The New Doctor Who and Why I Hate Labels

I have watched The Woman Who Fell to Earth!

When I heard that the Thirteenth Doctor was going to be played by a woman, I wasn’t sure what to think. People had been clamoring for it for a while, but I hadn’t ever been one of those people. I liked that the Doctor was a man. Maybe it’s because I am a hopeless romantic and a part of me still wants a knight in shining armor to come and rescue me.

Not that I can’t rescue myself, thank you very much.

And that’s the problem, I think. I am a Feminist. I believe that women are strong and smart and creative and deserve the right to choose in everything that relates to them. But “feminist” is a label, and the pesky thing about labels is that as soon as you use one people start getting ideas in their heads about who you are and what you think… also, about what you should think.

And there’s the second problem.

I’m the kind of feminist who thinks that women are strong and smart and creative and have the right to choose in everything that relates to them, but I am not the kind of feminist who thinks that men can’t understand, or can’t do things as well, because they’re men. For me, that’s just sexism all over again.

Yes, I think there are things that women have higher aptitudes for than men, but I also believe that there are things men have higher aptitudes for than women. Back when I was a dancer, I used to be jealous of the boys because they could jump higher and turn faster and had better turnouts than most of the girls. Not to say that there weren’t girls who could jump high, turn fast, and have beautiful turnouts. There were. But males have a natural advantage – their bodies are physiologically built better for that sort of thing than girls.

Similarly, there are scientific studies that suggest that male and female brains perceive and process the world differently. We just don’t handle things the same way. And, to swing all of this back around to Doctor Who, that’s why I was worried about the Doctor being played by a woman.

You see, I trust the Doctor Who team. Even though there are new people around, Chris Chibnall for a start, they’re people I believe will respect the world and the fans.

I wasn’t really worried about the fact that they’d chosen a woman for the Thirteenth Doctor, because there isn’t any in-world reason the Doctor couldn’t be a woman… I was worried about what the Doctor being played by a woman would feel like. Would she still have the quirks, the fire, the sadness, the kindness that I so love about the Doctor?

I’m not sure yet.

I think Jodie Whittaker is amazing in the role. She feels Doctor-y from the moment she steps onscreen. But I’m not sure I’ll be able to connect with her the way I’ve connected with the other Doctors.

Weird. After all, I am female. Shouldn’t it be easier to connect to a female Doctor?

And there we go with the labels again. Labels lead to preconceptions, and preconceptions are only helpful up to a point.

All I can say for now is that it feels different. The quirks don’t feel quite as endearing, the fire isn’t stoked quite as hot, the sadness has strength instead of fragility behind it, and the kindness… I think maybe the kindness is good.

Which is good.

Still, I find myself asking, do I feel this way because the person playing the Doctor is a woman? Maybe. Maybe not. There’s the natural aptitudes thing and the natural proclivities thing to think about. Plus, there are my own prejudices against women and for men to consider. It’s possible that even if the next Doctor had been a man that the Doctor would have been played in a similar way.

It’s early days yet. Just have to wait and see. I can say this for certain though… I can’t wait to see what happens in episode two!

World Book Day!

Twitter tells me it’s World Book Day, and when Twitter tells me something, I listen!

Unless it’s something ridiculous.

Dumb ridiculous, I mean, not fun ridiculous. I like fun ridiculous.

So, on this, the World Day of Books, I’ve decided to go back and revisit a few of my favorites. Right now, I’m thinking maybe a couple of short stories from Peter S. Beagle’s Slight of Hand and Neil Gaiman’s Smoke and Mirrors, and maybe I’ll dip into The Secret Garden as well.

Aside from O. Henry’s “The Last Leaf.” Neil Gaiman’s “The Price” might be my favorite short story ever. It’s rich and dark, evoking hope and terror in equal measure. Of course, my being a cat person doesn’t enter into my opinion at all.

The Secret Garden and A Little Princess have been favorites of mine since I was little, holding pride of place on my bookshelf right next to the Sherlock Holmes anthologies recommended to me by my grandfather. When I was in fourth grade, I even convinced my teacher to let me turn the closet where we stored our coats and tote trays into a “secret garden” with ivy made of construction paper and roses made of tissue. I think it’s the magic that draws me back to the stories, the magic they find in everyday things that makes their lives better. And, really, when I see a sky filled with clouds painted pink and gold by the setting sun, or a butterfly sunning itself on a freshly bloomed rose, or hear a burst of laughter spring from true friendship, it’s hard not to feel a little of that magic myself.

Books open my eyes and heart to the world around me and they give me a safe space to retreat to when I need it.

What are your favorite stories, and what do they do for you?