Westworld and the Struggle Towards Self-Conscious Criticism

“You know why this beats the real world?” asks the Man in Black. “The real world is just chaos. It’s an accident. But in here, every detail adds up to something.” – The Man in Black

          

          Watching HBO’s newest show Westworld feels like watching two shows in one. And I don’t just mean this because of the anachronistic juxtaposition between the faux Wild West landscape and the science fiction laboratory facilities. Not exactly. Rather, the show is divided between and against as both an object and a subject of its own narrative. Like the robots it depicts agonizing their way into sentience, Westworld is itself struggling from an entertaining spectacle towards a self-conscious criticism of its own exploitative techniques. It is appropriate then that the title refers both to the HBO show itself as well as the park it depicts (henceforth I will be using Westworld for the show and Westworld for the park). The source material of the show is derived from late novelist and filmmaker Michael Crichton’s movie of the same name. His film depicted a futuristic Wild West theme park populated by robots revolting against the humans they were designed to entertain. But the transition from film to television has entailed redirecting audience sympathies towards the robots themselves, rather than the humans they were designed to serve. The new incarnation of the story also has a decidedly more post-modern approach to the narrative as the aforementioned meta-commentary shows.

          Westworld presents itself as a science-fiction mystery about robots struggling towards self-consciousness against the oppression of futuristic nostalgia. But the subtext revealed to be underneath this exterior narrative is a self-reflective focus upon the anxieties and conflicts of world-building and audience immersion in fiction. Westworld is perfectly designed for our contemporary era of television pop-culture revolving around critical theory-inspired analyses and fan-theorization debates. There is plenty room for such fan speculation regarding the chronology of events, motivations of characters and whether characters are human or machine. It is an adult science fiction show about the idea of adult science fiction shows and the drama behind making them both profound and appealing. The show incorporates post-modern concerns of simulation, spectatorship, pastiche, and performance as existence. Like the best of science fiction, the show occupies an existential position between the fixations of our present reality and the extrapolated possibilities of our future. This duality is exacerbated by the indeterminate amount of time that distinguishes the future of Westworld from our present.

          The world-building of Westworld is equally intricate and impressive, with the mechanics of the park and the robots which populate it being subtly laid out in portions appropriate to each episode. Rest assured, info-dump science fiction this is not. Each episode gives enough information to reassure audiences that there is a logic behind the chaos, but not too much rationale is divulged at once which would extinguish any appeal of its mystery. The show effectively balances between the world-building of an authentic Wild West simulacrum and the park’s science fiction base of operations. True to genre form, the Wild West park provides the action-oriented sensationalism, both for its attending guests and the television audiences watching, while the science fiction setting is a space for more thoughtful commentary and self-reflection. The science fiction setting isn’t just an example of world-building, but is a demonstration of it as well: revealing how narrative and aesthetic designs come together to create an immersive entertainment experience. The world-building of Westworld is the world-building of Westworld as the creators of the park reflect the creators behind the show.

          Much like the minds behind the show of Westworld, the employees of the Westworld park have investors to answer to and an audience to entertain in order to for it to be sustainable. As Emily Nussbaum wrote in his essay on the Meta-Politics of Westworld in the New Yorker recently: “Westworld” is about what it means to take those generic plots and mold them into something modern: a prestige product that satisfies the taboo desires of a niche consumer base. Like HBO showrunners, Westworld’s designers “pitch” plot arcs. They “massage” story lines. They plant backstories to deepen characterizations. When glitches appear, they panic over the need to halt production, much as “Westworld” itself did, when it shut down during shooting for a rewrite.” The financial cost and creative pressure upon the respective teams behind Westworld and Westworld must be immense given the degree of realism devoted to the park’s robotic simulacra and the cinematography and acting of the show. The anxieties of the latter team enter into the narrative and dialogue of the former; audiences are given intimate exposure to the drama of world-building experienced by writers and directors working behind the scenes in the entertainment industry. Such artists must balance not only between the realism of their vision with the desires of their audience, but also with the demands of those capitalizing off of their art. 

          Westworld depicts the drama of  escapism, between providing an escape from reality and a convincing alterative to reality. As one of the Westworld “storyline” writers poses the dilemma: "Ford and Bernard keep making those things more lifelike. But does anyone truly want that? Do you want to think that your husband is really fucking that beautiful girl or that you really just shot someone? This place works because the guests know the hosts aren't real." This is one of those rare moments in fiction where the words of a character speak not only within the context of the material but reflect the material as a whole as well as their revealing the authorial concerns behind it. It isn’t difficult to imagine similar conversations occurring between the creators of Westworld itself as they discuss what audiences want out of their show and how realistic and revealing the sex and violence needs to be. Is Westworld (and by extension Westworld) a careless escape from reality or a brutal confrontation with it? Posing the question from within the narrative itself not only provokes the audiences into considering the question for themselves, but it also offers them the reassurance that the show is also aware of and concerned with this issue.

          Unlike the park after which the show derives its name, Westworld isn’t designed only to offer escapism to its audience, but presents itself a self-aware interrogation of such indulgence. The inclusion of the science fiction setting acting behind the Western one effectively breaks the wall four audiences, but in a very subtle way. The audience is not explicitly addressed by any character in the show. Rather the characters who make the park function act as surrogates for the audience by being the writers and spectators to the events of Westworld. It is a show within a show, where the more one is immersed in the material, the more one is aware of it as a constructed fiction.  Audiences are invited to reflect upon the perilous pursuit of meaning through illusion while still appreciating the beauty involved in the production of such illusions. Westworld is too complex and conflicted a show to entirely approve of or condemn escapism. It instead presents an opportunity to reflect upon the motivations and consequences of being possessed by such a desire, not only for the consumers of such fantasy, but also for the creators behind it.  Such self-conscious exploration of the entertainment industry is rare for television. It is all the more rare and valuable in its apparent willingness to turn its gaze back upon the extravagant and exploitative (sexual) violence HBO can be (in)famous for.

          True to form with the HBO television dramas, such as The Sopranos or Game of Thrones, Westworld is abundant in both sexuality and violence. But in a show concerned so thoroughly with the simulation of violence, is such representation exploitation or condemnation? After only four episodes, it is far too early to provide a definite answer but it remains an intriguing and necessary question to ask with each passing episode. The violence is directed at robotic non-people (albeit played by real people, i.e. actors), but the sexual assault and brutal dismemberment they suffer appear wholly authentic and traumatic. Just as guests enter the park to freely indulge in violence, we immerse ourselves in this drama with every episode, albeit from a more distanced perspective as audience rather than guest. We may excuse our perverse interests as merely being a fantasy, but is that not the very same excuse guests use for their sadistic escapism: that their victims are mere simulations of people and therefore inconsequential. If the art of Westworld is the imitation of life, then don’t the actions taken upon that art reflect back upon life? Escapism, no matter how exotic the experience it offers its audience, is produced in the real world and always requires us to return to reality after it concludes. Westworld forces its audience to question the innocence of being the spectator and participant in simulated violence.

          A more problematic aspect of the show is the sinister significance it apparently attaches to suffering for personal narratives. Not only do most of the storylines designed for park guests appear to revolve around (sexual) violence, but the means by which the robots appear to be coming into self-consciousness is through the traumatic recollection of their repetitive rapes and murders. The Man in Black has offered more than a few comments regarding the importance of suffering to defining what it means to be a person. The danger with all of this commentary is that Westworld is explicitly endorsing a subtext that critics frequently accuse adult entertainment of: the use of rape and murder as catalysts for character development. Most shows try to evade this criticism by arguing that depiction is not equivalent to exploitation, but with Westworld no such excuse could be entirely acceptable given how self-aware it is of the art of storytelling. The writers are not only aware of this misogynistic trope, but have made it an explicit element of the narrative. Rape and murder not only make you a better person, without them you wouldn’t even be a person. 

          The show needs to go beyond merely being self-aware of this trend in adult entertainment, and needs to explicitly condemn it through the robots who have suffered uncountable times. If the robots are only made human by their inheritance of rape and murder and come to define themselves by it, then the show will be entirely guilty of perpetuating and reinforcing a sexist myth. But if the robots refuse to be constrained by such pain and pursue something more noble and beautiful, then the show too will have achieved something greater for the art of television. Westworld will not only have made audiences consciously aware of the ways we rationalize away sexual violence in our escapist fantasies; it will have also condemned such rationalization as a limitation, rather than a foundation, of character development and fulfillment. It isn’t sufficient for Westworld to make connections between audience and actor, violence and art, without offering its audience a narrative that transcends such mutual suffering.

          The initial fun of Westworld (and perhaps Westworld too) is trying to uncover who is human and who is mere machine. But that game is complicated by the robots struggling towards self-awareness: through an apparent corruption or subversion of their programming, the accumulation of memories and gestures appropriated from their past lives and deaths (called “reveries”) is giving the robots a sense of self. While the robots are developing into more complex and sympathetic characters, the humans are for the most part heterosexual white men programmed by base desires of sex and violence. The female hosts are either archetypically whores are virgins, and female guests are either wifely companions to male guests or lesbians coded with the same base desires as men.

          This contrasted simplicity of characterization between machine and man could very well be subtle commentary alluding to the existential poverty of humanity outside of Westworld. The robots are fascinating to Westworld’s guests and Westworld’s audience alike because they were intentionally designed to appeal to individuals seeking escapism from the boredom from their outside lives: amusement parks and television shows wouldnt be successful if they didn't offer something more stimulating than what is available in the "real" world. The lack of diversity among guests could be intentionally commentary about the kind of individuals attracted to the park, after-all, one would hardly expect minorities such as women or African Americans to wax nostalgic about a time period defined by their oppression. But then again, for a show that revels in self-reflection and making explicit the subtext of its narrative, it is surprising that this stereotyping trend hasn’t been called out within the show itself already. If it continues without internal commentary it is safe to assume that it is a glitch in the writing of Westworld rather than an aspect of the world-building intentionally designed as social commentary.

          Paradoxically, the appeal of Westworld is also its most problematic aspect: because the structure of the park is a parallel for the structure of the show itself, our condemnation of the park invariably reflects back upon our own participation as audience. If Westworld doesn’t aspire towards any message beyond the contradictory exploitation and condemnation of sexual violence, it will lose the more reflective members of its audience. There is only so much appeal in indulging in the hypocrisy of watching simulated violence that is critical of simulated violence. For a show so self-aware, with its central theme being the emergence of self-awareness itself, these contradictions appear intentional rather than accidental to its overall design. We anticipate that there is a conspiracy behind the apparent glitch which is leading the robots towards self-awareness and we can only hope that there is similarly a thoughtful purpose behind the self-reflective nature of the show.

          My persistent concern with Westworld is that its moments of apparent meta criticism are less opportunities of sincere self-reflection than they are of anxious self-assurance. The show needs to eventually reflect upon something of deeper significance beyond its own self-reflection; it needs to provide opinionated commentary regarding the complexity of narrative and self-awareness and the concerns of escapism. If is it unwilling to engage with itself any further, it will appear that it was all mere pretension to mislead audiences into expecting something of deeper significance which was never there to begin with. Westworld wants us to question the humanity of its robot characters, but in order for audiences to invest in that inquiry it has to convince them that it is not pretending to be something it is not. As the Man in Black character says, the real world is chaos but inside Westworld everything has significance. That’s the appeal of Westworld too, but it may well be mere illusion. We may be deluded into thinking that this show has something deeper to offer but in the end its self-awareness is just a glitch in its system and what audiences actually receive is nothing more than the robotic gratification of sexual and violent spectacle.

          For all its commentary on the importance of “narrative” and “backstory” to good characterization of the robots and the “storylines” guests immerse themselves in when visiting the park, Westworld makes it apparent to any scrutinizing view that it is very much a story about storytelling. How substantial and entertaining such meta-commentary will be is uncertain, but it is a promising opportunity to approach the escapism offered by television from a post-modern perspective. Westworld continues to entertain me for its intricacy of world-building and instability of intention. It is a show that problematizes my expectations of what adult entertainment can be and what my disposition towards it should be. It forces me to question with each episode whether the show is merely selling the same misogynistic escapism of the Westworld park or whether it will achieve something more profound. Will Westworld eventually escape the confines of escapism offered by Westworld?

Sansa Stark, Victimization and Sexual Violence in Game of Thrones (Part V)

Note: This is a multi-part revision of a previous essay of the same title. Each part is linked below
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V

Trigger Warning: This contains frequent discussion of sexual assault, particularly rape


          A great deal of the appeal of Game of Thrones lies in its unpredictable manipulations of our expectations for how a generic fantasy narrative should unfold. Some critics have complained about Sansa’s rape precisely because it was a predictable outcome for her and Ramsay. Such criticism simplifies the specific and ironic way in which the series is unpredictable; the violence of Game of Thrones is ironically shocking precisely because of its pragmatic logic.This contradicts our expectations that fantasy should simply fulfill our wishes and wonder for escapist entertainment. The violence of the series traumatizes us, not because it is so inconsistent with the logic of its own world, but because we expect that logic to confirm to our predefined schemas of what a typical fantasy narrative should be.  We have come to expect that fantasy stories provide us with a perfect hero who can evade harm simply by virtue of being a virtuous character we are invested in. That does not make for a realistic fantasy, but merely serves to satisfy our own simplistic moral narratives. 

  

The death of the noble Ned Stark makes perfect, if not horrific, sense within his world’s logic. But we rarely take the logic of a fantasy world seriously; instead we impose a secure narrative of moral purity, simplicity and the guarantee of a good victory. Yet despite the ruthless pragmatism that placed Sansa in the hands of Ramsay, one can still hope that she will escape this situation much as she did with Joffrey, not merely as a survivor but as a victor. Such hope is legitimate since in Game of Thrones violence only begets further violence and eventually the cruel must suffer the consequences of their actions. The violence of Game of Thrones is not gratuitous but is logical given its semi-feudal pseudo-medieval setting, and it is from this same logic that the guarantee of satisfying retribution emerges. Mere goodness or adoration does not guarantee one’s success or well-being in the real world. There is nothing wrong with such narratives so long as we understand them to be edifying entertainment fantasies. Game of Thrones strives to be something more and it needs to be appreciated on its own terms. If a critic cannot do so, they need not watch the show.         

One may object to most of these counter-criticisms that they over identify the fiction rape of the character Sansa with the actual rape of real people. In criticizing the event of Sansa’s rape, one is not only commenting on a fictional account of a real phenomenon.  When one claims that the event should not have been depicted to the audience or that Sansa should have exercised more agency, one is not making corresponding demands that actual rapes be ignored or that rape victims should be expected to do more to avoid sexual assault. Despite the reasonableness of this retort, I think it misunderstands the project of Game of Thrones and realist fiction in general. Of course Sansa is a fictional character and of course the series she is a character of is a fantasy while rape is a troubling reality.  But Game of Thrones is a realistic portrayal of fantasy, critiquing the genre as if it was real and as such Sansa should be related to as if she were a real person.

In realistic fiction, we relate to the characters as if they were people not merely ideas or archetypes. The latter is the sort of literature which  pre-fantasy fables belongs to, the narrative being determined by moral ideology rather than the personal psychology of its characters. When one criticizes the rape of Sansa they are not merely criticizing the way in which Sansa was written but are criticizing her as a fictional person, as if she were a real person. By extension they are criticizing (unintentionally) any real person in circumstances similar to hers who do not live up to the same unrealistic standards imposed upon them by a judgmental audience. One can plainly assert that rape is not necessary to fantasy fiction and they would be right. There are enough fantasy stories without it that are worthy of our attention.  But rape was a necessary part of a woman’s life in much of the medieval worlds that these fantasy stories romanticize. To the extent that Game of Thrones is a realistic fantasy criticism of the patriarchal romanticism within its own genre, it is necessary to confront the issue of rape. 

          Nothing is necessary as a narrative device, and fictional narratives themselves, especially fantastical ones such as Game of Thrones, are not necessary either. If you don’t like the grim realism of Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire, don’t watch and read respectively. If you don’t like the fantasy genre in general, don’t immerse yourself in it. If you are going to criticize any of it, ensure that you have good arguments that are sound and actually support the perspective you purport to represent. Unfortunately, much of the seemingly feminist arguments against this scene are not reasonable, and actually appear to undermine the feminism they speak for. Looked at in the wider context of what a Game of Thrones and Sansa in particular are subverting in the fictional genre of fantasy, these criticisms can unfortunately themselves be construed as sexist and patriarchal.

          What began as criticism of sexism inherent in Game of Thrones ironically turned out to be the revelation of sexism implicit in such criticism. The patriarchy certainly works in strange ways. This is not to suggest that the approach Game of Thrones takes to misogyny in fantasy is superior to that taken in works such as Mad Max, but it is merely a defense that the former is not inferior to the latter. One operates through the hero and the other the victim, but both narratives are essential to confront misogyny. If we refuse to recognize and represent victimization, whether in fantasy or reality, we alienate those that suffer sexual abuse. Such abandonment is antithetical to feminism, where the voice of every woman deserves to be witnessed, especially the victims of male domination.

Sansa Stark, Victimization and Sexual Violence in Game of Thrones (Part IV)

Note: This is a multi-part revision of a previous essay of the same title. Each part is linked below
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V

Trigger Warning: This contains frequent discussion of sexual assault, particularly rape

          One may accept that Sansa’s rape was permissible or even necessary while arguing that its depiction was not. Perhaps Sansa could have simply admitted to Theon that Ramsay rapes her every night in the same way that she broke down before him in the following episode and thereby the audience would be spared the representation of the violent act itself. This argument overreaches however since it ignores the way in which the rape could be referenced through the reaction of Theon’s in the immediate presence of the act without showing the act itself. The rape itself was not depicted for the audience, only Theon’s reaction to it (and the sign of Sansa suffering it), and it was his horrific recognition which was important for the audience to witness. The audience had to see that Theon saw her suffering for its full thematic effect and could not rely upon his reaction to a confession thereafter. 

          Tactfully the rape itself occurred off-screen, only being represented through the horror upon Theon’s face and the whimpers made by Sansa. Simply because the rape of Sansa affected more than one person does not mean that it was not about Sansa and was instead about Theon. Even if Theon recovers his courage and finally confronts Ramsay for all that he has done to Theon and Sansa, there is no reason to reduce this scene to a function of that character development. Simply because the camera focused upon Theon’s contorted and horrified face does not mean the scene was primarily about him. The scene may visually focus on Theon’s face, but it also provides the auditory suffering of Sansa as she moans and cries in discomfort. The suffering of each person is represented but done in such a way that does not dehumanize or sensationalize the ordeal of Sansa. Had the camera focused upon Sansa, or worse still, Ramsay, there would be guaranteed criticism that the scene was a spectacle of sexual violence seen through the predatory perspective of the male gaze. 

          Instead said male gaze was turned back upon itself. Theon is made witness to the dehumanization of women by the institutional powers he is literally in subservience to, and the audience is made witness to this realization in turn. His is the male gaze come to realize its complacency with the degradation of women, idly watching as unfolds before him.Theon is a perfect representation of the self-destructive patriarchy within the world of Game of Thrones. Theon hoped to impress his true father, Balon Greyjoy, by betraying the Stark house, besieging Winterfell and then boasted of killing Sansa’s youngest brothers. For this he was humiliated, tortured and ultimately castrated by Ramsay. Theon’s quest to assert his masculinity only resolved to deprive him of it. But the show focused upon Theon’s face not for the audience to empathize with his suffering, but for the audience to recognize our compassion for Sansa in his own face. And our outrage at Theon for doing nothing to protect Sansa should be turned back upon ourselves to confront the ways in which we never confront the rape culture we are horrified for having witnessed. Rather than reducing the suffering of Sansa into a titillating spectacle, the scene is turned into a torturous spectacle of patriarchal hypocrisy.    

          The focus upon Theon’s reaction to Sansa’s rape highlighting that the effects of rape extend beyond the immediate victim but are also internalized by those aware of it. Sexual violence affects all of society and in patriarchal ones it is particular poisonous to men who perceive themselves to be in a position to judge the very violence they are complicit in. Theon, despite his betrayal of House Stark, was a pseudo-brother to Sansa and having no particular ill will towards her would be particularly traumatized by her rape; Ramsay, knowing this, used it to great sadistic effect in order to humiliate and emasculate Theon further. A major recurrent theme throughout both series is bearing witness to and accepting that one’s society is unjust (to women) and accepting that fantasies derive their narratives from the history and mythology of such societies. To completely absolve one’s self from witnessing the rape would be a betrayal of the ethical deconstruction of the fantasy genre. To ignore such depictions is to assume that rape is less awful if not seen by others, and it is precisely in the interest of patriarchal societies and the fantasy narratives they reinforce to conceal the reality of rape culture they have responsibility for.

          Rape is not merely a grim fantasy in the same way that knights, dragons or White Walkers are but is a horrific reality that women live in fear of and often suffer. Certainly, such a sensitive issue like rape should not be trivialized into a narrative device or sensationalized into a sexual spectacle for the male gaze.  Fictional accounts of rape, in fantastical worlds or not, should be done with visceral impact that does not ignore the lasting emotional impact of the event. But imposing ad-hoc restrictions on how rape is represented to ensure that it is “meaningful” to the story or “empowering” to the person who suffers it is not only unrealistic but is also uncomfortable considering the issue. Rape intrudes into the narrative of one’s life and literally so into one’s bodily person in order to deprive them of power. If it is to be represented in fiction it should remain true to the horror of that experience and not made to conform to comforting or empowering narratives.

          There is nothing wrong with stories of women avoiding rape or overpowering the attackers or of stories that do not feature rape at all. Those stories provide examples of empowered women who are more than victims of sexual assault and it needs to be seen that a woman is capable of such courage when confronted with sexual violence. But it is equally important not to ignore stories where women are raped routinely by men with little power over to resist. The discomfort we male feel over such narratives may only serve to highlight to privilege we have of being so far removed from such a world and our lack of empathy for those who live such fiction as a reality. Although we certainly need heroines to confront the patriarchy, we also need to recognize that it is equally harmful to demand of women that they be a triumphant hero in situations of sexual assault and abuse. We certainly should hope that women prevail in such circumstances and ought to strive to ensure that such circumstances never emerge to begin with, but insofar as they do it is equally important to represent the nobility of the victim as it is the nobility of the victor. 

I think Sana represents precisely what is lacking in so much of fantasy fiction: the noble victim.  Bearing one’s suffering in silence is not an ideal women should strive for, but rather it is a reaction to abuse that the audiences need to strive to accept.  Both heroism and victimhood are possible when confronted with rape and it is not our place as audience to a rape, fictional or real, to judge the victim for failing to live up to our expectation that they be a hero.  The irony is that for Sana herself, the noble victim is an ideal, or at least the best a woman can do in her circumstances.  Yet faulting for her this fails to recognize the way in which the ideology of patriarchy has informed her self-image. And blaming HBO or George RR Martin for writing such a character in their respective series is a failure to realize that their representation is a criticism of the way such misogynistic ideology operates, not an endorsement of it.   

Demanding that Sansa be protected from sexual violence for the sake of the plot is to impose upon the narrative a moral order which the show is continually subverting.  Traditional fantasy worlds are defined by a moral order that ensures the heroes are victorious and the villains are vanquished, and each is easily identifiable for the audience. It is a world where only the wicked are punished and if the good suffer, it is for the sake of some higher purpose the narrative provides them with. This ideology extends beyond the fictional worlds of fantasy, intruding into our own moral judgments ; the belief in a moral purpose to the world ironically justifies moral atrocities the world over for the sake of preserving that sacred narrative or bringing it closer to its culmination.  

Ironically the very desire the shield Sansa and the fantasy genre recognition of sexual abuse is the very sort of romanticized narrative which rendered Sansa so subservient to said abuses in the first place. She was shielded from the violence of the world most of her life, raised to believe in the nobility of knights and lords and to serve them as a kind and passive lady; but this is a fantasy in denial of the depravity of most knights and lords Sansa suffers through. This is not to say that fantastic narratives of female empowerment only serve to disempower women. But the lack of narratives honestly portraying the possibility of degradation and instead insisting upon a perfect world for perfect heroes does leave us unable to confront evil when it penetrates this illusion. Such evil is inevitable but emerges unexpectedly and Game of Thrones manages this balance well.       

Sansa Stark, Victimization and Sexual Violence in Game of Thrones (Part III)

Note: This is a multi-part revision of a previous essay of the same title. Each part is linked below
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V

Trigger Warning: This contains frequent discussion of sexual assault, particularly rape


          Rather strange is the unprecedented criticism of the show following Sansa’s rape despite sexual violence being a recurrent trauma in both the books and the television show narratives. Daenerys Targaryen was raped Khal Drogo following her wedding and Cersei Lannister was sexually assaulted by her twin brother Jaime Lannister following the death of their son Joffrey, a product of their longstanding incestuous relations. Less outspoken is the outrage when minor characters of equally minor social class (mostly whores) are raped or butchered for the amusement of men. Recall Joffrey forcing prostitutes to torture each other or the prostitute Ros he murdered with his crossbow or the women Ramsay hunted and slaughtered in the forest or Tyrion Lannister murdering Shae for betraying him by sleeping with another woman, his father Tywin.

          It is worth considering whether the difference in disgust over such misogyny appears to reflect difference in class privilege with higher regard being afforded to noble women. The rape and slaughter of poor whores seems to be as complacently accepting in the real world as it is the fantasy world as a consequence of their frowned-upon lifestyle. It is troubling that some have suggested that the rape scene would have been less traumatic if it occurred to the less important (in terms of both narrative and social position) character Jeyne Poole, rather than Sansa, as if rape is only particularly traumatic when it involves characters of high class and narrative importance. Here the audience appears less concerned with the traumatic event of rape itself and more distracted by whether the individual suffering the trauma is someone they feel invested in.

          Criticisms to the contrary, the rape made perfect sense in the narrative since the legitimacy of the Bolton house as Wardens of the North depends upon an expedient marriage. The family with the greatest Northern legitimacy is the Stark family of whom Sansa Stark is the only known remaining daughter. By agreeing to marriage with Ramsay it was certain Sansa would have to have sex with him, given that the purpose of marriage is to produce an heir of the unified households. And given the personality of the man she married, it was likely that such sex would not be pleasant or consensual for her. Ramsay, sadistic bastard that he is (pun intended), has an apparent preference for sex done out of dominance rather than pleasure. Or stated otherwise, the pleasure Ramsay derives from sex is not from the sex itself but the way it can be used as a way to dominate and dehumanize women against their will and manipulate them to his own. Ever eager to humiliate Theon further, it is unsurprising that Ramsay forced Theon to witness the violation of Sansa. This should not be interpreted to mean that Sansa’s rape was meaningful but merely that it was predictable. Sansa’s rape is not necessary to the story (is any event truly necessary to a narrative?), but it is a legitimate possibility given the world in which her story unfolds.

          Further criticizing the scene for not providing the audience with new plot or character information is not only false but misunderstands that relationship people and events have to one another and the overall narrative. Yes, we did not need that scene to understand that Ramsay is a sadistic bastard but that event occurred precisely because he is exactly one. And although the audience may be aware of Ramsay’s depravity, Sansa is not. That scene provided the audience with recognition that she was made aware of the extent of his cruelty. It also provided Theon an opportunity to be challenged out of his own submission by witnessing a loved one suffering similar humiliation and submission. Having been raped by Ramsay, and Theon having witnessed it, they are bound together: the former through the hope of revenge and the latter through redemption. The rape, being consistent with all the characters involved, provides us with no new information on them. Rather characters were brought together so that they would be provided with new knowledge of one another’s suffering and unite to end it. This is not a justification for the rape, since I think such narrative justifications are problematic, but it does serve to correct the criticism that the rape provided no new information to the characters or the audience. 

          

          The worst criticism of Sansa’s rape is that it she should have shown more agency during the ordeal. Sana did not cower before the idle threats of Myranda, Ramsay Bolton’s lover, but cried and whimpered through the ordeal of Ramsay raping her. The scene is being criticized because Sansa did not resist the rape or consent to it in order to nullify its violation of her person. This is a sexist critique which reflects the belief that being a victim of sexual violence means you lacked the agency (strength, i.e. masculinity) to resist the assault on your person. Criticizing the rape of Sansa in this way implies that her weakness is a failing which made her rape possible, which is blatant victim-blaming and sexist. Such argumentation assumes that the victim of sexual assault is responsible for it since they did not resist it enough or prepare against it enough.

          It is not uncommon for victims of sexual assault to feel as though they are unable to resist their attacker. And it may be true that they could not escape the situation, or it may not. Either way it is not the place of someone else, who did not suffer the ordeal themselves, to judge the victim for not acting according to what was expected of them. Otherwise empowered and self-confident women may panic under the traumatizing experience of a sexual assault. To suggest that there is something that they should have done to prevent their rape is to further violate the victim, not protect them. The victim may them internalize such failings, interpreting the rape as what they deserved for being unable to resist it.

          This criticism then is the most shameful betrayal of feminism and solidarity with victims of patriarchal violence. This scene is a realistic, if not horrific, portrayal of sexual assault. And it is all the more disturbing that Sansa, a person the audience was invested in and believed to be rising in power, was violated in such a way. As Game of Thrones repeatedly reminds us, power and virtue are not secure protection against violence but are likely to attract it. However, this does not imply that the victims of such violence are themselves responsible for it. Nor does it imply that the show is at fault for depicting the reality of rape culture many of us would chose to ignore or, worse yet, contribute to. The show should not be faulted for depicting violence realistically, but one should be motivated to uncover and fault those aspects of society which contribute towards misogyny and sexual violence such as rape.

          Rape does not necessarily entail a radical, let alone positive, transformation in one’s character. It is a deep disturbance to one’s positive character development. And the expectation that it elicit a positive transformation is itself deeply disturbing. If there was a necessary relationship between rape and character development then it would be morally justified if not required, to rape women. That is precisely the kind of horrific reasoning a patriarchal society like the one Sansa lives under would exhibit and is precisely the kind of society that Game of Thrones is criticizing. The expectation that rape conform to a meaningful, coherent narrative is absurd. Retroactively imposing meaning upon a rape entails that it was necessitated by the events which preceded it, highlighting the inescapability of it given the choices that one made and therefore one’s ultimate responsibility for their own rape. This amounts to blaming the victim for their own rape which is precisely the kind of narrative patriarchy provides in order to exculpate itself for the responsibility it bears for the pervasiveness of rape culture.

 Absurd is the assumption that Sansa could immediately escape her circumstances. How can she run from or fight off Ramsay when she is in a massive castle surrounded by men loyal to his sadistic whim? As a woman, society as a whole believes her to be Ramsay’s property through marriage and therefore he is entitled to do with her as she pleases and if she ran she would be returned to him. As a person, Sansa is apparently psychologically incapable of violence as she was incapable of pushing Joffrey to his death even after being showed the severed heads of her slain father and septa. A stereotyped feminine passivity has been imposed upon her personality through her upbringing, ingraining in her the expectation that women should be subservient to men. To expect that Sansa would be capable of overcoming this internalized ideology within her and the men that enforce it is inexplicable. Daenarys, Arya and Brienne have only managed to do through a combination of being supported by, mistaken as, and forced to take the role of men. They have not managed to overcome patriarchy but have rather conformed to and internalized the masculine instead of the feminine aspect of the binary hierarchy.           

It is simply disturbing to hear some critics think it better that Sana desire to or at least feign the desire to have sex with Ramsay simply so she does not appear to be a victim. Ramsay is monstrously evil, arguably more so than Joffrey ever was or could have been. Having just escaped from Joffrey, it is inconceivable that Sansa would want to then be intimate with a man who rivals him in evil. Were Sansa merely feigned consent for the purpose of revenge against Ramsay and his family, it would be grossly inconsistent with her character development no matter how much agency she may have developed recently. Sansa is a young virgin entirely inexperienced and uncomfortable with sex so it is unlikely that she would be enthusiastic on the night of her arranged wedding, no matter the man. To suggest that Sansa (appear) to want Ramsay is abusive of her character and suggestive that women should consent to their rapists. Are we so unable to empathize with the suffering of a female character that we can only stomach it if they turn it to their advantage? Are we so anxious to see women victimized that we can only conceive of them as Machiavellian manipulators, selling their virginity to murderers to avenge their fallen family?

Sansa Stark, Victimization and Sexual Violence in Game of Thrones (Part II)

Note: This is a multi-part revision of a previous essay of the same title. Each part is linked below
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V

Trigger Warning: This contains frequent discussion of sexual assault, particularly rape

          Critics have claimed that the rape of Sansa Stark was a gratuitous example of sexual violence. Certainly I found the scene to be discomforting and disgusting without feeling that it was gratuitous.  Outrage is an appropriate emotional reaction to the sexual assault of Sansa.  No person deserves such violation. But gratuitous means unwarranted, and I think people are using this to simply express their discomfort or disgust.  The former is an emotional assertion while the latter is an intellectual criticism.  A criticism that I believe is itself gratuitous in nature. It is undeniable that Game of Thrones has often made the patriarchal sexual violence of the books more simplistic and sensational.  But to the credit of HBO, the rape of Sansa was in fact significantly less horrific than the parallel scene adapted from the books.  In the books, it is instead Sansa’s friend Jeyne Poole who is raped by Ramsay Bolton, who believes her to be Sansa’s sister Arya.  Horrifically, Theon is not merely forced to watch the rape but is made to participate in it: he is threatened by Ramsay with the removal of his fingers if he does not perform cunnilingus on Jeyne so that she is wet by the time that Ramsay undresses.           

What is strange is that independently the books or show are praised for defying the genre conventions of fantasy, yet the show is criticized when it defies the books, even if such defiance is consistent with the appraised subversions of traditional fantasy. When Martin writes a noble character as being tortured, executed or raped it is (more often) praised as a grimly realistic subversion of the typical heroic romanticism of the fantasy genre.  But when the show does the same to a character who does not suffer the same fate in the books, it is criticized for exercising gratuitous violence.  Martin’s series is engrossing and disturbing because of the way in which it defies our moral certainty in the narrative and if the television adaptation is to possess the same appeal it must be allowed to deviate at times from the source material of the books. Otherwise anyone familiar with the particulars of the books will remain unsurprised by the events that transpire in the television show.

If one is willing to grant that the books are entitled to torture our most beloved characters against our tired expectations of heroic fantasy, one has to grant to same license to the show in equal measure.  I despised having Sansa dehumanized by yet another sadistic man but I accepted it with the same resignation as I did the death of Ned Stark or Oberyn Martell.  Despite the horror of each of their deaths, their deaths remained consistent with the logic of the violent world they inhabit.  The rape of Sansa is no different in it's conforming to the logic of the world and the tone and theme of the story.  The fact that it deviates from the books is inconsequential and it is inconsistent to insist that only the books are permitted to make us despair in such genre-defiant fashion.  A, if not the, central theme of each series is the cruel subversion of heroic fantasy and the way in which such fantasy reinforces and justifies very real cruelties such as war, torture and rape.  One must come to accept that the show is just as justified as exploring and exposing this relationship as the book is, even when it extends beyond what the books consider.            

In most traditional fantasy stories it is easy for the audience to identify and identify with the hero of the narrative and therefore remain confident that by virtue of such attachment they will be immune from defeat or destruction. Since it is their story and they are our hero, we assume that however perilous their journey, they will prevail.  Yet the multiple perspectives of Game of Thrones and their conflicting moral imperatives makes it nearly impossible for the audience to identify definite heroes who are ensured to survive the entire story. If anything, one can only be sure that they will not survive it, at least regarding those apparent heroes that conform to the traditional moral ideals of honor, courage and duty of their feudal and patriarchal society. The moral complexity and contradictions of the narrative also make it difficult for the audience to identify with the supposed heroes since they contain as much vice as they do virtue.             

Game of Thrones and A Song of Ice and Fire are deconstructions of the traditional fantasy narrative and criticisms of the patriarchal feudal society that such fantasies romanticize.  It would be dishonest to attempt to depict such misogyny while in denial that rape is a fundamental part of that system.  Such insincerity is exactly the sort of romanticism which each series confronts in its respective media. Sexual violence is represented in the fictional world as much as it is present in our world, precisely because the former was produced to dramatize the reality implicit in the fantasy genre. Artistic representation is not (merely) an appeal to one’s intellectual comprehension of phenomenon. It is also an emotional stimulation and ethical reflection.  We need not witness an incidence of rape to comprehend that it is morally abominable.  But its depiction may arouse our emotions to reflect on the way in which misogyny is ignored and romanticized in both our entertainment fantasies and our political and economic realities.  

Sansa Stark, Victimization and Sexual Violence in Game of Thrones (Part I)

Note: This is a multi-part revision of a previous essay of the same title. Each part is linked below
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V

Trigger Warning: This contains frequent discussion of sexual assault, particularly rape


          I watched the controversial sixth episode of HBO’s Game of Thrones’ fifth season, “Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken” in the wake of George Miller’s Mad Max: Fury Road. This was unfortunate. I still consider that episode my least favorite in the season (and possibly entire show) so far. I am still disappointed over the way the Dorne plot, particularly the inept Sand Snakes, are being handled this season and in that episode in particular. But initially my primary reason for being upset over that episode was the ending: the rape of Sansa Stark on his wedding night to Ramsay Bolton as Theon Greyjoy, her pseudo-brother, was forced to watch on in abject horror.

          Continual criticism such has been laid upon this scene and at first much of it resonated with me. It appeared to be another example of casual sexual violence visited upon a female character without narrative necessity. It has been over two weeks since I watched that episode and I have spent that time thinking about the critiques written about it. I have come to the conclusion that the majority of said criticism misunderstands both the purpose of the show and the person of Sansa.  Far more problematic however, is the revelation that the most apparently feminist criticisms of that scene internalize the very thing they speak against: a patronizing perspective towards female victims of sexual violence.  Although such criticisms appear concerned for Sansa, they presuppose reducing her personality into an explicit character-function of a predefined narrative to give “meaning” to her humiliating rape.  In what follows I will outline the common criticisms of that scene and investigate their unsettling and contradictory consequences. Several articles have already led the ground-work for this critique, such as Daniel Finkle on Patheos , Amanda Marcotte on Raw Story, or Kate Polak at The Hooded Utilitarian, each of which I strongly recommend you read independently and in their entirety.  

Game of Thrones, like the A Song of Ice and Fire series by George RR Martin upon which it is based, subverts and critiques the tropes that have defined and confined the fantasy fiction genre.  In a more generic fantasy narrative, one would expect the noble Stark house to not only survive but to triumph over their foes.  The family patriarch, Ned Stark, should be ensured victory by his traditional virtues of loyalty, chivalry and honor.  Instead, his virtuousity results in not only his death but the death of his avenging eldest son, Robb Stark, who follows the same code of honor as his father.  This is a realist critique of the fantasy genre and the violent patriarchal societies routinely romanticized within its canon.  It ruthlessly exposes the self-destructive tendency of patriarchy and the hypocrisy of chivalry where men slaughter one another for the honor of their House and then rape women in order to ensure the lineage of the House, so the cycle of violence can sustain itself.

Fans of traditional fantasy fiction have come to expect from the narratives that their heroes will be triumphant in the face of adversity. They are confident that the damsel in distress will be rescued at the last minute by the daring hero.  This is not only a genre cliché but it is an escape into wish-fulfillment. Game of Thrones is an explicitly anti-escapist fantasy.  Through realistic, it offers the critical subversion of the wish-fulfilling tendencies of the fantasy.  Since fantasy fiction has a tendency towards romantic depictions of medieval feudal patriarchies, the realism of Game of Thrones requires that the violence, especially the sexism, of such a societies to be represented.  The token dragons, giants and magic of the fantasy genre appear within the series but there do not exist within a world free from the moral, political or economical conflicts which define our real experiences. The series is a reminder to the fantasy genre audience that one can never truly escape from the historical problems of reality since fantasy worlds are derived from our very history; if we want to take the fantasy world seriously, we need to seriously consider the ethical problems of that world which parallel our own.  Fantasy is not simply an escape from history into fiction but also provides a confrontation with history through fiction. In respect to this essay, the history of interest is of patriarchal sexual violence.