Kat Stratford—Men and Assholes are Unworthy of Her Time

**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~

Kat Stratford—Men and Assholes are Unworthy of Her Time

            Where the current generation of teenagers suffers from the Bella Resonance—a term which here means the effect Bella Swan has had on an entire generation of female teens and preteens, resulting in a group of females whose top priority in life is acquiring a boyfriend and future husband—my generation had Kat Stratford, from Ten Things I Hate About You.  Kat actively works to defy every cliché that could potentially be applied to females in general—in the process, creating an effect of her own.  But more on that later.  The resulting character is an unapologetic, nonconforming feminist with well-hidden insecurities and vulnerability. 

           

At her very core, Stratford dislikes the preconceived notion that all girls must fulfill the same set of clichés and subjugation to males.  This inclination results in a deep feminist center that fuels the shrewish and tempestuous impression she pervades.  For instance, when popular jock Bobby Ridgeway attempts to hit on her in the lunch line, she is not flattered, as those who worship Bella might have been.  She, instead, lashes out—and not in a way that is portrayed as anything resembling cute.  She’s angry and she means business, unlike most other fictional female anger, which eventually gets downplayed as fodder—against him, deeply insulted at his assumption that she will accept him—although, if you were to ask her, she would adamantly maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. 

           

This disposition also contributes to her dislike of aggressive male Joey Donner, who seems adamant that all women should bow down to him in his glory.  She, unlike many of the other females at Padua, sees no charm to his personality.  In fact, his assertive comments tend to chaff her to the point of no return, resulting in a barked response—most notably, the comment referenced in the title of this very article, which displays her insistence that society prefers men who are notoriously rude (an observation that is accurate beyond the point of pathetic in its applications to society). 

           

One final note on Kat’s feminist front—her opinions clearly serve to saturate and infiltrate her taste in music and literature.  She favors “angry girl music of the Indie Rock persuasion,” a clear indicator that she seeks solidarity for her outcast status in lyrics.  Her stated opinion on Hemingway—that’s he nothing more than an abusive misogynist—also declares a demand for progressive literature. 

Her insistence that even simple items of culture meet her high expectations displays a stubborn refusal to conform to the perimeters for females set by society.  As an alternative to the cliché that girls regularly cry as a means of manipulation, Kat seeks to turn that pain around and often prompts the crying of others in return. 

           

Unlike the stipulations of the Belle Paradigm, in which a character is the perfect depiction of what society expects of a woman—elegant, dignified, equipped with a remarkably endless well of empathy and accompanying compassionate nature—Kat is often portrayed as quite the opposite:  temper-driven to an extreme, leading to her frequent label as a “heinous bitch,” as she actively works to spread anything but joy about Padua.  She achieves this goal in a variety of ways; from declaring it must be asshole day as Donner blokes her way, to yelling at Michael to improve his driving techniques.

           

She adamantly refuses to follow in the footsteps of others, going so far as to declare to Verona that she seeks to embody the unexpected. This results from a young and naïve mistake—a submission to sleep with Donner.  The choice was made entirely because it was what everyone else was doing—the popular thing to do.  After this blunder, she sets herself to a determination to go against the grain whenever possible; a trait she attempts to breed in her sister as well.  Her statements to Bianca—who suffers, according to Kat, a disturbingly compliant tendency brought on by capitalistic propaganda, resulting in a fetish for the materialistic and superficial sides of life—that she can do better than her perky passive exterior, while somewhat misguided, are really nothing more than a blind hope to teach her sister the very lesson she had to learn the hard way.  Regardless of her sister’s lack of progress in the area, Kat still sticks to her guns, refusing to ‘people please’ any further—why, she rations, should she live up to other people’s expectations instead of her own?  Why should she, indeed, when her expectations for herself and for society are obviously superior to the vapidly materialistic ambitions of her teenage colleagues.

Where society expects her to giddily attend prom, she snarls that it is nothing more than an outdated ritual, meant to provide boys with an opportunity to feel up a girl.  Society expects her to flutter at the very sight of Patrick Verona approaching her; she instead digs her heels in.  Even once she declares her thoughts on the matter, she can acknowledge that she has feelings for him, but she absolutely hates that that is the case, a theme that was carried throughout the bulk of their relationship. 

When he implies she seeks to grab his attention, she sarcastically mutters that that is, of course, her mission in life.  While I know many women for whom that is their true mission in life—Bella, I’m looking at you—with this statement, Kat makes it very clear that she refuses to compromise her temper, personality, beliefs or goals for the sake of a male, even for someone as attractive as Patrick Verona. 

This mentality is applicable to other males outside of Verona; Kat is explicit in her belief that she has no interest in dating any of the mindless riff-raff evident at Padua.  However, it should be noted that this does not imply she refuses to date at all, although that is the interpretation that is commonly drawn from the situation.  Alternatively, she is refusing to settle on someone she finds dull and unacceptable in terms of complementing her—hence her eventual acceptance of Verona, but more on that to follow. 

           

This refusal to date is regularly interpreted as abnormal by the common teenage community she is surrounded by—a population that typically defines things such as Bogey Lowenstein’s party as normal, although that very definition tells me all I need to know on the subject.  This distinction is clear to Stratford, who rejoices in her resulting depiction as an outcast. 

           

In essence, she is proud of who she has grown to be and, therefore, refuses to apologize for any hurt feelings that may result.  Her retribution towards Ridgeway displays this rather brightly, as she smilingly declares to the counselor that he obviously did the damage to himself.  The audience sees this again as she vindictively slams into Donner’s car when he won’t get out of her way, with nothing more than a remorseless “whoops,” escaping her after the fact.  She carries this a step further, as she refuses to submit to her father’s contention on the issue, instructing him to inform the insurance company that it was a seizure, as an alternative to his suggested PMS. 

           

When Verona approaches her directly after soccer practice, instead of playing the part of a dainty girl, she openly declares that she is sweating profusely.  Stratford rejects the stipulation that she should tiptoe around the fact that she is an aggressive and skilled soccer player—whereas, those who hail from a Bella-ized mentality may have considered underplaying their capabilities to insure they didn’t intimidate a potential partner.  But I digress.  The audience sees this again, as Verona pushes her to talk and she defensively argues that, had he given her a more compelling topic of choice than cars, she would’ve perhaps considered conversing.  She is undeniably skilled in the art of debate, a fact proven by her fervent, if ruthless contributions to topics in her English class.  Some may call it terrorism; she likes to think of it as nothing more than expressing her opinion—yet another facet of her personality in no need of an apology. 

           

Unapologetic does not mean infallible.  Kat does admit, however infrequently, that she isn’t perfect.  She tells Verona that it is her goal to disappoint people from first impression, as a method of self-preservation.  Regardless of the fight she clings to, she does eventually submit to Patrick’s persuasiveness and attends Bogey’s party with him.  We catch another glimpse of vulnerability, as she attempts to pursue the relationship further by initiating a kiss.  While Verona’s hesitation was a result of nothing but good intentions, the embarrassment and humiliation that Kat suffers as a result is very realistically presented and endears the character to the audience—shrew characteristics and all. 

From Bella to Katniss:  Is Kat a good role model?  While Kat actively works to subvert the expectations placed upon females by society, by doing so, she lingers dangerously closely to fulfilling an entirely different but equally unpleasant trope.  Frequently, some creators of female characters strive so stubbornly to prevent falling into the superficial romantically inclined girl, that the character becomes nothing more than an archetypal angry rock chick.  This description summarizes a fair amount of Kat’s personality; in essence, in the character’s attempts to avoid clichés, she inadvertently ends up becoming one.  However, there is a unique facet to her character that allows her to escape a definitive declaration of this trope; Kat is one of few, if not the only, angry rock chick to manage to end up with her chosen significant other.  While this could typically detract value from a character’s contribution to depicting a role model, in Kat’s case, it broadcasts the message that a girl should never fail to be true to her own nature in order to claim a significant other.  Stratford’s stubborn clinging to her personality—even her less attractive qualities—and simultaneous ability to attract a male, sends the message that no girl—no matter what faults they may believe they have—should need to submit in any way to retain a partner.  Kat also falls safely along a scale I have created entitled the Bella/Katniss Polarization—on which a female, either fictional or nonfictional, is judged strictly in regards to the prioritization of romance versus her own internal ambitions as the driving force behind her decisions.  While most would claim Kat is perhaps a little too far inclined towards the Katniss line of thinking—Kat and Katniss.  Get it? to truly be a superior role model, I disagree, as she does eventually submit to a date with Verona and even initiates their first potentially intimate moment.  She does, however, strive to apprise everyone of her adamant belief that romance should not be the center of anyone’s world, prompting an entirely new theory of mine entitled the Kat Anomaly—a term applicable to females who decide against the Bella-ized dominating determination that romance should reign supreme in a woman’s priorities.  This scores two rather large points for Kat, who serves as a model that girls can attract the attention of a man based entirely on being true to themselves, and that women can—and should—strive for other achievements than scoring an excellently attractive and rich husband.  Between these two bullets, I can’t help but score her appreciatively. 

Role Model Rating:  10/10

From Lorelai to Wonder Woman:  Is Kat relatable?  Kat is brazen, surprising even me occasionally in her contemptuousness, which is saying something, as I’ve been told I’m a dangerously formidable foe once crossed.  While I can relate to Kat’s temper and honesty, she is certainly an extreme opposite of the more socially acceptable extreme of Princess Belle.  She is not, however, above a humanizing loyalty and insecurity.  When Patrick suffers a great humiliation to win her favor back, she goes to extreme measures to spring him from his punishment.  Her dreaded drinking at Bogey’s party is a direct result of her feeling of failure in regards to her father, who, despite his complaining, obviously prefers the more conventional daughter of Bianca.  The hurt she suffers at her concession to Verona both in her dismissed attempts to kiss him and in his prevailing betrayal at prom show a distress that the previous shrew declarations didn’t allot for.  Finally, while she was originally indignant, she eventually rose above her prideful nature to accept a date with Verona, in the process potentially alleviating some tension from the extreme Belle’s of the world.  While many clichéd compassionate females may find Kat a hard pill to swallow, personally, she’s right up my alley; while I can hinder her rating marginally for this, I cannot destroy her evaluation entirely.

Relatability Rating:  7/10

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

Hermione Granger--Insecure Know-It-All

**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~

Hermione Granger—Bossy Insecure Know-It-All

            For a very long time, I disliked Hermione Granger.  I, much like most of her peers, saw her as a brash, bossy girl who sought to push until you knew she was the best.  She never very rarely failed.  At this juncture, I could list all of her accomplishments to insure we are all on the same page as to just how talented Hermione Granger is, however, I fear doing so would take up the bulk of my target word count all on its own, without any analysis involved.

            There are, however, a few achievements that need to be noted to show that Hermione Granger is, of course, an exceptional witch.  She’s always the first in Harry’s year to master a new spell.  Of the Golden Trio, she is the first to master casting non-verbal spells.  Often, she is able to cast spells or create potions that are far beyond her current year in Hogwarts—for instance, the Polyjuice Potion in second year or the Protean charm for the D.A. coins in fifth year. 

            You get the point.  She’s brilliant—borderline genius, according to J. K. Rowling.  And I hated her for it.  Now, after years of studying heroines, I can dissect my issues with Hermione down to one factor—she wasn’t relatable to me.  I was always on the Draco side of things—always coming up a few steps too short of someone like Granger else in my life.  This made me resent Hermione a bit.

            That is, until Half-Blood Prince.  In the sixth book, the characterization of Hermione changed fundamentally for me.  Seeing her suffer over Ron’s ‘relationship,’ if it can even really be called that, with Lavender humanized her.  Her issues and jealousy over Ron in sixth year revealed to me that he wasn’t her only issue; she had a whole series of deep insecurities, all with the same source—her paralyzing fear of failure. 

            Of course, we’ve known about this insecurity since Prisoner of Azkaban, when Granger faced down the Boggart.  I, however, much like Snape and Malfoy, was so blinded by my intense dislike of her supposed superior attitude that I just chose to omit it.  I rationalized that that simply couldn’t be the case.  To me, I couldn’t see how such a successful girl could actually fear failure.

            This was, of course, ridiculous.  It just took me some time to come to that realization.  But once I did, a new Hermione was revealed to me.  This Hermione constantly struggled with being the underdog and felt she had to prove herself.  As one of a very slim number of Muggle-borns, she felt incessantly burdened by bullies such as Malfoy to validate that she deserved the chance to study magic.  In her mind, if she so much as slipped up once, she would feel like she had forfeited her right to a spot in the school.  In the mind of Granger, she had to strive to be exceptional to prove that she could be strong. 

            This last realization has been a recent one and has led to several questions in my mind.  I have read articles that link Hermione to a concept I’ve come to know as The Exceptional Woman.  This character feels a need to be better than everyone around her—particularly every male—to prove that they deserve their power and position.  In a way, it’s a control complex.  These characters crave knowing that, no matter what happens, no matter who or what they lose, they can still, not only function on their own, but excel while others struggle and marvel at their achievements. 

            In a sense, this is true for Hermione.  She craves that control of knowing something Harry and Ron don’t.  Although, granted, they’re so dense, I’m not so sure that would necessarily be a difficult goal to achieve.  In Rowling’s own words, Granger feels “utterly inadequate,” and, therefore, attempts to beat everyone at every possible thing she can, in the process “projecting a false confidence that can irritate people.”  It is this last part that interests me and which saves Hermione from truly becoming an Exceptional Woman.  Her confidence and irritating braggart personality are false, put in place to make it seem as if everything is okay, when truly she’s barely able to keep her head above water. 

            While I understand Hermione’s need to be exceptional so she can be viewed as strong, it truly shouldn’t be necessary.  One critic complained that her “hysteria and crying happen far too often to be considered a believable part of the development of Hermione’s character and are quite out of line with her core role in the book.”  To which I ask—what is her core role in the book?  Robot?  Emotionless bag?  There seems to be a misconception in our society that for a girl to be strong, she must not cry.  On the contrary, I think one of Hermione’s greatest strengths is her ability to cry and show emotion.  If she hadn’t been visibly upset by Ron’s departure in Deathly Hallows, the entire exchange would’ve felt hollow to me. 

            In fact, it is moments like those that persuaded me to change my opinion on her to begin with.  Her sadness over Ron leaving and the misery she feels until his return pressed acutely on my heart.  I suffered just as she did.  When Bellatrix Lestrange tortured her on the floor of Malfoy Manor, I couldn’t even imagine bearing such pain, let alone pushing through it to manage to still keep a cool enough front to lie to the woman about the counterfeit quality of the sword. 

            Thankfully, the above critic is the exception, not the rule.  Generally speaking, there aren’t too many critics who dislike Hermione.  She’s viewed as a bit of a feminist’s hero, an idea I completely agree with, now that I’m past her false confidences.  As Emma Watson puts it, Hermione makes “brains, not beauty, cool.”  Watson also claims that there’s a bit of a trend in media now where intelligent women seem compelled to dumb themselves down to please others.  This is a society-wide sentiment that I definitely agree is an issue.  I’ve met several women who are like this—purposely hindering themselves because it’s not right for a girl to be seen as too smart.  We are, of course, alternatively, supposed to be smart enough to attract the attention of men, but not so smart as to outsmart them. 

Hermione combats this point of view entirely.  I try to imagine her selling herself short to assuage Ron’s bruised ego and I almost laugh at the very idea of it.  She knows when she’s right and there’s very little you can do to compromise her on the issue beyond that.  Not many girls feel this way; in fact, I’ve met far more women who sell themselves short than women who, like Hermione, have the confidence to assure themselves they deserve what they want.  Hermione shows us the alternative isn’t the solution; it’s only building the problem. 

            This isn’t to say she’s cruel.  On the contrary, Granger can be very compassionate.  Ask Dobby and he will certainly affirm that position and dump a pile of knitted socks to prove it.  Nor is she a pushover.  In the process of completing this post, I have come to realize she can be quite cunning when the occasion calls for it. She ignores the hurtful words of bullies such as Malfoy; or, I should say, she ignores them until she can use her intellect to craftily outwit them at a later time (Rita Skeeter, anyone?  Oh, that’s right.  She can’t hear you from her trapped spot in Granger’s jar).  And, unlike her book smarts, this intelligence is inherent; she didn’t get her tricky sense of justice and vindication from a book or an afternoon spent in the library.  This cross between book smarts and street smarts produces one of the best characters I think I’ve ever read.

            Or, as Emma Watson puts it, “as I got older, I realized she was the greatest role model a girl could have.”  I don’t think I could’ve said it any better myself. 

From Bella to Katniss:  Is Hermione a good role model?  When I originally set up the somewhat witty name for this category, there were really only two options for the good role model end of the scale, in my opinion:  Hermione and Katniss.  As I said in my post about Katniss Everdeen, really the decisive factor was that Katniss is almost too good at staying distinctly out of love.  That doesn’t necessarily mean that I judge Hermione for her feelings for Ron.  On the contrary, I like both girls, and their respective approaches towards love, equally, as both sets of tactics just fit with the girl’s personality perfectly.  Hermione’s romantic foil is Lavender Brown—a character I loathe a lot more than I probably should, based solely on the fact that her approach to her ‘relationship’—let’s be honest, they were basically in it for the making out—is really very similar to Bella’s:  very clingy and dependent.  Lavender has no sense of self without a significant other (sound familiar?).  Hermione, on the other hand, is far less dependent on Harry or Ron than either of them is on her.  I suspect Ron’s first worry, upon realizing that Hermione was appropriately peeved at his relationship with Brown, was to worry who would help him with his next Transfiguration essay.  But my approval of her handle on relationships is just the tip of the iceberg.  She’s intelligent and unafraid to show it, no matter who happens to be on the receiving end.  Her compassion has saved lives—literally—and fuels an inspirational amount of passion and dedication we should all aspire to.  But, above all, what makes her a fascinating role model is her sense of self by the end of the seventh book.  She has completely accepted herself—she doesn’t worry about her looks, her blood status or how insufferable she may appear to be because, or, as she says in Deathly Hallows, she’s a “Mudblood, and proud of it!” 

Role Model Rating:  9/10

From Lorelai to Wonder Woman:  Is Hermione relatable?  The fifteen-year-old version of myself would scoff and bluntly say no, with an accompanying look as if to say ‘you must be joking.’  Now, in my early twenties, I can fully appreciate just how stupid I was then.  Hermione may have some unattainable qualities, as she is distinctly above average intelligence, but it gives the audience something to aspire to.  Granger, for all intents and purposes, shouldn’t be as good as she is at magic.  Ask Draco, I’m sure he could give you an earful on the matter.  And, yet, she, as a meager Muggle-born—a girl who wasn’t even raised with parents who could secretly give her hints and start teaching her magic early—can best every single person in her year at school.  Surely, we think, if she can do it, rise to the virtually impossible, why can’t I?  There’s also a quality to Hermione that can’t help but pull you in—no matter what emotion she’s feeling, she feels it so intensely.  I like to think I’m a pretty passionate individual, but I have no doubt that Granger has me beat by a mile.  However, from my point of view at least, her intensified devotion doesn’t cause her to become unattainable.  On the contrary, in a world filled with people who always seem to care far less about the minute than I do—for instance, that probably insignificant episode of Doctor Who where Ten changed the world by saving Twelve from a deathly volcano explosion—Hermione gives me a sense that I can’t possibly be alone in my ardor. 

Relatability Rating:  8/10

Katniss Everdeen--The Temper on Fire

**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~

Katniss Everdeen—The Temper on Fire

            One of the first tasks I undertook upon setting up this blog was to decide on how I would rate the role model and relatability scales.  I wanted to title the sections with appropriately witty names (because, if it’s not witty, what’s the point, really?)  In terms of young adult female characters, the bulk of which I knew would make up the content of my blog, there were really only two names that stuck out to me:  Bella, of course, on the lower end of the scale, and Ms. Evergreen on the higher end. 

            For me, the thing that worked so fantastically about putting Katniss on the high end of the scale—as the character that was intended to represent the epitome of all that makes up an amazing role model for young adult girls—is that, very simply, she’s just too perfect.  This isn’t to say she isn’t flawed—Peeta heaven’s knows she is.  But, whereas Bella is just too much the clichéd stupid teenager, Katniss is just too much the snubbing girl who always has far too many things going on, and just happens to fail to notice that two boys have fallen for her.  And who can blame her?  She has a family to feed, a Game to win, and a life to fight for. 

            There’s no denying she holds the necessary skills required to make her way home, though.  From first meeting Katniss, there is no doubt in the reader’s mind that this is a girl who can handle herself.  She knows what to eat and what not to eat; she’s lethal with a bow and arrow.  With a little help from Gale, she becomes better acquainted with traps.  Years of feeding her family have equipped her to survive the Games without her even really knowing it. 

            But this isn’t what won the readers over.  Really, on a surface level, the audience shouldn’t like Katniss.  There are times when she is unsettlingly intolerable.  The loss of her father and years of fending for herself without any support or encouragement from her mother have left Katniss hardened on the inside.  Her goal in life is to survive, not make herself happy, or anyone else happy for that matter.

            The only exception to this stone-cold policy is her sister Prim.  Katniss puts on a smile for her sister every day.  She encourages her sister to be the best person she can be.  Really, Katniss tries to be the mother she never had for Prim.  Everything she does, she does for Prim’s sake.  Prim is the one she hunts for.  Prim is the one she puts herself in danger for.  And it is Prim that she volunteers for. 

            In one sentence, Katniss won me over.  Any cruelty or harshness on her part prior to or following Reaping Day was excused in one sentence:  “I volunteer as tribute.”  She willingly throws herself into the Games she abhors simply to save her very young sister the excruciating pain of doing it herself.  It is explained to us that this sort of thing isn’t done—no one volunteers, even for a sibling.  We receive proof of this a few minutes later as Peeta is called and not one of his brothers steps up for him. 

            As she and Peeta make their way to the Capitol, we learn more things about Katniss, not all of which are agreeable.  She doesn’t like nice people; she thinks they worm their way into your heart, just so they can find the perfect way to break it later.  This makes her wary of Peeta.  Alternatively, it draws her closer to Haymitch.  This is a view I share with Katniss, and, especially as it’s a rare mentality to hold (or so I’m told), my opinion of her couldn’t help but soar shortly after its declaration.  Although I’m certain I’m in the minority there. 

            When Peeta declares his supposed undying love during the pre-Game interviews, instead of clutching at her chest and weeping with wonder, Katniss swats him over the head and accuses him of trying to outwit her in the Games.  This, of course, stems from her opinion on the cruelties possible of kindhearted people.  I won’t deny that I had a similar reaction to Katniss, accompanied with a round of eye rolls.  But, as time went on, I, much like Katniss, saw the benefits of this ploy.  This, she thinks, could be what gets me home. 

            Meanwhile the Bella’s of the world Peeta’s thinking he just really wants to be with her.  It is along these lines that Katniss receives most of her criticism.  People say she can’t be stupid enough to completely miss that both Gale and Peeta have feelings for her.  Truthfully, she really can be.  To be fair, she really isn’t stupid, per say.  As I said earlier, she simply has bigger fish to fry.  Marriage and children were never in her agenda so, therefore, she sees no logic in wasting time thinking about Gale, Peeta, or any other male, in this way.  In the process, she misses the very obvious signs from Gale that he has feelings.  She misses that Peeta very clearly does truly love her—that he has since even before the incident with the bread.  Even once she realizes she’s missed these signs over the years, she still sees no need to actively pursue any of it.  By that point, President Snow has informed her she no longer has a choice in the matter and has, therefore, rendered options null and void.

            I often wonder how Katniss would react if she were to attempt to read Twilight.  I think it’s safe to say she would not have a positive reaction to Meyer’s ‘heroine,’ however the degree to which she would dislike Bella is widely disputed amongst critics.  One from Entertainment Weekly acknowledges that Katniss is self-possessed and, as such, directly contrasts Bella.  I tend to agree with this and have even gone so far as to contemplate that Collins sought to directly contradict Bella in as many ways as possible when she created Katniss Everdeen. 

On the other hand, one critic I read actually shocked me so much I feel compelled to use a direct quote.  “Katniss is more passive than Bella, allowed to have all kinds of goodies but only if she demonstrates her virtue by not really wanting them in the first place…For all of her irritating flaws, Bella, at least, has the courage of her desire.  For what, besides a well-earned vengeance does Katniss Everdeen truly hunger?”

            Food, that’s what she truly hungers for.  She’s starving—literally—as she gives as much as she can to her family every single day.  But not just food—that’s just the tip of the iceberg.  In Katniss’s world, freedom is too high of a demand.  She hungers to be free of Snow’s oppressive rule, perhaps not as much as Gale does, but she feels the dull ache of it every time she or her family go hungry.

            My first reaction upon reading this quote was to be incensed.  I absolutely love Katniss; she certainly makes my list of top five favorite female heroines.  To say she falls short of Bella Swan of all people, in any way shape or form, felt almost like a personal insult.  After this knee-jerk reaction subsided, I pondered the words.  For a second they almost seemed to make some twisted sort of sense.  They seemed to be telling the tale that it is unfair for society to only approve of a girl getting a significant other if she didn’t really want one to begin with.  But, to me, there’s a difference between wanting a significant other and being desperate for one.  The words also seemed to whisper to me that at least Bella has the guts to want something and seek it out. And, in a way, this is true. It’s just that what Bella wants is a pale dead thing that apparently lacks the common sense mirror reflection to comb his hair.

            But, quickly, my thoughts moved on to what that meant for Katniss.  This critic seemed to believe that Katniss didn’t want for anything other than revenge.  Yes, Katniss burns for vengeance, even before Prim is killed.  I think anyone would agree that she’s earned the right to.  But there are other things that she has wanted over her long sixteen years that she didn’t get.  She wants her father to come back, but that’s impossible.  She wants her mother to return to the kind, caring, responsible woman she was prior to her father’s untimely death, but that’s improbable.  She wants the government to stop taking advantage of the Districts, sucking them of their resources for their own uses and leaving the bulk of the populace with not even enough to get by.  She wants Gale to find some peace, somewhere preferably away from the mines.  She wants her sister to live in a better world than she did.  Katniss wants for so much; she simply refuses to put it to words, knowing that none of it will ever come true. 

            I believe her desire to keep Prim safe and make Prim happy far surpasses that of her need for revenge.  She becomes the Mockingjay, a symbol for the rebellion, but she does so begrudgingly.  She hates that the people of District 13 make her feel like she’s being dressed up for another Game.  Truly, she only goes through the motions on this, driven instead to keep Prim safe and to kill Snow.  Even if her need for vengeance was her only driving force, that would still be a hell of a lot better than wishing to have some leech suck the life out of you so you can be eternally hitched at the hip.  But, fortunately for Katniss, above her need for vengeance is the call of her love for Prim.  She would go to the end of the world to save her sister.  And that desire isn’t half bad. 

From Bella to Katniss:  Is Katniss a good role model?  Well, I’ve placed her at the end of the scale, which makes this paragraph a bit intimidating to write.  However, I do believe she’s earned that spot.  Katniss might not always be pleasant, but she is always 100% herself.  She doesn’t compromise to attract men.  And, even once she has attracted a few, she doesn’t change to suit them.  Gale offers for him and her to run off together, into the woods.  She says no, on the principle that she can’t leave without Prim.  He offers to take their families with them; still she refuses, acknowledging that it would simply be too difficult.  She could’ve just run off with him, left all her cares and concerns with her family behind, but she refused to do so.  Katniss could’ve immediately played along on the star-crossed lovers issue, but she dragged her feet every step of the way, believing the image made her look weak.  Interested boys weren’t the only ones she stood defiant against.  She may have outwardly submitted to Snow and Coin—to Snow for the sake of her family, to Coin for the sake to get her own revenge on both of them in one shot, literally—but she had her own agenda and saw it through to the end.  She even suffered through her mortification at the Games and the fate of Peeta in Mockingjay, independent from much help.  Some would argue that her marriage and subsequent children to Peeta would involve some sort of caving on her part, but I disagree.  The world had changed, perhaps it was a world she felt more comfortable having children in.  It is, after all, her right to change her mind. 

Role Model Rating:  10/10

From Lorelai to Wonder Woman:  Is Katniss relatable?  For me, she really, truly is.  But she can be cruel and nasty, choosing to vindictively push people away.  I suppose in a way, I think of Katniss as saying and doing the things a lot of people wish they had the guts to do.  Our society instills this filter upon us in which we feel obligated to be somewhat nice.  Katniss has no such filter—she may be mean and belligerent, but she’s at least honest about it.  I, too, have been told I lack a certain filter at times, but even Katniss can take it to proportions I can’t quite reach.  For that, I relate to her, although I’m not sure how other, perhaps nicer people would feel on the issue.  I speculate—as that’s really all I’m capable of in a situation such as this—that kinder people would find her too strong, almost like biting into a lemon—too much all at once.  But perhaps her latent and hidden ability to care saves her on their front.  Perhaps these generous, nicer people relate to the Katniss that placed flowers on Rue before they carried her from the arena.  Maybe they relate to the deep compassion she feels for her sister as she steps forward to take her place, in the process almost certainly sealing her own fate.  Either way, I think we all find something in Katniss worth investing in.  Much like Cinna, I’d bet on her every time. 

Relatability Rating:  9/10