Before I
get started, I realize that both the people I’m going to be talking about today
are named Ann(e). To reduce the confusion of saying “Anne” and “Ann,” I’ll
distinguish them this way: Anne Lister = “Anne,” Ann Walker = “Miss Walker.”
I’m also aware that these were real people. However, for this post, I’ll be
talking about them strictly within the context of the TV show – I don’t know
enough about the real people to make any comments along those lines. Having
dispensed with those preliminaries, here we go! (Anne-Miss Walker-related
spoilers.)
At first
blush, Anne’s decision to seduce Miss Walker feels both cavalier and a little
obvious, and on some level, it is. If Anne is a swashbuckling intellectual of a
well-traveled woman, leaving scandal and rumors in her wake wherever she goes,
Miss Walker is presented as the epitome of Victorian femininity. With her china
features, softspoken voice, and gentle demeanor, she fits well into “angel of
the house” motifs, a “charming little wife” for anyone. True, she suffers from
some sort of nervous complaint, but that can seem like just another way of
showing how meek and fragile she is, prone to swooning and the like. And she’s
rich to boot? When the two first meet, my brain went, Well, of course Anne is into
Miss Walker.
But
quickly, things become less straightforward than that. Anne is a player, no
doubt, and she helpfully narrates to the camera in early episodes just how she
plans to entice the virginal Miss Walker into falling in love with her.
However, it’s soon apparent that Miss Walker isn’t just a conquest to Anne, a
perfect Victorian prize for her collection. Anne puts the moves on Miss Walker,
but Miss Walker captivates Anne without even trying, more than the very
independently-minded Anne would probably care to admit. It’s clear in the
unstudied way she lights up and, occasionally, starts to babble when she’s
around Miss Walker. That’s no play – Anne is smitten.
This is
why Anne’s love for Miss Walker puts her at her most vulnerable. Over the
course of the season, Anne is increasingly interested in forging as much of a
marriage with Miss Walker as she is allowed to have, and Miss Walker’s
hesitation absolutely wrecks her. She expresses it in anger more often than
grief, but it’s clear in no uncertain terms that Anne views a secure future
with Miss Walker as everything she needs, and she can’t bring herself to settle
for anything less than that.
In turn,
I love how quickly and deeply Miss Walker comes to care about Anne. While other
people regard Anne as a curiosity, either to gawk at, puzzle over, or be
entertained by, Miss Walker thinks Anne is simply wonderful. She’s utterly
taken by Anne’s confident stride and the handsome figure she cuts, defending
Anne against anyone who’d titter about her in private. In LGBTQ stories, we so
often see masculine gay men and feminine gay women held up as the ideal, and so
it delights me to see a Victorian butch like Anne being wholly desired by her
gentle feminine lover.
We also
see there’s more to Miss Walker than meets the eye. It can’t be denied that she
isn’t as eager to throw over societal conventions as Anne; she worries about
how things appear, and she agonizes over her immortal soul when a so-called
friend casts aspersions on her relationship with Anne. But that doesn’t make
Miss Walker weak. She’s survived a great deal before she meets Anne and has
been carrying immense burdens entirely alone, and even if Anne perhaps helps
her bring it out, the strength that Miss Walker pulls out of herself is there,
waiting for her to recognize it. Her choice to be with Anne despite what
society tells her is monumental precisely because
Miss Walker puts so much stake in it. In choosing love, she realizes how much
she’s going against, but she still chooses it anyway.
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