For decades, Joseph Campell’s hero’s journey has been the primary model for narrative structure for writers around the world. This article is part of a series of articles that explores the “heroine’s labyrinth” as an alternative to the hero’s journey and focuses on the symbolism and archetypes of heroine-led fiction. Prior articles discussed the labyrinth versus the journey and examined the recurring villain archetype of the masked minotaur. This article goes right to the source of the heroine’s symbolic potential, her drive for individuation, and the competing forces that she must overcome. The sacred fire theme helps us understand the dynamism of conflict in heroine-led fiction.
Fire worship and sacred fires are intricately linked to mythology, folklore, and religion. In the novel, The Quest for Fire, prehistoric human tribes compete against each other to control fire, sometimes stealing away a burning log during a battle in hopes of keeping the fire ever-burning. Whoever has the fire, survives.
Fire usually represents a powerful, creative energy that can sustain life through heat, or bring light into darkness or craft materials to build tools or structures. But fire can just as easily represent a destructive force that can raze villages to ash, burn human beings, or spread violently out of control if mishandled. Therefore, fire is dual-natured in its potential for creation or destruction.
On the individual level, the sacred fire represents each person’s potential to be either an agent of creation or destruction. Such a powerful range of possibilities creates an ethical orientation for the heroine. Her choices matter. At the beginning of the story, the heroine is often depicted in an immature or inexperienced state. She’s becoming more aware of her agency, free will, or competency, which is to say, she’s becoming aware of her sacred fire. The heroine must claim her sacred fire by expressing some move toward greater freedom and expressing interest in the outside world.
There is a catch though.
The heroine’s claim upon her sacred fire introduces two other claimants—the native culture and the masked minotaur. Let’s take a closer look at the meaning behind all three claims to the sacred fire.
The Heroine’s Claim
The heroine’s sacred fire symbolizes her vast untapped, untested, and unrealized human potential. She has aspirations that exceed her current reality. The colorful and exotic native culture is just outside her window and the heroine intends to merge with that world. She’s aware of her potential and relies upon her imagination to compensate for her lack of experience. This vital pulse of the human spirit is relatable to all of us. We are stirred to the core when the heroine claims her sacred fire in fiction.
Musicals provide excellent examples of sacred fire moments because they are so brazen and memorable. Whatever forces have kept the heroine in her immature state, she’s ready to take a chance on herself and face the world. Elsa vows boldly to let it go. Moana declares her intent to see how far she’ll go. And poor Rapunzel wants to know just when will her life begin. And that’s just Disney. Sacred fire songs are common in many musicals, such as Dorothy Gale’s desire to go somewhere over the rainbow in The Wizard of Oz, or Roxy Hart’s dream to be the name on everybody’s lips in Chicago. These opening numbers are great examples of a heroine’s inner desire for self-actualization outside the labyrinth.
The “sacred fire” moment in the story, whether it’s a specific scene or a musical number, shows the audience or reader that the heroine has her own desires, her own vision, and her own unique outlook on the world. She’s ready. If done correctly, the heroine’s sacred fire moment can be incredibly powerful.
As readers or viewers, whenever the heroine claims her sacred fire, we feel the heroine’s first attempt at empowerment. All that unrealized potential is bubbling up and meeting us at a conscious and subconscious level. The heroine is building her will to act on her aspirations because she has found the words or actions to give force to the feeling. But while the heroine’s sacred fire moment throws a gauntlet at the world, trust me—the world responds to the challenge.
The Native Culture’s Claim
The heroine soon realizes that her native culture’s claim has been staked out long in advance. Whereas the symbolic power for the heroine is individual potential, the symbolic power of the native culture is communal continuity.
A continuous fire that burns through the passage of time links the present moment to the distant past when the flame had been first lit. If the flame goes out, then the continuity breaks—and whatever the flame represented is diminished in the world. All too often in heroine-centric stories, the native culture interprets continuity very narrowly as marriage and children. That’s why so many stories feature a socio-cultural labyrinth designed to steer the heroine toward the archetypes of the innocent virgin, the fertile bride, and the chaste mother—the three archetypes so prized by cultures worldwide.
Therefore, the labyrinth in a feminine monomyth symbolizes the long-standing and highly developed claim that society places upon the heroine.
Each one of us, men and women alike, stands atop trillions of decisions made by thousands of generations of human beings who solved the problems of survival and answered the questions of what it means to be human. They made decisions while facing annihilation by nature, subjugation from rival tribes or civilizations, and warding off collapse from within. Somehow, they made it and we exist today because our ancestors got something right. All fictional characters come from someplace geographically and speak a specific language. This inescapable anchor of human reality means that much of our personal identity comes down to us from something human that came before—our native culture. The phrase “passing the torch” is quite literally the passing of human knowledge, experience, ethics, skills, history, and survival strategies from one generation to the next.
The tension between the competing claims will immediately generate conflict. The sacred fire has been passed to the heroine, now she must pass the flame on to a new generation. But rearing children, while vital to survival, isn’t the only way a sacred fire can transfer from one generation to the next. Stories usually explore all the ways a heroine may contribute and in many cases, the heroine must overcome social expectations and pressures to pass on her sacred fire.
The transmission of specific ideas beyond animal instinct is a uniquely human aspect. Whether we’re talking about music, medicine, or good stories, ideas can also pass through time just as well as our genes. The heroine’s understanding of the world is still within the context of her culture—and so we must understand that the sacred fire that the heroine claims, did come down through the generations through the native culture. This makes the native culture’s claim to the sacred fire a powerful one.
Daenerys Targaryen in Game of Thrones provides an excellent example of the relationship between the heroine’s individuation and the influence of the native culture. First, she is a descendent of the Targaryen bloodline and so she inherits a title, a great house, a history, and the blood of the dragon, which means she cannot be burnt by fire. The three dragons are nearly perfect symbols of Daenerys’ growing potential for the creation of a better world or total destruction through conquest. Throughout the story, we see Daenerys struggle with moral decisions on a regular basis. She demonstrates an incredible individual will of her own and directs many events in the story on her rise to power. She’s as sovereign as they come. But we must not forget that her mission, her vision, and much of her orientation toward the world still stems from the sacred fire passed on to her from her native culture. She never forgets the Targaryen outlook on the world.
In the end, Daenerys oddly attempts to destroy forever the link between her powerful agency and the native culture from which she comes. And she fails.
In many stories, purging either one of the dual natures often leads the heroine to destroy either herself or the native culture, and both are tragic ends. If the heroine subordinates herself entirely to the native culture, she risks destruction at the total loss of self. Like a cult member, the heroine surrenders all individual agency for the demands of the group. Her world shrinks and the trapped heroine loses her human vitality and creative force.
But if the heroine rejects entirely the native culture from where her sacred fire originated, then she risks becoming lost in self-serving quests. She may even come to covet the sacred fire of others or seek out a substitute culture to compensate for the loss. These heroines may even become villains, such as Ursula from The Little Mermaid who gathers souls, or Agatha Harkness in WandaVision, who tries to physically steal Wanda’s sacred fire.
Bear in mind, the feminine monomyth isn’t confined to reinforce the claim of the native culture, but often the opposite. The heroine’s labyrinth is a natural storytelling model that shows us how to break gender norms, push back on social expectations, or challenge outdated traditions rather than blindly follow them. The general goal becomes the self-realization of the heroine’s individuation while also adding value to the continuity of the native culture.
Therefore, the heroine must achieve the proper balance between personal sovereignty and some form of continuity with the valuable human knowledge and experience that came before her.
And to add to this ancient conflict, there is yet a third claimant.
The Minotaur’s Claim
We already discussed the general attributes of the masked minotaur, namely, that they are almost always members of the native culture, they wear a socially acceptable mask while also hiding an oppressive side, and they exhibit a form of possessive love. But the symbolism of the sacred fire provides another layer of understanding about the masked minotaur.
In so many heroine-centric stories, the masked minotaur claims the heroine’s sacred fire for his or her own purposes. And where the native culture’s claim is socially pervasive, the minotaur’s claim is more individualized and self-serving. This selfish aspect introduces a dark and destructive force that threatens to monopolize the creative powers of the heroine. Therefore, the heroine must also overcome the minotaur’s pure and tyrannical claim to her sacred fire. In so many stories, the minotaur often covets the heroine’s feminine essence, her creative powers and energy, and yes, her beauty and eros. The minotaur is usually unable to see past these aspects of the heroine’s sacred fire.
In many heroine-centric stories, you’ll find common cause between the native culture and the masked minotaur. Whenever the minotaur appears as a potential suitor for the heroine, the possessive love of the minotaur aligns with the desire for continuity of the native culture through marriage (and children). Therefore, the native culture and the masked minotaur form a persistent alliance in heroine-centric stories.
In Titanic, the masked minotaur is Cal Hockley, who seeks to possess Rose Dewitt Bukater as his wife. Rose’s mother represents the interests of the native culture and implores Rose that the sacred fire might be extinguished if she doesn’t marry. Rose intuitively understands that accepting Cal’s offer of marriage will destroy her true inner self.
In Tangled, the sacred fire of the heroine is beautifully exemplified by the magic of Rapunzel’s hair. Her long hair is symbolic of her creative power because it restores youth and extends life. Mother Gothel, who is the masked minotaur, hordes the sacred fire to satisfy the vanity of eternal beauty. Locking Rapunzel in a tower perfectly captures the self-serving mentality of the minotaur’s claim. The heroine’s free will is devalued and suppressed.
Beauty and the Beast provides a perfect example of all three claims to the sacred fire being made at the same time. In the opening number, Belle expresses her sacred fire moment by wanting so much more than her provincial life. The townsfolk, on the other hand, make a bevy of remarks aimed at Belle’s non-conformity to the values of the native culture. And finally, Gaston is the masked minotaur of the story, who arrogantly claims Belle as his future wife. Everyone, it seems, seeks the sacred fire of the heroine for a different reason.
Protecting the Sacred Fire
By understanding the archetypal significance of the sacred fire, we can better appreciate the conflict of our favorite heroines. The opening scene to Star Wars: A New Hope, for example, takes on a whole new meaning. The film opens not with Luke Skywalker, but with Princess Leia. She’s desperately attempting to flee with the stolen plans to the dreaded Death Star. But the masked minotaur, Darth Vader, is bearing down on her in a menacing fashion (the head of the star destroyer even looks like a minotaur’s head).
On the surface, Vader is after the Death Star plans. But in archetypal and symbolic terms, Vader is after the deeper symbol that Princess Leia carries with her. She holds a fragile sacred fire—the life force of the entire Rebellion. If she fails, then the life of the Rebel Alliance will be put out across the galaxy. Subconsciously, we recognize that the flame—the continuity of the rebellion—is in Princess Leia’s hands as she races from danger. And the imagery in the film strikes at the very heart of our human subconscious.
The same is true of Sarah Connor in the first two Terminator films. On the surface, Sarah is trying to survive because her unborn son, John Connor, is the future leader of the human resistance. So much criticism is directed at the idea that Sarah Connor plays second fiddle to John Connor, or that her value is confined to giving birth to a man who will save the world. But once again, we must look deeper into the symbolism. Sarah’s value extends far beyond motherhood. Think about it. Sarah would likely protect John’s life even if he was a tax accountant because most parents don’t need an excuse to protect children.
But Sarah isn’t just protecting one unborn child. She’s protecting three billion human lives from a future nuclear holocaust. Therefore, Sarah carries the eternal flame of all humanity. She carries humanity’s very right to exist. And our heroine is haunted by the sacred fire that she carries. When Sarah sleeps, her nightmares are not of John’s death, but of Judgement Day and the nuclear holocaust that obliterates billions of human beings. The story was never about John. It’s always been about Sarah and her desperate effort to protect the sacred fire from going out. That’s probably why subsequent films that centered on John Connor all failed, while Sarah Connor’s legacy has withstood the test of time.
Moana is just as much a story about Te Fiti as it is about Moana. Once again, like Princess Leia and Sarah Connor, Te Fiti carries the life force of the islands and sea. In the mythology of Moana, Te Fiti’s sacred fire is symbolized by the green Pulau stone. But the masked minotaur of the story, Maui, seeks to possess the goddess’ sacred fire and succeeds in stealing the Pulau stone. With her sacred fire stolen, Te Fiti becomes Te Ka, an angry goddess made of volcanic fire. She then becomes hostile and destroys life through the islands and sea. Only when Moana returns the sacred fire to Te Ka, does the goddess return to her original self. And life returns in spectacular fashion.
Sacred Fire in the Hero’s Journey
The sacred fire is not unique to heroine-centric stories. In fact, the basic concept is very much the same between both storytelling models. Like our heroines, our heroes also contend with the native culture for independence. The hero, too, can claim their sacred fire for creative or destructive purposes. However, the hero’s journey tends to emphasize the continuity of the native culture through the hero’s mastery of cultural skills and atonement with the father.
Probably one of the best examples of the sacred fire with a hero’s journey is the 1978 movie, Superman. The sacred fire is perfectly symbolized by the green crystal of Krypton. This glowing flame comes from the native culture and is passed to Clark. The crystal represents both the continuity of Krypton as well as Clark’s individual potential as Superman.
Summary
The sacred fire symbolizes the heroine’s vast human potential for creative good or destructive evil.
The heroine claims her sacred fire by expressing her personal desires, which then sets up the conflict between the heroine, the native culture, and the masked minotaur.
To the native culture, the sacred fire symbolizes the continuity of the tribe.
There remains a powerful bond between the heroine’s individual free will and her identity within the native culture.
The masked minotaur attempts to possess the sacred fire for selfish purposes
In the next article, we’ll explore the heroine’s first attempt to solve the three claims to her sacred fire–“the captivity bargain.”
The premise of Mulan was ripe to make a bold statement about heroic women and cultural norms. Instead, Disney just made a movie and missed a major opportunity to deliver a powerful heroine. I care deeply about the portrayal of heroic women in fiction and the art of storytelling. And through that lens, Mulan 2020 falls short because the film’s attitude toward heroic women stays clouded.
Mixed Message #1 – Female Individuality is Subordinate
Mulan is the perfect character to teach us about the importance of individual risk and aspirations in relation to culture and social norms. However, in Mulan 2020, the heroine’s journey merely appears to support Mulan’s individual goal. By the end of the film, family approval and cultural duty swallow up Mulan’s individuation. It’s a total clash. Mulan must subordinate herself to the judgment of her family’s patriarch. Her reward? Mulan gets to serve the emperor! Our heroine eventually submits to the very family values and social codes in which she fought against to break free. According to Mulan 2020, female individuation must eventually answer to the cultural powers that do not change their minds in this film about the role of women in society. They simply make an exception for her.
Mixed Message #2 – Female Ability Comes from Magic
In Mulan 2020, feminine excellence is the result of a random surplus of “chi,” which is an inner force. This internal force is apparently wasted on Mulan since women can’t be warriors, and so she must hide her chi and conform to society. Why is this film afraid to show Mulan attaining great ability as a consequence of hard work, discipline, and practice—you know, three dimensions that apply to real life and real women? Why does Mulan 2020 suggest that inner magic is mostly responsible for Mulan’s heroic actions and abilities? When she leaps over armies and gallops through an avalanche, we aren’t seeing the results of her human potential unmasked—no, we’re merely spectating magical abilities. Mulan should show us that women who don’t prefer traditional gender roles can get the job done if given the opportunity. The movie should have demonstrated that there are Mulans all around us—that having a society that allows individuals to choose their path is better than one that has a path imposed upon them.
Mixed Message #3 – Gender Roles Remain
Mulan is a young woman who can save her native culture from an outside threat. However, her society isn’t looking for her and worse, even if they found her and knew of Mulan’s skills—society would still reject her. Here we see a non-western civilization with its own oppressive gender roles. We meet Mulan, who will bring dishonor to her family and abandon domestic duties if she challenges gender roles. The film sets up the problem wonderfully. However, the film doesn’t follow through. In the end, Mulan’s heroic actions do not bring about any long-term change. She earns the begrudging approval of a few key influencers. Mulan herself makes very few comments about her plight and remains rather quiet overall. While the character of Mulan hides from the Chinese Imperial Army, I feel like the script tries to hide her from modern-day Chinese censors.
And finally, in terms of modeling heroic behavior for young girls (and boys), I guess the message is: pray that you have more chi than everyone else. If not, then you’d better be prepared to conform to traditional gender roles. “Knowing your place” remains the source of honor for women by the end of the movie.
Mixed Message #4 – The Reality of Hidden Identity
The film couldn’t pick between serious drama and magical fantasy and so, the matter of hidden identity was mishandled. I mean, what’s it really like? Mulan 2020 is a live-action film about a woman who must hide from her entire culture in order to save it. A disguise that works flawlessly in a cartoon must now be convincing in live-action. Real men in a real male-only army camp surround her. The film should have aimed higher in exploring the difficulties of a woman passing as a man. In truth, Mulan looked like a woman in disguise through most of the film. In one scene, she merely wanders off to secretly bath at night. But “real” army camps have pitched guard posts, vigilant patrols, and strict time-tables to catch deserters or spies. Soldiers would question a warrior that routinely skips bathing. If you’re going to do live-action, you must solve for these realities, which could have intensified all the tension and touched on real-world issues—instead, the live-action works against the film.
Mixed Message #5 – No Fun
In the end, Mulan 2020 just isn’t very fun. Was this supposed to be a fun film for kids? Who was the target audience? The somber overtones of duty and honor hung like a cloud over the movie. And the removal of beloved characters, like Mushu, left the film feeling vacant and without any heart. Instead, the film replaced Mushu with a symbolic phoenix (not a character) that has no speaking lines. All the charm and splash of the animated Mulan is completely missing in this film. It’s just too serious.
Mulan 2020 had a beautiful opportunity to make a bold statement about a heroine who forced society to confront its limited view of women in general and gender roles in particular. The timing for such a film was perfect. The audience was ready. The filmmakers, surprisingly, were not.
Douglas A. Burton is an award-winning historical fiction author who cares deeply about popular depictions of heroic men and women. His ongoing work on heroic women in fiction centers on the mythology and recurrent themes of heroine-centric stories. He believes that the heroine’s labyrinth model is a serious alternative to the male-oriented hero’s journey. For more, visit douglasaburton.com.
Welcome to the fifth article in a series that looks at the heroine archetype as a distinctive cultural figurehead in narrative fiction. This article expands on the “heroine’s labyrinth” storytelling model as a serious alternative to Joseph Campbell’s hero’s journey. In short, there are many patterns and recurrent themes in heroine-led fiction that deserve a closer look. And although the female-oriented heroine is given credit here, her message is universal and inclusive to all of us.
Click on the video below for an awesome recap of the heroine’s labyrinth:
Here are the story elements of the heroine’s labyrinth that we’ve covered so far:
Heroine-centric journeys tend to be circular and inward through her native culture, rather than linear and outward away from her native culture.
Heroines are often tangled in a web of social norms from their native culture.
Most villains are a duplicitous “minotaur” archetype who are typically members of the heroine’s native culture, rather than a menacing “dragon” archetype from outside the native culture.
Half man, half beast – the minotaur is often “masked”, showing a publicly generous face, but disguising an oppressive activity.
Heroines must unmask the minotaur before the final battle.
The heroine’s final battle does not take place in a faraway place, but usually occurs inside the home (or on home turf that is supposed to be safe).
The heroine often models behavior for breaking certain gender roles or traditional social norms.
Heroines often exhibit a “shield-maiden” moment by physically interposing themselves between the unmasked minotaur and a potential victim.
The Beast as Ally
This concept alone triggered the whole idea of the heroine’s labyrinth as a separate storytelling model. While listening to Professor Hannah B. Harvey’s university course, The Art of Storytelling: From Parents to Professionals, Hannah discussed the recurrent mythology of Little Red Riding Hood in terms of fairy tales. The common ingredients are an innocent girl, a masculine beast in disguise, and an attempt by the beast to prey upon the girl. Professor Harvey indicated that Little Red Riding Hood is a universal theme about budding womanhood and a cautionary tale about the choices that lay ahead for a young heroine. While these archetypes and themes are very familiar to all of us, I realized that they don’t appear in the hero’s journey. Is there a storytelling model for heroines that has its own path?
Yes.
While Professor Harvey is exactly right, I believe there’s more here than budding womanhood alone. If we take a closer look at how the themes in Little Red Riding Hood play out in other tales–from the Dorothy Gale’s Wizard of Oz to Sarah Connor’s Terminator saga to Carol Danver’s Captain Marvel–we’ll see that heroines are modeling deeper wisdom and showing us how to save the world their way.
So, to discuss the phenomenon of the innocent heroine and the dangerous beast, I’d like to spotlight the concept of xenopathy. The Greek word “xeno” means “stranger” or “foreigner,” as in xenophobia. And the Greek word “pathos,” which means “feeling” or “emotion,” as in sympathy or empathy.
The villain in most heroine-centric stories is typically a minotaur archetype. The heroine is justified in fearing the minotaur and in committing herself to defeat this villain. And as discussed in earlier articles, the minotaur is particularly dangerous in that he (or she) is often masked, simultaneously providing material benefit and material oppression.
And yet, while the animal masculine clearly presents a real-world danger to the heroine, there is almost always a second, almost mirror image of the minotaur archetype: the beast archetype. The heroine almost always forms what I call a “xenopathic bond” with the beast archetype. We confront this imagery time and time again, where the heroine loses her fear of the beast and even attempts to understand the beast. She may suspend a negative judgment or question a widely believed stigma about the beast. Her effort to understand someone who is unlike herself often results in inspiring genuine change, specifically in the destructive nature of the beast. The interaction is not always nurturing either. Quite often, the interaction is confrontational and challenging.
The xenopathic bond is an amazing aspect of heroine-led fiction because it represents a new pathway for solutions within her native culture. The heroine models the real-world actions for cooperation between two unlike individuals as well as an alternative to violent conflict. Sometimes, the recruitment of the beast is the key to defeating the minotaur. The beast often chooses to aid or protect the heroine in the quest to defeat the minotaur. Xenopathy sometimes even causes the heroine to turn against her native culture as Katniss Everdeen did in Hunger Games or Furisoa did in Mad Max: Fury Road. And in the most extreme cases, the heroine may even defect from her native culture and join an outside cause as Carol Danvers did in Captain Marvel or both Gamora and Nebula did in the Avengers saga.
Examples of the Beast as Ally Scenarios in Heroine-led Fiction:
Sarah Connor, who had to fight a terminator to the death in the first film, now finds a mirror image of the terminator stepping out from her past nightmares and offering to assist. Although the alliance is shaky at first, Sarah eventually develops the critical xenopathic bond with the terminator and comes to admire the Beast’s reliability and even relentless pursuit of a goal. They team up in a big way to face down the real minotaur, a disguised, or shape-shifting T-1000.
Special Agent Clarice Starling is trying to hunt down the brutal serial killer Buffalo Bill. However, she also recruits the aid of a mirror image serial killer named Hannibal Lecter. He is a true beast archetype who eats his victims like the big bad wolf. And Buffalo Bill, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, even wears the skins of his victims. Clarice forms a famous xenopathic bond with Hannibal Lecter, who mentors Clarice by revealing the psychology of a serial killer. There’s a suggestion of a romantic bond, but this appears to be a mostly symbolic nod to the unlikely xenopathic bond, which does lead to a life saved.
Natasha Romanov, also known as the “Black Widow,” faces down super villains on a regular basis. But when superhero Bruce Banner loses control, he becomes the ultimate Beast archetype. He’s wild, out of control, violent, and aggressive. But only Natasha has the ability to form that special xenopathic bond with the Incredible Hulk. The rest of the world attempts to subdue the Hulk through violence. So, we should regard the Black Widow’s compassion as wisdom, a pathway to calm the beast non-violently, so that the more gentle Bruce Banner can return.
King Kong has perhaps one of the most famous Beast as Ally motifs. While the entire world views the giant gorilla as a terrifying monster that must be destroyed, heroine Ann Darrow forms a xenopathic bond with Kong, and sees an almost human light in the animal’s eyes. Although Kong is obviously possessive of the heroine, she recognizes that King Kong is also a victim of a human society that is quick to destroy whatever it fears. From the top or the Empire State Building, Ann attempts to defend King Kong from approaching warplanes. I think they are wrong to say that beauty killed the beast. Man killed the beast and beauty tried to save it.
In the Twilight saga, Bella Swan attracts and befriends two beast archetypes, Edward Cullen and Jacob Black. One is a blood-thirsty vampire who must restrain himself, and the other a shape-shifting werewolf. The two “beasts” compete to aid and protect the heroine throughout the story.
Game of Thrones is loaded with the Beast as Ally themes. In fact, almost every single heroine in Game of Thrones forms a xenopathic bond with a member of a foreign culture. And as such, these heroines direct entire plot lines at times by forming alliances between two unlike cultures. These heroines create the potential for peace. One successful example is Ygritte, who forms a xenopathic bond with Jon Snow, who is member of the Crows, the sworn enemy of her native culture. However, her bond with John will eventually put an end to the centuries-old conflict between the Wildlings and the Night’s Watch.
Daenerys Targaryen forges the most famous alliance with Khal Drogo, who is a supreme example of the beast archetype. He becomes one of the most fearsome and unforgettable allies in the series and Daenerys joins his culture, while Drogo pledges himself to her cause. Brienne of Tarth bonds with the notorious Jaime Lannister. Margaery is paired with the villainous and monstrous Joffrey. Arya Stark befriends the murderous Hound through a series of adventures. The most dangerous warrior in the show, the Mountain, is eventually brought into the service of protecting Cersei around the clock. And the healing heroine, Talisa, ends up with Robb Stark. She has true xenopathic dialogue when she tells Robb about her mother’s opinion of the North Men as “stinking barbarians.” But each heroine in Game of Thrones faces the beast archetype and some succeed while others fail to build bridges and forge peace in the world.
A few stories that feature male heroes that feature xenopathic bonds are John Dunbar in Dances with Wolves, Elliot in E.T., and even Bruce Wayne in Batman Begins, who goes out of his way to understand the psychology of the criminal mind. Even Mando, in the new hit series, The Mandalorian, forms xenopathic bond with the adorable baby Yoda and turns against his mercenary culture.
In heroine-led fiction, some of our greatest heroines are modeling heroic behavior that stands on its own. The heroine who faces the beast archetype is establishing much more than merely budding womanhood or expressing a mere attraction to dark masculine forces. She is showing us new pathways, new solutions, and is challenging all of us to rethink old habits, cultural stigmas, or potentially destructive social norms. These recurrent themes are different from the hero’s journey. Heroines are challenging us to look a little closer to home, possibly right in our backyard for modes of change. The wisdom and power of the heroine are truly timeless expressions and universal as well. Regardless of the historical era or degree of freedom, the heroine finds a way to save the world.
And xenopathy, learning to understand someone who is unlike ourselves, is something we can all learn together.
What do you think? Leave a comment below and share your thoughts.
Douglas A. Burton is an award-winning author of ‘Far Away Bird‘, a novel about the historical heroine Empress Theodora. For more, visit douglasaburton.com or you can follow Doug on social media.
Welcome to the fourth installment in a series of articles that looks at the heroine archetype and the recurrent themes found within heroine-centric stories. This article expands on the heroine’s labyrinth for narrative story structure as an alternative to the hero’s journey. Here are the story elements of the heroine’s labyrinth that we’ve covered in previous articles:
Heroines often struggle against the social rules of their native culture.
Villains follow the “minotaur” archetype, who are usually members of the heroine’s native culture.
The minotaur is “masked,” hidden, or disguised, appearing half-benevolent, half oppressive.
Heroines must first unmask the minotaur before the final battle.
The heroine’s final battle is not far off, but often inside the home (or on home turf).
The heroine often provides a model for breaking with certain gender roles or social norms.
Heroine-centric journeys tend to be circular and inward, rather than linear and outward.
This week, I want to discuss one of the most heroic aspects in all fiction, the Shield-Maiden Moment. Structurally, the shield-maiden moment occurs in the third act, right before the final confrontation with the villain. However, it can occur earlier as an emergence moment for the heroine as well. This is a moment where the heroine physically interposes herself in between the minotaur and a defenseless life, typically just a few feet away.
Symbolically, the heroine becomes a human shield against the forces of violence and destruction. She holds her ground and stands face-to-face against brute power as the ultimate and sometimes unexpected first responder. This is a special dynamic for combat in fiction because it carries a dual role. The heroine must not only defeat the fearsome minotaur, who is a serious physical threat, but she must also save another potential victim. The heroine is not acting in the manner of self-sacrifice, although it may appear that way—because her mission cannot allow her to fail. If she’s defeated, not only is she captured or destroyed, but the life she defends will also be captured or destroyed.
How does this contrast with the hero’s journey?
In the hero’s journey, the male-oriented hero typically confronts a menacing “dragon,” who typically comes from outside the native culture. The dragon is exotic, dangerous, and threatens the native culture with destruction or oppression. The hero eventually faces the dragon in single combat. The meaning of the combat is typically a test of worthiness for the hero, with the dark archetype of evil on one side and the light archetype of good on the other. It’s powerful imagery that recurs with serious regularity. Whether it’s Luke Skywalker facing Darth Vader on Bespin, Neo staring down Agent Smith inside the Matrix, or Captain America versus Red Skull in Nazi Germany, the basic design is the same. The hero has undergone their trials and must test their mettle against a villain who doesn’t lose. Like two rams about to rise and smash heads, this recurrent theme tells readers or viewers that we are in the final stages of a story and that the conflict will be resolved in this battle.
For the heroine’s labyrinth, facing a villain while also protecting life is an amazing contrast and perhaps, the most heroic moment in fiction. The Shield-Maiden moment happens whether the heroine has training or not, whether she is prepared or not. And quite often, the minotaur cheats to secure victory. All forms of power and deception are brought to bear upon the heroine, and yet she prevails. She accomplishes her dual mission—to defeat the minotaur in combat and to protect a living being in close proximity. Truly inspiring. Examples of the Shield-Maiden Moment are everywhere. Here are just a few:
In Aliens, Ripley famously marches up to battle the Queen alien in dramatic fashion. She’s facing a monster that has an overwhelming physical advantage. Her famous line, “Get away from her you bitch” almost perfectly captures the heroine’s stunning willingness to face insurmountable odds when her Shield Maiden Moment arrives.
In The Silence of the Lambs, heroine Clarice Starling confronts serial killer Buffalo Bill with defenseless Catherine Martin trapped in well right behind her.
Perhaps one of the most striking examples of the Shield Maiden Moment is in Wonder Woman. Who can ever forget the images of Wonder Woman striding across No-Man’s Land, and then holding up an actual shield while enduring a storm of machine-gun fire, her legs buckling under the strain? She leads the way while the vulnerable Allied infantry mounts a charge across the deadly landscape. Even in the final battle, when Wonder Woman fights the God of War—she must enter battle with Steve Trevor, her love interest, sharing the battlefield with her.
In Moana, the heroic Maui is wounded and without his weapon in the final moments of the battle. He is seconds from destruction as Te Ka rears back for a fatal blow. But, in one of my favorite Shield-Maiden moments, Moana boldly reveals herself by holding up the heart stone to momentarily stop Te Ka. Moana not only makes a stand but goes on to walk bravely up to the villain and heal Te Ka’s heart. This restores the feminine spirit of the world, thus saving it.
In The Terminator, Sarah Connor, who is a server at a diner, fights and defeats an actual terminator while dragging and protecting a defenseless Kyle Reese. Then again, in Terminator 2, Sarah faces down a nearly invincible T-1000 with her son, a young John Connor, standing right behind her.
In Avengers: Infinity War, Scarlet Witch boldly stands against Thanos, summoning a shield of red magic as the overpowering villain closes in. Behind her, a weakened Vision lays on the ground, unable to defend himself.
Brienne of Tarth from Game of Thrones is the ultimate shield maiden. Nearly all her combat involves the valiant protection of life, from Caitlyn Stark to Jaime Lannister. Time and time again, Brienne steps in front of dangerous men as a bodyguard and prevails.
In Avatar, Neytiri takes down Colonel Quaritch in the final battle, while the small human form of Jake Sully, who is physically paralyzed and suffocating, lays in his avatar pod behind her.
In Tangled, Rapunzel duels against her false mother with Flynn Rider laying wounded on the ground at ger back. Again, the heroine’s battlefield is crowded with others.
In The Lord of the Rings, it is Aowyn who steps in front of the Witch-King when King Théoden falls in battle. When the Nazgul declares that “no man can kill me,” she famously responds, “I am no man.” She then destroys the Nazgul while sustaining terrible injuries.
In Kill Bill, Beatrix Kiddo enters combat against Bill while her daughter, whose existence was just revealed to her, stands in the room just a few feet away.
In The Fifth Element, Leloo, herself, is physically the ‘element’ that will shield the earth from a giant ball of black fire. And her powerful mantra is “protect life.” How fitting.
In Ex Machina, the android heroine, Eva, turns and faces Nathan, the minotaur in the center of the labyrinth. Behind her is another captive android woman. Once again, Eva, herself, becomes a physical shield as Nathan smashes Eva’s limbs. Nathan is defeated and Eva escapes the labyrinth.
When the hidden minotaur strikes in Jane Eyre, it is Jane who steps in and saves a defenseless Mr. Rochester during the blazing fire.
Even in The Force Awakens, Rey fights Kylo Ren with a wounded and defenseless Finn laying in the snow behind her.
The next time you’re in danger, hopefully, there’s a heroine nearby.
For a more in-depth look at all the steps in the heroine’s labyrinth, click here.
Welcome to the third installment in a series of articles that explore the heroine archetype as a vital cultural figurehead. This article expands on the heroine’s labyrinth as a heroine-centric alternative to the hero’s journey in both narrative structure and character arc. In the last article, we discussed how heroine-centric stories tend to feature villains who are members of the heroine’s native culture, a hidden minotaur, rather than a distant dragon who threatens the native culture from afar. The heroine’s journey is often circular and inward rather than linear and outward.
As the Coronavirus era rolls on, many of us are quarantined at home, spending extra time with family or enjoying a little extra solitude. Therefore, let us reflect on the meaning and symbolism of ‘home’ in terms of fiction and our favorite heroines. As a matter of story structure, the native culture and the home often play a central role.
In fiction, ‘home’ sometimes represents a place of comfort and safe returns. Remember the power of “home” in The Lord of the Rings? Saving the Shire and returning home motivated Frodo and Sam as they ventured toward Mount Doom. The Bat Cave or Fortress of Solitude are also places where male-oriented heroes return for comfort, healing, and peace. However, for heroines, the meaning of home isn’t always positive. Home may be a symbolic threat to the heroine’s identity and individuality. And yet, in the heroine’s labyrinth, to leave home is to abandon certain responsibilities that will disrupt some kind of cultural order. Leaving home often generates feelings of guilt and moral dilemmas for the heroine.
Because the heroine’s labyrinth often features a villain from within the native culture, the story structure shifts regarding the climactic final showdown. In the hero’s journey, the climax often features a final confrontation of single combat between the hero and the villain in a far-off location, typically on the villain’s turf. However, the heroine’s labyrinth model has a stunning pattern of final showdowns upon familiar grounds, a residential abode or right inside the home itself.
This is no small thing.
Whereas the male-oriented hero suffers from the perils of an exotic setting far from home, the heroine often fights in safe places, whether she’s prepared or not. There, right in the heart of the home, surrounded by the symbols and objects of her own native culture, the heroine goes into battle. Psychologically, this distinction is quite powerful because it underscores the heroine’s lack of safety even within the safest places, even among those she’s supposed to trust. While the heroine’s journey may lead her in circles or dead ends, she often ends up in a battle right where she started.
Home.
This narrative pattern is powerful because the heroine models heroic behavior that teaches us how to confront threats from within. The heroine stands as a timeless archetype who confronts the dark side within ourselves, our families, our institutions, and native culture.
In literature, many of the great heroines fight battles right in the home. Jane Eyre, Elisabeth Bennet, Anna Karenina, Scarlet O’Hara, and Scout Finch all find their native culture to be a battleground. The social norms of the native culture fuel the heroine’s conflict.
Looking at our modern stories, I found countless examples of heroine-centric stories in which the battleground is at home. It’s amazing to see so many examples of this pattern that we may not have noticed before.
The Hunger Games is a classic example of the heroine’s labyrinth. The heroine’ s native culture is Panem’s District 12. Once again, home, family, and friends are not safe. President Snow must be unmasked as the minotaur who hides in plain sight, and Katniss must fight on her native turf, which gives the story its revolutionary overtones. The author, Susan Collins, actually states that she modeled TheHunger Games after the myth of Theseus and the minotaur, in which the native culture sacrifices seven boys and seven girls to the minotaur at the center of the maze.
In Kill Bill, Beatrix Kiddo’s final dual is within a domestic home, where her daughter innocently plays with the minotaur, Bill. The filmmaker, himself, never even shows us the face of the villain, keeping this minotaur masked throughout the entire first film.
Clarice Starling tracks down the masked monster, Buffalo Bill, inside an innocent-looking suburban residence. Notice how the basement turns into a claustrophobic labyrinth as she stalks the minotaur. But ultimately, the heroine’s final showdown is once again inside a house.
Wonder Woman, too, opens her film with classic heroine’s labyrinth dialogue. In a voiceover, she says, “the closer you get, the more you see the great darkness within.” Wonder Woman unmasks Ares, the God of War, who is hidden amongst the “good guys” or “home team” of World War II, the Allied Forces.
Coraline’s quest leads her through many rooms in her home labyrinth until she discovers that her ‘other’ mother is indeed a hidden minotaur whose generosity and favor are a disguise. The battle takes place inside her home.
In Tangled, after navigating the maze of her own native culture, Rapunzel also travels back to where she started…home. There, she unmasks her false mother, Gothel, and the final battle takes place inside her very room.
In The Color Purple, the story is replete with a world of interconnected labyrinths. Home after home has a minotaur within. The oppressor is not far off, but up close, personal, and within the domicile. No place is safe, and battles are often fought…and lost…right inside the home.
Captain Marvel begins in the Kree civilization, which represents her native culture in terms of story. But once again, this is a deception. Her friend and mentor, Yon-Rogg, is unmasked as the hidden minotaur and Carol Danvers must turn against the native culture that she thought raised her.
Dorothy Gale’s entire quest is a fable to teach “there’s no place like home.” Her native culture is dressed up as an exotic land. Oz, after all, is really just a manifestation of the heroine’s humble hometown. The yellow brick road is a labyrinth and she (and Toto) must unmask the great and terrifying Wizard of Oz as an illusory power.
In the provocative film, Ex Machina, Ava is held captive in a high-tech labyrinth. She unmasks the high-profile genius, Nathan, as the minotaur. He is her creator and she must defeat him inside the residential fortress that represents the only world she knows.
In Pan’s Labyrinth, young Ophelia also duels a villain she’s supposed to trust. The movie’s title already evokes the labyrinth, which appears in her figurative backyard. The hidden minotaur is her own stepfather, whom her mother entrusted, and Ophelia’s battle takes place not far from where she lived and slept.
Frozen also features two heroines, who are sisters, Anna and Elsa. Elsa experiences the brunt of the clash between a heroine and her native culture, while Anna must unmask the hidden minotaur, the dashing and duplicitous Prince Hans. The battles are fought at home.
In Inglorious Basterds, Shoshanna unmasks the previously charming Fredrick Zoller as the minotaur before slaying him. Once again, her battlefield is not far off, but inside her own cinema.
In Star Wars the Clone Wars, Ahsoka Tano clashes in the most dramatic fashion with her native culture. Pulling double duty, both the Galactic Republic and the Jedi Order turn against her in full. And when Ahsoka is finally exonerated, she bravely chooses to go her own way, rejecting the moral ascendency of her native culture’s greatest institutions.
Scarlett O’Hara kills one person in Gone with the Wind, a looting Union soldier, whom she slays inside her home.
Home as a place of safety? Hell, home is a hot zone for many heroines. Heroes and heroines don’t always have to travel far away to save the native culture. Sometimes, they fight the native culture in order to free it from within. “Home as Battleground” is only one of many recurrent themes in the heroine’s labyrinth story model. More to come in the following weeks.
Douglas A. Burton is an award-winning author of the historical fiction novel, ‘Far Away Bird.’ He came upon the heroine’s labyrinth while writing about one woman’s journey, Empress Theodora of Byzantium. The author realized that certain aspects of the hero’s journey didn’t always apply to his heroine. He believes that heroines represent a powerful cultural figurehead that deserves greater attention. Follow him on Facebook to stay updated
Ahsoka Tano is one of the greatest Star Wars characters of all time and she’s featured in the most egalitarian Star Wars shows out there, The Clone Wars.
When it comes to the Star Wars universe, the role of heroic women is ever-shifting and in some ways a bit shaky. The original trilogy gave us Princess Leia; the prequels gave is Padme Amidala; the new trilogy put Rey out there, and Rogue One dropped in with Gyn Erso. While all four heroines are arguably iconic in their roles and some are popular, each one has some fair criticism. Princess Leia was never given a central role. Padme was given the dialogue of a cardboard cutout. Gyn gets lost in the crowd. And Rey will be forever haunted by the ghost of Mary Sue.
I say, “Enough negativity!” Let’s talk about the Star Wars heroine who works and, in my opinion, stands among the best of all the Star Wars characters.
You may not have heard of her, but I’m talking about Ahsoka Tano.
Ahsoka Tano hails from the Star Wars animated TV series, The Clone Wars, which has been a buried gem of the Star Wars franchise since 2008. Disguised as a children’s cartoon, the Clone Wars quietly built up a following through sheer force of excellence in writing, animation, voice acting, characters, and storytelling. On Rotten Tomatoes, the Clone Wars is up there with the only the Original Trilogy and at least for now, Disney’s hit series, The Mandalorian. Boasting a level of animation that may never be surpassed on television, The Clone Wars went on to become a multi-award award-winning series, collecting a treasure trove of animation and voice acting awards.
It’s time you discovered it too.
But the Clone Wars series is more than just Star Wars show that “adds” in a few female characters for good measure. Amazingly, they manage this powerful and positive balance without the intrusion of identity politics. Messaging gives way to story. Without a lot of fanfare, the Clone Wars achieves the most egalitarian balance of any Star Wars story. Period.
Women are everywhere in the Clone Wars. The galaxy is embroiled in an epic conflict and women are out in front, leading armies and commanding with confidence. They, themselves, are so comfortable in their leadership roles that you, the viewer, will barely notice or care much about gender and stay focused on what the characters are doing and saying. Women spearhead politics and moral debate. Several planets feature a woman as the leader and cultural figurehead. They inspire uprisings, lead from the front, and make mistakes.
We see plenty of female Jedi, but we also find them in the ranks of the Dark Side. Assaj Ventress in an absolute score for Star Wars villains, a Sith and assassin who hold her own in every episode she’s in. Women are mentors and pupils. They’re good and evil. They’re asserting their presence in the galaxy across the board, true allies and equals of their male counterparts. Without attempting to draw any attention to the incredible representation of women, the Clone Wars is effortless in its egalitarianism. The Clone Wars just lets their characters be themselves.
I’ve studied Ahsoka Tano in-depth and she holds up across every front. She’s heroic. She’s a woman of action. She’s compassionate. She fails time and time again, and I for one, have come to truly admire her as a full character, as rich and dynamic as Luke Skywalker.
I became a genuine fan by episode 19. In one of the Clone Wars’ best episodes, Storm Over Ryloth, Ahsoka Tano is given her first command of a fighter squadron. She’s to lead her clones in an attack on Separatist blockade that is under the command of a fully capable and even cunning Separatist admiral. The animation is up to the task and the action squarely within the Star Wars tradition.
Without her squadron around to defend the fleet, the Republic battleships crumble under a wave of vicious attacks. Ahsoka finally turns back, but not after losing a couple of the clones. And let me say, the clones are all personalized in this show. They have nicknames and personalities of their own. Ahsoka is horrified by the deaths her decision brought and her total failure. As a guy, I never once felt like I was watching a weak girl who didn’t belong on a battlefield meant for men. No, I saw a warrior who took her first loss and swallowed that bitter pill of real consequence. It’s summed up when Anakin, who’s an excellent and compassionate mentor, tells her that losing men is the “reality of command.”
Later in the episode, Ahsoka is again put in charge, but this time of the whole battleship. Her confidence is low. The clone officers openly doubt her, preferring the certitude and experience of Anakin. Ahsoka, herself, has doubts about her ability to lead, especially after such a devastating failure only hours ago. But Ahsoka makes a stand. She devises a brilliant but risky tactical plan and the clone army follows her lead. She carries out the plan herself. The maneuver is successful, and she ends up smashing the blockade and rescuing Anakin Skywalker. Ahsoka overcame her clear failure and endeared me to her character from then on.
Time and time again, we watched as Ahsoka faced real tests and hardships. As the new seasons came out, it became clear that Ahsoka Tano was fast becoming a Star Wars darling. She played her role as Anakin’s padawan to perfection, showing the proper respect to her mentor while daring to challenge him with regularity. She has a mind of her own, even within the military chain of command.
In what I regard as some of the greatest Star Wars there is…up there with the original trilogies—Clone Wars Season 5 concludes with a four-part series that does more to drive home the conflicts and themes of the prequels than even the movies, in my opinion. The democratic institutions are failing. The moral leadership is failing. The military presence is growing. In a bold plotline that foreshadows the events of Revenge of the Sith, Ahsoka Tano is framed for a crime she didn’t commit.
I’ve studied the recurrent themes of heroine-centric stories. And in the epic tradition of the heroine’s labyrinth story model, Ahsoka experiences what’s called ‘the broken truce,’ where the native culture itself turns against our heroine in dramatic fashion. We get our first glimpse of a ubiquitous military that flexing some muscle on the Jedi and the whiff of military dictatorship on the horizon. Admiral Tarkin personally leads the attack on Ahsoka and a conflict arises between Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker and the galactic military, who are bent on her capturing his fugitive padawan.
Incredible drama ensues with the highest quality visuals. Ahsoka is hunted down by a ruthless dragnet of clones and surveillance. The clones who pursue her are the same ones who Ahsoka had led into battle time and time again for five seasons. They don’t care that she was their former commander. They see only an enemy of the state. The writers and animators have full command over the entire palette of Star Wars sounds and images.
Eventually, she is captured, where she is expelled from the Jedi Order. This represents a total failure of leadership and the Jedi abandon one of their finest and turn Ahsoka over to military jurisdiction. Fans are treated to a courtroom drama of high crimes and treason against the Republic, spearheaded by the defending counsel, Padme Amidala and the military prosecutor, Admiral Tarkin, the future Grand Moff. This is a brilliant use of existing characters, who burst to life in a conflict we all care about.
After Ahsoka is finally exonerated, she does something that stands tall in the Star Wars Universe. The Jedi Order apologizes for doubting her and welcome her back into the Order. Anakin is sorry. They’re all sorry. But Ahsoka Tano turns them down flat. A woman with her own thoughts and moral compass, Ahsoka refuses. She walks away from the Jedi Order leaving the entire leadership of Jedi Masters standing wordless in the vacuum of her departure, the Jedi Order is silently judged as “guilty,” never to recover their moral ascendency again. Anakin Skywalker chases her down and pleads with her to reconsider. The dialogue is perfect, the cinematography is stunning, as fine as any movie.
Ahsoka Tano walks away leaving Anakin Skywalker on the steps of the Jedi Temple. It’s the last time these two see each other as friends. They take two very different paths in the wake of a collapsing galactic order.
What happens next?
No one knows because Disney bought LucasFilm and scrapped the Clone Wars under massive protests. Disney’s new TV show, ‘Rebels,’ came out instead. Yet, after a so-so reception for the new series, the writers of the Clone Wars came in and quickly reintroduced Ahsoka Tano. In an episode that features Darth Vader, voiced by James Earl Jones, himself, the dark lord and his former apprentice from the Clone Wars are thrown back in the mix together. Ahsoka senses the hate and anger and even passes out when she learns that the powerful darkness is her former master, Anakin Skywalker.
The two come face-to-face in a showdown that carries the kind of gravity we’ve only seen in the original trilogy. During the confrontation, Ahsoka strikes a blow to Darth Vader, and for a second, fans see the human eye of Anakin Skywalker through the shattered black mask. We even hear Anakin’s once compassionate voice when utters Ahsoka’s name. We see a glimpse of his humanity. The films never showed us Darth Vader like this until after he turned back to the good side. Ahsoka Tano brings this out of him.
Folks, she’s one of the greatest Star Wars characters of all time in my view. These are incredible storylines and character arcs.
All the criticisms that follow the Star Wars heroines of the big screen are absent here. And now, after all these years of silence, Season 7 of The Clone Wars has finally returned to conclude the saga. The newest episodes are available on Disney Plus and I wanted you to know what the hype was all about.
This is a story about the fall of the Republic, the emergence of the dark side, and the rise of a lone heroine who stands tall among the Pantheon of Star Wars greats. If you love heroic women in fiction and Star Wars like I do, then The Clone Wars is for you.
