#To be more confident and proud of her true self vs her childhood at this point being

[icefire149]

The destiel vs huntlow poll is so funny since I'm an avid shipper of both. It's massive brain worms vs massive brain worms. I need my fellow spn fans to understand its a fun match up.

[fictionturnedherbrain]

Marguerite

Full name: Marguerite Blakeney, née St Just

Nick-names: Margot; ‘little mother’

Age: 25 (‘scarcely five-and-twenty’, in September 1792)

Born: August 1767

Place of birth: France

Education: Convent school, Paris; travelled to England to study the language

Currently lives: Blakeney Manor, Richmond, England

Height: ‘Tall above the average’, perhaps 5’ 6”; slender, regal figure

Eye colour: A very fluid blue!

Hair colour: Strawberry blonde (‘reddish-golden’, ‘ardent’)

Facial features: ‘Classic brow’, ‘sweet, almost childlike mouth’ with ‘full lips’, ‘straight chiselled nose’, ‘round chin’ and a ‘delicate throat’

Marital status: Wife of Sir Percy Blakeney, Bt. They met at Versailles, during a banquet held for the Flanders regiment on October 3, 1789. Two years later, they were married at the Church of St Roch, Paris, ‘just like that’, ‘without a soirée de contrat or diner de fiançailles’

Family: Brother, Armand St Just (eight years her senior). Parents died when Marguerite was ‘but a child’

Occupation: A gentlewoman. Formerly an actress with the Comédie Française. Also a member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel, 1792-1795 (‘You are a member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel. The most adored. The most revered amongst all’)

Interests: Society hostess (balls, routs, suppers, etc.); music (operas, particularly Glück’s Orpheus); reading (contemporary novels, such as Fielding’s Tom Jones); setting the trend in fashion (‘She wore the short-waisted, classical-shaped gown, which so soon was to become the approved mode in every country in Europe’); the company of her friends, Suzanne Ffoulkes, Juliette Deroulede, Yvonne Dewhurst

Passions: Time alone with her husband (‘Moments like this, when she was alone with him, were the joy of her life’); the late night drives from London to their Richmond home (‘a source of perpetual delight to Marguerite’)

Character: Once an enthusiastic republican and feted actress, courted by men such as the Scarlet Pimpernel’s arch-enemy, Citizen Chauvelin (‘one of the many satellites that revolved around brilliant Marguerite St Just’ ), Marguerite gave all up for love. Yet despite exchanging the Paris stage for London and Bath society, she still holds true to the ideals of the Republic, even after personal experience has made her detest what people will do in the name of liberty. She does not judge by wealth or class, only by individual intelligence and creativity – and how these gifts are utilised. Marguerite is also very impulsive in her actions, and is often guided by instinct, whether wisely or foolishly. She has a passionate and loving nature, dedicating herself wholly to those she cares for – her brother Armand, and her husband, Percy. Her selfless concern for others has on occasion actually imperilled those she would give her life to save, so forceful is her desire to actively protect the people she loves. Her loyalty to her husband, the Scarlet Pimpernel, has never wavered, and has been tested many times. Initially insecure that his love for her, though great, was not as devoted as her own for him (‘He loved her and went away!’), Marguerite has learned to trust in her husband’s seemingly boundless good luck and ingenuity, supporting his dangerous mercy missions instead of trying to hold him back (‘the noble-hearted woman, whose very soul was wrapped up in the idolised husband, allowed herself to ride by his side on the buoyant waves of his enthusiasm’). She has even taken an active role in the League’s adventures, preferring to face her husband’s fate rather than be left without him (“If you go, I go with you”). If she sometimes gives into the emotional strain, and pleads for Percy to put her needs first, it is only because his love has come to shape Marguerite’s life (‘ the one man who had made her so infinitely proud and happy in his love’) ; from a young girl who thought herself incapable of love, and who claimed to have married for wealth and position, she has matured into a woman who is happiest in the company of her husband, and who will suffer any hardship to be with him. Marguerite has suffered greatly since learning of her husband’s dual identity, but she has also found a soul mate and earned the love of a noble-hearted, adventurous, and intense individual - somebody a lot like herself (“Are we not one, you and I?”) She understands that Percy’s honour is bound up in the reputation of the Scarlet Pimpernel, and that the strength of his love for her is proven by his dedication to others: ‘Nay, it intensified it, made it purer and better’.

Marguerite is not unaware of her physical charm, as it has helped to advance her career and attract admirers who flatter her vanity – but how much of her confidence is natural, and how much an act? Does she believe all that people tell her, about her beauty, wit and talent, or is she hiding behind a studied role?

Actress Vs. Child Marguerite definitely has a pampered ego, and will not let her guard down in public. Her republican philosophy that ‘money and titles may be hereditary, but brains are not’ seems to stem from her own self-image, rather than any political influence: she has only equals in society, never betters. When the aristocratic Comtesse de Tournay crosses Marguerite in public, the bourgeois actress regards her with ‘hard, set eyes’. Yet when the Comtesse refuses to let Marguerite speak to daughter Suzanne, a childhood friend of Marguerite’s, a ‘wistful, almost pathetic and childlike look’ replaces the defiant glare. This is Marguerite’s core: the young Mme. St Just within the haughty, practiced Lady Blakeney, and few are allowed to penetrate her perfect facade; only when she is alone can Marguerite relax, like one ‘long oppressed with the heavy weight of constant self-control’.

Love The key to earning Marguerite’s love is to win her trust. For all her brilliance and popularity, the twenty-five year old actress-turned-lady is emotionally insecure; before meeting Sir Percy, she had already consigned herself to a life alone: ‘I naturally believed it was not in my nature to love’. Why should such a beautiful, successful and young woman have closed her heart to happiness? After her rather unexpected and unconventional marriage, it was claimed that Mademoiselle St Just was a ‘brilliant matrimonial prize��� for which ‘there had been many competitors’, and this can be believed – but how many men might have proposed, how far they got, and what happened to them, seems not to have affected Marguerite. Even when speaking of Sir Percy, in the early days of their marriage, she can only say that she would have allowed herself to be ‘worshipped’ and ‘given infinite tenderness in return’; she does not speak of her love for him, because, at that point, she is not able to recognise it in herself (‘A woman’s heart is such a complex problem’).

Marguerite’s concept of love, as with her support of the revolution, is purely idealistic: she has notions of how it should be, but her upbringing has sheltered her from gaining any experience of the realities. Her formative years were spent in a Paris convent, where she was educated alongside the wealthy children of noble families, such as Suzanne de Tournay. After her education (she and Suzanne travelled to England, at one point, to study the language), Marguerite became an actress, making her debut at the Comédie Française when she was eighteen. Yet instead of succumbing to the attentions of male admirers at the theatre and perhaps becoming somebody’s mistress, she seems to have immersed herself in the romance and morality of the plays in which she acted, waiting for a ‘perfect love’ which might not exist. Percy’s slavish devotion to her flattered her vanity, but also appealed to her romantic imagination: when she talks of the Pimpernel, unaware of the connection with her husband, Marguerite reflects that ‘there was a man she might have loved’, the ‘shadowy king of her heart’ so like a character upon the stage in his bravery, chivalry and anonymity. She admits that she was ‘vain and frivolous’, attracted by Percy’s wealth and position, and takes advantage of all the trappings of her new lifestyle when he withdraws his love. Material possessions and a grand home in which to entertain a new court of admirers, however, are only superficial distractions; as Lady Blakeney, Marguerite is ‘lonely in the midst of her grandeur’.

Though praised for her beauty, wit and talent, Marguerite has always felt secretly undeserving and mistrustful of anything more than token flattery. Her vanity can accept compliments with ‘inimitable grace’, but she is wary of having to give anything in return. Though initially attracted to Sir Percy’s ‘curious intensity of concentrated passion’, it is the fact that she perceived him as ‘slow and stupid’ – or safe and submissive – which allowed Marguerite to overcome that main obstacle and agree to marriage. A clever or busy man would soon tire of Marguerite’s charms, her looks and her witty conversation, but she believed that an unquestioning slave such as Sir Percy would always worship her as a goddess, and bend to her will – which she accepted as no more than her due.

When Percy rejects her as soon as she becomes his wife, Marguerite is lost. She is ‘grateful’ to him, for his generosity, unceasing civility and polite attentions, but cannot comprehend the change in his attitude towards her. Loneliness, fear and a bruised ego cause her to defend herself in the only safe way she knows – by hiding her feelings behind a mask, and acting the role of her own life: ‘she, too, had worn a mask in assuming a contempt for him’. To maintain her dignity in public, and to try and rouse a strong reaction from her husband in private, Marguerite takes to mocking Sir Percy, who has similarly retreated behind the guise of society fop: she tries to ‘goad him to self-assertion’; ‘even amused herself by sharpening her ready wits at his expense’. When he merely accepts her taunts, she tries to stir his jealousy by flirting with other men, but Percy leaves her alone to do as she wishes, ‘to flirt, dance, to amuse or bore herself as much as she liked’, such is his pain over her apparent deception. Marguerite, like a vindictive child, wants to hurt her husband as much as the unexplained withdrawal of his love has hurt her, and says ‘cruel, insulting things, which she vaguely hoped would wound him’, but it is only her vanity that has been insulted. She assumed, before they married, that he would accept anything she did or said. Burdened with the guilt of her rash act of revenge, Marguerite told Percy of her part in the execution of the St Cyr family, trusting that her ‘boundless power’ over him would suppress his judgement of her, and took his silence as a lack of comprehension. Blinded by his devotion, Marguerite didn’t bother to learn about her husband’s true personality, just as he idolised his own image of her; only when she confronts her husband, after a year of estrangement, does she realise that her initial hesitation in confiding in him shattered his illusion of the ‘angel’ he married. When the permanence of marriage breaks the spell of their brief courtship, they begin to find out who it is they think themselves in love with. Percy learns about Marguerite’s human failings through her denunciation of the Marquis, and Marguerite must accept the exaggerated persona of her husband’s pride as his true self.

Armand ‘Her love for her brother, Armand St Just, was deep and touching in the extreme’: Marguerite is mother, sister, friend to Armand, and because he is the only person she can trust without reserve, ‘whom she dared to love’, the bond between them becomes like a lifeline to her. Losing their parents at a young age blurred the roles of their relationship: Armand, elder by eight years, became a father figure and chaperone to his young sister, and Marguerite, when she was old enough, provided a maternal influence in her brother’s life. Having Armand ‘near her to love and protect her, to guard her from the many subtle intrigues which were raging in Paris’ has obviously been a regulating factor in Marguerite’s unconventional upbringing. It is possible to imagine that he has saved her from her own guileless and impulsive nature, steering her away from unwelcome attentions on more than one occasion. Marguerite is naïve and sensitive beneath her cool attitude and arrogant beauty – she needs the advice of others to help her actively confront difficult situations, otherwise she is content to let events happen to her. And when she does act on impulse, to avenge her brother and her own injured pride, she is blind to the consequences until it is too late. Her denouncement of the treasonous Marquis de St Cyr, an unfortunate combination of her own petty desire for revenge and gullible nature, is the event which separates Marguerite and Percy immediately after their wedding.

Armand’s pivotal role in her life, however, makes Marguerite afraid to release her brother and trust in anybody else. Before he is to return to France, she holds him with ‘sudden strong, almost motherly passion’, and pleads with him that, “I have only you to care for me”, when what she probably means is that she has only Armand to love her. Her protective over-reaction is understandable, considering that Armand’s life is constantly under threat as a citizen of revolutionary France, but neither does Marguerite want to be left ‘alone’. Her brother’s first visit since beginning her new life in England as Lady Blakeney can only have intensified Marguerite’s feelings of loneliness and estrangement as a Frenchwoman in exile; her brother is her ‘home’, a link to the life she left behind. Already convinced that she will never love another being as wholly as she does her brother, ‘the only being in the whole world who has loved me truly and constantly’, her sisterly and maternal concerns for his safety are multiplied by her own fears of losing the last member of her immediate family, and being completely abandoned in a strange country with a husband who is cold towards her. Armand tries to reassure her, understanding ‘the reserve which lurked behind her frank, open ways’, but he is not as dependent upon her as she is with him.

Marguerite reveals to Armand the truth of her marriage, and hints at how unhappy she is in her new life, but her pride will not allow her to break down completely. After only a year apart, Armand finds himself locked out of his sister’s deepest confidence, and has to form his own conclusions based on his understanding of Marguerite’s nature. He realises that she has misjudged and underestimated her husband, not recognising that he could be as proud and headstrong as her until it was too late, and that her bargaining on a ‘fool’ might have been miscalculated. Armand regrets the distance between them, but as Lady Blakeney, she will not let down her guard, even to her brother.

Fate

Until she follows her husband to Paris to save his life, attempting to redeem herself by repairing the consequences of her actions, Marguerite tends to view the choices she makes as being beyond her control: ‘Fate had decided, had made her speak, had made her do a vile and abominable thing’. Without the support of a third party to ‘shift from her young, weak shoulders this terrible burden of responsibility’, Marguerite disassociates herself from her actions, in a defensive bid to spare her conscience: ‘What had she done to have deserved all this?’ Perhaps the greatest example of this is her view of the St Cyr executions, and the extent of her role in their downfall. The Marquis was a traitor to his country, a royalist and an aristocrat seeking military intervention from Austria, and this information was known by other people before Marguerite learned of it ‘amongst her own coterie’, but this doesn’t change the fact that she then, with ‘a few thoughtless words’, denounced the Marquis to the Assembly (probably via Chauvelin). Nor was her desire for retribution motivated by patriotism or political ideals – the Marquis’ crime was personal: ‘what her brother must have suffered in his manhood and his pride must have been appalling; what she suffered through him and with him she never attempted to even analyse’. Still naïve and immature, for all her renowned salon wit, Marguerite failed to foresee the fatal consequences of her actions, although her ‘friends’ were fully aware (‘they trapped and duped me’). ‘Horrified’ at the repercussions of her ‘thoughtlessness’, Marguerite ‘strain[ed] every nerve, us[ed] every influence’ to reverse what she had set in motion and save the St Cyrs, but it was ‘too late’. Satisfied that she had done all she could, Marguerite was able to convince herself that ‘fate had merely stepped in’, and that she was actually ‘morally innocent’. Spiteful, ignorant and easily influenced, she probably didn’t think beyond humiliating the Marquis, who had punished her brother, and therefore insulted her own bourgeois background, for being socially beneath his family – but that she did so in a petty bid for revenge makes Marguerite far from blameless.

Entirely free of false humility, Marguerite is equally aware of her attractions and her failings. She complains to Chauvelin about the incongruence of living in a land of ‘fogs and virtues’, and observes to the Prince of Wales that ‘virtue is like precious odours, most fragrant when it is crushed’. Marguerite’s bohemian lifestyle as an actress, earning a living in deception and courted as a republican mascot, contrasts sharply with her strict and pious childhood in the convent, and the dichotomy of the two goes a way towards explaining her liberal yet penitent attitude to life. Whereas there is no doubt that Marguerite enjoys life, as the ‘darling of a brilliant throng, adored, feted, petted, cherished’, with ‘the joy of living writ plainly’ upon her face, her generous and compassionate spirit is easily disturbed by the cruelty and suffering around her. Her cynical wisdom and sharp wit display a pensive and distrustful side to her youthful personality, as she warns her brother that ‘little sins are far less dangerous and uncomfortable’. An ardent supporter of the ‘lofty virtues’ that inspired the Revolution, Marguerite welcomed the new Republic, but when the words and visions of philosophers like Rousseau and Mirabeau were replaced by the harsher realities of violence and executions, she was horrified and quickly abandoned the bloody excesses of France for the security of England.

Class

Marguerite is trapped between social plateaus in ‘The Scarlet Pimpernel’: proclaiming herself a republican with ‘an enthusiasm for liberty and equality’, she is originally from a middle-class background, elevated in her own sphere by her beauty and wit, and then removed from her queenly position in Paris to become a pretender to the aristocracy in England upon her marriage. Sir Percy is a baronet, on the next to the lowest rung of the peerage, but his wealth, good name and novelty value in the Prince of Wale’s court ensure that he is accepted amongst the higher ranks of society (at least two of the League are lords). However, this still makes rather a hypocrite of Marguerite, who, despite professing that ‘money and titles may be hereditary, but brains are not’, seems to enjoy her new status. She accepts ‘jewels and luxuries’ from Sir Percy, in place of affection and a happy marriage, and adapts to the privilege and insularity of English society within a year. At Brogard’s inn, when she and Sir Andrew travel to Calais to warn Percy that Chauvelin is on his trail, Marguerite is disgusted by her fellow ‘citizen’, thoroughly acting the part of the pampered aristocrat as she holds her handkerchief to her ‘dainty nose’ and stares ‘in horror’ at her surroundings.

She and Chauvelin are both idealists, preferring rhetoric to action; when the diplomat seeks to enlist her patriotic assistance in Dover, Marguerite asks, ‘What can I do, here in England?’ Overhearing her confrontation with the haughty Comtesse de Tournay, Chauvelin confronts Marguerite with this typical example of social injustice in the hope that her bruised pride will make her an ally, but Marguerite can defend herself. Instead of betraying the brave Pimpernel to punish the undeserving aristocrats he rescues, such as the de Tournays, Marguerite calls the Comtesse’s bluff with the aid of the Prince of Wales, ‘with a wealth of mischief in her twinkling blue eyes’. As a bourgeois actress, Marguerite has suffered the prejudice and arrogance of the aristocracy, inspiring her faith in the Republican creed of ‘liberty, equality, fraternity’, but her popular reception amongst the London ton, and the Royal protection she enjoys as a friend of the Prince of Wales, tempers her vehemence. Marguerite’s primary motivation is safeguarding the security and happiness of herself and those closest to her: to avenge a brother, she spoke out of spite, and to provide for her future, she turned on her homeland. Money and titles may not matter to Marguerite, but neither will she renounce personal advantages on principle; without ‘her rank, her dignity, her secret enthusiasms’, she is always Marguerite St Just.

[pedanticat]

Marco Diaz Wasted Character Development

Over the course of the series, there have been a couple of characters who have come a long way from their season one version om Star vs the Forces of Evil. Star went from an irresponsible teen who could care less about her royal title to someone who used said title to fix the strained relations between monsters and mewmans, Tom went from jealous ex with anger issues who couldn’t let go of Star to a more laid back guy who accepted that he needs to find someone who actually makes him happy and Buff Frog went from an evil minion of Ludo’s to  becoming a proud and loving father. However, there’s one character who hadn’t fully developed despite being at the forefront of the series right with Star and that character is none other than Marco Diaz. Now you may be confused as to why I think Marco hasn’t developed as a character, after all, he has come a long way from the safe kid he was back in season one. Now while it is true that the Marco we have now is much different from the version we had in season one, I wouldn’t call his development necessarily great.

What I really liked about Marco character  when the show first started was how he was able to fight side by side with Star. Despite being a regular human who has lived a normal life, he was able to go toe to toe with monsters and magical creatures due to his training in karate. Season one and two really focuses on the fact that Marco is a skilled martial artist and take pride in his combat skill with him also aiming to become a better fighter such as in the episode Red Belt where he seeks to move on from a green belt to a red belt. Marco also became more confident, less insecure and more daring as the show went on, which was expected given how it was an obvious direction for his character to go in given how we’re told he's known as the safe kid at Echo Creek Academy. However, the biggest misstep in Marco development was the episode Running With Scissors.

Running with Scissors was a good episode when it first came out with many people, myself included, enjoying it. Though as you can tell from my previous paragraph, my thoughts have changed since then. The episode mainly focused on Marco getting back Star scissors by blowing out Hekapoo flame. After 16 years of traveling, maturing and hardcore training, he tracks down the real Hekapoo, blows out the flame and even gets his own pair of scissors. Now he ends up going to Earth due to Star convincing him that he should come back with him then reverting back to his 14-year-old self.  The episode ends on this somber note with Marco realizing he doesn't even remember the password for his laptop before deciding to take the laser puppies out on a walk. With how the episode ended, it seemed to implied that after traveling 16 years through various dimensions, that he’s no longer the same person anymore and things are going to be different. Yet that wasn’t the case at all and the whole plot point about his 16 years of travel was basically abandoned and never brought up again. In the second Marco Diaz live stream that aired a while after the episode, it’s revealed that’s Marco memory of the sixteen years in Hekapoo's dimension are slowly becoming like a hazy dream or an old childhood memory. Now while this line did make the episode pointless in hindsight, I didn’t really mind since the episode was still a fun one and it showed how determined Marco could be when he put his mind to something. So I continued to enjoy the rest of season 2 without giving the 16-year plot thread any serious thought. However, despite it at the time seems like the episode wouldn’t’ really be important later on in the series, it ended up affecting Marco development in season 3 and 4. 

Season 3 shifts the focus from Earth to Mewni, which resulted in Marco moving to Mewni also where he became Star’s squire. Now Marco becoming a squire was an interesting idea and we’re told that he has participated in activities with other squire’s. Now, this is where we enter the first road bump with Marco character development: we don’t his journey from squire into becoming a full-fledged knight. He’s made a squire in Lint Catcher and then he becomes knighted in Knight Shift with no episodes showing his training as a squire. This was a big moment in Marco character development yet it was never shown and focused on. Just like how we saw Star slowly become better at magic due to episodes focusing on that development, we should have had episodes that showed Marco training in becoming a knight. 

The second road bump that occurs in Marco development as a character is retconning how much Marco remembers from his 16 years of travel. In the episode Divide, he says to Star “You forget I have 16 years of experience fighting thousands of Hekapoos.”. Now I hate this line for two reasons. First, they have him say that instead of saying that he improved as a fighter due to his as his training as a squire, which honestly would have made more sense considering that what he was apparently doing in season 3. And secondly, it contradicts with what we saw from Marco character after the events of Running with Scissors and what Adam McArthur said in the Marco Diaz live stream about him soon forgetting almost everything about the 16 years. By keeping the fact that Marco remembers what he did in those 16 years, the show ended up giving him 16 years of character development without showing any of it! Sure, the same could be said about the Squire plot thread but its worse since instead of months its 16 years of him becoming a more skilled fighter and growing as a person. Furthermore, if he developed in those 16 years, it makes his behavior strange in places since he should technically be more mature, but as we saw in the aftermath of Running with Scissors,  that didn’t seem to be the case at all. Based on that, it makes the staff seem to be very selective about which aspects of Marco character developed from the 16 years of travel and exactly how much he remembers. The problem is particularly noticeable in  A Boy and His DC-700XE since he’s apart of a dragon cycle gang that love going on thrilling rides and doing crazy stunts with the reason Marco is cool and great at it being due to his 16 years of training, which again, wasn’t shown.

Tom and Star development worked because we actually saw them developed as characters in the series. If we didn’t see Star practicing her magic or Tom working on his issues, those arcs wouldn’t feel as satisfying as they ended up being. Marco did have solid on-screen development in season 1 and 2 but the staff then started making a lot of his development in season 3 and 4 ties into things that we never got to see him do. It also doesn't help that he was pushed to the sideline for a good chunk of season 3.  Running with Scissors did more harm than good for Marco character development and started dozens of arguments about his age that I don’t even want to begin to get into. 

[flordidian]

Which Anne is more like the book: Sullivan vs. AWAE?

I think this one is much harder than Gilbert. While the differences between the Gilberts is a product of the changes made in the writing, the differences between Follows’ and McNulty’s portrayal of Anne mostly come down to their own interpretation of the book. However, I will make the attempt to distinguish them anyways.

Here goes:

Sullivan Productions Anne

Differences

1. Immaturity

Now, in Anne of Green Gables the books and miniseries, Anne is characterized as immature. But, in Anne of Avonlea the book, Anne is nearing adulthood and acts like it. She is by no means completely mature, but she rarely “loses it” or whines. In fact, she also stops talking all the time. In the miniseries, this is not so. In Anne of Avonlea, Anne is as stubborn and immature as always. Sullivan gives Anne another character’s lines for Anne of Windy Poplars as Anne and Diana talk before Diana’s wedding day which do not reflect her impending adulthood. 

The Anne of the miniseries is a bit more immature and naive than the Anne of the book. I get the impression Sullivan enjoyed Anne’s temper and was sore to be rid of it. Unfortunately, Anne is not allowed to grow up in the miniseries and acts not much different than she did at the end of their first movie.

2. Into an older man

Okay, I know a lot of people thought Morgan Harris was handsome, but to me, he was just old. In the book, the two men Anne shows romantic interest in are Royal Gardner and Gilbert. Both are barely older than her and considered super handsome. Royal is also rich and romantic while Gilbert is funny and smart. Meanwhile Morgan is...well...old. Sure he has some money and I guess he likes Anne, but he has a child and a know-it-all attitude.

Maybe this is splitting hairs, but I think Follows’ Anne is different in that her view of an ideal man is different. In the book, Anne is all hooked on romance; she wants to live as the heroines in her favorite novels do. Meanwhile, the Anne in Anne of Avonlea, the miniseries, is attracted to a man who is rich and old. Instead of having lofty standards for herself, Anne in the miniseries is satisfied marrying whoever happens to come along who is not dreadful. Perhaps this shows a lower sense of pride too.

3. Looking for Gilbert WWI

The whole plot of the Continuing Story bugged me. Why would Anne go to Europe to force her husband against his will to not serve his country? I can find no sense in it. The Anne of the book does not always agree with Gilbert, by they are equal partners. If she knew he felt strongly about something, she would change his mind or accept it, not go gallivanting across a war zone. Instead, Sullivan could have had Anne working as a nurse during WWI and saving lives. And/or using her storytelling skills to raise morale.

The Anne Blythe of the Continuing Story is a far cry from the Anne Blythe of the book. The Anne of the miniseries in the third movie has a much different relationship with Gilbert and thinks far more of herself. 

Similarities

1. Romantic

Anne in all three miniseries movies I have watched is true to the book in her romantic nature. The Anne of the books lives in her own idealistic world which is captured well in Sullivan’s version with Anne’s monologues, writing, and behavior around kids. She appreciates nature and sees the good in everything.

2. Stubborn

Anne of the book is rather prideful and struggles to change her mind. The Anne of the miniseries is also stubborn. In the miniseries, Anne sticks to her goals whether ignoring Gilbert, being the best school teacher, or finding her husband. Just like the Anne in the book, no one can convince her to act against her convictions.

3. Self-reliant

One of the things that makes Anne an interesting character, especially for the time, is that she is very independent. Theoretically, her independence stems from her time as an unwanted orphan. Regardless, in the miniseries, Anne’s independence is clearly shown. She studies herself and gets ahead, she keeps writing even though her works get some criticism, and she takes care of herself when her husband is gone. She can get by all on her own.

Anne with an E Anne

Differences

1. Physical manifestation of trauma 

One of the biggest differences in season 1 of Anne with an E is that Anne is actually seen to be affected by her years of neglect and abuse. In the books, Montgomery sort of dismissively addresses it (like with the window friend bit), but does not have Anne exhibit any trauma. The TV show, however, embraces Anne’s horrible past showing her to have triggers and nightmares and horror stories.

Because the Anne of AWAE is affected a lot by her past, she has a harder time making friends and fitting in. She has a reason to be wary of other people. She also comes across more as odd, because of the various triggers she has which the others do not understand and because she has stories like no one has ever heard. Much like Gilbert, AWAE makes their version more of a loner.

2. Activist

Anne in the book stands up for herself, she does, but not in the way of Anne in AWAE. In AWAE, Anne has all sorts of causes; she fights for feminism, gay rights, foxes (I want to say environmentalism, but she doesn’t value the lives of chickens, so I hesitate), and treating everyone the same regardless of race or culture. Anne speaks loud and proud in the show on all of these issues. Anne in the book does have convictions, but she is just not that loud. She does not speak against gender inequality. The only cause she really speaks out about at all is treating children right. 

Anne in AWAE is more of an activist than the Anne in the book. While the Anne of the book may organize a letter writing campaign, the Anne of the show would be leading a march with signs and a bullhorn. The show has a far more outspoken Anne.

3. Good in Everyone

This one is sort of related to the first. Anne in the book assumes the good in everyone which is why she makes friends with some of the least liked people. In the show, they keep in her relationship with Aunt Josephine, but Aunt Josephine in the show is also changed so as to not be one of the least liked people. Instead of a selfish prideful woman, she is just a sad lonely woman who lost her soulmate. In the show, Anne has difficulty seeing the good in the people as evidenced in the number of people she does not get along with. Sure Anne doesn’t like Josie in the books, but the Anne of the show also doesn’t get along with Mr. Phillips, the pastor, all the boys who aren’t Gilbert or Cole, and most of the mothers. I’m guessing this change is related to Anne’s childhood trauma.

The Anne of the show is less friendly and has less friends than the Anne of the book. Perhaps she is automatically guarded or maybe her triggers or oddities threw them off. Or maybe some of them just don’t like an activist telling them to change. Regardless, Anne in the show comes across much more on her own than the Anne of the book who is generally well-regarded.

Similar

1. Romantic

I had to put this on both, because this is one trait the adaptations hit on the nail. Anne in AWAE, like Anne in the book, is memorized by the world around her. She fixes each flaw she sees with her imagination. Her capacity for creativity abounds which can be seen in her artistry in the pageant and her work in school. 

2. Intelligent

AWAE does a good job of showing that Anne is smart. They have her rise through the ranks at school, like in the book, but they do much more. Her conversations with adults meet them phrase for phrase and she cleverly devises plans, like when she saved Ruby’s house or Diana’s sister. She is just as, and truly far more, intelligent as any boy in her town.

3. Confident

In the book, Anne believes in herself, even if she doesn’t always have the highest self-esteem. Anne in AWAE also has confidence. She speaks with boldness. In the book, Anne is willing to talk in front of her class or to the pastor’s wife and is not intimidated. Such is the Anne in AWAE. 

Which Anne is More Like the Book?

I think Meagan Follows’ portrayal better captures the character. Sure, all the stuff in the Continuing Story was dumb and I don’t like that she liked an old guy, but ultimately she reminds me more of Anne. When I read the books, Follows’ Anne voice is heard in my head for her breathy romantic quality so well fits the idealistic character. Her character’s interaction with the other characters also fits the Anne of the book well. Anne of the miniseries gets along well with Marillia with little doubt of Marilla’s affection, her and Diana are chums, and she pretty much gets along with everyone.

AWAE’s Anne doesn’t quite beat Follows’ Anne for me because of her trauma and activism. Neither are bad, per se, they just are not in the book. McNulty’s Anne is much more alone and odd and outspoken than the Anne in the book.

So, that’s my take. What do you think?

Thank you to everyone who suggested this post! @lillypedalsxx @filmmakerdream @thetraveler10