Showing posts with label Fronting Feisty Female. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fronting Feisty Female. Show all posts

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Summers versus Chase—Who is the Better Grown Up Cheerleader?

**Due to recent misinterpretations of some one post from this blog, a disclaimer is now apparently necessary.  If this is your first visit to The Scratched Camera, please read the introductory post and discover, for yourself, that every typed word that follows is unabashedly my opinion and mine alone.  In said introductory post, which, shockingly, I did not simply type up for my own good health, I state that we all read events and characters with our own baggage in mind; no one observes with a perfectly clear lens—hence the name The Scratched Camera.  Therefore, it is completely your will to disagree with any material that follows, just as it is my will to agree and advocate for what is mine.**  ~End, irritating obligatory disclaimer~

Summers versus Chase—Who is the Better Grown Up Cheerleader?

            In terms of the arc of their characters, both Cordelia and Buffy have a lot of commonalities.  They each come from humble beginnings—in character, not necessarily in monetary or influential terms, as both girls came from moderate to vastly successful families and were at the height of popularity in their perspective schools—as a character carved from an archetype of the popular cheerleader variety.  However, despite these disconcerting origins, both characters rose above their circumstances to become a vastly more powerful and relatable character than the audience could’ve ever anticipated from their introduction. 

            When we first meet the characters in the television show, Buffy has already made some progress in the issue of maturity, whereas Cordelia is approximately in the same place as Buffy was during the film set earlier in the same school year.  As a result, Cordelia serves as a constant reminder of the life Buffy left behind in order to fulfill her destiny as a Slayer.  Chase, in her ignorance of all things supernatural, is able to be popular, run for prom queen, date and, in general, have a normal social life. 

            Buffy, at the start of the series, has been forced to sacrifice quite a bit already.  In the flashbacks provided by Becoming, as well as first hand experiences seen in the film Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the audience glimpses that Summers was almost as tactless as Cordy at one time.  She was once cruel, as she speculates manipulating others into asking her to the dance and releases verbal lashings to her supposed best friends.  In Los Angelus, she could say whatever she wanted and people would bow at her feet, just begging to know her, be close to her.  At the time, this made her feel as if she were on top of the world. 

            Cordelia, who expresses in Out of Mind, Out of Sight that she would rather have fake friends than none at all, understands this feeling of superiority.  The conversation is difficult for Buffy to navigate, as she can appreciate that her life has improved since her days of popularity have to come a close; yet, she still yearns for that sense of normality that Cordelia so illusively represents to her.  In short, Buffy envies Cordy, something I doubt she’d ever fully admit. 

            When Cordelia learns that Buffy was once possibly even more popular than her, any chance of a potential friendship between the two is eliminated.  Instead, Cordelia, in her authority as the Queen Bee—or, C, as she would undoubtedly prefer—of Sunnydale High School, declares Buffy a social outcast, as Summers turns towards the true friendship offered by the likes of Willow and Xander as an alternative to the merely motivationally driven companionship that Cordelia extends.  High school Cordy, in all her power and authority, represents, as the authors of Praising Cordelia state, “the archetypal feminine type,” a woman who embodies the “stereotypes of femininity”—endowing her with an ability to simultaneously dominate all the females of the school and command the attention of every male.  In short, Buffy has a supernatural power that makes her nearly unbeatable on a battlefield.  Cordelia, on the other hand, has an applicable sway and charisma (get it?) that allows her to reign supreme in the structure of the public school society. 

            From this downgrade of Summers’s social status, the two will forever serve as mutual foils and rivals.  They compete over titles of popularity, friendships and, of course Angel.  In their time spent at Sunnydale High, Buffy is clearly the better role model.  Cordelia’s blunt honesty does have several merits, but, beyond that, her character lacks a level of vulnerability that would be required to redeem the negatives of this trait, making her appear to be little other than cruel.  The audience does get a peak of a true potential for emotional exposure from within Cordy at her discovery of Xander’s betrayal in Lover’s Walk.  Unfortunately, she quickly closes all emotions down and regresses towards her vindictive and popularity driven ways. 

            Cordy, in a somewhat Fronting Feisty Female fashion, enjoys berating others while being utterly incapable of standing on her own without need of a savior.  Buffy, on the other hand, requires very little rescuing in the first three years of the show.  She is often the one doing the saving, with the damsel in question frequently being Cordelia herself.  With this earned selflessness, Summers has learned to filter what she says since her days in L.A.  However, this does not mean she’s completely changed personalities; she does managed to remain true to herself in this time.  With the change in her priorities, Buffy simply accepted that a change in her personality came with the job.  The change is brought about in a more begrudging manner from Chase, who suffers endlessly between a desire to be popular and what her true instincts tell her she should do. 

            Ironically, while it took moving away from L.A. to round-out Buffy’s character, Chase’s relocation to the City of Angels achieves similar ends.  While Cordelia will always have desires driven by popularity and superficial values, she does start to take some impressively large steps in the right direction here.  She hasn’t changed some much as to avoid telling the occasional superficial lie to draw in the attention of a significant other, particularly in one who is of both rich and attractive.  However, she finds that she now has further standards than money and physical appearance; should that person begin to question her or ask her to compromise her part of the Angel, Investigations mission, she will quickly remove them from her life.  Repeatedly, over the course of season one of Angel, we see attractive men come and go, as they begin to bore her in comparison to the sense of purpose she now feels the need to fulfill.

            Alternatively, Buffy, seen in season four as a freshman in college, struggles to continue to hold true to the strength she had displayed in her relationship with Angel.  Her submissiveness at the lack of sustainability in her relationship with Parker is borderline disturbing, as all of her friends attempt to repeatedly convince her that Abrams is nothing worthy of her time or energy.  While it may be more realistic to show a character who isn’t always at the top of her game in terms of relationships with significant others, it does her no favors to show her as desperate as she is here. 

            Likewise, Summers consistently second guesses herself in regards to her relationship with Riley Finn.  I do respect the struggle she adamantly conveys to him before the relationship begins—her bond with Angel was turbulent at best and it is, therefore, only realistic that she be rather gun shy to become invested once again.  However the dependability developed after they become settled into the situation isn’t necessarily healthy.  Finn’s strength—admirable, yet inferior to Buffy’s—also adds a complexity to the relationship, as Buffy admits to Willow several times that she holds herself back to prevent from hurting his feelings.  While this may be the compassionate thing to do, no female should ever feel the need to coddle the insecurities of another at her own expense. 

            I have no doubt that the very thought of holding herself back for the sake of sparing someone’s feelings would be enough to make Cordelia laugh.  While she may not have the strength of Buffy, she refuses to compromise on the characteristics she thinks of as her best assets.  Regularly, characters ask her to bite her tongue in an attempt to become more socially appropriate.  If anything, this only causes her to become more crass as she refuses to do what she’s told. 

            There is also the issue of the near rape towards the end of season six.  I discussed this briefly in my post centered on Spikealthough, I will be the first to admit I skirted around the issue, as the actual action and the resulting consequences, or lack thereof, truly bother me.  While I understand what facts allow Buffy to forgive Spike of his misdeeds—namely, the acquisition of his soul—I strongly believe Cordelia’s reaction would’ve been significantly different and would’ve served to set a sturdier model. 

Fortunately, Buffy is endowed with supernatural strength and was able to prevent the assault before it was fully realized.  Cordelia, on the other hand, has been violated several times over the course of her adventures with Team Angel.  In Expecting, she wakes up the morning after a date nearly nine months pregnant with very little comprehension of the course of the previous evening.  In Epiphany, she is once again impregnated, this time by a three-eyed demon that is, at the very least, able to evidently do so without actually sleeping with her.  In the season two two-part ending, Cordy is told that she will be forced to sleep with Gru to rid herself of her visions.  While Chase was initially attracted to Gru, she refuses to sleep with him if it means she will lose her visions in the process.  This repeated sense of sexual violation, albeit in varying levels of seriousness, would most likely have forced a very different reaction from Cordelia, had her place been switched with Buffy’s.  Summers vaguely struggles to redevelop her trust towards the vampire.  While Cordelia manages to forgive a lot of actions Angelus subjects her to, I believe a rape—successful or not—would’ve distinctly placed them in an unforgivable territory. 

While she will never be endowed with the supernatural strength that allows Buffy to defend herself so readily, Cordelia, over the next two years of her life, will become more immersed in the elements of the supernatural, via visions that are incredibly painful gifts from the Powers That Be.  At first, she views these premonitions as a curse, as they induce painful migraines that have the potential to be very dangerous.  However, as time carries on, and she experiences more strangers in the height of their pain, she is fundamentally changed.

            In season three, she is offered an opportunity to return her visions in trade for the life of the stardom she had originally sought.  As Skip informs her that retaining the visions will mean her death, she takes the deal, albeit tentatively.  In the events to follow, Chase, without any recollection of her previous life and mission in Los Angelus, manages to find her own way back to the path she chose several years prior.  She kisses Angel, and receives the visions all over again.  Her obstinate demeanor results in another offer from Skip—he can change her physicality to make her part-demon, thereby allowing her to retain her visions without their implicit fatality. 

            Chase’s agreement to change her very nature in order to preserve her part to play in the mission of Angel, Investigations rings along the same lines of Spike seeking out his soul.  Buffy and Angel each had changes forced upon them.  Summers’ character developed because she was called as the Slayer and, therefore, had to learn to grow up rather quickly, as the weight of the world was dumped on her shoulders overnight.  Angel was cursed with his soul and, therefore, much like Buffy, joined the good fight due to an external uncontrollable factor. 

            Spike and Cordelia, on the other hand, each sought out their own way to join the cause.  After the aforementioned attempt at rape, Spike went looking for a way to acquire his soul.  Chase could’ve very easily contentedly settled into a life of fame and fortune when presented with Skip’s opportunity.  Even after the first deployment failed, she could’ve insisted Skip give her one last attempt at finding normality amongst the rampant supernatural saturation that has occurred to her in the last year.  However, she simply can’t do that.  She’s seen a bigger purpose in this world—something that can make her life worth living and dying for.  As such, she goes so far as to voluntarily change her very being to preserve her chance to make a difference in this world. 

To draw attention to this, at the very same time that Cordy is sacrificing her humanity to serve a larger purpose, Buffy is complaining that her responsibilities as a Slayer make it very difficult for her to get a job somewhere other than the local burger joint.  As Cordelia progressively climbs up the selfless ladder in season three of Angel, Buffy struggles to keep her head above water in season six of BtVS.  She engages in a relationship that’s unhealthy and unsatisfying to both her and Spike.  She hides her true afterlife experiences from her friends, despite knowing that they could help her deal with the aftermath of being ripped from Heaven.  In general, she develops a pattern of making poor decisions, as she selfishly puts her own needs ahead of the helplessness of those who surround her. 

            In a sense, I cannot blame her for this.  Buffy has selflessly served as the world’s protector and savior for the last five years.  Her reward has been to lose everything she’s ever cared for.  While her mistakes here are understandable, I still can’t help but be bothered by the uncharacteristic nature of the character in this season. 

            Thankfully, Buffy resumes her usual disposition in season seven.  Roles reverse here once more, as Summers becomes the leader of the greatest army BtVS has ever seen and Chase, possessed and atypical in behavior, becomes Angel’s Big Bag for the fourth season.  The Cordelia here, however, is not, in any shape or form, the actual Cordelia.  Therefore, she cannot be held accountable for any of the horrible deeds she completes throughout the season.  Her resulting comatose state, however, reminds me once again that, while Buffy has her ups and her downs, she is, at her very core, able to take care of herself just a bit better than Cordy has ever been able to. 

From Bella to Katniss:  Are Buffy and Cordelia good role models?  I have rated both of these characters individually in the past.  However, for their evaluations here, I will be comparing them to their foil alone, as opposed to their previous ratings, which resulted from a comparison in regards to the general population of other strong female characters.  Buffy’s sense of sacrifice is rarely surpassed, as she repeatedly places her own happiness on the line in order to save the lives of others she cares about.  However, this isn’t to say she can’t be selfish.  She spends almost the entire sixth season perpetually whining about money and dead-end jobs.  While I understand her displeasure at the degrading social standing brought on by her supernatural capabilities, to be fair her friends all offered a variety of alternatives that would be more suitable to her Slaying schedule; it was her own depression that forced her to believe she deserved nothing better.  This depression, though uncharacteristic for perky Buffy, does provide a certain model, as depression is rarely shown in media.  In addition to this struggle, she manages to bring herself back around to become an even better role model than ever in the show’s seventh season.  Once the others take it upon themselves to remove her as leader, she and Spike alone remain free off treason in my eyes.  The fact that she is able to rise above their betrayal and return to command their army shows an incredible ability to forgive that is admirable.  On the other hand, her ability to forgive sins enacted by significant others—in varying levels of severity—is a less than exceptional example to be set that results in a hindering of her rating in comparison to the brunette to follow. 
Role Model Rating:  8/10

Cordelia has a sense of sacrifice, but it is not nearly as honed as Buffy’s.  As the Slayer, a certain level of surrendering for the safety of the world is to be expected.  Alternatively, Cordy, as a civilian playing a game she isn’t fully equipped for, doesn’t have the demands placed upon her as Buffy does and, therefore, is presented with fewer opportunities to follow in those footsteps.  However, when such a chance arises, she consistently chooses her dedication towards her newfound higher purpose above all else—particular examples of this can be seen in her willingness to become part-demon to continue her visions and her eventual acceptance of forfeiting her human life altogether to become a higher being.  Her compassion doesn’t lessen her edge, however, as she continues to contain a certain sense of tactlessness and rudeness.  While some may think Buffy’s more conventionally socially acceptable compassion is the better example to set, I, personally, believe we all could use to follow Cordy’s brutally honest model a bit more often.  Buffy, herself, could certainly use a dose of this medicine in regards to significant others, an area in which the brunette out exemplifies the blonde in nearly every regard. 
Role Model Rating:  9/10

From Lorelai to Wonder Woman:  Are Buffy and Cordelia relatable?  While Buffy is in need of far less saving than Cordelia typically is, this is due to the blessing of her Slayer abilities—had roles been reversed, and Cordelia called as the next Slayer, perhaps it would be the brunette constantly saving the blonde.  This uncontrollable endowment of strengths makes Buffy slightly more difficult to relate to.  While she may have risen from common origins to become a strong female, she wouldn’t have been able to do so without her role as a Slayer forcing her to see the bigger purpose in life.  However, with this realization comes a perpetual state of struggle, as she constantly lays everything on the line and receives very little in return.  This loss appeals to the audience, as no one has traveled through life sans suffering.  Where her previous pitfalls in the realm of relationships hindered her ability to serve as an excellent role model, her mistakes also help the audience to relate to her far easier; I’ve seen many younger girls obsess over significant others in the way Buffy does over Angel or her brief interaction with Parker.  Buffy makes mistakes; she puts her faith in the wrong people and suffers the consequences frequently.  No one is perfect, and Buffy, in her exceptional strength and power as the Slayer, proves just that. 
Relatability Rating:  9/10

Where Buffy was blessed with supernatural powers to jump-start her conversion from vapid Valley Girl to a more compassionate and rounded-out character, Cordelia had no such igniting device.  While the visions she acquired in the first season of Angel would eventually cement the changes she had started to experience, she alone advocates for her own change in personality starting in the second season of BtVS.  As soon as she chooses Xander, and, by association, the Scoobies, over Harmony and the other mindless drones that make up the population of the popular students at Sunnydale High, she took her own first step towards improvement, with no supernatural assistance necessary.  This sends an even stronger message to the audience than Buffy’s previous off-screen renovations to her personality.  Two messages are received as Cordelia progresses.  First, as we watch her grow and develop, the audience is shown that we are in control of what we feel most passionate about.  When she first moves to L.A., she focuses on acting, as that is something that interests her.  Over time, however, she begins to see a deeper, more meaningful potential purpose; a purpose that starts to set in prior to her acquiring her visions, might I add.  Second, you are able to alter your personality without losing sight of all that it means to be you.  Cordelia manages to soften her personality without losing the distinct edge of honesty that just makes Cordelia Cordy.  For those of us who consider themselves on a perpetual track towards attempted self-improvement, this revelation about Cordelia serves to not only make her a decent role model, but works toward making her a more down-to-earth character than her brash and pushy demeanor can sometimes allow for.  It also aids the audience in finding some relatability in an overly beautiful and popular character.  Previous to the loss of her family’s money, life was almost too good for Cordelia for us to realistically understand any struggles she could go through.  With the loss of her confidence and a steady stream of funds comes a propensity to voice the true concerns of the every man; where Buffy is inherently too good to really ask others for money just for saving them, Cordy demands clients pay their bills in full, even if she has to personally put herself in danger to receive the funds.  Cordy, much like us, has bills to pay and a mouth to feed. 
Relatability Rating:  9/10 

Thursday, March 20, 2014

Annabeth Chase—She’s Nobody’s Sidekick…Well, Some of the Time, Anyway

**Due to recent misinterpretations of some one post from this blog, a disclaimer is now apparently necessary.  If this is your first visit to The Scratched Camera, please read the introductory post and discover, for yourself, that every typed word that follows is unabashedly my opinion and mine alone.  In said introductory post, which, shockingly, I did not simply type up for my own good health, I state that we all read events and characters with our own baggage in mind; no one observes with a perfectly clear lens—hence the name The Scratched Camera.  Therefore, it is completely your will to disagree with any material that follows, just as it is my will to agree and advocate for what is mine.**  ~End, irritating obligatory disclaimer~

Annabeth Chase—She’s Nobody’s Sidekick…Well, Some of the Time, Anyway

            Much like my frequent comparisons of her male protagonist to Harry Potter, there was always a correlation in my mind between Granger and Chase.  The similarities between them are rather extensive, existing to the point where a compare and contrast article between the two could very easily be completed.  Both girls are very intelligent and are beyond proficient in the skill set required to survive the strains put on their daily lives by their enemies.  They’ve both been considered to be Exceptional Women—the girl who is infinitely better at their chosen tasks than any surrounding characters, in the process often serving to make their male counterparts appear foolish.  However, despite this accusation, it takes some time for both girls to break out of the shadow of their respective male protagonists and truly live up to their declarations that they are more than just your typical intelligent female sidekick. 

            Annabeth shows the audience many times over just how excellent she is in combat.  She’s been fighting since Luke and Thalia found her at the age of seven, learning very early on that her status as a demigod gave her two options—fight or die.  Starting at such a young age has afforded Annabeth with a particular proficiency in fighting that is rarely seen, even at Camp Half-Blood.  In The Lightening Thief alone, her male companions would’ve died several times over, had it not been for her adept fighting style and her mastery of mental warfare—Annabeth’s ability to manipulate opponents who vastly outweigh her in strength and agility shows her true roots as the daughter of the goddess of wisdom.  From the very start of the quest this is visible; the conquering of Medusa wouldn’t have been possible without Annabeth’s cunning. 

            This theme continues as she saves Percy twice in Sea of Monsters.  He’s attacked at his new school at the very start of the novel and relies on Annabeth and Tyson to get him out of the situation.  Jackson is taken hostage—albeit in the form of a guinea pig—by Circe, the witch.  Annabeth, who eventually sees through Circe’s radically feminist game, saves not only him, but an entire cage of previously mutated men. 

            Every quest Percy embarks on, Annabeth is right by his side, ready to inform him how to kill whatever monsters they may encounter.  While she may not always be the one to do the killing, she does serve to save Percy more times than he can count, based in the sheer value of information she provides alone. 

            In the Titan’s War in The Last Olympian, Annabeth plays a crucial role in the fighting.  She saves Percy yet again, as Ethan, son of Nemesis, strikes to kill.  He would’ve succeeded in finding Jackson’s vulnerable spot, had not Annabeth been there at just the proper moment.  At the climax of the battle, her mental warfare comes to play, as she attempts to manipulate Luke into regaining his conscious hold over his body.  She succeeds, as Luke feels a strong enough wave of guilt at throwing her across the throne room to shake off Kronos’s hold on his mind. 

While I label this as a manipulation, I don’t mean it to be defined by the negative connotations the word typically is associated with.  Women are often accused of manipulating people into getting whatever it is they want.  While I will admit that women—who are generally more perceptive—are occasionally able to use this to curve a conversation into going their way, it is not always done with malicious motivations, as seems to be the frequently implied intentions.  When Annabeth manipulates the persuasive techniques she employs towards Luke, she uses their shared past and emotions in an attempt to shake Kronos’s hold on the friend she once held so dear.  Essentially, she’s using her knowledge on him to bring his true character back to the surface in an effort to end the war. 

            Her fighting capability doesn’t cease in value at the close of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series.  While she is barely in The Lost Hero or The Son of Neptune, she does return in a position of power in The Mark of Athena, as she most notably overcomes her fear of spiders to defeat Arachne, both through physical combat and her mental warfare’s ability to trick Arachne into spinning a web of her own defeat. 

Finally, without her strength, companionship and invaluable information in House of Hades, she and Percy never would’ve made it to the Doors of Death.  Once again she manages to manipulate Nyx into turning on her own, providing her and Jackson a chance to escape yet another foe they never would’ve had the blunt strength to defeat.  She alone knew they could drink from the River Phlegethen to heal themselves and give them the temporary strength to persevere.  Her logical inclinations are responsible for brainstorming that Riptide could, in all veracity, be used as an actual penwho would’ve thought a genius intellect would’ve been required to think of that?  She also is responsible for devising the plan, which allows the two to unhinge the Doors of Death, while still guaranteeing them enough time to escape Tartarus and return to the mortal world. 

            Had these successes been the only statistics to report in regards to the various battles Annabeth finds herself in throughout her duration as a character for Riordan’s nine novels in her two series, she could’ve very easily been labeled an Exceptional Woman.  Repeatedly, she not only saves Grover and Percy, she manages to make them look like idiots as she does so.  This is, at its very core, the definition of the Exceptional Woman.  She is designed to offset the conception that men are better than women at everything.  Often, in the process, she becomes the embodiment of the extreme opposite problem, wherein she becomes impossible for the average reader to relate to. 

            However, as Annabeth is in need of assistance in combat on occasion, she manages to escape a true evaluation of this exceptional entitlement.  In The Lightening Thief, she is not the first to awaken from the Lotus Casino entrapping; she relies on Percy to shake her from the spell.  Jackson follows her into the ocean to physically restrain her against the pull of the Sirens in Sea of Monsters; without him there to hinder her chosen destination, she would’ve been lost to the monsters forever. 

            Chase spends the bulk of The Titan’s Curse captured, a fact which always peeves my internal feminist beast, until I force myself to recall that she later literally takes the weight of the sky on her shoulders and, in the process, vindicates herself, a fate which would never befall upon the extraordinary head of the truly Exceptional Woman.  While she does manage to save Percy from Ethan’s nearly fatal attack in The Last Olympian, she pays dearly for it as she is very badly injured in the process.  Finally, even in arguably her greatest triumph of the duration of both series—her defeat of Arachne—she still lacks the perfection required for the title often placed upon her; yes, she manages to trick the creature into her victory, but she still falls short, as one little spider web grips tight and pulls her towards the depths of Tartarus, resulting in a clinging Percy who simply refuses to let her fall on her own. 

            Their shared status in the experience of Tartarus is a breaking of a very old mold.  Prior to The Mark of Athena, it often feels as if Annabeth is perpetually saddled in the standing of Jackson’s sidekick, despite her repeated insistence that she refuses to submissively stand by in that stage.  In a sense, this drives a lot of Chase’s internal conflict—she pushes and boasts to demand the respect she deserves, often attempting to put Percy in his place with the resulting brutal verbal lashings evident in the early novels of the series.  Regardless of her trials to be recognized as an authority figure, she still retains the label as his second in command throughout the bulk of the quests in the first series. 

            She’s very clearly his second in the adventure to retrieve Zeus’s bolt in The Lightening Thief.  In Sea of Monsters, when Percy is denied the opportunity to serve on the quest to retrieve the Golden Fleece, he decides to embark on his own, leaving with Annabeth and Tyson to do so.  While she may have encouraged the idea, she still technically waits until Percy decides it is time to go to move on the idea.  Once released from Dr. Thorn in Titan’s Curse, she continues to serve as Jackson’s support as they make their way through the Garden of Hesperides.  Once they arrive, she once more fails to take the initiative, as she defensively relieves him of his burden holding the sky, as opposed to his offensive actions to take the responsibility in the first place. 

            However, in The Battle of the Labryinth, she is finally afforded the position she has eagerly awaited since her arrival to Camp Half-Blood at the age of seven.  She is finally given the position of Quest Leader.  The audience sees a new sense of insecurity in Annabeth, something somewhat foreign to the previous conception of a confident and cocky character.  Regardless of her continued reliance on reassurance from her fellow travelers, she does retain the position of leader, in the process setting the groundwork for the incredible opportunity she is presented with in The Mark of Athena. 

            By the third novel of her second series, Annabeth has grown more assured in her capabilities as a leader; while the separation from Percy has been undeniably hard for her to cope with, it has forced her to become more assertive.  Therefore, she confidently guides the Seven to their destination and manages to usurp Percy as the driving force behind the plot for the first time in seven novels.  When they reach their destination, she weathers the tangle of the maze and resulting challenges below the surface streets of Rome entirely on her own.  Her final victory, regardless of how short-lived it may be, is a sweet one that has been a long time coming. 

            Where Mark of Athena revolutionizes what Annabeth can be in terms of a leader, House of Hades redefines what it means for Chase and Jackson to be a team.  Son of Neptune and Mark of Athena showed the audience what these two characters are capable of when removed from their comfort zones and forced to separate from their support systems.  MoA confirmed what Annabeth has been telling us for years—she’s just as capable as Percy when it comes to achieving success on a quest. 

House of Hades, on the other hand, shows the reader the incredible strength they are capable of when they work together.  Assuredly, neither one is incomplete without the other—the very implication of such an idea would surely be enough to make Annabeth gag.  But the individual strength of either one wouldn’t have been sufficient to survive the hell that is Tartarus.  While I have no doubt that Chase is more than competently armed to handle most challenges on her own, their joint journey shows the audience that a reliance on some people isn’t necessarily a bad thing.  After all, had Annabeth insisted he let her go, refused his offer to stay together through the darkness that is Tartarus, she never would’ve survived long enough to find him on the other side of the Doors and return his sentiments of “as long as we’re together.”

From Bella to Katniss:  Is Annabeth a good role model?  When Percy first meets Annabeth, he describes her as what a typical southern California blonde would look like—blonde, tall, tan, athletic, etc.  Chase’s initial characterization of bravado suggests that this may not be the first time people tend to assume she is blonde and, therefore, stupid or superficial.  It is almost as if her forceful attitude is a defense mechanism designed to immediately shatter any illusions her peers may have that she will be a predictable girl.  With this, Annabeth displays a similar strength and stubbornness seen in the likes of Buffy Summers—a blonde who is finally intelligent and able to take care of herself, while still maintaining a believable sense of vulnerability.  For me personally, this is a refreshing sight, as blondes in media are typically shown to have three settings—hot, stupid or both.  Annabeth laughs in the face of this stereotype and works to actively defy it on every page her presence is felt.  She’s intelligent and more than able to handle herself in almost every situation.  She cares very little for her appearance—in spite of the fact that several have proclaimed that she may or may not be attractive—as she knows she can rely on her brains to get her where she wants to be in life.  Finally, when Percy—and, therefore, the audience—gets a glimpse of Annabeth’s ideal reality via the hallucination provided by the Sirens, we learn that, while Chase does have a strong desire to have a close family relationship—which includes the boy she views solely as a brother, nothing more—she also shows an aspiration towards high personal goals.  In this image, she sees a redesigned Manhattan skyline, one that was customized by her own creativity.  All romantic intentions are stripped from the scene with her confession to Luke in The Last Olympian, implying that this girl focuses on goals, not boys.  Therefore, the scene really reflects a deep-seated ambition that is nothing short of an excellent model to set. 
Role Model Rating:  8/10

From Lorelai to Wonder Woman:  Is Annabeth relatable?  Annabeth does an impeccable job of lingering in the middle of the scale between the Exceptional Woman and the Fronting Feisty Female Factor—the former of which, as I indicated earlier, is a woman who is better than everyone else and gladly informs them as such; the latter of which is a woman who will gladly put down those who surround her as failures, but who fails to succeed on her own without the help of those she so recently criticized.  Chase is exceptional enough to serve as a very solid role model for female young adult readers.  However, she does not always succeed on her own, as almost every novel preaches that a team effort is required to be victorious.  She stumbles, she fails, and she’s injured and battered by the end of almost every novel.  The battlefield is also not the only place she suffers; there’s an exquisite emotional component to her character as well.  While she may not cry quite as often as Granger--while I would never go so far as to call Hermione a cry-baby, there have been critics who have done so—she does feel a keen sense of failure in regards to Luke’s betrayal.  In The Last Olympian, she and Hermes get into a conflict; the messenger god believes Chase could’ve done something to save his son from turning on the gods.  (Funny though, isn’t it?  The god of messages failing to receive his own message that perhaps he should’ve done something before it was too late.  It is, after all, him that Luke blames, not Annabeth, but I digress.)  Regardless of the validity of Hermes’s claims, there is no denying that Chase feels partially responsible for her friend’s misguided goals in life.  It is for this very reason that she is able to succeed in the climax of the novel; had she not genuinely felt remorse she wouldn’t have been able to prompt him to reciprocate the sentiments.  Her guilt towards Luke isn’t her only evidence of the human part of her DNA.  She can be subtly—and, occasionally, not so subtly—jealous of any other girl who shows signs of liking Percy, despite the fact that he rarely, if ever, shows any acknowledgment or interest in returning their feelings.  Envy is a very natural emotion that, while it is one we all hate, is woven into our very core and is, therefore, unavoidable, even to those as collected as Chase.  Finally, although she is described as distinctly attractive, she neither falls victim to a love triangle nor chooses to preen over her appearance.  She may have the ability to look like a celebrity, however, much like the everyday reader, she fails to have the time or the motivation to attempt to do so and, therefore, relates to ordinary people on a very basic level. 

Relatability Rating:  7/10

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Donna Noble—The Most Important Woman in the Universe

**Due to recent misinterpretations of some one post from this blog, a disclaimer is now apparently necessary.  If this is your first visit to The Scratched Camera, please read the introductory post and discover, for yourself, that every typed word that follows is unabashedly my opinion and mine alone.  In said introductory post, which, shockingly, I did not simply type up for my own good health, I state that we all read events and characters with our own baggage in mind; no one observes with a perfectly clear lens—hence the name The Scratched Camera.  Therefore, it is completely your will to disagree with any material that follows, just as it is my will to agree and advocate for what is mine.**  ~End, irritating obligatory disclaimer~

Donna Noble—The Most Important Woman in the Universe

            When the Doctor first met Donna in The Runaway Bride, he was puzzled by her sudden and inexplicable materialization onto the TARDIS.  He tells her she isn’t special, isn’t connected, isn’t clever, isn’t important and, therefore, should be incapable of her sudden appearance.  The Doctor is simultaneously correct and incorrect in his assumptions.  Ten, in his depressive state at the very recent loss of Rose, is forgetting his most important rule—in 900 years, he’s never met someone insignificant.  He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s just met the most important woman in the entire universe.

            At the same time, Donna, much like Rose, is unexceptional.  She isn’t particularly smart—unlike her predecessor (or, I suppose, successor, depending on how you look at it), she has no advanced degrees or specific trainings that could be applicable in their travels across the universe.  On first appearances, the job she holds appears to be nothing out of the ordinary (Torchwood would certainly disagree) and her connections all nothing above average (Turn Left and The End of Time would revolt at the very implication).  The Doctor is, of course, incorrect on both of these declarations; he simply doesn’t know it yet.

            Much like the Doctor, as Donna crashes into the TARDIS directly after Ten leaves Rose standing on a beach for the first time, the audience has no idea how important this character will become.  Immediately, she seems very brash and brazen.  She goes beyond the point of cheeky as she angrily assumes the Tenth Doctor has some ulterior motive to ruin her wedding.  Ten, dazed and discombobulated, doesn’t quite know how to respond, except to insist he isn’t from Mars.  Her sudden appearance has forced the Doctor to be jolted from his grievances over Rose far earlier and quicker than he had anticipated. 

            In a sense, this is a marvelous thing.  There’s no need for us to speculate how his distraught mindset would’ve influenced the plot of The Runaway Bride if Donna hadn’t arrived when she had—Turn Left provides a solid answer for that very question.  Without Donna there to stop him, he would’ve not only destroyed himself, but a good chunk of the city in the process. 

            But, at the time, the audience, not to mention the Doctor, sees only a stern and tempestuous woman who seems desperate to return to her wedding.  Upon my first viewing of The Runaway Bride, I won’t deny that I was not necessarily a fan of Donna.  New Who was my first Who viewing experience—Nine and Rose were my first Doctor and Companion.  Therefore, Rose held a special place in my heart, particularly after the dynamic created between her and Ten in series two. 

            At the end of Doomsday, I had the exact same reaction as the Doctor to Donna.  I couldn’t believe we were already introducing another possible Companion; I almost felt affronted on Rose’s part. 

            However, as the events of The Runaway Bride played themselves out, I found I quite enjoyed Donna.  She had a temper, certainly, one that could possibly be reeled in, but I appreciated that Donna didn’t hold any inhibitions toward being completely and utterly herself—she held nothing back and sought to spare no feelings.  There is, of course, the start of an emotional component to Donna here as well, a side of her that won’t truly be put in focus until her return in series four.  We get a taste of her insecurities and sadness as her supposed fiancé Lance declares that he deserves a medal for putting up with her—due to her excessive rantings that apparently resembled a gossip column—always questioning whether Posh is pregnant and the like—and her apparently outrageous and immoral excitement over Pringles and diets.  What can I say?  I really hate that guy.

            I was, however, wary of Donna’s apparent desperation to take that long walk down the aisle, clearly evident as she practically begs Lance to marry her.  This desperation is something I’m firmly against all most female characters displaying, as it portrays women as only capable of wishing to trap themselves a husband without assigning the woman any further depth or ambition.  In essence, it’s a major step backward against the progress we’ve made towards equality—I call it the Bella Complex. 

            However, even with the loss of her fiancé, she recovers, saving herself from Bella-dom in the process.  Certainly she feels the sadness of the loss—it would feel falsified if she didn’t—but she isn’t laying herself down on any forest floors so despondent that her motivation to live depletes.  While this is just the tip of the Donna insecurity iceberg, it’s a start that ends the episode on a good note, allowing the audience to like Donna, despite that overly forceful temper. 

            It is these insecurities that are her saving grace.  When she returns in series four, her fury is, of course, still evident, but Russell T. Davies downplays it, making her almost passionate, as opposed to irritable.  Davies, the show-runner through series 1-4, laughed off original questions as to whether Catherine Tate would reprise her role as Donna Noble to become a future companion.  He acknowledged that her pushy temperament would grow quite irritating after a while.  Therefore, with her reintroduction to the audience one year later, he added further emotional components and insecurities. 

            Her temper is still in place, thankfully, as I wouldn’t have appreciated Davies’ ridding her character of that completely.  But the temper doesn’t come unaccompanied—we receive some further justification for it.  Noble’s mother is horrible to her—something we saw a bit of in The Runaway Bride, but which becomes a prevalent theme now that the audience witnesses Donna spending an extensive amount of time with her family.  In Partners in Crime, Donna is subjected to periodical ravings from her mother about her lack of drive to find a proper job.  The woman belittles her, scorns her.  In essence, it is made apparent to us that Mrs. Noble doesn’t truly know her daughter—she doesn’t understand, or doesn’t want to know, what Donna truly wants from life.  Her only interest is getting her daughter a permanent job.  While this is, on a surface level, not a horrible fate to push upon one’s daughter, it is clearly not what interests Donna in her heart and would, therefore, serve to only make her unhappy. 

            Donna talks, but her mother never listens.  And she isn’t the only one.  Her previous fiancé was only using her and cared very little for anything that came out of Donna’s mouth.  The various bosses we see her having all care very little for her opinions.  In fact, the only two who seem bothered to pay any attention to Donna’s thoughts are the Doctor and grandpa Wilf.  This frequent feeling of worthlessness and disregard for what Donna wants and what she says leads her to only yell louder, push harder, to demand to be heard. 

            This, in turn, leads us to the temper we’ve been privy to since her introduction.  It excuses any chaffing she may cause as she thrashes about, trying beyond all measure just to be heard, to be understood.  It also saves her from becoming a Triple F—the Fronting Feisty Female.  Where Amy Pond thrashes her temper about in a similar way to Donna Noble, she fails to have any realistic justification for it.  Everyone listens to her, adores her, hangs on her every word.  But when it comes time for her to live up to her brash declarations, she fails to do so, relying instead on the men she’s abused and ripped to shreds to save her. 

            Donna, on the other hand, does a fair bit of saving of her own in her turn as permanent companion in series four.  In Fires of Pompeii, she persuades Ten to save Twelve’s a family to resolve the fact that she can’t manage to save everyone.  Noble assists Ten again in Planet of the Ood to free the Ood from captivity, showing an immense amount of compassion towards the species, despite the fact that they are distinctly alien. 

            But it is Turn Left where we see Donna really start to shine.  The episode paints the audience a picture of what the world would look like, had Donna Noble listened to her mother’s pestering about a proper job and, as a result, failed to meet the Doctor.  We see here that she saved him from their first case together, insisting that he stop before drowning himself and the city in the process.

            Turn Left is one of my favorite episodes of the entire series for many reasons.  It finally explains why Rose has been popping in and out of the Doctor’s reality for the last year.  Rose is also, of course, back in a starring role in this episode, resulting in my two favorite Companions to date sharing screen time together.  Screen time that is decidedly put to very good use, as Rose repeatedly reassures Donna that she is important, that the Doctor thought she was so very important—important enough to invite on the greatest adventure of all time.  Yet Donna holds strong to her insecurities, refusing to believe that anyone could find her important enough to invite on something as extraordinary as Rose’s implications make it out to be. 

            Turn Left shows us the importance one person and one decision can have on the entire universe.  Had Donna listened to her mother—submitted, obeyed her mother—and docilely declared that she would take a permanent job in a field that held very little interest to her, she never would’ve had the opportunity to learn so much about herself.  The message provided by Turn Left is a clear one—an ordinary, every day person—say, one temp worker from Chiswick—can change the world, and it can be as simple as one seemingly insignificant decision. 

            Donna finds her way back to the Doctor, with two words as her message “Bad Wolf.”  These two little words result in driving the rest of the series four plot forward, allowing for the two-parter series finale The Stolen Earth/Journey’s End, in which Donna, amongst a crew of vastly more powerful and skilled companions, receives the credit for saving the day. 

            The DoctorDonna comes into existence—just as the Ood predicted—when Donna touches the hand, allowing her to share in the Doctor’s intelligence.  This intelligence equips Donna with the ability to derail Davros’s master plan with the mere pressing of a few buttons. 

            This knowledge comes at an extraordinarily high price.  Donna’s human brain simply isn’t capable of housing the Doctor’s nine centuries of information; to keep the knowledge—and, unfortunately, her memories of him—would be to sign her death certificate.

In her time with the Doctor, she has worked off a few of her insecurities—growing to see herself as having enough to say to be worthy of being heard.  In the events of Journey’s End, she saves the world, catapulting herself into the position of the most important woman in the entire universe.  Species across the galaxies sing the song of Donna Noble but, by some cruel twist of fate, the very occurrence that gave her the ability to save the world, makes it impossible to retain the knowledge that she did. 

            Ten’s loss of Donna is particularly hard because he knows the travesty she suffers from at the hands of others, particularly in the case of her mother.  Generally the people in Donna’s life seem to instinctively count her as inferior or insignificant.  For one shining moment, Donna realized just how very wrong they were, only to have it stripped away from her by force.  His very best friend in the universe will never know how priceless she was. 

            Donna Noble, the girl even the Doctor discredited as having no important connections, special abilities or jobs, gladly proves him wrong on every account.  Without Donna Noble, the Doctor would’ve died before series three even started—all because of her supposedly irrelevant job at HC Clemons.  Without Donna Noble, the world would’ve ended long before she even had the chance to save it in Journey’s End.  Without Donna Noble’s supposedly inadequate connections, Wilfred Mott wouldn’t have known to help Ten save the universe one last time in The End of Time.

            In Turn Left, Wilf tells Donna “you’re not gonna make the world any better by shouting at it.”  Donna stubbornly responds, “I can try.”  To this, I say she doesn’t try.  She succeeds. 

From Bella to Katniss:  Is Donna a good role model?  Donna is pushy—she may be insecure underneath it all, but she knows what she wants and she demands to go after it.  She’s the only person beside Jack Harkness and Wilfred Mott to search for the Doctor and actually manage to find him, a goal she achieves in far less time than Captain Jack, might I add.  She may have a violent temper, but she is unapologetically herself at every turn, never compromising her beliefs or her personality to appeal to a man—or any person, for that matter.  Even when she’s desperate for Lance to marry her, as she begs and pleads for him to just say yes, she never even considers hiding that desperation from him.  Despite the fact that I hate the desperation on display here, I have to admire that she is so open and remorseless about the whole situation.  It shows a strength that others who are equally desperate for a husband—cough, Bella, cough—fail to adhere to.  She’s interested in finding a man, but she doesn’t fall for just any one—a fact Ten and his skinny ‘Martian-ness’ can attest to.  It should be noted that Donna is also the only first New Who companion to not spend the majority of her time head-over-heels in love with the Doctor, a refreshing turn after the frustration and hostility we’ve seen at the hands of Martha towards Rose.  Donna’s not only not in love with the Doctor, she speaks out avidly against it; the very thought of it almost revolts her.
Role Model Rating:  8/10

From Lorelai to Wonder Woman:  Is Donna relatable?  Donna toes the line between seeking a husband and selectively secure as she takes her time to choose a man that actually interests her.  She not only toes the line, she does so successfully, as she goes so far as to promise the Doctor forever, despite knowing she has no interest in dating him—or maybe I should say mating.  The result is a character who is self-assured enough to know what she wants, yet insecure enough to doubt achieving an actual goal.  This middle ground is highly relatable, serving to not isolate either party—the Bellas, who wish only for marriage, or the Katniss’s, who wish only to survive the world.  But perhaps the most relatable factor of Donna’s personality is the deep-seated insecurities that fuel the fire behind her temper.  She’s been told repeatedly—by her mother, of all people—that she’s desperate for attention, yet unworthy of any.  This, of course, only spurs on a deeper insecurity and driven need for attention, resulting in an even louder yelling Donna.  But not all of the shouting Donna does is in vain.  She may shout at the world, but she does, on occasion, save it, to the point where species all across the universe know her name.  Even as she screams, “please, I don’t want to forget, please don’t make me forget,” and the Doctor tears up at the thought of losing his best friend—and worse yet, his best friend losing herself—she continues to be the most important and, more prominently, most average companion on the show to date.  Donna Noble, the woman who changed the world with one decision to turn left, gives us the hope that we can be as extraordinary too. 

Relatability Rating:  10/10

Friday, July 19, 2013

Chase or Dare? Annabeth Chase versus Rachel Elizabeth Dare


            If you’re looking to debate who is a better partner in crime—in both quests and romance—for Percy Jackson, this is not the post for you.  If you hold any doubt on that front, I would honestly be surprised.  I have never doubted from page one who Percy was fated to be with.

            When Rachel Elizabeth Dare was introduced in The Titan’s Curse, I won’t deny that I was intrigued.  As the books proceed, these two characters, arguably the two most important (teenage) females in Percy’s life, are compared and contrasted increasingly more often.  When I originally read the series a few years ago, I hadn’t paid much attention to this.  The second time around I couldn’t help but be intrigued by the questions Riordan was raising:  not just who’s better for Percy, but who is the better girl?

            When I first heard Rachel’s name mentioned on my second read through, all I could remember from years previous was that I liked her, and that I was excited for her to come into play.  The instant we met a girl with crazy red hair, I was ecstatic.  And then I kept reading. 

As time went on, I feared Rachel was doomed to follow in the footsteps of so many redheads gone by.  Much like Amy Pond, Rachel has a tendency to fall in to the cliché of the Fronting Feisty Female (FFF for short).  The FFF is a character who talks a good act—very brave, very forceful, indefinitely right—but when forced to walk this talk, they struggle.  They are often in peril and very rarely manage to get themselves out of these situations.  The FFF instead relies on their typically male protagonist to save them.  There were several instances in which I thought Rachel may be going down this path.  For instance, in The Last Olympian, Rachel’s in a crashing helicopter and Annabeth, being the amazingly generous demigod that she is, goes to her rescue.  But, upon reflection after finishing The Last Olympian, I realized I was being a bit biased towards Rachel.  For goodness sakes, she was in a crashing helicopter!  I kept yelling at the book for her to get up and do something about it.  But, thinking a little more logically, I tried to take a step back and realize how terrifying that situation must’ve been.

            It was then that I had a realization about Annabeth.  She’s such an excellent warrior and fighter that, in the narrative of the series, you can’t help but think all women should be that marvelous.  And most of them are—Clarisse, Katie, even Silena are all very strong, all worthy of their own posts.  Rachel, as excellent as she is for a mortal, she is, in fact, just that—a mortal.  She’s very straightforward, very helpful and resourceful, brave and demanding.  All of these are good things, especially when it means she can successfully throw a hairbrush at Kronos and manage to incapacitate him in some form.

            Unfortunately for Rachel, Annabeth is just a little bit better, at just about everything.  I recently read an article about the Exceptional Woman, which was fascinating.  But, at the same time, it shattered the illusion surrounding a lot of my favorite female characters.  Annabeth is one such example.  While there are several other girls at Camp Half-Blood, for a majority of the early books you get the sense that it is Annabeth alone, playing at the boys game of being a hero.  She waits and waits for her first quest, something she doesn’t truly receive until The Battle of the Labyrinth, might I add.  In the meantime, she works to keep Percy and Grover alive, all the while doing things far better than either of those two can put together. While I don’t think Annabeth is solely an Exceptional Woman, she certainly has some aspects of the trope. 

            Annabeth’s saving grace from fully receiving the Exceptional Woman title is that she mourns, she cries, she isn’t perfect 100% of the time.  She lingers far too long on the Luke issue, which makes her far more human than the Exceptional Woman is allowed to be.  She feels genuine betrayal and guilt over what has happened to Luke.  While this is the biggest struggle the character goes through, it’s what I like best about her.  Not all girls fall for a demigod who turns evil and is, therefore, forbidden territory; girls do, however, fall for boys who turn out to be meaner than they were originally thought to be.  It’s very realistic and it’s written to be very believable.  It humanizes her.

            Contrastingly, while Rachel appears to feel pain over her father and her confusion towards her feelings for Percy, she suffers in a far less believable way.  We see her suffer about her father, but this story doesn’t have the closure the Annabeth/Luke saga does.  This takes weight off of her suffering and makes it seem shallow in some way.  She proves that she is willing to go to the end of the world for Percy and his cause, but she takes little effort to get to know the others at camp, (at least in the first series, that is) making her motivations appear to be nothing but feelings for a boy, or ambitions to be anything but mortal part of the “in crowd” that is the demigods. 

Unfortunately, the thing I love most about Rachel is what makes her less relatable as a character—she’s beautifully straightforward, going so far as to essentially ask Percy what a girl has to do to get him to kiss her.  While I love this about her and I wish more women were like this, I fear they aren’t, even after exiting the dreadful teenage years.  It takes a lot of courage to lay things out on the line like that, and it’s an attribute not many people actually have. 

            Annabeth, while not as straightforward as Rachel, has a different and distinct sort of directness about her.  Instead of asking Percy what it takes to get him to kiss her, she just decides to kiss him herself.  That clearly takes even more courage than Rachel’s question and answer process.  However, the factor of a life and death situation in Mt. St. Helen’s should be considered as well.  The cause of Annabeth’s directness is what is possibly even more crucial than the honesty itself.  Annabeth is, of course, very wise.  She knows the weight of words; once something is said, it can never be taken back.  Part of the reason I think she waits so long to give an answer to Percy’s questions about Luke is that she is still processing.  That being said, once Annabeth is done processing and has come to an answer, you can rely on that answer to be the sole truth, without any hesitation.  I don’t know if it makes her more relatable, but it certainly makes her more reliable. 

From Bella to Katniss:  Are Annabeth and Rachel good role models?  Let’s start with Annabeth.  Annabeth is perhaps the best young adult role model to come along since Hermione Granger.  She’s intelligent.  She may or may not be pretty—she doesn’t really care, but she knows that she’s got her brains and that she can use those to do whatever she wants, whether it be defeating monsters or building the new Olympus.  She struggles with love, but she doesn’t let it run her life.  How could she?  She’s got monsters to beat and a world to save.  The only hindrance I can see with Annabeth is, despite the fact that she claims to never be anybody’s sidekick, she really is almost always second in command to Percy.  It isn’t until the Heroes of Olympus series that this becomes less true.  When Percy is gone, all the campers immediately turn to Annabeth as their authority.  That says a lot about her character. 
Role Model Rating:  8/10

Rachel certainly has some redeeming role model characteristics.  She’s brave and loyal.  She’s artistic and fights for the causes she believes in with all her heart.  Honesty is high on her list of priorities; if she has a thought in her head, it’s coming out of mouth—not necessarily in a rude manner, she’s actually really rather nice.  This is possibly her best quality, the quality that almost makes her a better role model than Annabeth.  But I just can’t quite bring myself to rate her higher, as there’s some ambiguous quality to Miss Dare that leaves her just automatically ranking below Annabeth in my book.
Role Model Rating:  6/10

From Lorelai to Wonder Woman:  Are Annabeth and Rachel relatable?  Once again, we’ll start with Annabeth.  Annabeth’s immense struggle with what has happened to Luke makes her a very relatable character.  Notice, I did not say her struggle with what has happened to Luke and what that means in terms of her potential feelings for Percy.  For me, the truth she reveals to Luke at the end of The Last Olympian implies that those things were never truly connected to her.  She didn’t have lingering feelings for Luke that were preventing her from liking Percy; she had lingering guilt over what she could’ve done to help Luke that prevented her from pursuing anything romantic until she could sort him out.  This takes Percy out of the equation entirely, which actually makes her struggle with Luke far more authentic.  It’s driven by her own guilt, not her feelings for some outside party that didn’t really know the Luke she knew.  Add the fact that she feels personally responsible, and you’ve got a heap load of relatable factors.  On the other hand, she’s so brilliant at, well, everything that she can sometimes be difficult to connect with. 
Relatability Rating:  7/10

Unfortunately for Rachel, the quality that makes her almost the better role model of the two hits her harder when it comes to being relatable.  While I adore her straightforward attitude, it is something seen very infrequently in the real world.  She does, however, stand by her convictions and her causes.  There is also the added factor that she is the only Mortal to do several things—enter Camp Half-Blood, ascend to a position of power in their world and fight in the battle, amongst other things.  This has the audience rooting for her, as she gives us mere mortals an opportunity to join the world as well. 
Relatability Rating:  6/10