THE SURVIVALIST

It’s been an adventurous summer.  One which entails swashbuckling musketeers, gambling, and duels.  That is, if you count reading material; and if you’re me, you do.  Living within the musty confines of a book can be a grueling life.  And this past August has been cruel to me.  If you haven’t guessed it, I’ve just finished Alexandre Dumas’ epic classic, The Three Musketeers.

The memory of the film adaptation is just like those broken toys stored up in my attic.  The memory of it sits somewhere in the rafters of my mind, but only vaguely maintains its shape-shifting form.  As a girl, the movie had been a call to adventure and nobility.  I was a scrappy 8 year old ready to pick a fight with someone much bigger.  My little hands were ready to grip courage by the hilt and wield it against evil.  Vive la France!

I had expected the same vigor when I picked up the book.  Yet, the spirit of adventure came to an abrupt halt like a lame horse this August as I flipped page after page.  And in my 655 pages of reading, something changed in me.  My loyalties shifted, and the antagonist became a heroine instead.  My god, I thought, I’m rooting for the villain.  Only rarely has this happened.  And every time it does I find myself judging myself harshly.  After all, how could I root for a demonic, super vixen, who makes fools of men everywhere?

Warning: book spoilers ahead… okay we got that out of the way.

Now riddle me this, how does a troop of royal guards—the most heroic and noble of them all— inspire so many cringe moments?  The answer, of course, is a Don Quixote style crash course in how to fail at heroism.  I admit, at first I was amused by the foursome’s reckless gambling and philandering (yes, it’s actually four, not three).  I laughed when religious Aramis vowed a life of celibacy and spoke only in Latin at the onset of a breakup.  And I chuckled when Athos locked himself in the basement of an inn so to drink himself senseless, defending himself against all innocent innkeepers and maids with a gun and sword.  Yet, this humor only has a short shelf life before it starts to reek with malice.  Soon I found that their mild flirtations gave way to serial cheating, which then morphed into rape.  Yes, you read that right.  The fourth musketeer, D’Artagnan, enacts a form of rape in the novel when he poses as a woman's lover and forces himself on her in her room.

I found myself side-eyeing the book.  Had I read that right?  Was I supposed to laugh when our young protagonist hacks a woman’s life, steals her mail, and poses as her lover through letters?  And was I to sympathize with D’Artagnan when his victim wages war against him then, attempting to kill him several times?  The tone was light and playful after all.  It was as if I was being gaslighted into thinking nothing was wrong.  Nothing to see here, move along.

Now enters Milady, D’Artagnan’s victim and nemesis.  A serial seductress who works as an assassin for France.  Admittedly, she is flawed.  A true survivalist, she lives in a grey area of morality at best.  And yes, she does claw her way out of prostitution with some womanly finesse.  Beautiful, she maintains a steely power over men that is compared to witchcraft.  She convinces her jailer to assassinate the Duke of Buckingham through a well crafted series of brief manipulations that felt horrifically awe-inspiring.  But let’s get something straight.  Milady works under the command of the Cardinal, on the authority of the French regime.  The assassination of the Duke ends France’s war with England.  And Milady’s attempt to expose her queen’s betrayal of the king is not all too sinister when one considers that the queen committed treason.  In every such action, she is working for the government in favor of France.  In fact, she is simply following orders.  Even so, her actions are viewed as treachery, despite that the four musketeers commit treason in an ironic turn of events. Though flawed, she is empowered. She has climbed to such a high degree of social status that she is favorable with the Cardinal, after all. But most importantly, she is a survivalist. So why is it that readers everywhere applaud a story in which such a fascinating character gets her head lopped off when a bunch of jilted men enact their own form of judge, jury, and executioner?

You read that right.  She dies by decapitation.  You see, eventually the four musketeers catch up to her and the rest is history, as they say.  I found myself feeling bitter and dissatisfied.  I was supposed to like The Three Musketeers.  It has so many rave reviews, after all.  But deep down, I found that I secretly wanted all of the musketeers to meet their grisly ending instead.  The musketeers do nothing more than grift women for money and then blame them if they don’t like their gifts. They vow a service of protection over male citizens, but then bed their wives instead.  Athos won’t even allow his servant to speak to him.  And D’Artagnan beats his servant for asking for his weekly wages.  D’Artagnan is also a hot head who picks fights with everyone who gives him the side-eye, by the way.  The four of them recklessly have breakfast in the middle of a battlefield to peacock their courage.  And as soon as they obtain money, they spend it, gamble it, and even gamble the horses of their friends.

Upon the ending of the novel, I sat and contemplated.  I wondered, am I too serious of a person by feeling disturbed?  Why couldn’t I simply laugh along at the wild adventures of friends?  And why was it that I felt a sympathetic camaraderie with the villain of the story?  Milady killed and deceived, seduced and destroyed.  Yet, somewhere in the back of my mind I thought, what other choice did she have?  Just like Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind, Milady takes matters into her own hands, forges her path, and displays a genius level of skill along the way.  Yet, Milady—who’s name is revealed as Charlotte at the end—receives a fascinating display of Catholic penance.

“I pardon you for my blasted future, my lost honor, my defiled love, and my salvation forever compromised by the despair into which you have cast me.  Die in peace!” one of her jilted men exclaims.  Because certainly no man in this plot is liable for their actions of rape, promiscuity, or weak-mindedness.

I could write a book on this topic, in which certain men blame women for sexual exploits.  Men who take no responsibility of their own, blaming solely women for seducing them.  I could comment on the intense misogyny of the era and the impossibility of fending for one’s self as a woman.  I could expand upon my frustrations that male philandering and reckless exploits are often downplayed as “play” under the pretext of “boys will be boys,” while women are expected to remain composed and mature supporters of them.  There are of course the religious undertones that flavor culture with the woman shaming.  Eve seduced Adam in the garden, after all.  Eve was the first one to fall from grace.  And women are to submit to male authority perhaps because of this—the reason has always been hazy to me.

Online I see a wide variety of masculinist ideology that parallels the attitudes of these four musketeers.  I am told that women are to blame for the declining birthrate, corrupt culture, the poor economy, and even the world wars!  The women’s liberation movement took jobs away from men, after all.  Females cause males to stumble into sexual sin.  And women are solely to be supporters, nurturers, and mothers to their children. Women are to cooperate and simply follow male leadership.  I see a growing amount of men who state that women’s right to vote should be revoked.  And I see decent men everywhere who shrug their shoulders at this with complacency.  “It will never happen,” these men say, justifying their indifference.  And though that may be true—it probably won’t happen—there is something to be said for men who devote themselves to the betterment of their female partners, whether it be in support of her ambition, or simply to remind her that she is worthy of empowerment.  To reinforce for women that they are not simply usable objects of sexual pleasure and reproduction. They are not villains for being ambitious, cunning, or successful.

I think to myself, my god, if women had been allowed to hold jobs in the first place, perhaps this shift in the job market would not have created such a dilemma. And what kind of a democracy withholds the vote from 50% of the population?  If I were to say to a man that “men are to submit to women, for women are their authority,” it would be seen as blatant sexism.  Yet, somehow certain men have fooled themselves into thinking that this same attitude toward women is justifiable.  In a culture of masculinist values, femininity is perceived as weakness and sometimes even villainy.  And by “femininity” I do not just mean a woman who is mild, sweet, and virtuous.  I do not specifically mean dainty women or maternal women.  By “femininity” I mean the reflective and mysterious intuition that women so naturally possess.  Femininity is more than simply grace or nurturing.  It is neither weak nor submissive.  It is powerful.  Female intuition is as deep and powerful as the ocean. And it displays a fascinating intelligence that is unmatched and misunderstood often by men.

I wonder, can a beautiful female character be anything other than innocent and virtuous without veering into villainy?  Can she be strategic and cunning without seeming unlikable to men?  Can she be independent and non-submitting?  There are, of course, those heroines today that would never have been written in an era of The Three Musketeers.  And I am consoled to think that perhaps we have somewhat moved past this form of misogyny.  Still, there is room to improve.  The patriarchal social media posts, religious zealots, and cultural commentators have me thinking that perhaps women will always need to remind men that they are just as powerful as they are beautiful.

As for Milady, I find a camaraderie in her.  I admire her tenacity and her strategy.  I mourn her pain and revere her perseverance.  To me, her so-called villainy is actually an act of courage.  To me, she is a heroine. Art, like life, is a survival story.  So who’s to blame the survivalist when she fights?  I, for one, do not.

**Please, stay tuned for updates on my upcoming novel—a thriller and a survival story.