Did she just say what I think she said?

I parked the car and pulled out my phone, quickly googling the song lyrics I just heard.

Sure enough, I had clearly heard the lines “Lord in heaven above, I need you to send me a life boat” and “He sees you” on a popular mainstream album.

I found RAYE’s music the way many people did—via Instagram. So when she dropped her second album, THIS MUSIC MAY CONTAIN HOPE, a lot of people were paying attention, myself included.

Another quick Google search confirmed that RAYE is openly Christian.

That changed my next listen-through of the album. Because it turns out RAYE and her album had a lot to show me about Christian art.

First, RAYE makes good art.

Duh. Right? Of course, Christians should make good art.

But RAYE went a step further. She created an album so good, even people who don’t share her exact beliefs are listening and relating and sharing it with others.

Her album isn’t just “good” for a Christian album. Her album is excellent as an album, period. All the songs tell a story, and she gently moves her listeners through the journey from despair to hope alongside her. She embraces her unique sound and style, and it stands out.

It’s clear from every single track that RAYE truly loves what she does, she cares about her listeners, and she loves the musicians that she works with. Her final track is four minutes of her reading the names of all the people who helped her create the album, for heavens’ sake.

And she is getting recognized for it. It’s not just her that says her album is good, and it’s not even just Christians that think it is either. She is being recognized as a master of her craft.

We as Christians want books and movies where we can explore our beliefs through the power of story. It’s a fantastic thing to want. But sometimes, I wonder if we want it so much that we’ll accept subpar quality as long as they share our beliefs.

Sure, that movie had a really weak plot, but it had good messages, right? Maybe that book could have used another pass through editing, but it had a conversion scene, so it must be good.

But why am I picking on Christian stories? It’s no secret that mainstream books have their poorly written stories, too.

God doesn’t need us to make perfect art. He’s not suffering because that one book wasn’t absolutely perfect. God is God, no matter what. And He delights in us and the ways we demonstrate our love for Him, even if it’s imperfect.

Creating art is about the audience. The readers, the viewers, the listeners. I can create something that makes them smile, something that makes them discover the world in a new way, something that makes them feel seen. And when I do that, I show them a tiny sliver of who God is—that He sees them, too. How cool is that?
But in order to do that, I have to tell a story worth reading.

We’re imperfect. We’re going to create imperfect art and stories. Nobody gets it all right on the first try. But our art and our stories, whether the ones we write or the ones we lift up, should show that we’re learning and growing, committed to doing the best we can.

RAYE is only on her second album, and she’s already worked to make the best art that she can right now.

Second, RAYE embraces a range of experiences and emotions.

Sometimes I have a hard time with Christian music.

Almost every Christian song that gets airplay today restates a truth or a Scripture passage. And that’s wonderful! Having those truths put to music helps them spring to my mind when I need them.

But there aren’t Christian songs that talk about how it feels to be depressed. Or angry, or anxious. 

So when I need a song that will give me a good cry, where do I go? Mainstream albums. And why? Because they’re actually putting words to I’m feeling, rather than offering helpful truths for what I’m feeling.

We need both.

RAYE wrote tracks that quote Scripture and restate truths (such as Life Boat and Joy).

But she also has songs about the men who did her dirty. She has songs about addiction and depression and hating her body. She has songs about friendship and heartbreak. No topic is off limits.

Sometimes her songs mention God by name. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes she reaches the end of a song, and she’s still depressed. On rare occasions, she even *gasp* swears. Her songs, even the cleanest ones, will likely never see Christian radio airplay.

She’s messy about it.

And that’s why I return to her songs when I’m hurting. She has songs that speak the words in my heart, not the words that I think good Christian girls should be saying.

And like the title says, that’s why her album ultimately contains hope. She embraces the dark places and the journey back out. She doesn’t sugarcoat them or make them more palatable. She doesn’t ignore dark things. She sings about them instead.

And both those elements—good art and the full human experience—lead us here. To a Christian singer who incorporates her faith into her albums and still reaching a mainstream audience.

For me, a Christian artist, it makes me look at my own projects. Am I committed to making the best art I can? Do I incorporate the full range of human emotion, or do I stick to the topics deemed “safe” for polite company?

But you don’t have to be an artist. What about the Christian art I take in? Do I seek out well-made art and celebrate the ones who do it well? Do I seek out stories that incorporate all human emotion, or just the experiences I can relate to or that I feel safe sharing with my friends?

The problem with Christian art today isn’t that we don’t have enough of it. And it’s not the Christian art we already have is bad. It’s that we don’t have enough range.

RAYE’s album contains hope that we’re changing that.

If you’ve got an hour and a half to spare, I recommend you give THIS MUSIC MAY CONTAIN HOPE a try. It may teach you some things about Christian art, or maybe it will reach you in a dark place and help you journey toward hope.

Have you listened to RAYE’s new album? What did you think? Even if you haven’t listened to RAYE, what other artists do you love listening to? Let me know in the comments below.

Hi, I’m Rachel! I write young adult fantasy. I write the novels I needed growing up—the novels I still need. Novels for the weird little girls and the women they’re becoming.

Maybe you need those stories, too? You can get one for free by signing up for my email newsletter via the “HOME” page of my website. It might involve a girl and the magical violin she didn’t want and maybe a metaphor about grief. Plus, you’ll also get email-exclusive updates on my dieselpunk Anastasia reimaging. Sound good? I hope I’ll see you there! ​

I recently read Starling House, a novel by Alix E. Harrow.

Starling House tells the story of Opal, a twenty-something woman who seems to be forever down on her luck. Her small Kentucky town doesn’t give her many options to provide for her younger brother, so she accepts a job cleaning a historic house that most everyone believes is haunted.

If you want more details, you can read my full review HERE. (Please note that Starling House is best suited for an adult audience and deals with heavy content and mature topics. The majority of that content will not appear in this post, but you can view my full list of content warnings in the review above.)

(Please also note: this article will contain spoilers for Starling House. So if you’re thinking of reading it, give it a go, and then come back here. This article will be waiting for you.)

Starling House released in 2023, and was met with starred reviews, award nominations, and book club recommendations. It’s a modern classic, a book that will long outlive the decade that published it. The thing that makes this story stick is how it peers into ugly topics—ugly things that we’ve caught lurking around our own spaces, too.

But today, I want to talk about the ugly thing that stuck with me the most.

Let’s talk about the religious aspect of the many abuses that Starling House—both the place and the story—suffered.

This story happens in a small town called Eden. And Eden, like Opal herself, has the worst luck. If a freak accident happens, you can bet it happened in Eden. The townspeople shift the blame onto Starling House and its inhabitants.

Spoiler alert: Starling House and its very first occupant are at the heart of it. But they are not to blame.

Long ago, Eden turned a blind eye as three wealthy brothers abused their niece, Eleanor, in order to keep her fortune. Whether from her imagination or from somewhere else, Eleanor drew up dark creatures that rampaged the town, bringing bad luck and unfortunate accidents everywhere they went. Seeking revenge for how Eden ignored Eleanor.

The people that looked away during the worst of Eleanor’s abuse are the ones the book also describes over and over again as “good God-fearing folk.”

Religious trauma and religious abuse come up more and more prevalently. We can’t go a month without another victim coming forward, or another prominent Christian being exposed. For the first time, these victims can come forward and tell the truth of what has been done to them.

I’m one of them. I grew up with an abuser who adopted cult-like beliefs that at one point originated from Christianity. This person used God and the Bible and those beliefs to hurt me and people I care about.

And yes, other Christians did look the other way. I doubt any of them did it on purpose. Do any of us do it on purpose? We just don’t know what to do, so we figure we’re better off not doing anything at all. It’s more comfortable anyway. Or we fear making things worse for the victims, so we don’t stop long enough to consider the possibility that we could make things better for them.

None of us ever set out to be the villain in the story, do we?

When I closed the digital cover of Starling House, all I came away with was rage. And at first, that felt good. I’d walked with Opal through all Eden’s ugliness, and I desperately wanted her to have her revenge.

After the years of abuse I experienced, other Christians encouraged me to forgive my abuser, as if I could just sweep it all under a rug. I could write essays upon essays on how what many churches have embraced as “forgiveness” and what is actually healthy are two vastly different things.

But this encouragement to forgive and move on and be done with it as quickly as possible tried to short cut an important part of the journey. We have to let ourselves and let others be angry. To feel all those emotions and walk through them at our own pace.

I was angry. I still am. I think I will carry a piece of that anger with me forever. Someone did things to me and to people I care about that should not be done to anyone for any reason, and much of it was done in God’s name. It was wrong, it is wrong, and it will always be wrong. And it’s normal to be angry about things that are wrong.

The anger that I wasn’t allowed to express found comfort in Opal and Eleanor. And while we need to rage over the things we’ve lost, especially when those losses come from people who say they love God, when I thought Starling House had left it there, it only felt hollow.

But as I prepared this post, which was originally going to look quite different, I came across R. L. Nguyen’s review of the book. (If you don’t follow R.L. Nguyen, I would highly, highly recommend you do. She’s quickly become one of my favorite creators.) She also processes a lot of these big topics on her various platforms.

She noted in her review, “. . . it was really thoughtful and healing. I haven’t seen a ton of books that validated victims’ cries and rage, but also said ‘there’s something better in store for you than revenge.’ There was poetic justice and there was hope (even if the progress was small).” (Read her full review HERE.)

It took her words for me to see it, too, but hope was in this story all along. Opal finds the people who love her, even if they are imperfect. Opal holds onto broken things, whether imperfect people or rundown houses or shady little towns, always hoping they can be repaired. Opal builds a life for herself, a life that she loves, a life that the hypocrites of the world around her can’t touch.

She still carries that anger with her. But she also acknowledges that the anger is not a place she has to stay in.
There’s room for both anger and hope in this story. There’s room for both anger and hope in you, too. And those places where anger and hope meet can be some of the most beautiful places.

I write stories for the weird girls and the women they’re becoming. A lot of the weird girls that I’ve met have been deeply hurt by Christians. It’s almost a hallmark of the weird girl experience.

My stories will likely be lighter than Starling House. But they will at times dwell on the grief and the rage of what we’ve lost. My stories at times may seek to get the revenge that so many girls never got. They will cry and scream and break things.

But they will also support someone else who is angry and hurting. They will pick up and dust off the broken things, and they will hold them close because they still hope they can be repaired.

I want to do that as a person, too.

Whether or not you ever read Starling House, whether or not you ever read anything else I’ve written besides this article, I hope maybe you can do that as a person, too, whatever that may look like. To let the rage move through you as needed. And to also hold on to hope in the same spaces. 

Hi, I’m Rachel! I write fantasy for upper young adults and new adults. But more importantly, I write the novels I needed growing up—the novels I still need. Novels for the weird girls and the women they’re becoming.

Maybe you need those stories, too? You can get one for free by signing up for my email newsletter via the “HOME” page of my website. It might involve a girl and the magical violin she didn’t want and maybe a metaphor about grief. Plus, you’ll also get email-exclusive updates on my dieselpunk Anastasia reimaging. Sound good? I hope I’ll see you there! ​

So, do you want to hear about another woman that I didn’t know was in the Bible? Of course you do, sit down.

Let’s talk about Achsah. If you don’t know who the heck that is, never fear, I didn’t either. I mean, when has a women’s Bible study ever announced “we’re studying Achsah!”

Unlike Dinah (our forgotten girl of Genesis), who at least got a chapter, Achsah gets four verses. But she does a lot in those four verses. If you want to read the passage for yourself, check out Joshua 15:16-19. But I’ll sum it up here.

We actually start with Achsah’s dad, Caleb. Caleb, unlike Achsah, does get talked about in Bible studies. You might remember him from “two faithful spies” fame. Moses sent out twelve people to spy out the land God promised them. Ten said there was no way they could ever conquer it, forgetting, evidently, about God. Two said the land was good and that God would help them conquer it. Caleb was one of those two.

A quick note here: the concept of Israel entering these lands and eradicating whole people groups, even if they were following God's commands, is a tricky one, and one that I’m still wrestling with myself. Since this topic will appear a few times in this article, I would encourage you to seek out other scholars and what they say about it. I’m sure my own understanding will grow and change from what I know right now. So all that to say, if this topic makes you uncomfortable, it probably should. And I wanted to acknowledge that I do not yet have the knowledge or understanding to tackle it fully here and now.

As a reward, Caleb was one of the only people from the generation that left Egypt who also got to enter the land God promised them. God also promised Caleb a special portion of the land because he believed God would help them.

Which brings us to Joshua 15. Caleb, now an old man, gets his long-awaited inheritance. Caleb didn’t even request nice cities—he requested cities that he could clear and rebuild. He marches against the inhabitants of one of his cities, but he can’t do it alone.

So he promises that whoever attacks and captures the city can have his daughter Achsah as a wife.

Which . . . doesn’t sound great, honestly.

Caleb probably thought he did good. In fact, he probably did more for Achsah than other men of the time period would have done for their daughters. He at least got her a man who would go to war for her, literally. One who would take initiative for her.

But the fact also remains that she was objectified, used as a prize.

It gets worse, because Othniel, Caleb’s nephew, captures the city, and so, as promised, he gets Achsah. Which, yeah, that means she married her cousin. Which is also more than I have the understanding to unpack here.

Let’s get into the good stuff about Achsah instead.

Achsah arrives on the scene and immediately persuades Othniel to ask Caleb for a field.

Othniel didn’t tell her “hey, go ask Caleb for a field because he probably likes you more.” Achsah took the initiative and leadership not only to ask this of Othniel, but to convince him that it’s good.

Othniel agrees, and more than that, he lets Achsah herself speak to her father. When Caleb asks what he can do for her, Achsah requests a blessing. Her exact words? “Since you have given me land in the Negev, give me the springs also.”

I’ll admit, I’m not sure if the “land in the Negev” is the city Othniel won or some other land entirely. If it is the city that Othniel won, Achsah—and presumably others around her based on how they react—see that city as hers. And if it’s not the city that Othniel won, then somewhere else in the promised land, there is land that belongs to Achsah. There is only one other instance in these first six Old Testament books where women held an inheritance like this.

Not only did Achsah receive her inheritance, but she was brave enough to request more. And Caleb fulfills her wish, giving her the upper and lower springs.

The Old Testament is a hard read. God gave a law that seemed designed to protect women, and yet we watch certain men twist it (and continue to twist it) to protect themselves and abuse women.

And yet in this very harsh landscape, a woman was not only recognized as a landowner, but also asked for more and was not denied. Furthermore, no one condemned her for it.

When I said I didn’t know about Achsah, it wasn’t completely true. I didn’t know her name or the true details of her story, but I did hear this story taught once. Those teachers seemed a bit afraid of the story. They claimed that she received this ownership because she submitted. After all, she went to her husband and father first.

But that’s not what happened here. Achsah brought up the idea and convinced Othniel. Achsah went to Caleb and presented her request. She took charge. She asked for more. She knew her worth.

And she is not rebuked for it.

God included everything in Scripture for a reason. Which means God handpicked this brief story about Achsah for His book. He chose a story about a girl leader. And He did not rebuke her. In fact, He left it for us to interpret.

I realize this is an Old Testament story. Jesus made a new covenant since then, fulfilling and deepening the Old Testament principles beyond a list of rules. Becoming what God always meant the Law to be. But that doesn’t mean that the Old Testament is worthless or that we can no longer learn from the examples.

And what I learn in this story is that Christian women can lead. They can take charge and hold influence. I see that we are allowed to want more, that we are allowed to speak up, to call out injustice, to say “actually, that belongs to me.”

And I see the men who from all accounts treated her well. I see Othniel who fought knowing she would be his reward and wanting her. But beyond that, he listened to her, and accepted the point she made. He let her take ownership and negotiate for herself. I see Caleb who listened to her request, recognized her point, and gave her what she deserved.

And I see Achsah, who had the wisdom to consider her arguments and the courage to speak up. To ask for more.

She didn’t ask for whatever she wanted. She asked for something that was good and right. Which tells me that she paid attention to God and what He called her to do.

Are there places where we need to ask for more?

Maybe it’s for ourselves. Maybe it’s for others.

We might stand up for women who cannot fight for themselves. We might call out injustices and the people who perpetrate them. We might undo our own harmful beliefs, or make the choices we need to live in joy.

Whatever it looks like, the most important thing we can do is to learn to lean on God for wisdom. That’s how we know what to ask for and when to ask for it, just like Achsah did. That’s how we ask for things that are good and right.

I hope Achsah lived a good life on the land she earned. And whatever heaven and the afterlife may look like, I hope she and I get to chat sometime.

And so ends today’s episode of forgotten girls in the Bible. If you want to read about another girl who often gets overlooked and ignored, you can check out my recent article on Dinah here. 

Hi, I’m Rachel! I write fantasy for upper young adults and new adults. But more importantly, I write the novels I needed growing up—the novels I still need. Novels for the weird girls and the women they’re becoming.

Maybe you need those stories, too? You can get one for free by signing up for my email newsletter via the “HOME” page of my website. It might involve a girl and the magical violin she didn’t want and maybe a metaphor about grief. Plus, you’ll also get email-exclusive updates on my dieselpunk Anastasia reimaging. Sound good? I hope I’ll see you there! 

Imagine we built a time machine. Don’t worry, I’m sure our time machine won’t do anything like, I don’t know, accidentally start a multiverse.

We take our time machine back to 2022-ish. (It’s not a very precise machine.) The year that I first watched the Marvel Cinematic Universe films.

While we’re here, since it can’t hurt, we ask 2022 me which Marvel project she hates the most.

Without even a second’s hesitation, she answers Captain Marvel.

Right. Back to the present. I’m rewatching all the MCU projects and dreading Captain Marvel. But I give it another fair shot. After all, it’s been four years. Opinions change over four years. (Don’t I know it.)

Cut to Carol fighting her attackers while “Just a Girl” blasts in the background.

Cue me going “oh no.”

Suddenly, my most hated Marvel film became not hated at all. Captain Marvel is a fun film with a fantastic heroine. And the reasons she’s so good are the very traits that I hated her for.

Carol was too defiant.

My girl Carol really crash-landed in a Blockbuster and immediately took no crap from anyone.
She’ll disobey her superiors. She’ll argue with freakin’ Nick Fury. She’ll punch a hole through the wall with her super-powered fists.

2022 me thought that was too much.

Can you say INTERNALIZED MISOGYNY?

In case you’ve not been introduced to the term yet, internalized misogyny is when women subconsciously accept and project sexist beliefs onto themselves and the women around them. And it caused all my problems with this movie.  

I believed that I shouldn’t be loud, defiant, or angry, so I believed that even the fictional Carol Danvers shouldn’t be loud, defiant, or angry, and I hated her for it.

Yeah, 2022 Rachel was going through it.

I’ve undone a lot of those sexist beliefs over the past four years, although I’m sure that I still have a lot more to work through. And while we’re here, let’s clarify—a woman does not have to be defiant to also be strong.
But some women are defiant, and some women need to be.

Carol—and many other beings in her world—had been horribly used and manipulated. (I’m not going to say that nods to real-life problems, but it definitely does.) Carol’s anger and grief over what she had lost fueled her to create a change, both for herself and for other people who needed her.

Sometimes, we need a woman to get loud and angry.

Carol was too emotional.

Do you hear that? Do you hear the internalized misogyny?

Among the Kree, Yon-Rogg, Carol’s superior, lectures her about her emotions, claiming that they hinder her fights. In reality, he’s terrified of what might happen if she uses them in a healthy way.

People use this argument against women every day, especially women in positions of leadership (like Carol eventually would be). I believed I shouldn’t be emotional, and so she shouldn’t either.

If you asked 2022 me if I was a thinker or a feeler, she would have wholeheartedly answered a thinker. I believed that I didn’t feel very much and that when I made decisions, I used my head and my logic, and that I was better off for it.

It turns out repressed emotions are still emotions. And over the next four years, life circumstances would be like “bestie, you are anything but logical.” And that’s okay. I had to undo sexist beliefs that told me that if I felt anything too deeply, then I was just a hysterical female.

Once again, Carol deserves to be emotional. And yes, she shows how emotions can hold us back—but more importantly, she shows how emotions make us strong. She shows how emotions inspire us to do big things. We don’t need to fear our feelings, especially not as women.

Carol makes mistakes. Sometimes huge ones.

Carol disobeys Yon-Rogg’s orders—which gets her captured by the Skrull and ruins her mission. She discriminates against the Skrull through the majority of the film. And if she’d just listen to Nick every once in a while, quite a few complications could have been avoided.

BEEEEEEEEEEEP INTERNALIZED MISOGYNY ALERT.

(Are you noticing a theme here?)

This idea sneaks into even the most “feminist” movies. Sometimes while trying to create a character that celebrates women, we swing so far the other way that we make them perfect, that we don’t allow them to make mistakes.

But deep underneath that, we believe that women shouldn’t make mistakes, and if they do, they should not be easily forgiven. If you hang around fandom circles, you’ve seen those posts. “If (female character) were a dude, everyone would have said she was just misunderstood.”

And it’s true. I could name multiple stories where two characters with similar backgrounds both make questionable choices. The male character is almost universally beloved, and the female character is almost universally hated for the very same choice.

We hold women to a harsher standard than men, both in fiction and in real life. We’re taught to be perfect and to not make mistakes, because if we make mistakes, then people will discredit us. But making mistakes is part of being human.

I argue that making mistakes is one of the most important traits a strong female character can have. And Carol not only makes mistakes, but deals with the consequences they bring. And not all her mistakes are the end of the world—sometimes they lead her to where she’s actually meant to be.

And finally, she got superpowers randomly at the end so she could save the day.

2022 me thought the ending was an easy out. Oh, Carol now has the power of a thousand burning suns or whatever. How convenient.

But Carol’s powers aren’t random, and they weren’t a cheap way to get her out of a pickle. Carol always had those powers. (Well, at least since the explosion.) She just gets them back, or rather, realizes she had them all along.

But even when she didn’t have access to all her superpowers, she still always got back up after a fight. She cared about her friends. She searched for the truth and challenged the norm.

Defiance was her power. Emotions were her power. Her ability to learn from her mistakes and get back up was her power.

Carol’s most important powers weren’t even the superpowers she takes back. They were the qualities she had all along.

So. Consider this my formal retraction of any previous Captain Marvel slander I’ve put out on the Internet.

I could write thousands of words about this film. But all those words boil down to a twenty-four-year-old woman curled up on her living room floor watching Carol Danvers beat the heck out of her attackers while “Just a Girl” plays in the background.

A twenty-four-year-old woman watching the stories she never saw as a kid.

And that’s why Captain Marvel is so powerful.  

What are your thoughts on Captain Marvel? Let me know in the comments below!

Hi, I’m Rachel! I write young adult fantasy. But more importantly, I write the novels I needed growing up—the novels I still need. Novels for the weird little girls and the women they’re becoming.

Maybe you need those stories, too? You can get one for free by signing up for my email newsletter via the “HOME” page of my website. It might involve a girl and the magical violin she didn’t want and maybe a metaphor about grief. Plus, you’ll also get email-exclusive updates on my dieselpunk Anastasia reimaging. Sound good? I hope I’ll see you there! 

Can we talk about Dinah?
​
Okay, let’s talk about Dinah.

I never heard this story in Sunday school. In fact, I don’t think I ever heard this story at church at all. We hear about Jacob’s twelve sons on a regular basis, but never, if ever, do we discuss Jacob’s daughter.

Most Biblical genealogies would gloss her over with a quick “Jacob also had a daughter.” But Dinah is mentioned by name multiple times.

Other than that, Dinah gets one chapter to her name, and that chapter is Genesis 34. Before we even get into it, I’ll say that it is intense and it is mature. (Don’t let anyone tell you there is not explicit content in the Bible.)

With that in mind, this article will reference sexual abuse, rape, and graphic violence, although I will keep details as discreet as possible.

If you want the full story, you can read Genesis 34 for yourself, which is where I found myself the other day. I’ll sum up here.

Dinah leaves home one day to visit her friends—nothing weird for a girl to do. Before she can arrive, a local chieftain kidnaps her and rapes her. This piece of trash has a name—Shechem. And he becomes absolutely obsessed with Dinah. So he demands his father Hamor get her for his wife—presumably so the abuse could continue.

Dinah’s father Jacob hears about this, but he opts to stay silent until his sons have returned from caring for the livestock. The sons hear about it anyway—although not from their father—and return just in time for Shechem and Hamor to pay the family a visit.

Note that Dinah herself hasn’t come home. Shechem is holding her hostage.

Hamor tries to control the damage, claiming that Shechem has “set his heart on Dinah” and detailing all the benefits that could come from a marriage between their two people groups. Shechem takes it a step further, claiming he will give them whatever they want in exchange for Dinah.

The sons know exactly what they want. And here’s where it gets a little wild. They claim that they can’t give their sister to an uncircumcised man—which checks out since for some reason, that symbolized God’s promise to them.

So Hamor and Shechem fall for it. Which provides the perfect opportunity for Jacob’s sons Simeon and Levi to sneak into their city and kill every male. They rescue Dinah and plunder the homes left behind—but notably leave the women and children untouched.

When they arrive home, Jacob only worries that the remaining local nations will unite against them. But Simeon and Levi answer, “Should they treat our sister like this?”

Brutal, right? I mean, why would I opt to recount that story here?

Because every story in the Bible is included for a reason. Even the most graphic and tragic and brutal ones.

God included the story of an abused girl being avenged for a reason.

Like I said, I’ve never heard this story taught in church. But when people have discussed it or I’ve run across it in devotionals, it has been used as a caution against anger and the perils of revenge. Jacob is extolled as a good example for ignoring Dinah’s abuse.

To be fair, we could debate the morality (or lack thereof) of Simeon and Levi’s actions all day long.

But God allowed them to have this revenge, and He made sure it was recorded in His book.

That tells me that it matters to Him. All the abuse that Dinah suffered mattered to Him. And whether or not Simeon and Levi’s actions were right or wrong, God avenged Dinah through them and brought her home.

God sees injustice. He sees inequality. He sees abuse. He sees all the hurts that women face because of a broken world and people who have chosen to do evil.

Whether He does it here on earth now or whether He does it when He makes the world new, He will avenge every wrong.

Now more than ever, churches, organizations, and Christians are being exposed for how they have played Jacob. Hundreds of women can report how their church and fellow Christians mishandled their concerns. (This absolutely goes for men too. Although it more commonly occurs to women, that doesn’t make the threat nonexistent for men.) There are still people in your church, in my church who think this is a story about how you shouldn’t get angry.

But this story shows that God is angry.

When I read this story, I don’t hear God scolding me to listen to my elders more. I don’t see a morality tale about anger and revenge.

Vengeance isn’t ours, but sometimes anger is. God does not call us to slaughter entire cities, but we are called to slaughter lies and systems that enable injustice. But we do it with God’s guidance and only with God’s guidance—something that Simeon and Levi perhaps neglected.

When I read this story, I see a God Who knows and sees and hurts with us. And I see a God Who will make all these horrible things right.

Maybe you have been abused. If so, I hope you can feel the comfort of that truth through this story today.

Maybe you’ve never experienced this type of hurt.  If so, if you’re in a place where you can, I hope you can feel the challenge of this story. We may not be Simeon or Levi, but we can call for accountability. We can support victims and survivors. And we can slaughter the lies in our own hearts that lead us to ignore and keep silent.

It’s not everyone’s place to be on the front lines fighting these battles. But it is everyone’s place to imitate the God Who created all of us—to see and to hurt and to seek justice.

You may notice a lot of my articles lately have been like this one (dealing with women’s issues) or analyzing fictional heroines. My mission as a writer is to tell stories for the weird little girls and the women they’re becoming. And part of that journey has been realizing that I have a deep passion for topics just like these.

​So you can expect to see more of these takes from me over the months to come. Those topics might be where I stay forever, or they might be just where I stay for right now. But I’d love for you to hang out with me in them. If you have any ideas on topics I could cover in the future, please drop a comment below! 

Hi, I’m Rachel! I write young adult fantasy. I write the novels I needed growing up—the novels I still need. Novels for the weird little girls and the women they’re becoming.

Maybe you need those stories, too? You can get one for free by signing up for my email newsletter via the “HOME” page of my website. It might involve a girl and the magical violin she didn’t want and maybe a metaphor about grief. Plus, you’ll also get email-exclusive updates on my dieselpunk Anastasia reimaging. Sound good? I hope I’ll see you there! 

Can I tell you the truth? I don’t like Snow White.
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Don’t worry, I’m not remaking Snow White, so nobody needs to cancel me over that little confession.

Maybe her ridiculously high-pitched voice got to my nerves. Maybe I couldn’t vibe with her garish color scheme. Maybe the whole movie terrified me a little bit.

But when I grew up and looked past the gross apple and sketchy trees, Snow White only infuriated me more.

Snow White is expected to clean up after seven guys—after she almost died—because for some reason, guys can’t clean up after themselves? And then a clearly sinister woman approaches the window, and Snow White goes “yeah this seems legit” and accepts food from her?

Younger me got the message loud and clear. Snow White existed to mindlessly clean up after the boys—a glorified housemaid, if you will.

Younger me hated that.

Grown-up me hates that.

But grown-up me found herself rewatching the movie anyway. And despite all my hatred, I found something deeper buried in this very sexist film.

And I found it in Snow White herself.

Don’t get me wrong--Snow White the movie has issues. Lots of issues. Whether intentional or unintentional, it reflects harmful views about women that were held at the time (and that women still have to push back against today).  

In fact, it’s worth noting that I automatically blamed the movie’s problems on the fictional heroine, rather than on the systems and false beliefs that made the film and put her there.

But Snow White doesn’t do what she does because someone else told her so and she simply obeyed. She does these things from the goodness of her own heart.

She doesn’t clean up after the dwarves because someone told her that’s her place. She genuinely wants to help them.

She doesn’t accept the witch’s apple she’s too dumb or ditzy to know better. She chooses to believe the best of everyone—even to her own detriment.

Even after the Evil Queen attempts to kill her and strands her in the forest, Snow White chooses to be kind and to believe the best about everyone.

Obviously, that outlook has fallacies. If someone looks sinister, maybe don’t accept food from them.

But I can still look past it and see the good heart and good intentions behind Snow White’s fallacies.

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the most trusting person. And I watched a fictional girl suffer and get betrayed and have every right to be just as mistrusting as I am. But she consciously chose to be kind anyway.

That’s something beautiful.

That is a different sort of strength, a strength not as readily seen in heroines.

Do I still hate Snow White the movie? Yeah. But I can still appreciate something deeper in Snow White the princess, something that maybe even her filmmakers didn’t intend to hide in there. But it’s there all the same.

Did you enjoy this post? If you did, I'm not SAYING that you'll enjoy my analysis of Wendy from Peter Pan . . . but I'm just saying. You can read that analysis here: https://www.racheljleitch.com/blog/disney-heroines-that-hold-up-surprisingly-well-wendy​
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Hi, I’m Rachel! I write young adult fantasy. I write the novels I needed growing up—the novels I still need. Novels for the weird little girls and the women they’re becoming.

Maybe you need those stories, too? You can get one for free by signing up for my email newsletter via the “HOME” page of my website. It might involve a girl and the magical violin she didn’t want and maybe a metaphor about grief. Plus, you’ll also get email-exclusive updates on my dieselpunk Anastasia reimaging. Sound good? I hope I’ll see you there! 

​This year will be THE year. The year I get my act together.

I’ll make the perfect resolution and keep it flawlessly. I’ll find the habit that will fix all my problems. I’ll reach the achievement or fulfill that dream. Whatever I do, this year will NOT end up like last year.

Sound familiar? Oh, yeah, that sounds like how I opened last month’s article about holiday stress.

And yet, less than a week after Christmas morning and all the joy that brings, I set my high expectations on another celebration—the new year. But this time, instead of stress, I battle disappointment.

How can I feel disappointed when everything is fresh and new?

Maybe we feel disappointed when everyone seems to have a life-changing resolution, but we don’t even know what we want yet.

When the habit that was supposed to fix everything fades after a few short weeks.

When the year that was supposed to bring happiness and joy starts out mundane or less than perfect.

When we watch others reach their goals and dreams and we feel left behind.

Disappointment doesn’t always come with a handy step by step guide to get over it. I don’t know that I can lay out a neat bullet point article like I could with stress last month. But my new year did arrive with a realization, a realization that I hope comforts you, and maybe challenges you, if that’s what you need.

When the new year rolls in, we look back over the previous one. It’s only natural. In all that reflection, sometimes we focus on the things that went wrong and just how desperately we want this year to be easier than last year.

Or we focus on the things that went right. We scheme how we can replicate it, and we worry about what this new year might hold.  

Or maybe we focus on all the things we haven’t done yet, the things that seem so far away and distant no matter how hard we work or how much we want them.

I, for one, can get a little mopey.

So we make resolutions and habits and promises. Because if I can just get on top of myself and my own tendencies, everything will HAVE to go right, won’t it? Previous years have taught us that we can’t control other people, and we can’t control our life circumstances, so we control our bodies, our feelings, our habits.

Or at least we try.

So is it a control issue? Maybe. But I suggest that it might be about something deeper.

It might be about hope.

Hope, that thing that keeps us going. That mystical force that seems so out of reach. Everybody puts their hope in something, whether or not we realize we’re doing it. Everybody has something that keeps them going.

When a new year rolls around, our hopes are elevated and renewed. When we look at all the ways we were unfulfilled last year, it’s easy for us to shift our hope to the wrong things.

We put our hope in the new year instead of the One Who knows exactly what’s going to happen in every second of that new year.

We put our hope in resolutions and habits. In the experiences we hope to have. In our own strength, control, and achievement.

Hope in those things will ultimately be disappointed. Our world does not run the way it should, so even the best experience will fade and the strongest person will fail. Our broken world physically cannot fulfill our expectations.

Perfect, Rachel. Thank you for ruining New Year’s.

But there is one hope that will not disappoint us—even if it may feel like it now.

The One Who came at Christmas so He could grow up, die in our place for our brokenness, and rise again so we could live in that hope.

I’m not saying resolutions and habits are bad. I have quite a few habits that have helped me over the past year. But unfortunately, no matter how much water I drink or sleep I get, it won’t solve all my problems. (Dang, I wish.)

So even as we make our resolutions and plot out our habits this new year, we remember our true Hope. Each of us can find a way to keep that hope close, whether it’s preaching truth to ourselves, reading God’s Word, praying, or talking with friends who share the same hope. Maybe there is a habit that could bring you closer to that hope.

And when disappointments come, as they will, we can use those opportunities to shift our disappointment into relationship with Him, reminding ourselves what is true.

And that doesn’t just go for disappointments. It goes for the joys that await this year, too.

Alright, alright, I know it sounds like I spent this whole article putting down resolutions and habits, but . . . do you have a resolution or habit you’re hoping to improve this year? Or maybe an experience or milestone you’re looking forward to? Let me know in the comments below!

Hi, I’m Rachel! I write young adult fantasy novels. But more importantly, I write the novels I needed growing up—the novels I still need. Novels for the weird little girls and the women they’re becoming.

Maybe you need those stories, too? You can get one for free by signing up for my email newsletter via the “HOME” page of my website. It might involve a girl and the magical violin she didn’t want and maybe a metaphor about grief. Plus, you’ll also get email-exclusive updates on the dieselpunk Anastasia retelling I’m working on. Sound good? I hope I’ll see you there! 

This year will be THE year. The year I get my act together. I’ll finish all my gift shopping on Black Friday so I get the best deals. I’ll neatly pencil all my events on the calendar, and none of them will ever conflict with each other. And after all that, I’ll still have time to enjoy a Christmas movie.
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*Enter stress*

Because the Black Friday ship has long since sailed and I still don’t know what to get my coworkers. Oh, and those cards still needs signed. And how did I totally space our local tree lighting?

The holiday stress is REAL. No matter how much we love the holidays, how we count the days until they arrive, how much fun they bring—they’re still out of the norm. They’re still a lot. And sometimes it feels like too much. (Maybe it is too much.)  

I’m not an expert. Anyone who’s seen my schedule knows that. But I’ve stumbled upon a few things over the past year that have made this year a more peaceful one. Maybe those things will comfort you too.

But first, pray.

I know, I know. It sounds cheesy and hyper-spiritual.

“Well, that’s all good and fine since you’re literally a saint, but what about me, a regular person?”

“What happens when I HAVE been praying, and my stress hasn’t budged an inch?”

“Did I do it wrong? Or did it just not work?”

Saying a prayer will not make your stress magically disappear. Physically, you may not be at peace. Emotionally, you may not be at peace.

But prayer puts us spiritually at peace. It helps us see this season just a little bit more like God sees it. It helps us slow down, take a breath, interrupt our spiraling thoughts. It reminds us that we’re not facing the music alone. And the parties. And the shopping. And the whatever. Because we’re not alone. Jesus is doing all this holiday stuff with us, and I feel like He knows a thing or two about stress.

You don’t need a fancy prayer. Recall an aspect of His character. Thank Him for a good experience you had. Or even just say, “I’m feeling stressed, I need your help.”

You CANNOT *clap* DO *clap* IT *clap* ALL *clap*

You can’t. Don’t try. You will get stressed and burned out. Please don’t ask how I know this.

You cannot do all the things for all the people. Prayer reminds us who God is, but life still reminds us that we are human. We are finite.

The season will not fall apart if you don’t do all the things, because you’re not the one holding all things together.

Pick the things that matter to you. Start with the non-negotiables—job obligations or traditions that you absolutely will not miss. Then build out. What do you want to do? What will bring you joy? What will help you bring others joy? Don’t fear prioritizing!

Would you rather do all the things and not be able to enjoy them or do some things and be able to enjoy the things that you chose?

It’s okay if you miss an opportunity.

You can’t do it all, and you don’t need to feel awful about missing an opportunity here or there. If you have no interest in any of the Christmas things you used to love, that’s a different matter entirely. But if you don’t watch all the Christmas movies this year, or if you decorate the tree a little differently, or if you miss an event, it’s okay. It probably means it would have been too much after all.

The things will happen this season that are meant to happen. And yes, our involvement does affect what happens, but quite frankly, the things that need to happen will happen whether or not we’re involved. It’s more important that we are present in the opportunities that do work out. And sometimes missing an opportunity here or there opens the door for a new opportunity, a new experience, or even a new tradition.

Guess what? The holidays come every year. This isn’t the last Christmas there will ever be. You will either enjoy all the things next year, or we’ll be in heaven and I’m guessing they have a way better Christmas than we do. Those missed opportunities might just come back to you.

Be intentional with what you do have.

You can’t be in two places at once, but you can choose that fun Christmas musical and add a little laughter to a hectic weekend. Your work schedule may be wild, but you can watch the Christmas lights as you drive home. Your family schedule might be hectic, but you can still gather and watch twenty minutes of a Christmas movie.

When we release the things we can’t and don’t need to control, we make room to be present and intentional in the moments that we do have and can control.

I can’t control everyone else. I can’t control my work or my friends or my family. I can’t control the weather or anyone else’s schedule.

But I can control myself and how I respond to the situations that come.

So pray first. Know you can’t do it all. Release missed opportunities. And be intentional with the opportunities you do have.

It won’t magically cure all the season’s stress. But it’s a little something that might help, just a bit.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have Christmas movies to watch. And maybe some last minute gift shopping to do. 

​How have your holidays been this year? Is there something special you're looking forward to? Do you have any special ways you handle holiday stress? Let me know in the comments below! 

Hi, I’m Rachel! I write young adult fantasy novels that walk the line between the darker elements of fantasy and the weirder elements of cartoons. But more importantly, I write the novels I needed growing up—the novels I still need. Novels for the weird little girls and the women they’re becoming.

Maybe you need those stories, too? You can get one for free by signing up for my email newsletter via the “HOME” page of my website. It might involve a girl and the magical violin she didn’t want and maybe a metaphor about grief. Plus, you’ll also get email-exclusive updates about what I’m reading, watching, and writing. Sound good? I hope I’ll see you there! 

On today’s episode of Disney heroines that hold up surprisingly well . . .

Alright, I don’t actually know if I’ll turn this into a series or not. You’ll have to let me know in the comments below whether you think it would be worth my while.

But for now enjoy my assorted thoughts gathered from watching a Disney classic with my siblings.

Classic Disney movies get a lot of flack. And sometimes it’s deserved. Outdated and hurtful cultural representation can pop up out of nowhere. Heroines are subjected to sexist interpretations. And I still want to shake some sense into Ariel’s head. Classic stories can at times be a land mine.

But sometimes, classic films surprise me. Sometimes they seem to know how to craft characters and stories better than we do today, or at the very least, in a different way than we use now.

We live in a different time, and therefore the tools at our disposal and the effect they have are different. But we can still learn a lot from the classics, both things we shouldn’t do and things we should start again.

And I found some in the 1953 Disney classic Peter Pan, of all places.

Before we get started, we need to address that elephant in the room. Or crocodile. Or however you wish to refer to it.

Remember what I said about outdated and hurtful cultural representation? I don’t feel that I can write about this film without acknowledging that this film uses racist caricatures against Native Americans. Despite all her other wins, Wendy and the other characters in the film reinforce these stereotypes. In no way, shape, or form do I condone the caricatures and stereotypes in this film. They were wrong then and they’re wrong now. This is one of those cases where we can learn from what they did wrong, so we can avoid those mistakes in our own writing and real-life interactions.

Now let’s get started. Because this is an article about a Disney heroine that held up surprisingly well in the decades between then and now.

And I’m talking about none other than Wendy herself.

If I’m truthful, Wendy always irked me just a little bit when I was younger. Peter and the other boys got to have sword fights and outsmart pirates and Wendy got to sit there on the rock and watch. It seemed like she was pushed aside and forced to look on while the boys got to have the real fun.

And yes, a Wendy sword fight would have been epic.

But on my most recent watch through, I realized that Wendy is an especially strong heroine, and in many ways counter cultural to the era that she was created in. She might have a few things to say about our own heroines as well. 

The Real Leader of the Lost Boys

If I asked you who the leader and protector of the Lost Boys was, most of us would answer Peter. And the movie likes to pretend it agrees.

But there’s only one person that can get the boys in line with only a few words.

And it’s not Peter. It’s Wendy.

From the very start, Wendy is the leader and protector of her brothers. She sticks up for them against their easily angered father, even when gets her banished from the nursery.

Her leadership and protection extends to the Lost Boys. She reminds the boys of who they really are and what they really want. With only a few words, she reminds them that they really do want to go home. When pirates capture them all, the boys would have caved immediately had she not been there. Wendy rallies them against the pirates and encourages them to stand strong in their beliefs, even when it looks hopeless.

So from the start to the end, Wendy plays a traditionally masculine role in the story, even though it’s never stated outright.

And yet she does it all without becoming controlling, or quite frankly, ending up like Peter himself. Peter has to rule through control and putting others down, while Wendy’s kindness makes her strong.

Wendy is the only person who can see through Peter’s bravado and call him out on it. She is the only person who disagrees with him and questions him. And when it comes down to it, she’s the one who’s willing to outright defy him and leave.

And this movie was made in the 50s! Fifties-era girls rarely got to be the leaders or protectors of anything. Which makes Wendy even more astounding.

Your Mother and Mine

When Disney remade Peter Pan in 2023, I stumbled upon an ill-fated review of the film. The reviewer criticized the fact that Wendy took a more pivotal role and joined in on the fights alongside the boys. “It takes away the core of her personality, her very femininity!” they bemoaned. “Wendy was and always will be a mother.”

I have to wonder if they watched the same Wendy that I did.

(To be fair, I wasn’t a huge fan of the remake either, but that wasn’t the reason why.)

Peter Pan—both the movie and the character—seems determined to push Wendy into the mother role. The only reason Wendy gets to go to Neverland at all—even though she’s the one who believes in it the most—is because Peter thinks she might take care of them.

But Wendy quietly pushes back against this, too.

During the extremely cringeworthy scene in the natives’ camp, Wendy is told that she cannot join the celebration with the boys. She’s told that her job is to gather firewood and clean up after everyone else. And what’s her response? To quietly fall in line?

Nope. She straight up just goes home.

But even as she quietly insists she’s worth more than cleaning up after the boys, she also recognizes and celebrates the immense value of motherhood.

Even as she recognizes that she has worth beyond cleaning up after the boys, she also recognizes the immense value of motherhood. It shapes a pivotal moment in the film and in the Lost Boys’ lives. (Mary Darling deserves her own mention here too as a rare and fantastic example of a Disney mom.)

Wendy can say that she’s not the Lost Boys’ mother even as she celebrates mothers. She doesn’t have to tear down one to lift the other up. That dynamic is becoming a rare and beautiful art.

Wendy recognizes that she has worth beyond what she can do for the Lost Boys.

Wendy’s Wonder                
              
And yet she remains one of the most idealistic characters in the film.

That’s the best thing about her. She doesn’t have to lose any of her softness to be strong. She doesn’t have to lose her wonder to be a leader, or her kindness to be a protector.

Rather, those things are her strengths. Her softness, wonder, and kindness enable her to challenge the norm, to take on that role of leader, and to recognize her own worth.

In the end, Wendy’s sense of wonder saves them all, her stubborn belief that Peter Pan is real and that he will come to save them. She might not pick up a sword and beat off an approaching pirate (although I fully believe she would have thrown hands with a mermaid), but she rallies all the boys to keep believing.

Her wonder is what earns her a spot on Disney heroines who hold up surprisingly well.

So what do you think? Is this worth a series? Who’s your favorite Disney heroine, or any heroine you’d like to see me cover? Let me know in the comments below! 

Hi, I’m Rachel! I write young adult/new adult fantasy novels that walk the line between the darker elements of fantasy and the weirder elements of cartoons. But more importantly, I write the novels I needed growing up—the novels I still need. Novels for the weird little girls and the women they’re becoming.

Maybe you need those stories, too? You can get one for free by signing up for my email newsletter via the “HOME” page of my website. It might involve a girl and the magical violin she didn’t want and maybe a metaphor about grief. Plus, you’ll also get email-exclusive updates about what I’m reading, watching, and writing. Sound good? I hope I’ll see you there! 

Have you watched Black Widow?

My sister and I rewatched it for the second time recently. I still had to look away during the opening credits sequence. We laughed over the jokes we’d forgotten and gasped over moments that caught us off guard.

What surprised me most was how this is a perfect “girl power” story done right.

In a twist that shocks no one, I very much support girl power stories. Some Christian artists tear down any example of “woke feminism,” the mystic and buzzy words that spell doom for most heroines.

Here’s the thing though. As I grew up, and especially during my teen years, I couldn’t relate to the heroines I saw and read. No matter how demure I was forced to look on the outside, inside I never felt like I fit common feminine stereotypes.

So as I made more viewing and reading choices for myself, I craved those heroines who were different. I sought out strong heroines, women who challenged injustice and abuse, women who did the things everyone said girls couldn’t do.

And I found Natasha and Yelena.

Marvel certainly hasn’t always hit the mark with their heroines. Heck, it took them over a decade to get Black Widow herself right. (I refuse to discuss the travesty that is her representation in Iron Man 2.) But they did finally get there. And we're going to explore how--as well as how it works for your own leading ladies. 

No One Gets Pushed Aside

If you’re like me, you might have come here to create a strong female character that isn’t “aggressive” or “abrasive” to your audience.

And we’ll get there. But I also want to challenge that idea. 

With women-led stories, when commentators call them aggressive and abrasive, it’s often code for something else. Aggressive means it steps a little too close to my own pet prejudices, challenging me in uncomfortable ways. Abrasive means that the heroine is too loud, too strong, too something or another, and she makes us feel threatened.

Stories like Black Widow should make me uncomfortable. It’s hard to not cover my eyes when girls are dragged screaming away from the only family they know, and said family watches them go. And I need that discomfort.

Aggressive and abrasive can also mean something else, though, and we’ve all read a girl power story like this. Where the heroine tears down everyone around her, regardless of gender, so she can lift herself to the heights she needs.

Black Widow deals very up close and personally with some very evil men. And yet, never once did they tear down a man to lift their woman up.

I hear you. “But Alexei—” you say.

And it’s true. The characters—and us, the audience—mercilessly mock Alexei. But we don’t mock him because “he’s a man and all men are dumb and stupid.”

No, we mock him because he’s Alexei. He could have been a woman and we would have laughed the same way. His character traits and the things we may or may not mock him for are not tied to his gender. And in the end, he has the chance to choose something more heroic, just like our heroines do, whether or not he ultimately takes it.

There aren’t very many men in Black Widow, but there’s at least one good dude, even if it’s just the guy who gives Natasha a safe house, or references to how Clint Barton has helped her. Which is so important especially when dealing with heavy subject matter like this film does, where the men would and could be villains.

But in making sure the heroines don’t put anyone down, the film also doesn’t allow anyone to put down the heroines. No other character, regardless of who they are, eclipses Natasha and Yelena. The women take center stage here. But they didn’t push anyone out of the way to get there.

Because they didn’t have to push anyone down to get where they are, Natasha and Yelena are actually stronger. They don’t steal their strength from someone else, male or female. And because of that, their inherent strength is more, because they have enough to stand on their own.  

The Female Gaze (alternatively titled The Importance of Pockets)

Just because they included good guys doesn’t mean they downplayed evil and injustice. Dreykov still exists. There’s a reason I cry during the opening sequence. It is brutal and it is heart-wrenching and it captures feelings that touch every woman on this planet in a way.

On the flipside, the film also includes the unique joys that women experience—whether that’s sisterhood or the value of an outfit with lots of pockets. (If you know you know, and you’re probably a woman.)

I should also note that none of their struggles centered around romance. That’s not to say that it wasn’t represented—Melina had whatever she had with Alexei.

But neither Yelena or Natasha can have children, but they don’t treat themselves like they’re broken. Neither Yelena or Natasha are at all interested in romance right now, and they don’t act like they’re incomplete. (Unlike some other Marvel projects I could name . . . cough, cough, Age of Ultron.)

In a culture that, for all the empowering messages it claims, also tells women that they only matter if they’re attached to someone, it’s refreshing to see a film that neither slanders marriage and family but also recognizes that marriage and family is not a woman’s purpose.

If you have a minute to kill (and I’m guessing you do if you’re reading this), here’s a interesting exercise I stumbled upon in the depths of Google one day. Someone placed the Black Widow Avengers poster beside the Black Widow poster for her titular movie. I won’t even say anything, just take a look at them and guess which film was directed by a woman.

Everything from her costume color to her hairstyle to the angle she faces the camera is affected by a women’s viewpoint.

And if you’re a dude and you’re despairing and thinking this counts you out, let me point out that a man wrote the Black Widow screenplay. Learning these angles and ideas is for everyone, not just women.

This Princess Saves Herself

Hear me on this: There’s nothing wrong with a man saving a woman.

But the vast majority of women have had to save themselves. They have had to fight and kick and claw and scream their way out. So stories where a man saves the woman from all her troubles can feel trite and insulting.

This movie allows for that. Natasha, Yelena, and Melina sever their own nerve so to speak to escape Dreykov and rescue the women around them. 

And yet not every woman is an untouchable savior. Melina allowed Yelena and Natasha to be trafficked and even assisted their trafficker. Natasha attempted to kill Dreykov’s daughter to complete a mission. Yelena . . . okay, Yelena is actually fine for now, although she gets into sketchy stuff later in the MCU.

The heroines are allowed to be messy and imperfect and sometimes deeply wrong.

This is why it was so important that Taskmaster was a woman. Her struggle, Natasha’s struggle, and the ways they mirror each other even as they’re hurting each other has a very raw power. We all support women helping women, but women also sometimes hurt women. Watching Natasha make that right, however imperfectly, means something, much more than if Taskmaster was just another male villain.

When all is said and all is done, the movie is allowed to be a story about women and the myriad of relationships between them. But notice that this movie never says “this is a story about women.” There’s no impassioned go-girls speech. Instead, the filmmakers simply let their heroines take the lead and followed them into all the messy, confusing places of being a girl in this world.

There’s not only something beautiful about that, there’s something powerful. 
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