Robb Stark is seen first, in a long scene exposing what he is and is not willing to do in the aftermath (take prisoners, but not execute them; question them, but not flay them). Talisa, too, is kneeling when she encounters her future husband, and she too is “on the job”, sawing off a young soldier’s wounded foot. Unlike Tyrion, however, Robb immediately meets her as an equal, kneeling to help hold the young man back, giving him his own glove to bite on as the surgery is performed. While Ros had to move up to be caught on camera with Tyrion, here both Robb and the camera move down to be on her level. However, like Ros, she, too, is well aware of the identity of the nobleman facing her, while her own identity remains a mystery. Robb Stark, who has claimed the title of “King in the North” and who is fighting to oust the Lannisters from the throne, accosts her, and their first conversation makes clear that Talisa’s name is less important than her identification with the populace: ROBB: What’s your name? TALISA: Talisa. ROBB: Your last name? TALISA: You want to know what side my family fights on? ROBB: You know my family name. You have me at a disadvantage. (2.04)

Talisa refuses to take sides, saying “your men are not my men”, and defending instead the little man, the innocence of the victims caught in the crossfire of what is described here as a personal squabble between lords: TALISA: That boy lost his foot on your orders. ROBB: They killed my father. TALISA: That boy did? ROBB: The family he fights for. TALISA: Do you think he’s friends with King Joffrey? He’s a fisherman’s son that grew up near Lannisport, he probably never held a spear before they shoved one in his hands a few months ago. ROBB: I’ve no hatred for the lad. TALISA: That should help his foot grow back. […] ROBB: The boy was lucky you were here. TALISA: He was unlucky that you were. (2.04)



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While the King in the North repeatedly places the emphasis on the personal, whether his own family tragedy, his feelings for his opponents, or quite simply his discomfort at not knowing the name of the person he’s addressing, Talisa insists on the political ramifications of the personal: a last name means political ties, and enmity between two noble families leading to violence that exceeds the boundaries of those families. This is one of the key themes of the series, as showrunner D. B. Weiss suggests when describing the nature of Game of Thrones: it’s also a story about the ways the personal becomes political, the way individual loves and lusts and hates and regrets can have repercussions that stretch far beyond the people they affect immediately.7

This desire to foreground the political, even in the midst of the beginning of Game of Thrones’s epic love story between Talisa and Robb, is even more obvious when we compare this introduction of Talisa to that of her literary version, Jeyne Westerling. Unlike Talisa, who is seen as an active participant in the effort to mitigate the destructiveness of war, and who speaks up for the helpless, Jeyne is a victim of the violence: she is a member of a noble family herself, attached to the Lannister family, and meets Robb when his army takes over her family’s land (and takes her father prisoner). When Robb falls ill from a wound, she nurses him (perhaps the only real similarity with the TV character). Later, she will wonder aloud why Robb bothers carrying out his death sentences himself, suggesting it would be easier if he didn’t have direct contact with the reality of his decisions. Jeyne, then, propagates the system of which she is a part. Though of the two original television characters, Talisa’s is the more overtly political introduction, chronologically Ros has preceded her in suggesting that the smallfolk she represents suffer for those above them; indeed, there are a certain number of elements suggesting Ros and Talisa are meant to be linked in the mind of the viewer. Not only do the two appear in similar structures, but Talisa’s departure from the scene, in a cart transporting the wounded, harkens back to another crucial scene for Ros. She leaves Winterfell in a turnip cart as frequent customer Theon looks on longingly (1.06), a scene that is replayed (more dramatically) in Talisa’s departure under the intrigued eye of Robb Stark. As a comparison of the two scenes show, the series clearly seeks to parallel Ros’s departure in the previous season; the two women wear similar colored dresses, with a scarf draped over their knees, while a male character (a past or future love interest) gazes wistfully. Given that the show calls attention to the visual similarities between the two scenes, the similarities between the dialogues in these two scenes also warrants some mention. Indeed, Ros’s departure from Winterfell is our first hint of the destruction about to be wreaked by the war of Five Kings (the destruction that Talisa will later witness). The character explains that she is moving south to

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Figures 4 and 5: Establishing a parallel between Ros (L) and Talisa (R). Game of Thrones: Season 1, Episode 6 (“A Golden Crown”). © HBO, 2011.

King’s Landing because she senses that trouble is coming. Like Talisa’s introduction in Season 2, here again the scene emphasizes the political impact of personal quarrels on the nameless, faceless populace, of which Ros is most decidedly one: ROS: I’m going to King’s Landing. THEON: In a turnip cart? ROS: I’ll find a ship heading south at Whiteharbor. THEON: And you can afford that? ROS: Some of my friends are more generous than others.



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THEON: There are a thousand girls like you in King’s Landing. ROS: So I’ll have lots of company. THEON: Yes, you’ll be very popular. Until some fat lord with a big belly and a little prick gets angry that he can’t get it up and knocks your teeth out. […] ROS: I hear Jaime Lannister attacked Lord Stark in the streets of King’s Landing. Every man for a hundred miles will be marching off to war soon, and most of them will never come back. There’s nothing left for me here. (1.06)

The exchange insists on certain elements already introduced with the character. Thus, Theon first emphasizes Ros’s poverty, given her mode of transportation and her reliance on generous patrons to better her conditions; he then goes on to insist that Ros is simply one of many, echoing her status as a “Northern girl” in the pilot episode. However, the “cleverness” that Tyrion initially praised her for is also present here, as she is the first to recognize that the personal quarrels between two families will ultimately end in war, a conclusion that none of the other characters have yet reached. Given this clear sightedness, the viewer has a difficult time crediting Theon’s suggestion that Ros is simply one of a thousand, and thus makes this and the many other instances in which nobles seem unable or unwilling to distinguish between the different commoners all the more ludicrous. Ros therefore becomes instrumental in a larger design to discredit these assumptions, showing how callous and untrue they are.8 The noble characters may see the smallfolk as a burden or a statistic, estimating the number of mouths to feed come the long winter—“if [the winter] lasts any longer, we’ll have fewer peasants” (Baelish, 2.01); the viewer, however, is shown the brutality of these assumptions, for example through Theon’s prediction that Ros, a character the viewers have come to know well, will end up a victim of a customer’s violence. Indeed, by simply creating these characters, and allowing the viewer to see them as individuals, rather than simple sex workers, or nameless and interchangeable faces, the series insists on their humanity. The very fact that the smallfolk characters are given enough screentime to make them individually recognizeable to the viewer, and furthermore, that they are given names, reinforces this identification with the populace. Ros is representative from this perspective; her literary inspiration in fact spawned two television characters. Ros is the television equivalent of a woman who in the books is simply called “the red-haired whore”, and that same red-haired prostitute, who in Martin’s novels gives birth to Robert Baratheon’s bastard daughter, in the series becomes a second named character, Mhaegan (though her employer, brothel owner and Master of Coin Peytr Baelish, is incapable of remembering it).

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More than naked flesh The humanity of the smallfolk is also emphasized by an insistence on the more personal aspects of their lives. An invented scene in which Ros finds herself unable to work because she is mourning the death of Mhaegan’s child at the hands of the city guard serves to highlight the repeated mention of children in the brothel scenes that have inspired so much talk of titillation. In perhaps the most famous “sexposition” scene (1.07) when Ros arrives at Baelish’s brothel, the sequence begins with the camera panning over children playing outside, and the sound of their cries remains in the background as Baelish shuts the window to focus on training his sex workers; in a previous episode (1.05), when Ned Stark interviews Mhaegan about her child, we also hear children’s cries in the background, once again suggesting that the sexuality evidenced in the series does not preclude other, more political implications. Rather than being simple objects of desire, these women are mothers, actors in their children’s lives. Albeit in a less violent mode, the children fathered by noblemen on the prostitutes therefore become yet another instance of the smallfolk facing the brunt of the repercussions of the actions of noblemen; as Baelish, the owner of the brothel says, “If you fuck enough women, some of them will give you presents” (1.05). Given that Talisa’s role is also given a more explicitly emotional dimension, as Robb Stark weds her literary counterpart not for love, but for honor, after having taken her innocence in his grief at the supposed death of his brothers. This humanization of the common folk, both through the sympathetic portrayal of the sex workers and the expansion of Talisa’s storyline to include a romantic dimension, makes the horrors visited on commoners all the more terrifying.9 When Joffrey gives the order to kill all of his supposed father Robert Baratheon’s bastards, seeking to hide his own illegitimacy, the destruction begins with Mhaegan and Barra in the brothel, focusing on the characters we already know, before extending out to the massacre of children throughout King’s Landing, again insisting both on the representative nature of prostitutes as smallfolk and on the cruelty perpetrated on the helpless for personal reasons and with political ramifications. The showrunners’ efforts to make us see these characters as human, to sympathize with them and see beyond the simple display of flesh, also becomes clear when we compare the same character of Barra’s mother in Martin’s work. When readers first meet her, from Ned Stark’s perspective, she indeed seems inordinately sympathetic, a young mother with a good heart: The girl had been so young Ned had not dared to ask her age. No doubt she’d been a virgin; the better brothels could always find a virgin, if the purse was fat enough. She had light red hair and a powdering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and when she slipped free a breast to give her nipple to the babe, he saw that her bosom was freckled as well.



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‘I named her Barra,’ she said as the child nursed. ‘She looks so like him, does she not, milord? […] Tell him that when you see him, milord, as it… as it please you. Tell him how beautiful she is.’ […] And tell him I’ve been with no one else. I swear it, milord, by the old gods and new. Chataya said I could have half a year, for the baby, and for hoping he’d come back. So you’ll tell him I’m waiting, won’t you? I don’t want no jewels or nothing, just him. He was always good to me, truly.’ […] She had smiled then, a smile so tremulous and sweet that it cut the heart out of him.10

However, Arya sees the same character later on from a very different perspective: she is hanging out the window with a customer when the bell tolls, and asks languidly if now the boy king (Joffrey) has died as well as his father: “Ah, that’s a boy for you, they never last long.”11 The contrast between the two perspectives of the same character could either be interpreted as a complete loss of innocence, or make her seem especially cynical, having feigned an innocence she did not possess in her attempt to have Eddard Stark lure the king back to her while she continues to practice her talents on others. Though the latter explanation would be the more egregious, regardless of the interpretation, Martin chooses to emphasize the idea that the character shows no signs of mourning her dead king (or his son who has now taken the throne), a fact made all the more apparent given that we are seeing her from the perspective of Arya Stark, whose life has been entirely upended by the death of the king and the imprisonment of her father that followed, and is now living on the streets. As we do not revisit the character once the edict to kill Robert’s bastards has been given (a decision which in the novel is attributed to Cersei and not to Joffrey), the impact of the cruelty is somewhat attenuated, and the sympathy for the character much diminished as compared to the television series, which spends significant screentime, not just on the edict to kill these children, but on its consequences. The decision is announced when the Kingsguard comes to kill Mhaegan’s Barra, and shows a montage of multiple murders of children, before ending with the hunt for another commoner character we’ve come to know, Gendry (2.01); the following episode returns to this decision by showing Ros’s depression after Barra’s death (2.02), while later Cersei expresses her horror at Joffrey’s decision to Tyrion (2.02). By beginning with the death of an infant we know, literally ripped from her mother’s arms, and ending with danger being inflicted on yet another sympathetic character, Robert’s eldest bastard, Gendry, and by returning repeatedly to the horror that even those accustomed to Joffrey display at this act of cruelty, we can say that in this instance of comparison with the source material, Benioff and Weiss have made a concerted effort to cause the viewer sympathize with the powerless. With empathy comes identification; I would argue that the viewer is encouraged to see both Ros and Talisa as versions of our own experience of Westeros. Thus for example Ros’s move from Winterfell to King’s Landing

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corresponds to our own attempt to understand the different forces at work in the capital. While Winterfell seemed to function under a code of honor familiar to any who have been told tales of chivalry, the political intrigue of King’s Landing is new to us, and we must learn as Ros does how to sink or swim, to try and discern the truth behind the illusions that Baelish insists on (1.07).12 Even the use of the much reviled sexposition puts us in the position to identify with Ros, as we, too, are in need of the information offered to or by her, be it the arrival of the King’s household in Winterfell, where her exchange with Tyrion allows us to get our bearings regarding the Lannister family and its arrival at Winterfell (1.01); the political nature of Baelish’s ambitions (1.07); or Theon’s complex position within the Stark household, both a hostage to keep his family from rebelling against Robert Baratheon and a ward of the family and a friend to Robb Stark (1.05). All of these sequences provide crucial foreshadowing for future events, making the series more accessible to the viewer. In this sense, the fact that Ros moves from the North, on the outskirts of the kingdom, to King’s Landing, where the conflicts that will cause the War of the Five Kings take place, suggest that she is the viewer’s guide to understanding the political maneuverings of Westeros. In the first episode of the second season Ros is introduced as being adept at handling the society of King’s Landing; in contrast to the first season, where Baelish had to explain how to do her job (and consequently how he does his), here Ros gives a version of Baelish’s recruitment speech to another character who has just arrived in King’s Landing (and at the brothel), thus showing how far she has come in mastering the intricacies of Westerosi politics—a sentiment that the faithful viewer, who has also grown accustomed to the world of the series, can echo (2.01).13 Likewise, Talisa’s frustration with the senselessness of war, as we saw in her introduction, as well as her tale of the injustice done to slaves in her native country, allows the viewer a proxy for the expression of their own shock at the brutality of the regime. Indeed, one could also argue that these characters play a crucial role in creating coherency in this televisual form of the Song of Ice and Fire saga. By having Talisa, the romantic lead of Seasons 2 and 3, tell her story of her brother’s rescue by a slave despite the dire consequences for the slave in question, and by having that story be the tipping point for Robb and Talisa to finally give in to their desire for one another, the series insists on the character as a sort of moral compass for Robb, who is seduced by her morals, essentially. This evocation of slavery and the impact of her storytelling on their relationship (and on Robb’s war efforts, given that the relationship causes him to forsake his promise to wed a Frey girl) are dramatic enough to stay in the viewer’s mind, and create a thematic link to other places and quests in the vast world of Game of Thrones, like Daenerys’s quest to rid Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen of slavery (Seasons 3, 4, and 5). Likewise, as Ros and the other prostitutes of King’s Landing have been assiduously associated with motherhood, so they are directly linked to the storylines of Catelyn, making disastrous decisions to find her daughters,



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or more obviously to Daenerys, who also had to learn carnal talents in order to take an active role in her relationship with her husband, Khal Drogo, and his tribe, and who has since taken on the leadership role as mother to both dragons and freed slaves. In this way, Talisa and Ros serve a specific purpose within the framework of the televisual medium, solidifying thematic links between different storylines. Likewise, the fact that the relationship between Robb and his bride originally remains off-screen, and that Ros interacts with high officials in such an unofficial capacity, suggest that their role is in the private lives of public figures; as a structural element allowing us access to the hidden aspects of public figures, we can draw a parallel between their scenes and the “behind-the-scenes” clips that have become so popular in the marketing of film and television. They are literally the characters behind the scenes in some of the crucial events rocking the society of Westeros. Baelish revealing his motivations to Ros of course falls into this category; indeed, the showrunners seem so aware of the character’s role as source of expository material that they actually subverted that role at the end of the first season, with Ros’s interaction with Maester Pycelle (1.09). The sequence features the young woman naked, seemingly cleaning up after an encounter with the elderly man, before sitting down and listening more or less patiently to the apparent ramblings of her client. Of course, the idea of the client confessing confidential things during “pillow talk” is such a commonly used trope as to have become a cliché, and given that Ros has been used so often as an expository device, the viewer’s expectations of some new and crucial information are heightened. Ultimately, though he promises to tell her “the thing about kings”, he tells her nothing, feigning senility instead. PYCELLE: For the past sixty-seven years, I’ve known more kings than any man alive. Complicated men. But I know how to serve them, and keep on serving them. Aeron Targaryen. He was a good man, very charming. Of all the curses the gods can visit upon man, madness is the worst. To see him waste away before my eyes, consumed in dreams of fire and blood. Robert Baratheon, really an entirely different man … ROS: So what’s the thing? PYCELLE: What thing? ROS: About kings? You said, the thing you need to understand about kings… PYCELLE: Things, what? ROS: When you started … never mind. (1.10)

This, of course, highlights both the very unglamorous nature of prostitution, servicing impotent and senile officials, something that again runs counter to the sexual attractiveness for which Game of Thrones has often been criticized, while highlighting our expectations about Ros’s role as a means to information that would otherwise be hidden. This time, that role remains unfulfilled, suggesting that some are too wary to confide even in the seemingly nameless.

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As these characters serve structural purposes for their televisual format, becoming representative of the aspects of the adaptation that are unique to this medium, the fact that there is emphasis placed on both Ros and Talisa reading and writing becomes particularly significant. Varys recruits Ros to spy on Baelish, insisting that he is interested in more than her physical charms (2.10), but when she brings him the manifest of the ship Baelish is planning to use to leave King’s Landing, demonstrating not only her ability to read, but her ability to read between the lines, even the Master of Spies is surprised. Varys’s initial surprise at Ros’s ability to read makes the importance of this detail, the rarity of the skill, clear; his surprise is compounded by her ability not just to read, but also to interpret her readings. She explains that as the ship’s manifest includes not one, but two feather mattresses, the second passenger must be Sansa Stark, who Baelish is therefore planning on taking with him when he leaves the capital for the Vale. By showing her mastery of the written word and its implications, interpreting what the Spider himself has not understood, Ros insists on the legitimacy of her role as Varys’s partner (3.04). In the depiction of Talisa, the character is repeatedly seen writing letters to her family (2.06, 3.07), prompting fan rumors that the character had in fact been transformed into a Lannister spy.14 The showrunners seem to be insisting that though the characters may be able to read, they cannot be read, they cannot be limited to textuality. The repeated insistence on their own affinity with diegetic texts simply highlights that Talisa and Ros themselves were not to be found in the Martin’s written saga; by extension, it calls attention to the extent to which the rest of the characters, though they may originate in text, have grown beyond it. The repeated reference to rumor and legend, and its relation to the reality of the series events, also seems to lend itself to this interpretation.

A televisual approach to inequality The idea that the characters are representative of the uniqueness of the television adaptation in relation to its source text causes the viewer to question the iconic importance of these characters, and the significance through them of the figure of the commoner, in the midst of an HBO show. This is neither the first, nor the last depiction of poverty and social inequality on the channel, The Wire being the most obvious example, but the inherent contradiction remains: HBO has established itself as a luxury brand,15 both in terms of cost (as a premium cable channel) and content (where commercial breaks are not an issue, and one can enjoy the luxury of “quality television”.)16 Even within this framework of “luxury”, Game of Thrones stands apart, given that the series established itself as one of the most expensive in television history.17 On this channel, in this show, one could see this attempt to seemingly criticize the rich



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and humanize the poor as being a bit ironic in a way that is much less true of Martin’s novels, which are less “luxurious” items.18 Granted, ambiguity seems central to the very concept of HBO’s marketing strategy, though this is mostly in terms of content: HBO is conscious of defying television convention, adopting a tone with their original programming that makes it obvious that they know they are being openly transgressive. But their constant need to account for the illicit, to incessantly rationalize its use and to enfold subversion in respectability, betrays unease with articulating precisely what that might mean for defining originality. It finds HBO continually speculating about itself and seeking to rationalize what it does.19

This idea brings us full circle, back to the question of the titillating aspect of the two characters, Talisa and Ros; could it be that the message conveyed by these characters in the series, that the downtrodden suffer the consequences of the actions of those who rule over them, must be couched in more attractive terms (metaphorically and physically), that it must be shown through exposed flesh? This, too, could be seen as typical of the televisual medium of Game of Thrones, where artistic ambitions are often stymied by commercial constraints. In this way, perhaps, the characters created by the showrunners for the small screen, who show the helpless, the underprivileged, might very well have a different allegory in mind: the smallfolk might also be seen as a metaphor for the creative teams making these television fictions, the David (and Dan) who combat the industrial Goliaths in order to get their vision onto our screens. Benioff and Weiss have spoken openly about fighting for a larger budget to do justice to Martin’s epic scale,20 and one of the ideas repeated in various interviews with different contributors (be it Martin,21 actors Liam Cunningham (Davos),22 Peter Dinklage (Tyrion)23 or Kit Harington (Jon Snow)24) is that HBO differs from most other forms of television in that they allow their creative team free rein, thus according their own version of the “smallfolk” the respect they deserve. By this definition of our real-world equivalent of “smallfolk”, then, Game of Thrones and its original characters become a very model for the HBO marketing strategy: Latitude to tell things differently, creative personnel given the autonomy to work with minimal interference and without having to compromise, has become the HBO trademark—how they endlessly speak about and sell themselves, how the media talks about them, and how their customers have come to understand what they are paying for.25

This is, of course, all relative, especially since both of these characters representing the underdog die gruesome deaths before the third season ends. However, the showrunners seem to have made a concerted effort to focus on

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this problem of social justice earlier than did Martin; the absence of Talisa and Ros has been relayed by the increased importance of the suffering of slaves and smallfolk in the storylines of Arya and Gregor Clegane, Brienne and Podrick, and Daenerys and her freed slaves across the Narrow Sea.26 In this sense, rather than being relegated to helpless prey of the more dominant aristocrats that they frequent, as is the case in the novel, these television characters are made not only stronger, taking on a more active role in their relationships with those better born—they give voice to the profound injustices perpetrated by the powers that be, becoming subjects rather than simple objects of desire. They become representative of the force and the foibles of the medium they inhabit, pointing out both its hypocrisies and its strengths. In this way, these female characters are “remade” for and by the small screen.

Notes   1. The longer version of this quote makes the source of his “quibbling” more obvious, and more clearly linked to our concerns here: “Ruling is hard. This was maybe my answer to Tolkien, whom, as much as I admire him, I do quibble with. Lord of the Rings had a very medieval philosophy: that if the king was a good man, the land would prosper. We look at real history and it’s not that simple. Tolkien can say that Aragorn became king and reigned for a hundred years, and he was wise and good. But Tolkien doesn’t ask the question: What was Aragorn’s tax policy? Did he maintain a standing army? What did he do in times of flood and famine? And what about all these orcs? By the end of the war, Sauron is gone but all of the orcs aren’t gone—they’re in the mountains. Did Aragorn pursue a policy of systematic genocide and kill them? Even the little baby orcs, in their little orc cradles?” Mikal Gilmore, “George R.R. Martin: The Rolling Stone Interview”, Rolling Stone, April 23, 2014. Available online: http://www. rollingstone.com/movies/news/george-r-r-martin-the-rolling-stone-interview– 20140423#ixzz36tDD2lBQ (accessed April 2014).   2. Of course the artistry and the interest of these credits are not limited to this idea of transposition, but they do seem particularly evocative as an attempt to acknowledge the explicitly textual nature of the original work, its two dimensions, and television’s attempt to exceed those two dimensions.   3. For a more extensive analysis of this aspect of the series, see Shannon WellsLassagne, “Prurient pleasures: Adapting fantasy to HBO,” Journal of Adaptation in Film and Performance 6, no. 3 (2013): 415–26.   4. Caroline Stanley, “Season 2 of ‘Game of Thrones’ Will Differ from ‘A Clash of Kings’,” Flavorwire, March 23, 2012. Available online: http://flavorwire. com/272557/season–2-of-game-of-thrones-will-differ-from-a-clash-of-kings (accessed March 2012).   5. Other than the prologues, that make systematic use of non-noble point-of-views, Will (A Game of Thrones) and Chett (A Storm of Swords) of the Night’s Watch, Maester Cressen (A Clash of Kings), novice Pate (A Feast of Crows), and Wildling Varamyr (A Dance with Dragons)), only characters whose nobility is questionable



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are used as focalisers. Characters like Melisandre (A Dance with Dragons) and Areo Hotah (A Feast for Crows, A Dance with Dragons) may not be noble themselves, but are loyal servants to noblemen, and Davos (A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords) was once a smuggler but has now been knighted.   6. This is no doubt due in part to the fact that the character Ros was initially intended as a “throwaway” part; however, the showrunners were so impressed with Esme Bianco’s performance that they decided to make her a recurring character in the show. (Commentary “Winter is Coming”).   7. Bryan Cogman, Inside Game of Thrones (San Francisco: Chronicle Books, 2012), Kindle edition, 68.   8. For example in Tywin Lannister’s refusal to refer to Shae, his son Tyrion’s beloved who has betrayed him with his father, as anything but a “whore” (4.10), or Cersei Lannister’s mistaking Ros for Shae in her attempts to capture the prostitute Tyrion frequents (2.08).   9. For a more detailed analysis of the relationship, see Larsson’s chapter in this same volume, pages 17–38. Martin, A Storm of Swords (New York: Bantam, 2000), 160. 10. Martin, A Game of Thrones (New York: Bantam Books, 1996), 379–80. 11. Martin, A Game of Thrones, 722. 12. Indeed, Baelish’s speech insists that the prostitute feigning pleasure when she’s with a client parallels the pretence of courtly life, the illusion of honor: “You’re not fooling them, they just paid you, they know what you are. They know it’s all just an act. Your job is to make them forget what they know. And that takes time. […] Do you know what I learned? I learned that I’ll never win, not that way. That’s their game, their rules. I’m not going to fight them, I’m going to fuck them. That’s what I know, that’s what I am, and only by admitting what we are can we get what we want.” (1.07) 13. This familiarity is of short standing, because it is in this same episode that the King’s guard will come to kill Barra and the rest of Robert’s bastards, causing Ros to question her understanding of King’s Landing’s politics, but I would argue that here again, the viewer identifies with the character, and is equally horrified by the acts perpetrated by the guards. 14. Though as of A Dance with Dragons, Jeyne Westerling has not been depicted as being in league with the Lannisters, the fact that her family owes allegiance to the Lannister family makes this a valid suspicion that thus far has not borne fruit. 15. Christopher Anderson calls it “a luxury brand in a populist medium”. ‘Overview: Producing an Aristocracy of Culture in American Television’, in G. R. Edgerton and J. P. Jones, The Essential HBO Reader (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2008), 33. 16. The term of course brings up the fraught and oft-discussed problem of definition; Avi Santo argues that HBO’s marketing strategy has centered on the idea of quality television: “HBO’s efforts to distinguish itself from standard broadcast television are indicative of what the pay network believes it is selling to subscribers. On a fairly simple level, pay cable must appear to offer something that subscribers cannot get either on free TV (the networks) or for the price of basic cable, and which viewers believe is superior to those cheaper alternatives. Thus, HBO must continuously promote discourses of ‘quality’ and ‘exclusivity’ as central to the subscription experience. These discourses aim to brand not only HBO, but

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its audience as well.” “Paratelevision and discourses of distinction: the culture of production at HBO,” in It’s not TV: Watching HBO in the Post-Television Era, ed. M. Leverette, B. L. Ott, and C. L. Buckley (London: Routledge, 2008), 19–20. 17. John Jurgensen, “A bigger, pricier Game of Thrones,” The Wall Street Journal, April 29, 2012. 18. Of course, the paraphernalia associated with A Song of Ice and Fire, from figurines to weaponry to cookbooks to calendars or graphic novels, may become more pricy, but the mass-market editions of Martin’s novels cannot be taxed with hypocrisy from this perspective. 19. Janet McCabe and Kim Akass, “Sex, Swearing and Respectability: Courting Controversy, HBO’s Original Programming and Producing Quality TV,” in Quality TV: Contemporary American TV and Beyond, ed. Janet McCabe, Kim Akass (London, New York: IB Tauris, 2007), 75. 20. Jurgensen, “Pricier Game of Thrones”. 21. Cogman, Inside Game of Thrones, 43–4. 22. Alex Fletcher, “‘Game of Thrones’ Liam Cunningham: ‘Some of the sex is extraordinary’,” Digital Spy, March 29, 2012. Available online: http://www. digitalspy.co.uk/ustv/s151/game-of-thrones/interviews/a373867/game-of-thronesliam-cunningham-some-of-the-sex-is-extraordinary.html#ixzz2FUvZJFRS (accessed March 2012). 23. Cogman, Inside Game of Thrones, 837–8. 24. Jace Lacob, “Kit Harington on Game of Thrones, Fame, and Playing Emo Hero Jon Snow,” The Daily Beast, April 9, 2012. Available online: http://www.thedailybeast. com/articles/2012/04/09/kit-harington-on-game-of-thrones-fame-and-playingemo-hero-jon-snow.html (accessed April 2012). 25. McCabe and Akass, “It’s Not TV, it’s HBO’s Original Programming: Producing Quality TV,” in It’s Not TV: Watching HBO in the Post-television Era, ed. Marc Leverette, Brian L. Ott, and Cara Louise Buckley (New York: Routledge, 2008), 87. 26. Indeed, one might argue that in season 4 of the series, Benioff and Weiss are recreating a version of the underdog characters involved in a love story by focusing on an original storyline of Grey Worm of the Unsullied and his fondness for Missandei (4.04, 4.08), and so perpetuating the importance of the theme of the smallfolk after Ros and Talisa have left the story.

Bibliography Anderson, Christopher. “Overview: Producing an Aristocracy of Culture in American Television.” In The Essential HBO Reader, edited by Gary R. Edgerton and J. P. Jones, 23–41. Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 2008. Benioff, David, and D.B. Weiss. Game of Thrones, HBO: Television 360/Grok Studio, 2011–. Cogman, Bryan. Inside HBO’s Game of Thrones. San Francisco, CA: Chronicle Books, 2012. Kindle edition. Edgerton, Gary R., and Jeffrey P Jones. “HBO’s Ongoing Legacy.” In The Essential HBO Reader, edited by Gary R. Edgerton and Jeffrey P. Jones, 315–30. Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 2008.



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Fletcher, Alex. “‘Game of Thrones’ Liam Cunningham: ‘Some of the sex is extraordinary’.” Digital Spy, March 29, 2012. Available online: http://www. digitalspy.co.uk/ustv/s151/game-of-thrones/interviews/a373867/game-of-thronesliam-cunningham-some-of-the-sex-is-extraordinary.html (accessed March 2012). Gilmore, M. “George R.R. Martin: The Rolling Stone Interview,” Rolling Stone, April 23, 2014. Available online: http://www.rollingstone.com/movies/news/george-rr-martin-the-rolling-stone-interview-20140423#ixzz36tDD2lBQ (accessed April 2014). Jancovich, M. and J. Lyons, J., eds. Quality Popular Television, London: BFI Publishing, 2003. Jurgensen, J. “A bigger, pricier Game of Thrones.” The Wall Street Journal, April 29, 2012. Kachka, B. “Dungeon Master: David Benioff.” New York Times, May 18, 2008. Available online: http://nymag.com/arts/books/features/47040/ (accessed September 2011). Lacob, Jace. “Kit Harington on Game of Thrones, Fame, and Playing Emo Hero Jon Snow.” The Daily Beast, April 9, 2012. Available online: http://www.thedailybeast. com/articles/2012/04/09/kit-harington-on-game-of-thrones-fame-and-playingemo-hero-jon-snow.html (accessed April 2012). Martin, George R. R. A Game of Thrones. New York: Bantam Books, 1996. Martin, George R. R. A Clash of Kings. New York: Bantam Books, 1999. Martin, George R. R. A Storm of Swords. New York: Bantam Books, 2000. McCabe, Janet, and Kim Akass. “Sex, Swearing and Respectability: Courting Controversy, HBO’s Original Programming and Producing Quality TV.” In Quality TV: Contemporary American Television and Beyond, edited by Janet McCabe and Kim Akass, 62–76. London: I.B. Tauris, 2007. McCabe, Janet, and Kim Akass. “It’s not TV, it’s HBO’s Original Programming: Producing Quality TV.” In It’s Not TV: Watching HBO in the Post-Television Era, edited by M. Leverette, B. L. Ott, and C. L. Buckley, 83–93. London: Routledge, 2008. Santo, Avis. “Paratelevision and Discourses of Distinction: The Culture of Production at HBO.” In It’s Not TV: Watching HBO in the Post-Television Era, edited by M. Leverette, B. L. Ott, and C. L. Buckley, 19–45. London: Routledge, 2008. Stanley, C. “Season 2 of ‘Game of Thrones’ Will Differ from ‘A Clash of Kings’.” Flavorwire, March 23, 2012. Available online: http://flavorwire.com/272557/ season-2-of-game-of-thrones-will-differ-from-a-clash-of-kings (accessed March 2012). Thompson, Robert J. Television’s Second Golden Age: From Hill Street Blues to ER. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1996. Thompson, Robert J. “Preface.” In Quality TV: Contemporary American Television and Beyond, edited by Janet McCabe and Kim Akass, xvii–xx. London: I.B. Tauris, 2007. Wells-Lassagne, Shannon. “Prurient Pleasures: Adapting Fantasy to HBO.” Journal of Adaptation in Film and Performance 6, no. 3 (2013): 415–26.

Chapter 3 U N SP E A KA B L E A C T S O F ( S E X UA L ) T E R R O R A S / I N Q UA L I T Y T E L EV I SIO N Anne Gjelsvik

Within adaptation studies, theorists have called for an end to (so-called) fidelity criticism for decades.1 Among fans, however, the interest in comparing an adaptation with its original is very much alive and kicking—and within the huge GoT fan community, it has been kept alive with particularly strong dedication and fervor. On fan sites such as Winteriscoming.net and Westeros. org, the choices made by HBO are scrutinized and discussed both before and after the results are presented to the audience. To take just one example of the many reactions on the largest Game of Thrones fan site Westeros.org to the episode “Breaker of Chains” (4.03), and the scene where Jaime Lannister (Nikolaj Coster-Waldau) rapes his sister Cersei (Lena Headey), in front of their dead son: “Tumblr’s usual bullshit aside, I totally get why they’re pissed about this. It was a pretty off misreading of its book counterpart (if they were going for any sort of faithfulness) and it certainly didn’t translate the way the director wanted.”2 Overall, HBO’s Game of Thrones has been acclaimed as a consistent and faithful rendering of the nearly 5,000-page long source material, George R. R.  Martin’s book series A Song of Ice and Fire, and the author’s participation in the television production, as scriptwriter and producer, has only strengthened the perception that Game of Thrones is a close adaptation of the books.3 In both Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire and HBO’s Game of Thrones, sex and violence are integral to the contest for power which underpins the story. However, when it comes to the interplay of gender, sex, and power, several remarkable alterations and additions have taken place in the adaptation process. This article discusses how certain changes in the adaptation of the novels for TV fundamentally alter perspectives on gender and power, both on a narrative and a discursive level.4 My main concern is the changes in the depiction of sex and violence, and how the adaptation transforms different forms of power into sexual victimization. The discussion will be based on close readings of three episodes with controversial scenes featuring sexual abuse: The sexualized

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torture of Theon Greyjoy (Alfie Allen) in “The Bear and the Maiden Fair” (3.07), the threat of rape against Meera Reed (Ellie Kendrick) in “The First of his Name” (4.05; both directed by Michelle MacLaren), and Jaime Lannister’s rape of his own sister, Cersei, in “Breaker of Chains” (4.03; directed by Alex Graves).5 While each of these scenes differs in form and content, all three scenes share depictions of sexualized violence that cast an interesting light on gender representation in Game of Thrones more broadly. Although several critics have reacted negatively to the representation of sex and violence in the series, the overall reception of Game of Thrones has been favorable.6 I will address why these three specific scenes created so much debate, why viewers and critics considered these scenes to have breached boundaries of “acceptable” television, and how questions of gender and the use of violent sex in these three scenes affected these responses. In my discussion, I combine insights from adaptation studies with perspectives on recent developments in television. As I will demonstrate, gender is at the core of the question of whether HBO’s production is faithful to Martin’s world and its values.

Fidelity meets quality television version 2.0 The question of fidelity can be approached from different perspectives. Comparisons between novel and film may, for instance, trace changes in plot and characters, or differences in meanings, worlds, and values. However, similarities and differences on the narrative level are by far the easiest to discover and discuss.7 When adapters have the fidelity question in mind, it is not always out of respect for the literary predecessor or the author. Fidelity may come into play in order to avoid disappointing readers and fans or, as Thomas Leitch has demonstrated, it may be a financial consideration.8 James M. Welsh sums up some of the challenges of adaptation rather neatly: “How was the story told? How is it retold? How is it to be sold?”9 Retelling in order to sell is, of course, of vital importance here. HBO has been accused of shoehorning sex scenes into the Game of Thrones storyline, and critics have debated whether the showrunners David Benioff and D. B. Weiss are “rewriting the books into misogyny”,10 in particular, by adding sexually explicit scenes that are neither in the books, nor of vital importance to the storyline.11 In a notorious scene in an early episode of the series, Petyr “Littlefinger” Baleish (Aidan Gillen) tutors prostitute Ros (Esmé Bianco), a character invented for the television series, along with another prostitute, on how to interact convincingly and persuasively when with customers. In this explicit sex scene, the two naked women perform sex for some five minutes, while Littlefinger explains his relationship with Catelyn Stark to the viewers.12



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One can easily argue that this sex scene is unnecessary on a narrative level, yet as a marketing strategy for HBO, it is vital. Such scenes, although they divide viewers, attract a lot of attention and, as a consequence, create press for the show in the same way that similar scenes raised the public profile of series such as Rome (2005–7) and Boardwalk Empire (2010–14). Internet humor that criticizes and mocks such explicit sex scenes in Game of Thrones—for instance, the parody slogan, “It’s not porn, it’s HBO”, and CollegeHumor’s comedy video, “HBO should show more Dong”13—also draws more attention to the series. HBO’s famous slogan “It’s not TV, it’s HBO” was used to market the channel as a new type of television network, which was a frontrunner in what is now commonly known as “quality television”.14 Robert Thomson argued, as early as 1996, that quality television could be characterized by how it differed from ordinary television by, for instance, taking risks, and challenging and confronting the audience both intellectually and emotionally.15 As a cable network, HBO sells content to its audience, rather than an audience to advertisers, which has led to series with narrative complexity, higher production values, and controversial content.16 At the turn of the twenty-first century, the narrative and aesthetic innovations of series such as The Sopranos (1999–2007), Six Feet Under (2001–5), and The Wire (2002–8) pushed HBO’s television series toward being an equivalent of cinematic modernism. Today’s version of quality television, however, is more comparable with Hollywood’s high-concept cinema. With its emphasis on style and marketability, high-concept cinema can be regarded as a postclassical mode of filmmaking, and series such as HBO’s Rome and True Blood (2005–14), or AMC’s Walking Dead (2010–) can be seen as high-concept cinema’s televisual equivalents.17 As with their cinematic counterparts, the development and marketing of such series are closely integrated. Stunning visuals that focus on settings, dramatic plotlines, and attractive bodies with—or without—spectacular costumes are, thus, part of the marketing pitch. The writer–producer team David Benioff and D. B. Weiss have described themselves as television novices, but die-hard fans of Martin’s novels. As showrunners, they fit the notion of TV authorship as a combination of the producer’s control and the writer’s aesthetic ownership of both story arc and stylistic details. Game of Thrones not only fits the label “quality television” by way of its high-pitched visual drama, but also through its complex characters, and long-story arcs with great attention to detail. As Gary R. Edgerton has demonstrated, HBO has been a frontrunner in an increasingly personalized TV environment, and has changed from a domestic movie channel to an important international provider of digital entertainment.18 However, the competition in this market is strong. In an era in which it is more important to be visible than new and original, adaptations have also become more valued, and Martin’s visually rich and narratively dramatic novels were well-suited to HBO’s programming and extremely

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adaptable to the small screen.19 As Stephanie Genz argues in this volume (see pages 257–9), “making visible” can be seen as an overall strategy at HBO, at its best as “a relentless pursuit of visibility” (for instance, a foregrounding of gendered-power dynamics), and at its worst as visibility for visibility’s sake.20 Director Neil Marshall has described his first experience with high-concept television as surreal, claiming that while on set directing Game of Thrones, he had one of the executive producers leaning over his shoulder, saying “‘You can go full frontal, you know. This is television; you can do whatever you want! And do it! I urge you to do it.’”21 It is in this light that we should consider how sexualized violence and rape are part of quality television in the 2010s.

Adapting Rape Some of the most controversial changes in HBO’s adaptation of A Song of Ice and Fire are scenes featuring rape or sexual assaults that are not in Martin’s novels. One of them occurs in the episode “The First of His Name” (4.05), during which the expansion of an event only alluded to in the books has implications for both the narrative and characters. Beyond the Wall, mutineers from the Night’s Watch have taken hold of Craster’s Keep after killing both its namesake owner and their own commander, Lord Mormont. In the television series, two separate plotlines from the novels are brought together at this point, when Bran Stark and his company arrive at the keep. They are taken prisoner by the villains, and Meera Reed is threatened with rape. The gang’s brutality has already been depicted in some detail in the prior episode, “The Oathkeeper” (4.04). Karl, the leader of the gang, drinks wine from the skull of Mormont, while other gang members rape two of Craster’s naked daughters, literally shown in the background of the scene. Taken together, these two scenes are among the most brutal examples of sexual violence in the adaptation but, most importantly, they add a new episode in which a woman is brutally victimized. While Craster’s daughters, both in the novels and television series, are victims of their own father’s abuse, Meera is portrayed as a strong and free girl of sixteen, able to find her way in the world. In the episode “The First of His Name”, Karl has two men grab Meera and chain her up in front of the prisoners (Bran, Hodor, and her brother, Jojen). He informs her that he likes girls with curls and that the other men will “take whatever is left”. He threatens Meera, standing just centimeters from her face: “You like it rough then, you like it in the gutter?”, he taunts. When Meera’s brother tries to intervene, offering Karl his help as a clairvoyant, Karl asks him, “Can you see what I am going to do with your sister?” and, nodding in the direction of his companions, adds, “Can you see what they are going to do with your sister?” Then he pulls out a sword and moves toward Meera, clearly



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intending to rip off her clothes. At the last second, the rape is prevented by the arrival of Jon Snow (Kit Harington), and the men from the Night’s Watch.22 The HBO production’s addition of this difficult-to-watch threat of rape foregrounds sexual violence in a way the novels do not. Moreover, the scene strengthens a male character (Jon Snow) at the expense of a female character (Meera). Facing criticism for the brutality of this scene, director Michelle MacLaren (the only female director on Game of Thrones) responded, “I don’t believe in gratuitous violence. I think it has to serve the story … I was talking to David and Dan, and we decided when we see these guys in episode four, it’s got to be horrible. They’ve gone over to the dark side. So, when Jon and his guys show up, we want them to take these guys down.”23 MacLaren’s arguments fit perfectly into the predominant function that film scholar Margrethe Bruun Vaage argues rape plays in contemporary American television. Vaage has studied morally transgressive characters in series such as Dexter, The Sopranos, and The Wire, and her claim is that no matter how badly our violent (but popular) antiheroes behave, there is always a limit to their behavior: they do not rape. As television scholar Jason Mittell has pointed out: “Rape is a more taboo and emotionally volatile crime to portray on screen than murder.”24 Contemporary television viewers will ally with mobsters, murderers, and serial killers, but not with rapists. Rape is, according to Vaage, used (a) to mark characters as contrast characters and antagonists (their main function is to make the heroes morally preferable), or (b) as justification for vigilante vengeance against rapists, and to make the spectator applaud such violent acts.25 The rape scene in “The First of His Name” serves exactly these two functions. In Martin’s novels, too, rape is used to distinguish detested characters, such as Gregor “The Mountain” Clegane, Ramsay Bolton (also known as Ramsay Snow), and Craster from the more morally complex characters with whom we are likely to ally.26 The wildling Craster is, for instance, characterized as “a kinslayer, liar, raper, and craven”.27 The Mountain is feared for several reasons, but characters agree that the worst of all his brutal crimes is the rape and murder of Princess Elia Targaryen (committed with the blood of her dead baby still on his hands). Vaage’s analysis explains the strong reactions among viewers and critics alike to one of the most (if not the most) disputed scenes in the series, in which Jaime Lannister rapes his sister, Cersei, beside the casket of their murdered son, Joffrey.28 One reviewer described this scene in “Breaker of Chains” (4.03) as “the most screwed up sex scene ever broadcast on television”.29 The contrast to the novel is so remarkable and provoked so many reactions that George Martin himself felt it necessary to apologize if people found the scene disturbing for “the wrong reasons.”30 As much as readers of the novels may have found a scene of coffin-side incest morally disturbing, the book, unlike the series, depicts the sex as consensual. In the series, the scene takes place in the dark and gloomy Sept of Baelor, where Cersei and her younger son, Tommen (Callum Wharry), stand vigil over

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Joffrey.31 In front of Cersei and the dead king, Tywin Lannister (Charles Dance) has been giving young Tommen a patriarchal lesson on how to become a good king. Tywin makes it perfectly clear that Joffrey was a failure as king, and that a queen is needed only to provide male heirs. Tywin then leaves the Sept, and takes Tommen under his wing. When Jaime arrives at the Sept, he finds his sister not just grieving, but also distressed by her humiliation by Tywin. She asks her brother/lover to avenge “their little son’s” death by killing their brother Tyrion, who she claims is behind the murder. Jaime refuses and instead drags her into his arms and starts to caress and comfort her. They kiss, but she soon withdraws and turns away. Jaime then calls her a hateful woman, grabs hold of her neck, pushes her against their son’s deathbed, and kisses her violently. She begs him, “No Jaime, not here”, but he tears her dress apart with a ripping sound. He pushes her toward the floor, while she repeatedly shouts “No”, “Please stop”, and “Stop it!” As she lies on the floor with him on top of her, she cries, “It is not right”, but he forces himself on her, saying, “I don’t care”, while she is crying. The scene ends with the sound of his voice, her gasps, and the bells tolling. Many fans of the novels responded negatively to this scene, first and foremost because the rape was seen as inconsistent with Jaime’s character. These fans offer a range of excuses for Jaime’s other transgressions throughout the story: he tried to kill Bran because he loves Cersei, and he killed “the Mad King” Arys Targaryen in order to save King’s Landing. For these readers and viewers, an attempted child murder and regicide are easier to accept and forget than rape. It is worth noting that during the course of the novels, Jaime changes. Once “A Man Without Honor” (also the title of episode 2.07), he becomes “a man with a code”32—and, accordingly, readers’ and viewers’ perceptions of him, at this point in the narrative, is likely to be more positive. We have, for instance, read and/or seen that he returns to Harrenhal to save Brienne after seeing her naked and chained up in a dream.33 And, prior to this scene, he even orders one of The Mountain’s men to be executed because he tried to rape the Harrenhal maid known as Pretty Pia.34 Both in the novels and the series, Jaime is a “good– bad” character who readers and viewers can be expected to learn to like. Comments on a number of Internet forums illustrate some of the typical fan responses to the series’ adaptation of the Sept scene: It was very fucked up for different reasons but it wasn’t anywhere a tenth as rapey [in the book].35 Maybe there is something wrong with me but I didn’t mind a child killing, king stabbing sisterfucker as book Jaime, but show Jaime is [sic] now also a kinslaying (remember his Frey cousin) rapist, and I’m not ok with that.36 Jaime is not a rapist. He’ll kill his enemies, but he’s no rapist. “A man’s got to have a code”, as The Hound would put it.37



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But the truth is … TV Show Jaime is, now, a rapist. He raped his sister. That’s why his character is now not Jaime.38

In sum, GoT fans believe that while the Jaime character is a child-killer and a king-slayer, he is not a rapist.39 However, while the response to this scene was largely negative, we need to differentiate the reactions among fans and reviewers to it. On the one hand, the strong reactions to the portrayal of Jaime in HBO’s series are related to concerns about fidelity in adaptation, including character perspective and narrative framing. Fans and reviewers responded primarily to the changes in Jaime’s character, but also to changes in Cersei’s character and motivations, as well as to the shifts in the narrative context of the scene. One major difference between the two versions is that the book tells Jaime’s story with a third-person limited narrative voice and, accordingly, we read the events as he experiences them. This narrative strategy is not used in the series. I will return to the question of narrative perspective later. The sequence of events leading up to the Sept scene also differs: In the novel, Jaime returns to King’s Landing just after the death of Joffrey, while in the series the rape in the Sept takes place quite some time after he has escaped from captivity and made his way back to King’s Landing. The change of timeline alters the narrative context for the sex scene, which originally takes place as part of the lover’s reunion, moments after Cersei learns her lover is alive. In the book, the scene also takes place in front of the dead Joffrey, but it reads as follows: “Hurry,” she was whispering now, “quickly, quickly, now, do it now, do me now. Jaime Jaime Jaime.” Her hands helped guide him. “Yes,” Cersei said as he thrust, “my brother, sweet brother, yes, like that, yes, I have you, you’re home now, you’re home now, you’re home.” She kissed his ear and stroked his short bristly hair. Jaime lost himself in her flesh. He could feel Cersei’s heart beating in time with his own, and the wetness of blood and seed where they were joined.40

However, a second aspect of the reaction concerns the ambiguous attitude to rape that lingers beneath the scene (there is an element of “she says no, but she means yes” in Cersei’s body language), and this apprehension among the audience has been strengthened by the way director Alex Graves has responded to the criticism. Jaime did not rape Cersei, Graves claims, because the sex was “consensual in the end”.41 Still, in the opinion of the majority of viewers remarking on the scene on social media, and in legal terms, it was rape.42 If the scene is considered in accordance with the legal definition of rape in the US, there is no doubt: “Penetration, no matter how slight, of the vagina or anus with any body part or object, or oral penetration by a sex organ of another person, without the consent of the victim.”43

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The third and, perhaps, most problematic change in the adaptation process is that the series focuses considerably less on the consequences of rape than do the books. Sexual violence plays an important part in Martin’s novels, and often dramatically affects the lives of those involved. Most of the major female characters in the novels are either raped or threatened with rape.44 Several minor characters are raped with horrible consequences. Pia (the servant at Harrenhal), the noblewoman Lollys Stokeworth, and the sorceress Mirri Maz Duur are all victims of gang rapes. The rape of the simple-minded and unattractive Lollys Stokeworth is described in a rather light way: “she surrendered her maidenhood to half a hundred shouting men behind a tanner’s shop”, yet the result is devastating.45 She becomes pregnant, is forced to marry with no say in the matter, and does not recover mentally from the assault. After she is raped and beaten, Pia is physically disfigured and emotionally crushed: She had made the mistake of speaking when Ser Gregor wanted quiet, so The Mountain had smashed her teeth to splinters with a mailed fist and broken her pretty little nose as well. The girl fell at Jaime’s feet when she saw him, sobbing and clinging to his leg with hysterical strength till Strongboar pulled her off. “No one will hurt you now,” he told her, but that only made her sob the louder.46

In the novels, rape has consequences for the perpetrators, too. Rapists are sent to the Wall as a lifelong punishment, and in the case of Pia, the rapist is actually executed for the crime. While Martin does not describe rape in detail, he does investigate the aftermath of rape.47 Yet in the series, Jaime suffers no consequences for the rape. In the following episode, “The Oathkeeper”, there is no reference to the event at all. An interesting explanation for this, based on different interviews, is that both producers and director did not intend it to be rape.48 However, this leads to an even more depressing hypotheses: namely, that HBO’s production team didn’t know what it was doing and, thus, was unaware of the consequences of their choice.49 This hypothesis is, in fact, supported by what is perhaps the most problematic change in the adaptation, a series of scenes that sexualize torture and, consequently, alter the way we look at torture.

“Not Even a Man” In the novels, Theon Greyjoy is a principal character and a point-of-view character.50 Theon was taken hostage as a child (at ten) by the Stark family, but more or less raised by them as a foster son. However, at nineteen, Theon changes sides in the war, allies with his father (the king of the Iron Islands) against the Starks and his foster brother, Robb, the “King of the North”, and



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captures the Stark castle, Winterfell (Theon’s former home). As a result, he is given the nickname Theon Turncloak. (“It is better to be cruel than weak”, 2.07). His period as Prince of Winterfell is short; he is set up, and taken prisoner, by the series’ most cruel and crazy character, Ramsay Bolton (Iwan Rheon). The bastard son of Lord Roose Bolton, Ramsay names his dogs after “peasant girls he hunted, raped, flayed, and killed”.51 He acknowledges that he tortures Theon for his own amusement (Quote: “This is not happening for a reason”, 3:06). As Ramsay’s captive, Theon becomes mentally and physically broken through repeated torture. He is crucified, three of his fingers, and four of his toes are cut off, and one finger is flayed. He is kept prisoner in the dark for an unknown amount of time, starved to the point where he starts eating rats. At one point, he is tricked into believing that he has been set free by a woman, only for the two of them to be hunted down by Ramsay. Theon’s accomplice, Kyra, is killed, and Theon is brought back to the torture chamber. The level of torture inflicted on Theon takes a turn in the episode “The Bear and the Maiden Fair” (3.07). A badly hurt Theon, tied to a cross, is freed from his constraints by two young women who give him water, put him on a bed, and clean his wounds. Theon is traumatized after a long period of torture and constantly looks over his shoulder to see if the perpetrator, Ramsay, has returned. One of the women, Violet, tells him to relax because the other, whom she calls Myranda, knows what she is doing. “She was trained as a septa,” Violet says while laughing, “only she had different urges.”52 Myranda continues with a light seductive voice: “So had the priests, only they lied about it.” When Theon asks about “him”—at this point neither Theon nor viewers know Ramsay’s identity—the women claim the three of them are the only ones in the room and begin to fondle him. They touch his penis under his trousers, and when he pleads them “please”, they ask, “Don’t you want us to see it?” They continue to speak teasingly to him. “Everybody talks about it”, Myranda says, and “We have heard so much about it”, Violet adds, upon which they continue to touch him. The camera then moves to a close-up of Theon’s private parts as Violet’s hand moves under his pants. Again, Theon moans “please!” in an attempt to make them stop. The women then say they want to make him feel better, and Violet undresses Myranda. The naked Myranda gets on top of Theon, while moving her body. Panting and moaning, she says, “Lord Greyjoy, I can feel something.” Then the other woman undresses, claiming she wants to join in. Throughout this scene, sexual assault is presented as something the victim actually wants, playing on the idea that all men want all the sex they can get. Unlike the scene with Jaime and Cersei, the assault (up until this point) is depicted as something slightly funny and sexy. Then, at the sound of the hunting horn that marks the entrance of Theon’s tormenter, the women leap up. As Ramsay declares, “Well, should we see this cock everyone’s always going on about?”, the two nude women stand beside him.

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Figure 6: “We have heard so much about it”. Game of Thrones: Season 3, Episode 7 (“The Bear and the Maiden Fair”). © HBO, 2013.

Figure 7: “Lord Greyjoy, I can feel something”. Game of Thrones: Season 3, Episode 7 (“The Bear and the Maiden Fair”). © HBO, 2013.

Then, as Theon tries to rise, Ramsay punches him in the face with the horn. As in the novel, the events are seen from Theon’s perspective. The camera is positioned on the floor and catches Theon’s face in a close-up as he hits the ground, and the two women moving toward him alongside Ramsay are depicted in full frontal from below. When Ramsay says, “Everybody knows that you love girls, I bet you always thought they loved you back”, the camera shows him putting his arms around both women. The next shot shows Ramsay’s hand grasping the naked buttocks of one of the women, while Theon remains on the floor. As Ramsay



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brandishes a big knife, the camera returns to the floor, this time showing the fear in Theon’s face, and following him as he tries to crawl away, while Ramsay asks if his “famous cock” is his most valuable body part. Theon cries for mercy as two terrifying-looking men enter the room. Ramsay says, “This is mercy. I am just doing a few alterations”, and the men grab Theon as he cries, “No, no, no!” The scene ends with Theon’s screams and the picture blurring; the actual castration is not shown. That the castration has indeed taken place is first revealed in the final episode of the season when Theon wakes up to Ramsay eating a sausage and sadistically implying that he is actually eating Theon’s penis (“Mysha”; 3.10).

Figures 8 and 9: “Everybody knows that you love girls, I bet you always thought they loved you back”. Game of Thrones: Season 3, Episode 7 (“The Bear and the Maiden Fair”). © HBO, 2013.

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The castration scene was a touchstone in the reception of Game of Thrones. Although several critics had reacted negatively to the depiction of sex and violence in the series, the overall reception up to this point had been favorable. With this scene, however, even reviewers who generally spoke favorably of the series said the show had crossed the line between acceptable and unacceptable violence. It’s not uncommon that Game of Thrones gets accused of being torture porn—senseless, objectifying violence combined with senseless, objectifying sexual imagery—but it is rare that I can whole heartedly agree that it is torture porn … This week, however, the show managed to teeter over the thin line that they’ve drawn for themselves and fall onto the wrong side.53 Except for Theon in the torture chamber. For that, there is no forgiveness.54

Among fans, it has been quite common to argue that the television series downplays the violence in the novels. Before this episode was aired, there were discussions on several fan forums about whether or not the scene would be included in the adaptation.55 Castration, an almost unspeakable act, was regarded by many readers as clearly unwatchable. As it turns out, the scene— although the most violent part is kept off-screen—is more explicit and direct than it is in the novel. Overall, Martin’s narrative style involves leaving the reader a rich trail of hidden clues, and he often employs a slow build-up to crucial scenes so readers gradually realize something bad is going to happen (for example during the chapters leading up to the Red Wedding.) The torture of Theon is largely told in retrospect in the novels: In the three chapters in A Dance With Dragons (volume five in the series) called “Reek” (I, II, II)—the name the torturer gives his victim—the event is reconstructed through scattered glimpses of Theon’s (Reek’s) memories (related in limited third-person narrative). In these chapters, Theon is confused and mentally and physically broken, and his memories and consciousness jump around; the castration is thus never described in detail. As readers we don’t know for sure if the castration has in fact taken place (this is also a theme of discussions in online forums). However, there are several hints throughout the novel in Theon’s monologues. In one chapter, we learn that “‘Lord Ramsay treats his captives honorably so long as they keep faith with him.’ He has only taken toes and fingers and that other thing, when he might have had my tongue, or peeled the skin off my legs from heel to thigh.”56 During the bedding, Ramsay has Theon strip his bride for him as a way of humiliating and terrorizing both Theon and the young bride: Ramsay smiled his wet smile. “Does she make your cock hard, Reek? Is it straining against your laces? Would you like to fuck her first?” He

laughed. “The Prince of Winterfell should have that right, as all lords did



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in days of old. The first night. But you’re no lord, are you? Only Reek. Not even a man, truth be told.57 Ramsay rose, the firelight shining on his face. “Reek, get over here. Get her ready for me.” For a moment he did not understand. “I … do you mean … m’lord, I have no … I …” “With your mouth,” Lord Ramsay said. “And be quick about it. If she’s not wet by the time I’m done disrobing, I will cut off that tongue of yours and

nail it to the wall.”58

In the novel, too, there are sexual elements to the torture in this scene: the torturer uses sexual harassment to degrade the previously so promiscuous and frivolous man.59 For instance, as reflected here: “He clasped him by the back of the head, pulled his face close, kissed him on the cheek and whispered.”60 There are several reasons why viewers considered the castration scene to have overstepped the boundaries of the acceptable, including the brutal humiliation of Theon and the evilness of the Ramsay character, but I will foreground the sexualization of torture as the most disturbing. In HBO’s version, the sexual elements are transformed from occurring between two men (torturer and victim) into a scene involving two women (most likely prostitutes). Whereas it eventually seems quite clear that the castration actually takes place in the novels, there are no references to naked women in relation to this violent act in the books. Moreover, the references to the violence are implicit and narrated retrospectively. By contrast, the show uses neither flashbacks nor internal narration. While on a narrative level, Theon is literally and figuratively emasculated in both cases, HBO’s series turns this pivotal moment for Theon into something different. The scene is problematic for several reasons, including its flirtation with the idea that men cannot be raped, and by foregrounding the voyeuristic elements that make torture look (almost) sexy. The adaptation from novel to film has often been described as a transformation from telling to showing. In my last section I will, therefore, return to the issues of adaptation and medium specificity and discuss why these changes from “implying” to “showing” are not only questions that emerge because of commercial production strategies, but are also questions of ideology.

“As Useless as Nipples on a Breastplate” Adaptation researchers have not only been interested in the differences between specific works, but also in differences between media and in the question of medium specificity. The medium is, as Linda Hutcheon formulates it “crucially important”.61 Hutcheon argues for critical attention to be paid to what she terms “modes of engagement”; a novel engages the readers’

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imagination, whereas plays, films, and television immerse us through the perception of the aural and the visual.62 The change from verbal to visual media in adaptation (for example, from novel to film) has been described as particularly challenging when it comes to the representation of sex and violence. In addition, conventions and context (for instance, genre) are important factors in how we respond to fictional representations. Elsewhere, I have argued that there is in fact something “novels can tell that films can’t show”, because audiovisual representations of sex and violence tend to give stronger impressions than do written words.63 I explain this as a consequence of the way moving photographic imagery makes the viewer’s experience of human bodies closer and more intimate. Tom Gunning has described the emotional experience of moving pictures in the following way: “We do not just see motion and we are not simply affected emotionally by its role within a plot; we feel it in our guts or throughout our bodies.”64 Additionally, instead of a virtual, verbal construction of the character, as in literature, the film or television spectator is faced with a performer and a body. Robert Stam provides a valuable description of the bodily implications of the cinematic image: “Film offends through its inescapable materiality, its incarnated, fleshly, enacted characters, its real locales and palpable props, its carnality and visceral shocks to the nervous system.”65 Violence toward the human body, and in particular sexual violence, often feels more intimate when seen than read. In addition, sexual violence is a more common experience among viewers than, for instance, battles and sword fighting, and is, therefore, more likely to elicit stronger emotional reactions. The added sexual violence in Game of Thrones not only changes the story, it also changes our modes of engagement. Martin’s fictional world echoes Western medieval history with a brutal intensity that has prompted British historian Tom Holland to describe the fantasy as more authentic than most historical novels: “No fiction set in the 14th century, for instance, has ever rivaled the portrayal in Game of Thrones of what, for a hapless peasantry, the ambitions of rival kings were liable to mean in practice: the depredations of écorcheurs; rape and torture; the long, slow agonies of famine.”66 I don’t believe such depictions of violence, sex, or other transgressive representations, are in and of themselves problematic, not even in television. As Martin himself has argued when faced with criticism: rape and sexual violence have been a part of every war ever fought, from the ancient Sumerians to our present day. To omit them from a narrative centered on war and power would have been fundamentally false and dishonest, and would have undermined one of the themes of the books: that the true horrors of human history derive not from orcs and Dark Lords, but from ourselves. We are the monsters. (And the heroes too).67



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However, by adding the scenes discussed in this article, HBO have made changes that have ideological implications. They have turned the unspeakable horrors of an imagined yet authentically realized past into modern, watchable quality entertainment, and in doing so they have also altered gendered power relations within the fictional universe by, for instance, making strong female characters like Meera Reed and Cersei Lannister weaker. The same can be said about the change in Season 5 where Sansa Stark is made the wife and victim of Ramsay Bolton.68 By adding violence to sex scenes and sex to violent scenes, HBO draws the viewer’s attention away from the narrative and the fictional power struggles in Westeros, and toward contemporary media’s contest for attention. We are no longer just watching a tale about a different time and place; the focus on sex and the female body brings the series firmly into the present. While violence is something disturbing that happens to the characters in Martin’s fictional world, its sexualization on television has become something disturbing that might interfere with the audience’s willingness to be transported to Westeros. Fans have been keen to spot and discuss all types of changes that HBO have made in the adaptation process, and their responses have ranged from joy to rage. One of HBO’s decisions has received a lot of mockery from the fans, and can serve as the last illustration of the type of alterations I have discussed in this article. Throughout A Song of Ice and Fire Martin uses the phrase as “useless as nipples on a breastplate” to describe people that are good for nothing. In Season 5 the three bastard daughters of Oberyn Martell, the Prince of Dorne, the so-called “Sand Snakes” are introduced.69 While these women are fierce and dangerous warriors in the novels, in the adaptation they ironically end up wearing armors with nipples.70

Notes   1. See J.D. Connor, “The Persistence of Fidelity: Adaptation Theory Today,” M/C Journal 10, no. 2 (2007), available online: http://journal.media-culture.org. au/0705/15-connor.php (accessed September 23, 2014). See http://journal. mediaculture.org.au/0705/15-connor.php for an overview of this debate from 1965 to present. See also Jørgen Bruhn, Eirik Frisvold Hanssen, and Anne Gjelsvik, Adaptation Studies. New Challenges, New Directions (London: Bloomsbury, 2013) and Linda Hutcheon, A Theory of Adaptation (New York and London: Routledge, 2006).   2. Comment to MsLibby’s thread by a user with the nickname Lion of Lannister, “Why do they treat Jaime that way?” April 20, 2014, available online: http:// asoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/topic/107950-why-do-they-treat-jaime-thatway/?p=5671559 (accessed January 2, 2015). All later references to this thread is to the same date.   3. Martin has written four of the episodes. See for instance this interesting blog post on the authenticity strategy behind HBO’s marketing campaign: Myles

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McNutt, “Achieving authenticity: Unboxing (the Unboxing) of Game of Thrones’ Maester’s Path,” February 27, 2011, available online: http://cultural-learnings. com/2011/02/27/achieving-authenticity-unboxing-the-unboxing-of-game-ofthrones-maesters-path/ (accessed November 22, 2014).   4. Other important changes include turning Arya Stark (Maisie Williams) into Tywin Lannister’s servant and their conversations in Season 2, and the climactic encounter between Brienne (Gwendoline Christie) and Sandor “The Hound” Clegane (Rory McCann) in Season 4 (4.10). These scenes could be said to change the gender dynamics, making both Arya and Brienne look stronger. See Steenberg and Tasker in this volume on these characters. Additionally, the plotline involving Sansa Stark is changed substantially. See below.   5. Michelle MacLaren has directed four episodes and is otherwise known for directing Breaking Bad and The Walking Dead. Alexander Graves has directed six episodes and is otherwise most famous for directing and producing The West Wing.   6. See for instance Rotten Tomatoes where Season 3 scored an impressive 100 percent on the site’s “tomatometer,” while the first season was rated the least favorably, with 83 percent. Available online: http://www.rottentomatoes.com/tv/ game-of-thrones/s01/. See also http://www.metacritic.com/tv/game-of-thrones/ season–4 (both accessed December 12, 2014).   7. See Jørgen Bruhn, Anne Gjelsvik, and Henriette Thune, “Parallel worlds of possible meetings in Let The Right One In,” Word and Image 27, no. 1 (2011): 2–14, on how to address meaning on a stylistic level. Tom Leitch has argued that researchers should not question why so many adaptations are unfaithful, but rather investigate the exceptional cases where they are in fact faithful. Thomas Leitch, Film Adaptation and Its Discontents: From Gone With the Wind to Passion of the Christ (Baltimore: John Hopkins, 2007), 151.   8. Leitch, Film Adaptation, 151.   9. James M. Welsh, “Introduction: Issues of Screen Adaptation: What Is Truth?” in The Literature/Film Reader: Issues of Adaptation, ed. James M. Welsh and Peter Lev (Plymouth: Scarecrow, 2007), available online: http://chapters.scarecrowpress. com/08/108/0810859491ch1.pdf (accessed February 12, 2015). 10. Sonia Sarayia, “Rape of Thrones,” September 29, 2014, available online: http:// www.avclub.com/article/rape-thrones–203499 (accessed November 1, 2014). See also Valerie Estelle Frankel, Women in Game of Thrones, Power, Conformity and Resistance (Jefferson: MacFarland, 2014). This article was written before Season 5, which featured yet more rape scenes, was aired. 11. See also Wells-Lassagne and Larsson in this volume, pages 39–55 and 17–38. 12. See also Myles McButt’s term “sexposition,” which refers to situations when sex is in the background during an information dump. Myles McButt, “Game of Thrones—You win or you die,” May 29, 2011, available online: http://culturallearnings.com/2011/05/29/game-of-thrones-you-win-or-you-die/ (accessed December 30, 2014). 13. “HBO should show more Dong,” available online: https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=I333hqsRk-Y (accessed December 30, 2014). 14. The slogan was used between 1996 and 2009. 15. Robert Thompson, “Preface: From ‘The Golden Age of Television’ to ‘Quality TV’,” in Television’s Second Golden Age. From Hill Street Blues to ER, ed. Robert Thompson (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1996), 11–17.



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16. See for instance Robin Nelson, State of Play: Contemporary “High End” TV Drama (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2007) and Jason Mittell, Complex TV: The Poetics of Contemporary Television Storytelling, pre-publication edition (MediaCommons Press, 2012–13), available online: http://mcpress.mediacommons.org/complextelevision/ (accessed February 12, 2015). 17. Justin Wyatt, High Concept: Movies and Marketing in Hollywood (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1994). 18. Gary R. Edgerton, “A Brief History of HBO,” in The Essential HBO Reader, ed. Gary R. Edgerton and Jeffrey P. Jones (Lexington: The University Press of Kentucky 2009), 1–22. 19. True Blood and Game of Thrones are of course the most famous examples, but the range of new adaptations at HBO include novels as diverse as Elizabeth Strout’s Olive Kitteridge, Neil Gaiman’s American Gods, and Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall (co-produced with BBC). 20. See Stéphanie Genz in this volume, pages 243–65. 21. Ours is the fury, “‘Blackwater’ director Neil Marshall on nudity and creating the battle,” available online: http://winteriscoming.net/2012/06/01/blackwaterdirector-neil-marshall-on-nudity-and-creating-the-battle/ (accessed March 13, 2015). Marshall has directed the episodes “Blackwater” (2.09) and “The Watchers on the Wall” (4.09) as well as the horror movie The Descent. “Blackwater” features a scene where the sellsword Bronn (Jerome Flynn) undresses a prostitute in public before getting into a confrontation with “The Hound.” The nudity in this scene seems shoehorned in. 22. Olga Hughes, “The Real Game of Thrones: Sexual Violence and the Realities of War vs Exploitation,” Nerdalicious, May 10, 2014, available online: http:// nerdalicious.com.au/game-of-thrones/the-real-game-of-thrones-sexual-violenceand-the-realities-of-war-vs-exploitation/ (accessed November 20, 2014). 23. David Benioff and Dan Weiss. Aaron Couch, “Game of Thrones’ Director: Jon Snow Bloodbath Was ‘Justified’ Violence (Q&A),” The Hollywood Reporter, May 4, 2014, available online: http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/live-feed/ game-thrones-director-jon-snows-701128 (accessed January 10, 2015). 24. Drake Bennet, “This Will Be on the Midterm. You Feel Me?” Slate, March 24, 2010, available online: http://www.slate.com/articles/arts/culturebox/2010/03/ this_will_be_on_the_midterm_you_feel_me.html (accessed November 20, 2014). 25. Margrethe Bruun Vaage, “On the Repulsive Rapist: On the difference between morality in fiction and real life,” in The Oxford Handbook of Cognitive Approaches to Literature, ed. Lisa Zunshine (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015). Here Bruun Vaage also refers to Lisa M. Cuklanz’s study of crime fiction, 1976–90. Cuklanz remarks that “very violent stranger rape is typically used to contrast a thoroughly evil and sick rapist with the compassionate, understanding police detective.” 26. See Murray Smith, “Gangsters, Cannibals, Aesthetes, or Apparently Perverse Allegiances,” in Passionate Views, ed. Carl Plantinga and Greg Smith (Baltimore: John Hopkins Press, 1999) for more on how this functions. 27. Martin, A Clash of Kings (New York: Bantam Books, 2007), Kindle edition, location 5950. 28. A second contender for this dubious honor is Ramsay Bolton’s rape of Sansa Stark which Theon is forced to watch (Episode 5.06). In the novel, it is Jeyne Poole, disguised as Arya Stark, who is forced to marry Ramsay, and is sexually assaulted.

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The controversy surrounding this scene was related both to the change in the plot as well as the focus on Theon’s reaction. 29. Marlow Stern, “Game of Thrones’ Most WTF Sex Scene: Nikolaj Coster-Waldau on Jaime Lannister’s Darkest Hour,” The Daily Beast, April, 20, 2014, available online: http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2014/04/20/game-of-thrones-mostwtf-sex-scene-nikolaj-coster-waldau-on-jaime-lannister-s-darkest-hour.html (accessed November 22, 2014). 30. Martin, “This is not a blog,” October 25, 2014, available online: http://grrm. livejournal.com/367116.html?thread=19030284 (accessed February 17, 2015). Martin’s comment was an answer to a question from a reader, and I read it as criticism of the change, albeit in somewhat veiled terms. 31. A sept is a sacred place built to honor the seven gods, deities of the predominant religion in The Seven Kingdoms. 32. Jaime’s having a code (or not) has echoes of the character Omar in The Wire. See Eric Vilas-Boas, “Omar From ‘The Wire’ Has a Protege on ‘Game of Thrones’,” Esquire, April 13, 2014, available online: http://www.esquire.com/entertainment/ tv/a28333/omar-little-sandor-clegane-codes/ (accessed February 17, 2015). See also Tosca and Klastrup’s chapter in this volume on reactions to this scene, pages 219–41. 33. In Martin, A Storm of Swords (New York, Bantam Books, 2011), Kindle edition, location 111368, and in episode “The Bear and the Maiden Fair.” 34. Martin, A Feast for Crows (New York: Bantam Books, 2011), Kindle edition, location 9454. 35. James Hibberd, “George R.R. Martin reacts to ‘Thrones’ adding rape scene,” April 21, 2014, available online: http://insidetv.ew.com/2014/04/21/george-r-r-martinthrones-rape/ (accessed November 23, 2014). 36. Hedgehog Knight, comment on MsLibby “Why do they?” 37. Comment on Hibberd, 2014. 38. Ingelheim, comment on MsLibby “Why do they?” 39. Bran didn’t die, but that was the intention when Jaime pushed him out the window. 40. Martin, Storm of Swords, location 850. 41. Alan Sepinwall, “Review: ‘Game of Thrones’—‘Breaker of Chains’: Uncle deadly?” April 20, 2014, available online: http://www.hitfix.com/whats-alan-watching/ review-game-of-thrones-breaker-of-chains-uncle-deadly (accessed November 24, 2014). 42. I have not been able to look into all debates on the topic, so this claim is based on my impressions from reading many reviews and forums. On Westeros.com MsLibby’s thread “Why do they treat Jaime that way” got 1194 posts and has been viewed more than 50,000 times (in June 2015). 43. See for instance http://www.fbi.gov/about-us/cjis/ucr/recent-program-updates/ new-rape-definition-frequently-asked-questions 44. There are rape threats against Sansa, Arya, Brienne, Cersei, and Daenerys. 45. Martin, Clash of Kings, location 9991. This chapter is seen from the perspective of Tyrion, and all violence here is narrated in this manner. 46. Pia is a servant at Harrenhal, known for her promiscuity. Jaime meets her there and she tries to seduce him. When Jaime returns to Harrenhal, he remembers her, even though her face has been ruined.



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47. See also Hughes, “The real game.” 48. See note 40. 49. Romano Andrew, “Why We Should Pretend the ‘Game of Thrones’ Rape Scene Never Happened,” April 4, 2014, available online: http://www.thedailybeast.com/ articles/2014/05/04/why-we-should-pretend-the-game-of-thrones-rape-scenenever-happened.html (accessed December 12, 2014). 50. Season 3 is mainly adapted from the third novel, A Storm of Swords, but these elements concerning Theon are taken from chapters in a later novel, A Dance With Dragons: “Reek” I, II, and III, “Prince of Winterfell,” “The Turncloak,” and “A Ghost in Winterfell.” 51. Martin, A Dance with Dragons, location 13340. 52. A septa is a female member of clergy in the Faith of the Seven. 53. Madeleine Davies, “Game of Boners: This is torture porn,” March 5, 2013, available online: http://jezebel.com/game-of-boners-this-istorture-porn-504821180 (accessed December 12, 2014). The term “torture porn” was coined by critic David Edelstein to describe a tendency in horror films of the new millennium. 54. The Atlantic, “Game of Thrones’ Worst Scene yet?” May 13, 2013, available online: http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2013/05/-i-game-of-thrones-iworst-scene-yet/275772/ (accessed December 12, 2014). 55. Gilius_Thunderhead, “The depiction of Theon’s torture,” May 2, 2013, available online: http://asoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/topic/86486-book-spoilers-about-thedepiction-of-theons-torture-on-the-showspoilers/ (accessed December 12, 2014). 56. Martin, A Dance With Dragons, “Reek II,” location 5210. As part of the first person narrative, Theon’s confused mind here is divided between Theon’s perspective and his damaged alter ego, Reek (in italics). 57. Martin, A Dance With Dragons, chapter “Prince of Winterfell,” location 9924. 58. Ibid., location 9936. 59. See, for instance, Douglas Kellner, Cinema Wars (Wiley-Blackwell, 2009) for a discussion of torture in American cinema after 9/11, and in particular the scandal of Abu Ghraib. 60. Martin, A Dance with Dragons, location 5254. 61. Hutcheon, A Theory of Adaptation, 34 62. Ibid., 22. 63. Anne Gjelsvik, “What Novels Can Tell that Movies Can’t Show,” in Jørgen Bruhn, Eirik Frisvold Hanssen and Anne Gjelsvik, eds, Adaptation Studies. New Challenges, New Directions (London: Bloomsbury, 2013). As the title indicates, I am taking Seymour Chatman’s classical distinction between literature and film as my point of departure here. 64. Tom Gunning, “Moving Away From the Index,” in The Film Theory Reader: Debates and Arguments, ed. Marc Furstenau (London and New York: Routledge, 2009), 261. 65. Robert Stam, Literature and Film: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Film Adaptation (Malden: Blackwell, 2005), 6. 66. Tom Holland, “Game of Thrones is More Brutally Realistic Than Most Historical Novels,” Guardian, March, 24, 2013, available online: http://www.theguardian. com/tv-and-radio/2013/mar/24/game-of-thrones-realistic-history (accessed November 12, 2014).

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67. Alison Flood, “George RR Martin defends ‘Game of Thrones’ sexual violence,” May 6, 2014, available online: http://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/may/06/ george-rr-martin-game-of-thrones-sexual-violence (accessed February 17, 2015). 68. See also note 28. 69. In the novels, Oberyn has eight daughters. See for instance: http://www.reddit. com/r/gameofthrones/comments/kmqfo/useless_as_nipples_on_a_breastplate/ and http://nymag.com/thecut/2014/12/style-to-expect-when-game-of-thronesreturns.html (accessed March 13, 2015). 70. I would like to thank Rikke Schubart, Jørgen Bruhn, and participants at Norwegian Association for Media Researchers’ conference 2014 for valuable comments on previous drafts of this article.

Bibliography The Atlantic. “Game of Thrones’ Worst Scene yet?” The Atlantic, May 13, 2013. Available online: http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2013/05/-igame-of-thrones-i-worst-scene-yet/275772/ (accessed December 12, 2014). Bennet, Drake. “This Will Be on the Midterm. You Feel Me?” Slate, March 24, 2010. Available online: http://www.slate.com/articles/arts/culturebox/2010/03/this_will_ be_on_the_midterm_you_feel_me.html (accessed November 20, 2014). Bruhn, Jørgen, Anne Gjelsvik, and Henriette Thune. “Parallel worlds of possible meetings in Let The Right One In.” Word and Image 27, no. 1 (2011): 2–14. Bruhn, Jørgen, Eirik Frisvold Hanssen, and Anne Gjelsvik. Adaptation Studies: New Challenges, New Directions. London: Bloomsbury, 2013. Chatman, Seymour. “What Novels Can Do That Films Can’t (and Vice Versa).” Critical Inquiry, no. 8 (1980): 121–41. Connor, J.D. “The Persistence of Fidelity: Adaptation Theory Today.” M/C Journal 10, no. 2 (2007). Available online: http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0705/15-connor. php (accessed September, 2014). Couch, Aaron. “‘Game of Thrones’ Director: Jon Snow Bloodbath Was ‘Justified’ Violence (Q&A).” The Hollywood Reporter, May 4, 2014. Available online: http:// www.hollywoodreporter.com/live-feed/game-thrones-director-jon-snows-701128 (accessed February 10, 2015). Davies, Madeleine. “Game of Boners: This is Torture Porn.” Jezebel, March 5, 2013. Available online: http://jezebel.com/game-of-boners-this-istorture-porn-504821180 (accessed December 12, 2014). Edgerton, Gary R. “A Brief History of HBO.” In The Essential HBO Reader, edited by Gary R. Edgerton and Jeffrey P. Jones, 1–20. Lexington: The University Press of Kentucky, 2009. Flood, Allison. “George R.R. Martin defends ‘Game of Thrones’ sexual violence.” The Guardian, May 6, 2014. Available online: http://www.theguardian.com/ books/2014/may/06/george-rr-martin-game-of-thrones-sexual-violence (accessed March 8, 2015). Frankel, Valeri Estelle. Women in Game of Thrones. Power, Conformity and Resistance. Jefferson: MacFarland, 2014.



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Gjelsvik, Anne. “What novels can tell that movies can’t show.” In Adaptation Studies: New Challenges, New Directions, edited by Jørgen Bruhn, Anne Gjelsvik, and Eirik Frisvold Hanssen. London: Bloomsbury, 2013. Gunning, Tom. “Moving Away From the Index.” In The Film Theory Reader: Debates and Arguments, edited by Marc Furstenau, 255–69. London: Routledge, 2009. Hibberd, James. “George R.R. Martin reacts to ‘Thrones’ adding rape scene.” Entertainment Weekly, April 21, 2014. Available online: http://insidetv. ew.com/2014/04/21/george-r-r-martin-thrones-rape/ (accessed November 23, 2014). Holland, Tom. “Game of Thrones is more brutally realistic than most historical novels.” The Guardian, March 24, 2013. Available online: http://www.theguardian.com/ tv-and-radio/2013/mar/24/game-of-thrones-realistic-history (accessed November 12, 2014). Hughes, Olga. “The Real Game of Thrones: Sexual Violence and the Realities of War vs Exploitation.” Nerdalicious, May 10, 2014. Available online: http://nerdalicious. com.au/game-of-thrones/the-real-game-of-thrones-sexual-violence-and-therealities-of-war-vs-exploitation/ (accessed March 8, 2015). Hutcheon, Linda. A Theory of Adaptation. London: Routledge, 2006. Kellner, Douglas. Cinema Wars. Chichester, West Sussex: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009. Leitch, Thomas. Film Adaptation and Its Discontents: From Gone with the Wind to Passion of the Christ. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 2007. Martin, George R. R. “This is not a blog.” October 25, 2014. Available online: http:// grrm.livejournal.com/367116.html?thread=19030284 (accessed February 17, 2015). Martin, George R. R. Clash of Kings. New York: Bantam Books, 2007. Martin, George R. R. A Dance with Dragons. New York: Bantam Books, 2007. Martin, George R. R. A Feast for Crows. New York, Bantham Books, 2007. Martin, George R. R. Storm of Swords. New York: Bantam Books, 2007. McNutt, Myles. “Achieving Authenticity: Unboxing (the Unboxing) of Game of Thrones’ Maester’s Path.” February 27, 2011. Available online: http:// cultural-learnings.com/2011/02/27/achieving-authenticity-unboxing-theunboxing-of-game-of-thrones-maesters-path/ (accessed November 22, 2014). McNutt, Myles. “Game of Thrones—You win or you die.” May 29, 2011. Available online: http://cultural-learnings.com/2011/05/29/game-of-thrones-you-win-oryou-die/ (accessed December 30, 2014). Mittell, Jason. Complex TV: The Poetics of Contemporary Television Storytelling. Pre-publication edition, Media Commons Press, 2012–13. Available online http:// mcpress.media-commons.org/complextelevision/ (accessed March 8, 2015). Nelson, Robin. State of Play: Contemporary “High End” TV Drama. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2007. Romano, Andrew. “Why We Should Pretend the ‘Game of Thrones’ Rape Scene Never Happened.” The Daily Beast, April 5, 2014. Available online: http://www. thedailybeast.com/articles/2014/05/04/why-we-should-pretend-the-game-ofthrones-rape-scene-never-happened.html (accessed December 12, 2014). Ryan, Marie-Laure. “Introduction.” In Narrative Across Media. The Languages of Storytelling, edited by Marie-Laure Ryan, 1–40. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 2004. Sarayia, Sonia, “Rape of Thrones.” September 28, 2014. Available online: http://www. avclub.com/article/rape-thrones-203499 (accessed November 1, 2014).

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Sepinwall, Alan. “Review: Game of Thrones—‘Breaker of Chains’: Uncle deadly?” April 20, 2014. Available online: http://www.hitfix.com/whats-alan-watching/reviewgame-of-thrones-breaker-of-chains-uncle-deadly (accessed November 24, 2014). Smith, Murray. “Gangsters, Cannibals, Aesthetes, or Apparently Perverse Allegiances.” In Passionate Views, edited by Carl Plantinga and Greg Smith. Baltimore: John Hopkins Press, 1999. Stam, Robert. Literature and Film: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Film Adaptation. Malden: Blackwell, 2005. Stern, Marlow. “Game of Thrones Most WTF Sex Scene: Nikolaj Coster-Waldau on Jaime Lannister’s Darkest Hour.” The Daily Beast, April 20, 2014. Available online: http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2014/04/20/game-of-thrones-most-wtfsex-scene-nikolaj-coster-waldau-on-jaime-lannister-s-darkest-hour.html (accessed November 22, 2014). Thompson, Robert. J. “Preface: From ‘The Golden Age of Television’ to ‘Quality TV’.” In Television’s Second Golden Age: From Hill Street Blues to ER, edited by Robert J. Thompson, 11–17. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1996. Tullmann, Kathrine. “Dany’s Encounter with the Wild: Cultural Relativism in A Games of Thrones.” In Game of Thrones and Philosophy: Logic Cuts Deeper than Swords, edited by Henry Jacoby, 194–205. New Jersey: John Wiley & Sons, 2012. Vaage, Margrethe Brune. “On the Repulsive Rapist: On the Difference Between Morality in Fiction and Real Life.” In The Oxford Handbook of Cognitive Approaches to Literature, edited by Lisa Zunshine. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015. Vilas-Boas, Eric “Omar From The Wire Has a Protegé on Game of Thrones.” Esquire, April 13, 2014. Available online: http://www.esquire.com/entertainment/tv/a28333/ omar-little-sandor-clegane-codes/ (accessed February 17, 2015). Welsh, James. M. “Introduction: Issues of Screen Adaptation: What Is Truth?” In The Literature/Film Reader: Issues of Adaptation, edited by James M. Welsh and Peter Lev. Plymouth: Scarecrow, 2007. Wyatt, Justin. High Concept: Movies and Marketing in Hollywood. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1994.

Chapter 4 S WO R N S WO R D S A N D N O B L E L A D I E S : F E M A L E C HA R AC T E R S I N G A M E OF T H R ON E S V I D E O G A M E S Felix Schröter

While George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire (1996–), and its adaptation as the HBO series Game of Thrones (2011–), have received some critical attention among media scholars for their social realism, and the way they represent strong and multi-faceted female protagonists, little has yet been said about the way the increasing number of GoT video games represent female characters.1 As transmedia expansions tend to alter the form and content of storyworlds originating in another medium, one can expect that the specific mediality of video games likewise has an impact on gender representation and the way in which female characters are integrated into the interactive gameplay. At the same time, video games have their own troubled history when it comes to gender dynamics: gaming having long been conceived of as a masculine leisure activity, with female players routinely being marginalized as “exotic” or unusual. Even the earliest video games relied on gender and sex stereotypes like the infamous “damsel in distress”. Thus, the question of how female characters from the GoT universe translate to video game characters does not only have theoretical implications, but also connects to questions of gender politics in video game culture as a whole. This essay aims to shed light on both aspects by asking, first, how video games’ specific mediality affects the representation of female characters and, second, how prevalent conceptions of masculinity and femininity within gaming culture are mirrored in the representation of female characters in three GoT video games: the action role-playing game Game of Thrones (Cyanide/Focus Home Interactive, 2012), the real-time strategy game A Game of Thrones: Genesis (Cyanide/Focus Home Interactive, 2011), and the Facebook game Game of Thrones Ascent (Disruptor Beam, 2013). It will be shown that, while all three games more or less adhere to the general gender politics of the GoT storyworld, they ultimately fail to capture the complexity and ambiguity, which has made both the novels and the TV show so popular. As will be argued, this is, in part, due to generic conventions and medium-specific idiosyncracies, but also to designers’ lacking awareness of gender issues, and their presumptions about the games’ target audiences.

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Games and Gender Since the dawn of video game studies as a distinct, yet interdisciplinary field of research, in the early 2000s, the gender dynamics of computer gaming have been quite thoroughly investigated from at least three perspectives: sociological studies discussing gender differences in gaming preferences and behavior; ethnographical studies focusing on the gendering of gaming technologies and spaces; and close analyses of gendered representations of game characters within media and communication studies.2 While the respective research designs vary in their theoretical framework, methods, and scope, they arrive at similar conclusions: For one thing, video gaming is not a leisure activity pursued only (or even predominantly) by men anymore. According to the Entertainment Software Association (ESA), approximately 44 percent of US gamers in 2014 were female, for Europe the ISFE (Interactive Software Federation of Europe) reported a similar number in 2012 (45 percent).3 This attraction of girls and women to games as a leisure activity is in part due to the increase in family-friendly games and games that can be played via social networking sites or through mobile platforms such as tablet computers and mobile phones.4 However, “hardcore” gaming—which, tentatively, can be said to include sports games, first-person shooters and other highly competitive games—is still dominated by male players thus reinforcing the gendered dichotomy (and normative hierarchy) of a female “casual” gamer and a male hardcore “real” gamer.5 This gender divide also extends to professional gaming: A 2014 survey profiling the popularity of eSports in the U.S. and Western Europe found that of the 19 million frequent eSports “enthusiasts” (i.e. viewers and participants) only 5.3 million are female (with the estimated number of actual female eSport participants being significantly lower).6 Male dominance in hardcore and professional gaming culture is also the consequence of a gendering of technology and domestic access to digital games. As girls have been shown to be more subjected to parental mediation of their gaming activities than boys, their access to gaming technology is more restricted from the start.7 A 2014 survey among German youths revealed that while 99 percent of girls aged twelve to nineteen own a mobile phone (boys: 96 percent), only 34 percent of them own a video game console (boys: 56 percent).8 Even in early adulthood gaming technology continues to be primarily located within “male” spaces (such as male siblings’ bedrooms, and studies) and is, therefore, viewed by many as culturally not “belonging” to women.9 Finally, just as cultural conceptions of gaming and access to gaming technology are gendered, so too are the content, themes, and style of the games themselves.10 As has been shown in numerous studies, the general themes of many video games are traditionally associated with masculinity (e.g. war, crime, sport), characterized by high levels of game aggression and violence, and often feature stereotypical and sexualized representations of female characters.11 Also, a 2009 study by Williams, et al. found that male characters were vastly



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more likely to appear in video games than female characters (male: 85 percent, female: 15 percent) with an even higher difference among player-controlled characters (male: 90 percent; female: 10 percent).12 This tendency to put male characters in a more active position and reduce female characters to objects to be rescued or “background decoration” is especially salient for early video games like Nintendo’s Donkey Kong (1981), Super Mario Bros. (1985), or The Legend of Zelda (1986), but also evident in countless other examples from the 1980s and 1990s.13 However, with the advent of female heroes like Tomb Raider’s (Core Design/ Eidos Interactive, 1996) Lara Croft or Resident Evil 2’s (Capcom, 1998) Claire Redfield, an opposing trend can also be observed: the appearance of strong and competent female characters in a dominant position.14 This trend has gained some momentum with characters like Faith in Mirror’s Edge (Dice/Electronic Arts, 2008), Ellie in The Last of Us (Naughty Dog/Sony, 2013), or Jodie in Beyond: Two Souls (Quantic Dream/Sony, 2013). In addition, many contemporary video games—especially role-playing games like World of Warcraft (Blizzard Entertainment 2004–) or Mass Effect 3 (BioWare/Electronic Arts, 2012)—treat both sexes more or less interchangeably, restricting them less to traditional gender roles.15 However, these tendencies are still contrasted by the large number of highly stereotypical representations of both male and female characters across all genres, sometimes under the pretext of parody (as in the first-person shooter Duke Nukem Forever, Gearbox Software/2K Games, 2011) or “authenticity” (as in the Western-style action game Red Dead Redemption, Rockstar, 2010), but most often openly as a way of addressing a supposedly straight male audience.16 To put it in a nutshell, cultural conceptions of games and gaming, the gendering of gaming technology and spaces, as well as the game industry’s presumptions about a predominantly male audience of players, all affect the representation of female characters in video games—a fact that also becomes apparent in the three GoT video games discussed below. However, not only cultural factors, but also video games’ specific mediality shape the way characters from the GoT universe translate into game characters. These medium-related factors will be discussed in the following section.

Characters Across Media The present anthology is testament to the fact that fictional characters are an excellent point of departure when it comes to examining transmedial franchises. In fact, characters are one of the few elements that most narratologists agree on being not only a transmedially valid concept, but also one applicable to any narrative medium.17 Characters even transgress the borders of narrative when they are released as action figures, like the GoT characters

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Jon Snow, Tyrion Lannister, or Daenerys Targaryen, for example. However, this essay is not so much about the stable, transmedial aspects of characters, as it is about their medium-specific representation in the respective GoT video games. In fact, the notion of medium-specificity lies at the core of most theories of transmedia storytelling or transmedial worlds, as there is undeniably a world of difference between the representation of characters and events in the book series A Song of Ice and Fire, the TV series Game of Thrones, and the GoT video games—if only for the different semiotic resources they make use of.18 So, how do a transmedial storyworld and its different realizations relate to each other? Within transmedial narratology the concept of storyworld stems from analytical philosophy and cognitive approaches to literature and linguistics, having both a text-oriented and a recipient-oriented component.19 MarieLaure Ryan, for example, proposes that a storyworld is initially “projected by individual texts”, but also exists as a recipient’s “imaginative experience”.20 Similarly, Klastrup and Tosca define transmedial worlds as both “abstract content systems from which a repertoire of fictional stories can be actualized or derived across a variety of media forms” and “mental constructs shared by both the designers/creators of the world and the audience/participants.”21 Thus, while the different instantiations of a storyworld might vary significantly, there still have to be a number of distinguishing and recognizable features that ensure the compliance with the ur-text or the storyworld as a whole. According to Klastrup and Tosca, these distinguishing features are the mythos, topos, and ethos of the world. Whereas mythos refers to the “establishing story, legend, or narration of the world”, topos refers to the general setting of the world, its broad historical period and geography, and ethos includes the explicit and implicit ethics of the world and its characters, or—more generally—the principle idea of how the world works and how characters behave in it.22 As the following analysis of GoT video games will show, these features are frequently referred to in order to tie a single game to the transmedial world as a whole and to bridge the unavoidable differences between its medium-specific representations. The notion that different media contribute to the representation of a storyworld (and its characters) in different ways is another basic premise of transmedial narratology. In Henry Jenkins’ seminal definition of a transmedia story, he stresses that it “unfolds across multiple media platforms, with each new text making a distinctive and valuable contribution to the whole”, each medium doing “what it does best”.23 Klastrup and Tosca subscribe to the same argument by stating that “each media form has particular advantages” when it comes to the representation of transmedial worlds.24 If one does accept this medium-specificity thesis, the present essay needs to address at least two questions before turning to the actual analysis: What are the medium-specific modes of representation video games employ to represent its characters? And: How do medium- and genre-specific aspects affect the adaptation of characters from other media?25



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Characters in Video Games That characters in contemporary video games are different from those in more traditional narrative media such as novels, comics, or films is, of course, mostly due to video games’ interactivity. The fact that players are constantly reacting to the game’s output and changing the game state through their actions leads to the representation of characters not being predetermined to the same extent as it is in other media.26 Instead, one can distinguish at least three different modes of representation: Representations in the mode of narration are highly determined before the game is played and include narrative devices like “cut-scenes” (i.e. non-interactive elements like video sequences, frozen images, or textual descriptions) and scripted sequences of events (e.g. a monster attacking the player when she enters a room).27 On the other hand, representations in the mode of simulation are only determined while the game is played and constitute the actual player-driven gameplay, which is limited and determined by the video game’s rules (like its game mechanics and goals).28 Finally, multiplayer games may also employ a third mode, namely that of communication, which entails all forms of social interaction between players. These may lead to emergent forms of character representation, which are less determined by the game itself than by the communicative actions of its players.29 These three modes of representation are at least loosely connected to three dimensions of video game characters relevant for their analysis. The mode of narration is primarily used to represent characters as fictional beings with a specific corporeality, mentality, and sociality. In the context of the present essay, this dimension covers the audiovisual representation of women in the GoT games, the mental and physical abilities they are ascribed, their goals, motivations, plot functions and so on. The mode of simulation primarily focuses on these characters’ function as game pieces, which is connected to specific game mechanics (such as running or shooting), ludic attributes (such as health or accuracy), and the game’s goals. With regard to female characters this entails questions like: How do female characters integrate with the games’ mechanics and systems of rules? Do they play differently than male characters? Finally, the mode of communication allows for forms of self-representation that let characters function as representations of players in the social space of the game. For the analysis of female characters in GoT games this becomes relevant if the respective game allows for player-driven gender performances in multiplayer settings. These medium-specific aspects of character representation substantially affect the adaptation of characters from non-interactive media. Consequently, the term “adaptation” is not uncontested in regard to video games: While in the 2006 first edition of A Theory of Adaptation Linda Hutcheon defines an adaptation as “an extended, deliberate, announced revisitation of a particular work of art”, in the preface to the 2013 second edition, she admits that adaptation studies’ emphasis on adapting narrative might not have been

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appropriately capturing the nature of video game adaptations.30 Instead, it “was less the story itself than the storyworld […], that was being adapted”.31 In Building Imaginary Worlds, Mark J. P. Wolf points in the same direction: The growth and adaptation of a world, however, goes beyond narrative, and may even have very little to do with narrative. Some degree of a world’s aesthetics (the sensory experience of a world) and a world’s logic (how a world operates and the reasons behind the way it is structured) must be carried over from one work to another or from one medium to another.32

Therefore, Wolf complements the term adaptation (when a story is adapted “without adding any new canonical material to a world”) with the concept of growth (“when another medium is used to present new canonical material of a world, expanding the world and what we know about it”).33 With Ryan, though, we can add a third category, namely that of modification, which entails the construction of an essentially different, even contradictory version of the ur-world by redesigning its structure and reinventing its story.34 This seems to be especially important when it comes to video games whose nonlinearity may result in conflicting—and sometimes even contradictory—outcomes and storylines. The process of adapting—or “growing” and “modifying”, for that matter—a transmedial world like GoT as a video game brings with it a number of changes that not only affect how events, spaces, and characters are represented, but also what is being represented. As one appeal of video game adaptations rests on the fact that they allow players to actively engage with a storyworld, the “interactivation” of the world is the main design goal: To that end, as Wolf notes, a model of the world must be constructed which can be interacted with by the user, e.g. by exploring the world’s spaces, witnessing events in the world, and interacting with other characters.35 The flipside of this process, though, is that it requires the world to be simplified in order for interaction to be possible. Thus, while characters in video games may be more or less “fleshed out” as fictional beings in the story, their ludic attributes and the game mechanics they allow for may well be utterly simple. Consequently, the protagonists of contemporary video games are often defined by clear-cut goals and perpetually engage in all sorts of conflicts and competitive action, mirroring the game’s mechanics and system of rules.36 Another medium-specific feature of game characters is their digital nature: They are rendered in real-time on graphics engines with certain limitations regarding computing power and level of detail.37 With regard to gender representations this simplification often results in stereotyping as certain bodily characteristics are deliberately exaggerated or simply left out. We can now make a preliminary conclusion: How female GoT characters translate to video game characters depends, first, on societal conceptions of gender, games, and gaming, because they inform artistic decisions on the level



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of game design and, second, on the specific mediality of video games, because this determines the representation of game characters and their narrative, ludic and communicative features. Keeping this complex set of factors in mind, it may come as no surprise that the following analysis of three GoT video games arrives at somewhat different conclusions than one might expect from the books and TV series.38

Female (Non-)Representation in Game of Thrones At the time of writing, there are three licensed Game of Thrones video games, the most ambitious of which is the 2012 single-player 3D role-playing game Game of Thrones.39 Originally a game based solely on the A Song of Ice and Fire novels, French developer Cyanide Studios made a deal with HBO to use art assets, music, and voice actors from the TV series and even involved George R. R. Martin as consultant on the game’s script.40 The game’s events take place in parallel to the first novel, beginning some four months before the death of Jon Arryn, and continuing into the early part of the TV show’s first season. However, both the game’s plot and cast of characters differ significantly from the novel and TV series, with cameo appearances by Cersei Lannister, Lord Varys, and Jeor Mormont (the latter two voiced by the respective actors from the TV series) being among the few exceptions. Mimicking the formal structure of the novels, the game’s story unfolds in chapters, alternating between playing as the red priest Alester Sarwyck, heir to the town and castle of Riverspring, and the skinchanger Mors Westford, sworn brother of the Night’s Watch. Both protagonists are involuntarily involved in a political scheme that revolves around Jeyne Greystone, a young woman who not only bears the bastard child of the king, Robert Baratheon, but herself is the bastard daughter of the Mad King, Aerys Targaryen. Naturally, this unborn half-Baratheon, half-Targaryen child draws the attention of powerful lords (who try to protect Jeyne and make her son the rightful heir to the Iron Throne) and the queen, Cersei Lannister (who tries to eliminate this threat to her own son’s regency). For the first half of the game the two player-controlled characters, Alester and Mors, pursue opposite goals: Alester, having returned to Riverspring after years of exile, seeks the help of Queen Cersei to put a stop to his sister’s marriage to her bastard half-brother Valarr, by which the latter contests Alester’s own right to rule Riverspring. In exchange, Cersei asks him to prosecute and eliminate a number of “enemies of the realm”, among them Jeyne Greystone. Meanwhile in the North, Mors Westford receives orders to protect the same girl, following an order by Jon Arryn, the king’s Hand. Finally, Alester and Mors meet, uncover the secret that surrounds Jeyne and help her escape her prosecutors. In the end, though, Jeyne sacrifices herself after giving birth to her child, letting her killers believe that she died while still pregnant.

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Alester and Mors manage to escape with the baby, head to King’s Landing, and use the distraction caused by Eddard Stark’s execution to take their vengeance on Valarr.41 In contrast to this quite complex plot, the gameplay itself sticks to the conventions of the role-playing game genre: The player is mostly engaged in tactical real-time combat and clicks her way through cut-scenes and dialogues with other characters. She levels up the player-controlled characters by gaining experience points (XP) for completing the game’s linear main quest or one of the thirteen available side quests. As is typical for contemporary role-playing games, the player can choose between different “classes” for her characters (e.g. hedge knight, sellsword, or archer), which come with certain skills (allowing for game mechanics like shooting a bow or performing special axe attacks). When leveling up, the player not only increases her characters’ overall attributes (like strength, agility, or intelligence), but also gains additional skills allowing for more complex combat tactics. Surely, much more could be said about the intricacies of the game’s combat system, the ludic design of its player-controlled characters Mors and Alester, or of the countless enemies to be defeated during the approximately 24 hours of gameplay. However, this bears basically no relevance to the question of female character representation since neither of the player-controlled characters nor any of the computer-controlled “non-player characters” (NPC) that offer any meaningful ludic interaction actually are female. Instead, there are only a handful of female characters involved in the main plot (including Jeyne Greystone, Cersei Lannister, Alester’s sister, Elyana, and Lady Marianne Harlton, a friend to Alester’s family), with none of whom the player can interact outside of dialogue sequences during non-interactive cut-scenes. Therefore, the following analysis will focus not on the (in effect non-existent) ludic properties of female characters, but rather on their role within the narrative. Most of the game’s female characters do not reach the level of ambiguity and complexity that make the novels or TV show popular. Among the few exceptions are Cersei Lannister and Jeyne Greystone. While Cersei is no less powerful, ambitious, and cunning than expected, she also serves as a “quest giver”, which leads to her goals being superimposed upon the player. In addition, most of her appearances are staged during non-interactive cut-scenes, which clearly underline her undisputed position of power (see Figure 11). However, while the “original” Cersei is both a powerful and deeply troubled character, the video game settles for the rather unimaginative stereotype of the “evil queen”. Another noteworthy character is Jeyne Greystone whose unborn child sets the plot in motion in the first place. As video games go, her audiovisual representation is not overly sexualized: most of the time she wears a functional hooded cloak, which conceals parts of her face (see Figure 11). She also turns out to be quite conscious of her own importance, being the mother of a possible heir to the Iron Throne, but still struggles to come to terms with her



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Figure 10: Cersei Lannister in Game of Thrones (Cyanide) © Atlus (North America) / Focus Home Interactive (Europe), 2012.

own heritage as an offspring of cruel and vicious Aerys Targaryen. In the end, she proves her courage by sacrificing herself to save her child (as well as Alester and Mors). While Jeyne Greystone is by far the game’s most fascinating female character, her plot function also resonates with some of the more stereotypical themes regarding the representation of female characters in GoT. For a start, nearly all of the game’s female characters (including Jeyne) have to be rescued and protected by, or need help from the male protagonists, thus making them

Figure 11: Jeyne Greystone in Game of Thrones (Cyanide) © Atlus (North America) / Focus Home Interactive (Europe), 2012.

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objects of male goals, actions, and intentions. This is also true for Elyana, Alester’s sister, who is not only characterized as unable to bring peace to her late father’s lands, but also as stubborn and unfair in blaming Alester for abandoning their family. Even worse, the player (as Alester) is repeatedly indulging in highly patronizing dialogue with her (“Take your time, little sister, I understand”; “Do not worry, little sister, I have returned”), before she is taken hostage by Valarr (who threatens her life to make Alester reveal Jeyne’s location), and is finally beheaded.42 Other female characters also seek the help of the player, among them scantily clad prostitute Falina, whose appearance conveniently necessitates repeated visits to King’s Landing’s “finest brothel”, where equally revealingly dressed female NPCs serve as background decoration, a device used obviously to target a straight male audience of gamers (see Figure 12). Most if not all of the other female characters granted more than a few seconds of screen time are taken hostage, threatened, raped, or humiliated at some point (see Figure 13), which happens mainly during cut-scenes and serves as a plot device either to characterize the player’s (male) enemies as really despicable, or to give the player-controlled characters the chance to (im)prove their power (i.e. gain a few extra XP). In summary, the game stays true to the more conservative aspects of the mythos and ethos of the transmedial world of GoT, i.e. to its patriarchal structure with very limited female agency. More unique figures, like that of the female warrior are omitted, though, robbing the story of its potential to challenge stereotypical gender roles. Instead, female characters are exploited for highly conventional tropes and plot devices, and are completely excluded

Figure 12: Prostitute Falina in Game of Thrones (Cyanide) © Atlus (North America) / Focus Home Interactive (Europe), 2012.



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Figure 13: Female characters being threatened, hurt and killed in Game of Thrones (Cyanide) © Atlus (North America) / Focus Home Interactive (Europe), 2012.

from the player’s interaction with the game as a game. How female characters can actually be integrated with a game’s mechanics and system of rules, though, will become apparent in the following analysis of the real-time strategy game A Game of Thrones: Genesis.

Being Female as a Game Mechanic in A Game of Thrones: Genesis Published in 2011, the real-time strategy game A Game of Thrones: Genesis is the first licensed GoT video game, and features both a single-player campaign and a multiplayer mode.43 The campaign spans a thousand years of Westerosi history and allows the player, in a series of different chapters, to reenact major events of the world’s mythos, from Queen Nymeria’s arrival in the Kingdom of Dorne, some 700 years before the novels, to Robert Baratheon fighting during the War of the Ursurper and, in the game’s final chapter, the wildling attack on the Wall as described in A Storm of Swords. However, these events merely serve as a narrative “backdrop”, before which the interactive gameplay is staged. Consequently, narrative representation is limited to textual descriptions at the beginning of each chapter, as well as occasional cases of character speech during the levels themselves, providing background information on the historical time period, the setting, and the protagonist’s goals and motivations. Thus, while the player does take on the role of iconic characters like

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Queen Nymeria, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, or Robert Baratheon, they are little more than nondescript “commanders”, who motivate the large-scale battles in which the player engages. Therefore, the more interesting question is how female characters are made part of the simulated gameplay that both constitutes most of the campaign’s missions and is characteristic for the game’s real-time multiplayer battles. In a typical real-time strategy game, players send out “units” (i.e. characters or groups of characters) to gather resources with which they build an army to crush their opponent.44 In A Game of Thrones: Genesis, players also gather resources for hiring mercenaries and recruiting armies, but they deploy more subtle strategies to do so: To gain influence and so-called “prestige points”, players can send out envoys who convert the towns spread across the map to their cause. They can also use spies to create secret agreements with their opponent’s villages, which then increase their own income, while, seemingly, still belonging to the opponent. They can: use assassins to kill merchants carrying resources belonging to another player; send rogues to instigate uprisings in unallied towns; or capture opposing units and hold them for ransom. Thus, on the level of game mechanics, the game incorporates many aspects that are characteristic for the ethos of the transmedial world of Game of Thrones: In Westeros political power is not only maintained though military force, but also by means of deception, treachery and backstabbing. What is crucial for the present essay, though, is the way these game mechanics are connected with gendered representations of characters. The most striking observation is, again, the almost complete absence of female characters from the available units (excluding the above-mentioned commanders who typically do not engage in combat themselves). Envoys, merchants, spies, assassins, and all of the other armed fighters, feature male voices and character designs (see Figure 14). Cynically, the only exception to the rule is the “noble lady” character: After producing this unit the player can send her to a town or castle where she creates a so-called “blood pact” by marrying the respective lord and giving birth to his child (see Figure 15). In terms of game mechanics, this brings the advantage of preventing these castles from being undermined by enemy envoys or spies. Similarly, when a player’s great lord takes too long to marry, a bastard is born who, when uncovered, leads to the player losing a certain amount of prestige points. Again, this can only be prevented by producing a noble lady unit and marrying her to the respective lord. Thus, while the blood pact game mechanic plays quite an important role within the game’s system of rules, it also reinforces the notion of disenfranchised women being used as tradable commodities and “birth-giving machines” within a patriarchal power structure.45 In summary, the real-time strategy game A Game of Thrones: Genesis provides an excellent example for what Wolf calls the “interactivation” of a transmedial world: As a strategy game, Genesis transforms the novel and TV series’ ethos, its logic of political power struggles into an abstract, simplified



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Figure 14: Examples of units in A Game of Thrones: Genesis (Cyanide) © Focus Home Interactive, 2011.

Figure 15: Noble Ladies and the “blood pact” mechanic in A Game of Thrones: Genesis (Cyanide) © Focus Home Interactive, 2011.

model. Important historical events taken from the transmedial world’s mythos frame the rule-governed interactions between game pieces fictionalized as male and female characters. With its focus on these rules—rather than the

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exceptions—it might come as no surprise, that unique and “exceptional” female characters who challenge the predominant tropes of medieval fantasy are not part of the game’s narrative representation and rule-based simulation.

Characters Beyond Gender in Game of Thrones Ascent The third case study deals with the 2013 Facebook game Game of Thrones Ascent, which was also released as a mobile app in 2014. Due to these platforms’ constraints in computing power, the game relies solely on pictorial and verbal modes of narration (apart from the musical score and occasional sound effects). The player takes on the role of a high-born lord or lady, managing his/her keep through a series of operations that can be accessed via the game’s main screen (see Figure 16). As is typical for this kind of browser game, the emphasis is on resource management as realized through the keep’s different buildings: the counting house provides silver coins which must be collected at regular intervals; the village center produces goods like stone, fish, or iron; the smithy transforms raw materials into weapons and armor etc. Building new items costs not only money, though, but also a certain (and steadily increasing) amount of time, during which the player has to wait or pursue other in-game activities. The second major gameplay element is combat. By spending silver coins the player can hire sworn swords, who can be sent on adventures to gain money,

Figure 16: Main screen in Game of Thrones Ascent (Disruptor Beam) © Disruptor Beam, 2013.



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experience points, or building materials (see Figure 17). As fictional beings these characters are underdetermined in all respects, they merely feature a name, a portrait, and a short description of their personality (e.g. “desperate for a chance to prove himself ”). As ludic game pieces, however, they possess a number of game-related abilities and attributes that affect their chances of success during adventures—like, for example, an overall rank level, point values for “battle”, “trade”, and “intrigue”, as well as a character class, which comes with certain bonuses when performing battle, trade or intrigue actions. This is also the case for the player-controlled character itself whose avatar, name, and sex can be chosen at the start of the game and whose battle, trade and intrigue stats will be added to the sworn swords’ stats on certain quests. Even this cursory discussion of the game’s mechanics and rules should have made clear that gender differences at the level of fiction do not necessarily correspond with differences in ludic attributes and abilities. The playercontrolled character and all of the sworn-sword characters can be either male or female (as fictional beings), but still be perfectly identical in term of attributes and skills (as game pieces). In addition, every character class is equally distributed among female and male sworn swords: there are as many female warriors as there are female traders or spies. Thus, while in Genesis the “female” game piece (noble lady) was assigned a “female” game mechanic (marrying and giving birth), Ascent integrates female characters into its system of rules without making a difference on the ludic level.

Figure 17: Sworn Swords in Game of Thrones Ascent (Disruptor Beam) © Disruptor Beam, 2013.

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However, in addition to the gameplay elements described above, the game also features a more story-driven “campaign mode”, consisting of a series of quests, which are divided into volumes, roughly paralleling the TV series’ seasons. The quests tell the story of the player-controlled character’s family and how it is intertwined with the Game of Thrones plot. What is interesting, though, is the way the game tries to connect both: Some quests retell important events of the novel, such as Ned Stark’s execution or the (in)famous red wedding, with the player-controlled character as a sort of participant observer who does not influence the main course of events, but can still engage in meaningful interactions with main or support characters before, during or after such iconic events. Although most of these story quests are solved by simply choosing between different dialogue options and sending sworn swords into battle, they still offer some narrative depth and more than one female character that stands out, like the player–character’s own daughter, Jayne, whose rebellious attitude and bravery is in no way inferior to Martin’s Arya Stark, or Rona Grey, one of the player–character’s advisors, who is clearly meant to rival Lord Varys in cunning and wit. Finally, another important aspect regarding the gender dynamics of Ascent is the fact that it is a social multiplayer game. Players can join alliances for long-term cooperative play; they can socialize using the in-game chat, support each other by sending gifts, attack, or help each other with difficult quests. These social interactions can also be gendered: For one thing, player’s online gender performance (e.g. by choosing a particular avatar) can be independent from real-life gender roles—as exemplified by the common practice of “gender swapping” in many online games.46 In addition, research in online gaming has shown that gender expectations significantly affect social interactions. For instance, players with female avatars are more likely to receive support and gifts than those with male avatars.47 While this might be regarded as merely anecdotal evidence, it still reminds of the fact that an analysis of gender dynamics in video games must not be limited to narrative aspects of characters as fictional beings, or ludic aspects of characters as game pieces, but should also include communicative aspects of gender performances in multiplayer settings.

Discussion The aim of this essay has been to critically examine representations of female characters in three Game of Thrones video games. I have argued that the way women are represented in these games depends as much on medium-specific modes of representation and genre patterns, as on prevalent conceptions of masculinity and femininity within gaming culture, game designers’ lack of awareness for gender issues, and their presumptions about the games’ target audiences.



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Against this background, it may come as no surprise that the analyzed character representations do not live up to the expectations raised by the novels and the TV show. While the role-playing game Game of Thrones completely excludes female characters from meaningful interactions within the simulated gameplay, exploiting them as highly stereotypical plot devices, the real-time strategy game A Game of Thrones: Genesis turns womanhood and giving birth into “gendered” game mechanics. Game of Thrones Ascent, on the other hand, completely dismisses traditional gender roles in that it reduces all characters to exchangeable game pieces, while featuring surprisingly strong and multifaceted female characters in its story-driven, single-player campaign. As discussed in the first part of this essay, some of the differences between the games, novels, and TV series might be attributed to genre-specific aspects of video games’ mediality. The “interactivation” of a transmedial world inevitably entails processes of simplification and abstraction, as well as limitations to narrative complexity. The role-playing game, for example, fails to represent ambiguity in both female and male characters, because it limits forms of nuanced narrative representation to short, poorly written cut-scenes, which tie together the much longer sequences of simulated action. In contrast, the real-time strategy game deliberately dismisses elaborate representations of characters as fictional beings and focuses instead on their function as game pieces within the game’s system of rules. In translating the GoT ethos of political and military power struggles into genre-specific game mechanics, male and female characters alike are confined to abstract and functional roles. Again, while this process must inevitably lead to simplification and loss of ambiguity, it is still striking that the game mechanics assigned to female characters (marrying, giving birth) differ so prominently and explicitly from the game mechanics male characters are assigned (fighting, trading, spying, etc.). Thus, while the game efficiently translates the more conservative aspects of Martin’s vision into a game of strategy and politics, it completely fails to recognize the intricacies of Westeros’ gender dynamics. Somewhat ironically, it is the Facebook game Game of Thrones Ascent, which succeeds in delivering not only a solid gameplay experience, but also a surprisingly gripping narrative and female characters that live up to the spirit of the novels and TV show. While free-to-play Facebook games have earned a particularly bad reputation for relying on exploitative game design, lack of narrative quality and shallow gameplay experiences, Ascent’s technical limitations and generic conventions actually facilitate its more successful take on gender representation. First, the player’s genre-typical freedom to choose her main character’s sex—within the binary gender matrix, at least—already allows for gender performances not to be found in both other games. Second, the fact that the game requires a huge number of individualized “sworn sword” characters to be available to the player led the game designers to tone down gender differences to a minimum (i.e. gendered character portraits that do not affect the characters’ functions as game pieces). Third, the genre-typical use of written text as the primary mode

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of narrative representation in the single-player campaign facilitates a depth in storytelling and characterization that is absent from both other games. Thus, the genre-specific mediality of each game substantially affects the way female characters are represented. But, of course, generic conventions and medium-specific modes of narrative representation alone do not suffice to explain the matter. One can only speculate about why the games’ developers and/or publishers have chosen to sacrifice the ambiguity and complexity in female character representation, which both the novels and the HBO series are so popular for, in favor of a more conservative and, in some cases, downright offensive portrayal of female characters. In searching for an answer, it is hard to ignore the fact that the Facebook game, which best manages to steer clear of sexist tropes and stereotypes, does also belong to the genre most popular among female gamers. Likewise, the role-playing game, which features the most obvious cases of stereotypical gender representation, clearly targets a straight male audience of “hardcore” gamers. Thus, the three games are a shining example of contemporary gaming culture’s dilemma when it comes to gender politics: by relying on a gendered dichotomy of “hardcore” vs “casual” gaming and by tailoring representations of female (or male) characters to an allegedly male (or female) audience, developers and publishers only further reinforce said dichotomy. Put simply: girls and women might not avoid “hardcore” genres because they are “hardcore”, but rather because they prefer genres that feature less repellent female character representations. The fact that the three GoT games so clearly fail to challenge this dichotomy is all the more disappointing, as they could have relied on a huge female fan base that is increasingly drawn to the franchise. However sobering some of these results may be, they still underscore the need for critical examinations of gender dynamics within popular transmedia franchises, as well as medium-conscious analyses of gender representations in individual instantiations of the respective storyworlds. While this essay has had to limit itself to the most salient aspects of gender representation in the three games, it may still serve as a model for more detailed analyses in the future. And, indeed, while the games analyzed in this essay paint a pretty discouraging picture of gender representation in video games, they are by far not representative of the entire industry. Not only does a growing number of mainstream games feature strong and multi-faceted female characters (like the examples of Mirror’s Edge, The Last of Us, or Beyond Two Souls, mentioned above), but there are also numerous attempts among independent game developers to challenge conservative gender stereotypes.48 Still, it is to be hoped that ambitious storytelling projects like Martin’s GoT universe, with its fascinating characters, will sooner or later leave a mark on the video game industry as a whole—or, at least, on further attempts at adapting GoT as a video game.



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Notes   1. See, for example, Caroline Spector, “Power and Feminism in Westeros,” in Beyond the Wall: Exploring George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire, ed. James Lowder (Dallas, TX: BenBella Books, 2012) or the essays in Henry Jacoby, ed., Game of Thrones and Philosophy (Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons, 2012).   2. Jo Bryce, Jason Rutter, and Cath Sullivan, “Digital Games and Gender,” in Understanding Digital Games, ed. Jason Rutter and Jo Bryce (London: Sage, 2006), 188.   3. ESA, “2015 Essential Facts about the Computer and Video Game Industry,” available online: http://www.theesa.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/ ESA-Essential-Facts–2015.pdf. ISFE (accessed August 19, 2015), “Video Games in Europe: Consumer Study 2012,” available online: http://www.isfe.eu/sites/isfe.eu/ files/attachments/euro_summary_-_isfe_consumer_study.pdf (accessed August 20, 2014).   4. Julie Prescott and Jan Bogg, Gender Divide and the Computer Game Industry (Hershey, PA: Information Science Reference, 2014), 74.   5. Prescott and Bogg, Gender Divide, 80. According to Jesper Juul, there is an identifiable stereotype of a “hardcore player” who “has a preference for science fiction, zombies, and fantasy fictions, has played a large number of video games, will invest large amounts of time and resources toward playing video games, and enjoys difficult games.” Jesper Juul, A Casual Revolution. Reinventing Video Games and their Players (Cambridge and London: MIT, 2010), 8.   6. See Newzoo, Sizing & Profiling eSports’ Popularity, available online: http://www. newzoo.com/download/8407/ (accessed August 20, 2014). In the openly euphoric report, frequent eSports viewers and participants are deliberately subsumed as “enthusiasts” under one figure, thus concealing the fact that the professional eSports scene is still heavily dominated by men. See also Tanja Adamus, “E-Sport,” in Digitale Spielkultur, ed. Sonja Ganguin and Bernward Hoffmann (München: kopaed, 2010), 212.   7. Prescott and Bogg, Gender Divide, 44.   8. MPFS, “JIM-Studie 2014,” available online: http://www.mpfs.de/fileadmin/ JIM-pdf14/JIM-Studie_2014.pdf (accessed August 19, 2015).   9. Victoria K. Gosling and Garry Crawford, “Game Scenes: Theorizing Digital Game Audiences,” Games and Culture 2 (2011): 148. 10. See Bryce, Rutter, and Sullivan, “Games and Gender,” 196–200. 11. See, for example, Tracy L. Dietz, “An Examination of Violence and Gender Role Portrayals in Video Games. Implications for Gender Socialization and Aggressive Behavior,” Sex Roles 5–6 (1998); Katherine Heintz-Knowles et al., Fair Play? Violence, Gender and Race in Videogames (Oakland, CA: Children Now, 2001); Edward Downs and Stacy L. Smith, “Keeping Abreast of Hypersexuality: A Video Game Character Content Analysis,” Sex Roles 62 (2010). 12. Dmitri Williams et al, “The Virtual Census: Representations of Gender, Race and Age in Video Games,” New Media & Society 11 (2009): 824. 13. Heintz-Knowles et al., Fair Play?, 10–19. 14. Jeroen Jansz and Raynel G. Martis, “The Lara Phenomenon: Powerful Female Characters in Video Games,” Sex Roles 56 (2007): 147. For a similar trend in

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17. 18. 19. 20. 21.

22. 23. 24.

25.

26. 27.

28.

Women of Ice and Fire popular cinema see Rikke Schubart, Super Bitches and Action Babes: The Female Hero in Popular Cinema, 1970–2006 (Jefferson: McFarland, 2007). Hilde G. Corneliussen, “World of Warcraft as a Playground for Feminism,” in Digital Culture, Play, and Identity: A World of Warcraft Reader, ed. Hilde G. Corneliussen and Jill Walker Rettberg (Cambridge and London: MIT, 2008). For a comprehensive discussion see the recent video documentary series Tropes Vs. Women in Video Games by feminist media critic Anita Sarkeesian, which is available on her YouTube channel: http://www.youtube.com/user/ feministfrequency (accessed August 20, 2014). Marie-Laure Ryan and Jan-Noël Thon, “Storyworlds across Media: Introduction,” in Storyworlds across Media, ed. Marie-Laure Ryan and Jan-Noël Thon (Lincoln and London: University of Nebraska Press, 2014), 4. See Mark J. P. Wolf, Building Imaginary Worlds. The Theory and History of Subcreation (New York and London: Routledge, 2012), 247–67. Marie-Laure Ryan, “Story/Worlds/Media: Tuning the Instruments of a MediaConscious Narratology,” in Storyworlds across Media, ed. Marie-Laure Ryan and Jan-Noël Thon (Lincoln and London: University of Nebraska Press, 2014), 31. Ryan, “Story/World/Media,” 32–4. Lisbeth Klastrup and Susana Tosca, “Game of Thrones: Transmedial Worlds, Fandom, and Social Gaming,” in Storyworlds across Media: Toward a MediaConscious Narratology, edited by Marie-Laure Ryan and Jan-Noël Thon (Lincoln and London: University of Nebraska Press, 2014), 295–314, 296–7. Klastrup and Tosca, “Game of Thrones,” 297. Henry Jenkins, Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide (New York: New York University Press, 2006), 95–6. Lisbeth Klastrup and Susana Tosca, “Transmedial Worlds: Rethinking Cyberworld Design,” in Proceedings of the 2004 International Conference on Cyberworlds (Los Alamitos, CA: IEEEE Computer Society, 2004), available online: http://www.itu.dk/people/klastrup/klastruptosca_transworlds.pdf (accessed August 20, 2014), n. p. The problem with the notion of medium-specificity, though, is that it is neither clear what a “medium” is nor what its ”specificity” might be. It might therefore be safer to speak of “conventionally distinct media” and to admit that each medium’s specific mediality is a relational rather than an absolute property, highly depended on the research perspective. See Marie-Laure Ryan, “Introduction,” in Narrative across Media: The Languages of Storytelling, ed. Marie-Laure Ryan (Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 2004), 18. The following section builds on prior work on video game characters. See Felix Schröter and Jan-Noël Thon, “Video Game Characters: Theory and Analysis,” DIEGESIS. Interdisciplinary E-Journal for Narrative Research 1 (2014). See Rune Klevjer, “Cut Scenes,” in The Johns Hopkins Guide to Digital Media, ed. Marie-Laure Ryan et al. (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2014), 106–7; Jan-Noël Thon, “Unendliche Weiten? Schauplätze, fiktionale Welten und soziale Räume heutiger Computerspiele,” in Computer / Spiel / Räume: Materialien zur Einführung in die Computer Game Studies, ed. Klaus Bartels and Jan-Noël Thon (Hamburg: IMK, 2007), 42. See Thon, “Unendliche Weiten”; Gonzalo Frasca, “Simulation versus Narrative: Introduction to Ludology,” in The Video Game Theory Reader, ed. Mark J. P. Wolf



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and Bernard Perron (New York: Routledge, 2003); as well as Aki Järvinen, “The Elements of Simulation in Digital Games. System, Representation and Interface in Grand Theft Auto: Vice City,” Dichtung Digital 4 (2003), available online: http:// www.dichtung-digital.org/2003/issue/4/jaervinen/index.htm (accessed August 20, 2014). 29. See Thon, “Unendliche Weiten,” 46–51; Schröter and Thon, “Video Game Characters”, 46–51. 30. Linda Hutcheon, A Theory of Adaptation (New York and London: Routledge, 2006), 170. 31. Linda Hutcheon, A Theory of Adaptation, 2nd edn (New York and London: Routledge, 2013), xxiv. 32. Wolf, Building Imaginary Worlds, 246. 33. Ibid., 245–6. 34. Marie-Laure Ryan, “Transfictionality across Media,” in Theorizing Narrativity, ed. John Pier and José Ángel Garcia Landa (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2008), 385. 35. Wolf, Building Imaginary Worlds, 260. 36. Jens Eder and Jan-Noël Thon, “Digitale Figuren in Kinofilm und Computerspiel,” in Film im Zeitalter neuer Medien II. Digitalität und Kino, ed. Harro Segeberg (München: Fink, 2012), 159–60. 37. Eder and Thon, “Digitale Figuren,” 155. 38. For a more general discussion of how the three games adapt the GoT storyworld see Felix Schröter, “The Game of Game of Thrones. George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire and its Video Games Adaptations,” in IMAGE. Journal of Interdisciplinary Image Science, special issue July 2015, available online: http:// www.gib.uni-tuebingen.de/own/journal/upload/166ce9cd262fbe1af18b9f5a3d eafee1.pdf (accessed August 19, 2015). 39. One of the challenges academic writing has to face when dealing with transmedial entertainment franchises like GoT is their dynamic nature. During the editing process of this essay the first five parts of another highly anticipated game, Telltale’s episodic point-and-click adventure Game of Thrones (2014), have been released. While no detailed analysis can be provided here, the game’s adaption of the storyworld adheres to Telltale’s established formula of featuring an “interactive narrative” by combining extensive story-driven cut-scenes with single moments of player choice. Thus circumventing standard video game conventions, the game cunningly employs its narrative devices to represent a gripping tale—including female characters that are in no way inferior to the novel’s, like young and resourceful handmaiden Mira Forrester or reckless and bold sellsword Beskha. In contrast to the other games discussed in this article, these characters are crucial to the game’s story and exert power over many other (male) characters. This is true especially for Mira Forrester who serves as one of the game’s five playable characters and allows for highly engaging gameplay interactions. 40. “Game of Thrones (2012 role-playing game),” available online: http:// gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Game_of_Thrones_(2012_role-playing_game) (last accessed August 20, 2014). 41. In another somewhat artificial plot twist Mors realizes that Alester is actually the murderer of his late wife, which leads to a showdown of both fighting each other to the death. Depending on which character the player chooses to control in this

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43.

44. 45.

46. 47. 48.

Women of Ice and Fire fight and what he decides to do with Jeyne’s child afterwards, the game offers four different endings, each presented through non-interactive cut-scenes. Her death also reinforces the recurrent motif of female suffering and sacrifice (as exemplified most prominently by Jeyne’s death), which is, of course, a widespread stereotype not only used in films and video games, but also in legends, folktales, drama and literature. See e.g. Elisabeth Bronfen, Over Her Dead Body: Death Femininity and the Aesthetic (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1992), 218. The term “strategy game” refers to “military-themed computer games where the player takes the role of a commander and needs to gather resources to summon new military units.” Simon Dor, “Strategy,” in The Routledge Companion to Video Game Studies, ed. Mark J. P. Wolf and Bernard Perron (New York and London: Routledge, 2014), 275. See Dor, “Strategy,” 75. The fact that the noble lady’s character portrait features a young teenage girl— vaguely resembling Sansa Stark from the TV show—makes the game mechanic even more offensive, though true to the novels where Sansa Stark is eleven years old when she is betrothed to Joffrey. Nick Yee, “WoW Gender Bending,” available online: http://www.nickyee.com/ daedalus/archives/001369.php (accessed August 20, 2014). Esther MacCallum-Stewart, “Real Boys Carry Girly Epics: Normalising Gender Bending in Online Games,” Eludamos. Journal for Computer Game Culture 1 (2008): 36. The abstract, autobiographical game Dys4ia (Anna Anthropy / Newsgrounds 2012), for example, was developed to represent the designer’s experiences of gender dysphoria and hormone replacement therapy, while the dancing game Perfect Women (Peter Lu, Lea Schönfelder 2014) utilizes the Kinect camera to let players experience the challenges that come with stereotypical societal roles being superimposed upon girls and women.

Bibliography Adamus, Tanja. “E-Sport.” In Digitale Spielkultur, edited by Sonja Ganguin and Bernward Hoffmann, 203–14. München: kopaed, 2010. Bronfen, Elisabeth. Over Her Dead Body: Death Femininity and the Aesthetic. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1992. Bryce, Jo, Jason Rutter, and Cath Sullivan. “Digital Games and Gender.” In Understanding Digital Games, edited by Jason Rutter and Jo Bryce, 185–204. London: Sage, 2006. Corneliussen, Hilde G. “World of Warcraft as a Playground for Feminism.” In Digital Culture, Play, and Identity: A World of Warcraft Reader, edited by Hilde G. Corneliussen and Jill Walker Rettberg, 63–86. Cambridge and London: MIT, 2008. Dietz, Tracy L. “An Examination of Violence and Gender Role Portrayals in Video Games. Implications for Gender Socialization and Aggressive Behavior.” Sex Roles 516 (1998): 425–42.



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Dor, Simon. “Strategy.” In The Routledge Companion to Video Game Studies, edited by Mark J. P. Wolf and Bernard Perron, 275–81. New York: Routledge, 2014. Downs, Edward, and Stacy L. Smith, “Keeping Abreast of Hypersexuality: A Video Game Character Content Analysis.” Sex Roles 62 (2010): 721–33. Eder, Jens, and Jan-Noël Thon. “Digitale Figuren in Kinofilm und Computerspiel.” In Film im Zeitalter neuer Medien II. Digitalität und Kino, edited by Harro Segeberg, 139–81. München: Fink, 2012. ESA. “2015 Essential Facts about the Computer and Video Game Industry.” Available online: http://www.theesa.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/ESA-EssentialFacts-2015.pdf (accessed August 19, 2015). Frasca, Gonzalo. “Simulation versus Narrative. Introduction to Ludology.” In The Video Game Theory Reader, edited by Mark J.P. Wolf and Bernard Perron, 221–36. New York: Routledge, 2003. Game of Thrones Wiki. “Game of Thrones (2012 role-playing game).” Available online: http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Game_of_Thrones_(2012_role-playing_ game) (accessed August 20, 2014). Gosling, Victoria K., and Garry Crawford. “Game Scenes: Theorizing Digital Game Audiences.” Games and Culture 2 (2011): 135–54. Heintz-Knowles, Katharine, Jennifer Henderson, Christina R. Glaubke, Patti Miller, McCrae A. Parker, and Eileen Espejo. Fair Play? Violence, Gender and Race in Videogames. Oakland, CA: Children Now, 2001. Hutcheon, Linda. A Theory of Adaptation. New York: Routledge, 2006. Hutcheon, Linda. A Theory of Adaptation, 2nd edn, with an epilogue by Siobhan O’Flynn. New York: Routledge, 2013. ISFE. “Video Games in Europe: Consumer Study 2012.” Available online: http://www. isfe.eu/sites/isfe.eu/files/attachments/euro_summary_-_isfe_consumer_study.pdf (accessed August 20, 2014). Jacoby, Henry, ed. Game of Thrones and Philosophy. Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons, 2012. Jansz, Jeroen, and Raynel G. Martis. “The Lara Phenomenon: Powerful Female Characters in Video Games.” Sex Roles 56 (2007): 141–8. Järvinen, Aki. “The Elements of Simulation in Digital Games. System, Representation and Interface in Grand Theft Auto: Vice City.” Dichtung Digital 4 (2003). Available online: http://www.dichtung-digital.org/2003/issue/4/jaervinen/index.htm (accessed August 20, 2014). Jenkins, Henry. Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide. New York: New York University Press, 2006. Juul, Jesper. A Casual Revolution: Reinventing Video Games and their Players. Cambridge: MIT, 2010. Klastrup, Lisbeth, and Susana Tosca. “Game of Thrones: Transmedial Worlds, Fandom, and Social Gaming.” In Storyworlds across Media, edited by Marie-Laure Ryan and Jan-Noël Thon, 295–314. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2014. Klastrup, Lisbeth, and Susana Tosca. “Transmedial Worlds. Rethinking Cyberworld Design.” In Proceedings of the 2004 International Conference on Cyberworlds. Los Alamitos, CA: IEEEE Computer Society, 2004. Available online: http://www.itu.dk/people/klastrup/klastruptosca_transworlds.pdf (accessed August 20, 2014).

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Klevjer, Rune. “Cut Scenes.” In The Johns Hopkins Guide to Digital Media, edited by Marie-Laure Rya, Lori Emerson, and Benjamin J. Robertson, 106–7. Baltimore, ML: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2014. MacCallum-Stewart, Esther. “Real Boys Carry Girly Epics: Normalising Gender Bending in Online Games.” Eludamos: Journal for Computer Game Culture 1 (2008): 27–40. MPFS. “JIM-Studie 2014.” Available online: http://www.mpfs.de/fileadmin/JIM-pdf14/ JIM-Studie_2014.pdf (accessed August 19, 2015). Newzoo. Sizing & Profiling eSports’ Popularity. Available online: http://www.newzoo. com/download/8407/ (accessed August 20, 2014). Prescott, Julie, and Jan Bogg. Gender Divide and the Computer Game Industry. Hershey, PA: Information Science Reference, 2014. Ryan, Marie-Laure. “Introduction.” In Narrative across Media: The Languages of Storytelling, edited by Marie-Laure Ryan, 1–40. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 2004. Ryan, Marie-Laure. “Story/Worlds/Media. Tuning the Instruments of a MediaConscious Narratology.” In Storyworlds across Media, edited by Marie-Laure Ryan and Jan-Noël Thon, 25–49. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2014. Ryan, Marie-Laure, and Jan-Noël Thon, eds. Storyworlds across Media: Toward a Media-Conscious Narratology. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2014. Ryan, Marie-Laure. “Transfictionality across Media.” In Theorizing Narrativity, edited by John Pier and José Ángel Garcia Landa, 385–417. Berlin: de Gruyter, 2008. Ryan, Marie-Laure, and Jan-Noël Thon, eds. “Storyworlds across Media: Introduction.” In Storyworlds across Media, edited by Marie-Laure Ryan and Jan-Noël Thon, 1–21. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2014. Schröter, Felix. “The Game of Game of Thrones. George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire and its Video Games Adaptations.” In IMAGE. Journal of Interdisciplinary Image Science, special issue July 2015: 65–82. Available online: http://www.gib. uni-tuebingen.de/own/journal/upload/166ce9cd262fbe1af18b9f5a3deafee1.pdf (accessed August 19, 2015). Schröter, Felix, and Jan-Noël Thon. “Video Game Characters: Theory and Analysis.” In DIEGESIS. Interdisciplinary E-Journal for Narrative Research 1 (2014): 40–77. Schubart, Rikke. Super Bitches and Action Babes: The Female Hero in Popular Cinema, 1970–2006. Jefferson: McFarland, 2007. Spector, Caroline. “Power and Feminism in Westeros.” In Beyond the Wall. Exploring Geroge R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire, edited by James Lowder, 169–88. Dallas, TX: BenBella Books, 2012. Thon, Jan-Noël. “Unendliche Weiten? Schauplätze, fiktionale Welten und soziale Räume heutiger Computerspiele.” In Computer / Spiel / Räume. Materialien zur Einführung in die Computer Game Studies, edited by Klaus Bartels and Jan-Noël Thon, 29–60. Hamburg: IMK, 2007. Williams, Dmitri, Nicole Martins, Mia Consalvo, and James D. Ivory. “The Virtual Census: Representations of Gender, Race and Age in Video Games.” New Media & Society 11 (2009): 815–34. Wolf, Mark J. P. Building Imaginary Worlds: The Theory and History of Subcreation. New York: Routledge, 2012. Yee, Nick. “WoW Gender Bending.” Available online: http://www.nickyee.com/ daedalus/archives/001369.php (last accessed August 20, 2014).



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Gameography Donkey Kong (Nintendo 1981). Super Mario Bros. (Nintendo 1985). The Legend of Zelda (Nintendo 1986). Tomb Raider (Core Design/Eidos Interactive 1996). Resident Evil 2 (Capcom 1998). Mirror’s Edge (Dice/Electronic Arts 2008). Red Dead Redemption (Rockstar 2010). A Game of Thrones: Genesis (Cyanide/Focus Home Interactive 2011). Duke Nukem Forever (Gearbox Software/2K Games 2011). Game of Thrones (Cyanide/Focus Home Interactive 2012). Beyond: Two Souls (Quantic Dream/Sony 2013). Game of Thrones Ascent (Disruptor Beam 2013). The Last of Us (Naughty Dog/Sony 2013). Game of Thrones (Telltale 2014–15).

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Chapter 5 W OM A N W I T H D R AG O N S : D A E N E RYS , P R I D E , A N D P O ST F E M I N I ST P O S SI B I L I T I E S Rikke Schubart

She heard the screams of frightened horses, and the voices of the Dothraki raised in shouts of fear and terror and Ser Jorah calling her name and cursing. No, she wanted to shout to him, no, my good knight, do not fear for me. The fire is mine, I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons, don’t you see! Don’t you SEE? With a belch of flame and smoke that reached thirty feet into the sky, the pyre collapsed and came down around her. A Game of Thrones1 At the end of “Fire and Blood”, the last episode in Season 1 of Game of Thrones (HBO, 2011–), Princess Daenerys enters the funeral pyre of her husband, Khal Drogo. People think her crazy, but she believes fire cannot harm her and after it dies, she is alive, along with three hatched dragons. Not having read the book series, at the time, I was thrilled and barely able to wait for the next season. Today, I still find Game of Thrones the most riveting television show, and Daenerys a unique hero. In this chapter, I examine the nature of Daenerys’s appeal and see it as related to the emotion of pride. I examine her in both George R. R. Martin’s book A Game of Thrones (1996) and in Season 1 of Game of Thrones, and briefly cast a glance at later seasons. I examine her first as a fantasy hero playing with the rules of fantasy; second, as embodying the emotion of pride; and, third, as invested with magic. I draw on cognitive media theory2 and postfeminism. In feminist theory, it is asserted that a female fantasy hero is but a dream. Thus, Carol Clover concludes about the Maiden Warrior in Norse legends that “the real fantasy here is the dream of female autonomy”, and contributions by Tasker and Steenberg, and also by Genz in this volume (see pages 171–92 and 243–66, respectively) are conflicted in their readings of Daenerys.3 I was not conflicted when Daenerys transformed from teen victim into dragon mother. I felt excited, elevated and inspired to, in a metaphorical sense, “hatch” my own dragon eggs (one result being our “hatching” of this anthology).

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Cognitive literary scholar Brian Boyd, in On the Origins of Stories (2009), sees art and narrative fiction as adaptation, and as a play on existing patterns that generates curiosity and creative experimentation. “Art generates a confidence that we can transform the world to suit our own preferences, that we need not accept the given but can work to modify it in ways we choose; and it supplies skills and models we can refine and recombine to ensure our ongoing cumulative creativity.”4 I count Martin’s saga and its adaptation—together called GoT—among the art of narrative fiction. And I believe that Daenerys can be seen as a model for creative experimentation and, even, female agency and liberation.

Genre Martin has been credited with subverting fantasy into realist and dark fantasy where grey-scale morality, torture, sex, depravity, and ubiquitous power greed reigns. His universe is supposedly light-years away from the uplifting endings in traditional fantasy like Lord of the Rings. However, to appreciate how old and new intersect in Daenerys, we will take a closer look at fantasy. From a cognitive perspective, Boyd suggests fiction is adaptive because it, like play, lets us experiment with our world in imagined scenarios: “By developing our ability to think beyond the here and now, storytelling helps us not to override the given, but to be less restricted by it, to cope with it more flexibly and on something like our own terms.”5

Figure 18: Like a phoenix Daenerys rises unharmed from the ashes of her husband’s funeral pyre with three baby dragons. Game of Thrones: Season 1, Episode 10 (“Fire and Blood”). © HBO, 2011.



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Adding to this experimental quality, cognitive film theorist Torben Grodal characterizes the fantastic genres (horror, fantasy, fairy tale, and science fiction) as defined by “changes, deviations, and novelty”, and states that we find the fantastic “interesting precisely because it violates universal common sense.”6 Thus, we are drawn to the violation of, or break with patterns. But even a break can become a pattern if repeated. One more hero, one more witch, and more dragons. To catch our attention, fiction must offer new patterns, and fantastic fiction, too, must violate common sense in new ways in order to catch our attention. This is precisely what GoT does: It uses the rules (patterns) of the fantastic, yet twists them in surprising ways to create a universe with a female fantasy hero, combining the unique with tradition.

Fantasy The genre fantasy is not easily mapped (for a discussion of fantasy as genre, see also Haastrup, pages 131–50). On the one hand, it belongs to a general mode of narrating, in which “fantastic” is used as an umbrella term for the different genres of fantasy (science fiction, horror, fantasy, the gothic, and the fairy tale). What unites the fantastic genres might be said to be what Katherine A. Fowkes in The Fantasy Film (2010) calls the “ontological rupture”, which is a break with reality. Fantastic genres embrace what is unreal according to what an audience’s perception of reality is, and the boundaries between genres are fuzzy, and tend to overlap. On the other hand, as a subgenre, fantasy can be defined by “a core of fantasy themes and ideas”,7 among which are happy endings, magic, themes of coming-of-age and a quest, the tropes of home and family, elements of magical transportation and metamorphoses, and mythical and fantastic beings. Also, fantasy is often divided into low fantasy, in which the characters move between our world and an alternate world—as in C. S. Lewis’s The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe (1950)—and high fantasy, in which the entire story is set in an alternate world. High fantasy is epic, with Manichean battles of good and evil narrated in rich detail, and a long-story format. With its magic, alternate world, Manichean battle, and epic scale, GoT belongs to the latter, high fantasy. The “core” (I use this term in a loose semiotic sense) of high fantasy also draws from other genres of which I want to highlight four: medieval romance, melodrama, myth, and fairy tale (the latter is discussed separately in the section following). First, from the medieval romance comes a heroic struggle during which “a protagonist either has or develops great and special skills and overcomes insurmountable obstacles in extraordinary situations to successfully achieve some desired goal, usually the restitution of order to the world invoked by

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the narrative”.8 By “romance” here, I do not mean contemporary romance, but rather the medieval pot of castles, kings and queens, myths such as Saint George slaying the dragon, and the Arthurian legends of knights. Second, the melodrama, a genre in which the world has a heightened emotional feeling, and everything is connected with dramatic consequences is another inspiration: A grand scale of events involves all of the characters, and a strong moral principle connects the entire fictional world. John G. Cawelti defines melodrama as: “the combination of a number of actions and settings in order to build-up the sense of a whole world bearing out the audience’s traditional patterns of right and wrong, good and evil.”9 Even if it seems tragic, our involvement in the melodrama is from a worldview that supports traditional moral values. Likewise, high fantasy is narrated in a melodramatic mode from which we root for “good” characters, and feel it is tragic when they do not fare well. Third, and central to high fantasy is a hero figure from myth. In The Hero With a Thousand Faces (1993, original 1949), mythologist Joseph Campbell describes what he calls the universal hero and the hero’s adventure as “a separation from the world, a penetration to some source of power, and a lifeenhancing return”.10 The structure of departure, initiation, and return mirrors an inner transformation which ends with the hero’s discovery of hidden powers: “He is ‘the king’s son’ who has come to know who he is and therewith has entered into the exercise of his proper power—‘God’s son.’”11 Campbell’s hero is male and his trials are a confrontation with a father, “the work of the hero is to slay the tenacious aspect of the father (dragon, tester, ogre king) and release from its ban the vital energies that will feed the universe.”12 The hero’s story is spiritual (a god/son relation) and psychological (to find the king within). He is a savior who “brings back from his adventure the means for the regeneration of his society as a whole.”13 Princess Daenerys, too, was raised in exile and sent on a journey. She, too, was chosen and must face trials. Her trials differ from that of Campbell’s hero, and to understand the difference we now turn to the fourth genre underlying fantasy, the fairy tale.

The Fairy Tale Fairy tales, in contrast to the melodrama, usually have a light mode, happy endings, and favor “little people” over those in power. They have a naive stance of wonder and optimism. High fantasy need not be “light” but it favors happy endings, and low fantasy is usually light in both mood and mode. Thus, as Fowkes states, “as a rule, fantasy tends to favor happy endings, and eschews not only tragedy, but cynicism, providing solace and redemption in a world of evil and violence”.14



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Marxist sociologist Ernst Bloch saw happy endings and positive mood as subversive qualities of the fairy tale: “[C]onsider yourself as born free and entitled to be totally happy, dare to make use of your power of reasoning, look upon the outcome of things as friendly.”15 Such faith in freedom, individual agency, and a welcoming world is considered “naive” about fairy tales, and is why we often find them childish. In contrast, Marxist theory and humanistic fairy tale scholars, along with fantasy writers seize these traits and see fairy tales and fantasy as politically subversive, utopian, and messianic because they elevate the weak, and offer hope. “Tolkien sees the world as a prison and as irrational. Fantasy is a form of protest against irrational confinement,” says fairy tale scholar Jack Zipes. Fairy tales protest against oppression by defying the real. Summarizing Tolkien, Zipes says that “[f]antasy is liberating and can be shared. As it takes the form of a fairy tale, it provides three nurturing and civilizing qualities: recovery, escape, consolation.”16 By recovery Tolkien meant a recovery of our ability to imagine, by escape he meant the use of fiction to temporarily escape an oppressive world, and by consolation he meant that fantasy offers hope by making the hero succeed. You might question the relevance of hope, wonder, and optimism in GoT, which certainly isn’t naive. But underneath its darkness, we will see that the logic of fantasy and the fairy tale favors underdogs, and spells death to tyrants. The fairy tale plot is different for heroes and heroines. Thus, fairy tale scholar Maria Tatar points to differences in what, and, indeed, how a fairy tale hero and fairy tale heroine learn from the three tests. The hero gains a kingdom, a princess, and the power to rule, and the heroine gains a husband, but looses her freedom. And their tests are different: heroes can be stupid, ugly, and happy-go-lucky and put mud and dead crows in their pockets, but heroines must be beautiful and good and pick up lentils from the ashes like Cinderella in the Brothers Grimm version, suffer imprisonment in towers, and be burned at the stakes.17 Typically, a hero befriends a magical being which helps him solve the tests, while fairy tale heroines have to suffer. Tatar says they are: “humbled in the course of their stories. In fact, humbled is perhaps too mild a term to use for the many humiliations to which female protagonists must submit.”18 The fairy tale heroine, continues Tatar, is “victimized” and “abased and forced to learn humility”.19 Feminist fairy tale scholars assert that the heroines of these tales are initiated into marital submission, and their tests, in contrast to their hero counterpart, require abasement, not courage to slay dragons.20

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The Female Fantasy Hero However, when both the rules of the fairy tale (hero and heroine) and Campbell’s universal hero apply in a text, they create multiple tensions. As we have discussed, fairy tale heroine must be beautiful, whereas a fairy tale hero can be a fool and less than attractive. Both must learn humility and compassion but in different ways: the hero playfully so and the heroine by being debased. And where he will gain a kingdom, she, instead, will gain a husband. One difference between fairy tale and adventure is that the former is short and the latter extends its trials into epic-long narratives: the hero’s journey takes place in “a dream landscape of curiously fluid, ambiguous forms, where he must survive a succession of trials”.21 We can say the fairy tale is goal-oriented (the happy-ever-after end) and the adventure genre concerned with creating and experiencing fantastic worlds. However, tests are central to both. The hero’s initiation is a learning process and as he passes the threshold to the third phase (the return) he experiences “the ‘purification of the self ’” where his “senses are ‘cleansed and humbled’.”22 This purification and humbling are crucial. A hero, says Campbell, learns to be king. He must slay his father to achieve psychological maturity. Killing dragons is a means to this end. Combining the rules of adventure with the fairy tale, they yield different patterns for men and women. From a cognitive perspective, we note that both genres use tests to teach “compassion and humility, which are both acquired characteristics rather than innate traits.”23 And both genres often use quests to combine external drama (a journey in space and time) with a coming-of-age theme (psychological maturity). Daenerys Targaryen has lilac eyes, silver-pale blond hair, and is stunningly beautiful. Like a fairy tale heroine, she is material for marriage and, at the start of A Game of Thrones, she is thirteen years old when her brother, Prince Viserys, trades her to thirty-year old warrior Khal Drogo in return for an army. Viserys plans to return to Westeros and conquer the Iron Throne.24 From the outset Daenerys is a humiliated victim and when she looks at the older Drogo, she is terrified: “His face was hard and cruel, his eyes as cold and dark as onyx … ‘I don’t want to be his queen,’ she heard herself say in a small, thin voice.” But Viserys couldn’t care less. “He smiled at her. ‘I’d let his whole khalasar fuck you if need be, sweet sister, all 40,000 men, and their horses, too, if that was what it took to get my army.’”25 Daenerys’s initiation starts with marriage and an involuntary journey into the open plains of the Dothraki Sea. A terrified teenager, she suddenly finds herself khaleesi—Queen—of the Dothraki people. Narratively speaking, she combines the start and the end of the fairy tale. And, psychologically speaking, what she will learn differs from both the fairy tale and adventure, making her an altogether new kind of fantasy heroine, different from known telefantasy archetypes like the warrior woman and teen witch.26



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A Test of Character: From Humility to Pride A hero, whether male or female, must learn humility. However, since Daenerys starts from a victim position, we expect that she has to learn something else. Indeed, her hero trajectory is different. Rather than learning compassion and humility, instead, she must learn to master those emotions. Also, although, as Tatar points out, pride is a negative trait for which a female fairy tale hero will be severely punished, learning to be proud is, intriguingly, key to Daenerys’s story. The GoT saga fits the long-story arch of adventure with multiple trials, however, Daenerys’s development in Martin’s first book and its adaptation into Season 1 of HBO’s TV show fits the fairy tale and its three tests. Tatar divides these into a test of character, an impossible task, and an ultimate trial. In GoT’s case, the three tests require that Daenerys must face her brother, her husband, and a witch. The first test is usually one in which the hero encounters a creature which needs help and becomes his magic helper; it calls for him to be humble and show compassion. Conversely for Daenerys, her test calls for her to have the courage to stand up to an abusive brother. The journey takes her into a new world, one full of previously unexperienced sensations that allow her to see things through different eyes: The air was rich with the scents of earth and grass, mixed with the smell of horse-flesh and Dany’s sweat and the oil in her hair. Dothraki smells. They seemed to belong there. Dany breathed it all in, laughing.27

Daenerys is starting to change and to adjust to her surroundings, and the next time her brother, Viscerys, hits her, she shoves him back. “Have you forgotten who you are,” he screams, “look at you. Look at you!” Daenerys is barefoot and dressed in Dothraki clothes: “she looked as though she belonged”, while Viscerys is “soiled and stained in city silks and ringmail”.28 Daenerys suddenly sees him with new eyes. “He was a pitiful thing. He had always been a pitiful thing. Why had she never seen that before? There was a hollow place inside her where her fear had been.”29 Viserys is arrogant, greedy, vain, and proud. He feels superior to others and has a need to put them down. For example, when Daenerys has beautiful Dothraki clothes made for him, Viserys calls them “rags” and sneers, “next you’ll want to braid my hair”. But a warrior’s braid adorned with bells signifies victory, leading Daenerys to reply, “You have no right to a braid, you have won no victories yet.” “I am the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, not some grass-stained savage with bells in his hair,” Viserys spat back at her. He grabbed her arm. “You forget yourself, slut. Do you think that big belly will protect you if you wake the dragon?”30 Viserys’ pride is what cognitive psychologists Jessica L. Tracy and

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Richard W. Robins refer to as hubristic pride.31 This stems from internal and stable traits such as one’s inherent traits or innate propensities (for example, having a beautiful singing voice, or coming from a royal family), and stands in contrast to authentic pride, which is based on one’s actual achievements. Hubristic pride is narcissistic; it allows us to considers ourselves better than others, and is easily distorted into aggrandized self-esteem. It is fragile, in the sense that it often turns into shame when it is challenged. It is also maladaptive because it leads us to blame and antagonize others. Authentic pride, in contrast, is acquired through one’s own efforts to achieve things. It is, in the language of evolutionary biology, prosocial because it marks the proud person as hardworking and competent. Authentic pride: “contribute[s] to the development of a genuine and deep-rooted sense of self-esteem.”32 It sends positive signals and prevents exclusion from a group. Drogo’s hair is a sign of achievement: it has never been cut because he has never been defeated. Viserys, on the other hand, has not seen battle, and takes his right to the Iron Throne for granted. To pass her first test, Daenerys must learn the difference between hubristic and authentic pride, which, according to Tracy and Robins, are linked in one emotion (they feel the same) and also share physical features. Tracy and Robins suggest we add pride to what are called basic emotions—those of anger, contempt, fear, disgust, happiness, sadness, surprise—which are embodied in the same facial expressions across cultures. The physical features of pride involve face and body: head held high, an expanded chest, an upward gaze, a small smile, and a straight body posture.33 “You still slouch. Straighten yourself ”,34 Viserys corrects Dany before her marriage, himself standing straight through hubristic pride. Yet, when he assaults his sister in her tent, she responds with the words: “The next time you raise a hand to me will be the last time you have hands!” (1.04). Such words are uttered by a person with a positive self-evaluation, which is precisely what pride can also serve to do. Pride arms our “self ”, giving it confidence to stand up to opposition. Thus, when she understands the nature of pride and the difference between earned and unearned pride, Deaenerys refuses further humiliation. When Drogo crowns (and kills) a greedy Viserys by pouring melted gold over his head, she watches her brother die with acceptance. “He was no dragon, Dany thought, curiously calm. Fire cannot kill a dragon.”35 The test of character teaches Daenerys to shut off humility and compassion. This is a vital lesson not just for a queen with the power to rule, but for anyone wanting to rule his or her own self.



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The Impossible Task: To Master a Beast Where the test concerns personality, the task, according to Tatar, is to do something impossible, like emptying a lake with a perforated spoon or spinning a mountain of straw into gold. Drogo is Daenerys’s impossible second task: How can a traded teen master an older and mightier husband? Here, I shall read the tale as a twist on the classic fairy tale Beauty and the Beast and turn to postfeminism to support my argument. The task requires what in self-help parlance is called choice and agency. First a note on “postfeminism”. In my use of the term, it is not a theory of gender (biologically and/or socially speaking), but rather an everyday attitude to being woman. On a personal and psychological level, it is the integrated perception of what it means for an individual to be a woman and, as I see it, this perception can be non-conscious (meaning one does not consciously reflect on being a postfeminist) or conscious (meaning one does reflect on being a postfeminist). British gender scholar Stéphanie Genz (2009) says postfeminism: “does not exist as a bounded philosophy or ideology, nor can it be discussed as an organized political movement.”36 Thus, the term indicates openness to new ideas and optimism about the world and the future. It is called “a frontier discourse” which embraces plural femininities and rejects binary thinking. Therefore, postfeminism is not a view from a center of meaning, but is open to “conflict, contradiction, and ambiguity.”37 Postfeminism is the belief that the individual is not determined (for instance by a patriarchal society), but can choose her actions. Postfeminism shares postmodern ideas about globalization, choice, fragmentation, and individualism. And where feminism tends to see things as either pro- or antifeminist, postfeminism holds a conflicted both-and view. In my earlier work on female heroes (Schubart 2007), I use the term “in-betweenness” to capture the ambivalence of a female hero, who incorporates apparently contradictory traits such as being a sexualized spectacle and an able and aggressive hero, like The Bride in Kill Bill (2004).38 Such a female hero “presents viewers with a polysemic image that enables both reactionary and progressive readings.”39 Thus, Ripley in the Aliens film series has been read as antifeminist, feminist, postfeminist, and, simply, as a great hero.40 Postfeminism is open to pluralism and conflictedness. Postfeminism was embraced in the nineties, and also at the start of the new millennium, and was linked to positive notions of “girl power” and female agency. With the recession in the West, however, the term has become linked to neoliberalism and conservative gender politics. Postfeminism has been accused of lacking an ideology, but Genz (2006) links postfeminism to the neoliberal third wave of Bill Clinton, Tony Blair, and Gerhard Schröder, who in the late nineties called for “new individualism”, “tolerant traditionalism”, globalism, and multiculturalism.41 This political third wave was a (middle and left-wing) response to a new world with shared market economy and conflicted interests.

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My postfeminist view does not expect a Grand Utopia but accepts a world with conflicts of interest. Summing up, if postfeminism has an ideology, this links “micro-politics” (in the hands of the individual) to “macro-politics” (largescale and institutional). My brand of postfeminism holds that the individual can affect change; that said, it does not “have” a clear-defined politics. I agree with Genz (2009) who says: “I am not asking readers to endanger or forget their feminist loyalties but rather open their minds to the possibility of change and the ongoing transformations in the fields of feminism, femininity, critical analysis and popular representations of women.”42 Let me now return to the impossible task—how she can master her husband. The Beauty and the Beast tale takes various forms. In Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont’s 1756 fairy tale Beauty and the Beast (Belle e la bête), Belle is a rich merchant’s daughter who because of her father’s failed business is sold to the Beast, who lives in a castle. The Beast is, in fact, a prince, cursed by a fairy, and only true love will transform him back into his human form— which Belle’s love eventually does. In earlier fairy tale versions by Catherine d’Aulnoy, the heroine transforms the Beast back into human form (Le serpentin vert from 1697), or leaves him to die from heartbreak in his beastly form (Le mouton from 1697). Fairy tale scholar Marina Warner, in From the Beast to the Blonde (1995), has discussed the motifs of man as beast/husband and daughter-exchangedas-unwilling-wife and their significance as representations of an arranged marriage. When d’Aulnoy wrote her tales, it was, indeed, the custom to barter off one’s daughters off to become teenage wives to older (and often wealthier) husbands. A sixteen-year old D’Aulnoy was herself forced to marry a man thirty years her senior.43 At the heart of the Beauty/Beast tale is an arranged marriage and a young girl’s mastery of her husband. In the various fairy tales, his princely human form is the romantic one, but modern versions have found the beastly form more fascinating, as shown by the television show Beauty and the Beast (1987– 90), for which George R. R. Martin wrote eleven episodes. The “unhappy, forced unions between incompatible mates” has become a romance in which Beauty “tends to personify female erotic pleasures in matching and mastering a man who is dark and hairy, rough and wild, and, in the psychotherapist Robert Bly’s phrase, in touch with the Inner Warrior in himself ”.44 Similarly, in Game of Thrones, the Daenerys/Drogo relationship is about sexual acts that start as a contract between unequal partners (see Larsson, pages 17–38, for further discussion of the Daenerys/Drogo sex). Daenerys’s task is not to transform a beast into a man, but rather to transform her own terror into pleasure, which, later still, becomes passionate love. Two scenes are central to this: her wedding night, and when she makes Drogo face her and look her in the eyes during sex. In Martin’s novel A Game of Thrones, we learn it is customary for Dothraki men to have sex in public. The knight Ser Jorah, who later becomes Daenerys’s counsel, explains to her



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that, “The Dothraki mate like the animals in their herds”, adding “there is no privacy in a khalasar, and they do not understand sin or shame as we do”.45 In the book, Drogo caresses his bride until she says “yes”, but in contrast, in the HBO show, she doesn’t agree; thus, although he is gentle with her, the camera shows Daenerys crying as Drogo takes her. Later Daenerys adjusts to Dothraki culture, but not to Dothraki sex. He always took her from behind, Dothraki fashion, for which Dany was grateful; that way her lord husband could not see the tears that wet her face, and she could use her pillow to muffle her cries of pain.46

Daenerys contemplates suicide, but after she stands up to her brother, Viserys, she asks her handmaid how to please Drogo sexually. The impossible task is not to endure, but to master Drogo. He may be older, bigger, and stronger, but he also represents a new world, new sensations, sexuality, power, authentic pride, and freedom, the latter also signaled by his wedding gift to her, a mare. Sitting on her horse, “for the first time in hours, she forgot to be afraid. Or perhaps it was for the first time ever”.47 Daenerys pleases Drogo in public, as is Dothraki custom, except that she mounts him, which is not custom: When he tried to turn her over, she put a hand on his chest. “No,” she said. “This night I would look on your face.” There is no privacy in the heart of the khalasar. Dany felt the eyes on her as she undressed him, heard the soft voices as she did the things that Doreah had told her to do. It was nothing to her … when she mounted him she saw something there that she had never seen before. She rode him as fiercely as ever she had ridden her silver, and when the moment of his pleasure came, Khal Drogo called her name.48

In the novel they make sex in public. In the TV show, Daenerys mounts Drogo in their tent, and where as in the novel the word “love” is never used, in the TV show Daenerys’s maid tells her how to make Drogo “fall in love” with her. Thus, the show is less transgressive and more conventionally romantic. Still, both book and TV show leave unanswered whether the sex is marital rape or the cultural custom of an arranged marriage. The issue of age (in the novel Daenerys is thirteen, in the show, she is fifteen) is avoided in the show since Daenerys is played by Emilia Clarke, who was twenty-three at the time of shooting. Drogo was played by thirty-one-year-old Jason Momoa, The seventeen-year-age difference in the novel was thus reduced to a more acceptable eight years between the actors, yet was replaced by differences in power, size, and ethnicity. Thus, muscular Hawaiian actor Momoa, who’s 6 ft 2 in. tall (1.93 m), towers over petite 5 ft 2 in. (1.57 m) British actor Clarke. Still, the portrayal of “unhappy, forced unions” has been debated. Some feminist bloggers see the wedding sex as depicted in the HBO adaptation as

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rape: “The beautiful setting and soft music is a subliminal cue … a message that rape is romantic, rape is love.”49 Other feminists, who have read the book series, see Martin’s depiction of how men treat women as a critique: the canard of the woman who falls in love with her rapist is extremely difficult to overcome … [yet] by creating such diverse and fully rendered female characters and thrusting them into this grim and bitter world, Martin has created a subversively feminist tale.50

This differing opinion about the same scene—either unacceptable rape or rape embedded in and excused by a feminist story—reveals GoT as an ambiguous sexual terrain. Philosopher Katherine Tullmann concludes that, “In the end, we must reject moral relativism. No matter what culture we’re in, some actions are wrong. Which actions are those? … Rape? Definitely.”51 However, Tullmann does not discuss the Daenerys/Drogo sex scene, but rather a different situation in which Drogo’s warriors rape women (a scene I discuss in the next section; see also Gjelsvik for a discussion of rape, pages 60–4). But let us turn away from rape back to the fairy tale’s task, where social exchange and sexual dissent is at the heart of both the Beauty/Beast tale and also the Daenerys/Drogo story. I think these themes or questions remain ambiguous and unanswered. Novel and show both portray Daenerys’s completion of her task differently: In the novel she masters Dothraki custom (public sex) and claims individual agency (being on top), and in the show she combines Western romance (intimacy, privacy, kissing) with individual agency (being dressed and on top), thus not assimilating Dothraki custom. Both solutions, however, show her as a postfeminist Beauty, adapting to a new culture and writing her own sexual script. Let me here return to pride. It is a moral emotion linked to shame. Pride expresses a positive self-evaluation, and shame a negative self-evaluation. When Danerys cries during sex in the HBO show, we understand she feels humiliated and shameful. Conversely, when she “fiercely” “mounts” Drogo, she changes her part in a sexual scenario from victim to agent. Pride belongs to the social emotions that: “play a crucial role in status seeking, dominance, and other fundamental social behaviors and thus facilitate survival in a complex social world.”52 Pride does not win wars. But when pride is matched with choice and agency, it facilitates self-respect and helps a powerless wife win the respect of her powerful husband. Agency is not given to the hero; it must be earned. Agency is the point of the impossible task, and Drogo is both magical helper and opponent. For Drogo to help Daenerys, she must transform herself first, then him next.



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The Ultimate Trial: Mastering Magic and Dragons Whereas the test and the task, respectively, transform the hero on both a personal and a social level, the trial, which is the third test, shifts the social level from micro-politics to macro-politics, or from dealing with family to dealing with strangers. The trial, says Tatar, is similar to test and task in that we find “the rewarding of good will and the punishment of treachery”, the differences being that it “intensifies the reward (a princess and a kingdom) and the punishment (death).”53 Again, we shall see that fantasy and fairy tale rules are at work in GoT, only twisted and expanded. In her task, Daenerys faces a witch, a test which is not solved with compassion or humility, and certainly not by using instinct. With Viserys gone and Drogo tamed, Daenerys could in many ways be content, but she is not. If I were not the blood of the dragon, she thought wistfully, this could be my home. She was khaleesi, she had a strong man and a swift horse, handmaids to serve her, warriors to keep her safe … That should be enough for any woman … but not for the dragon. With Viserys gone, Daenerys was the last, the very last. She was the seed of kings and conquerors, and so, too, was the child inside her. She must not forget.54

So, instead, Daenerys asks Drogo to conquer the Iron Throne for her. Daenerys’s desire for the Iron Throne will result in Drogo’s death and in the revelation of her own magical abilities to survive fire and control dragons. The time has come for us to be introduced to magic. Crucial to the appeal of Daenerys’ character are her dragons and ability to survive fire. According to French sociologist Marcel Mauss, magic is individual, whereas religion is public and institutionalized. Magic is: “private, secret, mysterious and approaches the limit of a prohibited rite.”55 In religious thinking, an individual holds no special powers, but in magical thinking, “isolated individuals can affect social phenomena.”56 Magic, says Mauss, belongs to the disempowered—to women, children, the elderly, and those living on the fringes of society. It can be used to protest one’s social limitations and, as such, exiled princess and pregnant teenager Daenerys is the perfect medium for magic. Polish anthropologist Bronislaw Malinowski also highlights magic’s relation to passion, desire, and hope. What we passionately desire, but cannot reach, we can sometimes use supernatural forces to obtain. Magical rituals, says Malinowski, are the “extended expressions of emotion in act and in word”.57 Magic is not so much about superstition, as it is about giving form to our emotional belief. Whether magic is good or evil depends on how it is used. Literary scholar John H. Timmerman stresses magic as the individual’s choice: “The fantasy

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hero, it must be made clear, is individually free to choose, must choose, but his choices have consequence far beyond the confines of his one life.”58 In cognitive approaches to religion and magic, supernatural thinking is linked to innate traits of the human mind such as agency detection and our urge to punish cheaters.59 The first, agency detection, takes us back to Boyd’s hypothesis that art is about playing with patterns. What breaks a pattern may spell danger (“what is that strange sound?”), and we constantly scan the environment for pattern breaks, and have an innate tendency to ascribe detected breaks to an agent (it was not just a branch, but someone who caused the sound). Where animals can be satisfied that there is no danger (there is no smell of an intruder) we continue to look (what if an intruder is here but is hiding?). And if we do not find an agent, we invent one. As religious scholar István Czachesz asserts: “humans [have] developed an oversensitive reaction to the presence of agency in the environment, which [has] contributed to the emergence of belief in gods and spirits.”60 Add to this hypersensitivity an innate sense of justice and a desire to punish those who violate the social rules (the cheaters): Thus, after we invent supernatural beings, we ask them to take our side in our social conflicts. Magic, we hope, will help us reach our goal and punish those who break the rules. When we are powerless, magic is at hand. Daenerys desires the Iron Throne. First, Drogo refuses, but when an assassin sent by King Robert attempts to poison his wife, Drogo declares war: “I will kill the men in the iron suits and tear down their stone houses. I will rape their women, take their children as slaves, and bring their broken gods back to Vaes Dothrak.” Daenerys is happy that he will do this for her. However, then, she actually sees Drogo’s warriors raping women. Across the road, a girl no older than Dany [fourteen] was sobbing in a high thin voice as a rider shoved her over a pile of corpses, facedown, and thrust himself inside her. Other riders dismounted to take their turns … I am the blood of the dragon, Daenerys Targaryen reminded herself as she turned her face away. She pressed her lips together and hardened her heart.61

But she can’t help but respond to the girl’s “heartrending sound”, and claims the raped women as her slaves. “You have a gentle heart, but you do not understand,” says Ser Jorah, “those men have shed blood for the khal. Now they claim their reward.” And Drogo states: “This is the way of war. These women are our slaves now, to do with as we please.” “It pleases me to keep them safe,” replies Dany.62 One of the women is a healer, Mirri Maz Duur. When she offers to heal Drogo, who has been wounded in the conquest of Mirri Maz’s city, the warriors protest: “I say kill this maegi and wait.” But Daenerys ignores this advice because “this old, homely, thick-bodied woman did not look like a maegi to



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her”. Yet, Mirri Maz is a witch and her treatment does kill Drogo. Desperate to save him, Daenerys sacrifices her unborn child in a bloodritual, but Drogo returns to her braindead. Daenerys doesn’t understand. Why would Mirri Maz murder Drogo and her unborn son when she had saved the woman? “Saved me?” The Lhazareen woman spat. “Three riders had taken me, not as a man takes a woman, but from behind, as a dog takes a bitch. The fourth was in me when you rode past. How then did you save me?”63 From a micro-perspective, Daenerys saved Mirri Maz, but from a macro-perspective, the former was the cause of her downfall. When Drogo is braindead, his warriors leave Daenerys. She smothers Drogo and builds him a pyre. She believes that she is a victim because she is living in exile and had been married against her will. But these are the pains of the privileged. Mirri Maz teaches her the pains of the oppressed. Now, “All her fear” is “gone, burned away”. Daenerys learns to harden her “gentle heart”, and takes Mirri Maz into the fire, the symbolic meaning being to assume the witch’s magical powers into herself.64 The trial teaches, thus, her macro-politics, a Machiavellian lesson: “A prince should seem to be merciful, faithful, humane, religious and upright, and should even be so in reality; but he should have his mind so trained that, when occasion requires it, he may know how to change to the opposite”.65 The trial is about macro-politics. Where test and task teach Daenerys the pride of a Queen, the trial teaches her to think like one. With Drogo dead, her family gone, and the Dothraki people gone too, she has nothing to loose. It is trial by fire and in the conviction that fire cannot harm her, she enters the pyre.

Dragons If magic ascribes supernatural agency to the world so we can obtain our desired goals, it should seem the role of the dragons would be to fulfill our wishes. Daenerys wants the Iron Throne and we expect the dragons to help her. We expect the dragons to be magic helpers, which is the function of magical animals in the fairy tale. However, the trial showed her—and us—that the world is run by macro-politics, not magic. The bloodritual does not bring Drogo back, and Mirri Maz is not saved by magic as she cannot use it to save her own life. So, what do dragons bring? Dragons are heavily invested with meaning. In Western mythology, they are monsters to be slain. Ancient Rome used them as a sigil on banners, claiming the strength of dragons at war. In Norse mythology, they were bestial adversaries slain by the hero Beowulf. And to medieval Christianity, the dragon symbolized the devil as slain by Saint George. Campbell reads dragons as symbols of internal fears and desires relating to the father that a hero must kill. In a reversal of tropes, however, dragons have become friends and pets, as

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viewed in such movies as Dragonheart (1996), Shrek (2001), How to Train Your Dragon (2010), and How to Train Your Dragon 2 (2014; in the last title women even get to ride dragons, too). Thus, while dragons have, for the most part, been seen as an expression of male ambitions and powers, in GoT, Daenerys is a woman. In Western mythology, women are victims of dragons, from Margaret of Antioch, who miraculously survived being swallowed by a dragon, to the proverbial virgin captured by a dragon—which can easily be read as women falling pray to male aggression and desire. Disney’s Sleeping Beauty (1959) may be the first fairy tale in which the evil stepmother transforms into a dragon (the Grimm fairy tale contained no dragon). The dragon in Shrek is similarly female, but does not turn into a woman, and the Disney production Maleficient (2014) made the evil stepmother in Sleeping Beauty (Angelina Jolie) the protagonist, and the dragon she transforms into isn’t a monster but rather an expression of her angry self, a woman betrayed and mutilated by a man. A Game of Thrones, written in 1996, predates Shrek and Maleficient, and Martin’s novel is, as far as I know, the first text to establish a positive relation between a heroine and dragons. Let us return to the end of “Fire and Blood” in which Daenerys rises from the ashes. I experienced the scene as exhilarating and uplifting, with prickly sensations on my arms, my heart beating fast, a rush of adrenaline as the solemn orchestral music picked up, and the camera backtracked and zoomed up over a naked Daenerys in a circle of people bowing to her in awe. The novel’s final words are: “… and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.”66 Daenerys is the reverse of a dragonslayer: she is a dragon maker. Instead of psychoanalysis and feminist theory, which might read a dragon as symbol of inner forces, and see the naked woman as spectacle, I have chosen cognitive theory and postfeminism. From a genre perspective, the subversive construction of Daenerys as female fantasy hero offers the play with pattern, which Boyd says arouses curiosity and makes us creative. Mixing traits and rules from fantasy and fairy tale, we are drawn to Daenerys’s story like moths to a flame. The light is no chance metaphor; in the midst of darkness, the blonde princess Daenerys is linked to fire and light. “I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons,” she says. Magic is the belief that we can affect change, that we have the power to shape events, and that these powers join our passionate emotions to supernatural forces that side with us. Even if GoT in later seasons becomes increasingly dark and gruesome, Daenerys’s character represents an uplifting view: She is invested with hope (for the future), with awe and wonder (magic), and the backtracking and framing of her amids her believers creates a physical and psychological sense of upheaval. These emotions—hope, awe, and upheaval—make her a messianic character. Messianic framing, often in sublime nature settings, returns in later seasons with Daenerys in the midst of her army of unsullied (3.04), lifted up



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by the freed slaves of Yunkai (3.10), outside the city Meereen amidst her army of freed slaves (4.04, “The breaker of chains”), and lifted up by her dragon Drogon (5.09). The messianic dimension is supported by her speeches of freedom, beginning before she enters the pyre. She addresses the only people left, the slaves: “I see the faces of slaves. I free you. Take off your collars. Go if you wish, no one shall harm you. If you stay, it will be as brothers and sisters, husbands

Figure 19: A female fantasy hero to look up to: Daenerys uses her dragon as weapon. Game of Thrones: Season 3, Episode 4 (“And Now His Watch Is Ended”). © HBO, 2013.

Figure 20. Messianic framing of Daenerys lifted by the freed slaves of Yunkai. Game of Thrones: Season 3, Episode 10 (“Mhysa”). © HBO, 2013.

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and wives … To each of you I say, give me your hands and your hearts and there will always be a place for you.”67 And to the slaves of Yunkai in Season 3: “Your freedom is not mine to give. It belongs to you and you alone. If you want it back you must take it for yourselves” (3.10). Yet freedom is a difficult concept, and in Season 5 Daenerys despair when the slaves she freed want her to reopen Mereen’s fighting pits, so they may fight to the death, not as slaves but, willingly, as free men. To the positive emotions we must add the generic twists. As said, magic is a mixed blessing. It does not return Drogo from the dead and the dragons grow into uncontrollable forces. In Season 1 they are hatched and seem to be the fairy tale’s magical helpers or, in Campbell’s terminology, the boon to be restored to society. In Season 2, they are small and in need of parental protection. When they were eggs, they filled Dany with “wonder” and were “the most beautiful things she had ever seen.”68 At the end of Season 2 they are stolen and free Daenerys with their fire when she is chained in the Tomb of the Undying (2.10). In Season 3 they are bigger and stronger and kill the slavetrader Kraznys mo Nakloz and help Daenerys get her army of the unsullied (3.04). In Season 4, however, they kill innocents due to their predatory nature. Now, ambiguously and complexly, they have become dangerous weapons and, like nuclear weapons, truly hold the power to alter world politics. Season 4 ends with Daenerys locking her dragons, Rhaegal and Viserion, in a mountain cave, with Drogon on the loose. In Season 5, Drogon returns to save Daenerys from being assassinated in the fighting pit (5.09). But dragons, it seems, are not the answer to the politics of war. At the end of Season 5 Drogon saves Daenerys, yet is badly wounded, and refuses to obey her command to return her to the city of Meereen. Walking on foot from Drogon’s lair in the mountains, she is surrounded by Dothrakian warriors, and her fate remains to be seen. So, it seems that you might win wars with dragons—if you can control them. Daenerys still has her dragons; however, magic and the macro-politics of wars are not solved with the three tests she goes through. To rule in GoT is as complicated as in our real world. But that is another story.

Conclusion Daenerys is a fantasy hero who breaks generic patterns, and forms a new puzzle out of the pieces. She combines emotions and elements that are stereotypically gendered male and female (male pride, a male dragonslayer, a damsel in distress), and claims agency for herself and others. Postfeminism relies on attitudes rather than ideology. Since the abandonment of Freudian theory, gender approaches in media studies seem left with the choice of either (a political) feminism or (an apolitical) postfeminism, the



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former usually understood as left wing and the latter as right wing. Writing in 2007, Genz described postfeminism as “a resolutely dialogic and paradoxical stance, literally a point of interrogation”,69 but later postfeminist writings are apprehensive. “Postfeminism continually hypes empowerment,” wrote media scholar Diane Negra in 2009, “but a closer examination of its affective registers reveals a sense of stern disapproval and judgment for any manifestations of ‘off-script’ femininity.”70 And Lynn Spiegel, in 2013, critiques how television dramas set in prefeminist pasts ignore feminism: “Prefeminism and postfeminism without the feminism in the middle is a hard thing to imagine. But somehow, much of contemporary nostalgia culture seems to be just that.”71 It is not my intention here to discuss the issue of feminism and postfeminism. Rather than judge Daenerys as being anti- or prefeminist (by endorsing rape or being part of an ignorant nostalgia culture), or feminist (by being, in simplistic fashion, a “strong” woman), I take her as “a point of interrogation”. Standing straight and gazing into the sky, she is a pride display. We see the pride display, says Tracy and Robins, “in spontaneous nonverbal behaviors shown in response to a pride-eliciting event, such as successful completion of a task”.72 Daenerys has completed her three tests and will encounter new tests as the saga continues. Rising from the ashes, nudity marks her as cleansed of former social roles, and her dragons signal the power of magic and raw force.73 Her pride is authentic and a positive emotion that signals agency and promises a future struggle for freedom. Daenerys’s emotions and qualities transcend clear-cut ideological positions. They are neither left nor right wing, but empowering and adaptive to any reader and viewer whether we are male or female, feminist or postfeminist. How we use Daenerys as a role model is up to each of us.

Notes   1. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire, Books One to Four: A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords, A Feast for Crows (Sydney: HarperVoyager, 2011), Kindle edition. A Game of Thrones, Daenerys’s last (tenth) chapter in A Game of Thrones, location 13764. All references are to this version.   2. For a feminist critique of neuroscience see Cordelia Fine, The Delusions of Gender: How Our Minds, Society, and Neurosexism Create Difference (New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 2010) and Robyn Bluhm, Anne Jaap Jacobson, and Heidi Lene Maibom, Neurofeminism: Issues at the Intersection of Feminist Theory and Cognitive Science (Basingstoke: Palgrave/Macmillan, 2012) e-book.   3. Carol Clover, “Maiden Warriors and Other Sons,” Journal of English and Germanic Philology 85, no. 1 (January 1986): 35–49, 49.   4. Boyd, Brian, On the Origin of Stories: Evolution, Cognition, and Fiction. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2009, Kindle edition, location 220. For discussions of film and literature as adaptive, see also Brian Boyd, Joseph Carroll,

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and Jonathan Gottschall, eds, Evolution, Literature, and Film: A Reader (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010).   5. Boyd, On the Origin of Stories, location 595.   6. Grodal, Torben. Embodied Visions: Evolution, Emotion, Culture, and Film. New York: Oxford University Press, 2009, 98, 103.   7. Katherine A. Fowkes, The Fantasy Film (Malden: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010), 5.   8. Thomas Sobchack, “The Adventure Film,” quoted in Steve Neale, Genre and Hollywood (London: Routledge, 2000), 55.   9. John G. Cawelti, Adventure, Mystery, and Romance (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1977), 45. 10. Joseph Campbell, The Hero With a Thousand Faces (London: Fontana Press, 1993 [1949]), 35. 11. Campbell, Hero With a Thousand Faces, 39. 12. Ibid., 352. 13. Ibid., 38. 14. Fowkes, The Fantasy Film, 6. 15. Ernst Bloch, “The Fairy Tale Moves on its Own in Time” (1930), quoted in Jack Zipes, Breaking the Magic Spell: Radical Theories of Folk and Fairy Tales (Lexington: University of Press of Kentucky, 2002 [1979]), 153. 16. Zipes, Magic Spell, 162. Tolkien’s essay “On Fairy-Stories” was given as a lecture in 1939, revised several times and published in 1964. In his definition of fantasy Tolkien includes fairy tales and fantasy. Tolkien had participated in the First World War and was aware of the build-up to the Second World War when writing The Hobbit in the thirties. A different right-wing political ideology is found in Robert E. Howard’s tales of Conan the Barbarian, also written in the thirties. 17. The fairy tale heroine picks lentils in the ashes in “Cinderella,” is imprisoned in a high tower in “Rapuntzel,” and must be silent for six years and is almost burnt at the stakes in “Six Swans”. 18. Maria Tatar, “Test, Tasks, and Trials in the Grimm’s Fairy Tales,” Children’s Literature 13 (1985): 36–7. 19. Tatar, “Test, Tasks, and Trials,” 38. 20. For a critical feminist reading of the fairy tale see for example Christy Williams, “The Silent Struggle Autonomy for the Maiden Who Seeks Her Brothers,” The Comparatist 30 (May 2006): 81–100. For analysis of the female hero in fantasy see also Robin Anne Reid, ed., Women in Science Fiction and Fantasy, volumes one and two (Westport: Greenwood Press, 2009). 21. Campbell, Hero With a Thousand Faces, 97. 22. Ibid., 101. 23. Tatar, “Test, Tasks, and Trials,” 35. 24. King Robert killed the Targaryen family who ruled Westeros, but the pregnant queen and her eight-year-old son, Viserys, escaped. The queen died giving birth to Daenerys, and the siblings have grown up in exile. Now, thirteen years later, Daenerys is old enough to be traded in marriage. 25. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire, Books One to Four, Daenerys’s first chapter, location 907. 26. See Tasker and Steenberg in this volume (see pages 171–92) for a historical perspective on the woman warrior in film and television and a discussion of Daenerys as messianic leader. A televisual female fantasy hero has long roots



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going back into fantastic literature, early cinema, and early television. It is beyond the scope of this article to offer a genre historical perspective on the female fantasy hero. For a history of women in science fiction and fantasy literature, see Robin Anne Reid, ed., Women in Science Fiction and Fantasy, Vol. 1 and 2 (Greenwood, 2008); for anthologies on female fantasy heroes in television see Elyce Rae Helford, ed., Fantasy Girls: Gender in the New Universe of Science Fiction and Fantasy Television (Rowman & Littlefield, 2000) and Frances Early and Kathleen Kennedy, eds, Athena’s Daughters: Television’s New Women Warriors (New York: Syracuse University Press, 2003); for recent anthologies on the young female fantasy hero in literature, see Jes Battis, ed., Supernatural Youth: The Rise of the Teen Hero in Literature and Popular Culture (Plymouth: Lexington Books, 2011), Hallie Tibbetts, ed., Sirens: Collected Papers 2009–2011 (Sedalia: Narrate Conferences, 2012), and Mary F. Pharr and Leisa A. Clark, eds, Of Bread, Blood and The Hunger Games: Critical Essays on the Suzanne Collins Trilogy (Jefferson: McFarland & Co., 2012). 27. Martin, A Game of Thrones, Daenerys’ third chapter, location 4093. 28. Ibid., location 4106. 29. Ibid., location 4120. 30. Ibid., Daenerys’ fourth chapter, location 6843. 31. Jessica L. Tracy and Richard W. Robins, “The Psychological Structure of Pride: A Tale of Two Facets,” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 92, no. 3 (2007): 506–25. 32. Tracy and Robins, “Structure of Pride,” 507. 33. For a discussion of the physical features of pride see Jessica L. Tracy and Richard W. Robins, “The Prototypical Pride Expression: Development of a Nonverbal Behavior Coding System,” Emotion 7, no. 4 (2007): 789–801 and Jessica L. Tracy, Richard W. Robins, and Roberta A. Schriber, “Development of a FACS-Verified Set of Basic and Self-Conscious Emotion Expressions,” Emotion 9, no. 4 (2009): 554–9. Complex social emotions (shame, guilt, humiliation) involve both facial and bodily expressions whereas we read basic emotions quickly and instinctively from our faces. 34. Martin, A Game of Thrones, Daenerys’ first chapter, location 750. 35. Ibid., Daenerys’ fifth chapter, location 8632. 36. Genz, Stéphanie, “Third Way/ve: The Politics of Postfeminism” in Feminist Theory 7 (2006): 333–53. For a discussion of postfeminism see Stéphanie Genz, Postfemininities in Popular Culture (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009); for a positive view of postfeminism, see Benjamin A. Brabon and Stéphanie Genz, eds, Postfeminist Gothic: Critical Interventions in Contemporary Culture (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007) and Yvonne Tasker and Diane Negra, eds, Interrogating Postfeminism: Gender and the Politics of Popular Culture (London: Duke University Press, 2007), especially their introduction 1–26; for a pragmatic and reflective use of postfeminism, see Martin Fradley, “‘Hell Is a Teenage Girl’?: Postfeminism and Contemporary Teen Horror” in Joel Gwynne and Nadine Muller, Postfeminism and Contemporary Cinema (Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 204–21; for a critique of postfeminism see Sarah Projansky, Watching Rape: Film and Television in Postfeminist Culture (New York: New York University Press, 2001), especially 66–89; for a critique of postfeminism as conservative politics see Diane Negra, What a Girl Wants: Fantasicing the Reclamation of Self in Postfeminism (London:

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Routledge, 2009). For neofeminism as an alternative approach to female protagonists and agency, see Hilary Radner, Neo-Feminist Cinema: Girly Films, Chick Flicks and Consumer Culture (New York: Routledge, 2011). 37. Jane Kalbfleisch, quoted in Stéphanie Genz, Postfemininities in Popular Culture (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009), 22. 38. Rikke Schubart, Super Bitches and Action Babes: The Female Hero in Popular Cinema, 1970–2006 (Jefferson: McFarland, 2007), 2. 39. Frances Early and Kathleen Kennedy, eds, Athena’s Daughters: Television’s New Women Warriors (New York: Syracuse University Press, 2003), 6. 40. For an analysis of Sigourney Weaver in the Alien series see Chapter 7, “The Alien Series and the Mother Archetype” in Schubart, Super Bitches, 169–95. 41. Genz, “Third Way/ve: The Politics of Postfeminism”, 334. For third way politics see Anthony Giddens, The Third Way: The Renewal of Social Democracy (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1998); Anthony Giddens, Europe in the Global Age (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2007); and Anthony Giddens and Patrick Diamond, eds, The New Egalitarianism (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2005). 42. Genz, Postfemininities, 27. However, Genz is less positive about postfeminism in her contribution in the present anthology. 43. For a discussion of Marie-Catherine d’Aulnoy please see Marina Warner, From the Beast to the Blonde: On Fairy Tales and Their Tellers (London: Vintage, 1995), 284–6. 44. Warner, From the Beast to the Blonde, 284, 318. 45. Martin, A Game of Thrones, Daenerys’ second chapter, location 1960. 46. Ibid., Daenerys’ third chapter, location 4056. 47. Ibid., Daenerys’ second chapter, location 2024. 48. Ibid., Daenerys’ third chapter, location 4216. 49. “Daenery’s Wedding Night, or This is Not a Rape Scene,” blog entry by ElegantPI, April 25, 2011, available online: http://elegantpi.dreamwidth.org/747684.html (accessed February 15, 2013). 50. Caroline Spector, “Power and Feminism in Westeros,” in Beyond the Wall: Exploring George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire, ed. James Lowder (Dallas: BenBella Books, 2012), first quote is at location 2715 of 3228, second quote is location 2757. 51. Kathrine Tullmann, “Dany’s Encounter with the Wild: Cultural Relativism in A Games of Thrones,” in Game of Thrones and Philosophy: Logic Cuts Deeper than Swords, ed. Henry Jacoby (New Jersey: John Wiley & Sons, 2012), 194–205, 204. 52. Tracy and Robins, “Prototypical Pride Expression,” 790. 53. Tatar, “Test, Tasks, and Trials,” 36. 54. Martin, A Game of Thrones, Daenerys’ sixth chapter, location 10072. 55. Marcel Mauss, A General Theory of Magic (London: Routledge, 1972 [1950]), 24. 56. Mauss, Theory of Magic, 9. 57. Bronislaw Malinowski. Magic, Science and Religion and Other Essays (New York: Doubleday Anchor Book, 1954), 80. 58. John H. Timmerman, Other Worlds: The Fantasy Genre (Bowling Green: Bowling Green University Popular Press, 1983), 73. 59. For religion and cognition see Pascal Boyer, Religion Explained: The Evolutionary Origins of Religious Thoughts (New York: Basic Books, 2001, Kindle edn). For religion and agency detection, cheater punishment, and the power law, see



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István Czachesz, “Magic and Mind: Toward a New Cognitive Theory of Magic, With Special Attention to the Canonical and Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles,” paper downloaded from academia.edu, 1–29. Available online: https://www. academia.edu/488781/Magic_and_Mind_Toward_a_New_Cognitive_Theory_ of_Magic_With_Special_Attention_to_the_Canonical_and_Apocryphal_Acts_ of_the_Apostles (accessed November 8, 2015). In Neues Testament und Magie: Verhältnisbestimmungen, Special Issue edited by T. Nicklas and Th. J. Kraus of Annali di Storia dell’Esegesi 24 (2007): 295–321. 60. Czachesz, “Magic and Mind,” 15. 61. Martin, A Game of Thrones, Daenerys’ seventh chapter, location 11407. 62. Ibid., Daenerys’ seventh chapter, location 11463. 63. Ibid., Daenerys’ eight chapter, location 12984. 64. Ibid., Daenerys’s tenth chapter, location 13720. 65. Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince, quoted in Game of Thrones and Philosophy, 45. See also Beaton in this volume, pages 193–218, for Machiavelli and the women of Westeros. 66. Martin, A Game of Thrones, Daenerys’s tenth chapter, location 13777. 67. Ibid., location 13666. 68. Ibid., Daenerys’ second chapter, location 1998 and 1979. 69. Benjamin A. Brabon and Stéphanie Genz (eds), Postfeminist Gothic: Critical Interventions in Contemporary Culture (Basinstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), 4. 70. Diane Negra, What a Girl Wants: Fantasicing the Reclamation of Self in Postfeminism (London: Routledge, 2009), 152. Digital edition. 71. Lynn Spigel, “Postfeminist Nostalgia for a Prefeminist Future,” Screen 54, no. 2, Summer (2013): 270–8, 278. 72. Tracy and Robins, “Prototypical Pride Expression,” 789. 73. See also Beaton in this volume (see pages 193–218) for a reading of Daenerys as Machiavellian character.

Bibliography Boyd, Brian. On the Origin of Stories: Evolution, Cognition, and Fiction. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2009. Kindle edition. Brabon, Benjamin A. and Stéphanie Genz, eds. Postfeminist Gothic: Critical Interventions in Contemporary Culture. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007. Campbell, Joseph. The Hero With a Thousand Faces. London: Fontana Press, 1993. Cawelti, John G. Adventure, Mystery, and Romance. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1977. Czachesz, István. “Magic and Mind: Toward a New Cognitive Theory of Magic, With Special Attention to the Canonical and Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles.” Paper downloaded from academia.edu, 1–29. Available online: https://www. academia.edu/488781/Magic_and_Mind_Toward_a_New_Cognitive_Theory_ of_Magic_With_Special_Attention_to_the_Canonical_and_Apocryphal_Acts_ of_the_Apostles (accessed November 8, 2015). In Neues Testament und Magie: Verhältnisbestimmungen, Special Issue edited by T. Nicklas and Th. J. Kraus of Annali di Storia dell’Esegesi 24 (2007): 295–321.

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Early, Frances, and Kathleen Kennedy, eds. Athena’s Daughters: Television’s New Women Warriors. New York: Syracuse University Press, 2003. ElegantPI. “Daenery’s Wedding Night, or This is Not a Rape Scene.” April 25, 2011, available online: http://elegantpi.dreamwidth.org/747684.html (accessed February 15, 2013). Genz, Stéphanie. “Third Way/ve: The Politics of Postfeminism.” Feminist Theory 7, no. 3 (2006): 333–53. Genz, Stéphanie. Postfemininities in Popular Culture. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009. Grodal, Torben. Embodied Visions: Evolution, Emotion, Culture, and Film. New York: Oxford University Press, 2009. Jacoby, Henry, ed. Game of Thrones and Philosophy: Logic Cuts Deeper than Swords. New Jersey: John Wiley & Sons, 2012. Kindle edition. Lowder, James, ed. Beyond the Wall: Exploring George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire. Dallas: BenBella Books, 2012. Kindle edition. Lüthi, Max. Once Upon a Time: On the Nature of Fairy Tales. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1976. Machiavelli, Niccolò. The Prince. Translated by Tim Parks. London: Penguin, 2009 [1513]. Malinowski, Bronislaw. Magic, Science and Religion and Other Essays. New York: Doubleday Anchor Book, 1954. Martin, George R. R. A Song of Ice and Fire, Books One to Four: A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords, A Feast for Crows. Sydney: HarperVoyager, 2011. Kindle edition. Mauss, Marcel. A General Theory of Magic. London: Routledge, 1972 [1950]. Negra, Diane. What a Girl Wants: Fantasicing the Reclamation of Self in Postfeminism. London: Routledge, 2009. Digital edition. Schubart, Rikke. Super Bitches and Action Babes: The Female Hero in Popular Cinema, 1970–2006. Jefferson: McFarland, 2007. Spector, Caroline. “Power and Feminism in Westeros.” In Beyond the Wall: Exploring George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire, edited by James Lowder. Dallas: BenBella Books, 2012. Kindle edition. Spigel, Lynn. “Postfeminist Nostalgia for a Prefeminist Future.” Screen 54, no. 2, (Summer 2013): 270–8. Tatar, Maria. “Test, Tasks, and Trials in the Grimm’s Fairy Tales.” Children’s Literature 13 (1985): 31–48. Timmerman, John H. Other Worlds: The Fantasy Genre. Bowling Green: Bowling Green University Popular Press, 1983. Tracy, Jessica L. and Richard W. Robins. “The Psychological Structure of Pride: A Tale of Two Facets.” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 92, no. 3 (2007a): 506–25. Tracy, Jessica L. and Richard W. Robins. “The Prototypical Pride Expression: Development of a Nonverbal Behavior Coding System.” Emotion 7, no. 4 (2007b): 789–801. Tracy, Jessica L., Richard W. Robins, and Roberta A. Schriber. “Development of a FACS-Verified Set of Basic and Self-Conscious Emotion Expressions.” Emotion 9, no. 4 (2009): 554–9. Tullmann, Kathrine. “Dany’s Encounter with the Wild: Cultural Relativism in A Games of Thrones.” In Game of Thrones and Philosophy: Logic Cuts Deeper than



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Swords, edited by Henry Jacoby. New Jersey: John Wiley & Sons, 2012. Kindle edition. Warner, Marina. From the Beast to the Blonde: On Fairy Tales and Their Tellers. London: Vintage, 1995. Zipes, Jack. Breaking the Magic Spell: Radical Theories of Folk & Fairy Tales. Lexington: University of Press of Kentucky, 2002.

Chapter 6 P OW E R P L AY A N D F A M I LY T I E S : H Y B R I D F A N TA SY , N E T WO R K N A R R AT I V E , A N D F E M A L E C HA R AC T E R S Helle Kannik Haastrup

This paper offers an analysis of the television series Game of Thrones (HBO, 2011–), with regard to its place within the fantasy genre, and the workings of the network narrative. Its focus is on the female characters embodying the series’ two main themes, power and family. It draws on Season 4, particularly the storylines, and also the significance of the key female protagonists in the episode “The Children” (4.10)1—that is, the conqueror and mother of dragons, Daenerys Targaryen (Emilia Clarke), the defiant queen mother, Cersei Lannister (Lena Headey), the loyal fighter Brienne of Tarth (Gwendolyne Christie), and the young avenger Arya Stark (Maisie Williams). My aim is to establish a framework for analyzing fantasy network narratives by combining the literary theories of: the fantasy genre in Tzvetan Todorov’s The Fantastic (1975) and Katherine Fowkes’ The Fantasy Film (2010); the transmedia understanding of genre in John G. Cawelti’s Adventure, Mystery and Romance (1976); and the workings of the soap opera, as argued by Christine Geraghty, in Women and Soap Opera (1994). My analysis of network narrative is based on Maria del Mar Azcona’s The Multi-Protagonist Film (2010), while I also investigate the aesthetics of televisual storytelling, using both Geraghty (1994) and Jeffrey Sconce’s article “What If?: Charting Television’s New Textual Boundaries” (2004).2 Theories concerning character engagement stem from the structure of sympathy, as presented in Murray Smith’s Engaging Characters (1995).3 My analysis of female characters in the network narrative in Game of Thrones focuses on parallels of power in terms of gender, on how female characters invite potential engagement in various ways, and, finally, on how the generic hybrid structure within the fantasy genre gives this version of serial fantastic storytelling a darker, more cynical twist. In closing, I briefly compare Game of Thrones to other contemporary television series and their presentations of female characters in terms of gender and power, and look at how the series can be regarded as example of quality television.

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High Fantasy, the Ontological Break and’“the Marvellous’” in Game of Thrones Although there are different definitions of the fantasy genre, this analysis selects three main concepts to characterize Game of Thrones: High fantasy, the ontological break, and the marvellous. The first is the understanding that there are basically two types of fantasy: high fantasy and integrated fantasy.4 High fantasy takes place in a real world in which exceptional things happen, or in an exceptional world with a specific logic and premises. Game of Thrones falls within this category, taking place in a world with its own rules and logics.5 Integrated fantasy, at the other end of the spectrum, however, includes fantasy films/television in which the fantastic element is integrated into a recognizable, realistic setting.6 An example of this is the series True Blood (2008–14), in which vampires, fairies, and shapeshifters live in contemporary America. Another way of understanding the fantasy genre is by making the so-called “ontological break” a defining factor, as argued by Katherine Fowkes.7 This ontological break occurs when a fantastic phenomenon appears and destroys what we perceive to be a realistic representation.8 This makes us aware as viewers that this is indeed an example of the fantasy genre. The ontological break can thus be understood as a premise for fantasy storytelling.9 Todorov introduces the concept of “the marvellous”; he divides “the fantastic” into three different forms.10 These consist of the marvellous, in which the supernatural is accepted as an explanation (such as the dragons in Game of Thrones); “the uncanny”, in which the fantastic has a rational explanation; and ”the hesitation”, which is typical of contemporary thrillers, and in which the viewer is uncertain about how the aberration should be understood or classified. Game of Thrones does not include Todorovian hesitation, since there is immediate acceptance of the marvellous (such as an acceptance of the ontological break), and if there are moments of doubt, these are quickly resolved (such as Bran’s visions and dreams). Game of Thrones is, thus, an example of high fantasy, the ontological break, and of the marvelous embracing a special storyworld with clear markers designating whether occurrences belong to an objective or subjective reality. The fantasy storyworld is presented in the first scene of Episode 1, Season 1 of Game of Thrones, in which a group of soldiers, who are guardians of the Wall, make their way through a tunnel and come into the light at the foot of a huge wall, approximately 700 ft (c. 213 m) tall, and made of solid ice. The soldiers enter the woods to search of the so-called wildlings. They split up, and one of the men finds a group of dead wildlings, their bodies butchered and hacked apart. Yet, when the soldier wishes to show this to the others a short while later, the bodies are gone, and the three men are attacked by what we later learn are the white walkers, who have reanimated the dead wildlings. All but



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one of the men from the wall are all killed. Thus, from the very beginning, it is made clear that this is a fantasy storyworld, with ontological breaks such as white walkers (skeleton-like, fast-moving, and merciless killers with gleaming blue eyes), and an impossibly tall wall of ice.

Classic Fantasy Storytelling Central to the narrative of high fantasy films and television is the Manichean battle between good and evil. Fantasy storytelling, thus, is part of a wellestablished canon, featuring adaptations of fantasy literature by J. R. R Tolkien, J. K. Rowling, and Philip Pullman, as well as Greek mythology and fairy tales. The action may take place in ancient, medieval, or pre-modern times. Characteristically, the high fantasy film has a hero, who is supposed to save the world, and is up against a dark opponent (e.g. Voldemort or Sauron). The hero is often reluctant, and, at first, seems unfit for getting the job done, but later turns out to be a savior. These stories are often also coming-of-age narratives, with the wizard Harry Potter and the hobbit Frodo Baggins as typical examples. Both of these heroes learn how to take responsibility and conquer evil in the process. However, in Game of Thrones, there is more than one hero, and good does not always conquer evil.

Fantasy with a Twist of Melodrama, Horror, Adventure, and Romance One of the central characteristics of Game of Thrones is that although fantasy is its core genre, it possesses elements of several other genres, as well. This can be specified using John G. Cawelti’s concept of literary “formulas” in Adventure, Mystery, and Romance (1976) where he proposes a cross-media understanding of how genres—or “formulas”, as he calls them—are constituted in popular fiction.11 The formulas construct different kinds of imaginary structures, appealing to suspense, as well as identification; they feature both social and cultural historical perspectives.12 Specific views and interests are confirmed in the formulas and work through sets of values and difficult subjects. Cawelti presents five different formulas: adventure, romance, mystery, melodrama, and horror. Each formula involves a moral fantasy, understood as a kind of logic within the fictional universe.13 The adventure and the melodramatic formulas are both dominant in Game of Thrones, but with a twist: although there are heroes, they do not always survive, and the story is not governed by a principle of goodness, as in the melodrama. This contemporary take on a traditional genre, combined with formulaic elements from romance, horror, and mystery, makes Game of Thrones a hybrid with a twist, since the series does not adhere to any of the moral fantasies presented by Cawelti.

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In terms of genre and formulas, Game of Thrones presents a diversified and complex generic hybrid in which adventure and melodrama are central, and the fight for power, family, and survival is key.

Adventure, Accumulated Characters, and Alignment “The central fantasy of the adventure formula is that of the hero— individual or group—overcoming obstacles and dangers and accomplishing some important and moral mission.” —John G. Cawelti, Adventure, Mystery, and Romance14 Usually, the hero fights a villain and gains the attention of a young lady—in short, the typical Hollywood narrative structure. The basic moral fantasy, as Cawelti states, “implicit in this type of story is victory over death”.15 However, there may be variations such as the overcoming of fear and defeat of the enemy in the combat story or triumph over injustice and the threat of lawlessness in the Western.16 Cawelti also distinguishes between a hero who is “one of us, a flawed and imperfect hero, and the superhero.”17 This imperfect or even unsympathetic hero has become a mainstay of contemporary television character-driven narrative.18 The point is that the narrative structure gives us alignment with these flawed heroes. Murray Smith argues that alignment is the access that the narrative provides in order to inform the viewer of the thoughts, motivations, and goals of a character. Based on this access, we can decide whether we are “on their side” and can thus potentially form an allegiance.19 The alignment and the potential allegiance strengthen viewers’ engagement in the characters because we gain a more nuanced and complex impression of what the characters are like and can then decide whether or not we wish to root for them. In Game of Thrones, most of the characters are flawed heroes because even those who have good intentions have imperfections. We are invited to engage in alignment and to form allegiance with characters like Catelyn Stark (Michelle Fairley) and Daenerys Targaryen, since we gain access to how they think and feel through their conversations and actions, thus, allowing us to better understand their goals and motivations. Their male counterparts include: Ned Stark (Sean Bean), Robb Stark (Richard Madden), Jon Snow (Kit Harrington), and Jorah Mormont (Iain Glenn), who have minor flaws, but primarily do the right things. In addition, there are also those characters who are presented as stereotypical (flat), or even as villains, who may later in the story become flawed heroes: Although these characters at first seem unlikable or even despicable, over the course of the series they become examples of accumulated characters. An accumulated character is, according to Roberta Pearson, a character



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who—over the course of a televisual narrative, as opposed to over the shorter time span of a feature-length film—is presented as having a more complex personality than the initial presentation indicates.20 In this sense, characters initially presented as flat become complex characters and, thus, more nuanced and interesting—as in the case of Arya Stark, Sansa Stark, and Brienne of Tarth, as well as Jaime Lannister and Tyrion Lannister. The flawed heroes with a high degree of alignment often die in Game of Thrones, such as when Ned Stark is executed in Season 1, and his wife, Catelyn Stark, their son, Robb, and Robb’s pregnant wife are assassinated later in the series. Among the flawed heroes with alignment, Daenerys Targaryen, while fighting for the good cause of liberating slaves, as well as winning back the Iron Throne, allows her brother to be cruelly killed with liquid gold (though the killing is motivated by her brother having treated Daenerys as a slave). Among unsympathetic flawed heroes are the king-slayer Jaime Lannister (Nicolai Coster-Waldau), who pushes the child Bran Stark from a tower in order to hide his sexual relationship with his sister, Cersei, but later saves Brienne of Tarth from being killed by a bear, and also saves his brother, Tyrion (Peter Dinklage), from being executed. In this way, Game of Thrones presents accumulated characters that develop from flat to round, thus becoming unlikely heroes, who then again may die. Accordingly, Game of Thrones breaks with the well-known narrative convention that main characters, with whom we have alignment, usually stays on.21 This use of character makes possible a more diversified and ambiguous moral fantasy in which there is no one hero saving the day, but rather many unlikely heroes, as well as villains.22 Thus, Game of Thrones embodies a so-called “decentered identification”, or “multiple identification”, as defined by Geraghty. This decentered identification gives the (soap) narrative an opportunity to present a wide range of characters.23 Simultaneously, the female hero characters in Game of Thrones are key protagonists as we see in soap operas known as “the matriarchal soap” according to Geraghty,24 but this is unusual in the more recent canonical works of fantasy fiction (The Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter), with notable exceptions being series like Buffy The Vampire Slayer and True Blood. The fight to the death is also depicted as very real and imminent. For instance, when the heroes (most of the Starks and a few of the Lannisters) are killed off, it provides the narrative with a recurring game change in terms of expectations. At the same time, this playing with narrative expectations contributes to a cynical moral fantasy: Death is not always conquered, and the flawed heroes do not always prevail.25

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Game of Thrones and Soap Opera: A Saga of Family and Power Game of Thrones combines the adventure formula with the melodrama formula, the latter genre known on television as family melodrama. However, as a television series this translates to the soap opera with focus on the family as well as characterized by Geraghty.26 She makes a distinction between at least two different notions of families in soap operas: There is the “family as a safe haven”, “the family as a community” or the family as something you have to earn you place in.27 To Cawelti, the soap opera formula has the moral fantasy that a world filled with violence and tragedy usually is governed by a moral principle of goodness.28 In short, it means that justice will be served in the end.29 Game of Thrones is an example of a historical melodrama in an imagined past with affinities to medieval Europe, but here justice is not always served. On the contrary, with few exceptions, those in the wrong seem to prevail: The cruel and intolerable young king, Joffrey Baratheon (Jack Gleeson), is ultimately assassinated with poisoned wine, and the unforgiving father, Tywin Lannister (Charles Dance), who prioritizes his legacy, is killed by his own son, Tyrion, with a crossbow. Both killings are motivated by the victims’ wrongdoings and are, thus, expected in narrative terms and justified from a moral perspective. In Game of Thrones, the moral fantasy is that the world is filled with violence and tragedy, yet the world does not seem to be governed by a redeeming moral principle of goodness. Instead, one could argue that the world of Westeros seems to be governed by a relentless principle of power. Thus, in a story that initially concerns families seeking to become as powerful as they can by having their head of family on the Iron Throne in the city of King’s Landing, the logic is that you do not count as individual unless you are considered an important member of your family. The notion of legacy is key to understanding what motivates Daenerys Targaryen, who feels she is entitled to be queen of the Seven Kingdoms because her father was formerly king of the Iron Throne and wrongfully killed. However, she knows that she must be properly prepared. This is comparable to the character of Stannis Baratheon (Stephen Dillane), who thinks he is entitled because his brother, Robert (Mark Addy), was king before him, and was killed by the Lannisters: Stannis stops at nothing, not even killing his own daughter, in order get what he wants. In contrast, the notion of legacy proves restrictive for Cersei Lannister because she is to be married (for a second time) for strategic purposes. The same is true for Robb, who marries for love rather than family status, resulting in serious repercussions and contributing to the assassination of himself, his mother, and his wife. Compared to Geraghty’s distinction between familytypes in soap operas as mentioned above, the family in Game of Thrones is far from always a safe haven or a community but either something you have to earn you place in (especially if your are not a blood relative like the “bastard” Jon Snow) or you have an obligation to represent your family as best you



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can rather than follow your desires. Still, as families are split up or killed off, individuals emerge: Though they still primarily represent their family, they act on their own and create new alliances in order to survive.

Romance, Horror, and Mystery The multiplicity of formulas within the overarching fantasy genre is only possible because Game of Thrones is a television series inspired by the soap opera narrative, which supports numerous characters and storylines. The horror story, according to Cawelti, basically concerns a monster and its final destruction. Although there are many variations, Cawelti points out that the very intensity of the emotion generated from horror stories is central to the formula.30 The horror elements in Game of Thrones are primarily related to supernatural elements like dragons, the white walkers and human-inflicted violence in combat and torture scenes.31 The romance, on the other hand, is less prominent, though perhaps most significantly with the Romeo and Juliet story involving Jon Snow and Ygritte (Rose Leslie), who come from opposite sides of the Wall, which makes their love impossible. Ultimately, Jon prioritizes his pledge to Castle Black, but regrets this later when Ygritte is killed, even if her death occurs as she is attempting to kill him. Likewise, Tyrion’s love for the prostitute Shae (Sibel Kekilli) ultimately has fatal consequences because, according to his father, as a prostitute, she is not an acceptable wife. And, the relationship between Daenerys and Drogo (Jason Momoa) starts out as an arranged marriage, but ends as a love relationship and, ultimately, Drogo dies as a result of supporting Daenerys’s ambition for the Iron Throne. Even the less romantically intense marital love between Catelyn and Ned Stark ends badly. The romance formula lets the love story take precedence over the action, and the moral fantasy is that love conquers all.32 However, in Game of Thrones, love does not conquer all, at least not in the case of Ygritte and Jon, Catelyn and Ned, Daenerys and Drogo, and Tyrion and Shae. Finally, the mystery formula is present, particularly with regard to the white walkers presented at the beginning of Episode 1, Season 1, and this mystery has a pay off in third and fourth seasons, and in Season 5 during which we see the white walkers form a huge army and attack the wildlings. The moral fantasy of mystery is that it always has a desirable and rational solution. This is the case in Game of Thrones, but when the mystery is solved, it either generates new mysteries or does not have immediate consequences for those implicated. Thus, Ned Stark discovers the truth about Jaime and Cersei and that the Lannister children are not the rightful heirs to the throne. This discovery is made by Ned in Season 1, but not until Season 5 does this information have consequences for Cersei who is imprisoned and forced to a endure her naked walk of shame through King’s Landing.

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The mystery as to the identity of Jon Snow’s mother is a question posed in the first season and as-yet-unanswered by Season 5. The mystery formula is not the main one, but it is solved intermittently, and in the season’s finale cliff-hangers are used, whereby the viewer has to wait another year to get the answer, keeping the television audience guessing (at least those not familiar with the novels). As with horror and romance, mystery is not a main formula, but it is a significant element of the narrative structure.

The Televisual Network Narrative with Multiple Protagonists The complexity of the televisual storytelling in Game of Thrones consists of keeping track of an extraordinary number of characters, as indicated by the “decentered identification”, and their respective relationships and conflicts, as well as the lack of narrative redundancy. The elaborate title sequence emphasizes this by using the metaphor of the mechanical clockwork to demonstrate the interconnectedness of the seven families by showing the different geographical locations. This is a regular element in high fantasy storytelling, the initial showing of a map in order to establish the specificity of the storyworld. In Game of Thrones, this map is transformed into an elegant title sequence. The title sequence shown before each episode also provides a helpful reminder of these particular relationships, heightening the overall communicativeness of the narration. Whereas the opening credit sequence is shown at the beginning of each episode, it both has a three-dimensional map of where the action takes place, with the name of the locations in writing, portraying a stylized and dynamic version of the geography, and presenting the insignias of the four families: the Stark’s direwoolf, the Targaryan dragon, the lion of the Lannisters, and the Baratheon stag. These elements visually stress the importance of both family symbols and of the geography. The title sequence is an example of the elaborate “world building” that Jeffrey Sconce sees as characteristic of the contemporary modes of televisual narration. However, Sconce says that, “[w]hat television lacks in spectacle and narrative constraints, it makes up for in depth and duration of character relations, diegetic expansions and audience investment.”33 Game of Thrones has it both ways by combining a vast amount of characters with many spectacular scenarios, and, thus, it exemplifies another tendency in contemporary television in which visual style has become a significant feature in series branding.34 Game of Thrones is an example of serial television, according to Jeffrey Sconce, with the so-called overarching mythology of the television series, which is the on-going theme or question that remains open for the entire series. Who will eventually win the game about the Iron Throne? Contrary to the typical open-ended soap opera narrative that refuses closure, Game of Thrones is an adaptation, which will presumably end with the adaptation of the final novel.



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One could argue the Stark proverb, “Winter is coming”, works to set up both the mythology of the series and the power struggle in Westeros, as well as for the white walkers from beyond the Wall. Ned Stark states “Winter is coming” is in the first episode of the series (the phrase is also the title of the episode), and this notion of “cold”—understood as meaning conflict and hard times and not just as a weather forecast of seasonal change—becomes significant in later episodes, as the story unfolds. In the final episode of Season 4, for example, when King of the North, Mance Ryder (Ciarán Hinds), says, “Winter is coming”, while explaining to Jon Snow why the wildlings have been attacking the Wall, it perhaps indicates more specifically what “winter” can stand for. This is confirmed in Season 5 when huge numbers of the white walkers attack the wildlings. The mythology of the series also includes the inherent question posed by the title: Who will win the struggle for the Iron Throne? However, this question will probably not be answered until the very end. In individual episodes of Game of Thrones, some storylines are resolved and new ones are instigated. In general, the overall structure of seasons is as follows: The first episode lays out the key storylines of the season, and some are resolved while others are left with a cliff-hanger,35 in particular the last episode of a season. Each season has 10 episodes, and every Episode 9 so far has included a narrative and action-packed season climax: The execution of Ned Stark taking place at King’s Landing (Season 1), the battle of Black Water (Season 2), the assassination of Catelyn and Robb Stark (Season 3), the battle at Castle Black (Season 4), and the attack of the white walkers (Season 5). The final episode of each season then works as a dramatic set-up and cliff-hanger for the next season. Game of Thrones has numerous protagonists, and to analyze the interplay among the many characters, it is useful to present a theoretical framework for the network narrative as presented by Azcona, in combination with theories on televisual aesthetics according to Sconce. In The Multi-Protagonist Cinema (2010), Azcona stresses network storytelling is characterized by a focus on diversities and differences, rather than a unifying perspective or monolithic view of the world, as we know it from classic Hollywood cinema.36 Originating in literature, network narratives are present in both film and radio, however it is in particular present in the televisual soap opera. The contemporary multi-protagonist plot has gained prominence in the cinema, and in contemporary television drama the soap opera-narrative is often reinterpreted and combined with other genres. The network narratives particular mode of storytelling is used in both popular and art cinema ranging from romantic comedies and disaster movies to art films on the human condition.37 According to Azcona, network narratives are characterized by a broad selection of characters involved in different narrative threads. These narrative threads each focus on character rather than action and dialogue is central to make things happen.38 The connections between characters and storylines are

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stressed by parallel or contrasting actions and themes in the narrative. Focus is, says Azcona, on parallels (rather than causality), narrative drive, and the presence of different types and people with different backgrounds and ways of life. The network narrative thus, like the soap opera narrative, has a focus on dialogue and stresses connections and contrasts between characters and diversities.

Parallels of Male and Female Power in Game of Thrones, Season 4 In Season 4 of Game of Thrones, there is a clear pattern of parallels in the storylines of female and male protagonists. This is presented as a hierarchal society comparable to medieval Europe. At the very top lie those in power, such as Tywin Lannister as Hand of the King, and his female counterpart, Mother of Dragons, Daenerys Targaryen. Both Tywin and Daenerys face different aspects of the problems of ruling: Whereas the former is working to secure his family’s survival in King’s Landing, and to keep the Iron Throne in the family by commanding his children to prioritize their legacy, the latter has trouble controlling her dragons which are killing the people she has freed from slavery. Daenerys’s ultimate goal—an attack on King’s Landing and winning the Iron Throne—is postponed for the time being. While Tywin is unsuccessful because Cersei does not comply with him, and he is killed by his son, Tyrion, Daenerys, on the other hand, prioritizes her children (the dragons) and the care for her subjects. From a gender perspective, it seems that the matriarch is the more successful ruler of the two. On the next level are the noble folk, or foreign royalty, such as Prince Oberyn Martell, also known as “The Red Viper” (Pedro Pascal), and Arya Stark. Although Prince Oberyn is visiting King’s Landing for Joffrey’s wedding, he has a hidden agenda: to avenge his sister who was murdered by the Lannisters. Arya Stark is kidnapped by Sandor “The Hound” Cleagane (Rory McCann), who thinks he can get a reward by returning Arya to her aunt, Lysa in the Vale (Kate Dickie). Arya, on the other hand, plots revenge against a number of people who have harmed her family and friends. Meanwhile, Oberyn is too consumed by his wish for a confession in the battle with “The Mountain”, and this wish to gain closure becomes his downfall: The Mountain ultimately kills him. Arya is more successful in the sense that she takes fighting lessons from her kidnapper, The Hound, and learns how to kill. Because The Hound teaches her well, she leaves him to die fatally wounded by Brienne. When The Hound begs her to kill him, her revenge is not to do so, knowing instead that he will die a painful death. From a gender perspective, Arya is an atypical young girl because of her interest in weapons and fighting, rather than in fashion and marriage (like her sister), yet the former are exactly the skills that secure



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her survival. Prince Oberyn is presented as a seasoned swordsman and a passionate, bisexual individual who does not conform to common ideals of masculinity. At the wrong moment, he allows his feelings to get the better of him, despite being a skilled fighter—and this proves fatal for him. At the bottom of the hierarchy of power are the two storylines of wildling Ygritte and the bastard and watcher of the Wall Jon Snow, on the one hand, and, on the other hand, that of watcher Samwell (“Sam”) and wildling Gilly (who Samwell rescues from Craster’s Keep). Both are love stories, and in both cases circumstances make it impossible for the lovers to be together. Jon Snow must leave his newfound love, Ygritte, because he has sworn an oath to serve Castle Black, and hold the Wall, and Sam tries to honor his oath and care for Gilly, simultaneously. Whereas Ygritte is fighting with the wildlings and planning to kill Jon because of his betrayal, Gilly needs protection for herself and her baby. In the end, when Ygritte is about to kill Jon during the battle of Castle Black, a young boy kills her instead, thereby saving Jon. Gilly, however, is saved by Ygritte, who discovers Gilly hiding with her baby during the wildling attack on the village close to the Wall. She, nevertheless, chooses to turn a blind eye, making it possible for Gilly and her baby to return to Castle Black and survive. Gilly is presented as a mother putting the safety of her child first, but also as a former slave she is fully dependent on Sam who has rescued her from Craster’s Keep. In contrast, Ygritte is characterized as both an independent woman and a skilled archer, adamantly fighting for her people. In addition, she is a woman scorned, bent on getting even, rather than on getting Jon back. Nevertheless, she is compassionate when she spares Gilly. The parallel storylines in the network narrative emphasize how characters are interconnected. This network structure and the potentially decentered identification also make the contrasts between characters evident from a gender perspective, allowing for several kinds of femininities and masculinities. However, a common denominator in this episode seems to be that controlling one’s feelings is crucial for survival, and that the matriarch, with an altruistic instinct, has a better chance of staying alive than her male counterpart. At the same time, the parallel storylines explicate the contrasts between characters’ aims and provide structure and thematic coherence to the network narrative.

“The Children”: Plot Structure and Genre Hybrid The plot structure of the episode involves seven major segments, each of which has a protagonist. There is no cross-cutting between storylines. Each storyline focuses on a particular formula within the fantasy framework: 1. The Great Wall: Jon Snow is negotiating with the leader of the wildlings’ Mance Rayder, when Stannis Baratheon’s army attacks. An uneven battle

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ensues, and Mance capitulates, and is taken prisoner by Jon (adventure formula). 2. King’s Landing: Cersei arranges for the potential recovery of Gregor “The Mountain” Clegane (Hafþór Björnsson). She defies her father’s orders to marry, and reveals to him that Jaime is the father of her children. She is reunited with Jaime (soap opera formula). 3. Across the Narrow Sea: Daenerys meets with her subjects whom she freed from slavery. She listens to the grieving father of a child killed by her dragons. Daenerys decides to lock the dragons up in the catacombs (soap opera formula). 4. Castle Black: The fallen are burned, and Jon buries Ygritte north of the Wall (romance formula). 5. North of the Wall: Bran and his company find the place where the three-eyed raven is supposed to be, but are attacked by skeleton warriors who spring up out of the ground. Jojen dies, and the others escape into a cave guided by a little girl (horror and adventure formula). 6. The Mountain: Brienne and Podrick encounters The Hound and Arya. Brienne fatally wounds The Hound and Arya hides and leaves The Hound to die (adventure formula). 7. King’s Landing: Jaime helps Tyrion escape, but Tyrion wishes to confront his father. He discovers Shae in his father’s bed and strangles her, then finds Tywin and kills him with Joffrey’s crossbow (soap opera formula). In genre terms, every formula is present in “The Children”. The adventure formula is present in the storyline of Jon Snow at the wall, Jon’s negotiations with Mance, and in Stannis’ attack; the fight between The Hound and Brienne; and Bran’s entourage’s arrival at the Weirwood tree. The horror formula is present in the latter case with the skeletons attacking Bran’s group, and the group is only saved because Hodor changes into a powerful warrior (via Bran’s special powers), and because of the appearance of the mysterious little girl. Everyone but Jojen manages to get into the cave under the tree. The romance formula is present in Jon Snow’s burial of Ygritte and the reunion of Cersei and Jaime Lannister, and the soap opera formula is present in Cersie’s confrontation with her father and the confrontation between Tyrion and Tywin later the same evening as well as in Daenerys’s farewell to her dragons. The mystery formula is the cliff-hanger question in Bran’s storyline since the old wizard below the Weirwood tree promises Bran that he will never walk but that he will fly. Thus, the episode is an example of the genre-hybridity that characterizes Game of Thrones, combining mainly suspenseful adventure with emotional soap opera with elements of horror, mystery, and romance.



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Three Storylines with Female Protagonists in “The Children” This episode includes three storylines with four female protagonists. These are connected thematically because they all concern children in different ways—as motivations, helpers, avengers, causalities, and one child who finds his mother. The term “the children” also refers to mystical children with magical powers, represented by the little girl who saves Bran’s group. The four female protagonists in this episode (three storylines) are Cersei, Brienne, Arya, and Daenerys. Additionally, there are the storylines with Jon Snow, Mance, and Stannis at the Wall (including Ygritte’s burial) as well as Bran’s storyline concerning the search for the three-eyed raven. These are all examples of accumulated characters, that is, characters who viewers have followed over the course of four seasons, gleaning bits of information and alignment throughout the series. “The Children” is an example of how female characters in Game of Thrones are depicted differently: The King Mother: Cersei takes control over her destiny and for the first time seeks to ensure that her “bodyguard” Gregor “The Mountain” Clegane will survive. She goes against her father Tywin Lannister when she realizes she is about to leave everything she cares about if her marriage to Loras Tyrell becomes a reality. Cersei is the female protagonist with whom the viewer has had the least alignment throughout the series. In this episode though, she explicitly states what she wants and reveals to her father that Jaime is the father of Tommen, who is consequently not a blood relative to the king. She thus shatters Tywin’s dreams by telling him that the current king of Westeros is not the true heir and representative of the Lannister legacy. Immediately after this conversation Cersei seeks out Jaime, declares her love for him, and tells him about her revelation, and declares that she does not care if everybody knows that they are lovers. The reason for this candidness is Cersei’s love for both her son Tommen and for Jaime.39 She suddenly has her priorities straight and wants to protect her child and her lover (even if he is her brother too). In a sense, however, she is as selfish as she has been throughout: Even when acting out of love for her child and her lover, she still comes across as manipulative. We never know what her next move might be. The viewer does not have alignment in the sense that we gain access to her inner thoughts and motivations; instead we witness her actions and for the first time she actually does something that seems honest if not, perhaps, properly thought through. If she lets it be known that Jaime is Tommen’s biological father, she will no longer be Queen Mother and will thus lose her status (which happens in Season 5), with the potential result that she and Jaime will lose their privileged positions in King’s Landing, and the Iron Throne instead go to Robert’s brother, Stannis. Mother of Dragons: Daenerys Targaryen, having decided to rule rather than conquer, learns from a peasant that his three-year-old daughter has been incinerated by Grogon, the black dragon. Daenerys realises that her greatest weapon, her dragons, are also a liability for the people she cares for, and that

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merely to free slaves is insufficient. Despite her growing armies she is not powerful enough to attack King’s Landing. Daenerys is heartbroken as she chains the two remaining dragons in the catacombs and hears them scream. They are her “children” since she is mother of dragons, and they represent her power. She has just lost her advisor Jorah Mormont (she fired him when she discovered he was sent from Westeros to spy on her). Even though Jorah has protected her and even fallen in love with her, she nonetheless regards it as betrayal. There has been alignment with Daenerys throughout the series following her development from shy teenager to a mother of dragons. Fathers and daughters: Brienne and Podrick have lost their horses on their way to the Vale and by coincidence encounter Arya and The Hound. Arya is skeptical of Brienne, but they, nonetheless, share stories about their weapons, their training, and their fathers. Arya shows off her sword, Pin, which her brotherRobb gave to her, and Brienne shows her sword, Oathkeeper. Ned Stark had arranged for a teacher to show Arya how to fight, and Brienne’s father taught her himself. The Hound recognizes the Lannister gold on Brienne’s sword (given to her by Jaime Lannister). Brienne wants Arya to come with her, but Arya does not trust Brienne. The Hound attacks, and he and Brienne fight, ending with The Hound being fatally wounded. Brienne is unable to find Arya, who does not want to be saved. Arya hides and leaves The Hound to die a painful death, stealing his money and Brienne’s horse.40 Arya pays with her special coin of iron (given to her by Jagen H’Ghar) for passage on a ship to Bravoos. The final image of “The Children” is of Arya on the ship, looking worried as she sails off into the future. Alignment is given to both Brienne and Arya, and we are invited to have allegiance with both: They are open about their opinions and stand by their friends and family. At the same time, they are good swords(wo)men.

Audiovisual Style and Themes: Contrasts and Symmetries in “The Children” The visual style is distinct in color scheme and an elaborate mise-en-scène that allows the viewer to identify in which part of Westeros the story takes place. The three storylines, which take place in the North, are visually bleak and blue, almost a black-and-white aesthetic. There are exceptions such as the Weirwood tree with its red leaves, and the golden flames at the funeral pyres. There are also significant stylistic markers with the selected use of crane shots with a bird’s eye perspective, for example, when Stannis attacks, it is used to show his enormous army, and when Jon Snow buries Ygritte, the crane shot shows her delicate beauty, from above, looking as if she were sleeping. In King’s Landing, the light is golden, and the mise-en-scène is ripe with symbols, such as the lion, which is the Lannister’s insignia, and a central part of the mise-en-scène



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in Tywin’s chambers. Daenerys’s temple is majestic, but austere in comparison, explicitly emphasizing her status as powerful and “above” her subjects. In the sequence in which Daenerys says goodbye to her dragons, there is a stylistic difference—here there is no dialogue, whereas most scenes, apart from battle ones, are dialogue driven. Instead, this scene features melancholy music to convey her sorrow. A determined, yet tearful Daenerys accompanies the two dragons down in the catacomb and chains them while they are eating. Only when the portal is about to close do the dragons realize that they are imprisoned. Another stylistic connection is a cut from a crying Daenerys shutting the heavy door to the catacombs, to her Targaryen grandfather, who gives a eulogy for the dead soldiers at Castle Black, his “children.” Such scenes emphasize family ties across geographical distance and help create alignment through the use of close-ups to see characters’ faces and their compassion. Dialogue is central to Game of Thrones as part of the soap opera genre, and contributes to the notions that family and legacy are key for the characters’ actions. It also helps define identity, for example, they speak the different languages even though English is called “the common tongue”. Status, as well as the geographical origin of various characters, is also evident from the way they dress. In “The Children”, dialogue has thematic parallels with family as a common denominator. Family as leverage is evident when Cersei tells her father that his legacy is a lie, because her children’s father is her brother, Jaime. The Hound tries to provoke Arya into killing him by telling her how he would rather have raped Sansa than saved her from rape. Family as motivator is evident when Cersei wants to be with her brother Jaime as a lover again; Jaime saves Tyrion from execution because he is his brother; and Brienne and Arya talk about how they both have fathers who supported their desire to become skilled swords(wo)men. Family as a sign of credibility is evident when Daenerys is introduced by her full title as Dragon Mother, as well as when Jon Snow presents himself as the son of Ned Stark and says his father fought for the Baratheon family (“When Robert was King and Ned Stark was his Hand”), when he meets Stannis Baratheon outside the Wall. As a network narrative, and including soap opera in its hybrid genre format, “The Children” shows how female characters represent various types of women and how they connect the themes of power, family, and children in multiple ways. These key themes of family and power are throughout supported by visual style, by mise-en-scene, and through the dialogue.

Game of Thrones Compared to Other Television Series The female characters in Game of Thrones stand out when compared to those in other television shows in the way that they, as protagonists, parallel their

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male counterparts. This is partly explained by the structure of the network narrative, where parallels and contrasts are used to promote a more diversified type of storytelling, and the soap opera has a tradition for having strong female characters as head of families and a large number of female protagonists.41 However, the strong presence of female characters in Game of Thrones is unusual in comparison to other contemporary television series, where an ensemble cast often focuses primarily on a single (and male) protagonist. Exceptions are the political drama West Wing, crime drama The Wire, historical melodrama Downton Abbey, and, to a lesser extent, the drama Mad Men. These four series have fewer women at the top of the power hierarchy. Whereas West Wing is a story about power play in the political administration in a present-day context, it has, unlike Game of Thrones, a clear moral center. This is evident in situations in which the right thing to do is usually the least appealing, but ends up being chosen anyway. In other words, characters often experience the dilemma of whether to be true to their ideals when exerting power. In Game of Thrones, this is the case for various characters, from the conscientious Daenerys to the initially self-absorbed Tyrion, who turns out to have a conscience. In The Wire, the cynicism at the police department is comparable to Game of Thrones (as well as to House of Cards), in which there is a strong sense that one must work one’s way up through the system (in The Wire, this is law enforcement) because the system is corrupt, and there is no such thing as justice or a fair trial for low-life criminals or detectives in contemporary Baltimore. In Mad Men, the gender theme is relevant in the way that male and female characters and storylines are juxtaposed in a way similar to Game of Thrones. In Mad Men the differences in career opportunities and conditions for men and women at a Manhattan office at a particular point in history are exposed. In contrast, in Game of Thrones, the comparison indicates that there are a few powerful women at different levels of power, usually subjected to male prejudice and even misogyny, but that sometimes women prevail and get even. Downton Abbey and Game of Thrones share a similar focus on family and a struggle for legacy; here, too, powerful female characters fight against the restricting conventional notions of gender. Good seems to prevail in Downton Abbey whereas Game of Thrones is more cynical and sometimes less flawed heroes succumb to the forces of evil or to their own ambitions. Game of Thrones, thus, presents itself, together with the above-mentioned series, as part of what Robert J. Thompson in Television’s Golden Age calls “quality television”, Thompson operates with six textual elements in his definition of the quality series.42 Thus, Game of Thrones has: 1) a large ensemble cast as the network narrative/soap genre demonstrated; and 2) a “narrative memory” presented via the mythology of the series—“winter is coming”; 3) creates a new genre by mixing existing genres: This is done with the hybrid of fantasy and soap opera (melodrama) as well as adventure, mystery and



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romance; 4) textually self-conscious exemplified with the cliff-hangers, in particular in seasons finales, as well as the title sequence. The subject matter; 5) tends towards the controversial (violence and nudity allowed on cable); and 6) aspirations towards “realism” expressed in the effort made to use CGI to make the fantasy world look real. Thompson argues that “quality television” also includes four demands on the production side as well. Thus, it has a tendency, 7) to be literary and writer-based, which includes Game of Thrones as a bestseller adaptation; and also reveals a 8) a quality pedigree, since this is what the cable network HBO is known for; it also makes 9) challenging television shows; and, finally, quality television 10) attracts an audience with “blue-chip demographics”, which fits in with the HBO cable network core audience.43 However, the focus of this analysis is on genre and engagement, style and characters, and, thus, implicitly argues that Game of Thrones in this sense (those of the first of Thompson’s six demands) can be seen as a part of the new tradition of quality television.44

Concluding Remarks In my analysis of Game of Throne’s and the episode “The Children”, I have used an analytical framework consisting of theories of fantasy genre and several formulas—melodrama and adventure, in particular, network narratives and soap opera genre characteristics, as well as televisual aesthetics and character engagement. This analysis has shown how female characters are significant power players, and how a network narrative uses male and female characters to create contrasts and parallels between them as well as stresses themes of family and power. In terms of gender, “The Children” is not a typical episode of Game of Thrones because it has primarily female protagonists. Game of Thrones as a series presents many female characters as stereotypes—victims, sexual objects, and dispensable individuals. This is partly motivated by the status of women in medieval times in the storyworld. Yet, often the stereotypical female characters are contrasted with complex female protagonists with their own goals. “The Children” has several remarkable exceptions to female stereotypes because the episode’s female characters, even if they have been victims, they (as accumulated characters) are depicted as complex protagonists over the course of the series, like Arya, Daenerys, and to a certain extent Cersei. This accentuation of strong female characters in the narrative differs from most mainstream fantasy films (and many contemporary drama series as well) because female protagonists are key to the unfolding of the plot as exemplified in “The Children.” Game of Thrones takes full advantage of a soap opera-inspired network narrative, using this kind of storytelling in a manner that makes several characters (both female and male) protagonists in different episodes and with different levels of alignment. The audiovisual style employs the use of elaborate

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mise-en-scène and of special effects, as well as color schemes to make different storylines stand out. Dialogue is particularly prominent emphasizing the integration of the soap opera genre within the fantasy genre, both in terms of providing narrative information and creating suspense. In terms of genre, the main framework is a storyworld of high fantasy, but as the genre analysis has shown, Game of Thrones is a hybrid of adventure and soap opera and also incorporates elements of romance, horror, and mystery. This hybridity is not new in television series, but Game of Thrones achieves a different generic dynamic because it is a hybrid with fantasy as main genre. The formulas are twisted in the sense that Game of Thrones interprets the moral fantasies of adventure and melodrama in a cynical way: The principle of good does not always prevail, and justice is seldom served. This twist on the typical outcome of adventure and melodrama formulas and their corresponding moral fantasies contributes to the narrative suspense as to who will survive and win the battle for the Iron Throne. Game of Thrones unfolds a new cynical fantasy storytelling on TV and in this sense is an example of quality television combining twisted formulas with a network narrative drawing from the genres of soap opera and adventure. Despite stereotypical representations of women, the few strong and complex female characters give this tale of power play and family ties a modern edge.

Notes   1. The episode “The Children” (2014) is directed by Alex Graves, written by David Benioff and D. B. Weiss, and is based on the novels by George R. R. Martin.   2. Tzvetan Todorov, The Fantastic (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1975), John G. Cawelti, Adventure, Mystery, and Romance (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1976), Christine Geragthy, Women and Soap Opera: A Study of Prime-time Soaps (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1994), Jeffrey Sconce “What if? Charting Television’s New Textual Boundaries.” In Television after Television. Essays on a Media in Transition (Durham: Duke University Press, 2004), Katherine A. Fowkes, The Fantasy Film (London: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010), Maria del Mar Azcona, The Multi-protagonist Film (London: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010), Jason Mittell, Complex TV: The Poetics of Contemporary Television Storytelling (Pre-publication edition, Media Commons Press, 2012–13).   3. Murray Smith. Engaging Characters. (London: Oxford University Press, 1995).   4. See Rikke Schubart’s chapter in this volume, pages 105–30.   5. Clutes and Grant in Fowkes, The Fantasy Film, 46–7.   6. Ibid.   7. Fowkes, The Fantasy Film, 47ff.   8. Ibid.   9. Ibid. 10. Todorov, The Fantastic. 11. Cawelti, Adventure, Mystery, and Romance, 13–14.



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12. Ibid., 35. 13. Ibid., 38–9. 14. Ibid, 39. 15. Ibid. 16. Ibid., 40. 17. Ibid. 18. Mittell, Complex TV. 19. Smith, Engaging Characters. 20. Pearson, Anatomising Gilbert Grissom, 39ff. 21. Mittell, Complex TV, 124. 22. Ibid., 143. 23. Geraghty, Women and Soap Opera, 17 24. Ibid., 74 25. I am only referring to the expectations of the television viewer who has not read the novels. 26. Geraghty, Women and Soap Opera, 60ff. 27. Ibid. 28. Cawelti, Adventure, Mystery, and Romance, 46–7. 29. Ibid., 47. 30. Ibid. 31. See Gjelsvik on torture in this volume. 32. Cawelti, Adventure, Mystery, and Romance, 41–2. 33. Sconce, “What if?”, 95. 34. Caldwell, Televisuality, 5. 35. Sconce: “What if?”, 99. 36. Azcona, The Multi-Protagonist Film, 32–33. 37. Ibid. 38. Ibid. 39. See Eidsvåg’s chapter in this volume, pages 151–70. 40. See Tasker and Steenberg in this volume for more about this scene and Brienne and Arya, pages 171–92. 41. Geraghty, Women and Soap Opera, 74. 42. Robert J.Thompson, Television’s Second Golden Age. (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1997), 14–16. 43. Thompson, Television’s Second Golden Age, 14–15. 44. See Jane Feuer “HBO and the Concept of Quality”. In: Quality TV. Contemporary Television and Beyond. Janet MacCabe and Kim Akass (eds) (London: I.B.Tauris, 2007), Feuer has another perspective on the quality discussion comparing quality to the generic tradition of the art film. This is however not the case with Game of Thrones.

Bibliography Azcona, Maria del Mar. The Multi-protagonist Film. London: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010. Caldwell, John T. Televisuality: Style, Crisis, and Authority in American Television. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1995.

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Cawelti, John G. Adventure, Mystery, and Romance. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1976. Feuer, Jane. “HBO and the Concept of Quality”. In Quality TV: Contemporary Television and Beyond, edited by Janet MacCabe and Kim Akass. London: I.B. Tauris, 2007, 145–57. Fowkes, Katherine A. The Fantasy Film. London: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010. Geraghty, Christine. Women and Soap Opera: A Study of Prime Time Soaps. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1994. Mittell, Jason. Complex TV: The Poetics of Contemporary Television Storytelling. Pre-publication edition, Media Commons Press, 2012–13. Available online: http:// mcpress.media-commons.org/complextelevision/ (accessed February 25, 2015). Pearson, Roberta. “Anatomising Gilbert Grissom: The Structure and Function of the Televisual Character”, in Reading CSI, edited by Michael Allen. London: I.B. Tauris, 2007. Sconce, Jeffrey. “What if? Charting Television’s New Textual Boundaries”, in Television after Television. Essays on a Media in Transition. Edited by Jan Olsson and Lynn Spiegel. Durham: Duke University Press, 2004. Smith, Murray. Engaging Characters. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995. Thompson, Robert J. Television’s Second Golden Age. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1997. Todorov, Tzvetan. The Fantastic. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. 1975.

Chapter 7 “M A I D E N , M O T H E R , A N D C R O N E ” : M O T H E R HO O D IN THE WORLD OF ICE AND FIRE Marta Eidsvåg

Gentle Mother, font of mercy, Save our sons from war, we pray, Stay the swords and stay the arrows, Let them know a better day.1 The people of Westeros look to the Mother aspect of their seven-faced God to keep their sons alive when the Father has sent them to fight with the courage the Warrior has given them. The task of a mother in the world of Ice and Fire is much the same: keeping her children alive. Motherhood, whether symbolic—as in Daenerys’s relationship with her dragons or her freed slaves— or biological, is an integral theme in George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire. This article examines the portrayal of the latter kind of motherhood, as represented by characters Catelyn Stark and Cersei Lannister, in both the books and the HBO adaptation. I argue that HBO’s Game of Thrones, although continuously lauded for its portrayal of “strong”, well-written female characters with importance and agency, consistently produces a mother character that is weaker, more traditionally motherly, less provocative, and often less central to the narrative than the mother figure in Martin’s books.

Missing Mothers The classic fantasy hero is an orphan, from Frodo to Luke Skywalker, Harry Potter to Dorothy, and Prince Caspian to Ged.2 There may be companions and helpers, but in the traditional high fantasy narrative, the hero stands alone against Evil, and a mother is certainly nowhere to be seen (often an aunt or uncle, or both, appears as a surrogate).3 In J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Lord of The Rings, the work that “looms over all the fantasy written in English”,4 none of the characters appear to have mothers; we certainly don’t get to meet them. One character, Galadriel, is a mother, but one who has lost her child.5 Of

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course The Lord of the Rings is a story about men, with only a few exceptions, and women, in general, tend to occupy roles that are “minimal or confined to prescribed areas” in this genre, but mothers especially are hard to come by.6 Fathers and forefathers are important, from the naming of characters— Aragorn son of Arathorn, Théoden son of Thengel—to their responsibility to honor their ancestors, and do their duties as heirs to their legacies, but mothers are confined to the shadows of the narrative. In the stereotypes of older “sword and sorcery” fantasy, we find that the “strong” female characters are so because they take on the characteristics of male characters. They become the typical “warrior women”, or remain passive.7 There is, of course, modern fantasy literature to be found with more, and more progressive, female characters, and Martin’s project is very different from Tolkien’s. However, their mainstream success, especially through their large-scale screen adaptations, makes The Lord of The Rings and A Song of Ice and Fire interesting subjects for comparison. The series, A Song of Ice and Fire, can be classified as high (or epic) fantasy through its scope and its setting, a world completely removed from our own. It is, however, also different from a traditional high fantasy series for a number of reasons, one of them being that it is a hero-less story. There is no one hero to root for, indeed there is no Good and Bad (or evil) side in an epic struggle, there is good and evil both in almost every single character, including the mothers, for whom the removal of the hero has made space. Catelyn Stark and Cersei Lannister are both important point-of-view characters in the series—unlike their respective eldest sons, Robb and Joffrey, and Cersei’s husband, Robert.8 Parts of the story are told with their voices, but they also shape events through their actions, actions they take because they are mothers, rather than in spite of it. But what happens to them when they are adapted for television? In her essay “The Case of the Missing Mother: Maternal Issues in Vidor’s Stella Dallas”, E. Ann Kaplan outlines four mother archetypes in Hollywood convention. She defines them as follows: 1. The Good Mother—who is all-nurturing and self-abnegating—the “Angel in the House.” Totally invested in husband and children, she lives only through them, and is marginal to the narrative. 2. The Bad Mother or Witch—the underside to the first myth. Sadistic, hurtful, and jealous, she refuses the self-abnegating role, demanding her own life. Because of her “evil” behavior, this mother often takes control of the narrative, but she is punished for her violation of the desired patriarchal ideal, the Good Mother. 3. The Heroic Mother—who suffers and endures for the sake of husband and children. A development of the first Mother, she shares her saintly qualities, but is more central to the action. Yet, unlike the second Mother, she acts not to satisfy herself, but for the good of the family.



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4. The Silly, Weak, or Vain Mother. Found most often in comedies, she is ridiculed by husband and children alike, and generally scorned or disparaged.9 Compared to many other high fantasy works, A Song of Ice and Fire, tends not to employ archetypes; instead it “features characters who are more psychologically complex and morally ambiguous than is typical in epic fantasy.”10 Taking a cue from William Faulkner, Martin himself has stated that, “The basis of any story has to be the human heart and the conflict within itself ”,11 and that he favors an internal battle between good and evil over an external one. Accordingly, his mother characters, like his other characters, are complex and diverse, often provocative, and certainly not relegated to “the periphery of a narrative focused on a husband, son, or daughter.”12 Cersei is the one who comes closest to a stereotype, she has a lot of the characteristics of the Bad Mother: she is monstrous, hurtful, and jealous; she does indeed demand her own life, and is eventually punished for her behavior. Catelyn shares some traits with the Heroic Mother, but does not have her saintly qualities. I will argue, however, that HBO’s adaptation shows a consistent pattern of bringing the mother characters closer to Kaplan’s archetypes as well as a modern ideal of what a mother should be. Cersei, although certainly still a villain, is consistently made more maternal and sympathetic, Catelyn more feeble, gentle and needy, and “totally invested in her children”, to the point where any mind for strategy she might possess in the books is lost to her.

The Bad Mother For the Cersei Lannister of the books, her love for her children is directly linked to her love for her brother—their father—and to some extent the sense of family honor and legacy that her father has instilled in her. She loves her children, not just because they are hers, but because they are hers and Jaime’s and thus Lannister children. She makes it quite clear that any child she might have conceived with her husband, Robert, would have been repulsive to her— as he is—and that the one time this happened, she had a secret abortion: “Your Robert got me with child once,” she said, her voice thick with contempt. “My brother found a woman to cleanse me. He never knew, If truth be told, I can scarcely bear for him to touch me, and I have not let him inside me for years.”13

HBO’s Cersei, on the other hand, gives birth to Robert’s child and loves it—or so she claims to several other characters, including Robert himself. She grieves when the child dies. Not only does this adaptive choice avoid

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the uncomfortable subject of abortion all together, it also serves to portray Cersei as a more sympathetic, more motherly character. She is not selective in which of her children she’ll love, despite her not loving her husband. In the second episode of the first season, she pays a (strategic) visit to Catelyn, who is distraught that her son, Bran, is injured, most likely fatally so. She tells Catelyn of her first son, describing him as a “little black-haired beauty”,14 and how she screamed and fought when they came to take his body away. This is not to say that HBO’s Cersei is, or is meant to be a vastly sympathetic character. As an antagonist to the Starks, she ranges from cold and cruel to deranged and monstrous. A poll done by the Huffington Post in 2014 (while Season 4 was airing) named Cersei the most hated character in the show.15 Her treatment of Sansa is chilling, perhaps significantly so because it shows Cersei as potential mother-in-law, a role that comes with its own set of stereotypes and connotations. But in her role as mother, the HBO version of Cersei is always more nurturing, more protecting than the one from the books. Cersei, the Queen, may be a monster, but Cersei, the Mother, is not. At worst, she is incompetent, and incapable of controlling the true monster, her son, Joffrey. In Season 2, Joffrey, upon learning that his legitimacy is being disputed, orders the killing of all of Robert Baratheon’s bastard children, a massacre that is shown to us in a truly horrifying scene echoing the biblical Massacre of the Innocents.16 One of the children, Barra, is a mere infant, introduced to us in Season 1. But in the books, Cersei performs the un-motherly act of ordering the murder of innocent babies: “I never dreamed the babe would be at risk. A baseborn girl, less than a year old, with a whore for a mother. What risk could she pose?” [Varys] “She was Robert’s,” Tyrion said bitterly. “That was enough for Cersei, it would seem.”17

HBO’s Joffrey is protecting himself from the rumors about his parentage and setting a terrifying example for those who might wish to challenge his power. The inhumanity of the act also fits well with his increasingly sadistic behavior, portrayed throughout Season 2. But in the novel the slaying of the bastards is his mother ruthlessly protecting her position by covering up her infidelity and incest. Her children are all blond like herself and her brother, but Robert fathered (at least) eight black-haired bastards whose mothers were “copper and honey, chestnut, and butter”,18 evidence that he cannot be the father of the royal children (at least not according to Westeros’s special brand of genetics). Sparing the children might have been a more motherly thing to do, but it certainly would have put Cersei and her family at risk. Interestingly, the murderous act itself is made more intense and more disturbing in the TV version. Not only do we actually get to see it happen (in the book, we are merely told that it did happen), hear the baby’s crying and the mother’s screams as the child is ripped from her arms and stabbed in front of



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her, we get to see a number of children killed or hunted, and soldiers crying at the atrocities they have to commit. In the book, only one child (the baby girl) is mentioned specifically, although there is reason to assume they would all have been in danger.19 The increased effect of horror then is, in part, due to the ability of visual representations of violence to come across as “stronger than in the novels”,20 and, in part, an, arguably, conscious effort from the creators to increase the shock value. It is significant, however, that while the scene itself is made more disturbing, its implications are made less so, and again less provocative, by making the killer the psychopathic boy king and not the mother.

Tansy and Other Taboos In her article in this volume, Mariah Larsson (see pages 17–38) discusses the tendency of mainstream adaptations to downplay taboos and provocative content.21 Abortion and a mother’s failure to love a child fathered by the wrong man are both examples of such taboos (as is a mother ordering the murder of other mothers’ babies), and Cersei describing her unborn child as something of which she needed to be “cleansed” would certainly count as provocative content. In fact, abortion, induced by a concoction known as “tansy tea” or perhaps more commonly “moon tea”, occurs or is mentioned a number of times throughout the novels, but its existence has not so far been mentioned once in the HBO series.22 This is consistent with Hollywood convention; explicit mention of abortion is rare.23 As Judith Levine puts it: “if a pregnancy lasts on screen, abortion is never an option and always a tragedy. Indeed, the A-word is rarely even uttered.”24 In the novels it is suggested that the deranged behavior of another mother, Lysa Arryn, Catelyn’s sister, is caused by her father forcing her to abort her first child (conceived out of wedlock),25 but in the book her paranoia and obsessive coddling of her sickly son is given no such back story. It is also suggested in the book that Sybill Spicer, the mother of Robb’s wife, Jeyne (in the TV series replaced with the character Talisa) tricks her own daughter into consuming moon tea to keep her from conceiving (in Game of Thrones, Robb’s wife has no parents herself, and does indeed get pregnant, but mother and unborn child are killed by a Frey man at the Red Wedding). This is another cold and calculating act performed by a mother for the advancement of herself and her family (and, thus, is comparable to Cersei’s murder of the bastards), as Sybill is in a secret alliance with Tywin Lannister. But moon tea is not just a tool for scheming parents who wish to control their daughters, or for evil queens who want to rid themselves of babies that repulse them, it is mentioned throughout the novels as something used by women—whether they be queens, princesses, tavern maids, or wildlings—to help them to live with more freedom, although many of them have to use it

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in secret.26 When the producers of the TV series choose not to mention it, it might indicate that moon tea does not exist in the Game of Thrones universe, but the implications of this are not explored. If the Cersei of the books had not been able to have an abortion, she would have had an unwanted child forced upon her by her husband, and by extension her father (who arranged the marriage against Cersei’s wishes). In the TV series, Cersei does, indeed, feel violated by her husband, and used by her father, but, like a good mother, she loves all her children. Jon Snow is another unwanted child, at least by his stepmother, Catelyn. Apparently the result of Ned Stark’s infidelity, Jon’s existence is a thorn in Catelyn’s side, both on the page and on screen, but here the adaptation again offers a less extreme, less provocative spin than the source text. In Game of Thrones, Catelyn’s animosity is shown through some icy stares in the first episode, and one encounter between the two of them in the second. Jon comes to Bran’s sickbed to say goodbye before leaving for The Wall. Catelyn is grief stricken and angry, and does not want Jon in the room with her son. She says with real venom: “I want you to leave.” In the book, Catelyn’s treatment of Jon is even more harsh and overt here. Catelyn even tells Jon that she wishes he had been injured instead of Bran. Jon did not know what to say. “It wasn’t your fault,” he managed after an awkward silence. Her eyes found him. They were full of poison. “I need none of your absolution, bastard.” … … He was at the door when she called out to him. “Jon,” she said. He should have kept going but she had never called him by his name before. He turned to find her looking at his face, as if she were seeing it for the first time. “Yes?” he said. “It should have been you,” she told him. Then she turned back to Bran and began to weep, her whole body shaking with the sobs.27

Similarly, in the TV series Jon asks his father for permission to go to the Wall, and is granted it. This also happens in the book, but Ned is unwilling until Catelyn makes it clear that Jon will not be welcome in Winterfell anymore: Jon was never out of sight, and as he grew, he looked more like Ned than any of the trueborn sons she bore him. Somehow that made it worse. “Jon must go,” she said now. “He and Robb are close,” Ned said. “I had hoped …” “He cannot stay here,” Catelyn said, cutting him off. “He is your son, not mine. I will not have him.”28

Even if Catelyn’s vitriol towards Jon Snow in the HBO series does not come close to what Martin’s Catelyn feels and says, HBO still chose to let her apologize for it, something Martin never did. In an original scene in



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Episode 2, Season 3, Catelyn has a heart-to-heart with her new daughter-inlaw, Talisa, in which she tells her a story about a time when Jon, as a baby, caught the pox: “When my husband brought that baby home from the war, I couldn’t bear to look at him. I didn’t want to see those brown stranger’s eyes staring up at me. So I prayed to the gods, take him away. Make him die. He got the pox. And I knew I was the worst woman who ever lived. A murderer. I’d condemned this poor, innocent child to a horrible death all because I was jealous of his mother, a woman he didn’t even know. So I prayed to all seven gods, let the boy live, let him live and I’ll love him. I’ll be a mother to him, I’ll beg my husband to give him a true name, to call him ‘Stark’ and be done with it, to make him one of us. And he lived. And he lived. And I couldn’t keep my promise. And everything that’s happened since then […] all this horror that’s come to my family […] it’s all because I couldn’t love a motherless child.”

The scene offers up some pretty harsh judgments on Catelyn’s actions vis-à-vis Jon, naming the mother who condemns an infant to death “the worst woman who ever lived”.29 It differs from Cersei’s revelations about her first child in that Catelyn does fail to mother Jon (who, crucially, is not her child), but the notion of the horror and impossibility of a mother failing to take pity on an innocent child is interesting when seen in combination with the slaying of the bastards passed on to Joffrey.

The Good Mother In the books, Catelyn’s hatred of Jon is mainly explained as emotional: she is jealous of Jon’s unknown mother and what she might have meant to Ned, and she feels humiliated that Ned brought his bastard back to his home, which is not the convention among Westerosi nobility. She does, however, on several occasions attempt to justify her feelings by thinking of Jon as potential threat to her children’s inheritance, here in a discussion with Robb: “I know you trust Jon. But can you trust his sons? Or their sons? […] If you make Jon legitimate, there is no way to turn him bastard again. Should he wed and breed, any sons you may have by Jeyne will never be safe.”30 “His was the perfect solution. Benjen Stark was a Sworn Brother. Jon would be a son to him, the child he would never have. And in time the boy would take the oath as well. He would father no sons who might someday contest with Catelyn’s own grandchildren for Winterfell.”31

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Jon is offensive to her not because her husband was unfaithful, but because he brought him home: “She might have overlooked a dozen bastards for Ned’s sake, so long as they were out of sight. Jon was never out of sight”.32 His treatment of Jon is only one of the many ways in which Ned breaks the rules of the society they live in. Catelyn’s willingness and ability to work within those rules is her main strength as a mother in the books; more than anyone else in her family she is willing to play by the rules for the long-term benefit of her children. This is where she resembles the Heroic Mother archetype, she “acts not to satisfy herself, but for the good of the family”. It means making sacrifices, but she shows strength for the sake of the greater good. In Game of Thrones, however, this deftness has been sacrificed for a style of mothering closer to contemporary ideals, the result being a Catelyn that is more passive, weak, and clingy. When Robert asks Ned to come south to act as Hand of the King, he does not want to go. In the book he even suggests that he might refuse Robert. Catelyn, however, understands both the danger of refusing and the importance the offer might hold for their family: “You cannot. You must not.” “My duties are here in the north. I have no wish to be Robert’s Hand.” “He will not understand that. He is a king now, and kings are not like other men. If you refuse to serve him, he will wonder why, and sooner or later he will begin to suspect that you oppose him. Can’t you see the danger that would put us in?”33

HBO’s Catelyn shows no such level-headedness, she does not want her husband to leave her, and tells him “I won’t let him take you.”34 He tells her that, “a king takes what he wants”. Likewise, in the book, when they learn of Jon Arryn’s murder, Catelyn says: “‘Now we truly have no choice. You must be Robert’s Hand. You must go south with him and learn the truth.”35 In the first episode of Game of Thrones, it is Maester Luwin who says that there is no other way: Ned must go—whereas a stricken Catelyn complains that her husband’s life would be in danger. Her concern for the ways of the world and long-term position of her family has been replaced with an immediate need to be close to her husband. Catelyn’s views on the proposed matching of Sansa and Joffrey have changed in much the same way. Whereas Catelyn certainly understands how hard the realities of being married off can be, she sees it as the duty of a high-born woman, and acknowledges that being married to a king is the noblest future possible for her daughter. This takes priority over any misgivings Catelyn herself might have about being separated from her. Ned, however, for whom his own codex of honor and compassion often outranks the laws and conventions of the world, is reluctant to accept the proposal:



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“Pride is everything to a king, my lord. Robert came all this way to see you to bring you these great honors, you cannot throw them back in his face.” “Honors?” Ned laughed bitterly. “In his eyes, yes,” she said. “And in yours?” “And in mine,” she blazed, angry now. Why couldn’t he see? “He offers his own son in marriage to our daughter, what else would you call that? Sansa might someday be queen. Her sons could rule from the Wall to the mountains of Dorne. What is so wrong with that?” “Gods, Catelyn, Sansa is only eleven,” Ned said. “And Joffrey … Joffrey is …” She finished for him. “… Crown prince, and heir to the Iron Throne. And I was only twelve when my father promised me to your brother Brandon.”36

Again the roles have been reversed in the adaptation. The father understands that he must do what he must do, however much it displeases him, whereas mother Catelyn protests, unwilling to be separated from her children. Martin’s Catelyn’s way of being a good mother—doing what she can to advance the positions of her children and her family, and staying on the good side of the powers that be to keep them from harm—requires her to do things like send her children away. The adapted Catelyn’s preferred way is more familiar to us, she wants to be close to and protect her family in a more immediate way, but within the context of Game of Thrones that leaves her ever in the background, carried along, willingly or unwillingly, with whatever decision her husband or her son makes. Her children and husband are her life, and she often cannot see very far beyond them. In most situations this makes her loving, but passive. Occasionally it makes her downright stupid, as is the case when she frees Jaime Lannister, her son’s captive. In the book, the possibility of trading prisoners, Sansa and Arya Stark for Jaime Lannister, is proposed to Robb Stark, but he knows he cannot make the deal. Jaime is a much more valuable prisoner than his sisters, however much he loves them. Catelyn immediately understands this, although it grieves her to admit it: She could not even say that Robb was wrong. Arya and Sansa were children. The Kingslayer, alive and free, was as dangerous as any man in the realm. That road led nowhere.37

They are her children, but if Robb loses his war, all of her children might be lost to her. It is another sacrifice made for the long-term good of the family. Only when she is told that her younger sons, Bran and Rickon, have been killed does she decide to release Jaime after all, in a last, desperate attempt to get her daughters back. She is grief-stricken and desperate, and suddenly, she has fewer children to lose. She understands that what she does is treason, but she no longer feels that she has a choice. When her crime is revealed, it provokes rage in Robb’s bannermen, but also understanding: “‘The news must have driven you mad,’ Ser Desmond broke in, ‘a madness of grief, a mother’s madness, men will understand. You did not know.’”38

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In Game of Thrones, she makes the decision before ever hearing about Bran and Rickon. There is no new shock or grief to explain her actions, no realization that she only has three children left, and only one son, no initial acknowledgment of the strategic problems with such a plan. It is merely a very rash and arguably stupid decision made because she wants her daughters, no matter what. As Robb puts it: “Jaime Lannister has played you for a fool. You’ve weakened our position. You’ve put discord into our camp. And you did it all behind my back.”39 She is shown as perhaps more obviously maternal by refusing to let go any chance of seeing her daughters again, more like the Good Mother in choosing her daughters no matter what, but her ability to think more strategically on behalf of all of her family has been sacrificed.

Should Kings (and Others) Listen to their Mothers? “All these kings would do a great deal better if they would put down their swords and listen to their mothers.”40 These words are spoken by Olenna Tyrell to Sansa Stark, in the third book in the series, A Storm of Swords. The kings in HBO’s Game of Thrones, however, seem to listen to their mothers even less than the kings in Martin’s books do. One of the main changes made to both Cersei and Catelyn in the adaptation process seems to be them taking a step back and handing over some, sometimes a lot, of their agency to their respective sons, Joffrey and Robb. As we have seen above with Robert’s bastards, decisions that are made by Cersei in the books have been given to her son in the TV series. Likewise, and perhaps to an even greater extent, Catelyn’s decisions, especially strategic ones, are passed on to Robb in the adaptation, leaving her with much less impact on the direction that the story takes. One such example is Robb’s attempted alliance with Renly Baratheon in Season 2—an alliance that would have been significant had it panned out. In the second book, this plan is suggested by Catelyn,41 and yet, in the TV series it is Robb’s own idea. In both versions, Catelyn is reluctant to be the one to negotiate on her son’s behalf, but her reasons for this and Robb’s way of persuading her have both been altered in a way that makes Catelyn regress from her position as Robb’s political advisor towards the “Good Mother” archetype. In the book, Catelyn’s father, Hoster Tully, is dying, and she wishes to stay with him in Riverrun. Robb tells her that if she will not go, the only person he can send is his bannerman, Greatjon Umber, a man obviously less qualified for the job than Catelyn, and so, she agrees to go, accepting that it is the best plan of action



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The memory brought a wan smile to her face. Such an obvious ploy, that, yet deft for a boy of fifteen. Robb knew how ill suited a man like Greatjon Umber would be to treat with a man like Renly Baratheon, and he knew that she knew it as well. What could she do but accede?42

In the TV series, the exchange is quite different, and not only because Hoster Tully and Riverrun are not introduced until Season 3. When Robb asks her to go, Catelyn refuses because she believes it is time for her to go home to be with her youngest children, Bran and Rickon.43 Robb tells her that she cannot go home, and when she is distraught, he patiently explains to her the benefit that an extra 100,000 soldiers would give them. Finally, he tells her that this plan is the only way in which she might be reunited with her daughters, and this convinces her to go. It is clearly a decision made for emotional, rather than tactical reasons. One important factor to mention is the age of the children. In HBO’s adaptation, all of the younger characters have been aged upward two to four years. This was initially done to avoid issues with decency laws in the different countries where production took place when filming Daenerys’s wedding night and the following sex scenes with her husband, Khal Drogo44, but it affects all the different storylines. In the case of the Starks and the Lannisters, it means that Robb is seventeen when Game of Thrones begins (rather than fourteen), and Joffrey is sixteen (rather than twelve). The actors portraying them were both significantly older than their characters, and Robb especially (played by a bearded, twenty-five-year-old Richard Madden) comes across as older than seventeen. Robb and Joffrey both lose their fathers in the first book (and first season) and become rival kings for the following two. It seems a natural thing for the two mothers to take charge and, in effect, to co-rule when their sons of fifteen and thirteen, respectively, are left with this level of responsibility—less so when they are eighteen and seventeen (and even older looking), in a world that according to George R. R. Martin does not recognize the “whole concept of adolescence”.45 HBO has also gone a slightly more conventional route than Martin in setting Robb up as more of a traditional hero, and Joffrey as the main villain of the first few series. They are in direct opposition to each other, as good and evil, with the other kings (Renly, Stannis, Balon) more peripheral and ambiguous. In order for Robb to be a hero, he needs to be in charge; not just righteous, but smart and strong, too. Likewise, Joffrey the villain needs to be in charge of his own evil deeds. It all makes sense from an adaptor’s point of view; in a medium that allows for less explanation and detail than the novel, we are efficiently told whom to root for and whom to hate, but Catelyn and Cersei suffer for it, as they are relegated to the backseat. In Catelyn’s case that also entails making her more dumb. I do not necessarily argue the same for Cersei (in the books her belief in her own strategic capabilities often comes across as grossly exaggerated), but they both come out as less important characters.46

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Sexuality Larsson describes a hierarchy dictating depictions of nudity in Game of Thrones in which “higher ranked people are more rarely shown in the nude”.47 As Queen (later Queen Regent), and Lady of Winterfell (later the mother to a king), Cersei and Catelyn, respectively, are among the highest-ranking women in Westeros. Their lack of nudity on the show (compared to other characters), therefore, fits well within this hierarchy. One could argue, however, that it also, especially in the case of Catelyn, fits into a pattern of transforming a character from a more complex woman to “just” a mother. Nudity clauses in the contracts of the individual actors do, of course, also play into this, but the effect remains the same. Cersei is also consistently shown in costumes that are less revealing than the ones worn by Margaery—a woman of similar rank, but not a mother. In the books, Catelyn is shown to have an active sex life with her husband: “So when they had finished, Ned rolled off and climbed from her bed, as he had a thousand times before … Her loins still ached from the urgency of his lovemaking. It was a good ache.”48 Catelyn connects the act to mothering, hoping that she might conceive, but clearly also enjoys it for its own sake, as a woman. Immediately after this Maester Luwin comes to the bedroom where Lord and Lady Stark are still in bed, both naked, bearing the letter about Jon Arryn’s murder. Upon reading the letter Catelyn gets out of bed to burn it: “she padded across the room. Maester Luwin averted his eyes. Even Ned looked shocked … ‘Maester Luwin—’ Ned began. ‘Maester Luwin has delivered all my children,’ Catelyn said. ‘This is no time for false modesty.’”49 The same scene plays out very similarly in the adaptation. However, although Ned and Catelyn are clearly having an intimate, affectionate moment together, they are both fully dressed, and there is nothing to suggest anything sexual has happened between them. Catelyn is not naked before the Maester, or indeed at any time in the TV series.50 Nor is her having a sexual relationship with her husband ever shown or really suggested; the closest we ever get is a kiss. She is loving—of her children and husband alike—but never sexual, displaying a purity that brings her closer to the “angelic” aspect of the Good Mother. Similarly, there are scenes from the books in which Cersei is described as naked, which have been recreated quite literally in the adaptation, omitting only the nudity. In the book, when Bran catches Cersei with Jaime, he sees that: Inside the room, a man and a woman were wrestling. They were both naked. Bran could not tell who they were. The man’s back was to him, and his body screened the woman from view as he pushed her up against a wall.51

When the same scene plays out, very similarly, in Episode 1 of Game of Thrones, Jaime is wearing a shirt and Cersei is fully dressed. She is having a



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secret affair with her brother, so one can hardly argue that she is portrayed as pure and chaste, but her sexuality is consistently downplayed on TV.52 When she is shown naked on screen, it is in a setting in which she is being punished for her sexuality, rather than enjoying it—her walk of shame in Season 5. Her infidelity is toned down in a similar way. In the final episode of the first season of Game of Thrones, it is revealed that she is having an affair with her cousin, Lancel. Whereas he is depicted naked in Cersei’s bedroom, the Queen herself is, yet again, fully dressed. Tyrion later uses his knowledge of the affair to his advantage, but whether Cersei was merely sleeping with Lancel for strategic reasons, or whether her own pleasure was also a motive, is not explored. In the books she goes on to seduce the Kettleblack brothers for leverage, bedding at least one of them, while her brother is still missing. Yet, these characters do not exist in the HBO universe. Again, this is an adaptive choice that makes sense, they are fairly insignificant characters, but the result is an onscreen Cersei who is more faithful (if we consider Jaime to be her “true” partner.) In the second season of Game of Thrones, Cersei tells Sansa: “Tears aren’t a woman’s only weapon. The best one’s between your legs.”53 HBO’s Cersei does not, however, show much sign of utilizing this weapon herself, apart from perhaps during her fling with Lancel. In the books, Cersei uses it consistently, and often effectively. It is one of the favored strategies of the Machiavellian Cersei discussed by Beaton.54 After Lancel she attacks the Kettleblacks, who commit crimes for her in the hopes of being allowed into her bed. She even tries to seduce Ned Stark when he confronts her about her relationship with Jaime: “If friends can turn to enemies, enemies can become friends. Your wife is a thousand leagues away and my brother has fled. Be kind to me, Ned. I swear to you, you shall never regret it.”55

But sex is not just a weapon for Cersei. Through her point-of-view chapters in Martin’s fourth book, A Feast For Crows, she is shown to desire it, like any other person. In her brother’s absence, she finds other men to sleep with, and even toys with the idea of sleeping with a woman: She is younger than I am. Her breasts have not begun to sag. Cersei wondered what it would feel like to kiss another woman. Not lightly on the cheek, as was common courtesy amongst ladies of high birth, but full upon the lips. Taena’s lips were very full. She wondered what it would feel like to suckle on those breasts, to lay the Myrish woman on her back and push her legs apart and use her as a man would use her, the way Robert would use her when the drink was in him, and she was unable to bring him off with hand or mouth.56

The television series is not told from individual characters’ points of view in this way, and accordingly such insights into private fantasies do not occur.

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The Cersei we get to see is thus less sexual in two ways, both in her use of her sexuality as a weapon and in terms of her own lusts and wants. We only get to se her desire in her scenes with Jaime. He is her brother, but he is also her one true love (as opposed to Robert, the abusive husband she was forced into marrying.) This makes their relationship (controversial as it is) and Cersei herself more conventional.

Mainstreaming the Mother The Lord of the Rings, as mentioned above, is a novel with vanishingly few female characters and critics have claimed that Tolkien tended to either “place his women characters on a pedestal (such as the beautiful Elf Arwen and her ancestor, Lúthien), or to paint them as absolutes (such as the evil spider Shelob and her predecessor, Ungoliant) or even to omit them altogether (as in the case of the missing mothers of Bilbo Baggins, Frodo Baggins, Aragorn, and Boromir, to name a few).”57 Peter Jackson’s adaptation of the trilogy “increased the role of all three main female characters while highlighting their differences”58 in an effort to make its portrayal of women more progressive. Whether Jackson’s alterations were always successful in achieving that can be debated, but the intent seems clear enough, and he did the same when he included the original character Tauriel in his subsequent adaptation of The Hobbit.59 George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire, on the other hand, has women and mother characters aplenty. They are strong and weak, kind and cruel, often provocative. In the case of the mothers, HBO’s adaptation consistently seems to offer characters that are less important to the narrative and less diverse than in the source text. They regress towards conservative stereotypes and mainstream depictions of motherhood; the most controversial aspects of their characters are toned down, while elsewhere in the series controversial content is often exaggerated.60 Others in this volume have written about how Game of Thrones sexualizes its female characters more so than the books in A Song of Ice and Fire do. I assert that this is not the case with the mother characters. Not only are they not objectified in the way that other female characters are, but their positions as sexual subjects are also diminished or erased. In the novels, Cersei sexualizes herself in ways that she does not on screen. She uses the weapon “between her legs”, as it is one of the few available to her, and sees her willingness to do this as pragmatism and strength. HBO’s Cersei is more passive, and more faithful to the father of her children. Similarly, Catelyn’s enjoyment of her physical relationship with her husband is an aspect of Catelyn the woman, not Catelyn the mother, and it finds no place in Game of Thrones. HBO’s Catelyn often embodies the Good Mother archetype, she has no life or desires beyond her children. Even when she makes selfish decisions (which are often stupid,



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pushing her slightly towards the Silly Mother), her selfishness too is focused on her children and a wish to be near them. Both Cersei and Catelyn are consistently made less provocative and controversial. HBO’s Cersei has some aspects of the Bad Mother, she is certainly hurtful and jealous, but she is more focused on her children and less on herself than the archetype dictates. One of the most important moments in her character development, her childhood visit with Maggy the Frog, was shown in a flashback in the first episode of the fifth season. Most of the prophecy she receives there matches the one from A Feast For Crows, almost word by word. But the part about her own death—“when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you”61—has been left out, effectively making her subsequent paranoia about her fear of someone usurping her as queen and murdering her children, not fear of her own murder. When she thinks Stannis has taken King’s Landing, she sits on the throne with her youngest son, Tommen, ready to poison him so he does not fall into the hands of her enemies, whereas in the book she does not really pay much attention to Tommen until after Joffrey is dead.62 She can hardly be described as a great mother, but she is more nurturing in HBO’s rendition. Crucially, she is less provocative and evil than the Cersei we see in the books. She does not secretly abort Robert’s children out of disgust. One of her most heinous acts, the slaying of the bastards, is extended and shown most graphically on Game of Thrones, the actual images of a baby being murdered make it more shocking than in the books, but it is no longer orchestrated by Cersei, the mother. Likewise, although other scenes have even more shock value in the HBO series than in the books (for instance the Red Wedding, during which, in the HBO version, Talisa is stabbed in her pregnant belly),63 the notion of a mother hating and harming an innocent child is downplayed in the adaptation of Catelyn. Her relationship with Jon is softened; she is made to apologize for her behavior. Individual adaptation choices, like the omission of the Kettleblack characters or the transfer of power from the mothers to the sons, may have other reasons and motives, but the overall effect is a mainstreaming of the mothers and to some extent the families. In Season 5, we are introduced to the “Sand Snakes”, Oberyn Martell’s daughters. In the books, they are eight sisters, born to different mothers who were prostitutes, noblewomen, septas and traders. The youngest three are the daughters of Oberyn’s paramour, Ellaria Sand.64 All eight are acknowledged as Oberyn’s children, a testament to how Dorne, in terms of sexual morality and the rights of women, differs from the rest of Westeros. In Game of Thrones, only three sisters feature, and Ellaria Sand has been made their mother.65 It certainly makes sense to cut down the number of snakes in the adaptation, and Ellaria is a character who is already known to the viewers. However, one of the effects of these choices is that we are left with a more conventional family: Oberyn, his beloved Ellaria, and their three daughters. Likewise, the reduction of Cersei’s infidelity conventionalizes her relationship

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with Jaime. There are certainly provocative aspects left in both relationships (Oberyn and Ellaria are unmarried and polyamorous, Cersei and Jaime are brother and sister), but the basic construction is the same: two people who love each other and the children they have together. In A Clash of Kings, when in prayer to The Mother, Catelyn reflects upon the strength of motherhood: “Does Cersei pray to you too, my lady?” Catelyn asked the Mother. She could she the proud, cold, lovely features of the Lannister queen etched upon the wall. The crack was still there; even Cersei could weep for her children. “Each of the Seven embodies all of the Seven,” Septon Osmynd had told her once. There was as much beauty in the crone as in the maiden and the mother could be fiercer than the Warrior when her children are in danger.66

Martin’s Catelyn finds her strength in her role as a mother. It enables her to make hard choices because they are necessary for her family’s survival. HBO’s mainstreaming of Catelyn robs her of this strength. She becomes more motherly, as seen with contemporary eyes, more nurturing, she wants to be close to her children and not let them go. But her children are at war; this kind of mothering is not all that useful to them. In becoming the Good Mother she loses much of her impact, on us as viewers (through her ability to provoke and anger) and on the story (through her strategic capabilities and willingness to sacrifice.) Cersei, although certainly provocative and impactful in Lena Headey’s wonderful rendition, is also just a bit less evil, just a bit more motherly. The edges are not as sharp. The two women have both been filed down, every aspect that is not focused on their children (coldness, cruelty, strategy, sexuality, selfishness) made less extreme. Because it is their portrayal as mothers that apparently causes this rounding, their motherhood ends up weakening rather than strengthening them. The eight episode of the fifth season, Hardhome, provides us with perhaps the perfect metaphor for this. The original wildling character Karsi is shown, throughout the episode, fighting fiercely to protect her people and particularly her children. But when faced with a horde of (undead) children, she can no longer fight, she just freezes, horrified, and so is overrun and killed by them.

Notes   1. The first verse of a hymn to The Mother, one of the God-aspects of the religion called The Faith, sung by Sansa Stark in both the books and the adaptation. http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Gentle_Mother,_Font_of_Mercy (accessed February 20, 2015).   2. The hero of Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea Cycle (1968–2001).



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  3. As is the case with Frodo and Harry Potter, to name but two examples.   4. Edward James, “Tolkien, Lewis and the explosion of genre fantasy” in The Cambridge Companion to Fantasy Literature, ed. Edward James and Farah Mendelsohn (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 62.   5. Rosie Cotton also has children at the end of the story.   6. Barbara Lynn Lucas, “Epic Fantasy” in Robin Anne Reid (ed.), Women in Science Fiction and Fantasy, volume two: Entries (Westport Connecticut, Greenwood Press, 2009), 103.   7. Esther MacCallum-Stewart and Justin Parsler, “Sword and Sorcery” in Reid (ed.), Women in Science Fiction and Fantasy, 294.   8. None of the many kings in the story are actually point-of-view characters; Catelyn’s husband Eddard is one of the main ones in the first novel.   9. E. Ann Kaplan, “The Case of the Missing Mother: Maternal Issues in Vidor’s Stella Dallas,” in Feminism & Film, ed. E. Ann Kaplan (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 468. See also Heather Addison, Mary Kate Goodwin-Kelly and Elaine Roth in their introduction to Motherhood Misconceived, Representing the Maternal in U.S. Films (New York: New York State University Press, 2009) where they claim that the construction of motherhood in Hollywood has remained in “the service of status quo”, and that “Hollywood’s ‘misconceptions’ of motherhood suggest that hegemony is maintained through the management of maternity’”, 4. 10. Barbara Lynn Lucas, “Epic Fantasy” in Reid (ed.), Women in Science Fiction and Fantasy, 103–4. 11. Alan Sepinwall, “Interview: ‘Game of Thrones’ author George R. R. Martin” on hitfix.com, http://www.hitfix.com/blogs/whats-alan-watching/posts/interviewgame-of-thrones-author-george-r-r-martin#bUTbQVLAj8gLHbG2.99 (accessed February 20, 2015). 12. Kaplan, “The Case of the Missing Mother”, 468. 13. Martin, A Game of Thrones, ePub edn, version 3 (Harper Voyager 2010), 46. Catelyn’s chapter. 14. Game of Thrones, Season 1, Episode 2. 15. Erin Whitney, “Cersei is officially the most hated character on ‘Game of Thrones.’” The Huffington Post, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/05/07/ game-of-thrones-cersei_n_5280773.html (accessed February 20, 2015). 16. Game of Thrones, Season 2, Episode 1. 17. Conversation between Varys and Tyrion. George R. R. Martin, A Clash of Kings, ePub edn, version 3 (Harper Voyager, 2010), 117. 18. Ibid., 219. 19. Robert’s bastard Gendry, for instance, is whisked away to the Night’s Watch, indicating that he is a potential target. 20. See Larsson in this volume, pages 17–38. 21. See Larsson in this volume. See also Anne Gjelsvik “What Novels can Tell, that Films can’t show”, in Jørgen Bruhn, Anne Gjelsvik, Eirik Frisvold Hanssen Adaptation Studies, New Challenges, New Directions (London: Bloomsbury, 2013). 22. The precise nature of moon tea is not described in any detail, but it appears to be used both as a contraceptive and an abortifacient. 23. See Helena Wahlström, “Reproduction, Politics and John Irving’s The Cider House Rules: Women’s Rights of Fetal Rights?” in Culture Unbound: Journal of Current Cultural Research 5 (2013): 251–71.

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24. Judith Levine, Harmful to Minors: The Perils of Protecting Children from Sex (Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press, 2002), 120. 25. See Martin, A Storm of Swords, 1114. 26. Customs and taboos vary throughout Westeros, both north of the Wall and in Dorne views on sexuality, particularly female sexuality, are more liberal than elsewhere on the continent. Moon tea is available to the nobler classes through the maesters, but it is used by common milk maids too, and if a Wildling woman “does not want a child, she will go to some woods witch and drink a cup o’ moon tea”. (See Martin, A Storm of Swords, 208, 306.) 27. Martin, A Storm of Swords, ePub edn, version 2 (London, Harper Voyager, 2011), 89–90. 28. Ibid., 62. 29. Game of Thrones, Season 3, Episode 2. 30. Martin, A Storm of Swords, 628. 31. Ibid., 63. 32. Martin, A Game of Thrones, 62. 33. Ibid., 56. 34. Game of Thrones, Season 1, Episode 1. 35. Martin, A Game of Thrones, 59. 36. Ibid., 56. 37. Martin, A Clash of Kings, 595. 38. Martin, A Storm of Swords, 33. 39. Game of Thrones, Season 2, Episode 8. 40. Martin, A Storm of Swords, 84. 41. Martin, A Clash of Kings, 110. 42. Ibid., 305. 43. Game of Thrones, Season 2, Episode 1. 44. Sepinwall, “Interview: Game of Thrones’ author George R. R. Martin” 45. Ibid. 46. See Beaton in this volume for a different reading of Cersei, pages 193–218. 47. See Larsson in this volume, pages 17–38. 48. Martin, A Game of Thrones, 55. 49. Ibid., 59. 50. In the book, she is stripped naked and thrown into the river following her murder at The Twins. This has been omitted from the adaptation. 51. Ibid., 79–80. 52. See Addison, Goodwin-Kelly and Roth, Motherhood Misconceived, 2–3 on the difference between how mainstream media have been sexualizing pregnancy (for instance Vanity Fair’s covers with pregnant Angelina Jolie and naked Demi Moore) versus Hollywood’s tendency to downplay the relationship between sex and parenthood. 53. Game of Thrones, Season 2, Episode 9. 54. See Beaton in this volume, pages 193–218. 55. Martin, A Game of Thrones, 470. 56. Martin, A Feast for Crows, ePub edn, version 2 (Harper Voyager, 2010), 480. 57. Amy H. Sturgis, “Tolkien, J. R. R. (1892–1973)” in Reid (ed.), Women in Science Fiction and Fantasy, 301.



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58. Esther MacCallum-Stewart and Justin Parsler, “Sword and Sorcery” in Reid (ed.), Women in Science Fiction and Fantasy, 294. 59. Ethan Sacks, “Director Peter Jackson, actress Evangeline Lily feel Tauriel has earned her place in ‘The Hobbit: The Battle of Five Armies’” on NYDailyNews.com, available online: http://www.nydailynews.com/entertainment/movies/jackson-lillytauriel-earned-place-hobbit-article–1.2048998 (accessed March 10, 2015). 60. See Gjelsvik in this volume, pages 57–78. 61. Martin, A Feast for Crows, 541. 62. Game of Thrones, Season 2, Episode 9. 63. Game of Thrones, Season 3, Episode 9. 64. “Sand Snakes” on A Wiki of Ice and Fire, available online: http://awoiaf.westeros. org/index.php/Sand_Snakes (accessed March 10, 2015). 65. Holly Williams, “Indira Varma: From Game of Thrones to Man and Superman” in The Independent, available online: http://www.independent.co.uk/ arts-entertainment/theatre-dance/features/indira-varma-from-game-of-thronesto-man-and-superman–10052230.html (accessed March 10, 2015). 66. Martin, A Clash of Kings, 450–1.

Bibliography Addison, Heather, Mary Kate Goodwin-Kelly, and Elaine Roth. Motherhood Misconceived—Representing the Maternal in U.S. Films. Albany: New York State University Press, 2009. Creed, Barbara. The Monstrous–Feminine: Film, Feminism, Psychoanalysis. London: Routledge, 1993. Gjelsvik, Anne. “What Novels Can Tell, that Films Can’t Show.” In Jørgen Bruhn, Anne Gjelsvik and Eirik Frisvold Hanssen, Adaptation Studies, New Challenges, New Directions. London: Bloomsbury, 2013. James, Edward. “Tolkien, Lewis and the Explosion of Genre Fantasy.” In The Cambridge Companion to Fantasy Literature, edited by Edward James and Farah Mendelsohn. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012. Kaplan, E. Ann. “The Case of the Missing Mother: Maternal Issues in Vidor’s Stella Dallas.” In Feminism & Film, edited by E. Ann Kaplan. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. Levine, Judith. Harmful to Minors: The Perils of Protecting Children from Sex. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2002. Martin, George R. R. A Clash of Kings. London: Harper Voyager, 2010. ePub edn, version 3. Martin, George R. R. A Game of Thrones. London: Harper Voyager, 2010. ePub edn, version 3. Martin, George R. R. A Feast for Crows. London: Harper Voyager, 2010. ePub edn, version 2. Martin, George R. R. A Dance with Dragons. London: Harper Collins, 2011. ePub edn, version 2. Martin, George R. R. A Storm of Swords. London: Harper Voyager, 2011. ePub edn, version 2.

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Reid, Robin Anne, ed. Women in Science Fiction and Fantasy, Volume two: Entries. Westport: Greenwood Press, 2009. Sacks, Ethan. “Director Peter Jackson, actress Evangeline Lily feel Tauriel has earned her place in ‘The Hobbit: The Battle of Five Armies.’” NYDailyNews.com, December 17, 2014. Available online: http://www.nydailynews.com/entertainment/movies/ jackson-lilly-tauriel-earned-place-hobbit-article-1.2048998 (accessed March 10, 2015). Schubart, Rikke. Super Bitches and Action Babes: The Female Hero in Popular Cinema, 1970–2006 Jefferson: McFarland, 2009. Sepinwall, Alan. “Interview: ‘Game of Thrones’ author George R. R. Martin.” Hitfix, 15 April, 2011. Available online: http://www.hitfix.com/blogs/ whats-alan-watching/posts/interview-game-of-thrones-author-george-r-rmartin#bUTbQVLAj8gLHbG2.99 (accessed February 20, 2015). Wahlström, Helena. “Reproduction, Politics and John Irving’s The Cider House Rules: Women’s Rights of Fetal Rights?” In Culture Unbound: Journal of Current Cultural Research 5 (2013): 251–71. Whitney, Erin. “Cersei is officially the most hated character on ‘Game of Thrones.’” The Huffington Post, November 5, 2014. Available online: http://www. huffingtonpost.com/2014/05/07/game-of-thrones-cersei_n_5280773.html (accessed February 20, 2015). Williams, Holly. “Indira Varma: From Game of Thrones to Man and Superman.” The Independent, February 17, 2015. Available online: http://www.independent.co.uk/ arts-entertainment/theatre-dance/features/indira-varma-from-game-of-thrones-toman-and-superman-10052230.html (accessed March 10, 2015).

Chapter 8 W OM E N W A R R IO R S F R OM C H I VA L RY TO VENGEANCE Yvonne Tasker and Lindsay Steenberg

Game of Thrones is striking for its portrayal of diverse figures of female violence: from the knightly Brienne of Tarth to wild Northerner Ygritte, and the young Arya Stark, who is set on a course of vengeance she seems (at least initially) ill-equipped to see through. While violent women have long been an established feature of fantasy fiction, film, and television, it is typically a sole female fighter of exceptional (even superhuman) abilities that takes center stage. Moreover, violent women are frequently sensationalized and/or eroticized in fantasy genres. Game of Thrones is intriguing and atypical, not only for its diverse portrayal of violent women, but also for its acknowledgment of gender hierarchies as a fundamental feature of the fictional world. As a quality television program, Game of Thrones is no less sensational in its portrayal of female violence than the established mainstream and exploitation representations of warrior women. It is, however, less predictable; drawing on tropes of medieval inflected realism, and aimed at an adult audience. Within fantasy narratives female characters are shaped in contradictory ways by both the gender norms of contemporary culture and ideas about the past. Elaborate fantasy worlds such as Game of Thrones typically evoke a sense of the pre-feminist past in which gender hierarchies are firmly in force yet remain largely unspoken. Female fighters are often anomalous figures who nonetheless manage to secure respect for their superior martial skills. While Game of Thrones has proved controversial for its portrayal of a pervasive sexual violence and the concomitant devaluing of women, the show persistently and powerfully draws attention to what feminism has long termed the double standard by which women are commodities effectively exchanged by men. During the siege of King’s Landing (2.09) the cynical Queen Regent, Cersei, bitterly observes to the captive Sansa Stark that her fate as a daughter was to be traded off in marriage, while her brother (later her lover), Jaime, is trained for combat. In speaking openly of marriage as trade, the series effectively rejects the courtesies and rituals characteristic of medieval and fantasy fictions, such as those showcased in the romantic works of Sir Walter Scott or

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J. R. R Tolkien.1 In Scott and Tolkien’s worlds, women are virtually absent from the action, often because they are venerated as magical figures, or are victims awaiting rescuers.2 Indeed, we argue here that Game of Thrones, with its open, albeit limited, acknowledgment of patriarchy and the consequent suppression of women, questions the relations of power that the courtly niceties of fantasy worlds effectively work to preserve. While acknowledging that complex characters rarely fit neatly into firm categories, our discussion explores three overarching (and at times overlapping) types of female fighters in the show: warriors, cross-dressers, and military leaders. In this way, we look to draw out the distinctive character of women’s violence in Game of Thrones within the larger context of fantasy fiction in film and television.

Women as Warriors in Fantasy Film and Television Although they remain a relative rarity in cinema and television, female warriors have generated consistent and intense audience interest. An increasing body of scholarly work, which explores the significance of these female figures, has emerged alongside fan responses. Such work asks, for instance, how images of women warriors relate to changing social ideas about women’s roles. Western writings on violent women on screen are generally linked to the action or crime genres, drawing attention to influential archetypes of deadly or manipulative women, such as the femme fatale of film noir, the female monster of horror, the wise-cracking women of exploitation cinema, and even the crossdressing female protagonists of Westerns, such as Johnny Guitar (Nicholas Ray, 1954), The Ballad of Little Jo (Maggi Greenwald, 1993), or HBO’s Deadwood (2004–6), featuring the legendary Calamity Jane.3 These antecedent characters tend to prioritize and weaponize female sexuality and manipulation, rather than emphasize women’s martial skills. Mainstream American cinema shifted during the 1980s, continuing into the 1990s, with a handful of game-changing violent women, such as Ellen Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) in the Alien franchise, Sarah Connor (Linda Hamilton) in Terminator 2: Judgment Day (James Cameron, 1991), and the black-belt female sheriff of the low-budget China O’Brien (Robert Clouse, 1990). These female heroines were tough and fearless, with muscular bodies and a deadly proficiency with weaponry. Yvonne Tasker describes them as “defined by a quality of ‘musculinity’, an enactment of a muscular masculinity involving a display of power and strength over the body of the female performer”.4 Tasker also emphasizes that these women’s battles were often framed by maternal narratives—thus, Sarah Connor fought to save her son, and, in Aliens, Ripley fights an alien queen in order to save a little girl. Yet, despite the many female associations



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(e.g. with motherhood), these muscular women are frequently framed as “men in drag”, who are disconcertingly masculine, and whose heterosexuality is under question and scrutinized with a significant level of detail.5 The female warrior here, as elsewhere, is a troubling presence; her blurring (and at times challenging) of gender boundaries is overtly expressed in the uncertain response she receives within the fictional worlds she inhabits. Heavily influenced by these “butch” women warriors, and no doubt responding in part to some concerns such figures generated, the late 1990s and early 2000s saw a contained but, nonetheless, significant cycle of films and television programs that showcased empowered female fighters who were much less muscular and considerably more “feminine”. Female warrior-centered screen fictions such as Xena: Warrior Princess (WB, 1995–2001), Buffy: The Vampire Slayer (WB, 1997–2003), Charlie’s Angels (McG, 2000), Tomb Raider (West, 2001), Resident Evil (Anderson, 2002), Catwoman (Pitof, 2004), and Elektra (Bowman, 2005) all showcase fantastical “heroines, who are both vulnerable and strong and, above all, who survive and win, often in great style”.6 This sexualized warrior has been labelled an “action babe”, and a “tough girl”, flagging up her combination of violent subjectivity and eroticized spectacle.7 It is tempting to add that the new feminized female warrior is definitively heterosexual, and yet that is not precisely the case, as is evident in the lesbian imagery featured in Xena and Resident Evil. Sharon Ross highlights the fact that for these kinds of heroines, particularly Buffy and Xena, female friendship becomes a way both to redefine strength and to fight patriarchal dominance.8 It is notable, particularly for our analysis of Game of Thrones, that most fictions featuring female warriors belong to the fantasy genre, or its close cousin, science fiction. Lisa Purse argues: What drives this [Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle] and other films’ positioning of powerful women in an explicitly comical and/or fantastical setting is a desire to set the potentially culturally disturbing possibility of female agency and physical power at a distance from our everyday contemporary reality.9

Thus, the fantasy action babe of the late 1990s onward becomes far less threatening, not just for her lack of ‘musculinity’, but also because her world is significantly different from our own. In her overview of the fantasy genre, Katherine A. Fowkes argues that this difference from our own world, which she labels an “ontological rupture”,10 is the defining feature of a difficult to define genre. Categorized by J. R. R. Tolkien as a literature of hope, the genre, Fowkes describes, is fond of happy endings, suspicious of cynicism, and associated with an escapism that has become a way to both define it and criticize it.11 For Tasker, fantasy’s suspension of realist codes forms part of violent women’s incorporation into the fictional world. What the fantasy genre permits is the pre-emptive negation of questions about the limits of women’s physicality.

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While other chapters in this volume deal in greater depth with Game of Thrones’ relationship to genre,12 it is worth pointing out that many of the elements flagged up by Fowkes as central to fantasy are missing—arguably, the series’ most discussed feature is its willingness to execute central characters, denying readers/spectators the happy endings associated with other fantasy fictions. When seen in this generic light, the presence of the female warrior no longer has the protective barrier suggested by Purse in her characterization of hyper-sexualized female action heroines. Warrior women—such as Brienne of Tarth and Arya Stark—are not contained by their fantasy world, but rather can be seen as disturbing commentaries on the conventional characterization of women in fantasy and the limits of such representations. One of the reasons why Game of Thrones consistently falls outside of the more traditional “high fantasy” narratives, representations, and archetypes is (arguably) because it is shown on HBO and belongs to the category of so-called “quality” TV.13 Thus, Game of Thrones has much in common with other HBO programming, which takes popular genres, such as the Western in Deadwood (2004–6), the mafia narrative in The Sopranos (1999–2007), the buddy cop convention in True Detective (2014–), and works hard to present them in a more highbrow and challenging way. This includes unflinching graphic violence, sexual content, and swearing, coupled with a multi-layered narrative, and high production values. We argue that the female warriors of Game of Thrones (vengeful tomboy Arya, knight errant Brienne, and military leaders Yara Greyjoy and Daenerys Targaryen) fit uncomfortably within quality television frameworks, which stress women’s eroticized manipulation, or hidden, illicit operations of power. These female characters defy easy categorization within the fantasy genre or quality TV, and they are out of step with postfeminist action heroines, who are framed by an insistent emphasis on sexualized physicality, as Cristina Lucia Stasia, Tasker, and others have argued.14 In the context of action as a genre, we take postfeminism to signal a particular conflation of sexualization and power that challenges assumptions of female powerlessness, while also affirming their function as sexual spectacle. The unglamorous masculine clothing adopted by warrior women in Game of Thrones attests to precisely this difference.15 In many cases the women are presented as outside the system of eroticized objectification: Arya is a child, and Brienne takes up a career as a knight, wears men’s clothes, and frequently refuses to be called “lady”. As Westeros is a hyper-violent patriarchal world, women’s location outside gender codes does not spare them from the threat and risk of rape. Indeed, Jacinda Read’s formulation of a “new avenger”, motivated by experiences of sexual violence, finds a strong resonance in the brutal, revenge-based violence that provides one of the primary spectacles and controversies on Game of Thrones. Ramsay Bolton’s rape of Sansa Stark during Season 5 (5.06) caused considerable controversy and outrage. The sequence itself focused more on its effect



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on a traumatized Theon (the assault is offscreen with a shot of Theon being forced to watch) than on Sansa herself. Sansa’s potential suicide to escape continued sexual assault is a tragic act of resistance, which resonates with tropes established in media culture as early as Birth of a Nation (Griffith, 2015). All the female warriors (and indeed a vast majority of the central female characters on the show) are threatened with rape as a way of curtailing their power and, in the case of the female warriors, arguably as a punishment for their assumption of the accoutrements of male power—swords, male clothing. But where the avengers in the rape–revenge cycle discussed by Read frequently used their sexuality as a lure for their male victims, Arya, Brienne, Yara, and Daenerys have other means at their disposal. It is a testament to the show’s commitment to showing female characters as psychologically complex, that the women warriors are framed as warriors and leaders, with varied skills and resources apart from their sexualized bodies. Contemporary fantasy fictions featuring warrior women can be usefully sub-divided into three distinct temporal backdrops: the (fantastic–realist) present (e.g. Buffy: The Vampire Slayer, Twilight (Hardwicke, 2008), Avengers Assemble (Whedon, 2012)), the mythic past (e.g. Xena, Wrath of the Titans (Liebesman, 2012), 300: Rise of An Empire (Murro, 2014)), and the dystopic future (e.g. Hunger Games (Ross, 2012), and Divergent (Burger, 2014)).16 These temporal settings also loosely align with three subgenres of the fantastic: horror, fantasy, and science fiction. While the fast-talking postfemininity of Buffy Summers has certainly become an important (if not, perhaps, the most important) touch point for contemporary female fighters, she remains firmly rooted to contemporary consumer culture. While Buffy must navigate between the pressures of saving the world and living as a young woman in postfeminist culture, the teenaged protagonists in the popular Hunger Games and Divergent franchises dramatize the intersecting struggles of female adolescence, and messianic responsibilities in dystopic futures. As we argue later in this article, Arya Stark’s journey from tomboy to vengeful warrior may mirror these tensions, but it does so without the same explicit eroticization of the young female body, and without the backdrop of contemporary consumer and celebrity culture. Before that, we now turn to the most striking warrior woman in the Game of Thrones fantasy world: Brienne of Tarth.

Brienne of Tarth: Chivalry and the Myth of the Exceptional Woman Medieval Europe provides the key historical and mythic touch points for the stories of Westeros in Game of Thrones. The knightly figure of Brienne of Tarth embodies many legacies of medievalism that have shaped the fantasy genre and the nostalgic view of the past framed by codes of chivalry and ideals of courtly love and honorable war. The fact that the show’s most chivalric character is a

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warrior woman who repeatedly denies that she is a lady or a knight demonstrates the program’s subversion of generic conventions. However, Brienne is marked by the iconography of knightly prowess—and the close of the fourth Season sees her wearing armor, with a Valyrian steel sword (that she has named “Oathkeeper”), and a loyal, if perhaps unskilled, squire, Podrick. Brienne towers over most male characters in the program (actress Gwendoline Christie is 6 ft 3 in. (1.9 m)), and is first introduced to us in Season 2 (2.03) defeating Loras Tyrell at the splinter court of Renley Baratheon. Brienne is clearly marked as a woman, and attention is given in the show to all the dangers that being a woman in the public male-dominated spaces of Westeros involves— most significantly, she is repeatedly threatened with rape. The most striking example of this threat comes when Brienne and Jaime Lannister are taken prisoners by Locke of House Bolton (3.03). Jaime tells Brienne that Bolton’s men will rape her and kill her if she puts up any resistance. Brienne responds that she would rather fight and die than acquiesce; Jaime admits that if he were a woman facing such a threat, he would feel the same. The warrior women of Game of Thrones are perpetually threatened with sexual violence, but are not the victims of rape. This suggests that their warrior training offers a certain degree of protection from the sexual violence that other women—in particular sex workers—must endure. In this, medieval women warriors such as Brienne are truly exceptional. Brienne’s ritualistic denials of the titles “lady” and “knight” signal her uneasy and unsettling combination of both categories—one that resonates with enduring archetypes of the medieval-inflected fantasy genre: the exceptional warrior woman—she who resists and subverts patriarchal structures of the nostalgic medieval world. For this, she stands out against all the other women who do not or cannot resist, specifically the “fair maidens” who inspire the knightly quests of romance stories. Characters such as Xena,17 Eowyn in The Lord of the Rings and cross-dressing fairy tale heroines such as Mulan are unique—albeit not necessarily isolated—in their storyworlds. Their violation of gendered codes of behavior frames them as outliers—exceptions that only serve to reinforce the strict rules of their worlds. All women cannot be like Xena, the majority must endure the violent patriarchy of mythic antiquity without respite. On the subject of the proto-feminist exceptional heroines of Middle English romances, texts that have been foundational to the fantasy genre, medievalist Jane Tolmie observes: “She must be exceptional to catch our attention, and that of the hero. She often picks the man she wants, eludes the (many) others, escapes rape, lives a life less ordinary. Behind her and all around her is the silent rank and file of women who do not choose, elude, or escape”.18 For Tolmie, the mythology of the exceptional woman is tied to medieval patriarchy, a surprisingly enduring reference point for stories about female warriors and heroines in fantasy fiction. Thus, the fantasy genre reproduces the silent ranks of oppressed and abused women when it recreates the medieval



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fantasy world which produces the exceptional warrior woman. While our interest predictably centers on the exceptional woman, in structural terms, she affirms rather than questions female subjection to patriarchal power. Tolmie takes this point further arguing that in contemporary fantasy fiction (such as those written by Marion Zimmer Bradley),19 “patriarchy itself serves as the female adventure and oppressive gender-based structures consistently provide the external criteria that define extraordinary women”.20 Here, again, Brienne becomes the exception to the exception. First of all, there are other women in Game of Thrones who “choose, elude, and escape”, such as Daenerys Targaryen and Arya Stark. This is a feature of the multi-strand narrative format of the program, but also of the complexity of female characterization, which is such a significant and noted feature of the show. While Brienne may be exceptional—her size, strength and refusal of gendered norms is a source of constant commentary from other characters— she is also one of the most, if not the most, honorable characters in the program, remaining committed to her ideals, and loyal to the liege to whom she has sworn service (first, Renley Baratheon, and then Catelyn Stark, and her daughters). Brienne’s extraordinary features are not bought at the expense of the other women of Westeros, though they do function within an intractable system of patriarchal domination and violence.

Gendered Codes of Honor in Game of Thrones The ways in which Brienne’s character absorbs and rearticulates the codes and procedures of chivalry testifies to what is at stake in the fantasy genre’s nostalgic recall of a medieval State secured by brutal violence. Chivalry is a codified system of behavior for warriors, the sources of which date from the twelfth century. Leo Braudy summarizes the code: Briefly stated, the chivalric values they define are loyalty (to the knight’s political superior); prowess (which includes both praise of the rash willingness to throw oneself into danger—hardiesse—and the skill to deal with that danger); franchise, or an openhanded largesse to one’s fellows and followers; and courtesy to women, children, and the elderly.21

Braudy argues that the main purpose of cementing this code was to tie the individualist and mercenary knight, who made his fortune in tournaments, to a legitimate and more centralized authority (Crown and Church). Chivalry is, from its inception, nostalgic, often harkening back to the great warriors of the past, and frequently tied to enduring popular myths, such as that of King Arthur and his knights of the round table. Christianity and the church are likewise fundamental to chivalry—an aspect of the medieval past that is often

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obfuscated in fantasy films, arguably to sit more comfortably with contemporary global audiences. The medieval Christian church, through the ideology of the Crusade, insisted that the knightly ideal was spiritual and transcendent rather than worldly and profitable. Braudy highlights four more aspects of chivalry that are salient to the warriors of Westeros: a nostalgic investment in close contact weapons (such as swords), the tension between the individualist, spiritual journey of the knight and his/her role within the state, the importance of female audiences in framing knighthood and the continuous association of knighthood with lost causes. Braudy stresses the fundamentally elegiac nature of chivalry, “[e]ven at its medieval peak, chivalry and the personal honor it supported had something of the atmosphere of a lost cause”.22 Brienne of Tarth is not only dressed like a knight, but embodies many of these chivalric features: loyalty, courtesy, willingness to fight, no matter the odds, and the skills to win many of her battles. She competes in tournaments and travels the roads in relative solitude. Thus, Brienne’s assumption of knightly regalia suggests a complicated kind of cross-dressing; neither disguise nor burlesque, but an outward indicator of her inner commitment to chivalric ideals. Despite, or rather because of, the honor with which her character is framed, she is notable for being out of step with the world she inhabits. Hers is the knighthood of nostalgic lost causes out of step with a more brutal present and her conspicuous cross-dressing serves as an indicator of this. Because she is out of step in Westeros, Brienne seems both doomed and naive. This chivalric naiveté also means that as a character she is much less ambiguous than many of the other warriors of Westeros, such as Sandor “The Hound” Clegane or Jaime Lannister. The show gives screentime to both Jaime’s and The Hound’s complex backstories, which work to contextualize their martial abilities and violence. The Hound, for example, is said to have had his face burned as a child by his vicious and psychotic brother, Gregor “The Mountain” Clegane. The Hound is also shown as protective of the Stark daughters, rescuing Sansa from rape (2.06) and, to a certain degree, protecting Arya, even as he keeps her as his prisoner (3.07). A key confrontation between articulations of warrior womanhood is the conclusion to the fourth season (4.10), in which Brienne encounters Arya Stark, the girl she has sworn to protect. Here, she fights The Hound, one of the most brutally effective warriors of Westeros. This encounter between Arya and Brienne is significant in that it brings together the two most prominent female warriors of Game of Thrones, and frames them as divergent models of warrior womanhood. It also pits Brienne’s knightly skills against a much less naïve, and certainly less honorable, fighter and disgraced knight. Upon recognizing Arya’s identity, Brienne pleads with Arya to join her so that she can be taken to safety. The Hound is disgusted with Brienne, “There’s no safety, you dumb bitch. If you don’t know that by now, you’re the wrong one to be watching over her.” Their fight begins as the kind of swordfight audiences might expect from the genre—a steel on steel display of skill watched by the adolescent Arya (the



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object of the fight). The conflict quickly devolves into face punching, grapping and grunting, as awkward as it is brutal. The fight lacks the non-diegetic music audiences would expect of so significant a fight, just as it lacks the balletic elegance associated with female warriors found elsewhere. Although wounded and denied the drama of dealing a fatal blow, Brienne outmaneuvers The Hound, ultimately pushing him from a cliff. The swordfight eschews the kinetic poetry of other historical epic films or Asian martial arts fantasies, and Brienne is frustrated, even as she is victorious. Arya Stark has disappeared and Brienne must continue on without her. Finding the wounded body of The Hound, Arya leaves him to die slowly, and heads off to Bravos alone. Brienne’s nostalgic knightly skills are again proven to be out of step with the world. The Hound is right: there is no safety in Westeros and Brienne is the wrong person to mentor an increasingly pathological Arya. She echoes this in another of the program’s ritual refusals, “I don’t need saving.” In keeping with the lost causes of chivalry, Brienne fails in all of her quests—she does not protect Renley Baratheon, she does not safely return Catelyn Stark’s daughters to their mother, one of whom might be dead by the close of the fifth season. She is ultimately granted vengeance, killing Stannis Baratheon for his role in Renley’s death (5.10), and she, successfully, returns Jaime Lannister to King’s Landing; this follows a reversal in which her former captive returns to rescue her. However, it is not the object at the end of the quest to which Brienne’s character is aligned, but to its progress and to the ideal of questing itself—which is poetic and honorable, although ultimately in such a world ineffectual. While Arya trains in Bravos with a secret sect of assassins, Brienne remains in Westeros, as an archetypal Don Quixote character—complete with squire—her battle both honorable and futile. While Brienne is certainly not the delusional idealist of Cervantes’ story, there are a few points of commonality germane to an analysis of her character, and its role within the fantasy world of Game of Thrones. The first among these is the framing of the quest as a realization of courtly love. Slavoj Žižek describes courtly love as a contract, which sees a capricious and monstrous Lady-Object demanding that the knight fulfill a bizarre and random series of tests for her enjoyment. He points out that the Lady-Object has nothing to do with the qualities of a specific woman, and even that her (false) unattainability is a necessary feature of her appeal to the knight. Love provides one of the key motivators for Brienne’s knightly journeys. Her love of Renley Baratheon binds her to him, yet he remains unattainable not only because he is royal, but also because he is married to another woman and in a committed sexual relationship with another man. When he dies, she swears loyalty to Catelyn Stark and, in her name, journeys with Jaime Lannister to King’s Landing to free Catelyn’s daughters. When Catelyn dies, Brienne remains loyal to her quest to save Catelyn’s daughters, but transfers her unrequited love and, to a certain extent, loyalty to Jaime. Brienne’s love is always unrequited and unrealized. The fact that the identity of her love object changes testifies to its categorization as a kind of

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courtly love—even when the knight is a woman and the Lady-Object is a man. Brienne complicates the rituals of courtly love, but does not negate them. Her relationship with Jaime suggests the masochistic contract that Žižek, drawing on Jacques Lacan, argues reinforces codes of courtly love. In this scenario, we might read the manipulative Jaime as the masochist in control of the situation, demanding a theatrical performance of violence from Brienne, the dominatrix. The performance in this instance is not of sexualized dominance, but anachronistic chivalry. Jaime gives Brienne her costume— armor, sword, and sets her most recent quest in motion. In this scenario, both Brienne and Jaime function as the screen onto which the knight projects his ideals: to Brienne, Jaime Lannister is a beautifully tragic man in the process of redeeming his honor; and to Jaime, Brienne becomes an ideal of knighthood uncorrupted by the greed of his family’s ambitions. The sword that Jaime gives Brienne (significantly named Oathkeeper) becomes the physical manifestation of their contract—they function as Lady-Object to one another and they both understand the performances their respective roles require. What is expected in the contract of courtly love here, and perhaps elsewhere, is violence. If courtly love fuels the quest of the knight errant, then its substance must be violence, as that is the constitutive element of the warrior. Driven by an idealized love, violence attains a kind of purity or worthiness arguably tapping into the spiritual and transcendent aspect of crusading knighthood in medieval Europe. Courtly love and courtly or purified combat are mutually reinforcing nostalgic systems—both of which are out of step with the brutish and sexualized violence of Game of Thrones, which is rarely committed for honorable, or even at times identifiable, purposes. Thus far, we have argued that Brienne functions as the embodiment of the myth of the exceptional woman, as a nostalgic chivalric ideal, and the Knight– Lady–Object in the masochistic contract of courtly love. Insofar as Brienne becomes a kind of signifier or symbol, she recalls an established tradition of archetypal analysis of fantasy fiction favored by theorists such as Joseph Campbell—drawing on psychoanalyst Carl Jung. Certainly, there are many of the aspects of Campbell’s hero’s journey in Game of Thrones—an immediate example precedes the encounter of Arya and Brienne, which sees adolescent Brandon Stark fight wights in order to meet a wise old man at the heart of the mythical tree that has been the subject of his dreams and the object of his quest. However, rather than seeing Brienne as a female archetype, or anima, (and certainly she functions as such) we would argue that she might be more usefully considered using the ludic reference point of the avatar. The warrior woman is a highly visible and popular type of avatar in electronic and live action role-playing games.23 The warrior woman avatar offers a complex type of hyperreal cross-dressing, in which the player might inhabit the body and costume of the female warrior in order to circulate within the fantasy world. The avatar is open to male or female players, and offers the promise of complete immersion in the fantasy world, perhaps



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even a violent mastery of that world. In using the label avatar, as opposed to archetype, we highlight the importance of the role of the player/viewer to the representation of the female warrior. What is at stake in the player’s choice to inhabit the warrior woman avatar? And what might that say about warrior women characters such as Brienne? In describing the warrior woman as an avatar rather than an archetype, we argue that the player (or in other cases, viewer or reader) is offered an assertion or enunciation of female agency and power—particularly in the face of a violent patriarchal world like Westeros— with its ritual refusals and denunciations. The warrior woman represents the possibilities of a feminist insistence on women’s visibility in the (pre-feminist) mythical past. This is, of course, neither straightforward nor fully realized. Like the Lady-Object, the warrior woman avatar is a screen onto which the spectator/reader/player projects their desires and what the avatar suggests is a crystallization, perhaps a feminist one, for narrative power and visual presence. By her actions, and indeed by her height, Brienne takes up space in the story and on the screen in Game of Thrones and reading her as an avatar acknowledges just how pervasive and complex the desire for the nostalgic woman warrior has become. Telling the fantasy story of the medieval past almost requires her, as the inclusion of the character of Tauriel (Evangeline Lilly) in Peter Jackson’s adaptation of The Hobbit attests. This type represents the possibilities, and limitations, of feminist intervention in the fantasy genre and, often, in the mythic medieval past. Where Brienne of Tarth, as nostalgically chivalric knight, is out of step with her violent world, revenge-obsessed Arya Stark is perfectly attuned to its violence, corruption, and lack of honor. As Eddard “Ned” Stark’s daughter, and Robb Stark’s sister, she has witnessed the punishment inflicted upon those who are unwilling to compromise their personal honor—or to acknowledge the lack of honor in others. Arya’s youth suggests that she might be an emergent form of warrior womanhood, one specific to a corrupt world and better suited to its violence. Therefore, her refusal to join Brienne represents a refusal of knightly chivalry. There is more, however, that binds these two warriors together than there are things which separate them. Of all the knights, mercenaries, and soldiers in Game of Thrones, theirs are the only swords with names, marking their martial skills as significant to the struggles of Westeros. In speaking to The Hound about her sword Arya tells him its name, to which he replies that “only cunts name their swords”. Such extreme language (characteristic of quality TV as a marker of its distinction from the mainstream) is revealing as it is only the two warrior women who name their swords; and these women are among the very few characters in Game of Thrones who might be able to claim that their goals are honorable.

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Figures 21 and 22: The meeting of two warriors. Game of Thrones: Season 4, Episode 10 (“The Children”). © HBO, 2014.

Arya Stark: Cross-Dressing, Revenge, and Tomboys The parallels and connections between Brienne and Arya are apparent, expressed in their seeming rejection of femininity; their location outside in both literal and symbolic senses; their possession of the accouterments of the warrior (named swords) and, of course, in their dress. Yet, despite these connections Game of Thrones does not offer the two as interchangeable nor simply casts Arya as Brienne’s apprentice or younger self. While Brienne figures the woman warrior through discourses of honor as we have outlined above, a consideration of Arya as a pivotal figure of female violence in the series shifts



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our focus to themes of revenge. We also highlight here the figure of the crossdresser or tomboy, exploring cross-dressing, gender performance, and violence against the context of film and television fantasy fiction, which has a tendency to restrict roles for women and girls to feminine types and conventions. Arya Stark is established as a tomboy from the first season of Game of Thrones, resisting her allotted role within the hierarchy of Winterfell, and later King’s Landing. It is her sparring with a butcher’s son that leads to the latter’s death, laying bare the sadistic weakness of Joffrey. Her tomboy persona is a function of youth, tolerated by an indulgent father who, nonetheless, envisages a future for her of more conventional high-born femininity. Arya’s sister Sansa provides the point of contrast—beautiful, naïve, and for whom the marriage contract between herself and Joffrey is the highest honor and ambition. Arya by contrast wishes to learn to fight, a desire her father indulges via a dancing master who schools her with a wooden sword thus perpetuating both an investment in elegance and grace (femininity) and Arya’s position as child, or as a warrior in training, yet to develop. Yet, Arya has already been presented with a sword by her illegitimate brother, Jon Snow. Like Brienne she names her blade (“Needle”), suggesting a connection to the adult warrior. The meeting of the pair, discussed above, can be understood in generational terms. Brienne serves as an agent of Arya’s mother while the daughter persistently refuses her mother’s way and finds her own (likely more brutally effective and certainly less honorable) path. Arya’s characterization suggests a pragmatic response to the fatal weakness of honorable men (Eddard Stark) and indeed women (Brienne). She is present at the scene of both her father’s beheading, and Brienne’s awkward defeat of The Hound; unlike either of these characters she proves adept at both disguise and escape, albeit with the help of others. In particular, she acquires a mentor who trains her in the name of the “many faced god” to abandon her identity to become an anonymous force for vengeful and violent justice. The tomboy is a liminal figure, defined as in-between: a boyish girl, not yet a mannish woman. The choices of an adult woman are culturally understood through different frames; the girl or young woman who styles herself in masculine terms operates culturally as a site of uncertainty, while the mannish woman is taken as a sign of lesbian identity. Barbara Creed suggests that the figure of the tomboy serves to evoke, and yet hold at a distance a form of female sexuality and identity that is deeply troubling to patriarchal culture with its gendered hierarchies. The tomboy offers the possibility of rejecting adult femininity even though she is a figure within a culture that offers few models of what she might become. Indeed, for Creed the tomboy is a figure caught in a narrative of becoming feminine/woman: “The liminal journey of the tomboy— one of the few rites of passage stories available to women in the cinema—is a narrative about the forging of proper female identity”.24 Creed refers to classical Hollywood films well-known for their presentation of tomboy characters who abandon their mannish attire in pursuit of a man:

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Greta Garbo in Queen Christina (Mamoulian, 1933), Doris Day in Calamity Jane (Butler, 1953) or Katherine Hepburn in Sylvia Scarlett (Cukor, 1935). In narrative terms the tomboy represents a question, one that is more or less expressed as, what sort of woman will she become? In the films that Creed discusses, the tomboy’s journey is towards compliant adult femininity: “Passivity and propriety are essential preconditions for the transition from active, virile femininity into passive, feminine conformity”.25 In Game of Thrones, such feminine compliance brings no safety as the precarious position of Sansa Stark exemplifies. Even before she escapes King’s Landing, Arya is outside the world her sister initially embraces. And to quote Creed once more, “the status of outsider provides a perfect place from which to explore, to skirt boundaries, to embrace difference”.26 What sort of woman is Arya set to become? The ending of Season 4 evokes Queen Christina with the young Arya aboard a ship looking out at the waters, her future uncertain, having rejected the option to join Brienne. The ending of Season 5 sees her punished with blindness for assuming the role of faceless assassin for personal rather than divine vengeance. Though Yoren shields her from seeing her father’s execution, Arya is consistently portrayed as a figure who watches and learns, particularly from violent acts. She is subject to the power and patronage of others, her actions producing unintended consequences (the death of the butcher’s boy with whom she practices her sword skills is an early example). Above all, Arya’s observations mean that she is tutored in violence and revenge. Her journey is both one of flight and a search for reprisal. Yoren, who addresses her as boy, provides an escape in the party of social rejects bound for the Night’s Watch, and tells her of his own vengeance on the man who killed his brother. His example prompts Arya to ritually recite a list of those she plans to kill each night before sleep. Even when she is taken prisoner by The Hound, she is not afraid to include his name on that list. It is under the peculiar protection of The Hound that Arya learns the most about the grammar of violence and its place in Westeros. For a brief moment in the series’ fourth season, the Arya/Hound relationship seems set to evolve into a familiar Lone Wolf and Cub scenario,27 in which an apprentice Arya learns martial mastery from a brutal and reluctant paternal figure. In typical fashion, Game of Thrones denies its spectators the comfort of a familiar trope—ultimately Arya realizes her promise to kill The Hound. She does not kill him with her sword but by withholding a merciful death, leaving him to die in the wild despite his pleas. At this moment, Arya does more than watch violence and learn, she uses watching as kind a sinister expression of that violence. Arya’s liminal status is not only that of the tomboy, who after all is a figure capable of containment. Simultaneously, a boyish girl and an adolescent woman, captive and yet free, searching for justice and also for vengeance, Arya is a complex, border-crossing figure. In contrast to many cross-dressing girls/women in film and television (consider, for example, The Ballad of Little



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Jo [1993]), no great stress is laid on her gender disguise. While she passes for a boy briefly, once Tywin Lannister sees through this disguise it is not mentioned again, as if her naming as female by one enables all to see. Yet, neither Arya’s clothes nor her manner alter significantly once she is identified as a girl. Moreover, the revelation is not narratively significant as it is in other tales of cross-dressing: instead the most important disguise is that she is a very particular girl (Arya Stark) rather than simply a girl. The medieval world of Game of Thrones is populated with many bordertransgressing characters who match Arya’s liminality. The wildlings (literally beyond the wall/border), the white walkers (somewhere beyond the living and yet not dead), Tyrion Lannister (given the labels “imp” and “half man”) and, most significantly for a consideration of gender, the visibility and power granted to castrated men, such as Lord Varis and the armies of the Unsullied. Where Lord Varis represents an elaborate mechanism of hidden power, the Unsullied are highly trained mercenaries whose martial skills are unchallenged. These eunuch soldiers constitute the martial power of Daenerys Targaryen—another of Game of Thrones’ commanding women (discussed below). The eunuch is rarely a figure featured in fantasy fiction, a genre that trades on a revivified version of virile medieval masculinity. Arya is associated with the natural world rather than the formality of King’s Landing; the road, the countryside, the rebel encampment. In contrast to the more “feminine” figures of Sansa or Cersei, Arya is not bound to the city. Her childishness and small stature makes her vulnerable, while her wits enable her to survive, for example, when she is taken as a servant by Tywin Lannister. Both her outsider status and her quest for vengeance render her increasingly monstrous even while she remains vulnerable as a child in a world at war. Having seen numerous horrors, Arya develops as an agent of violence, encompassing the elegant moves taught to her by her “dancing master” and the dirtier tactics she learns from The Hound; the patience that vengeance requires she learns from Yoren. Arya’s potential for violence emerges gradually. She attracts loyalty by virtue of her name and position but also earns it by her actions (freeing the fighter from Bravos enables her escape). She initially evokes the purity of the masculine adolescent girl yet increasingly seems sociopathic in her appetite for violent revenge.28 Her emerging pleasure in violence is apparent in the contrast between her shock after her first killing to the subsequent pleasure she feels in slaying the soldier who killed her friend. Replicating the killing, Arya smiles as she leaves the scene riding the soldier’s horse: vengeance is here both satisfying and profitable.

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Female Military Leadership Neither Brienne nor Arya fight with followers—they are outsiders. Like other female outsiders, particularly the wildling Ygritte, they are able to avoid, to a certain extent, the entrenched oligarchy of Westeros. Yet, despite their troubling and violent presence they are only able to make small tactical attacks on the hyper-violent patriarchy that structures their world. There are a few significant examples in which women in Game of Thrones are able to violently upend the power structures of their world. We close this chapter with a brief consideration of the final trope of warrior femininity—the female military leader. Daenerys Targaryen is the primary example of this, and Yara Greyjoy provides a more “hands on” example of a female military leader who fights alongside her soldiers.29 While Brienne and Arya represent only small threats to the power of the Lannisters, Daenerys and Yara represent long-term strategic threats to the Lannisters’ claim to the Iron Throne. As we have argued, the figure of the warrior woman is exceptional—more exceptional still is the female military leader. While there are a few examples from fantasy cinema and television—Elizabeth Swan in The Pirates of the Caribbean franchise, for example—they are often thrust into leadership roles as a result of an accident, or as surrogate sons to older male leaders. The military leader does not cross-dress in the same way that the knight or warrior might. Like Joan of Arc or Catherine the Great, she assumes the signifiers of male military power in order for her position in the military hierarchy to be clearly understood by those around her. Leaders like Daenerys demonstrate the ways in which female martial power can be used to play the “long game” of power in Westeros and beyond. Through the characters of Yara and Daenerys Game of Thrones dramatizes two types of military leadership—respectfully, the manly or “roguish” woman, and the messianic mother.

Yara Greyjoy: Revealing the Iron Price of Leadership Like other female leaders of the genre, Yara is only heir to Iron Islands because her father has no sons to take her place. She is Balon Greyjoy’s only remaining child after an aborted invasion attempt years earlier, which killed his two older sons and left his youngest (Theon) a captive of the Starks. Yara’s performance as a military leader of the Iron Islands recalls some of the cross-dressing pirate women of the cinema in films, such as Anne of the Indies (Jacques Tourneur, 1951), Cutthroat Island (Renny Harlin, 1995) and the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. Her leadership style is very much that of the cinematic pirate— fueled by casual bravado and an almost proto-democratic treatment of the men she leads. Yara, unlike newly returned Theon, inspires fierce loyalty not because of her family name or title, but because she has put in the time with



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her troops. Where Daenerys’s is often framed in a kind of tableau as a luminous figurehead among adoring crowds, Yara circulates on the same level, and in the same kinds of clothes, as her soldiers. Yara’s assumption of military masculinity is also significant because the culture of the Iron Islands is framed as harsher and more violently patriarchal than the rest of the storyworld. Iron Islanders, for example, do not pay the “gold price” for the objects they desire, they pay the “iron price”. Meaning that they do not trade or negotiate for what they want, they fight for it and claim it—again recalling a much grittier version of the manifest destiny of the cinematic pirate. Thus, Yara consciously and successfully adopts the most masculine signifiers and behaviors of any of the female warriors. Her masculinity and abilities as a leader are further reinforced by juxtaposing her position among the Iron Islanders to that of her (eventually castrated) brother, Theon. Unlike Theon, she is trusted by her father and soldiers—and, again unlike Theon, she is framed as secure enough in her position that she need not take unnecessary risks to prove herself—like his ill-fated invasion of Winterfell in which he betrays the family who raised him and is, in turn, betrayed by his soldiers. Like the other female warriors we have analyzed, Yara is a military leader who aspires to some kind of honor code. Rather than let Theon be tortured to death, she stages a rescue attempt, despite their father’s assertion that because he has been castrated he can be of no use to their family. Yet, Yara is not overly sentimental or dedicated to her code of honor. When she finds that Theon’s personality has been eradicated by his torture, she is willing to make the hard choice of leaving him without hesitation.

Daenerys Targaryen: The Messiah Queen Across the Sea Daenerys Targaryen attempts at ethical leadership are much more ambiguous. Daenerys is one of the most visible characters of the series—her picture is featured in much of the series’ marketing materials. She is the most traditionally feminine of the warriors on Game of Thrones and her leadership is framed through metaphors of motherhood—by her epithet “mother of dragons”, and through her role as a white messianic figure in a mythically Middle Eastern/ Mediterranean economy dominated by the slave trade. Daenerys’s leadership is one of the few to be reinforced by the overall fiction of the show—visually and morally. For example, the close of the first season (1.10) sees her emerging (reborn and naked) from a fire, which burned alive the woman responsible for her husband’s death and birthed her dragons. Echoing this, the close of Season 3, sees the striking fair-haired Daenerys surrounded by the adoring people of Runkai who she has freed from slavery. Lingering on shots which surround blonde Daenerys by adoring people who are marked as ethnically

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other (indeed symbolically Middle Eastern) becomes one of the central ways the show reinforces her claims to leadership, and, we argue, reveals a pervasive Orientalism tied to the gendered framework of Daenerys’s leadership. Amy Laura Hall argues that Game of Thrones should be read alongside “Terror TV” shows such as 24 (FOX 2001–10), and Homeland (Showtime 2011–) in an escalation of graphic violence on American television that she understands as a response to the events and aftermath of 9/11. For Hall, “by watching characters suffer and die in horrific ways, viewers may have been trying for a kind of affective callus to cover over past fears, to harden current fears of vulnerability, and to steel themselves for potential, future loss”.30 We would take this connection in a different direction, highlighting the Orientalist architecture that underpins Daenerys’s “liberation” of cities such as Runkai and Meereen and frames her repeatedly as a messianic figure—taking her vengeance against the region’s slave traders. This Orientalism travels along gendered lines, seeing teenaged Daenerys’s white body as a focal point for the series’ striking visuals and her pseudo-motherhood as the linchpin for her moral/ethical claims to leadership. In many ways, Daenerys is framed as the mythical Lady-Object of chivalry and courtly love; Quixotic knight Ser Jorah’s loyalty to her is testament to the relevance of this comparison. Daenerys’s journey to Westeros is arguably driven by a kind of crusading impulse, which reinforces a Western military leadership bolstered by Orientalism and structures of Church-led chivalry. Yet, Daenerys is not the Lady-Object, she is an agent of considerable power who strives to be just, moral, and fair to those who pledge her loyalty. While she proves herself willing to commit violence, and to head an army on a mission of conquest, considerable screen time is given to her struggles with the ethics of leadership—more so, perhaps, than any other claimant to the Iron Throne. In her role as messianic mother, she serves as an object of devotion and worship to her followers; but like Žižek’s capricious Lady-Object, Daenerys can be terrifying to those who cross her. Her influence is much wider than any of the other female warriors or leaders we have discussed here and her goal to free the slaves of the cities that she passes through is an honorable quest; tellingly, however, the series does not allow her a straightforward victory.

Conclusion Desire for power provides the central architecture of Game of Thrones; it produces a narrative framework deploying stereotypical cultural assumptions about active male power and hidden female influence (behind the throne, as it were). Such cultural bifurcation around gender is a pattern familiar within both fantasy fictions and quality TV. As we have shown,  Game of Thrones resists rendering women as sites of moral certainty, but falls back instead on



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female types that are problematic, hybrid and troubling—the vengeful tomboy, the anachronistic female knight, the messianic leader. These characters work to question the binaries of fantasy fictions, as well as some archetypes of the genre. Game of Thrones articulates a striking refusal of the hopeful mythologies of high epic fantasy. In its open acknowledgment of the brutal, gendered realities of a pre-feminist medieval patriarchal society it defies the nostalgia of chivalric codes and of other fantasy fictions. And as we have argued here, in its complication of tropes of warrior womanhood it does not present exceptional women who triumph over patriarchal violence; rather it shows the hopeless and brutal struggles they face to exist within it.

Notes   1. See Larsson’s essay in this volume, pages 17–37.   2. See Eidsvåg in this volume, pages 151–69.   3. For detailed histories of the changing representation of female action heroines and female warriors in the cinema see: Yvonne Tasker, Spectacular Bodies: Gender, Genre and the Action Cinema (London: Routledge, 1993); Working Girls: Gender and Sexuality in Popular Cinema (London: Routledge, 1998); and “Fantasizing Gender and Race: Women in Contemporary US Action Cinema”, in Contemporary American Cinema, ed. Linda Ruth Williams and Michael Hammond (Maidenhead: Open University Press, 2006); 410–28; Rikke Schubart, Super Bitches and Action Babes: the Female Hero in Popular Cinema, 1970–2006 (London: McFarland, 2007); Lisa Purse, Contemporary Action Cinema (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2011); Sherrie A. Inness, Tough Girls: Women Warriors and Wonder Women in Popular Culture (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999); Sherrie A. Inness, Action Chicks: New Images of Tough Women in Popular Culture (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004); Marc O’Day, “Beauty in Motion: Gender, Spectacle and Action Babe Cinema,” in Action and Adventure Cinema, ed. Yvonne Tasker. (New York: Routledge, 2004); Jeffrey A. Brown, “Gender and the Action Heroine: Hardbodies and The Point of No Return,” Cinema Journal 35, no. 3 (1996): 52–71. On film noir, see essays in E. Ann Kaplan, Women in Film Noir, 2nd edition (London: BFI, 2002).   4. Tasker, Working Girls, 70.   5. Tasker, Working Girls, and Brown, “Gender and the Action Heroine,” 52–71.   6. O’Day, “Beauty in Motion,” 216.   7. “Action babe” in O’Day, “Beauty in Motion,” 201–18, “tough girl” in Inness, Tough Girls.   8. Ross, Sharon, “‘Tough Enough’: Female Friendship and Heroism in Xena and Buffy,” Action Chicks: New Images of Tough Women in Popular Culture, in ed. Sherrie A. Inness (New York: Palgrave, 2004), 231–55.   9. Purse, Contemporary Action Cinema, 81. 10. Fowkes, Fantasy Film: Wizards, Wishes, and Wonders, (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010), 5. She defines ontological rupture as “a break between what the audience agrees is ‘reality’ and the fantastic phenomena that define the narrative world”.

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11. Fowkes, Fantasy Film, 6. 12. Rikke Schubart’s chapter, for example, argues that Martin’s novels operate in a particular, potentially rather subversive, relationship to the conventions of fantasy fiction. 13. We readily acknowledge that this does not account for the original novels’ self-reflexive refinement of fantasy conventions. However, we argue that the show’s production and reception hinges on HBO as a “delivery system” for the show. 14. See Cristina Lucia Stasia, “‘My Guns Are in the Fendi!’ The Postfeminist Female Action Hero,” in Third Wave Feminism, ed. Stacy Gillis, Gillian Howie and Rebecca Munford (London: Palgrave, 2007), 237–49, Tasker, “Fantasizing Gender and Race,” 410–28. 15. The exception here is perhaps Daenerys Targaryen, the most conventionally feminine of the warrior characters, whose emerging sexuality parallels her early empowerment upon her marriage to Khal Drogo—see Larsson’s chapter in this volume, pages 17–37. 16. It is notable given these examples here how often the woman warrior features in a film that is a sequel or spin-off, as if she were a “variant on a theme” designed to inject novelty. Thus, the original Sarah Connor of The Terminator (1984) is not buff in the iconic manner of Hamilton’s role in Terminator 2, Xena was a spin-off from the show Hercules, and so on. 17. At an appearance at the Edinburgh International Book Festival in 2014, Phil Miller reports that Game of Thrones’ author Martin cited Xena as a key inspiration for his characterization of Brienne, along with historical figures such as Eleanor of Aquitaine. Martin claims that when he watched Xena: Warrior Princess, he believed that he could offer a more nuanced version of the warrior woman. 18. Jane Tolmie, “Medievalism and the Fantasy Heroine,” Journal of Gender Studies 15, no. 2 (2006): 146. 19. Examples of Marion Zimmer Bradley’s historically set works include a feminist adaptation of the King Arthur legend (in The Mists of Avalon [1982], and its sequels) and The Firebrand (1987), a female-centered telling of the Trojan War. Both stories feature extraordinary women fighting against the patriarchal societies that oppress them. 20. Tolmie, “Medievalism and the Fantasy Heroine,” 155. 21. Leo Braudy, From Chivalry to Terrorism: War and the Changing Nature of Masculinity (New York: Vintage Books, 2003), 82. 22. Braudy, From Chivalry to Terrorism, 89. 23. See Schröter in this volume, pages 79–103. 24. Barbara Creed, “Lesbian Bodies: Tribades, Tomboys and Tarts,” in Sexy Bodies: the Strange Carnalities of Feminism, ed. Elizabeth Grosz and Elspeth Probyn (London: Routledge, 1995), 96. 25. Creed, “Lesbian Bodies,” 96. 26. Ibid., 98. 27. Lone Wolf and Cub began as a Japanese graphic novel telling the story of a warrior who seeks vengeance while travelling with his young son. This influential story has been adapted numerous times, in Japan and globally. Arguably, it is also a touchstone for the action genre which frequently pairs grizzled action heroes



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with children (to both sentimental and comic ends) in films such as Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior (1981), Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991), The Last Samurai (2003), The Pacifier (2005) and After Earth (2013)—to name only five disparate examples. 28. In this context, Arya can be positioned in a small but significant tradition of deadly girls seen in films such as Leon (1994), Let the Right One In (2008), Kick-Ass (2010) and Hanna (2011). 29. See also Beaton in this volume on Yara Greyjoy, pages 193–218. 30. Amy Laura Hall, “Torture and Television in the United States,” The Muslim World 103 (2013): 268.

Bibliography Braudy, Leo. From Chivalry to Terrorism: War and the Changing Nature of Masculinity. New York: Vintage Books, 2003. Brown, Jeffrey A. “Gender and the Action Heroine: Hardbodies and The Point of No Return.” Cinema Journal 35, no. 3 (1996): 52–71. Campbell, Joseph. The Hero with a Thousand Faces. London: Fontana, 1993 [1949]. Creed, Barbara. “Lesbian Bodies: Tribades, Tomboys and Tarts.” In Sexy Bodies: the Strange Carnalities of Feminism, edited by Elizabeth Grosz and Elspeth Probyn, 86–103. London: Routledge, 1995. Hall, Amy Laura. “Torture and Television in the United States.” The Muslim World 103 (2013): 267–86. Inness, Sherrie A. Tough Girls: Women Warriors and Wonder Women in Popular Culture. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999. Inness, Sherrie A. Action Chicks: New Images of Tough Women in Popular Culture. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004. Kaplan, E. Ann. Women in Film Noir, 2nd edn. London: BFI, 2002. Koike, Kazuo, and Goseki Kojima. Lone Wolf and Cub. Vol. 1 The Assassin’s Road. Milwaukie: Dark Horse Comics, 2000 [1970]. Miller, Phil. “Game of Thrones writer George R. R. Martin: Obsessed fans can read my mind.” Herald Scotland, August 11, 2014. Available online: http://www. heraldscotland.com/news/home-news/fans-sometimes-guess-who-is-next-for-theslaughter-thrones-writer-confesses.25014984 (accessed August 25, 2014). O’Day, Marc. “Beauty in Motion: Gender, Spectacle and Action Babe Cinema.” In Action and Adventure Cinema, edited by Yvonne Tasker, 201–18. New York: Routledge, 2004. Purse, Lisa. Contemporary Action Cinema. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2011. Read, Jacinda. The New Avengers: Feminism, Femininity and the Rape–Revenge Cycle. Manchester, Manchester University Press, 2000. Ross, Sharon. “‘Tough Enough’: Female Friendship and Heroism in Xena and Buffy.” In Action Chicks: New Images of Tough Women in Popular Culture, edited by Sherrie A. Inness. New York: Palgrave, 2004. Schubart, Rikke. Super Bitches and Action Babes: the Female Hero in Popular Cinema, 1970–2006. London: McFarland, 2007.

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Stasia, Cristina Lucia. “‘My Guns Are in the Fendi!’ The Postfeminist Female Action Hero.” In Third Wave Feminism, edited by Stacy Gillis, Gillian Howie, and Rebecca Munford, 237–49. London: Palgrave, 2007. Tasker, Yvonne. Spectacular Bodies: Gender, Genre and the Action Cinema. London: Routledge, 1993. Tasker, Yvonne. Working Girls: Gender and Sexuality in Popular Cinema. London: Routledge, 1998. Tasker, Yvonne. “Fantasizing Gender and Race: Women in Contemporary US Action Cinema.” In Contemporary American Cinema, edited by Linda Ruth Williams and Michael Hammond, 410–28. Maidenhead: Open University Press, 2006. Tolmie, Jane. “Medievalism and the Fantasy Heroine.” Journal of Gender Studies 15, no. 2 (2006): 145–58. Zimmer Bradley, Marion. The Mists of Avalon. New York: The Ballantine Publishing Group, 2001 [1982]. Zimmer Bradley, Marion. The Firebrand. New York: Penguin Putnam Inc, 2003 [1987]. Žižek, Slavoj. The Metastases of Enjoyment: On Women and Causality. London: Verso, 2005 [1994].

Chapter 9 F E M A L E M AC H IAV E L L IA N S I N W E ST E R O S Elizabeth Beaton

The brutal political world of George R. R. Martin’s Westeros, full of assassins, warring families, and shadowy, manipulative advisors, does not seem so far removed from the intrigue-riddled realm of Renaissance Italy. It is therefore not surprising that characters in Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire book series (1996–), and its HBO adaptation Game of Thrones (2011–), use strategies similar to those recommended in Niccὸlo Machiavelli’s famous Renaissance political treatise The Prince (1532). Importantly, women in Westerosi politics adopt Machiavelli’s pragmatic approach, just as the men do. A number of Machiavellian moments1 empower female characters in A Song of Ice and Fire by showing them to be capable players in the political field; when taking risks and exposing themselves to danger, Martin’s women gain strength and demonstrate their political agency with practical maneuvers. Although “Machiavellian” is often used as an insult in contemporary times, in A Song of Ice and Fire, it is a strength for characters to be as Machiavellian as possible, in the political sense of employing tactics from Machiavelli’s The Prince. In this chapter, I discuss three pragmatic women in Westeros—Asha Greyjoy,2 Cersei Lannister, and Daenerys Targaryen—in each case examining a particular Machiavellian moment and exploring its implications. The three women represent different Machiavellian types, from the military Machiavellian to the courtroom Machiavellian, and the “new prince”,3 suggesting that a variety of tactical styles are used among Martin’s female politicians. I also discuss the feminist elements that accompany these female Machiavellian moments, and the potential for other kinds of worlds in the fantasy genre.

The Military Machiavellian When Asha Greyjoy steals into the Dreadfort in the middle of the night, her axe at the ready, and a party of armored murderers following her over the ramparts, she acts with boldness and impetuosity. The risk of death is high. Asha’s Iron Islanders are outnumbered in the Bolton stronghold, and having

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plunged into enemy territory, they face all the perils of intruders entering an unfamiliar place: aside from killing the defenders, they must sneak into the innermost chambers, rescue Asha’s brother, Theon, and get him out safely. The scene shows Asha slitting men’s throats in the darkness, while navigating her way to the kennels, opening Theon’s cage, and imploring him to leave.4 The dark lighting emphasizes the surprise nature of the attack, showing viewers that it is an ambush at night, and the camera focuses on Asha as the Ironborn drop over the battlements, reminding us that she is in charge. All the while, this female commander acts in defiance of her father, Balon Greyjoy, who has made it clear that Theon no longer merits help from the family after his mutilation.5 Asha’s attempted raid has echoes of Machiavelli’s famous work The Prince. “On the whole,” Machiavelli wrote, “I judge impetuosity [on a prince’s behalf] to be better than caution.”6 Machiavelli was assessing the qualities necessary to rule a principality well, using “prince” as a term for any ruler with absolute authority. In a time of turbulent political conflict, and constant intrigue, Machiavelli considered fortune too changeable for bold action to always be a prince’s best course, and yet he still found boldness the most useful approach to rule. The bold, he observes in The Prince, are more energetic and, henceforth, more likely to command fate; they take charge of their future “with greater audacity”.7 This holds true for Asha in Game of Thrones. Acting decisively, she seizes the chance to lead a party of her own, taking a risk that has few political pitfalls; even if she fails to rescue Theon, Asha will prove herself an active and dynamic commander, showing the leadership that her father lacks. Her boldness appears in the way that the raid is filmed: a close-up shows Asha slipping behind a wall to ambush a guard, and when she slits the throat of the man who has led her to Theon, the camera reveals her face, cool and untroubled. Her axe-stroke across the man’s neck represents the casual, unemotional action of a woman determined to reach her goal. In the aforementioned raid scene, added for the show, there are multiple aspects that reflect the instructions given in The Prince. Asha’s justification of her actions embodies Machiavelli’s advice that a leader should appear virtuous no matter what their real purpose. Although her motivation for rescuing Theon is personal—she tells Balon, “He’s your son. He’s my brother. He’s a Greyjoy” in the episode “Mhysa” (3.10), and she speaks of rescuing her “little brother”—when she needs to explain her raid to her soldiers on the voyage to the Dreadfort, Asha describes her motivation in more public-spirited terms: “They [the Boltons] skinned our countrymen, and they mutilated my brother, your prince! Your prince! Everything they’ve done to him, they’ve also done to you! As long as they can hurt our prince with impunity, the word Ironborn means nothing!”8

Delivered on board ship, this speech rephrases the personal as communal. Asha’s mission, now, is not only to save her brother, but also to save the



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“prince” of the Iron Isles, whose sufferings and wounds represent the blows inflicted on Ironborn dignity. She transforms her attempt to rescue her “little brother” into a quest to redeem the very name of Ironborn. The camerawork here adds to Asha’s efficacy, with the camera passing from face to face of her soldiers, showing the men listening seriously. The focus on one man’s scarred cheek reminds us that Asha has hardened fighters at her command. Cleverly, her speech also makes a broad appeal to her countrymen’s pride and sense of identity, motivating them to help her, and justifying the mission. Asha’s delivery puts particular stress on Ramsay’s word “scum”, drawing attention to his abuse of the islanders. By making use of this tactic, Asha acts in accordance with Machiavelli’s instruction that even if a prince is not always “upright” in behavior or motivation, he or she should appear to be so; by declaring that her mission affects her people too, she makes it a matter of urgency, and thus avoids the appearance of endangering her soldiers’ lives.9 This scene is a female Machiavellian moment in Game of Thrones: an example of Machiavellian political leadership as demonstrated by a woman. It is not surprising that Game of Thrones should feature Machiavellian politics, given that Martin’s Westeros has many parallels with Machiavelli’s Italy. In Westeros, as in the city-states of the Italian Renaissance, many families compete for power across different cities and regions, with turbulent and shifting rivalries calling for pragmatic strategies. In order to compete in the realm’s politics, Martin’s characters must adopt the same realism that colors Machiavelli’s work, in which, according to literary scholar Hugh Grady, “men are not good and he who would be good invites defeat”.10 These characters cannot afford to be idealists, but rather must fight with whatever means they believe will best achieve their goal. As legal scholar William P. MacNeil writes, “For all its high fantasy flourishes … the [Game of Thrones] series is a work driven by power politics of a particularly amoral, even immoral kind.”11 The Machiavellian cohort includes women as well as men, as female characters enter the political games in Martin’s novels and the HBO series, attempting to fight for power by employing some of the tactics advocated in The Prince. The series is made more complex and colorful by the fact that women, like Caterina Sforza of Renaissance Italy, who rebuffed an army “defiantly”, take on male leaders at their own game.12 (Sforza was a contemporary of Machiavelli’s, a famous countess noted for her pragmatic leadership.) Fan responses have celebrated this, with a Buzzfeed list, for example, praising “25 Times The Women From Game Of Thrones Were Total Badasses”;13 similarly, TV Guide has published a list of “The 16 Most Badass Ladies From Game of Thrones”,14 tapping into the excitement about strong women on the show. The three very different female leaders in Westeros who form the focus of this chapter demonstrate that women’s Machiavellian behaviors vary in accordance with a range of different socio-political environments within Westeros and across the sea. In analyzing Machiavellian moments featuring Asha Greyjoy, Cersei Lannister, and Daenerys Targaryen, I aim to illuminate

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the different political styles that women use in Martin’s world. Asha acts as a military Machiavellian charging into attack; Cersei behaves as a political manipulator in the court world; and Daenerys is a Machiavellian prince in a foreign territory, controlling her own army and attempting to form a state. As in Renaissance Italy, a wide range of tactics can be used to respond to the shifting political circumstances in “times of adversity”, and the novels present women using a variety of these pragmatic tactics to position themselves as legitimate political players.15

Martin and Machiavelli Written in the early sixteenth century, and published in 1532, after the author’s death, Machiavelli’s The Prince remains a powerful and scandalous political treatise today. As a diplomat and political theorist, Machiavelli enjoyed success in his native Florence, even controlling the city’s militia for a while, but fell from favor after the dissolution of the Florentine republic, and the return of the Medici family to rule. Exiled in the countryside, after an interrogation and torture, he wrote The Prince, dedicating it to then ruler of Florence, Lorenzo di’Piero de Medici in a bid to regain favor. The treatise, structured as a series of political lessons, incorporates examples from history and Machiavelli’s present Italy—in providing advice to a ruler, it situates itself within the “mirrors-for-princes” genre. Mirrors-for-princes were documents in which authors described the qualities a prince should possess and the ways in which he should behave, usually for the benefit of a ruler.16 Although The Prince certainly fits this description, it differs from other Renaissance treatises in openly recommending brutal methods and deception.17 In some situations, Machiavelli judges: pragmatic tactics rather than virtuous deeds are necessary for a prince, since “some things that seem like virtue will lead you to ruin if you follow them”, while others that seem to be vices “will, if followed, result in your safety and well-being.”18 This emphasis on practicality rather than idealism led to international notoriety for Machiavelli. After his death, The Prince and The Discourses on the First Ten Books of Titus Livius (1531) began to circulate abroad, leading Machiavelli’s name to be widely slandered in Europe.19 Barbara Riebling notes that “demonic portrayals of [Machiavelli] … had percolated through European political communities”, causing his reception to be “complicated by an involved process of transmission.”20 English Renaissance plays began to feature the “Machiavel” figure, a scheming and plotting character on the stage, who reflected “cultural and theatrical stereotypes related to the Florentine”.21 The misinterpretation of The Prince as a document advocating cruelty and justifying unscrupulous behavior in any circumstance, however, has been increasingly contested by scholars: critics have drawn attention to the context



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of military crises and political intrigue in Italy at the time when Machiavelli was writing, and the fact that his assumed reader would have been a leader raised to be virtuous, who needed to be convinced of the pragmatic approach.22 Scholarly discussion of Machiavelli’s other works has also produced a revised conception of Machiavelli as a republican, ignited by J. G. A Pocock.23 Despite the shift to a broader view of Machiavelli’s opus, the term “Machiavellian” remains in popular use to describe the ideas in The Prince, rather than Machiavelli’s broader republican views. As Dragica Vujdinovic notes, Machiavelli’s “best-known treatise of The Prince has long associated [his] name and work with the unscrupulous struggle for political power, giving rise to the term ‘Machiavellianism’ used in this respect”,24 A Machiavellian individual, therefore, takes a realistic view of politics and employs strategies similar to those recommended in The Prince to achieve their ends, using amoral methods when they appear to ensure success. Since this is how the word “Machiavellian” is commonly understood, this is how I use the term in this paper: to refer to characters that exhibit the thought and behavior recommended in The Prince. In late 2013, during George R. R. Martin’s visit to Melbourne, I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to sit down with him and discuss the themes and influences of his work. Among other things, I raised the question of whether he had been influenced by Machiavelli in writing his political narratives. “Certainly, I read Machiavelli’s work back in college. I’m aware of his ideas and beliefs … as anyone who writes about politics and power is,” Martin replied. “I don’t necessarily agree with his ideas, but they have power. His advice in The Prince is one way to approach rule.”25 Other approaches that interested Martin included a more pacifist outlook on politics: “I was influenced by the idealism of someone like Woodrow Wilson,” he elaborated, “who, although a flawed man and a flawed president, dreamed that he could transcend this [power struggle] and wanted to resolve conflict peacefully. In history you can see this tension between people trying to find a better way and people trying to win.”26 Martin here supports a peaceful approach to politics, but sees pacifists in history in conflict with ambitious individuals who strive for power. His response—an acknowledgment of the importance of Machiavellian politics, yet also an expression of sympathy with alternative political approaches—is interesting, given the association of Martin’s work with Machiavelli. The adjective “Machiavellian” continues to be applied to Game of Thrones and A Song of Ice and Fire in the manner defined earlier in this chapter, suggesting that characters in the novels draw upon the ideas expressed in The Prince (for example, see Carpenter’s article “Game of Thrones as Theory”).27 Media commentators have compared Martin’s series to Machiavelli’s writing, not in the “Machiavel” sense of melodramatic plotting and cruelty, but in discussion of the actual themes and ideas of Martin’s work, as in Archie Bland’s article in

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The Independent, “Machiavelli with magic and dragons: The allure of Game of Thrones” (2014). A BBC piece on Machiavellian characters in popular culture includes the comment that: “The battle between Lord Varys (aka The Spider) and Lord Petyr Baelish (aka Littlefinger) to out-Machiavelli each other is delicious for fans of Game of Thrones.”28 Susan Johnston also notes in Mythlore Martin’s “inversion of the Tolkienian consolation” in his work.29 Some insightful discussion can be found in the BBC’s featurette commemorating the 500th anniversary of Machiavelli’s The Prince, during which presenter Alan Yentob interviews Martin. In the broadcast, entitled Who’s Afraid of Machiavelli (2013), Yentob raises the Machiavellian politics of Game of Thrones. Considering the theme, Martin contrasts his own more pragmatic style of literary politics with the heroic quest stories that have dominated the epic fantasy genre. He observes that “a lot of fantasy has this assumption that if you are a good man you will be a good king,” exemplified by Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings (1954–5), yet claims that the heroic style of fantasy politics does not reflect the reality of rule, adding: “If you look at the real world … it’s not enough just to be a good guy. What was Aragon’s tax policy? How did he deal with a drought when people were starving?”30 Although Martin stops short of criticizing Tolkien here, he does delineate his own work from the heroic quest narratives that Tolkien made famous, elaborating that in real history “doing good things alienates powerful constituencies”, a sentiment similar to Machiavelli’s in The Prince.31 Machiavelli points out the necessity of bad behavior to create political stability, remarking about Ferdinand of Aragon that a “certain prince of our time, whom it is not well to name, never preached anything but peace and good faith; but if he had always observed either the one or the other, it would in most instances have cost him his reputation or his state.”32 This realism permeates A Song of Ice and Fire and Game of Thrones. While Martin may sympathize more with Woodrow Wilson than Machiavelli, his efforts to capture human behavior and experience involve returning again and again to Machiavellian antics. If he is “interested in telling stories, not teaching lessons”, his narratives nonetheless suggest that pragmatic politics are at the heart of a captivating human story.33 Both Yentob’s interview and my own interview with Martin, therefore, illuminate the loop that connects A Song of Ice and Fire to Machiavelli. The historical events, deeds of rulers, and complicated political problems that Martin cites as inspiration are, indeed, the subject matter of The Prince, in which Machiavelli describes patterns of political behavior that he saw as universal. As Shakespeare scholar Sukanta Chaudhuri points out, whether or not an author has been directly inspired by Machiavelli as they write is largely irrelevant, since it is: “often hard to distinguish between conscious adherence to Machiavelli and a mere course of conduct to which his tenets are applicable. That is the whole point of Machiavelli’s empirical approach: he was describing and systematizing timeless patterns of political conduct.”34



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If the same mode of political thinking is present in Martin’s work as in Machiavelli’s, it is, therefore, enough to make an analysis of Machiavellian tactics in A Song of Ice and Fire and Game of Thrones fruitful, as Chaudhuri argues of politics in Shakespeare. And certainly, Martin is not above making the connection himself, telling Yentob that he sees Petyr Baelish as “one of the most Machiavellian characters” in his series—a statement that explicitly identifies the presence of Machiavellian behavior and thinking in his novels.35

The Court Machiavellian The Asha Greyjoy who climbs over the wall into the Dreadfort, sinks her axe into the Bolton bannermen and leads her party back out again emblematizes the greater role granted to women in A Song of Ice and Fire and Game of Thrones—a role created by chapters that provide the perspectives of female characters. On the show, scenes feature female voices and deeds, and the filming sometimes emphasizes female perspectives by concentrating on a particular woman’s face, as in Sansa’s scenes with Joffrey throughout seasons two and three. Women’s experiences alternate with male perspectives to create a political tapestry. As Martin remarks, A Song of Ice and Fire is “examining how women function in a society that is very sexist, very patriarchal … because in history, after all, half the people were women.”36 This interest in both genders may explain the variety of female characters in Westeros. Women not only participate in the pragmatic political struggles of the realm, but also do so in a variety of ways with a diverse range of personal situations and responses to conflict, and among these female political players are various Machiavellians attempting to gain or maintain power. Fans have debated which are the most Machiavellian characters on Game of Thrones and have included female characters in their lists, as on A Forum of Ice and Fire, the forum of fan site Westeros.org, where user Djinn includes Oleanna Tyrell.37 In the comments to a Youtube upload of Yentob’s interview with Martin, one user puts forward Cersei Lannister as Machiavellian, alongside male characters: “Cersi [sic] is too, albeit she fails a lot.”38 It is evident that Asha is an example of “the emergent Machiavellian military type” that some scholars identify in literature, a leader whose experience is primarily in the martial field.39 On the other hand, Cersei, the Queen (to Robert Baratheon), and then Queen Regent (to Joffrey Lannister), acts within the court world. While Cersei makes her Machiavellian moves with commands and rhetoric rather than with a sword, she behaves similarly to Asha in her bold political style. Both women make decisive forays in politics, while commanding the support of armed defenders. Cersei shores up her power without taking part in physical combat, however, working largely through manipulating people. An examination of one of Cersei’s Machiavellian

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moments will help to illuminate the variety of situations in which female characters use Machiavellian political tactics in A Song of Ice and Fire. Cersei’s coup in the throne room at the end of the first novel—dramatized in the episode “You Win or You Die” (1.07)—provides an example of her skill in Machiavellian maneuvering. By seizing the Iron Throne for her son Joffrey, Cersei demonstrates the same “impetuosity” as Asha, taking action immediately after her husband King Robert Baratheon’s death.40 Naming her son Joffrey as king and installing herself as Queen Regent, Cersei makes a brash move, since she must seize the throne before Ned Stark can claim it on the legality of Robert’s letter appointing him as a caretaker ruler. Through Ned’s thoughts, Martin reminds us of Cersei’s capability. Ned’s reflection that he “had expected Cersei to strike quickly” demonstrates both Cersei’s power and pragmatism; although she is a woman, typically expected to yield to male authority in the patriarchal world of Westeros, her political aptitude is such that her summons to the throne room comes “as no surprise” to Ned.41 Her coup accords with Machiavelli’s advice that a prince should assume control completely, rather than allowing others to “become powerful”.42 In this case, Ned is a threat to the Lannister dynasty, as he might gain control over Joffrey if he becomes Regent—in barring Ned from his rightful position, Cersei ensures that he cannot undermine her influence on the throne. With quick thinking, she protects her family’s political power after her husband’s death. Rhetoric proves to be a crucial weapon for Cersei in her coup. The Lannister matriarch begins her Machiavellian takeover by having the royal steward announce Joffrey’s titles to the room: through a public ceremonial welcome, she declares her son’s legitimacy as king and simultaneously issues a warning to Ned Stark. Joffrey has already assumed his office, the reading of the titles suggests, and it would be unwise to attempt to dislodge him. It is important that the titles are allowed to ring out in the throne room, both on the show and in the novel, as Cersei’s silence, while the steward declares her son to be “King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm”, allows the words to impact upon those listening.43 The audio of Ned’s cane tapping the floor as he approaches the throne further highlights the Queen’s silence, providing an echoing accompaniment to the tense visuals. Following this, the opening remarks Joffrey makes to the room—with a formality that indicates the words have been scripted by his mother—have political undertones. As the king requests oaths of fealty from his “loyal councillors”, he implies that those who refuse to accept his sovereignty are disloyal to the crown.44 The word “loyal” divides those present into supporters of the crown, who show appropriate fidelity, and enemies of the crown, who do not; this rhetoric is in line with Machiavelli’s advice that a prince should appear to be “upright”, possessing “integrity”.45 By casting her enemy as a traitor and therefore unfit to



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rule, Cersei, using Joffrey as a mouthpiece, positions the Lannister dynasty on the moral high ground. And yet, although Cersei waits silently beside the throne at first, she also understands the importance of speaking out personally to legitimize the new king. Later in the throne room coup, she advises Ned to: “Bend the knee, my lord. Bend the knee and swear fealty to my son.”46 This instruction sets up the need for submission, creating a condition by which she can condemn Ned when he refuses to support her son. The camera focuses on Cersei’s face as she scoffs at Ned’s objection, showing her confident smirk. The shot may be short, but it is timed to show us her reaction. Cersei’s subsequent command to Ser Barristan to “seize this traitor”, further illustrates her Machiavellian skill, as the term “traitor” reinforces the image of Ned as a disloyal rebel against a deserving king.47 At this crucial political moment, Cersei banks on the power of rhetoric to influence those listening. Since Ned is the rightful Regent by law, both her use of language, and her assured delivery shows that she also understands Machiavelli’s principle that a ruler should know “how to be a great hypocrite and dissembler” while appearing virtuous—her remarks may not be truthful, but they serve the purpose of rewriting history in the Lannisters’ favor, sending a public message that they have retained the throne.48 Swords may have helped Cersei take power but words are necessary to confirm her coup. Additionally, Cersei’s offer for Ned to leave and live out his days “in the grey waste you call home” aligns with Machiavelli’s advice in The Prince that rulers should appear “merciful” and “humane”.49 Machiavelli claims that while committing unmerciful acts may sometimes be necessary, a prince should maintain a good public image: “Everyone sees what you seem to be, few perceive what you are.”50 Cersei’s offer demonstrates her consciousness of the Lannisters’ image, showing her awareness that executing Ned immediately or casting him into exile might appear unwarranted to the people of Westeros and might incur the wrath of his northern bannermen and those citizens in the capital who are hostile towards the Lannisters. By offering a safe return home, the Queen both safeguards her public image and avoids an uprising. Her later offer for Ned to “take the black”, and serve out his days in the Night’s Watch, instead of suffering execution further demonstrates her political skill, and the proposed punishment serves the double purpose of disempowering Ned, while allowing Cersei and her son to appear merciful.51 The throne room coup and its aftermath, thus, position Cersei as a serious player in the Machiavellian court world of Westeros. This Machiavellian political power is manifest in Cersei’s costuming and appearance on the television series. In contrast to Ned Stark’s spare military style on Game of Thrones, Cersei wears an elegant gown in the throne room, made of rich fabric and complemented by her jewelry. The stones and beads in her tiara, necklace, and gown remind us of her wealth (and hence the power of the family dynasty behind her), and the regal style of her outfit is as sumptuous as the description in the novel:

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The queen wore a gown of sea-green silk, trimmed with Myrish lace as pale as foam. On her finger was a golden ring with an emerald the size of a pigeon’s egg, on her head a matching tiara.52

The material covering Cersei’s shoulders and arms emphasizes her maturity: in a world where young women are vulnerable and it is common practice to “hurt little girls”,53 Cersei ensures that she does not appear like a young girl under the control of others. Like the Cersei in the book, the Cersei on screen exudes a queenly power, arrayed in eye-catching garments, but not sexualized to the point of objectification. Her appearance perfectly accords with Machiavelli’s principle that a prince should always preserve “the majesty of his dignity, which should never be wanting on any occasion or under any circumstances”.54 The display of wealth and the styling of Cersei’s garments and jewelry grant her an imposing appearance while reinforcing her dignity, and several elements of her costuming in this Machiavellian moment may also be read as being symbolic. Her hair, done up high on the show, in a manner viewers have been told is the southern style, reminds those watching of the contrast between her own identity as a southerner and Ned’s foreignness as a northerner—even the braid above her forehead is a political tactic. Her position in the frame beside the throne gives her a viewpoint of power; Ned stands below her, with the implied meaning is that he is below her in authority and political power. Moreover, the scene is shot as if from Ned’s perspective, with the camera angled up toward Cersei, placing further emphasis on her position of authority. The Queen’s body language, too, demonstrates her dignity and strength. By sitting calmly for the first half of the encounter, she suggests that she is unruffled by Ned’s challenge, and when she does rise, she tears up the letter

Figure 23: Cersei sits in the throne room. Game of Thrones: Season 1, Episode 7 (“You Win or You Die”), © HBO, 2011.



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of authority Ned has brought from the late King Robert, letting it fall to the floor; here, Cersei’s unperturbed demeanor indicates that she is ready to face any challenge. Finally, her smile and the clasped position of her hands as Ned orders the guards to “take the queen and her children into custody” illustrate that she is one move ahead of her opponent; her relaxed body language in the face of imminent threat hints that she has the gold cloaks on her side, ready to defend her. Cersei has read the situation in accordance with the pragmatism of feudal politics, where citizens have no vote and strength is crucial. Since the power majority are “protected by the majesty of the state” under a dynastic system, as Machiavelli points out, Cersei has played according to the laws of the world in which she is living, and has won.55 The combination of her body language, costuming and framing in the scene ensures that she is visualized as befits her skill and power as a Machiavellian. Evidently, Cersei is a Machiavellian of the court world, and she possesses a dignity that goes beyond clothing; a dignity of conduct that is manifest in her body language and actions. (This is illustrated in Season 5, too, where Cersei completes her enforced walk of shame in the episode “Mother’s Mercy” (5.10) with upright posture, unflinching and proud despite her naked humiliation in public.) Yet, she does not wield the complete authority of a queen in her own right. Her partial grip on power, through her son, Joffrey, is typical of women excelling in the patriarchal world of Westeros. Although some of the female characters in A Song of Ice and Fire, such as Asha, have undergone military training, and others such as Cersei have married into royalty, few of them have the privilege of sitting on a throne. They are forced to use other means to exercise power. For a rare example of a female character who rules with

Figure 24: Cersei’s body language. Game of Thrones: Season 1, Episode 7 (“You Win or You Die”), © HBO, 2011.

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complete authority in the series, it is necessary to turn to the Queen in the east: Daenerys Targaryen, the “Khaleesi”, conqueror, and “mother of dragons.”

The Machiavellian Prince The term “prince”, as it is used in Machiavelli’s treatise, also applies to Daenerys, a formidable female Machiavellian who gains considerable power in A Song of Ice and Fire. Machiavelli wrote of rulers with absolute authority in The Prince, and Daenerys’s status changes from chattel to head of a nomadic group to a queen with her own army. As she becomes a conqueror of cities, her situation comes to reflect that of Machiavelli’s “new prince”, who takes charge of a foreign principality and becomes its leader.56 The parallels with Machiavelli’s treatise are particularly strong as Daenerys makes war on cities in Essos: Machiavelli states in The Prince that “it is in a new principality that difficulties present themselves” as “the new prince finds that he has for enemies all those whom he has injured by seizing that principality”, and certainly, Daenerys finds that she has enemies among those she has injured in seizing the cities of Astapor and Meereen.57 This is evident in the coup that takes place in Astapor after her exit, and the ongoing attacks against her by the Sons of the Harpy in Meereen, as dramatized in Season 5. Daenerys also faces difficulties resulting from the different “language, customs, and laws” of the places she has conquered, just as Machiavelli predicts a new prince will.58 Over the course of A Dance With Dragons, Book 5 in Martin’s series, she struggles to adapt to everything from the wedding ceremony to the fighting pits. In resolving to take up residence in Meereen, in order to rule there, she follows Machiavelli’s advice that “the best and most efficient means” for a prince to hold a conquered city is to “go and reside there, which will make his position more secure and durable”.59 The problems facing Daenerys, therefore, correspond closely to those laid out for a new prince in The Prince during her ascension to a position of new authority. Yet, despite these challenges, Daenerys has more agency than any other female character in the series—she is a Machiavellian prince not only in situation, but also in deed. With her own group of followers and an advisor at her command, funds from Qarth, and the special weaponry of three dragons, Daenerys engages in a high level of Machiavellian politics over the course of A Song of Ice and Fire. Political scholar Marcus Schulzke, in a piece on Machiavellian law and Game of Thrones, argues that: “Daenerys follows Machiavelli’s advice of building her own army and reducing her dependency on others.”60 The scene in which she conquers Astapor is dramatized memorably on Game of Thrones, and proves to be one of the most climactic Machiavellian moments of the show’s third season. In the novel, Martin describes Daenerys’s nervousness as she pretends to exchange a dragon for an army: “She could feel



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her heart thumping in her chest.”61 The passage contrasts this interior emotion with her imperious behavior (“She gave the mare her heels and galloped along the first rank, holding the fingers [of the whip] high”).62 Here, Daenerys’s ability to present a calm façade as she deals with slavemaster Kraznys demonstrates her skill in deceiving her enemies, in navigating the “traps and snares” of power struggles with the foxlike cunning recommended in Machiavelli’s treatise.63 Machiavelli explains that while a prince needs the strength of a lion, he also requires the deviousness of a fox, since the lion “cannot escape the traps laid for him.”64 Clearly, Daenerys is capable of both predicting and avoiding traps. Although she endures Kraznys’ insults in Valyrian, she manages not to disclose that she understands them until after the deal is done, and thus plays the part of the duped foreigner in order to secure an army. Like Cersei in front of the throne room, she dissembles, keeping a cool façade. On the show, as in the novel, Daenerys’s decision to kill all the slavemasters and ruling nobility of Astapor perfectly fulfills Machiavelli’s advice on taking charge of a state:65 it is to be noted that in taking possession of a state the conqueror should well reflect as to the harsh measures that may be necessary, and then execute them at a single blow, so as not to be obliged to renew them every day … Cruelties should be committed all at once.66

It is difficult to imagine a more swift and effective use of violence than the conquest of Astapor in episode 3.04 of Game of Thrones. Daenerys is filmed walking confidently to her meeting with Kraznys, the camera moving to keep up with her strides. Using a dragon to burn Kraznys, and then her Unsullied to kill the slave masters, Daenerys secures her victory. Her quick commands to her new army of Unsullied to “Forward march!”, and then “Halt!”, are a clever test of their obedience, and the close-up of Daenerys smiling as she delivers the orders demonstrates that she is enjoying outmaneuvering the slave master. The visuals of the Unsullied fighting with spears and piercing the slave masters through the body are violent, but brief, showing the quick and effective nature of the attack. Machiavelli argues that when a prince acquires an existing state: “the line of the ancient sovereign must be entirely extinguished”, since “men must either be flattered or crushed; for they will revenge themselves for slight wrongs, while for grave ones they cannot. The injury therefore that you do to a man should be such that you need not fear his revenge.”67 The conquest of Astapor on Game of Thrones shows Daenerys attempting to destroy the city’s ruling class with exactly such a maneuver. As a prince with complete authority, Daenerys combines the Machiavellian military skill displayed by Asha in her raid with the mastery of rhetoric and image demonstrated by Cersei in her throne room coup. Telling Kraznys that Valyrian is her “mother tongue”, Daenerys warns her opponent that rather than seeing her gender as a disadvantage, she derives power from it, linking the

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linguistic skill she has used to deceive her enemy with her maternal authority. At the moment of attack she speaks particularly potently, urging the slaves to kill the masters and memorializing her deeds by shouting out “Dracarys!”, as in the novel. Since dracarys is the word for “dragon” in the old tongue, and a dragon is the symbol of Daenerys’s family dynasty, this declaration links her victory to her name and ensures that the city knows who has liberated it.68 This is both a gesture of liberation and a Machiavellian maneuver, since it ensures that Daenerys’s new citizens will feel the need for her authority and, therefore, “prove faithful” to her.69 The Queen’s use of rhetoric creates the public image of liberator that will function as a tool to secure her citizens’ loyalty, even while demonstrating her strength as a conquering prince. The scene is visualized and dramatized on Game of Thrones to show a daunting female Machiavellian in action. In episode 3.04 at the moment of the climactic deal with Krazyns, Daenerys presents a stony face to the slave master, without a smile or a frown, shot from below as she hands over the whip. By putting on an expression that betrays neither fear nor anger, she makes sure that he cannot read her next move, like Machiavelli’s cunning fox; and when she does find herself overcome by a flicker of concern, she turns her face away, carefully hiding any hint of vulnerability. The filming conveys Daenerys’s interiority here by showing both her façade for Kraznys and her true feelings; the slave master may not see her vulnerability, but viewers are allowed to see it thanks to the shot of her face as she walks away. Later, however, Daenerys’s slight smile as her dragon burns Kraznys shows that she is more than comfortable with the measures needed to secure a military victory. Her confident body language is complemented by her effective use of vocal power. Daenerys delivers the word “Dracarys!” in a powerful and ringing voice, ensuring that it carries both to the dragon and to the onlookers, and, hence, displaying the strength of Machiavelli’s lion. Her crucial command, “Slay the masters, slay the soldiers, slay every man who holds a whip, but harm no child. Strike the chains off every slave you see!”, is shouted in a passionate tone, while the camera lingers on her bright eyes, showing her pleasure in taking revenge on the slave masters for their abuse of power. As with Cersei’s throne room coup, the framing of the conquest positions Daenerys as a formidable Machiavellian. She is shot from below when she gives the command “Dracarys! ”, and again when the flames rise behind her, the camera angle providing her with visual power to match her political power. The triumphant music hints at the outcome that the shot of the smoking plaza confirms seconds later: her success in this pragmatic conquest is complete. Daenerys’s costuming in this scene is comparable to Cersei’s outfit in the throne room scene, as a similar kind of display befitting her status as a female Machiavellian prince. Each woman’s outfit is symbolic. Although Daenerys’s clothing is different to Cersei’s, it is equally fitting for her situation: the blue gown appears striking without excessive display, and the cape over her dress gives her the air of a commander, while the boots she wears give her ease of



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movement on the sandy ground. Her outfit is not only practical but creates the “humane” and “upright” image Machiavelli recommends for a prince;70 the lack of jewels, silver and gold about Daenerys’s person demonstrates that she does not covet luxury, but has more Spartan values. Her appearance sends a positive message to the slaves she is about to free: through her clothing, Daenerys promises that she will not allow the same system of inequality as the slave masters. Like Cersei in her own Machiavellian moment, she does not wear a low-cut neckline or expose her legs, avoiding objectification, and hence maintaining her visual power, preserving her “dignity” as a prince.71 Each woman’s costume is, therefore, infused with a Machiavellian knowledge of the importance of public image: whereas Cersei’s lavish outfit in the King’s Landing throne room demonstrates her understanding that wealth shows her family’s power in the court world, Daenerys’s costume at the time of conquest indicates that she knows the importance of appearing more frugal before the liberated slaves. Both women display a consciousness that, as Machiavelli states, people in general judge by “what they see and hear”: “everyone” sees what you appear to be, but “few” see who you really are.72 That Daenerys’s costuming shifts to a more elaborate gown when she begins to rule in Meereen indicates that she understands her transforming role; no longer making war, she moves on to deal with the nobility of the city, who will be influenced by more ostentatious display. In the Machiavellian moment of her attack on Astapor, however, her plainer gown is both appropriate and effective. Daenerys’s ability to seize the moment with a bold maneuver, like Asha, emerges throughout the show. In Season 1, her decision to walk into the flames of the funeral pyre in order to hatch the dragon eggs is a great risk, resulting in a great reward. By entering the House of the Undying in Season 2, she again

Daenerys in plain blue before her attack on Kraznys. Game of Thrones: Season 3, Episode 4 (“And Now His Watch Is Ended”), © HBO, 2013.

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risks her life to maintain her power. More recently, in Season 5, she leaps on to Drogon and flies out of the chaos of the rebellion in Meereen, proving that she is willing to enter the unknown in order to avoid defeat. The music as Daenerys flies away creates a swelling sense of an epic moment: of an unpredictable and dramatic move in the game. As Schulzke reminds us, however, there is “no security” in Game of Thrones, even for those as successful as Daenerys: “There is only the struggle for power.”73 For this reason, adaptability and strength are extremely important for female Machiavellians competing in a ruthless patriarchal world, and Daenerys consistently demonstrates both of these qualities.

Feminism and Female Machiavellian Moments In identifying Daenerys’s success and the ups and downs of her rule as a Machiavellian narrative, we can also consider the empowering aspects of her story. Although she is bargained off to Khal Drogo as a teenage bride, Daenerys gains power among the Dothraki and eventually comes into her own as a leader, winning her own army, conquering cities, and then finally facing the problems of rule.74 Her journey is an example of the “female exceptionalism” narrative that Jane Tolmie identifies in her article on the female fantasy heroine.75 Like other women in fantasy who succeed within a patriarchal realm, Daenerys must endure disempowerment in order to rise to power. She must learn the rules of the system and rise by seducing a man, attempting to bear a child, and marrying to secure a political advantage. As Tolmie points out, oppressive structures must exist in medieval fantasy fiction in order for women to subvert them:76 the “expectations must still be there in order to be reversed.”77 Examples of the fantasy heroine overcoming adversity include Tamora Pierce’s female knight Alanna in the Song of the Lioness series (1983–8), who disguises herself as a boy in order to train and fight. Robin Hobb’s valiant Princess Kettricken features in the Farseer Trilogy (1995–7), giving an inspiring speech to her people and riding out to defend the realm in the second novel, Royal Assassin (1996), and in doing so, providing leadership in the absence of male strength. Looking back to Tolkien, the female warrior Éowyn succeeds in the climactic battle of The Lord of the Rings (1954–5), killing the fearsome Witch-king of Angmar and, thus, helping to secure victory despite great physical risk. Daenerys’s success as a female Machiavellian therefore falls within what Tolmie calls “one of the most consistent representational trends” in epic fantasy, “a condition of the disenfranchisement of women, which is then overturned by the heroine or heroines.”78 In other words, Daenerys’s story is a kind of feminist narrative with a focus on empowering an individual woman against oppression and conflict. Although other women of the royal houses, such as Cersei Lannister and Lysa Arryn, struggle for power, the vast majority of women in Westeros lack



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the financial means, family connections, or physical strength to rise above their secondary position in a patriarchal feudal society. While Daenerys gains power through pragmatic maneuvers, she remains unusual among the realm’s women, who are oppressed by the system. Perhaps this is what Martin had in mind when he remarked to me that women historically have had “influences on events that are perhaps different to men’s influences.”79 Since the women of Westeros are not equal to men, those who exert control do so through exceptional strength and tenacity. This type of narrative can provide a kind of feminist pleasure, by showing an exceptional woman’s triumphs and her confrontations with male political or military leaders.80 Martin’s novels also provide a feminist pleasure by examining various problems and hypocrisies within the patriarchal system, through the use of women’s viewpoints in the narrative. Martin states that he is “exploring living in a society that diminishes you—I find that fascinating”, and certainly, A Song of Ice and Fire questions patriarchal dynastic structures through the perspectives of female characters, both passive and active.81 The reflections of female Machiavellian princes on their struggles provide enlightening moments in A Song of Ice and Fire, amidst the many injustices resulting from male power. For instance, when Asha considers the verbal abuse she is enduring from her captors in A Dance With Dragons, she identifies the hypocrisy inherent in the use of the insult “cunt”, reflecting: “Cunt again? It was odd how men like Suggs used that word to demean women when it was the only part of a woman they valued.”82 This kind of internal commentary challenges the misogynistic behavior that is widely accepted in Westeros. Although Asha, and her fellow female Machiavellians Cersei and Daenerys are degraded by the patriarchal society, their reflections hold that society to scrutiny. Media responses suggest that women’s reflections and scenes of resistance are welcomed by Game of Thrones viewers; Eliana Dockterman, for instance, writes in Time that the show is strongest when it has “scenes of female empowerment” to provide balance with scenes in which women are oppressed.83 The female perspectives in Martin’s stories, thus, provide a feminist element in the political story, yet the patriarchal fantasy paradigm shapes the particular kind of feminism the narrative provides. One of the common results of this kind of “female exceptionalism” narrative is that capable female politicians rarely interact with each other in patriarchal fantasy worlds; they remain surrounded by men throughout their journeys. For example, in A Song of Ice and Fire and on Game of Thrones, Daenerys does not interact with another woman involved in high politics, but deals with male leaders, her male captains and soldiers, her male advisors, her male opponents, and her prospective husbands. The handmaidens who serve her may be astute, but they do not discuss battle strategies, the ethics of war, or military history in any depth with their queen. Moreover, while Daenerys and Missandei’s friendship has developed on the show, Missandei is only given the opportunity to lead when

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she is separated from Daenerys in episode 5.10, and she must do so jointly with a man, working with Grey Worm. While there are rich depictions of human thinking and feeling to be gained from women’s solo journeys through the halls of power in A Song of Ice and Fire, a different kind of fantasy world with a non-patriarchal political system could allow for the equally rich experiences of female Machiavellians collaborating. This is not a criticism of Martin’s work, but a note as to where epic or “high” fantasy might expand. Fans have noted this potential: blogger Kate Maltby writes in regard to sexism on Game of Thrones that “the greatest feminist response would be for someone, preferably a woman writer, to pen a fantasy sequence every bit as richly veined in its structural complexity, a world where dragons fly … and women occasionally wear clothes.”84 At the “Genres Panel” which I chaired at the National Writers Conference at the Emerging Writers Festival, in Melbourne in 2015, audience members expressed interest in seeing different kinds of representation of women in fantasy in the future. Tolmie phrases this in more academic terms, noting that it is much more unusual to see “alternative fantasies, or radically new and revolutionary fantasy.”85 Perhaps this is a challenge that fantasy can take up. The intersection of gender and geography in fantasy politics means that narratives prominently featuring an Eastern female Machiavellian, or a female Machiavellian of non-white appearance are also rare. Scholar Myles Balfe argues that fantasy texts, rather than being purely divorced from the real world, “are located within, and inscribed by, particular social, geographical and cultural discourses”, and although Martin’s work does not suffer from the problem Balfe identifies in other works where Western-inspired characters are “constructed as the ‘good guys’”—due to its anti-heroic themes—the geography of the world replicates the West–East split of much epic fantasy.86 Martin’s world is divided into Western and Eastern continents with the names “Westeros” and “Essos” with naming systems that divide the Anglo-Saxon derived peoples (in Westeros) from the Middle Eastern and Asian derived peoples (in Essos). In this split, Westeros is the more focal nation in the story, and Western characters such as Daenerys and Tyrion provide the perspectives on Eastern politics, through their experiences in Essos. The show’s filming demonstrates this split by only cutting to Essos, when Western characters such as Daenerys, Arya, and Tyrion are traveling there, as in Tyrion’s journey through Volantis, and Arya’s training in the House of Black and White in Braavos in Season 5. Martin may have a strong reason for making Western characters his viewpoints on the east. In my interview, he addressed the issue of the relationship between his fantasy societies and the real world, telling me that he had found it hard to get historical documents from non-Western cultures in translation, and that in his belief, in medieval times, Western awareness of countries like China and India existed in a “very distorted” form. “Even maps are hard to get hold of for countries like Germany, Italy and Egypt, and beyond that once you go into Africa it’s limited by translation … I can’t delve into it



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like the Wars of the Roses,” he stated, concluding that he saw his series as replicating the West’s historical lack of contact with the East.87 It is also pertinent to consider that Martin’s series is not yet finished. Season 5 ends Daenerys’s storyline with a scene in which she is encircled by Dothraki riders, and since Martin has stated that the Dothraki are returning to the story “in a big way”, a Dothraki character perspective could be included in upcoming books.88 Yet, while acknowledging the strength and complexity of the representation of female Machiavellians in both A Song of Ice and Fire and on Game of Thrones, it is also interesting to consider how Machiavellian narratives might differ in different kinds of fantasy worlds. If female and Eastern characters held equal power with white Western men in fantasy politics, how might they then operate and collaborate as Machiavellians in a dynastic system, and what different modes of representation might emerge? For example, would the positioning of women and Easterners as part of the power majority lead to different world-building practices? These are questions that fantasy writers can explore in unique ways, thanks to the imaginative freedom of the genre.

Conclusion Machiavellian power dynamics, whether due to conscious influence or unconscious thematic similarity, run throughout A Song of Ice and Fire and its adaptation Game of Thrones. Although the realm of Westeros is heavily patriarchal, women participate in the power struggles of the land in a variety of ways, and some enter the tussles of high politics as female Machiavellians. This group includes military Machiavellians such as Asha Greyjoy who enter the fray with a weapon in hand; Machiavellians of the court world such as Cersei Lannister who use rhetoric and behind-the-scenes maneuvers; and even female Machiavellian princes such as Daenerys who exercise complete authority. The filming of women’s maneuvers on the show draws attention to the strength of female leaders through close-ups, camera focus on faces, and angles that make characters appear more authoritative. When considering the empowerment of women in these political scenes and the use of female character perspectives to scrutinize the disempowerment of women in A Song of Ice and Fire’s political world, it is important not to reduce the aesthetic qualities of Martin’s work to thematic concerns—to remember that he is, in his own words, not “teaching lessons” but “telling stories”.89 And yet, to comprehend the feminist elements embedded within the series, it is useful to consider that stories have cultural resonances, and Martin’s female characters have resonated with many readers and viewers. In particular, the triumphs and bold maneuvers of exceptional women within a ruthless, patriarchal world provide a kind of feminist pleasure.

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In the process of recognizing the narrative of the exceptional woman in a patriarchal world different narratives emerge in contrast. We may envisage ways that epic fantasy might expand as a genre, depicting different kinds of political experience for women and non-Western people. In addition to imagining dragons, people with magical powers and incredible landscapes, epic fantasy writers could create Machiavellian political worlds that are not patriarchal or Western-centric. This would allow for different socio-cultural models to co-exist with the patriarchal, Western-centric model, and would allow the imaginary properties of fantasy to be exercised in a post-A Song of Ice and Fire period, creating new political narratives. For women, this might mean the opportunity to see female Machiavellian characters not only competing, but also collaborating in the “game of thrones”.

Notes   1. The term “Machiavellian moment” was coined in J. G. A. Pocock’s political history The Machiavellian Moment (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1975), in reference to Machiavelli’s ideas about republics. However, in this chapter I simply use the term “Machiavellian moment” to refer to moments in A Song of Ice and Fire and Game of Thrones during which characters behave in ways that reflect Machiavelli’s advice in The Prince.   2. Asha Greyjoy is referred to as Asha in A Song of Ice and Fire and as Yara on Game of Thrones. In this article, I use the name Asha when referring to the character.   3. Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince (Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Classics, 1997), 7.   4. Game of Thrones [TV program] (2011–, HBO), Episode 4.06.   5. Game of Thrones, Episode 3.10.   6. Machiavelli, The Prince, 97.   7. Ibid.   8. Game of Thrones, pisode 4.06.   9. Machiavelli, The Prince, 68. 10. Hugh Grady, Shakespeare, Machiavelli, and Montaigne: Power and Subjectivity from Richard II to Hamlet (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 21. 11. William P. MacNeil, “Machiavellian Fantasy and the Game of Laws,” Critical Quarterly 57, no. 1 (2015): 34. 12. Sforza, the Countess of Forlὶ, was famous for her bold political style, including her occupation of the Castel Sant’Angelo fortress while pregnant, her revenge killings after the assassination of her second husband, Giacomo Feo, and her military defense of her own fortress against Cesare Borgia. For a popular biography of Sforza, see Elizabeth Lev’s The Tigress of Forli: Renaissance Italy’s Most Courageous and Notorious Countess, Caterina Riario Sforza De’ Medici (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2011). Christopher Hibbert provides a broader overview of the period in The Borgias and their Enemies (New York: Mariner Books, 2009). 13. Lara Parker, “25 Times The Women From ‘Game Of Thrones’ Were Total Badasses”, Buzzfeed, May 22, 2015, available online: http://www.buzzfeed.com/



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laraparker/times-the-women-from-game-of-thrones-gave-you-life#.ldXNWQlNJ (accessed August 28, 2015). 14. “The 16 Most Badass Ladies From Game of Thrones,” TV Guide, available online: http://www.tvguide.com/galleries/badass-ladies-game-of-thrones–1091424/ (accessed August 30, 2015). 15. Machiavelli, The Prince, 58. 16. Mirrors-for-princes were usually addressed to men and refer to the ruler throughout as male. However, the term “prince” could be understood to mean an absolute ruler of any title or gender. Machiavelli mentions the deeds of Caterina Sforza (see note 11), for instance, in his chapter on fortresses in The Prince, 83. 17. Baldassare Castiglione’s The Book of the Courtier (1528) and Jacques Amyot’s Project of Royal Eloquence (1570–80), for example, emphasize polite and virtuous behavior. 18. Machiavelli, The Prince, 60. 19. As its title suggests, the Discourses discusses the first ten books of Livy’s expansive history of Rome, Ab Urbe Condita (c. 25 bc). Throughout his analysis Machiavelli draws political lessons from the ancient world. 20. Barbara Riebling, “Milton on Machiavelli: Representations of the State in Paradise Lost,” Renaissance Quarterly 49, no. 3 (1996): 573. 21. Michael J. Redmond, Shakespeare, Politics and Italy: Intertextuality on the Jacobean Stage (Farnham, England: Ashgate, 2009), 80. 22. For military crisis see Roslyn Pesman, “Machiavelli, Piero Soderini, and the Republic of 1494–1512,” in The Cambridge Companion to Machiavelli, ed. John M. Najemy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 50. For the assumed virtuous reader see Virginia Cox, “Rhetoric and Ethics in Machiavelli,” in The Cambridge Companion to Machiavelli, ed. John M. Najemy, 184–5 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010). 23. Pocock’s The Machiavellian Moment draws attention to Machiavelli’s political and philosophical ideas about the classical republic. Pocock’s book sparked an interest in the subject that has produced many writings since. In a recent example, the anthology Machiavelli’s Liberal Republican Legacy, ed. Paul A. Rahe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006) covers a wide variety of topics relating to Machiavelli’s republicanism. 24. Dragica Vujdinovic, “Machiavelli’s Republican Political Theory,” in Philosophy and Social Criticism 40, no. 1 (2014): 44. 25. Elizabeth Beaton, Interview with George R. R. Martin (Melbourne, November 14, 2013). 26. Beaton, Interview with Martin. 27. For example, see Charli Carpenter, “Game of Thrones as Theory,” Foreign Affairs, March 29, 2012, available online: http://www.foreignaffairs.com/articles/137360/ charli-carpenter/game-of-thrones-as-theory (accessed August 5, 2014). 28. Megan Lane, Finlo Rohrer and Kathryn Westcott, “10 of popular culture’s best Machiavellian characters,” BBC Magazine, May 23, 2013, available online: http:// www.bbc.com/news/magazine–22537324 (accessed August 28, 2015). 29. Susan Johnston, “Grief Poignant As Joy: Dyscatastrophe and Eucatastrophe in A Song of Ice and Fire,” Mythlore 31, no. 119 (2012): 141. 30. Alan Yentob, Interview with George R. R. Martin on Who’s Afraid of Machiavelli? [TV program] (BBC One: 28 December, 2013, 14.40). For a discussion of the differences between Tolkien and Martin see Wells-Lassagne in this volume.

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31. Yentob, Interview with Martin. 32. Machiavelli, The Prince, 69. 33. Beaton, Interview with Martin. 34. Sukanta Chaudhuri, “The New Machiavelli: Shakespeare in the Henriad,” in Literature East and West: Essays Presented to R.K. DasGupta, ed. R. K. DasGupta (New Delhi: Allied Publishers, 1995), 124. 35. Yentob, interview with Martin. 36. Beaton, interview with Martin. 37. Djinn, “Untitled comment” in the thread “Who is the most Machiavellian character in the story?”, A Forum of Ice and Fire, November 21, 2013, available online: http://asoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/topic/100003-who-is-the-mostmachiavellian-character-in-the-story/ (accessed August 28, 2015). 38. Youtube user MrRedcarpet02, in the Comments Section for video “Culture George R.R. Martin on Machiavellian plots in Game of Thrones,” Youtube, December 2, 2013, available online: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i06c44eu hpg&lc=z12hwb1h0vasdne3m23vsdzzdmupwrkbo04 (accessed August 28, 2015). 39. Ken Jacobsen, “Iago’s Art of War: The “Machiavellian Moment in Othello,” in Modern Philology 106, no. 3 (2009): 504. 40. Machiavelli, The Prince, 97. 41. George R. R. Martin, A Game of Thrones (London: Voyager, 1996), 439. 42. Machiavelli, The Prince, 14. 43. Martin, A Game of Thrones, 440. 44. Ibid. 45. Machiavelli, The Prince, 68, 69. 46. Martin, A Game of Thrones, 441. 47. Ibid. 48. Machiavelli, The Prince, 68. 49. Martin, A Game of Thrones, 441; Machiavelli, The Prince, 68. 50. Machiavelli, The Prince, 69. 51. Martin, A Game of Thrones, 607. 52. Ibid., 440. 53. Game of Thrones, episode 4.05. 54. Machiavelli, The Prince, 87. 55. Ibid., 69. 56. Ibid., 7. 57. Ibid., 7. 58. Ibid., 8. 59. Ibid., 9. 60. Marcus Schulzke, “Playing the Game of Thrones: Some Lessons From Machiavelli,” in Game of Thrones and Philosophy: Logic Cuts Deeper Than Swords, ed. Henry Jacoby (Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons, 2012), 47. 61. George R. R. Martin, A Storm of Swords, 1: Steel and Snow (London: Voyager, 2003), 379. 62. Martin, A Storm of Swords, 1, 379. 63. Machiavelli, The Prince, 67. 64. Ibid. 65. Martin, A Storm of Swords, 1, 381. 66. Machiavelli, The Prince, 35.



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67. Ibid., 9. 68. Martin, A Storm of Swords, 1, 381. 69. Machiavelli, The Prince, 40. 70. Ibid., 68. 71. Ibid., 87. 72. Ibid., 69. 73. Schulzke, “Playing the Game of Thrones,” 47. 74. For more on sexuality in the series see Larsson, “Adapting Sex: Cultural Conceptions of Sexuality in Words and Images,” in this volume, pages 17–38. 75. Jane Tolmie, “Medievalism and the Fantasy Heroine,” Journal of Gender Studies 15, no. 2 (2006): 145. 76. See also Schubart in this volume for a discussion of the fairy tale rules and female protagonists, pages 105–29. 77. Tolmie, “Medievalism and the Fantasy Heroine,” 147. 78. Ibid., 150. 79. Beaton, Interview with Martin. 80. Tolmie, “Medievalism and the Fantasy Heroine,” 156. 81. Beaton, Interview with Martin. 82. George R. R. Martin, A Dance With Dragons (London: Voyager, 2011), 958. 83. Eliana Dockterman, “Game of Thrones’ Woman Problem Is About More Than Sexual Assault,” Time, June 11, 2015, available online: http://time. com/3917236/game-of-thrones-woman-problem-feminism/ (accessed August 28, 2015). 84. Kate Maltby, “Why feminists like me are addicted to Game of Thrones,” The Spectator, June 15, 2015, available online: http://blogs.spectator.co.uk/ culturehousedaily/2015/06/why-feminists-like-me-are-addicted-to-game-ofthrones/ (accessed August 28, 2015). 85. Tolmie, “Medievalism and the Fantasy Heroine,” 155. 86. Myles Balfe, “Incredible Geographies? Orientalism and Genre Fantasy,” Social and Cultural Geography 5, no. 1 (2004): 75–6, 76. 87. Beaton, Interview with Martin. 88. James Hibberd, “George R. R. Martin teases ‘Winds of Winter’: More Deaths, Betrayals, Weddings,” Entertainment Weekly June 26, 2014, available online: http://www.ew.com/article/2014/06/26/george-r-r-martin-winds-winter-tease (accessed March 6, 2015). 89. Beaton, Interview with Martin.

Bibliography Amyot, Jacques. “An Epitome of Royal Eloquence, Composed for Henry III, King of France.” In Renaissance Debates on Rhetoric, edited and translated by Wayne Rebhorn. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2000, 128–39. Beaton, Elizabeth. Interview with George R. R. Martin. Melbourne, Australia, November 14, 2013. Balfe, Myles. “Incredible Geographies? Orientalism and Genre Fantasy.” Social and Cultural Geography 5, no. 1 (2004): 75–90.

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Bland, Archie. “Machiavelli with Magic and Dragons: The Allure of Game of Thrones.” The Independent, August 4, 2014. Available online: http://www.independent.co.uk/ arts-entertainment/tv/features/machiavelli-with-magic-and-dragons-the-allure-ofgame-of-thrones-9235551.html (accessed July 25, 2014). Carpenter, Charli. “Game of Thrones as Theory.” Foreign Affairs, March 29, 2012. Available online: http://www.foreignaffairs.com/articles/137360/charli-carpenter/ game-of-thrones-as-theory (accessed August 5, 2014). Castiglione, Baldassare. The Book of the Courtier. Translated by George Bull. London: Penguin, 2004. Chaudhuri, Sukanta. “The New Machiavelli: Shakespeare in the Henriad.” In Literature East and West: Essays Presented to R. K. DasGupta, edited by R. K. DasGupta, 122–49. New Delhi: Allied Publishers, 1995. Cox, Virginia. “Rhetoric and Ethics in Machiavelli.” In The Cambridge Companion to Machiavelli, edited by John M. Najemy, 173–89. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Djinn, “Untitled comment” in the thread “Who is the most Machiavellian character in the story?” A Forum of Ice and Fire, November 21, 2013. Available online: http:// asoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/topic/100003-who-is-the-most-machiavelliancharacter-in-the-story/ (accessed August 28, 2015). Dockterman, Eliana. “Game of Thrones’ Woman Problem Is About More Than Sexual Assault.” Time, June 11, 2015. Available online: http://time.com/3917236/game-ofthrones-woman-problem-feminism/ (accessed August 28, 2015). Game of Thrones (2011–), [TV programme] HBO. Grady, Hugh. Shakespeare, Machiavelli, and Montaigne: Power and Subjectivity from Richard II to Hamlet. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Hibberd, James. “George R. R. Martin Teases ‘Winds of Winter’: More Deaths, Betrayals, Weddings.” Entertainment Weekly. Available online: http://www.ew.com/ article/2014/06/26/george-r-r-martin-winds-winter-tease (accessed March 6, 2015). Hibbert, Christopher. The Borgias and their Enemies. New York: Mariner Books, 2009. Hobb, Robin. The Farseer Trilogy. London: Voyager, 1983–8. Jacobsen, Ken. “Iago’s Art of War: The ‘Machiavellian Moment’ in Othello.” Modern Philology 106, no. 3 (2009): 497–529. Johnston, Susan. “Grief Poignant As Joy: Dyscatastrophe and Eucatastrophe in A Song of Ice and Fire.” Mythlore 31, no. 119 (2012): 133–54. Lane, Megan, Finlo Rorhrer and Kathryn Westcott. “10 of popular culture’s best Machiavellian characters.” BBC Magazine, May 23, 2013. Available online: http:// www.bbc.com/news/magazine-22537324 (accessed August 28, 2015). Machiavelli, Niccolò. The Prince. Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Classics, 1997 edition. MacNeil, William P. “Machiavellian fantasy and the game of laws.” Critical Quarterly 57, no. 1, (2015): 34. Maltby, Kate. “Why feminists like me are addicted to Game of Thrones.” The Spectator, 15 June 2015. Available online: http://blogs.spectator.co.uk/ culturehousedaily/2015/06/why-feminists-like-me-are-addicted-to-game-ofthrones/ (accessed August 28, 2015). Martin, George R. R. A Game of Thrones. London: Voyager, 1996. Martin, George R. R. A Storm of Swords, 1: Steel and Snow. London: Voyager, 2003. Martin, George R. R. A Storm of Swords, 2: Blood and Gold. London: Voyager, 2003. Martin, George R. R. A Dance With Dragons. London: Voyager, 2011.



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Parker, Lara. “25 Times The Women From ‘Game Of Thrones’ Were Total Badasses.” Buzzfeed, May 22, 2015. Available online: http://www.buzzfeed.com/laraparker/ times-the-women-from-game-of-thrones-gave-you-life#.ldXNWQlNJ (accessed August 28, 2015). Pesman, Roslyn. “Machiavelli, Piero Soderini, and the Republic of 1494–1512.” In The Cambridge Companion to Machiavelli, edited by John M. Najemy, 48–63. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Pierce, Tamora. Song of the Lioness series. New York: Atheneum Books, 1983–8. Pocock, J. G. A. The Machiavellian Moment. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1975. Rahe, Paul. A, ed. Machiavelli’s Liberal Republican Legacy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Redmond, Michael J. Shakespeare, Politics and Italy: Intertextuality on the Jacobean Stage. Farnham, England: Ashgate, 2009. Riebling, Barbara. “Milton on Machiavelli: Representations of the State in Paradise Lost.” Renaissance Quarterly 49, no. 3 (1996): 573–97. Schulzke, Marcus. “Playing the Game of Thrones: Some Lessons From Machiavelli.” In Game of Thrones and Philosophy: Logic Cuts Deeper Than Swords, ed. Henry Jacoby. Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons, 2012, 47. Tolkien, J. R. R. The Lord of the Rings. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1954–5. Tolmie, Jane. “Medievalism and the Fantasy Heroine.” Journal of Gender Studies, 15, no. 2 (2006): 145–58. “The 16 Most Badass Ladies From Game of Thrones”. TV Guide. Available online: http://www.tvguide.com/galleries/badass-ladies-game-of-thrones-1091424/ (accessed August 30, 2015). Vujdinovic, Dragica. “Machiavelli’s Republican Political Theory.” Philosophy and Social Criticism 40, no. 1 (2014): 43–68. Yentob, Alan. Interview with George R. R. Martin. Who’s Afraid of Machiavelli? [TV programme], BBC One, December 28, 2013, 14.40. Youtube user MrRedcarpet02. In the Comments Section for video “Culture George R. R. Martin on Machiavellian plots in Game of Thrones.” Youtube, December 2, 2013. Available online: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i06c44euhpg&lc=z12h wb1h0vasdne3m23vsdzzdmupwrkbo04 (accessed August 28, 2015).

Chapter 10 T H E E X P E RT F E M A L E F A N R E C A P O N Y O U T U B E Susana Tosca and Lisbeth Klastrup

YouTube is one of the most popular social media sites in the world, with 100 hours of new material uploaded every minute.1 While YouTube was initially lauded as a platform for user-generated content, it now also hosts highly professional content from big media corporations, web-only news- and entertainment magazines, bringing together very professional and very amateurish individual users.2 The “recap” genre is a popular phenomenon on YouTube, where fans post video reviews of all forms of media products. Some of the fan recap channels have attained huge following (for example, one of our hosts explains the backstory of House Targaryen in an episode that has been viewed around 1.380.000 times).3 These fan experts become microcelebrities, what Burgess and Green (2009) define as “YouTube stars”, “highly visible and successful “homegrown” performers and producers”, who seem to successfully breach the professional and amateur divide.4 Currently, in 2015, several of the most popular recap hosts are women. Research carried out on gender and YouTube is scarce, and there is no definite agreement on gender usage patterns, but it appears that there are differences between male and female activity on the site.5 For instance, Molyneaux studied 100 amateur video diaries on YouTube in 2008. They found that 58 percent of the identifiable posters were men and 33 percent female.6 They also looked at comment patterns and found that males were more likely to comment on the physical characteristics of the vlogger. It was also notable that 13 percent of the women had posted comments on YouTube but none had posted videos, compared to the men who had either posted comments (40 percent) or videos (10 percent).7 A more recent study points out that of the top 50 most popular channels on YouTube, only nine were hosted by women.8 They examined comment patterns on one of the female and one of the male hosts on this top 50 list, and found that the female host received four times as many critical and hostile comments as the male host, half (50 percent) of them having sexist/racist, or sexually aggressive content.9 This indicates that at least in terms of content production for YouTube, gender does seem to matter.

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However, the studies above have only examined personal diary and entertainment channels, not specifically fan-oriented content. This article takes its point of departure in the hitherto unexplored recap phenomena. It examines how three female fan reviewers position themselves as recap hosts, and how they enact and perceive their role as mediators between the TV show and the regular fans who watch it. How do they relate to the transmedial aspects of the Game of Thrones universe, and how are their performances received and reacted to by their many viewers? Finally, we ask: does gender matter in the “GoT on YouTube” universe? And, if so, how? Our research design includes an examination of the recap genre characteristics, a content analysis of selected YouTube fan reviews, a content analysis of commentary, and in-depth interviews with the fan experts. Theoretically, we build upon our previous work on transmedial worlds (TMW) and empirical studies of GoT online fan participation, our previous work on fandom online in a YouTube context and, generally, on digital media studies.10

Game of Thrones, Transmediality, and Fandom In some of our earlier work, we have defined GoT as a transmedial world, understood as an “abstract content system from which a repertoire of fictional stories can be actualized or derived across a variety of media forms”.11 A transmedial world is defined by its “worldness” which has three different dimensions: mythos, topos, and ethos. These elements can be used to determine if a particular instantiation can be considered a successful part of the transmedial world.12 Transmedial worlds are characterized by a sense of vastness and complexity that often engages fans in elaborate acts of exegesis and exchange. This is perfectly illustrated by GoT with its many characters, plotlines, and mysteries to be discovered. Complexity is not only a feature of transmedial worlds, as contemporary television is also becoming more complex.13 Fans of transmedial worlds find pleasure in consumption and production activities that have an element of performance, such as exploring a computer game that recreates the geography of their favorite universe (see Schröter’s chapter in this volume, pages 79–104).14 But this feeling of “being home” happens also in conversations about the beloved texts: fans watch the new episode, and then rush to the web to see what their favorite “recap host” has to say about it. This way they re-live the episode and go deeper into the feelings they experienced watching it. Watching a recap is, thus, also a way of dwelling on the pleasures of the known, what culture scholar Cornell Sandvoss calls “self-reflective enjoyment”.15 The universe of A Song of Ice and Fire, born through the novels by George R.R. Martin, has spawned great amounts of fanmade products in all possible media forms: fan fiction, graphic art, game-related activity, and, of course, videos, among others. On the producer side, the novels went from having a



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cult following to becoming bestsellers, and finally to entering the mainstream in their own right when they were turned into a high-profile television show. Fandom is defined by Sandvoss as: “the regular, emotionally involved consumption of a given popular narrative or text” (italics in original).16 Emotional consumption is not only about viewing or reading, but often also about producing, as Sandvoss himself and most fandom researchers, like Henry Jenkins, agree.17 Our three recap hosts are certainly extremely productive; every week they release a new video that retells and interprets the last aired episode. The way they communicate is typical of classical fan dialogue, and they engage other fans in conversations that are proof of their sophisticated strategies of viewing and evaluating their favorite show. Fans keep an eye on quality, assess the realism of the series, and criticize the show’s messages, as new media scholar Nancy Baym’s research has shown for soap operas.18 Fans are also often creative and humorous in their language.19 Another important factor is pleasure. According to English literature scholar Jennifer Hayward, “the processes of collaborative interpretation, prediction, metacommentary and creation” that engage fans are pleasurable.20 The mere pleasure of talking about one’s favorite text is especially intense for serial texts, as “the cumulative process of serial involvement enables understanding of the complexities of the text over time and of the concomitant delights of repetition-with-a-difference”.21 A fundamental part of that pleasure is often social, as she explains in relation to Dickens readers, so much so that consuming serial narrative becomes a “ritual (often collaborative).”22 Today, many people turn to digital and social media to enact this ritual of talking about favorite “texts”, as many online environments make interaction both easy and enjoyable, affording an interpretive community of fans from all over the world. Costello and Moore’s study of online television fandom explicitly notes that fans particularly enjoy discussing serial dramas online, notably those with “plotline arcs, interesting characters played by strong leads, and challenging themes”, such as GoT.23 Our three hosts are knowledgeable enablers of this pleasure-seeking activity, and provide a channel for the interaction, initiating lively and humorous conversation in a way that remediates the intimacy of friendship.

The “Recap” as Genre The recap, or “rewind” as it is also referred to, is a new genre of user-created content on YouTube which focuses on describing and analyzing a fan’s reaction to a particular episode of a given TV show. After having perhaps watched a given episode alone in one’s living room, the recap allows fans to share a sense of communal bonding and enables the exchange of commentaries, prolonging the emotional pleasures related to the consumption of the show. Within the

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genre, two main subgenres seem to exist. The first type is the “post show” recap, streamed directly after the episode has aired, in length often equal to the episode or longer and documenting the immediate reactions to the show. The other type is the “highlight” recaps which air a few days later. This type of recap is shorter, and focuses on select highlights, characters, and/or “what the fuck” moments from the show, and some also use postproduction techniques. A recap can both contain commentary, evaluation, and explanation, thus combining elements of a traditional review with more immediate emotional reactions. Often, recaps also do a detailed reverse engineering of plot developments, which is especially pertinent in relation to serial TV. We argue that recaps can be understood as a contemporary form of cultural journalism, drawing on conventions from the genre of contemporary cultural (or “arts”) journalism in general. Historically, print cultural journalism, the art and practice of judging and reviewing various forms of cultural products (books, music, film, theatre, art exhibitions, etc.), has existed since around the late seventeenth century when learned men discussed the works of their peers in pieces of writing close to a lecture or lengthy article seeking to educate its equally learned public. Gradually, cultural criticism has evolved into the more specific art of reviewing cultural products, which has itself taken on a more news-oriented style.24 However, contrary to current news journalism, in arts or cultural journalism the writer’s subjective “connoisseurial” evaluation of the work in question is still central to the genre.25 Thus, if the writer is an expert within the area, he or she need not be a journalist by education. Today, arts or cultural journalism functions both as news, entertainment, and consumer guides to both the content and the context of the product and the educative or “bildung”-oriented aspect of this form of journalism is no longer at the center of the genre.26 The GoT recaps contain elements of both “bildung” (with the host explaining the story to less “educated” viewers), news (as they are typically published the same day as the episode aired or shortly after), and entertainment (with the hosts trying to be witty and emotional). The cinematography of the more advanced recaps adds both funny and entertaining visual elements to the recap.27 However, as a modern-day amateur reviewer, the recap host must rhetorically justify his or her position as both expert in the domain and as entertainer. In his sociological study of the function of reviews, Grant Blank notices that: Reviewers must convince. Although they are often members of formal organizations, reviewers have no formal authority and decision to follow a reviewer’s advice is strictly voluntary. Reviewers must convince readers to follow their recommendations; they rely on persuasion.28

Thus, credibility, as defined by Aristotle in traditional rhetorics (based on competence, moral character and goodwill towards the audience) is pivotal to



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a reviewer’s success.29 As for competence, several of the GoT recaps not only evaluate the quality of the given episode, but also contextualize it by relating it to the ethos, topos, and mythos of the transmedial world, discussing questions on topics such as character fidelity and plot deviations. This requires extensive knowledge of the books and also a high level of sophistication in the analysis of plot detail, character motivation, and so forth. Additionally, both implicit and explicit intertexual references to other pop cultural content serve to underline the geekiness of the recap host. Moral character is also important: thus, recaps should not contain “spoilers” (too explicit pointers of what will happen in future episodes/further down the plotline), not in the video itself, nor in the comments. For instance, one of our subjects of study, ComicbookGirl19 has disabled comments on her GoT YouTube videos because they contained too many spoilers, given away by fervent fans, and could potentially ruin TV-only fans’ experience of the TV show.30 Finally, goodwill is important since recaps are a sort of “service to the community”, especially for fans who have difficulty figuring out the complex world of GoT. It is also reflected in the willingness to keep the audience entertained or the common practice of gifting the fan community with giveaways, typically in terms of GoT-related t-shirts or other merchandise. Obviously, this can be demonstrated by directly addressing the viewers (fellow fans), and asking for their opinions and support. As for style, humor and ironic detachment seem to be the norm for YouTube recaps. They are also a way to create rhetorical closeness: if you can understand my in-jokes, we share a fan identity. Culture scholar Rosemary Coombe points to the fact that “the constitution of provisional identities through the invocation of mass-media images, texts and symbols is made possible when an audience is simultaneously absorbed and capable of ironic detachment.”31 In this way, YouTube recap hosts present themselves more as fellow fans and geek personalities rather than celebrities: “personalities are distinguished for their representativeness, their typicality, their ‘will to ordinariness’, to be accepted, normalized, experienced as familiar.”32 And, there is nothing more familiar in fandom than talking enthusiastically about one’s passion. But the use of humor is interesting in other ways, too. Feminist humor scholars Frances Gray and Joanne R. Gilbert33, among others, remark that it is more difficult for women than for men to come forth and be funny in public, but when they do, the “watch me” element certainly can empower its subjects.34 Humor is an important part of strategic self-presentation when negotiating the gendered position,35 and our three subjects have different strategies for ingratiation, as we will see. To recapitulate, our three objects of study share a rhetorically rich approach in order to position themselves as desirable recap providers, by transmitting knowledge, credibility, moral character, goodwill, and a good dose of humor; each of them in their own personal way.

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Take Three Female Reviewers/Fan Experts We have chosen three emblematic hosts because they represent different styles of doing recaps. There are certainly other GoT recap shows on YouTube (also in other languages), however, many of these are presented and produced by men.36 While some are also presented by women, our three case reviewers are the most stable (since they are part of a channel identity), are posted most regularly, and have very big fan followings. Comicbookgirl19 (http://www.comicbookgirl19.com) is one of the most popular recap hosts on YouTube (there were more than 377.000 subscribers to her channel in August 2015), where she reviews television series, movies, and comic books. A Song of Ice and Fire is one of her favorite works of fiction, and apart from reviewing the GoT series, she has also built an archive of videos called “epic history”, through which she explores the transmedial universe in depth by, for example, narrating the history of one of the great families of the show, or pitching the television show against the books to look for differences. Her channel has existed since April 2012, and has had more than 22 million views. She does not offer any personal information as to her age or real name in any of her online sites, but she mentions holding a bachelor’s degree in Sequential Art. Flicks and the City (http://flicksandthecity.com) is a YouTube channel which reviews film, television, and music, and also hosts’ interviews with actors, as well as covering other media events, such as presentations or panels at conventions. Founded by journalist Jan Gilbert in 2012, in 2015, it had 115.732 subscribers and over 51 million views. Gilbert does the recaps and interviews pertaining GoT.

Figure 26: Comicbookgirl19’s reviewing GoT. Copyright: Comicbookgirl119.



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Figure 27: Jan Gilbert of Flicks and the City reviewing GoT. Copyright: Flicks and the City.

Figure 28: Sandrine and Kenny of HappyCool reviewing GoT. Copyright: HappyCool.

HappyCool (http://happycoolofficial.tumblr.com) is a YouTube channel, founded by Sandrine Sahakians and Americ Ngwije, and sometimes joined by other collaborators. It mostly reviews movies and television shows, and has around 24,000 subscribers and nearly 22 million views. The GoT recaps are mostly done by Sandrine, sometimes accompanied by a GoT fan called Kenny. As this introduction reveals, GoT is only a part of the respective presenters’ entertainment channel or webTV magazines, where they deal with a lot of other media content. They, therefore, produce their recaps not only as GoT fans, but also from a position as general popular culture geeks. As such, their

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channels can be seen as emblematic of an emerging genre of pro-am productions on YouTube, combining elements of the traditional “direct from my living room” YouTube amateur video with a more professionalized production of the recaps. The professional production elements include hidden recording equipment, a well-lit studio-like setting, proper sound and post-production editing to add either graphics, photo stills from the episode in question, and background music to the video. While both HappyCool and Flicks and the City recaps are shot by one camera positioned directly in front of the speakers presented in half-total, the Comicbookgirl19 recaps combine and alternate between four different camera positions, and they include background music too which makes the production of this show the most elaborate and professionally styled.37 However, Jan Gilbert’s recaps include interactive features such as direct links to interviews with cast from the series integrated into the video, so her team appears very media-savvy.

Self-Presentation Through mail we managed to secure interviews both with Jan Gilbert and Sandrine Sahakians, but it was impossible to get a response from Comicbookgirl19. However, we gained some insight into her intentions with the show through other interviews online.38 The three women position themselves differently. Sandrine Sahakians declares herself to be “a fan, mostly”, and insists that she is not an expert; she has not read the George R. R. Martin books or had any contact with the transmedial world other than watching the TV show. Her recaps are emotional, as she goes through the most memorable moments of each episode in a spontaneous manner, often organized around characters. Her communicative style is enthusiastic and unpretentious, turning her lack of previous knowledge of the transmedial universe into an advantage. She discovers plots and twists for the first time, explaining the complex ones to the viewers, and commenting on the feelings she has for the different characters, always hoping her favorites “will survive.” This freshness is enhanced by her natural appearance, as she usually wears simple jeans and a t-shirt, and natural looking make-up. Jan Gilbert sees her position as that of “an enabler” as she, apart from giving information and analysis of the episodes, also invites discussion and dialogue about the show. Her insight into the show creates topics of conversation for her fans, and this is also reflected in the comments to her posts. Her reviews (subtitled “Pun of Thrones”) are well prepared and eloquently delivered; at times it feels like she is reading from a script. She maintains an ironic distance with the TV show by organizing the topics she talks about under humorous headlines such as “Pain of Thrones”, and introducing each recap as “my



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weekly lighthearted look at GoT.” She comments and interprets plot twists, drawing upon the books when necessary, and also inserts references to her other videos (mostly interviews with actors). She is funny and sure of herself. Like Sahakians’, Gilberts personal style is relaxed with light make-up (but very distinct lipstick), loose hair, and wearing t-shirts which viewers of the show can win in competit Our third recap personality, Comicbookgirl19, is compared to “a priestess” of comics, in an interview39 in which she agrees that comics (and the films and TV shows she reviews, we assume) have a transcendental message: “[P]eople nowadays understand Superman far better than they can understand Apollo, even though they’re pretty much the same, they’re very similar at the core. It’s just a new way for people to understand it. I’m into that sort of religious” [sic]40

Her recaps of GoT confirm this, as she often explains to viewers the complex background behind the episodes, mediating the books for them, and pointing to the epic themes and tragic struggles of the characters. Her recaps are well structured (into themes and following characters), and she is very opinionated and acute in her analysis. She draws upon extensive knowledge of the TMW, for example by making maps and other aids, often pushed by the questions of “the robot”, which plays the part of the ignorant spectator, and allows her to explain things in a pedagogical way, punctuated by abundant profanity. Her personal style is flamboyant; both her hair (pink) and clothing could be described as feminine cyberpunk, and she wears heavy make-up. Johanne R. Gilbert has proposed five comic postures of women comedians— the kid, the bawd, the bitch, the whiner, and the reporter. Both the kid and the reporter are desexualized/neutral, and ignore their gender on purpose, while the others are more distinctly “feminine”.41 Our three hosts adhere to non-sexualized humoristic styles: Sandrine would be “the kid”, as she is honest and non-threatening, while Jan and Comicbookgirl19 would fit with “the reporter”, who is opinionated but presents her opinion in a “neutral” way, supported by arguments and based on her own observation powers. Comicbookgirl19’s profanity might tempt us to situate her in the more offensive roles of bawd or bitch, but neither of the two cares about antagonizing their audience (indeed they seem to seek it). That this is something Comicbookgirl does not want, is apparent from the fact that she decided to discontinue her recaps in Season 5 when her opinion of the show deteriorated so much that she felt she risked making everybody angry.42

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Reception The three women maintain very different relationships to their audiences both in terms of address in the recaps themselves, and in the way they interact with their viewers online. We are basing our analysis of this section mostly on Season 4, when all three hosts were equally active, and we can compare their reactions and their audience comments, in relation to concrete episodes.43 Sandrine of HappyCool opens the recaps with the phrase “Hi everyone”, and asks the viewers for “likes” of the recap in question (and of the channel) at the end of a recap episode. Generally, she does not address the viewers as “fans”. Based on an overview of the reception of all the published recaps of Season 4, the number of views of each recap episode varies from 6,000 to 28,000 views. Each recap gets around 150 to 250 likes, and also around 20 to 40 dislikes, and the three recaps, for which comments were enabled got between 25 and 99 comments. Based on these numbers, direct interaction with viewers and fans appears limited—also because Sandrine is not active in the comments section—but it should be mentioned that she advertises several other channels through which she is reachable: Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Tumblr, and appears to be quite active on Twitter, where she also posts material of interest to GoT fans. The available comments mostly focus on the content of the episode in question, or on the book vs. TV-show discussion, which normally centers on the degree of changes, and whether they are for the better or worse. This is a typical comment: I love all these little changes they give us readers of the books, some nice surprises but i’m guessing a lot book of readers will be whining and bitching that things were changed though … one of the reasons i hate readers. (female, 4:10, July 2014)44

Comments of praise (mostly) or criticism appear to be directed to both Sandrine and her sidekick, Kenny, and very few viewers comment on her gender, apart from the occasionally observation that Sandrine reminds them of one of the characters in the show, Tyrion’s pretty mistress Shae: “I know that I am not the first to comment on this … but doesn’t Sandrine Sahakians have a creepy likeness to Shae or is it just me O.o?” (male, 4:10, July 2014)

—and also the very rare comment on her “hotness”, or cuteness. There is very little questioning of her expertise, or lack, thereof, but in the first recap episode, in which Sandrine appears without Kenny, comments are slightly more critical:



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but I’m sorry Sandrine … Kenny can’t help you or any of us who read the books … because this Episode at certain points has strayed very very very far from events in the books AND added Major stuff that wasn’t in books 1–5 … That thing at the end could possibly be an “Other” or a Whyte idk tho so many questions indeed. Happy Cool :-)B- (male, 4:04, May 2014)45

Jan is the one who, in general, engages most with viewers and fans. She explicitly opens her recaps with the phrase: “Hi Fellow GoT fans”, thus from the beginning positioning herself as a fellow fan and establishing her role as enabler. Toward the end of the recap, she typically addresses the viewers with questions like “what was your favorite moment?”, or other openings related to the viewers experience of the episode. Like Sandrine, Jan encourages viewers to subscribe to the general channel. She is the only one of the three of our reviewers who takes active part in the comments section. She is, however, also the one with the fewest viewers: most GoT Season 4 episode recaps have between 2,000 to 4,000 views (with the recaps of Episode 2 as a notable exception with 24,000+ views, and the recap of Episode 3 also standing out with 13,000 views). All recaps are open for comments and get between 50 and 200 comments (some of them Jan’s own) and between 50 and 200 likes. The commenters appear more as fans of both the TV show and of Jan than it is the case for Sandrine, and Jan gracefully acknowledges most of the praise she gets. This exchange is pretty typical of Jan’s engaged fans: Big hallo from a fan of GOT in Greece! Great analysis, really nice appearence keep up with the good work! Glad i ve subscribed!! Dont you think that the last 2 episodes have halted their action? Its been a while since we saw a nice sword fight or the dragons or danny speaking valyrian and kicking some *ss? […].What do you think? (male, 4:05, May 2014)46 [JG replies:] And a big hello back from England! Great to hear you enjoyed the video! And thanks for subscribing—welcome on board! :-) There’s definitely been quite a bit of build-up in the last episodes but I loved the action at Craster’s Keep this episode. Would be great to see some more dragon though—hopefully soon!!! […]47

People are generally positive about the reviews, and she is rarely criticized. However, if she is, it happens at a more sober level: I love your interviews and recaps but can you do a more real review. This feels more like a news reporter recap with puns. I like hearing real opinions. But thats just me. I love the work your doing! (male, 4:06, May 2014)48

As with Sandrine, commenters rarely mention Jan’s looks (we found one comparison to a GoT character), and never her gender.

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Comicbookgirl19’s show is by far the most popular. Each recap episode gets between 200,000 and 330,000 views, and 10,000-plus likes. She does not allow comments on YouTube (for fear of spoilers), but each recap episode is also announced on Facebook, where the announcement gets around 1400 likes in average and receives around 100 to 200 comments, with some commenters just announcing that they look forward to watching the episode, and others “reviewing” the recap after watching it, just like in the comments to Sandrine and Jan. These comments are the most extreme of the three women’s in all ways: they are the most sex-focused, the most critical, but also the most “fan”like with some commenters appearing to be as much her fans as fans of the TV show or transmedial world. Their approach also help confirm her status as elevated “priestess”, preaching the gospel to the people. Her fans appear to be both men and women. Love the video! every time I see something I really like or don’t like.. or just can’t remember how it went in the book I’m like “I’ll wait to see what CBG19 thought about it.” (male, 4:03, April 23, 2014)49 I think your GOTs reviews are the best on YouTube. It’s apparent that you have read all of the books, and therefore you know what you’re talking about. You’re funny and charismatic, and you have a gift for making the most mundane details interesting. Keep ‘em coming!! (female, 4:07, May 28, 2014)50

Her commenters also seem to be the most obsessed about the transmedial world, dwelling on small details of each episode: why are the swords pointless and shiny when they were meant to be black and red and gnarly? also why were they seemingly so easy to forge by just a castle smithy when they are valerian steel? I was looking forward to seeing those for ages. (male, 4:01, May 21, 2014)51

Jan’s viewers are perhaps the most transmedial world savvy of all three audiences, and, therefore, they are also the ones who appear most detailed in their critique of her show: You are unintentionally spoiling it. […] Your predictions about Pycelle were totally based on your knowledge from the books, which I prefer not to talk about it here any further. I always admired the way you work on the details, however to be honest that was kinda bummer. (male, 4:06, May 15, 2014)52

Finally, as, of our three subjects, Comicbookgirl19 presents herself in the most feminine and overtly sexual way (with the occasional low cleavage, tight-fitting outfit, etc.), she is also the one who gets the most comments on her looks:



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“Much as I liked your review, your new black top with the plunging neckline was just as worth tuning into!” (male, 4:03, April 23, 2014).53 Despite the fact that ComicBookGirl19 never replies, or very rarely interacts with her commenters, she does not seem to antagonize them in any way. To summarize, in contrast to the study by Wotanis and McMillan previously mentioned, our analysis of comments to our three recap hosts’ videos, with few exceptions, shows an interesting lack of gender-oriented and sexist comments. In this way, they respond positively to the three hosts’ neutral strategy of “not rhetorically being women”54 as we saw in relation to their use of humor. Commenters of both sexes seem mostly content-driven in their responses, positioning themselves either as fervent transmedial world fans or, in the case of ComicBookGirl19, as adoring fans of her, the YouTube star. Perhaps, as we will discuss below, this also reflects the way the hosts position themselves in the videos: they speak from a fellow fan and geek expert perspective.

The “Breaker of Chains” Episode: Understanding “Rape” “Breaker of Chains” is the third episode in Season 4 and follows right after the shocking death by poisoning of King Joffrey, one of the biggest villains of the program. This episode shows the aftermath of his death, how it affects others, who is suspected and, eventually, arrested, and also follows the increasing tension at the Wall, where the Night Watch is ever more under pressure. Plus, there’s a little final interlude involving Daenerys laying siege to Meereen. It is not so much an action episode, as a character development episode. We chose it for our analysis because it has an interesting degree of argumental complexity (plots and alliances behind the royal assassination), and also because it provoked a lot of online controversy following the scene when Jaime Lannister rapes his sister, Cersei, in front of the dead body of their son Joffrey (see also Gjelsvik in this volume, pages 57–78). The Fan Perspective Sandrine at HappyCool reviews the episode together with Kenny.55 They engage in a lively dialogue, which involves going through a list of the important things that happened, jumping quickly from one theme to another. The viewer needs to have just seen the episode, or have a good grip of the cast, to be able to follow them. However, even if the jumping through topics is quick, Sandrine and Kenny are careful to pause and explain (or ask the right questions), when something is complicated, for example: “Margaery. What is up with her? Is she the Queen? Is she not the Queen? It would have been better if they [Margaery and Tommen] had consummated.”

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They dwell at the complex topics introduced by the episode: Who killed Joffrey? Is Tywin lying to Oberyn? What is the moral status of Ygritte? They even identify things that were not explained well enough on screen, and point at them to help the viewers understand the episode: “Don’t you think Sam might have said a word or two about Craster’s Keep coming under attack? That was a little weird. It wasn’t really explained well enough for me [Sandrine].” It is interesting that when they get to the rape scene Kenny is reticent while Sandrine is more assertive. However the situation gets quickly defused with humor, and the moral evaluation is rather light: K: That great scene moved into a scene that is, let’s call it questionable, shall we? SS: What I called the “incest rape”. K: The incest. SS: Only Game of Thrones. K: Only Game of Thrones. SS: Only Game of Thrones would do this. K: Let’s have incest, let’s have rape. We’ll make the show better by putting them together. It’s insrape. SS: I don’t know. Really are we going there …? K: They went there. SS: Really are we going there? I do think it makes Jaime a little bit less likable because I was starting to really like him and now I’m like, oh, can you really like him now?

At the end of the recap, they conclude it was a “good episode”, with a sort of subdued enthusiasm. It follows from their enthusiastic body language and voices that they have enjoyed each and every one of the commented moments in this episode, and their laconism demonstrates how they favor emotional appraising over argumentation. Their rhetoric stance seems to be that their enthusiasm will be enough to convince viewers that their opinions are worthwhile watching; and they appeal to an intimacy with the fans that are just so awestruck at the end of each episode that no more is needed to communicate. And, judging from the comments, it works really well. Their ideal audience seems to be mainstream spectators that haven’t read the books, as we can see from the comments where several latch on to the “incest rape” labeling. On parallel lines, however, several of the commenters are clearly transmedial experts who are busy “redeeming” the alleged rape scene, positioning themselves as more hardcore transmedial world experts than Kenny or Sandrine: for all those complaining about rape incest. you must have not read the book. it explains that it was more of a lovers quarrel … (male, 4:03, May, 2014)56



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I hate that they turned that Cercei and Jaime scene into a rape scene!!! It was not a fucking rape in the book wtf! They just killed Jaimes character development and Cercei is gonna be more of a bitch now! (female, 4:03, May, 2014)57

The Enabler Perspective Jan Gilbert’s recap, in Flicks and the City, is the most structured of the three.58 It is very thorough; all scenes in the show are mentioned, even though some very briefly. She constructs a meta-frame around the different events of the episode, giving them funny subtitles like “Insane of Thrones”, or “Boob and buttometer”. The action is described and evaluated with an ironic distance that situates Gilbert above her subject, while at the same time she remains deeply connected to the spirit of the transmedial world, as many of these jokes are in-jokes, such as in her goodbye (“If you’re not watching Jan G on GoT, you’re knowing nothing”). Gilbert speaks quickly and with poise, pausing only to explain the difficult plot points. However, her reflections are often metaphoric, and require good knowledge of plot twists and character relations to be understood: Margaery has had two husbands now, and both of them have died in mysterious circumstances. So I’m guessing that the next line that ventures into the rose garden might be a little bit more wary of those thorns. (April 20, 2014)

Gilbert positions herself as a chronicler that sees the characters from above, as a narrator or a political commentator forced to be objective: “so he did what anyone would do if they were trying to protect a woman from unwanted male attention, he took her to a brother in Moles’ Town.” She does not express enthusiasm, and her body language is very contained. But she does have strong opinions that are sharp in their analyses of situations and the way they connect plot turns: “never trust someone who repeats things. Repeating things is not a sign of trustworthiness. Here’s hoping that Sansa wakes up and smells the lemon cakes before it’s too late.” Again, the “lemon cakes” are not a casual choice, but rather a clever reference to Sansa’s favorite sweet, as fans of the transmedial world will recognize. The end of Gilbert’s recap is the perfect example of how she likes to stir some debate and take a step back to let her followers talk: So, what was your favourite moment of this week’s episode? What do you think Littlefinger’s really up to? What do you think about Arya and The Hound having their own spin off show?

The rape scene does not get a lot of commentary by Gilbert, all she says is: “he (Jaime) had rather less, um, fatherly feelings in mind as he forced himself on Cersei in front of Joffrey’s lifeless body.”

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Either the topic is not interesting to her or it was too controversial to be treated with the distance that characterizes these reviews. This is reflected in the viewers’ comments, where nobody (contrary to HappyCool viewers) discusses it. They focus instead on some of the other elements of the TV show episode, such as responding to Jan’s request for their bids on the best scene of the episode. This seems to indicate that Jan is successful in her accommodating rhetorics, orienting her active viewers towards certain aspects of the show and not others. The Priestess Perspective Comicbookgirl19 starts by enthusiastically rating the episode “the favorite of the season” so far (April 22, 2014).59 She proceeds to summarize the main points, following individual characters and fueled by the “ignorant” questions of the robot, but her recap is based on going into depth with the four complex topics: the Lannister–Tyrell alliance; the rape scene; the backstory of the Dornish (with a map); and Danaerys’s strategy for conquering Meereen. These topics require quite a bit of knowledge of the transmedial world to be understood. Comicbookgirl19 explains them to the average viewer, drawing on her knowledge of the world. The rape scene is contextualized in a different light from much other Internet commentary. She criticizes the way it is done in the TV show in comparison to the books, because the context of the scene has changed so much, and it twists the way we will perceive the characters from that episode on. In her analysis, she explains how complex a character she perceives Jaime Lannister to be: The only person he loves, besides himself, is Cersei, because she’s his twin, which is just a female version of himself. But now that they’re hitting, like, their middle age, it’s like they’re starting to become more separate people, like, they’re not the same people that they were growing up, you know, and all of these things that have happened to Cersei, and all these that’ve happened to Jaime have caused them to kinda start drifting apart, and that’s kind of hard, especially for him.

Her commentary style is interesting in that it changes focus and speed quite often. One moment, she is giving us the big lines of an alliance that spans over several books, the next she is going into the emotional minutiae of a scene. The language is always very colloquial, translating the medieval flavor of the series to a very fresh tone that mixes the serious and the profane in humorous combinations: He [Tommen] looks like he’s old enough to where he could bone Margaery, potentially. In the books, it’s like, it’s gonna be a while before they can consummate anything.



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This recap also contains two interesting comments related to gender issues. Comicbookgirl19 criticizes the way in which the Daario Naharis character has been “masculinized” in relation to the books: [M]y one criticism is that he’s still not as ridiculous as he is in the books. There’s no blue beard going on here, alright, I don’t see any Myrish lace on this dude, okay, this guy’s supposed to have, just, lace just pouring out of his fucking suit, okay, he’s just supposed to be the most gaudy, ridiculouslooking person in the world, and I think it’s a missed opportunity to be able to show a man, who’s like this total badass fighter, but he’s still, like, super feminine and very metro about the way he looks. I don’t know. I think that could be really complex and interesting.

Are the producers afraid of too much sexual ambiguity? It is remarkable that a show that has caused so much stir because of the abundant nudity and sex scenes, is “sexying down” the content of the books. Comicbookgirl19 has another example in this same episode. In the books, the women of Meereen wear a dress that shows one of their breasts, a fashion which Daenerys eventually adopts. But Comicbookgirl19 comments that it will not happen in the TV show because “it’s just gonna be too much for people to deal with”. She has her own reasons for wishing that it does happen: “I would like to see them do it, to be honest, because, you know, I don’t know, we need to desexualize tits a little bit in our culture, so we’re not controlled by them from advertising people.” Her point is actually quite progressive: a naked breast is acceptable in a sex scene aimed at exciting the spectators, but it is dangerous when it is just a naked part of a body. The commenters consent to Comicbookgirl19’s observations and thoughts with corrections to the “boob” issue based on details in the books. The rape scene is mentioned by a few, but only one commenter goes into detail with a very thorough analysis, which several other commenters like: I had zero issues with the scene between Cersei and Jaime because yes, technically speaking, he did force himself upon her but wasn’t this more symbolic of the nature of their relationship as a whole? … To put it simply, Jaime is confused and frustrated by Cersei “mind fucking” him and it’s not unreasonable to believe that given the nature of their relationship which is shifting from “true love” to a mere grab for power over one another, that Weiss and Benioff chose to portray it in such a base and “in your face” manner … Too often nowadays, subtleties and symbolism seem to be lost on people and they are quick to express outrage over something without really thinking it through or simply reading between the lines … (male, 4:03, April 2014)60

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This comment illustrates well the depth of knowledge of the transmedial world of GoT, and the high level of abstraction that Comicbookgirl’s viewers are capable of as fans with a good grip on the plot of both books and the TV series. It would seem that her sophistication as a fan expert is mirrored by the viewers of her show. Otherwise, the Facebook comments to this episode are mostly praise for Comicbookgirl19 directly, in one case even in the shape of overt criticism of her (male) peers: “Tell The Young Turks [the people behind the GoT recap What the Flick] to watch all your GoT stuff before making their recaps.”61 In conclusion, whereas the rape scene caused heated debate elsewhere online, there is surprisingly little engagement with it both in the recap episodes, and also in the comments to these (see Gjelsvik in this volume for a discussion of fan’s reactions to the rape scene). We argue that this is both due to the fact that our female hosts have chosen to downplay it, and perhaps also, in the case of Comicbookgirl19 and Jan Gilbert, because their approach is based on their knowledge of the books. Those fans commenting on the videos are also “fans in the know”, more interested in the general development of the transmedial world, which is ultimately a fiction, rather than the controversial set-up of the scene by the producers. It would go against both style and tradition of the recaps to launch into a gendered discussion of the scene, rather it holds interest as a plot development which confirms the perceived “worldness” of GoT (“only in Game of Thrones” as Sandrine puts it); or as example of a violation of the original mythos, as perceived by the transmedial world fans (the scene as underscoring the fact that Jaime and Cersei are “kinda drifting apart” as Comicbookgirl19 puts it). It would also become rather difficult, if not impossible, to keep the humorous attitude if they were to address rape beyond the fictional framework.

Conclusion In this chapter, we have described the genre of the “fan recap” for the first time, identifying the nature of its informational and emotional value for fans as well as the social and self-reflective value of making, watching, and enabling dialogue about recaps. We have presented examples of creativity and eloquence both from the recap hosts and their viewers, arguing that the production and reception of fan recaps is at the heart of fandom pleasures. We have argued that a transmedial world such as GoT is the perfect subject for recaps, both in terms of plot complexity and emotional engagement, and we have, surprisingly, observed that being a successful recap host does not always need to be tied to extensive expertise of the whole universe. We have focused on three styles of female fan recap host, and the difference in the way they position themselves rhetorically. We propose these styles as



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archetypical of three distinctive mediation strategies. Interestingly, we find that the three women fan experts do not carve out their expert status in the same way, but that each manages to successfully mediate between the transmedial world and the fans, relating to the universe in her own individual way. The variety in style is also reflected in the way they present themselves as women (ranging from geek girl to cyberpunk “hottie”). There is a lot of derision attached to the term “fangirl”, but these three recap hosts demonstrate that being a female expert fan is not tied to hysterics or mindless adoration; rather, they are all highly knowledgeable, opinionated, and articulated; and they also manage to engage both a male and female audience without attracting any overtly sexually aggressive comments. We argue that this is because they are not perceived as “girls who are fans”, but rather as fans who happen to be girls. Indeed, in the interviews, gender was not something that Sandrine nor Jan had experienced as an impediment, or as something that they were forced to deal with much in interaction with their viewers. Their engagement with the transmedial world is what matters, and in this way, they prove themselves as capable, and in many cases more so, than male recap reviewers. It is a surprising finding in itself that overall, gender does not seem to be important to the three hosts, nor to their audiences, a finding that is concurrent with the three hosts use of “neutral” humor. While, as we pointed out in the introduction, gender in other content genres on YouTube does seem to matter, and being a smart woman in other areas attracts hate and mockery, we have not found any evidence that this is the case in our study.62 For Gilbert, just speaking up, “taking up time and space” can be considered a feminist act in itself even if what is being said is not addressing feminist issues per se.63 In our three hosts’ case, it is the exception rather than the rule to find mockery or gender-biased commentary in the comments made on their performances. But we must also admit that they do exist, albeit in a minimal proportion. Our three female recap hosts have attained high fandom status without gender being an impediment. We do not have enough data to conclude as to why is this so, but it would seem that in this particular case the object of fandom can actually erase differences that are visible in other areas. What matters, ultimately, is Game of Thrones.

Notes   1. YouTube Press Room, 2014   2. Jean E. Burgess and Joshua B. Green. “The entrepreneurial vlogger: participatory culture beyond the professional-amateur divide,” in The YouTube Reader, ed. Pelle Snickars and Patrick Vonderau (Stockholm: National Library of Sweden/ Wallflower Press, 2009).   3. YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mnfYj-cHM5c (accessed March 11, 2015).

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  4. Burgess and Green, “The Entrepreneurial Vlogger,” 91.   5. About gender usage patterns see Lindsey Wotanis and Laurie McMillan, “Performing Gender on Youtube,” Feminist Media Studies 14, no. 6 (2014): 912–18.   6. H. Molyneaux et al., “Exploring the Gender Divide on YouTube: An analysis of the Creation and Reception of Vlogs,” American Communication Journal 10, no. 2 (2008): 4.   7. Molyneaux, et al., “Exploring the Gender Divide on Youtube,” 8–10.   8. Wotanis and McMillan, “Performing Gender on Youtube,” 912.   9. Ibid., 919. 10. Lisbeth Klastrup and Susana Tosca, “Transmedial Worlds—Rethinking Cyberworld Design,” Cyberworlds Conference Proceedings (2004): 409–16; Lisbeth Klastrup and Susana Tosca, “Because It Just Looks Cool!: Fashion as Character Performance, the Case of WOW,” Journal of Virtual Worlds Research 1, no. 3 (2009): 1–17; Lisbeth Klastrup and Susana Tosca, “When Fans Become Players: LOTRO in a Transmedial World Perspective,” in Ringbearers: The Lord of the Rings Online as Intertextual Narrative, ed. Krzywinska et al. (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2011), 46–69; Lisbeth Klastrup and Susana Tosca, “A Game of Thrones: Transmedial Worlds, Fandom and Social Gaming,” in Storyworlds Across Media, ed. Marie-Laure Ryan and Jan-Nöel Thon (Nebraska: University of Nebraska Press, 2013), 295–314; Susana Tosca and Héctor Puente Bienvenido, “The Social Dimension of Collective Storytelling in Skyrim,” in Proceedings of DIGRA 2013 (2013). 11. Klastrup and Tosca, “Transmedial Worlds, Fandom and Social Gaming,” 409. 12. Klastrup and Tosca, “Transmedial Worlds—Rethinking Cyberworld Design,” 409–16. 13. See Jason Mittell, Complex TV: The Poetics of Contemporary Television Storytelling (New York: New York University Press, 2015) and Steven Johnson Everything Bad is Good for You (London: Penguin, 2005). 14. Klastrup and Tosca, “When Fans Become Players.” 15. Cornell Sandvoss, Fans: The Mirror of Consumption (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2005), 149. 16. Sandvoss, Fans: The Mirror of Consumption, 8. 17. Henry Jenkins, Textual Poachers: Television Fans and Participatory Culture (New York: Routledge, 1992). 18. Nancy Baym, Tune In. Log on: Soaps, Fandom and Online Community (London: Sage, 2000), 96–106. 19. Baym, Tune In. Log On, 107. 20. Jennifer Hayward, Consuming Pleasures. Active Audiences and Serial Fictions from Dickens to Soap Opera (Kentucky: The University Press of Kentucky, 1997), 2. 21. Hayward, Consuming Pleasures, 136. 22. Ibid., 54 and 137. 23. Victor Costello and Barbara Moore, “Cultural Outlaws: An Examination of Audience Activity and Online Television Fandom,” Television and New Media 8, no. 2 (2007): 141. 24. See Nete Nørgaard Kristensen and Unni From, Kulturjournalistik—Journalistik om Kultur [Cultural Journalism: Journalism about Culture] (Copenhagen: Samfundslitteratur, 2011) and Anne Middelboe Christensen, Begejstring og



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brutalitet—en guide til anmelderens rolle [Enthusiasm and Brutality: A Guide to the Role of the Reviewer] (Copenhagen: Informations Forlag, 2012). 25. Grant Blank, Critics, Ratings, and Society: A Sociology of Reviews (Maryland: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, 2007). 26. See Nete Nørgaard Kristensen,“Kulturjournalistik—fra finkulturel kritik til PR og adspredelse” [“Cultural Journalism: From High Culture Criticism to PR and Entertainment”], Kontur—Tidsskrift for Kulturstudier 3 (2001), and Kristensen and From, Kulturjournalistik, 2011. 27. It is important to note here that a few of the recap shows are hosted by journalists or people serving a journalist function as content providers working for a professionalized web magazine. This is the case with Jan and the people appearing in What the Flick. 28. Blank, Critics, Ratings, and Society, 4. 29. Aristotle, Rhetorics, trans. W. Rhys Roberts (New York: Courier Dover Publications, 2004). 30. In fact, this “troll infestation” is one of the reasons ComicBookGirl19s gives when she decides to discontinue her “GoT rewind show” in April 2015, going instead over to doing a couple of reviews for Season 5 of the show (one for mid season and a final one which we will comment on later). In “Reasons why GoT rewind show was cancelled,” available online: http://www.comicbookgirl19. com/#!5-Reasons-why-Game-of-Thrones-Rewind-show-was-canceled/ cvts/551b17ba0cf21e26bac3d11c (accessed August 12, 2015). 31. Rosemary Coombe, “Author(iz)ing the Celebrity,” in The Celebrity Culture Reader, ed. David P.Marshall (New York: Routledge, 2006), 734. 32. John Langer, “Television’s ‘Personality System’.” In The Celebrity Culture Reader, ed. David P. Marshall (New York: Routledge, 2006), 192. 33. Frances Gray, Women and Laughter (Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 1994) and Joanne R. Gilbert, Performing Marginality. Humor, Gender and Cultural Critique (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2004). 34. Gray, Women and Laughter, 181. 35. Gilbert, Performing Marginality, 128. 36. The most popular ones with male hosts are Emergency Awesome (one man), PhiltheIssues Guy (typically two men), sawyer7mage (one man). In addition, What the Flick is a recap show hosted by the webtv channel The Young Turks, typically including two men (or one man and one woman) as guests of a male studio host. 37. Except for the two features about Season 5 of GoT, deliberately shot with one camera pointing at her and primitive production. 38. Such as http://hellogiggles.com/comic-books-as-modern-mythology-aninterview-with-comic-book-girl–19 and http://mancave.cbslocal.com/2013/02/ 06/interview-with-comic-book-girl–19 (accessed March 14, 2015). 39. Hello Giggles, http://hellogiggles.com/comic-books-as-modern-mythology-aninterview-with-comic-book-girl–19 (accessed March 14, 2015). 40. Ibid. 41. Gilbert, Performing Marginality, for comic postures see p. 96, for ignoring gender see p. 131. 42. Unfortunately, at the beginning of Season 5 in April 2015, Comicbookgirl19 announced that she was cancelling the GoT rewind show for several reasons such as lack of resources and a massive troll infestation (as explained here:

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http://www.comicbookgirl19.com/#!5-Reasons-why-Game-of-Thrones-Rewindshow-was-canceled/cvts/551b17ba0cf21e26bac3d11c), and proceeded to do only two reviews of the season, a mid season review (https://www.youtube. com/watch?v=Fh8zutnlIA4) and a final review (https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=qULh3ZWiA6U) (all accessed August 11, 2015). In this last video, her reasons for stopping become much clearer: since Season 5 has deviated so much from the original books, she doesn’t like it any more, and she doesn’t want to keep on being critical, alienating her audience. “I don’t know what to tell you about next season. I am sure everybody will love it. I am sure I will be the only person who hates it […] This is why I dont want to review GoT anymore. Because I am going to sound like a fucking grandma, that’ll be mhi mhi mhi mhi … books! I dont want to sound like that […] It is just going to upset you when I say things like this. I dont want to upset you.” 43. In Season 5, Comicbookgirl19 is not doing recaps (apart from two more general videos), and Jan is missing a few episodes due to an accident. In this season, some of the strong women characters suffer various humiliations (like Sansa’s at the hands of Ramsay Bolton or Cersei’s Walk of Shame). None of our three hosts commented specifically on these two topics from a feminist point of view, but neutrally, as plot devices. For example, Comicbookgirl19 says (https://www. youtube.com/watch?v=qULh3ZWiA6U) that Sansa’s character was built up in an interesting way, getting more and more agency, but then, the rape scene reverses her arch. She is very unhappy about this, and not even humor can hide her bitterness: “I hated it […] I bet like Sansa is now: Tyrion was not so fucking bad!” 44. YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kEd59ijBvQg&lc=z13ydzhwhpiwxp f3g23axdfq2xyljv4gj04 (accessed March 11, 2015). 45. Google Plus, https://plus.google.com/+HappyCoolOfficial/posts/1enVAgMHXKK (accessed March 11, 2015). 46. YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vVIZ9FFn1ZQ&lc=z13ncp2ixqnxf vc5f04cefdyayqawr5ilug0k (accessed March 11, 2015). 47. YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vVIZ9FFn1ZQ&google_comment_ id=z13ncp2ixqnxfvc5f04cefdyayqawr5ilug0k (accessed March 11, 2015). 48. YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s8j4iOoTAOA&lc=z12ispzjwrj3hnk 0f235ylh5nkzuzltgk04 (accessed March 11, 2015). 49. Facebook, https://www.facebook.com/Comicbookgirl19/ posts/637644599651277?comment_id=3964786 (accessed March 11, 2015). 50. Facebook, https://www.facebook.com/Comicbookgirl19/posts/ 651032451645825?comment_id=654675917948145 (accessed March 11, 2015). 51. Facebook, https://www.facebook.com/Comicbookgirl19/ posts/630688193680251?comment_id=651192931629777 (accessed March 11, 2015). 52. Facebook, https://www.facebook.com/Comicbookgirl19/ posts/648080321941038?comment_id=648103975272006 (accessed March 11, 2015). 53. Facebook, https://www.facebook.com/Comicbookgirl19/ posts/637644599651277?comment_id=3967062 (accessed March 11, 2015). 54. Gilbert, Performing Marginality, 170. 55. YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_KnX6w1geC8 (accessed March 11, 2015).



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56. YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_KnX6w1geC8&lc=z134id24or2hjt 4bv04cip4bxz2ksvepuc0 (accessed March 11, 2015). 57. YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_KnX6w1geC8&lc=z13pyj2wruvqt 5ej304celqytuj2ijhazos0k (accessed March 11, 2015). 58. YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B5KVF0yYtGg (accessed March 11, 2015). 59. YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CICHF-L9vuk (accessed March 11, 2015). 60. Facebook, https://www.facebook.com/Comicbookgirl19/posts/637644599651277? comment_id=3964523 (accessed March 11, 2015). 61. Facebook, https://www.facebook.com/Comicbookgirl19/ posts/637644599651277?comment_id=3964576 (accessed March 11, 2015). 62. For example, as shown in Sherrie Inness, Geek Chic: Smart Women in Popular Culture (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), or in the recent Gamergate controversy, see, for instance, coverage by The New York Times (http://www. nytimes.com/2014/10/16/technology/gamergate-women-video-game-threatsanita-sarkeesian.html?_r=0) or the Guardian (http://www.theguardian.com/ commentisfree/2014/oct/21/gamergate-angry-men-harassing-women) (both accessed August 11, 2015). 63. Gilbert, Performing Marginality, 171.

Bibliography Aristotle. Rhetorics. Translated by W. Rhys Roberts. New York: Courier Dover Publications, 2004. Baym, Nancy. Tune In. Log on: Soaps, Fandom and Online Community. London: Sage, 2000. Blank, Grant. Critics, Ratings, and Society: A Sociology of Reviews. Maryland: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, 2007. Burgess, Jean E. and Joshua B. Green. “The Entrepreneurial Vlogger: Participatory Culture Beyond the Professional-Amateur Divide.” In The YouTube Reader. Edited by Pelle Snickars and Patrick Vonderau, 89–107. Stockholm: National Library of Sweden/Wallflower Press, 2010. Coombe, Rosemary. “Author(iz)ing the Celebrity.” In The Celebrity Culture Reader. Edited by David P. Marshall, 721–69. New York: Routledge, 2006. Costello, Victor and Barbara Moore. “Cultural Outlaws: An Examination of Audience Activity and Online Television Fandom.” Television and New Media 8, no. 2 (2007): 124–43. Gilbert, Joanne R. Performing Marginality. Humor, Gender and Cultural Critique. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2004. Gray, Frances. Women and Laughter. Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 1994. Hayward, Jennifer. Consuming Pleasures. Active Audiences and Serial Fictions from Dickens to Soap Opera. Kentucky: The University Press of Kentucky, 1997. Inness, Sherrie A. Geek Chic: Smart Women in Popular Culture. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008.

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Jenkins, Henry. Textual Poachers: Television Fans and Participatory Culture. New York: Routledge, 1992. Johnson, Kim, Christy Crutsinger and Jane Workman. “Can Professional Women Appear Too Masculine? The Case of the Necktie.” In Dress and Identity, edited by Mary Ellen Roach-Higgins, 27–31. New York: Fairchild, 1994. Johnson, Steven. Everything Bad is Good for You: How Popular Culture is Making Us Smarter. London: Penguin, 2005. Klastrup, Lisbeth, and Susana Tosca. “Transmedial Worlds—Rethinking Cyberworld design.” CW2004 Cyberworlds Conference Proceedings. Los Alamitos: IEEE, 2004: 409–16. Klastrup, Lisbeth, and Susana Tosca. “Because It Just Looks Cool! Fashion as Character Performance, the Case of WOW.” Journal of Virtual Worlds Research 1, no. 3 (2009): 1–17. Klastrup, Lisbeth, and Susana Tosca. “When Fans Become Players: LOTRO in a Transmedial World Perspective.” In Ringbearers: The Lord of the Rings Online as Intertextual Narrative, edited by Tanya Krzywinska, Esther MacCallum-Stewart, and Justin Parsler, 46–69. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2011. Klastrup, Lisbeth, and Susana Tosca. “‘A Game of Thrones’: Transmedial Worlds, Fandom & Social Gaming.” In Storyworlds Across Media, edited by Marie-Laure Ryan and Jan-Noël Thon, 295–314. Nebraska: University of Nebraska Press, 2013. Langer, John. “Television’s ‘Personality System’.” In The Celebrity Culture Reader, edited by David P. Marshall, 181–96. New York: Routledge, 2006. Marshall, David P. “New Media—New Self.” In The Celebrity Culture Reader, edited by David P. Marshall, 634–45. New York: Routledge, 2006. Middelboe Kristensen, A. Begejstring og brutalitet—en guide til anmelderens rolle [Excitement and Brutality: A Guide for the Role of the Reviewer]. København: Informations Forlag, 2012. Mittell, Jason. Complex Television: The Poetics of Contemporary Television Storytelling. New York: New York University Press, 2015. Quoted from the online published draft. Available online: http://mcpress.media-commons.org/complextelevision/ author/jmittell (accessed September 14, 2014). Molyneaux, H., S. O’Donnell, K. Gibson, and J. Singer. “Exploring the Gender Divide on YouTube: An Analysis of the Creation and Reception of Vlogs.” American Communication Journal 10, no. 2 (2008): 1–14. Nørgaard Kristensen, Nete. “Kulturjournalistik—fra finkulturel kritik til PR og adspredelse” [“Cultural Journalism: From High Culture Criticism to PR and Entertainment”]. Kontur—Tidsskrift for Kulturstudier 3 (2011): 3–15. Nørgaard Kristensen, Nete, and Unni From. Kulturjournalistik—Journalistik om Kultur [Cultural Journalism: Journalism about Culture]. Copenhagen: Samfundslitteratur, 2011. Sandvoss, Cornel. Fans: The Mirror of Consumption. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2005. Tosca, Susana, and Hector Bienvenido Puente. “The Social Dimension of Collective Storytelling in Skyrim.” DIGRA Proceedings (2013): 1–12. Wotanis, Lindsey, and Laurie McMillan. “Performing Gender on Youtube.” Feminist Media Studies 14, no. 6, (2014): 912–28.

Chapter 11 “I’ M N O T G O I N G T O F IG H T T H E M , I’ M G O I N G T O F U C K T H E M ” : S E X I ST L I B E R A L I SM A N D G E N D E R ( A ) P O L I T IC S I N G A M E OF T H R ON E S Stéphanie Genz

The time has come to think about sex … Disputes over sexual behaviour often become the vehicles for displacing social anxieties, and discharging their attendant emotional intensity. Consequently, sexuality should be treated with special respect in times of great social stress.1 As I finish watching Season 5 of the HBO series Game of Thrones (2011–), replete with the now predictably unexpected gore, graphic nudity, and violence, I am struck by the relevance of Gayle Rubin’s words from her classic piece “Thinking Sex” (1984). In effect, it is hard not to “think about sex” when it comes to George R. R. Martin’s dark fantasy about family feuds, political crises, and individual hardship. In the television series, sex is everywhere, and everyone has sex, so much so that the series seems to revolve around a “gotta fuck” mandate, whereby sex is both ubiquitous and compulsory, in particular for female characters for whom “fucking” takes on male supremacist meanings. Given the pornographic fusion of violence, and sexuality and the deliberate absence of moral standards, Game of Thrones is enthralling, disorientating, and leaves me with a sense of unease, as I keep asking myself: “Why am I watching this?” Adapted from a series of international bestselling epic fantasy novels, the American television drama is widely popular, with Game of Thrones officially becoming the most-watched HBO series of all time, in 2014. While this points towards the crossover appeal to those viewers who normally do not favor fantasy genres (including myself), it also makes me wonder why the series has captured our imagination to such an extent. Undeniably, because of the raunchy and explicit content, one explanation can be found in audiences’ voyeuristic viewing pleasure as they delight in the spectacle of violence and sex. More importantly however, Martin’s fantasy speaks to us because it is a poignant social commentary grounded in sexual/ sexist, economic, cultural, and political conditions.

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Despite the fantasy setting, the series is overtly presentist in its engagement with social matters like gender and sexuality and economic fears of bankruptcy. The series is laden with socio-political themes, including issues of power and gender politics, and it works within a value system based on contemporary Western cultural, political, aesthetic, and economic factors. In what follows, I want to parse out the interrelation of Game of Thrones as a cultural text, and the political and ideological rhetoric and ideas that inform it. The series portrays a world that is ideologically fraught, a world ruled by paternalism—in crisis—and capitalism, and dominated by a particularly visceral form of gender (a)politics that belies assumptions of gender equality and sexual freedom. With its neo-medieval location, and proto-patriarchal social structure, Game of Thrones, undoubtedly, can be placed alongside other contemporary historical/fantasy texts like The Borgias (2011–13), typified by sexual licentiousness and aggressive physicality. The fictive past on offer here does not convey a depthless, ahistorical nostalgia, but rather the immediacy of a time stripped bare of social coherence and moral clarity, with citizens sharply divided by their rank and class and their access to capital. Caught in a field of contradictory political forces, women specifically are subjected to relentless abuse and violence, their principal resources tied to their fertility and sexuality. In this context, “fucking” comes to be seen as a survival strategy in the game of self-interest, a carnal tactic that allows them to negotiate exploitation and rape that loom large throughout Westeros. In this sense, the series is emblematic of a contemporary dialectic of what I call “sexist liberalism” and “liberal sexism” that complicates (and possibly invalidates) optimistic articulations of (female) entitlement and empowerment, favored by both neoliberal and postfeminist rhetoric.2 In addition, the issues raised in Game of Thrones around sex/sexism, and the political questions around power and equality, take on a particular significance in a post-2008 recessionary environment, marked by a return of austerity, and an overarching social climate of risk, suspicion, and uncertainty. The liberal sexism/sexist liberalism on show is a reminder that, as the series tagline tells us, “Winter is coming”, and that it might be a while before Daenerys Targaryen, Cersei Lannister, and Sansa Stark, among others, can invest their history with a sense of contingency and promise. Yet, these characters’ blatant struggles, and the bleakness of their fate might in themselves be an impetus for action and combat against the very structures that repress them.

The Spectacle of (Neoliberal) Violence If, as Rubin notes in the above epigraph, sexuality should be given special attention in periods of great social stress, then these are, indeed, particularly stressful and traumatic times.



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The post-millennium is troubled by a seemingly interminable economic crisis, and the ensuing atmosphere of austerity and anger at corporate greed, the rollback of opportunities, and transfer of risk to culture at large, and a global terrorism that feeds a generalized climate of fear through increasingly sadistic acts of torture (most recently in the shape of multiple civilian beheadings by Islamic militant groups). We seem to have entered what Henry Giroux, in his scathing attack on neoliberalism, calls a Darwinist survival-of-the-fittest world, a world in which freedom and equality have become unaffordable luxuries for the vast majority of the population.3 In the harsh climate of a “Wild West of casino capitalism”, Giroux is adamant that what we are seeing here amounts to a breakdown of democracy, symptomized by the disappearance of critical thought, the realm of the social, public values, and any consideration of the common good.4 As he explains in an account of the “Disimagination Machine”: We live in a time of deep foreboding, one that haunts any discourse about justice, democracy, and the future. Not only have the points of reference that provided a sense of certainty and collective hope in the past largely evaporated, but the only referents available are increasingly supplied by a hyper-market driven society, mega-corporations, and a corrupt financial service industry … Market discipline now regulates all aspects of social life and the regressive economic rationality that drives it sacrifices the public good, public values, and social responsibility to a tawdry consumerist dream while simultaneously creating a throwaway society of goods, resources, and individuals now considered disposable.5

Giroux condemns the free-market fundamentalism adopted by neoliberalism’s pro-corporate agenda which supports deregulated capitalism and the demise of the social state, and relies on an ethos of anti-intellectualism and ignorance to both “depoliticise the larger public while simultaneously producing the individual and collective subjects necessary and willing to participate in their own oppression”.6 In this reading, the “cheerful robot” comes to be seen as a metaphor for the systemic construction of “a new mode of depoliticised and thoughtless form of agency” that reduces civic responsibility to banal acts of consumption.7 Moreover, under the neoliberal regime of economic Darwinism, a culture of violence emerges that is unconstrained by a moral compass and shaped by a demand for intense excitement, particularly in the form of extreme images of torture and death that become “banally familiar”, while “familiar violence” is barely recognized.8 Pain, cruelty, and abuse are, thus, condensed into digestible spectacles for collective pleasure, while apathy and desensitization to violence grow. For Giroux, the neoliberal theater is unquestionably cruel and tyrannical, leaving no room for democratic public values, morality, or compassion.9

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In many ways, the Darwinian present that Giroux describes appears markedly similar to Game of Thrones’ fantasy world, where survival is the main objective, characters are disposable, and are effortlessly killed off—irrespective of their class, gender, or narrative function—and self-governance and responsibility are transferred to individual players, as we realize that the game is ruthless to the core. As Queen Cersei (Lena Headey) tells Ned Stark (Sean Bean) as the newly appointed Hand of the King, “when you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground” (1.07). The society depicted here is undeniably predatory, organized around hyperindividualism, and a brute ethos of the survival of the fittest that often takes delight in the suffering of others and pursues profit and personal gain at any cost. By the end of Season 4, we are left in no doubt that capital rules Westeros, as much as it rules the West. Even the Lannister patriarch Tywin (Charles Dance) has to admit that his outwardly powerful family owes everything to the Iron Bank of Brothers, a largely invisible yet hegemonic capitalist structure that rules less through physical force as, in Gramsci’s sense, through social, cultural, and political “leadership” enjoyed by a patriarchal elite that sets a particular set of interests and norms: “The temple holds its form for 1000 years or more. That’s what the Iron Bank is, a temple. We all live in its shadow and almost none of us know it. You can’t run from them. You can’t cheat them. You can’t sway them with excuses. If you owe them money, you’ll pay them back” (4.05).

Echoes to neoliberalism as a governmental program and economic model are easily discernible and applicable, relying simply on the “promotion of the interests of finance capital and the processes of financialization above and, if necessary, to the exclusion of all other interests.”10 Like their Wall Street counterparts, Westeros’ bankers also engage in a basic constitutive activity of capitalism, speculative finance that trades in risks and gambles on future outcomes, funding Stannis Baratheon’s (Stephen Dillane) ill-fated war for the Iron Throne (4.06). Following the paradigm of a neoliberal culture of violence, the series spotlights bloodshed and brutality in its depiction of carnage that is amplified in voyeuristic and aesthetic fashion, staging a performance of cruelty that is chilling in its banality and commonplaceness. John Atcheson’s words seem oddly prophetic here, suggesting that we are now hurtling into a dark past that was defined by “serfs and lords; by necromancy and superstition; by policies based on fiat, not facts”.11 Game of Thrones captures the urgency of the fantasy (as well as present) age in its opening sequence with its spinning globe-dial and ticking clock that remind the viewer that time is indeed up for the inhabitants of Westeros and men and women have to fight for their existence in a game that knows no honor, loyalty, or love. We seem to be witnessing an impeding apocalypse, an indefinitely lasting winter that lays bare the anxieties, cruelties, and



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complexities of an ideologically fraught culture where kinship and friendship are both essential, but also ineffectual in safeguarding the characters from suffering. There are copious graphic portrayals of blood and gore, explicit sex, and sadistic torture. In particular, violence appears to be entangled with sexual themes, as female characters are repeatedly abused and violated, borne out, for example, by the torture and murder of the low-born prostitute Ros (Esmé Bianco) at the hands of boy-king Joffrey (Jack Gleeson) in Season 3, as well as Sansa Stark’s (Sophie Turner) chilling off-camera rape by her psychopathic husband, Ramsay Snow (Iwan Rheon) in Season 5.12 Yet, what might start out as a gendered conflict between female victims and male aggressors is increasingly complicated as the gender binary of strength and vulnerability becomes blurred. In Game of Thrones, both male and female characters endure suffering, sexual violation, and dismemberment, reinforcing the series’ commitment to complex personalities and motives. Theon Greyjoy’s (Alfie Allen) castration and psychological abuse in Seasons 3 and 4, for instance—that rob him of his manhood and sense of self—are part of a grand display of cruelty and a stark reminder of how common torture is in a post-9/11 climate of fear and terror.13 Some critics have suggested that explicit spectacles of violence, such as these, may be therapeutic, and even soothing, for contemporary audiences, acting as a form of “cultural catharsis” and “affective callus to cover over past fears”, as we watch characters suffer and die horrific deaths.14 At the same time, graphic scenes like these also seem to spring from the same cultural impulse that led to the ritualized and systematic emasculation and sexual violation of predominantly Muslim detainees at prisons like Abu Ghraib, Iraq. As such, Game of Thrones is indicative of a torture culture that spreads fear and thrives on precarity, dread of punishment, and a perception of constant lurking threats.15 What remains unclear though is whether the series is part of the intellectual vacuum that Giroux identifies, a critical blank that cultivates ignorance, limits choices, and promotes violence. In the next sections, I want to investigate the series’ critical potential further by focusing on the gender (a)politics that emerge specifically in relation to sexuality and sexism.

Gender (A)Politics and Fucking the Law of the Father “Law is Law”, we are told at the beginning of Season 1—and there is no denying that Westeros is under the strict rule of the Law of the Father with heteropatriarchy firmly in place and seemingly omniscient (1.01). This is evident in the very first episode when youngster Bran Stark (Isaac Hempstead-Wright) is forced to witness the beheading of an honest man of the Night’s Watch deemed a deserter by the king’s law. As his half-brother Jon Snow (Kit Harington) tells him, “Don’t look away. Father will know if you do” (1.01).

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Here, gender identity follows well-defined scripts, whereby men fight and women give birth, men pass sentence and swing a sword, and women do “what they’re told”, as mad king Joffrey puts it, “because that’s what intelligent women do” (3.02). Yet, we soon learn how fragile this paternalistic rule is when Ned Stark, the supposed hero and moral compass of the series, suffers the same fate of decapitation at the end of the first season. The death of the Stark patriarch is just the first in a series of, at times, senseless, and non-dramatic killing-offs of central male characters: fat and ineffectual king Robert Baratheon (Mark Addy)—whose reign is held together in his own words by “backstabbing, scheming, arse-licking, and money-grabbing” (1.05)—is killed by a boar; warrior lord Khal Drogo (Jason Momoa) suffers a minor wound which precipitates his death; Robb Stark (Richard Madden) is gruesomely murdered at the Red Wedding, while evil patriarch Tywin Lannister is shot by his son and dies an undignified death, while sitting on the privy.16 Genre critics have been quick to point out that Game of Thrones does not afford what Tolkien called the “joy of the happy ending”, that guarantees the survival of the hero.17 The texts refuse to conform to pre-set narrative formulas and often work against the audience’s expectations of what is permissible. Without a doubt, the series portrays a more jaded and ambivalent world than Lord of the Rings: there are no clear-cut villains and no narrative safeguard that makes sure that central characters are protected. Instead, main characters die on a whim, often violently, while even the most well-intentioned, innocuous people are butchered and often perish for no reason other than as pertinent reminders of the fundamental brutality and injustice of the world they are born into. By now, incidentally, there is also a sense that the pleasure and surprise of the unexpected so obviously coveted by the creators of the television series have become somewhat formulaic—as viewers clearly anticipate to be shocked. Beyond these considerations of genre, these sudden male deaths also underline that here, masculinity is in crisis, and, more broadly, that patriarchy—as a political, cultural, economic, and sexual/sexist institution and discourse—is as damaging and dangerous for men, as it is for women. This might not amount to the death of patriarchy, but it shows, nonetheless, the fragility, hollowness, and vulnerability of a paternalistic gender order in which male rule is based on acts of gendered strength—and, therefore, at least to some extent, performative. At the same time, I am loath to herald Game of Thrones as a “subversively feminist tale” as some commentators have done.18 In effect, female rulers do not fare much better in their endeavors to establish a less violent and more caring social order: Daenerys Targaryen’s (Emilia Clarke) efforts to enforce her more egalitarian and compassionate moral code are represented as naive, and, ultimately, misguided as her repeated attempts to free slaves across the Narrow Seas backfire when some starve and others ask to be re-enslaved, problematizing a simplistic master/slave, subject/object dynamic. Moreover,



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her outlawing of sexual assault inadvertently causes the death of her husband and child as the sorceress she stopped from being raped mocks and betrays her by bewitching her beloved ones. “Three of those riders had already raped me,” she tells Daenerys, “you learn what life is worth when all the rest is gone” (1.10).

In this sense, the series is equally critical of matriarchal regimes, underscoring that all people can abuse and misuse authority and power itself might be abusive, unmanageable and ultimately destructive—as Daario Naharis (Michael Huisman) neatly summarizes the futility of benevolent governing, “all rulers are either butchers or meat” (5.07). Femininity is shown to be as disastrous as masculinity as a mode of power, exemplified in the case of Lysa Arryn (Kate Dickie), whose maternal rule feeds on fear and paranoia, and is based on an unhealthy and over-protective relationship with her six-year-old son. As we learn by the end of Season 4, Lysa’s “feminine” attachment and sexual desires for Petyr Baelish, “Littlefinger” (Aidan Gillen), might also be at the root of Game of Thrones’ entire social crises as her secret letter to her sister Catelyn Stark (Michelle Fairley)—written at Baelish’s persuasion, and falsely implicating the Lannister family in the death of her husband—plants a seed of distrust and causes a conflict that will degenerate into war between the various Houses. Conversely, femininity and sexuality also function as a potential source of female agency and power, following a well-rehearsed sex-positive postfeminist logic around sexual subjecthood.19 Daenerys’s example is the most explicit here as she embraces sexual empowerment as a means of survival and control. After enduring repeated sexual assaults at the hands of her barely articulate warrior husband, she seeks advice from a handmaiden on how to pleasure him. “The Dothraki take slaves like a hound takes a bitch,” the girl counsels her, “Don’t make love like a slave. In this tent, he belongs to you” (1.02). Similar sex instruction is delivered by a number of characters, from pimp Petyr Bailish’s directive to his prostitutes to make male customers feel “better than other men” (1.07), elderly matriarch Lady Olenna’s (Diana Rigg) admission “I was very good [in bed]” (4.04), to Cersei’s blunt tuition to a newly menstruating Sansa Stark that “tears aren’t a woman’s only weapon. The best one’s between your legs. Learn how to use it” (2.09). In this way, women are instructed to “fuck their way out of everything”, and use sex instrumentally as a source of power (2.09).20 At times, this “gotta fuck” agenda is defused and masked by being channeled through a hetero-conservative script of romance, marriage, and patriarchal kinship mandates that command women to be fertile and bear (male) “fruit.” The red sorceress Melisandre (Carice van Houten), for example, gains control over Stannis Baratheon and his army by promising him a son and heir and later advising his cooperative but “unproductive” (i.e. unable to birth a

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male offspring) wife, “It’s only flesh. It needs what it needs” (4.07).21 Yet, the patrilineal order is disturbed and subverted when Melisandre’s fertile body conceives not a male successor, but a more supernatural progeny. In a scene clearly reminiscent of what Barbara Creed calls the “monstrous feminine”—a common horror trope that relies on notions of abject maternal authority and invokes “pleasure in perversity”—a naked and panting Melisandre gives birth in a dark cave to the monstrous “shadow assassin” that kills Stannis’ younger brother and pretender to the throne.22 By contrast, in Daenerys’s case, the initial suggestion of marital rape is superimposed by a more romantic idea of sexual love where men are happy for women to be “on top.” Daenerys’s model exemplifies that not only is it permissible for men to rape women but women might actually enjoy being used and violated. Also, as rape is sanctioned by marriage, women might have no choice but to embrace their victimization and find pleasure in objectification.23 Here, a case could be made for “positive” objectification or sexual subjecthood but ultimately such hetero-conservative, postfeminist readings around female sexual agency and desire are suspended and cut short by Khal Drogo’s death that leaves an inexperienced Daenerys struggling to become a ruler in her own right. In a rush to simplify these narrative developments and construe Game of Thrones’ treatment of sex as a continuation of well-established sexual scripts and gender politics, we could interpret what we are seeing here as the same old story of sexual and sexist discourse: sex is a means of power employed by both men and women, whereby men use rape as a threat and women seek to acquire a form of sexual power that allows them to transcend their object status. As I will discuss in the next section, the series has been criticized for its exploitative formula of sex and violence and its use of expository dialogue framed by nudity—a not uncommon contemporary narrative device also employed by other pseudo-historical television texts, like HBO’s Rome (2005–7) and Showtime’s The Tudors (2007–10). While these charges of “sexposition” might be warranted, the uses and meanings of sex also need to be investigated further, particularly in relation to contemporary constructions of sexism. If we follow Rubin’s call that we think about sex in our times, we need to understand the ways in which sex, victimization and sexism operate, how they are linked and the uses they can be put to. We need to investigate “fucking” as a carnal strategy that can be employed by both male and female characters as a way of survival and doing politics. As Petyr Bailish summarizes what is at stake for those gamblers entering the power game from the margins, with the odds stacked against them: “I learned that I’ll never win. Not that way. That’s their game. Their rules. I’m not going to fight them, I am going to fuck them. That’s what I know. That’s what I am” (1.07).



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“Gotta Fuck” and Sexist Liberalism Sex and sexism have long been studied together as exemplary of a patriarchal power dynamic that uses sex to make sexist statements and produce sexist imagery. Representative of the occasionally sweeping comments of contemporary feminist critics, Natasha Walter states that in the 1970s for example “[a]ll treatments of sexuality in culture were forced to reveal the imprint of sexism. … [and] any hint of sexuality in culture was proof of sexism.”24 Indeed, for many second-wave feminist critics, the naming—and making visible—of sexism amounted to a feminist declaration and consciousnessraising. Marilyn Frye begins her essay “Sexism” with the observation that “like most women coming to a feminist perception of themselves and the world, I was seeing sexism everywhere and trying to make it perceptible to others”.25 For these feminist writers, sexism had to be seen and named as a problem because, as Frye suggests, many “would not see that what I declared to be sexist was sexist”.26 Sexism, or rather its exposure, was irrevocably linked to a feminist consciousness and awakening from a state of victimization and oppression to one of emancipation. Early second-wave consciousness-raising and activist efforts were often tied to the cataloguing of sexist incidents that were shown to be part of a hetero-normative social structure. The role of feminism was to bring to light this fundamental subjugation of women and teach them (to use Frye’s words) to “look macroscopically” at the “network of forces and barriers which are systematically related and which conspire to the immobilization, reduction, and molding of women, and the lives we live.”27 Frye anticipated that this awareness of sexism might come at a cost as women are caught in a double bind and often “participate in [their] own erasure” and signal their compliance with a “smile”.28 Pursuing a similar line of thought, psychologists have also distinguished between different forms of “hostile” and “benevolent” sexism, whereby the latter is “the carrot aimed at enticing women to enact traditional roles”, while the former is “the stick used to punish them when they resist”.29 In Game of Thrones, female characters quickly learn to distrust the “carrot”—in the form of romance and marriage—and beware of the “stick”. Confronted with Joffrey’s inherent cruelty and sadism, Sansa Stark in particular is forced to relinquish chivalric ideals whereby princes are handsome and kind and ladies are defined by their beauty and their ability to provide a rightful heir. Notwithstanding any subjective affection and attachment that women might feel towards sexism, second-wave feminists were united in their unequivocal dismissal of it. bell hooks expresses this compellingly: “feminism is a movement to end sexism, sexist exploitation, and oppression.”30 Yet, becoming aware and politicizing sexism has become an increasingly difficult feminist project and sexism itself is no longer clearly defined by a particular set of practices and attitudes towards women. Indeed, what counts and does not count as sexist is not as straightforward as it might have

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appeared to second-wave commentators, and sexism or anti-sexism have become contested terms with different meanings in different contexts. As Sara Mills comments, “the nature of sexism has changed over the last fifteen years because of feminist campaigns over equal opportunities, so that there now appears to be less overt sexism.”31 Sexism and anti-sexism have become entangled and confused with ideas around political correctness and “an excessive attention to the sensibilities of those who are seen as different from the norm.”32 Undoubtedly, there have been many social and cultural changes that have affected our understanding and representation of sexist hostility. Nevertheless, we would be hard pressed to deny that our “politically correct” times are also extraordinarily sexist, the recent controversy around lad culture at British universities being just one example of “everyday sexism” that is institutionalized and normalized in culture.33 Also, over the past few years, we have seen sexism re-emerge in feminist and cultural studies in a number of guises: from Susan Douglas’ “enlightened sexism”, and Sara Ahmed’s “critical sexism”, to more journalistic versions of “hipster sexism” which uses “mockery, quotation marks, and paradox”,34 sexism is very much en vogue among commentators who have re-embraced the term after years of academic and editorial abstinence. Rosalind Gill summarizes the current trend: the term sexism has quite literally disappeared from much feminist academic writing, as well as from everyday parlance … [we need to] reconceptualise it as an agile, dynamic, changing and diverse set of malleable representations and practices of power.”35

According to Gill, the “potency of sexism lies in its very unspeakability … just using the word sexism, naming it … would be an important political act.”36 Since then, many feminist and cultural critics have heeded this advice with a flurry of articles, books and non-academic websites that examine how sexism operates in contemporary culture and society.37 Sexism, nowadays, takes many different forms, from classic examples of “commodity feminism” that incorporate feminist rhetoric for advertising purposes (Goldman) to “retro-sexism” (Whelehan), “porno chic” (McNair), raunch culture (Levy), and “new sexism” (Benwell).38 In Susan Douglas’ eyes, contemporary sexism can even be described as “enlightened”, whereby “we are getting images of imagined power that mask, and even erase, how much still remains to be done for girls and women, images that make sexism seem fine, even fun.”39 For Douglas, “enlightened sexism” is a “manufacturing process” that is produced by the media, is “feminist in its outward appearance” and uses a shield of irony that allows for the “representation of something sexist”, while “wearing a knowing smirk.”40 This heightened critical interest in sexism can also be related to a highly sexualized cultural



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context and the expansion of the “pornosphere”, in which accelerating flows of sexual information have led to a “less regulated, more commercialized, and more pluralistic sexual culture”.41 Clearly, Game of Thrones is part of this wider cultural shift that allows for a broadening of sexual narratives and more permissive attitudes to sex. At the same time, I would contend that the series also typifies a distinctive contemporary sexual sensibility that reflects a changed cultural and political landscape, specifically in relation to the West’s War on Terror, the post-2008 recession and a climate of austerity that are echoed in cultural forms in terms of disaffected consent, national authoritarianism, retro-nostalgia and liberal sexism.42 The current political and cultural moment is complexly gendered, fears abounding that we are witnessing “the end of men”, and a concomitant “rise of women”, a trend not borne out by economic reality and rising numbers of unemployed women.43 In many ways, Game of Thrones exemplifies a new postfeminist vocabulary which pre-recession was marked by optimism and the opportunity of prosperity while post-recession becomes undoubtedly more pessimistic and less celebratory. The series can be read as part of a post-millennium postfeminist neoliberal ethos and cultural landscape that reflect a context of austerity and social uncertainty. Here, the neoliberal mantra of choice and self-determination is still present but—post-2008—becomes inflected with the experiences of precarity and risk and the insistence on self-responsibilization. In my eyes, Game of Thrones exhibits a form of sexist liberalism that can easily slide into liberal sexism that is blunt and unsentimental in its portrayal of physical violence, sexual abuse, and torture. The series exploits what Duschinksy calls the “liberal loophole”, whereby “systematic forms of oppression are reduced to the question of whether a citizen has or has not given meaningful consent.”44 Liberal discourses—united by the core commitment to the equal status and treatment of each person—thus allow for a dynamic of power whereby “either you are on the playing field of liberal competition, in which case you require no protection, or you prove into a category as a victim who is being kept off the field.”45 In this way, focus can be shifted from the brutal power disparities and structural inequalities that define and demarcate the playing field to the individual competitors who choose to engage in a game that potentially oppresses and subjugates them.46 At the heart of this oppression is a distorted notion of freedom and individualism that surrenders compassion and social responsibility to a brute necessity of survival and competitive enterprise.47 In Game of Thrones, the game is structured explicitly around sex/sexism, and “fucking” becomes part of the game plan that allows players access to the “pitch”. Sexism is undisguised, and sex is often depicted as painful, most commonly exercised by men upon women and, as such, symptomatic of male supremacy that trades in power and violence. Rape, in particular, is portrayed with almost smug indifference as a widespread and common weapon, and,

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thus, an effective instrument of power used in times of social unrest and war, but also as a means to cement kinship relations between men and their families. Inequality is clearly sexualized in this context, whereby male characters are often considered to have a right of sexual access to female characters; while sexual violence and coercion are also eroticized—notably in the case of Cersei’s rape by her brother in Season 4. Following the death of their eldest son born out of their incestuous relationship, Jaime forces himself on his sister next to Joffrey’s dead body, her repeated pleadings (“It’s not right”) invalidated by his nonchalant answer “I don’t care” (4.03). Not only is this scene disturbing because of its morbid nature, but it also invests rape with sexual qualities that makes violence appear sexy— responding to viewer criticisms, director Alex Graves made a claim that the assault became “consensual by the end”.48 Here the viewer is invited to participate in a well-rehearsed defensive sexual script, whereby “no” means “yes”, and women “are up for it” in the end. The fallacy of this sexist and apologist logic is most painfully exposed in Season 5 by Sansa Stark’s “Black Wedding” which sees her off-camera rape by her sadistic husband, reluctantly witnessed by Ramsay’s servant, Reek (aka Theon Greyjoy; 5.06). This bleak and uneroticized rendering of a classic voyeuristic scenario repudiates any permissive sexual liberalism, instead underlining the sexual/sexist abuse suffered by women, symptomatic of a cruel and pitiless social order where the necessity of survival demands a stoic and hardened endurance to pain and humiliation.49 In this sense, the lives of most male and female characters are structured around a “gotta fuck” mandate that typically posits men as the subjects of the “fuck” and women as its object. As lazy king Robert maintains, “you were not a real man until you fucked one girl from each of the 7 Kingdoms and the Riverlands. We used to call it making the 8” (1.06). In this scenario, men are sexually assertive and experienced, while women are more reluctant and threatened by unwanted sexual attention. In particular, unmarried adolescent girls are targeted for rape or other forms of sexual violence, Sansa Stark being the most obvious focus of these fears, whereas her sister Arya (Maisie Williams) avoids sexual dangers by cross-dressing. Other characters—like the androgynous knight Brienne of Tarth (Gwendoline Christie) who purposefully seeks to step outside the power structures of heterosexuality, or the eunuch Varys (Conleth Hill) who is similarly deemed “unfuckable”—are shamed and punished, demonstrating that those who remove themselves from sexual relationships are less socially acceptable and valued. Paradoxically at the same time, being “unfuckable” might also be conceived as a source of power—as in the case of Varys who is “so dangerous because he does not have a cock” (2.08)—or, it might act as a protection code that marks some characters as inviolable and hence protectable. For example, both Sansa Stark and Brienne of Tarth avoid rape numerous times and are allowed to remain “pure” for some time, at least in a physical sense.



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As Brown argues, the notion of inviolability is related to pure and impure forms of femininity, protecting some women while marking others as sexually available: “[P]rotection codes are thus key technologies in regulating privileged women as well as in intensifying the vulnerability and degradation of those on the unprotected side of the constructed divide.”50 Here, the fate of the enterprising prostitute Ros—who, unshielded by valuable kinship relations and devoid of economic capital, is brutally mutilated by mad king Joffrey—is instructive and highlights Game of Thrones’ underlying gender and class politics which enact differential codes of social protection between gendered individuals. Even so, class membership does not always prove to be effectual in guarding innocence and virginity, markedly in the case of Daenerys Targaryen, whose privileged birth does not protect her from being sold to a warlord and used for sex (albeit sanctioned by matrimony). If we adopt Catherine Mackinnon’s definition of pornography as the “graphic sexually explicit subordination of women”,51 then Game of Thrones is clearly pornographic.52 Female characters especially are dehumanized as sexual objects, tied up, mutilated or physically hurt. They are frequently exposed, reduced to their body parts and presented in scenarios of injury or torture. Yet, some critics have suggested that the series circumnavigates charges of trivial sexism and avoids sliding into pornography by using nudity and violence in a “non-gratuitous” manner. For the viewer, the sex scenes guarantee that our eyes will not be glazing over with too much information … The contrast between what is seen and what is said creates a distance from this eroticism that ultimately saves it from being pure titillation.53

Game of Thrones clearly uses the economic rationale of “sex sells”, but it wants to have it both ways: citing a highly sexualized scene between Bailish and Ros that is noteworthy both for its sexual explicitness and narrative exposition (1.07), Wells-Lassagne admits that the series plays to viewers’ and characters’ voyeurism and sexual fantasies, but ultimately, “we must always be aware of the underlying implication of these events and of the series as a whole”.54 Likewise, the type of sexism on show also demands detailed examination and interrogation as what is missing here specifically is an ironic tone and postmodern reflexivity that provide immunity from criticism. This is not what Benwell calls “sexism by subterfuge”, whereby sexist views can be articulated under the pretext of irony while disclaiming responsibility for, or ownership of, them.55 Nor does this resemble Attwood’s postmodern sexual discourse or Williamson’s “sexism with an alibi” that can be enjoyed as “knowingly done, self-aware, even kitsch”.56 Here, sexism does not rely on humor to make it palatable, nor is it hidden under the veil of postmodern nostalgia where style replaces substance and “we are condemned to seek History by way of our own pop images”.57

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Liberal sexism/sexist liberalism does not need elaborate demystification through layers of ironic representations, nor complex decoding of discursive ambiguity. On the contrary, this is sexism visible for all, unapologetic and humorless about its hetero-sexist norms and gender politics. While clearly belonging to the fantasy realm, Game of Thrones does not follow the route of other retro-stylish television series, like PanAm (2011–12) and Mad Men (2007–), that allow the audience to frame sexism in period images and, thereby, lock it in the past. As Lynn Spigel suggests, the nostalgia found in these television shows offers “a usable past for everyday life today” and also expresses our “failure to cope with the present” in their depiction of a “prefeminist fantasy future” that forgets that “the pain of the past is not entirely resolved in our so-called postfeminist and postracial society”.58 By contrast, Game of Thrones does not appeal for a return to the “good old days”—in fact, if there is any lesson to be learned about this fantasy past, it is that the “old days” were not that good and are best left behind. The series appears daringly cutting-edge, far from nostalgic and chilling in its relentless portrayal of sexist abuse. Moreover, what makes any denomination of feminism in the series problematic is the absence of an overt moral position or structure that sets up parameters of beliefs between what is and is not permissible. Equally, it does not pander to facile postfeminist interpretations and fictions that emphasize sexual subjecthood and agency—being nowhere near a fantasy version of urbane and glamorous chick flick that depicts sex as stylish and a source of physical pleasure and self-expression.59 In fact, postfeminist confidence around resignification—that a history of patriarchal domination and sexual victimization could be given a new meaning beyond second-wave adherence to scripts of false consciousness—is wavering in the context of our contemporary age of uncertainty riddled with debt, doubt and destitution.60 Yet, simultaneously, Game of Thrones appears committed to the (secondwave) goal of making visible the structures of sexist patriarchy and its effects on both men and women. We learn to hate the game and not the players who are forced into roles/classes they were mostly born into: the conversion of Jaime Lannister (Nikolaj Coster-Waldau) from incestuous murderer and Kingslayer to maimed prisoner and “Oathkeeper” (or, man of honor) is instructive here, reinforcing that audiences cannot rely on pre-established judgments based on narrative formulas. Captured and humbled, he reflects on the hollow yet prescriptive rules that bind men (and women) to their social roles in hetero-patriarchy: “So many vows … they make you swear and swear. Defend the King. Obey the King. Keep his secrets. Do his bidding. Your life for his. But obey your father. Love your sister. Protect the innocent. Defend the weak. Respect the gods. Obey the laws. It’s too much. No matter what you do, you’re forsaking one vow or the other” (2.07).



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In this way, the knot of sex, power, and victimization secured by a heteronormative grid is not as tightly fastened as it initially appears. If, as Sara Ahmed suggests, “complicity is a starting point”,61 then Game of Thrones might be seen as part of a critical project to underline our implications—as media consumers, producers and critics—in the world that we critique. The series undeniably makes sexism visible by baring the various forms of oppression that it takes and uncovering the underlying power hierarchies of gender and sexuality, and to a lesser extent race, class and nationality. Yet, in the absence of a moral framework through which to read sexism, the series also leaves us with the question of our own collusion, for instance the pleasure we take in the exploitative, lascivious nudity. Here, it might be worthwhile to think briefly about the nature of visibility itself and its relation to critique. While the strategy of “making visible” has certainly been employed by feminist critics in particular as a necessary step in ensuring conscious-raising and potential politicization, Game of Thrones’ hyperbolic visualization of sex and violence might also inadvertently allow us to overlook and dismiss what is so blatantly paraded before our eyes. As viewers are drawn into explicit images of physical brutality and sexual sadism, they might become inured not to notice (or, criticize) what happens on screen and what might be replicated in society at large where rape and torture are often ignored to such an extent as to become invisible. This can amount to what Ahmed calls “critical sexism” whereby sexist structures and logic are reproduced by “critical subjects who do not see the reproduction [of sexism] because of their self-assumed criticality.”62 Sexism and its inherent violence are not denied or refuted in this case—or made “imperceptible” as second-wave feminists like Frye argued—and yet, they are manipulated to such an extent that “making it perceptible” and visible and speakable might no longer be enough as an act of emancipation and political awareness. Here sexism, while being exposed, is nonetheless dealt with and thus paradoxically comes to be seen as less of a problem.

Resigned Compliance and Marginal Resistance So, what are we to make of Game of Thrones? In many ways, the series is a master class in surviving defeat and victimization using all means available, including the power of the “fuck.” Characters learn to trust no one but themselves, and, in this sense, we can detect a clear political agenda and ideology of competitive individualism and self-responsibilization endorsed by neoliberalism. As British Prime Minister David Cameron put it in his 2009 speech at the Conservative Party conference: “We’ve got to stop treating children like adults and adults like children. It is about everyone taking responsibility.”63 The neoliberal mobilization of self-reliance reverberates throughout the fantasy world of Game of Thrones—as Bronn (Jerome Flynn) tells a

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prison-bound Tyrion Lannister (Peter Dinklage) before refusing to help and save his friend: “I like you but I just like myself more” (4.07). The series promotes a sense of resignation and fatalism, highlighting that there is no point in fighting the inevitable. This sentiment of “resigned compliance”, as Gilbert calls it, is a common feature of post-recessionary neoliberal cultures whereby “we know that we don’t like neoliberalism, didn’t vote for it, and object in principle to its exigencies: but we recognize that unless we comply with it … then we will be punished.”64 In a climate thriving with perpetual insecurity, competition, and individual isolation, survival—or, in Gilbert’s words, “feeding one’s children and keeping them out of relative poverty”—becomes an achievable but highly demanding task that keeps most social actors too busy to engage in any substantive political challenge to the norms.65 In Game of Thrones, the conditions of precarity and “disaffected consent” are encapsulated by Lady Olenna’s pragmatic suggestion that “once the cow has been milked, there is no squirting the cream back up the udders. So, here we are to see things through” (3.02). This tenet of “seeing things through” is emblematic of the generalized mantra of “carrying on regardless” in our post-recessionary culture of “thrift” and austerity, generating a political inertia that allows for feelings of dissatisfaction while robbing individuals of the motivation for opposition. Buried within this principle of survival is a skewed meritocratic agenda whereby marginal characters in particular prove to be adaptable and exhibit enough drive, talent and effort to weather changing social conditions and political regimes.66 If Martin has any sympathies for his characters, it is for what he calls “heroic scum”—among whom, a dwarf, a castrate, and a tomboy—who manage to survive against the odds.67 It is these characters on the margins—often displaying non-normative bodies or challenging gender stereotypes—who use the experiences of victimization and impotence to their advantage. Fortuitously, these marginal characters become survivors, and their journeys become central, while central characters are killed off without forewarning. The former slave and self-anointed “King of Qarth” (Nonso Anozie) makes this explicit: “Those on the margins often come to control the center and those in the center make room for them” (2.07). Yet, we would be foolish to celebrate this fusion of center/margin as a politically correct embrace of queer difference and diversity, as destiny is never in the hands of individual players and even the gifted and smart are killed off mercilessly—the savvy and hard-working entrepreneur–prostitute Ros is a case in point. Here, multiple strands of neoliberal politics and rhetoric converge as on the one hand, there is an individualist insistence that there can be singular solutions to socially produced problems, followed by a meritocratic ideal that those with skills will rise to the top. Synchronously, this neoliberal ethos is also circumscribed by an inherently unequal power structure that fuels competition and undermines the common idea that we live, or should live, in a meritocratic age. As Littler argues, the affective state under neoliberal culture can be



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described as a “cruel optimism” whereby we are encouraged to believe in the idea of a brighter future, while “such attachments are, simultaneously, ‘actively impeded’ by the harsh precarities and instabilities of neoliberalism”.68 In this age of the “disappearing intellectual”, when individuals are no longer encouraged to think critically and “imagine the unimaginable”,69 Game of Thrones flatters and entertains our media literate minds, as it challenges us to revise narrative expectations and ways of reading and seeing. Unlike other banal media texts that lull us into a kind of intellectual coma, the series appeals to our critical capacities by adopting a relentless pursuit of visibility of—gendered, sexist, class, and economic—power dynamics and hetero-norms. At the same time, the series’ practice of “making visible” for visibility’s sake is not related to a larger politics of opposition and thus is in danger of wilting into self-congratulatory introspection. Like neoliberal culture in general, Game of Thrones gives and takes in one paradoxical ideological sweep, interpellating us as critical consumers, while simultaneously limiting the scope and potency of that critique.

Notes   1. Gayle Rubin, “Thinking Sex: Notes for a Radical Theory of the Politics of Sexuality.” In Pleasure and Danger, ed. C. Vance (London: Routledge, 2008), 143.   2. See Stéphanie Genz, Postfemininities in Popular Culture (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2009).   3. Henry Giroux, “The Disappearing Intellectual in the Age of Economic Darwinism,” Policy Futures in Education 9, no. 2 (2011): 163–71.   4. Giroux, “The Disappearing Intellectual,” 165.   5. Giroux, “The Disimagination Machine and the Pathologies of Power,” Symploke 21, nos 1–2 (2013): 257.   6. Giroux, “The Disappearing Intellectual,” 165.   7. Ibid. McNay further examines the contradictions surrounding neoliberal agency and individualism whereby “individual autonomy becomes not the opposite of, or limit to, neoliberal governance, rather it lies at the heart of its disciplinary control.” See Lois McNay, “Self as Enterprise: Dilemmas of Control and Resistance in Foucault’s The Birth of Biopolitics,” Theory, Culture and Society 26 (2009): 62.   8. Giroux, “Neoliberalism and the Machine of Disposability,” accessed from http:// www.truth-out.org/opinion/item/22958-neoliberalism-and-the-machinery-ofdisposability (accessed August 30, 2015).   9. Giroux’s account does not leave much room for active audience consumption that may account for more nuanced readings which in the case of Game of Thrones allows for identification with characters that could be seen as morally dubious or violent. 10. Jeremy Gilbert, “What Kind of Thing is ‘Neoliberalism’?” New Formations: A Journal of Culture, Theory & Politics 80–1 (2013): 17. 11. John Atcheson, “Dark Ages Redux: American Politics and the End of the Enlightenment.” Interestingly, Stuart Hall uses a similar metaphor in his

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16.

17. 18. 19. 20.

21.

22.

23.

24. 25.

Women of Ice and Fire discussion of the neo-liberal revolution that “march[es] towards the future clad in the armour of the past.” See Stuart Hall, “The Neo-Liberal Revolution,” Cultural Studies 25, no. 6 (2011): 713. See Wells-Lassagne in this volume, pages 39–56. See Gjelsvik in this volume, pages 57–78. See Amy Laura Hall, “Torture and Television in the United States,” The Muslim World 103 (2013): 272, 268. See, for example, Giroux, “Neoliberalism” for more on the culture of cruelty and Susan Faludi, The Terror Dream: Fear and Fantasy in Post-9/11 (New York: Metropolitan Books, 2007), which investigates the trauma of 9/11. For more on “torture culture” in relation to Abu Ghraib see Dora Apel, “Torture Culture: Lynching Photographs and the Images of Abu Ghraib,” Art Journal 64, no. 2 (2005): 88–100. For more about the Red Wedding, see Larsson in this volume, pages 28–9. Season 5 saw more male casualties, including the Iron Throne contender Stannis Baratheon and the (apparent) demise of fan favorite Jon Snow (Kit Harington) (5.10). J. R. R. Tolkien “On Fairy-stories” in Tolkien on Fairy-stories, ed. V. Flieger and D. A. Anderson (New York: Harper Collins, 2008), 27–84. Caroline Spector, “Power and Feminism in Westeros” in Beyond the Wall: Exploring George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire, From A Game of Thrones to A Dance with Dragons, ed. J. Lowder (Dallas: BenBella Books, 2012), 69. See Genz, Postfemininities. In my eyes, this does not amount to a sex-positive agenda that defines sexuality as emancipatory and empowering. Rather, as Simone de Beauvoir among many others has argued, women can use sex as a tool to achieve a powerful social standing. See de Beauvoir, The Second Sex (London: Vintage, 1997), 141. Here, Selyse Baratheon’s (Tara Fitzgerald) failure is doubled as she has given birth to a single (living) child, Shireen (Kerry Ingram), who is not only female—and therefore outside patrilineal kinship structures of inheritance—but also bears the marks of the “greyscale”, making her unattractive and thus failing her “feminine” duty. For more on the “monstrous feminine” see Barbara Creed, The MonstrousFeminine: Film, Feminism, Psychoanalysis (New York: Routledge, 1993), 13. This birth scene is also noteworthy in terms of its aesthetic and production values: the camera slowly moves down Melisandre’s body, remaining nearly static over her breasts and thereby eroticising the actress’s naked body, suggesting that although this is a moment of the monstrous feminine, it is also one of erotic spectacle, rendering this monstrous feminine significantly safer than for example in Aliens (1986). I wish to thank the anonymous reviewer for this insightful comment. See Schubart in this volume (pages 105–29) for a discussion of rape, marriage, and postfeminism. The misconception of “permissible” rape legitimized by marriage is irrevocably shattered in Season 5 that sees the brutal physical and psychological abuse of Sansa Stark at the hands of her legally wedded and psychopathic husband Ramsay Snow. Natasha Walter, The New Feminism (London: Virago, 1999), 112. Marilyn Frye, The Politics of Reality: Essays in Feminist Theory (Trumansburg, NY: Crossing Press, 1983), 17.



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26. Frye, Politics of Reality. 27. Ibid., 8. 28. Ibid., 2. Similar observations have been made by other (proto-)feminist thinkers from Wollstonecraft to de Beauvoir. Wollstonecraft in her Vindication (1792) comments that women are taught in infancy to adorn their “gilt cage.” Wollstonecraft, A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, 1792, vol. 5 of The Works of Mary Wollstonecraft, edited J. Todd and M. Butler (London: Pickering and Chatto, 1958), 113. And in Beauvoir’s eyes, the imprisoned woman wants “to transform her prison into a heaven of glory”. De Beauvoir, The Second Sex, 639. 29. Peter Glick and Susan T. Fiske, “Ambivalent Sexism Revisited,” Psychology of Women Quarterly 35, no. 3 (2011): 532. 30. bell hooks, Feminism is for Everybody: Passionate Politics (Cambridge, MA: South End Press, 2000), 1. 31. Sara Mills, “Caught between Sexism, Anti-Sexism and ‘Political Correctness’: Feminist Women’s Negotiations with Naming Practices,” Discourse Society 14, no. 1 (2003): 90. 32. Mills, “Caught between Sexism, Anti-Sexism and ‘Political Correctness,’” 89. 33. According to NUS’ “Hidden Marks” report on sexist abuse at British Universities, 68 percent of respondents, comprised of 40 female students, have faced one or more kinds of sexual harassment on campus. This can take the form of banter websites aimed at students, sexist promotions of student nights at clubs, initiation practices and “groping” being described as part of a “normal” night out. “Hidden Marks: A Study of Women Students’ Experiences of Harassment, Stalking, Violence and Sexual Assault,” available online: http://www.nus.org.uk/cy/news/ hidden-marks-a-study-of-women-students-experiences-of-harassment-stalkingviolence-and-sexual-assault/ (accessed October 2, 2014). 34. See Susan Douglas, The Rise of Enlightened Feminism: How Pop Culture Took Us from Girl Power to Girls Gone Wild (New York: St. Martin’s Griffin, 2010); Sara Ahmed, “Critical Racism/Critical Sexism,” available online: http://feministkilljoys. com/2013/12/19/critical-racismcritical-sexism/; Alissa Quart, “The Age of Hipster Sexism,” http://nymag.com/thecut/2012/10/age-of-hipster-sexism.html, (both accessed August 30, 2015). 35. Rosalind Gill, “Sexism Reloaded, Or, It’s Time to Get Angry Again,” Feminist Media Studies 11, no. 1 (2011): 62. 36. Ibid., 63. 37. See for example Laura Bates’ website “The Everyday Sexism Project” that collates women’s routine experiences of prejudice and harassment. 38. Robert Goldman, Reading Ads Socially (London: Routledge, 1992); Imelda Whelehan, Overloaded: Feminism and Popular Culture (London: The Women’s Press, 2000); Brian McNair, Striptease Culture: Sex, Media and the Democratisation of Desire (Abingdon: Routledge, 2002); Ariel Levy, Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture (London: Pocket Books, 2006); Bethan Benwell, “New Sexism: Readers’ Responses to the Use of Irony in Men’s Magazines.” Journalism Studies 8, no. 4 (2007): 539–49. 39. Douglas, Enlightened Feminism, 6. 40. Ibid., 10, 14–15. Douglas uses the example of MTV’s My Super Sweet Sixteen that uses “irony as a shield: you can convince yourself that you are seeing a parody of girls as party-obsessed airheads only capable of thinking about popularity and

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conspicuous consumption while, of course, My Super Sweet Sixteen repeatedly shows girls as party-obsessed airheads only capable of thinking about popularity and conspicuous consumption. This kind of irony allows for the representation of something sexist—most girls, and especially rich girls, are self-centred bimbos— while being able to claim that that’s not really what you meant at all, it’s just for fun,” 14–15. 41. McNair, Striptease Culture, 11. See also Feona Attwood, “Sexed Up: Theorizing the Sexualization of Culture,” Sexualities 9, no. 1 (2006): 78–9. 42. See Genz and Brabon, Postfeminism: Cultural Texts and Theories (second edition). In particular, retro-nostalgia—a, at times, parodic construction of the past that inculcates consumption practices—takes on a number of guises in a post-recessionary cultural climate, from the 2012 Olympic festivities, food programmes (The Great British Menu), cultural commodities (“Keep Calm and Carry On” T-shirts etc.) and hit dramas like Mad Men. 43. See Hanna Rosin, “The End of Men,” available online: http://www.theatlantic.com/ magazine/archive/2010/07/the-end-of-men/308135/ and Becky Barrow, “Women Workers Gearing the Brunt of Rising Job Losses as Twice as Many Men Keep Jobs,” http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article–2101796/Women-workers-bearingbrunt-rising-job-losses-twice-men-jobs.html (both accessed August 30, 2015). 44. Robbie Duschinsky, “Childhood, Responsibility and the Liberal Loophole: Replaying the Sex-Wars in Debates of Sexualisation?” Sociological Research Online 18, no. 2, 7 (2013): para. 2.1. 45. Ibid., para. 2.1. Stuart Hall also refers to the “Janus-faces of Liberalism” that adopts a practice of “splitting” and grants “liberty now for some [and] an unending apprenticeship to freedom for others.” Hall, “Neo-Liberal Revolution,” 715, 710. 46. In this sense, playing the “field” also sets limits of intelligibility and legitimacy for individual actors whose freedom is manufactured by their ability to compete in what Foucault calls the “game of enterprises.” Michel Foucault, The Birth of Biopolitics: Lectures at the Collège de France (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2010), 173. 47. As Foucault discusses in The Birth of Biopolitics (2010), “freedom in the regime of liberalism is not a given … Freedom is something which is constantly produced. Liberalism is not acceptance of freedom; it proposes to manufacture it constantly, to arouse it and produce it.” Foucault, Birth of Biopolitics, 65. 48. Erin Whitney, “‘Game Of Thrones’ Director Calls That Controversial Rape Scene Consensual,” The Huffington Post, available online: http://www.huffingtonpost. com/2014/04/21/game-of-thrones-rape_n_5186691.html (accessed August 30, 2015). 49. The filicide of Shireen Baratheon (5.09) and Queen Cersei’s Walk of Atonement (5.10) in Season 5 are also powerful reminders of the vulnerability of women and the regulatory and compulsory gender norms that produce and naturalize rigid definitions of femininity that link women’s identity and value to their appearance—in the case of the girl Shireen whose blemished face marks her as “unfeminine”—and behavior/morality. Stripped of her power—symbolized by her shorn hair—Cersei is made to walk naked through King’s Landing in order to atone for her unfeminine “sins,” including adultery. 50. Wendy Brown, States of Injury: Power and Freedom in Late Modernity (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1995), 170.



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51. Catherine Mackinnon, Feminism Unmodified (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1987), 176. 52. Definitions of pornography are notoriously difficult. As Paasonen et al. argue, there are many different ways of defining pornography: “Pornography is an issue of genre, industry and regulation. The category of pornography has been defined in terms of content (sexually explicit depictions of genitalia and sexual acts), lack thereof (materials without any redeeming artistic, cultural or social value), intention (texts intended to arouse their consumers) and effect (texts arousing their consumers).” Susanna Paasonen, Kaarina Nikunen and Laura Saarenmaa (eds) Pornification: Sex and Sexuality in Media Culture (Oxford: Berg, 2007), 1. 53. Wells-Lassagne, “Prurient Pleasures: Adapting Fantasy to HBO,” Journal of Adaptation in Film & Performance 6, no. 3 (2013): 421. 54. Ibid., 423–4. 55. Benwell, “New Sexism,” 540. 56. Attwood, “Sexed Up,” 81. Judith Williamson, “Sexism with an Alibi,” The Guardian, May 31, 2003, available online: http://www.theguardian.com/ media/2003/may/31/advertising.comment (accessed August 30, 2015). 57. Fredric Jameson, “Postmodernism, or The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism.” In Postmodernism: A Reader, ed. Thomas Docherty (Hertfordshire: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1993), 79. 58. Lynn Spigel, “Postfeminist Nostalgia for a Prefeminist Future,” Screen 54, no. 3 (2013): 278, 276. 59. See Genz and Brabon, Postfemininities. 60. The notion of resignifiability has been important for my understanding of postfeminism (and postfemininity), highlighting both the threat of backlash as well as the potential for innovation inherent in the concept. See Genz and Brabon, Postfeminism. 61. Ahmed, “Critical Racism,” n.p. 62. Ibid. 63. David Cameron, “Putting Britain Back on Her Feet,” paras 9–11, available online: http://www.politics.co.uk/features/opinion-former-index/legal-andconstitutional/cameron-speech-in-full-$1332736.htm (accessed August 30, 2015). 64. Gilbert, “Neoliberalism,” 13. 65. Ibid., 14. 66. Meritocratic logic—whereby whatever social position at birth, those with enough drive, talent, effort or skills will rise to the top—is a key component of neoliberalism. As Jo Littler has demonstrated, the meritocratic ideal is riddled with contradictions: “it is not … merely a coincidence that the common idea that we live, or should live, in a meritocratic age co-exists with a pronounced lack of social mobility and the continuation of vested hereditary economic interests.” Jo Littler, “Meritocracy as Plutocracy: The Marketising of ‘Equality’ Under Neoliberalism,” New Formations: A Journal of Culture, Theory & Politics 80–1 (2013): 53. 67. Martin qtd. in Susan Johnston, “Grief Poignant as Joy: Dyscatastrophe and Eucatastrophe in A Song of Ice and Fire,” Mythlore 31, nos 1–2 (2012): 151. 68. Littler, “Meritocracy,” 62. 69. Giroux, “The Disappearing Intellectual.”

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ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS Elizabeth Beaton recently completed her Ph.D. in English at the Australian National University (ANU), Canberra. She is President of the Speculative Fiction Academic Association, a global, multidisciplinary alliance of graduate students working on speculative literature. In 2013, she interviewed George R. R. Martin about politics, gender and race in his work. Her research examines the intersection between Shakespeare’s histories and tragedies, Machiavelli’s The Prince, and epic fantasy fiction. Marta Eidsvåg studied English Literature and Creative Writing at the University of East Anglia, UK, and English Language and Literature at Norwegian University of Science and Technology (NTNU), Trondheim, Norway. She is currently a freelance writer, translator, and copy-editor. She is a fan of A Song of Ice and Fire and Game of Thrones. Stéphanie Genz is Senior Lecturer in Media at Nottingham Trent University, UK. She specializes in contemporary gender politics and theory, postfeminism, and popular culture. Her book publications include: Postfeminist Gothic: Critical Interventions in Contemporary Theory (Palgrave Macmillan, 2007); Postfemininities in Popular Culture (Palgrave Macmillan, 2009); and Postfeminism: Cultural Texts and Theories (Edinburgh University Press, 2009). Anne Gjelsvik is Professor at the Department of Art and Media Studies, Norwegian University of Science and Technology (NTNU), Trondheim, Norway. She specializes in film and television, intermediality, and adaptation. Her publications include a book on violence and a book on film reviewing (both in Norwegian) and several co-authored anthologies: Femme Fatalities: Representations of Strong Women in the Media (Nordicom, 2004); and Adaptations Studies. New Challenges. New Directions (Bloomsbury, 2013); Eastwood’s Iwo Jima: Critical Engagements With Flags of Our Fathers and Letters from Iwo Jima (Columbia/Wallflower, 2013), both co-edited with Rikke Schubart. Her latest book is Hva er film (What is Cinema, 2013). Helle Kannik Haastrup is Associate Professor in Media Studies at The Department of Nordic Studies and Linguistics at University of Copenhagen. She has published Genkendelsens Glæde—intertekstualitet på film (The Joy of Recognition—Intertextuality on Film, 2010), and is the author of numerous

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articles on film and media aesthetics, genres, celebrity culture, cross-media analysis, and complex television series. Lisbeth Klastrup is Associate Professor at the IT University at Copenhagen. She has studied digital culture and communication online since 1999, with a particular focus on user-generated content and use patterns in social media, gameworlds, and transmedial universes. She is co-editor of Digitale Verdener (Digital Worlds, Gyldendal, 2004), International Handbook of Internet Research (Hunsinger, Klastrup, and Allen, 2010) and author of  Sociale (Netværks) Medier (Samfundslitteratur 2016). Mariah Larsson is Associate Professor at Malmö University, Sweden. She has published extensively on film and sexuality, as well as on pornographic film, for instance “National/Transnational Genre: Pornography in Transition” in Nordic Genre Film: Small Nation Film Cultures (Edinburgh University Press, 2015), and “Making Love Detumescently: Some Preliminary Notes on the Body Language of the Penis,” in Kosmorama vol. 258, 2014. She is also co-editor of Interdisciplinary Approaches to Twilight (2011, with Ann Steiner). Larsson is currently writing a book on the exhibition of pornographic films in Malmö in the 1970s. Felix Schröter is a research assistant and Ph.D. candidate at the Institute for Media and Communication, University of Hamburg, Germany. He holds a Master’s degree in Media Studies, and is a member of the Graduate School Media and Communication, the Research Center for Media and Communication, University of Hamburg. His Ph.D. project explores the reception and analysis of video game characters. Recent articles include: “Video Game Characters. Theory and Analysis” (2014, with Jan-Noël Thon) in DIEGESIS. Interdisciplinary E-Journal for Narrative Research and “The Game of Game of Thrones. George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire and its Video Games Adaptations” (2015) in IMAGE. Journal of Interdisciplinary Image Science. He is currently co-editing the anthology Games, Cognition, Affect, and Emotion. Essays in Cognitive Video Game Studies (with Bernard Perron, contracted with McFarland). Rikke Schubart is Associate Professor at the Institute for the Study of Culture, University of Southern Denmark. She holds a Ph.D in film studies on the action movie, 1968–2000. Her research is on emotions in film, on gender, and on genre in cinema and television. She is currently writing Mastering Fear: Women, Emotions, and Contemporary Horror (Wayne State University Press, forthcoming 2016). She co-edited Eastwood’s Iwo Jima: Critical Engagements With Flags of Our Fathers and Letters from Iwo Jima with Anne Gjelsvik (Columbia/ Wallflower, 2013). Among her other publications are: Super Bitches and Action Babes: The Female Hero in Popular Cinema, 1970–2006 (McFarland, 2007).



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Lindsay Steenberg is Senior Lecturer in Film Studies at Oxford Brookes University, UK.  Her research focuses on violence and gender in postmodern and postfeminist media culture.  She has published widely on the subject of the crime genre, both on film and television. She has also authored papers on masculinity, violence, and simulation on reality television, martial arts in the cinema, and the filmmaker Guillermo del Toro. She is the author of Forensic Science in Contemporary American Popular Culture: Gender, Crime, and Science (Routledge, 2012). Her research is concerned with the visualization of violence and the structures that are used to contain that violence from the “Enlightened” rationalism of forensic science to the spectacular displays of masculinity on reality and documentary television. Yvonne Tasker is Professor of Film Studies and Dean of Arts and Humanities at the University of East Anglia, UK. She has published widely on questions of gender and culture, with a particular focus on film and television.  Her books include: Working Girls: Gender and Sexuality in Popular Cinema (1998), Interrogating Postfeminism: Gender and the Politics of Popular Culture (co-edited with Diane Negra, 2007), Soldiers’ Stories: Military Women in Film and Television Since WWII (2011), Gendering the Recession: Media and Culture in an Age of Austerity (co-edited with Diane Negra, 2014) and The Hollywood Action and Adventure Film (2015). Susana Tosca is Associate Professor of Digital Culture at the IT University of Copenhagen. Her Ph.D. dissertation, a poetics of hypertext literature, was awarded the summa cum laude distinction in 2001. She has worked for many years on electronic literature, the storytelling potential of computer games, and complex reception processes, with a side interest in fan activity and the distributed aesthetic formats of the Web 2 era. She is the author of Understanding Videogames (Routledge, 2013). Shannon Wells-Lassagne is Associate Professor at the Université de Bretagne Sud, Lorient, France. She specializes in film and television adaptations. She is co-editor of the anthologies Screening Text: Critical Perspectives on Film Adaptation (McFarland, 2013), and De la page blanche aux salles obscures (Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2011), as well as a special issue of Interfaces on “Expanding Adaptations”, and a dossier in Screen on “First pages, first shots”. She is the author of Étudier l’adaptation filmique (Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2010), and has written on adaptation in the journals Critical Studies in Television, Screen, and The Journal of Adaptation in Film and Performance, among others.

INDEX abortion 12, 154, 155–6 abuse 8 psychological 247 sexist 256 sexual 57 adaptation 58, 70, 84, 106, 156, 159, 161, 165 process 71, 160 studies 57, 69 adaptive strategy 41 adventure 110, 133–5, 142 agency 113, 116, 118, 160, 181, 204, 249 female 88 Aliens film series 113, 172 alignment 134–5 ancient Greece 21 Anne of the Indies 186 anti-sexism 252 apps see mobile apps archetypes 110, 152–3, 158, 160, 174, 179, 180, 181, 189, 237 Aristotle 222 Arya see Stark, Arya Asha see Greyjoy, Asha assault, sexual 65, 249 audience 79, 88, 94, 96 engagement 134 figures 4 audiovisual style 144–5 austerity 245, 253 authentic pride 112 avatars 93, 94, 180–1 Avengers Assemble 175 Ballad of Little Jo, The 172, 184–5 Baratheon, Robert 45 Beauty and the Beast 113, 114 Benioff, David 10, 39, 41, 47, 51, 58–9, 253 Beyond: Two Souls 81, 96 biology, evolutionary 112 Birth of a Nation 175 Bloch, Ernst 5, 109 blogs 115–16, 210 Boardwalk Empire 59 Boleyn, Anne 7

Bolton, Ramsay As Barathon 65 Borgia, Lucrezia 7 Borgias, The 13, 244 Brienne of Tarth 131–48, 175–81 brothel scenes 46 Brothers Grimm 109 brutality 60, 61 Buffy the Vampire Slayer 135, 173, 175 cable television 22 Calamity Jane 172, 184 camera angles 24, 42, 66, 120, 195, 201, 206 Cameron, David 257 castration 67–9, 185, 247 Catelyn see Stark, Catelyn Catherine the Great 186 Catwoman 173 Cersei see Lannister, Cersei CGI see computer-generated imagery characters, accumulated 134–5 Charlie’s Angels 173 Chaudhuri, Sukhanta 198–9 China O’Brien 172 chivalry 48, 171–89 Church-led 188 choice 113 Christianity 177 medieval 119 cinema 70, 139, 178, 183 exploitation cinema 172 high-concept 59 class politics 255 cliff-hangers 138, 139, 142, 147 codes of honour gendered 177–81 cognitive media theory 105, 106, 107, 110, 118, 120 cognitive psychology 112 comedians 227 comic books 3 Comicbookgirl19 224–6, 227, 230–1, 234–6 commercial constraints 51 computer games see video games computer-generated imagery (CGI) 147

272 Index contracts, actor 162 courtly love 179–80, 188 crane shots 144 criticism, cultural 222 cross-dressing 172, 178, 180, 182–5, 186, 254 cruelty 22–3, 47, 196, 197, 246 Crusades ideology 178 cultural criticism 222 cultural journalism 222 Cutthroat Island 186 Cyanide Studios 85 Daenerys see Targaryen, Daenerys d’Aulnoy, Catherine 114 Mouton, Le 114 Serpentin vert, Le 114 “damsel in distress” 79 Darwinism, economic 245 daughters 144 Day, Doris 184 Deadwood 174 decency laws 161 Dexter 61 dialogue 145, 148 Dickens, Charles 221 diegetic texts 50 Discourses on the First Ten Books of Titus Livius, The 196 disguise 185 dismemberment 247 Disney Studios Maleficent 120 Sleeping Beauty 120 Divergent 175 Don Quixote (character) 179 Donkey Kong 81 downloads 3 Downton Abbey 146 Dragonheart 120 dragons 119–22 Drogo, Khal 22–6, 49, 114–15 Duke Nukem Forever 81 Duur, Mirri Maz 118–19 dwarfs 30 economic Darwinism 245 Elektra 173 emotional consumption 221 emotions 108, 112, 116, 120, 122 Entertainment Software Association (ESA) 80 epic fantasy see high fantasy

erotica 20 eroticization 175 ESA see Entertainment Software Association escapism 173 eSports 80 ethos 82, 88, 90, 220, 223 evolutionary biology 112 experience points (XP) 86 exploitation cinema 172 Facebook 11, 79, 92, 95, 96, 230, 236 fairy tale 107, 108–9, 110, 111, 113, 116, 117, 119, 120, 122, 133 plots 109 family 145, 146 family melodrama 136 fan fiction 3 fan groups 4 fan sites 57 fandom 220–21, 236, 237 television 221 fangirls 237 fantasy 107–8, 109, 117, 120, 131, 146, 172–5, 176, 181 fiction 175, 176–7, 180, 189 films 178 heroes 110 high fantasy 108, 132–3, 138, 148, 152, 174, 189, 212 hybrid 131–48 integrated 132 moral 133, 134, 136, 137, 148 politics 210–11 Farseer Trilogy 208 fathers 144 Faulkner, William 153 female agency 88 femininities 141 femininity 79, 94, 182, 183, 184, 186, 249 feminism 2, 123, 171, 208–11, 256 second-wave 251, 257 feminist theory 105 femme fatale 172 Ferdinand of Aragon 198 fertility 244 feudal system 39 fiction 106 narrative 106 fidelity 58–60 film noir 172 Flicks and the City 224–6, 233–4 formulas 133, 137, 142

Index Foucault, Michel 21 fragmentation 113 framing 24 game mechanics 90, 95 Game of Thrones Ascent 79, 92–4, 95 Game of Thrones: Genesis 89–92, 93 gaming culture 79 gang rape 64 Garbo, Greta 184 gender 4, 7–9, 10, 57, 58, 84, 131, 146, 185, 188, 210, 219, 227, 235, 237 dynamics 94 equality 19, 21 expectations 94 gender codes 174 gender politics 13, 113, 243–59 hierarchies 171 identity 248 performance 94, 95, 183 representation 79, 96 roles 33 “swapping” 94, technology 80 traditional roles 95 video games 80–1 Genesis see Game of Thrones: Genesis genitalia 24 genre 105–6, 131, 134, 142, 174, 248 critics 248 hybridity 9, 141–2 recap 221–6 Gilbert, Jan 224, 226–7, 229, 233, 237 giveaways 223 global terrorism 245 globalization 20, 113 graphics engines 84 Greece, ancient 21 Greek mythology 133 Greyjoy, Asha 193–6, 199, 209, 211 Greyjoy, Theon 45, 64–9 castration 67–9 Greyjoy, Yara 186–7 Grimm Brothers 109 happy endings 108, 109, 173, 174, 248 HappyCool 225–6, 228, 231 Harry Potter 135 Henry VIII 7 Hepburn, Katherine 184 heroes 110, 113, 133, 135, 161 flawed 134–5

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hierarchies 140–1, 162 gendered 171, 183 high fantasy 108, 132–3, 138, 148, 152, 174, 189, 212 historical fiction 6 Hobbit, The 164, 181 Hollywood films 183 Homeland 188 horror 133–4, 137–8, 142, 172 House of Cards 146 How to Train Your Dragon 120 How to Train Your Dragon 2 120 hubristic pride 112 humility 111–12 humor 223, 226, 231, 233, 234, 237 Internet 59 Hunger Games 175 hyper-individualism 246 illegitimacy 46 imagery 40, 70 lesbian 173 incest 24, 61 individualism 113 inequality 50–2 sexualized 254 initiation 110 integrated fantasy 132 “interactivation” 90, 95 Interactive Software Federation of Europe (ISFE) 80 Internet 3 forums 4, 62 humor 59 ironic detachment 223, 233 ISFE see Interactive Software Federation of Europe Italy, Renaissance 193, 195, 196, 197 Jeyne see Westerling, Jeyne Joan of Arc 186 Johnny Guitar 172 Jung, Carl 180 Justified 39 Kill Bill 113 knighthood 178, 180 Lacan, Jacques 180 lad culture 252 Lannister, Cersei 71, 131–48, 152–66, 193, 195–6, 199–204, 211

274 Index body language 202–3 clothing 202–3 Lannister, Tyrion 29–32, 41, 45 Last of Us, The 81, 96 legacy 136, 145, 146, 153 Legend of Zelda, The 81 lesbian identity 183 lesbian imagery 173 Lewis, C. S. Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, The 107 liberal sexism 13, 253, 256 liberalism, sexist 243–59 Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, The 107 literary studies 12 Lord of the Rings, The 5, 39, 106, 135, 151–2, 164, 176, 198, 208, 248 love scenes 34, 41 love stories 141 Machiavelli, Niccolò 12, 193–212 Discourses on the First Ten Books of Titus Livius, The 196 Prince, The 12–13, 193–212 Mad Men 146, 256 Maegyr, Talisa 26–9, 39–50 magic 107, 117–19, 120, 122 Maleficent 120 marriage 7, 10, 17, 19, 20, 23, 25, 26, 29, 30, 32, 136, 171 arranged 114–15, 137 “marvellous, the” 132–3 Marxist theory 109 masculinities 141 masculinity 79, 80, 94, 173, 185, 187, 248, 249 Mass Effect 3 81 matrimony see marriage media studies 122 Medici, Lorenza di’Piero de 196 medieval romance 107 melodrama 107, 108, 133–4, 197 memes 3 merchandise 223 messianic framing 121 Mirri Maz see Duur, Mirri Maz Mirror’s Edge 81, 96 misogyny 17, 146, 209 missionary position 24, 25 mobile apps 92 modernism 59 morality, sexual 165

motherhood 151–66 metaphors 187 mothers archetypes 152–3, 160 bad 153–5 good 157–60 missing 151–3 Mouton, Le 114 murder 47 “musculinity” 172–3 music 145, 226 mystery 137–8 myth 107, 108 mythology 119, 120, 138–9, 176 Greek 133 Norse 119 mythos 82, 88, 89, 91, 220, 223, 236 myths 177 narration 92 televisual 138 narrative 10, 131–48, 174, 209, 212 narrative fiction 106 narrative framing 63 narrative redundancy 138 narratives, network 138–40, 145, 147 narratology 82 neoliberalism 245, 246 network narratives 138–40, 145, 147 network storytelling 139 Ngwije, Americ 225 non-player characters (NPC) 86, 88 Norse mythology 119 NPC see non-player characters nudity 8, 9, 28, 34, 41, 123, 162, 235, 250, 255 contract clauses 162 “On Fairy Stories” 5 online gaming 94 ontological break 132–3 Orientalism 188 pacifists 197 PanAm 256 parody 81 paternalism 244 pedophilia 32, 33 Petyr “Littlefinger” Baelish 32, 58, 198, 233, 249 Pirates of the Caribbean franchise 186 plot 2

Index plot devices 88 plot structure 141–2 political correctness 252 politics 7–9, 197 pornography 13, 20, 24, 255 postfeminism 105, 113, 114, 116, 120, 122–3, 174, 249, 253, 256 poverty 50 power 57 female 140–1 male 140–1 pre-feminism 171 prejudice 146 pride 11, 111–12, 116 authentic 112 hubristic 112 Prince, The 12–13, 193–212 production values 174 profanity 227 promiscuity 32 prostitutes 39–52 proto-feminism 176 psychological abuse 247 Pullman, Philip 133 quality television 58–60, 131, 147, 174 Queen Christina 184 racism 219 rape 8, 10, 17, 18, 23, 24, 25, 26, 58, 60–4, 69, 116, 118, 174, 175, 176, 231–6, 253, 254, 257 gang rape 64 legal definition 63 marital 115, 250 realism 19 recaps 219–37 cinematography 222 reception 228–31 reception 10, 28, 31, 68 Red Dead Redemption 81 Reed, Meera 71 religion 117, 118 Renaissance drama 196 Renaissance Italy 193, 195, 196, 197 Resident Evil 173 Resident Evil 2 81 rights of women 165 Robb see Stark, Robb Robert see Baratheon, Robert romance 133–4, 137–8, 142 medieval 107

275

romantic love 19, 21, 28, 29, 32, 33 Rome 59, 250 Ros 39–50 Rowling, J. K. 133 Royal Assassin 208 Sahakians, Sandrine 225, 226, 228, 229, 231–2, 237 Sand Snakes 71, 165 Sansa see Stark, Sansa Scott, Walter 171–2 self-presentation 83, 226–7 serial texts 221 Serpentin vert, Le 114 sex/sexuality 2, 7–9, 10, 12, 17–34, 41, 46, 57, 58, 68, 70, 162–4, 172, 175, 183, 243, 244, 247, 249, 250, 251, 253, 257 sex scenes 17, 21, 41, 58–9, 161, 235 sexism 157, 210, 219, 244, 247, 250, 251, 252, 253, 255, 256 liberal 13, 244, 253, 256 sexist liberalism 243–59 sexploitation 1, 9 sexposition 8, 41, 46, 48, 250 sexual abuse 57 sexual assault 65, 175, 249 sexual behavior 33 sexual content 174 sexual dissent 116 sexual morality 165 sexual positions 24–5 sexual revolution 20 sexual script theory 18, 20, 24, 34 sexualization 71, 80, 86, 113, 164, 173, 174, 180, 252, 254 Sforza, Caterina 195 Shakespeare, William 198–9 Shrek 120 Six Feet Under 59 slavery 48 Sleeping Beauty 120 smallfolk 39–52 soap opera 131, 135, 136–7, 142, 145, 146, 147, 221 social exchange 116 social inequality 50 social interactions 94 social justice 52 social media 63, 219, 228 social realism 6, 79 Song of the Lioness 208 Sopranos, The 4, 59, 61, 174

276 Index spoilers 223 Stark, Arya 47, 131–48, 182–5 Stark, Catelyn 48, 152–66 Stark, Robb 26–9, 42, 43, 46 Stark, Sansa 29–32 stereotypes/stereotyping 2, 5, 10, 12, 31, 39, 79, 84, 86, 87, 88, 95, 96, 122, 134, 147, 148, 152, 154, 164, 188, 196, 258 storylines 139, 141, 143–4, 148 storytelling 82, 96, 132, 133–4, 147 network 139 storyworld 82 style, audiovisual 144–5 Super Mario Bros 81 supernatural 117, 118, 132, 137 survival of the fittest 246 suspension of disbelief 19 swearing 174 Sylvia Scarlett 184 taboos 18, 20, 155–7 Talisa see Maegry, Talisa Targaryen, Daenerys 22–6, 48, 49, 105–23, 131–48, 187–8, 193, 195–6, 204–9, 211 clothing 206–7 technology gendering 80 video games 80 Terminator 2: Judgment Day 172 tests of character 111–12 textuality 50 The Hound 31, 62, 140, 142, 144–5, 178–9, 181, 183, 184 The Mountain 61, 64, 140, 142, 143, 178 Theon see Greyjoy, Theon 300: Rise of an Empire 175 titillation 41, 42, 46, 51 title sequence 138 Tolkien, J. R. R. 5, 39, 109, 133, 151–2, 164, 172, 173, 198, 208, 248 Hobbit, The 164 Lord of the Rings, The 5, 39, 151–2, 164, 198, 208, 248 “On Fairy Stories” 5 Tomb Raider 81, 173 topos 82, 220, 223 torture 8, 10, 18, 58, 65, 68, 137, 247, 255, 257 sexualized 64, 69 traditional societies 20 transmediality 220–1 tropes 6

True Blood 39, 59, 132, 135 True Detective 174 Tudors, The 13, 250 Tully, Catelyn see Stark, Catelyn 24 188 Twilight 175 Twin Peaks 30 Tyrion see Lannister, Tyrion Vampire Diaries 39 vengeance 171–89 victimhood 23 victimization 250, 251, 256–7, 258 sexual 57 video games 3, 11, 79–96 characters 81–5 consoles 80 gender 80–1 multi-player 83, 94 role-playing 86 target audience 79 villains 134, 161 violence 2, 8, 9, 10, 18, 43, 57, 58, 68, 70, 136, 137, 174, 180, 183, 184, 185, 186, 188, 205, 243, 244, 245, 246, 254, 255, 257 graphic 188 sexual 2, 17, 18, 34, 58, 60–1, 64, 70, 171, 174, 176, 180, 247 vlogger 219 voyeurism 69, 243, 254 Walking Dead, The 59 War of the Roses 6 War on Terror 253 warriors 171–89 websites 3 webTV 225 Weiss, D. W. 10, 39, 40–1, 43, 47, 51, 58–9 West Wing, The 146 Westerling, Jeyne 26–9, 41, 43 Who’s Afraid of Machiavelli? 198 wikis 3 Wilson, Thomas Woodrow 198 Wire, The 4, 50, 61, 146 wives 39–52 women’s rights 165 World of Warcraft 81 Wrath of the Titans 175 Xena: Warrior Princess 173, 175 XP see experience points

Index Yara see Greyjoy, Yara Yentob, Alan 198, 199 YouTube 13 comments 219

277 fan review 220 recap 219–37

Žižek, Slavoj 179–80, 188