“You have to watch it. It is so up your alley, it’s not even funny. They basically made this movie for you, Rachel, just watch it.”

Well, I finally watched it, okay? And darn it all, my friends were exactly right.

For anyone who may not know, Project Hail Mary follows Ryland Grace, who wakes up completely alone on a spaceship with no clue how he got there. He has to piece together who he was before and why he’s there. Oh, yeah, and he makes contact with an alien who teams up with him to complete his mission.

Per usual, there will be spoilers, so if you’re like I was and you haven’t seen this movie yet, approach with caution.

Project Hail Mary is a story about loneliness, connection, and humanity.

While Ryland clearly cares deeply about his students back on Earth, it doesn’t appear that he has very many friends. He tries to befriend his Hail Mary team members, but just when things start looking up, they, y’know, send him on a suicide space mission against his will. (To be fair, they had their reasons.) The project leader points out that he has “no children, no immediate family members, not even a dog.” She even cites this as a reason why he’s best suited for the mission—when he dies, no one will miss him.

But Ryland’s life wasn’t meaningless just because it was lonely. He may not have had the traditional life that many adults his age had. He may have been almost painfully awkward and lonely.

But the film shows us that his life was still worth fighting for. And it also shows us that no matter how alone he believed he was, more people cared about him than he thought. People did miss him when he was gone.

The value of his life wasn’t in how many friends he had or in anything he could do. His life mattered simply because he was human.

But he still ends up in space with two dead crewmates and no memories, even more alone than he was on Earth. He sorts through their belongings, unpacking photo after photo of them with people they love. Meanwhile, he has one photo of himself, alone. Even as he holds a funeral reminding his crewmates how loved they were, he can’t say the same of himself.

I highly doubt that any of us are stranded on a spaceship. (And if you are, maybe message me, I have a few questions and concerns.) But loneliness is weird like that. No matter how close you are to other humans, it’s easy to feel like you’re lightyears away.

Tagging on to my previous post about Spider-Man: Brand New Day (read that post here), this also feels like a particularly poignant problem for young adults, when it feels like all our friends are growing up and moving on and leaving us behind.

Enter Rocky.

An alien ship contacts Ryland, and he slowly learns how to communicate with the lifeform aboard. The alien, whom he dubs Rocky, is also alone in space, and has been for forty-something years. Eventually, the two figure out they were sent into space for the exact same reason.

But it doesn’t happen right away, and it takes a lot of misunderstanding and miscommunication to get there. Ryland and Rocky come from two different planets. But they come to understand they have the same mission.
They might have the same loneliness, too.

Yeah, so the movie is about them trying to save the world with the power of friendship.  

As Yao—one of the other astronauts on the Hail Mary team—says early on, “You just have to find someone to be brave for.”

Ryland doesn’t suddenly become brave and selfless because he’s just that good, no matter how good his intentions. Ryland becomes more brave and more selfless through his connection with another lonely being.
Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is reach out to someone. To do the work to really know someone.

My teen years were isolated due to circumstances that were beyond my control. Even today, it’s easy to get too deep inside my own head, to withdraw even from the people I care about most. That loneliness still sneaks up on me.

I’ve spent years with people being there for me when I’ve needed someone most. And now, like Ryland, I’m slowly growing into a phase where I can be there for others in the same way.

If you feel lonely and isolated and lightyears away from everyone right now, let Project Hail Mary encourage you to reach out to someone, even if they seem universes away. To embrace the weird and the awkward of getting to know someone, with all its misunderstandings and miscommunications.

And if you do have a good support system right now, let Project Hail Mary encourage you to give as much as you take. Sometimes allowing someone to be there for you is the biggest gift you can give them. But you also can be there for someone else. To sacrifice something of your own if it means you can show up for someone else.

Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is connect with another being.

Have you seen Project Hail Mary yet? You probably have. I get it, I’m late to the party. What did you think? 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!

Anyone who knows me knows I’ve been counting down to Spider-Man: Brand New Day since Marvel announced it.
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Tom Holland’s Spider-Man has been my favorite Marvel hero ever since Captain America: Civil War. I’d missed the other films’ theatrical runs, so I decided that no matter what, I was going to see this one.

I tracked all the leaked trailer snippets. I researched fan theories. I even got opening weekend tickets so I wouldn’t fall prey to spoilers.

And it did not disappoint. A movie has not made me feel so seen in a long time. (I cried twice. I regret nothing.) After the movie, once the hype and adrenaline quieted, I realized this story very much mirrored my own and spoke into my current struggles.

So consider this my official review of Spider-Man: Brand New Day, with a dash of encouragement. Maybe my noticings can help you out, too.

Obviously, there will be MASSIVE spoilers ahead, so if you’ve not seen it, please do yourself the biggest of favors and come back here after you’ve watched the movie.

Spider-Man: Brand New Day is about adulthood.

I was fifteen when Tom Holland’s Spider-Man made his first MCU appearance. Ironically, Peter Parker was also fifteen. Even though I didn’t get into Marvel until later, I still grew up alongside this character. I related deeply to him for many reasons, but most of all, he felt very real to my teen experience.

Now I’m twenty-five, and this character I grew up with is also in his twenties. He takes down crime bosses, saves the city, and then has to deal with the laundry he put off.

To quote a Conan Gray song, growing up doesn’t always go how we’d like it. It doesn’t for Peter. He loses everyone he loves. Everyone he cares about forgets him and moves on. He’s starting over completely from scratch, and he’s not sure he likes who he is becoming.

No one teaches you how to be an adult. I’m not sure anybody can, at least not entirely. Sometimes adulthood feels like a mountain of things we’re supposed to instinctively know how to do.

And when we don’t, it’s all too easy to believe we failed. We look around at other adults our age, and they seem to have it all together. They thrive at work and smash their goals and they probably know how to do their taxes, too. It feels like we’re falling behind.

On top of that, everyone else is changing, too. Family dynamics shift. Friends go to college or move away or get married. It’s all too easy to feel alone and forgotten, and it’s all too easy to isolate ourselves so we never feel that way again.

Growing up can be weird and scary—but this movie reminded me that it will be okay. It won’t be weird and scary forever.

But for now, while you’re still in the weird and scary, you don’t have to have it all together. No one here on earth has it all together, no matter how much it may look like they do. We’re all struggling to one degree or another, and you’re not a failure if you can’t keep up with it all. And we still need each other in that.

Spider-Man: Brand New Day is about burnout. 

Peter’s colleagues—the few colleagues he has—beg him to slow down. His own body screams at him to stop. But Peter insists on pushing through.

So his body takes matters into its own hands. It’s almost like constant stress and pressure can mess you up physically? Who knew?

I’ve discussed this on my blog before, but I went through a time where I could not write. An ability I had always had disappeared. I was dealing with stress and trauma, all while trying very hard to be a successful human. My body and mind begged me to rest, but my responsibilities were always there to remind me that I didn’t have time. (I wrote more about it HERE.)

Back then, I think I optimistically believed that I had cracked the code, and if I just followed my own advice, when the burnout came back, it wouldn’t be so bad, and one day, it would even disappear. That’s not what happened, at least not yet. I still go through burnout cycles and all the fun stuff that comes with that.

But this movie reminded me of the advice I tried to give myself back then. It’s okay to rest. Take naps. Set smaller goals for yourself. Step back from a non-essential responsibility. Your whole world won’t implode (most likely). Choose the form of rest that works for you and what you need right now.

Because if you don’t choose to rest, if you don’t choose to listen to what your body and brain tell you, then they will make sure you do. Also, you might mutate into a spider.  

Spider-Man: Brand New Day is about healing.

Ultimately, Peter’s story is about healing. Peter has spent the past several years desperately shoving away his hurt and his feelings and his grief.

All throughout my childhood and into my adulthood, I did the same. I got really good (or at least I thought I was) at shoving my feelings away until I literally couldn’t anymore—and then feeling ashamed for letting them out at all.

Eventually, all those feelings came back to haunt me. I had to admit that I had feelings that scared me. I was deeply angry and deeply hurt and deeply sad. And I couldn’t just tuck them away for a more convenient time. I had to feel all those feelings.

Peter finally hits a point where he has to deal with his own rage and grief and depression. He can’t just shut off the parts of him that he doesn’t like, no matter how much he wants to. He finally has to feel it all and accept all those parts of himself.

But that doesn’t mean he lets his bad traits drive him. You can’t ignore the parts of yourself that you don’t like, but those parts don’t have to control you, either.

His healing also comes through reconnecting with the people he’s kept away. Friendship matters, especially when you’re an adult, whether it’s strengthening relationships you already have or seeking out new ones. Peter has to be honest, be vulnerable and let other people in to what’s going on in his head (sometimes literally). Adulting can be weird and scary, and it’s so, so important that we don’t do it alone.

And when he opens up about his deepest hurts, he becomes the person his younger self needed. He becomes the person Aunt May was for him.

Spider-Man: Brand New Day brought me both comfort and hope. Comfort that I’m not alone in my struggle, that I can rest as long as I need, and that I’m not failing or falling behind. And hope that I can become the person my younger self needed, that I can be there for other people, and that I’m not alone.

Spider-Man movies have always been a place where I feel seen and explore my struggles, and this latest installment is no exception. Take whatever reminder you need with you today, and know you are not alone.

Have you seen Spider-Man: Brand New Day yet? What are your thoughts? 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! ​

The second Susan announced she was pregnant in the Fantastic Four: First Steps trailer, I rolled my eyes.
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See, here’s the thing. I hate pregnancy tropes. Hate them with a passion. It might be my least favorite trope in all fiction-dom. Too many series take a beloved heroine, announce she’s pregnant, and then strip her of all character and personality.

So when Susan Storm announced she was pregnant, in the very first trailer no less, I lost all hope that our girl Susan got to do much of anything in the movie.

Maybe that’s why I didn’t make a huge effort to see the movie. It’d pop up on Disney+, and I’d page past. I’d watch it sometime before the next Avengers movie came out. Maybe.

Well, I finally watched it, and I am blown away by how wrong I was. Not only is Susan an excellent heroine, she’s an excellent example of motherhood.

Today, I’m analyzing Susan and all the things that make her fantastic. But first, let’s clear the water on my deep-seated hatred for pregnancy tropes.

Why I Hate Pregnancy Tropes

My hatred of fictional pregnancies doesn’t translate to real life, I assure you. I’ve celebrated with others over pregnancy announcements and baby showers and new additions.

So why all the hatred for it in fiction?

My first reason is practical. I read mainly young adult fiction. So unless you’re tackling a topic like teen pregnancy, this trope is just a weird choice.

My second reason is the more important one. Most authors who write pregnancy tropes sacrifice their heroines in order to do so. Her only personality trait becomes “pregnant.” Any values she held before disappear--especially if she’s stated before that she wasn’t interested in having babies.

At best, it’s a cheap way to write off a character.

At worst, it cements the idea that a woman’s only worth lies in how many babies she has. And that idea doesn’t need any more cementing.

I’ve mentioned before that I grew up with an abuser who held some cult-like beliefs, and this was a huge one. As young as eight years old, I was taught that the only destiny a woman has it to get married and have as many babies as possible, even if it’s more than she or her body can handle.

And as young as eight years old, I remember panicking, because what if I grew up and I didn’t want that?

When I say I hate pregnancy tropes, it’s not because I think moms don’t need representation. It’s not because I think all women should stay single.

It’s because these tropes are often used to demean women, whether that’s a woman who chooses to have children or a woman who chooses to not have children.

But no one does that to Susan Storm. And Susan Storm gave me hope for this very controversial trope, and a group of women who don’t see themselves represented well very often.

Susan keeps her agency.

Within the movie’s first few minutes, we find out this is Susan’s choice. She’s wanted a baby for a long time.
Her pregnancy isn’t because a negligent writer needed something Susan could do. She’s not having a baby because she’s a woman and everyone knows that’s the only thing women are good for.

She’s having a baby because she decided for herself that she wanted this in her life. And the people around her that love her—her husband, her brother, and her friends—respected and supported her.

Female characters—moms or otherwise—often lack agency. They’re often there just so things can happen to them, things that will spur on other characters’ development. They’ll get kidnapped. They’ll get tortured. They’ll get pregnant. They’re not often given the opportunity to make meaningful choices, both good and bad, choices that impact the story.

So watching Susan choose this path for herself, not because anyone else thought she should, is refreshing. And it honors all the real-life women who make that choice for themselves, too.

Susan has a full personality, and her personality doesn’t vanish or change just because she’s having a baby. Rather, she brings her character and her values into motherhood. She has meaningful relationships with other characters and has her own thoughts and opinions on different issues.

She is a fully developed person who happens to also be a mom.

Not only that, but no one forces Susan to surrender her role as a superhero when she gets pregnant and has a baby. She continues fighting to save the world through it all. At times, her role may look different than it did before, but her contribution does not decrease or disappear.

She has worth and value as a person, not just as a potential mom. I’d argue that she may be the most powerful member of the Fantastic Four.

Okay, well, except one character who I won’t divulge here in case anyone out there (like me) hasn’t seen the film. Because spoilers.

Susan Storm made me confront all the preconceived notions I had about fictional motherhood. My problem with these tropes and depictions wasn’t that they exist. It was how they were used to take agency away from women.

Susan changed my mind. Because she proves that, when done with intentional thought, a pregnancy trope or motherhood arc can enhance a heroine’s story. It can strengthen her agency rather than tear it away. It can lift up the real-life women who made that choice and walk that journey every single day.

And she can send the message to all women that they have value and worth, whether or not they choose to have children.

Dare I say that’s fantastic? 

Your turn! Have you seen The Fantastic Four: First Steps? What did you think of Susan--and any of the other characters? 

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!

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 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! 

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. 
​

I was twenty-three before I watched my favorite kids’ cartoons.
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To be fair, I got a late start. Due to life circumstances that were out of my control, I was a heavily sheltered kid (which my heavily sheltered friends will know comes with unique pros and cons).

But then I got older, and those circumstances changed, and I made my own decisions about my media and entertainment. And along the way, I stumbled across some cartoons that became a comfort.

It was easy. I didn’t have to invest too much time, just twenty minutes here or there. No matter what happened, I knew it would work out (mostly) by the end. It was safe. It was familiar. It was comforting.

But it also brought shame with it. After all, I was twenty-three. A grown person. Other people my age watched mature dramas, and I curled up in the corner with Disney Channel reruns.

I figured it was just because I had a late start. I was living the glory days I didn’t have, and sooner or later I’d find those more mature stories.

And don’t get me wrong, I love mature stories, too. (Six of Crows and Arcane, anyone?)

But the opposite happened. I traveled even further down the cartoon wormhole and found even more shows that I love and will pop on after a long day at work.

More than that, I found other adults who feel the same. I can talk about my favorite cartoons around them and not feel silly or childish.

Cartoons aren’t just for kids anymore, and maybe they never were. More and more, shows intended for kids attract older teens and adults with them. (Consider Gravity Falls—while the show is aimed at kids and aired on Disney, the creator recently released a spin-off book exclusively for older teens and adults.)

So, as I put on my favorite cartoons and wind down, I can’t help but wonder why cartoons—and other kids’ media—captivate adults so much.

Does it say something about how we view adulthood?

THE NOSTALGIA FACTOR

The world kinda lacks nostalgia. 

 We get up early, we go to work to make money, but we can’t even spend that money on fun stuff, no, we pay bills and repair our car and get gas. (Don’t get me started on insurance calls.) We come back home exhausted after a full work day, catch up on a few chores around the house, and by then it’s time to fall into bed and scroll news videos that make us feel horrible, but we somehow feel worse if we scroll past.

Kids’ media brings back those simpler times. Sometimes it’s because we grew up with a show and it takes it back. Sometimes (like in my case) we may have never grown up with the show ourselves, but the vibe brings back our childhood anyway.

Not to use a Gravity Falls example again (but I absolutely will), I was about twelve or thirteen when the first season aired. I never watched the show then, but when I did watch it about ten years later, it transported me back to the twelve-year-old me who could wander the woods for hours in my own make-believe world searching for conspiracies.

(In hindsight, it’s good younger me didn’t watch Gravity Falls. Or Phineas and Ferb. She would have been insufferable.)

I wonder if that’s why we come back to the colorful screens of kids’ cartoons and media. Being grown up isn’t all we hoped and dreamed and imagined, and all we want now is to go back to that simpler time. It’s not that we didn’t have problems then—we did, sometimes really big ones. I can’t quite put it in words, but everything felt smaller and bigger all at the same time.

The nostalgia factor can go beyond screens. Like I mentioned, I felt embarrassed for being an adult and loving kids’ media and cartoons. We all think we know what adulthood should look like, and we all study the other adults around us and think they’re absolutely killing it out there.

But deep down inside, even on our best days, we all feel like three kids stacked in a trench coat.

It seems silly to say it all changed with a meme, but it did. I don’t have the screenshot anymore, but it said something like, “your twenties are for enjoying all the same things you loved as a kid, except you’re not embarrassed about it anymore.”

Once I adopted that mindset, nostalgia and wonder didn’t stay in my screen, they colored my life, too. It was okay to do things just because I enjoyed them, even if those things seemed a little silly. It was okay to read a cheesy book because it sounded fun, or to take a walk even if no one else came along. I’m not perfect at it by any stretch, but I’m learning to be myself and to enjoy things—embarrassment free.

This is why I find kids’ media so powerful. It reintroduces wonder and nostalgia into our everyday life.

SIMPLE STORIES, DEEP TRUTH

Remember how I said our childhoods weren’t without their problems? Well, cartoons aren’t either.

Not all those problems were as big a deal as we thought, now that we look back. A squabble with a sibling, or a lost possession, or a silly fear that wouldn’t quite leave us alone.

But we underestimate how big the problems are that kids sometimes deal with. Kid me dealt with big things, even if I didn’t have words for them at the time. And sometimes those hurts, big and small, follow us into adulthood.

Kids’ cartoons and media have a unique stage that allows them to tackle these problems. The stories themselves are simpler—a bad guy must be vanquished or an adventure must be had, and by golly, these colorful two-dimensional characters will find it!

As stunning as complex themes and questions can be, sometimes we need a simple story.

I’ve used Gravity Falls examples so far, so why stop now? One episode in particular struck me, where the monster of the week waited until the main character was tired and frustrated and hurt by a sibling before he attempts a deal.

I could think of so many times and spaces where I felt tired and frustrated and hurt. And it made me consider what “monsters” might poke at those spaces and attempt a deal.

A simple point. Basic, some might even say. But still powerful.

On the other end of the spectrum, another cartoon I enjoyed, The Owl House, dealt with topics like abuse and manipulation—heavy topics, and topics very close to home for me. But within the borders of this fantastical story, they didn’t feel quite so big, and I could approach them more clearly.

Kids’ cartoons and media create a safe space. They can tackle deep topics so well because they’re simple.

We seek out cartoons to relax, to unwind. Through their structure and predictability, their color and humor, they build a safe space each morning or evening or whenever we press play. They give us a safe space to talk about the things that bother us, maybe things that have bothered us for a long time. Sometimes they put plain words to thoughts that swirl around our heads.

So yeah, I still watch cartoons, even though I’m a grown-up. But now I’m not quite so embarrassed about it. Because at day’s end, there’s something special about seeking out nostalgia and wonder—the wonderful things that God placed here for us to find. I’m pretty sure He didn’t mean for us to drudge through our lives. Life can be hard but there’s still things to enjoy.

And at day’s end, there’s something special about saying deep things in a simple way. We all need those spaces. We all need that wonder.

Maybe, we all need cartoons.

What are your favorite cartoons? Drop them in the comments below—I’m always looking for recs. While I’m at it, I’ll share my faves, too.


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, plus 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! 

Alright, guys, buckle up. It’s hyperfixation time.

One of my favorite media pieces that I watched last year was the TV show Arcane: League of Legends. A friend recommended it, so I started it blind with no expectations. It blew me away. Season 1 is one of the best-written stories I’ve ever watched, and Season 2, while more plot-based, still concludes the series excellently.

And why do I have a blog if I don’t give my favorite stories some love sometimes?

(Note: Arcane deals with a fair share of mature/sensitive topics and content. Use discretion if you search it up for yourself.) 
​

Beauty and Brutality

First off, the art is absolutely gorgeous. I have never seen anything like this animation and art style. This show could have zero plot and I’d watch it just for the animation. Everything is high quality—the music, the sound design, the writing. And all those pieces come together flawlessly.

The beautiful imagery contrasts with the absolute brutality of the topics they approach. This show doesn’t shy away from hard topics. Amidst the gorgeous images, the show captures impoverished cities and the aftermath of war with an unflinching eye. It made sure this contrast haunted me long after I clicked past the final episode.

One instance that stuck with me ever since the first episode is a scene where the protagonists fight a rival gang. During the frenetic combat, it slows down and shows us the fight through the eyes of a small girl cowered in the corner.

Similarly, when poisonous gases flood a rival city, for a brief moment, it cuts to the kids who watch and point at it like a fireworks show.

Moments like those did more than a thousand other images. It reminded me that sometimes less is more, especially when it comes to hard topics. I don’t remember which author said it, about how when you write about war, you don’t need every gritty detail, you show a child’s sandal abandoned in the road. Arcane did this expertly.

This show chases the places where those two concepts—beauty and brutality—intersect. It finds the beautiful in brutal things and the brutal in beautiful things. 

Choices and Characters

One of my favorite things to ask people who have seen the show is who their favorite character was. I love seeing how different people gravitated to different characters.

I connected so deeply with some of these characters, deeper than I have in a long time. And even the ones that I felt less in common with still drew me in through their emotions and experiences. I understood why everyone did what they did, even when I hated what they did. Season 1 connected me so well with these characters that when Season 2 (which is much larger-scale and more plot-focused) rolled around, I kept coming back.

And every character has amazing things about them and horrible things about them. They can do both amazing good and incredible evil. They could have the best intentions and execute them in the worst way, or vice versa.

No one is ever truly the hero or ever truly the villain in Arcane. And that’s the most important thing about this show to me. I watch these characters make choices—sometimes small, some big, some good, some bad—with far-reaching consequences. 

And all those choices are rooted so deeply in their desires, the very desires that made me relate to them. 

It forces me to make the leap from the choices I watch on screen, to the points where I relate to the characters, to the choices I make in real life. Because realizing why I connected with my favorite characters shows me myself and my thinking. And the choices I see my favorite characters make force me to look hard at myself.

Sure, this is a far out and fantastical world. Sure, I’ll likely never face some of these choices.

But what about me? Would I make the same choices? What choices do I make—good and bad—and where might they lead? It forced me to examine the wants and needs that drive me—and how far I would go to get those.

It also shows how an innocent choice that you make can affect all those around you. While that idea can induce a bit of anxiety, it also emphasizes that you choose how you react. Sometimes things happen to you that you cannot control, things that you don’t want and you never asked for. But everybody chooses how to respond to it, how to take it back and make it their own. Sometimes good, sometimes not.

That’s why Arcane works. Beauty and brutality, choices and desires, it dives deep into the things that make us all human.

And that’s why it’s so beautiful, why it’s so brutal. Because a storyteller can create the most stunning images, they can nail all the story mechanics, but if they don’t hide a piece of themselves in it, it’s hollow.

That’s the whole reason we make art. To probe those deep dark places that we won’t open to anyone else. To feel a little less alone. To explore the world and everything that makes us us.

Sometimes it’s good to have a story that I can absolutely lost in for a few hours. But it’s even better when I can come out of that story not only having grown and learned as a writer, but as a person, too. That’s what Arcane did for me.

Have you watched Arcane? What did you think of it?

Even if you haven’t watched Arcane, what have you been watching and reading this month? Let me know in the comments! I’m always looking for a good recommendation.