Joseph Campbell’s The Hero With a Thousand Faces is likely quite well known to anyone who has ever studied literature, an exploration of the archetypal themes and narratives found in world myths. His theory has been embraced by many modern writers and artists: George Lucas, for example, frequently discussed the influence of his work on the Star Wars films.
But while Campbell’s idea of the hero’s journey has become a staple when it comes to how we understand the art of storytelling, it predominantly fits male experiences and doesn’t account for the unique challenges women face. In The Queen’s Path: A Revolutionary Guide to Women’s Empowerment and Sovereignty, Dr. Stacey Simmons argues that women’s stories, which are shaped by very different societal and cultural experiences, require a different narrative framework. According to her, women deserve an archetypal journey of their own, focused on overcoming patriarchy and achieving sovereignty on their own terms, telling their own stories in the process. A “Queen’s Path”, if you will.
Here’s how the publisher describes the book.
In this book, psychotherapist Dr. Stacey Simmons explores the tracks women are placed on that turn them against themselves at a young age. Using fairy tales, stories, films, television, musicals, and the lives of her patients, Dr. Simmons reveals an ancient pattern hidden in plain sight for over a thousand years. She named it The Queen’s Path, and in this book she explains how it has been used against women for millennia, and how women can turn the pattern to their advantage, and use it themselves to overcome obstacles and become the rightful queens of their own lives.
Sovereignty—the ability to advocate for, and ultimately direct one’s own life—is the realm every person longs for. There is a path to sovereignty for every woman who wants it, if she’ll only place her glass slipper along The Queen’s Path.
The Queen’s Path will hit shelves on November 5, but we’ve got an exclusive excerpt for you right now, which dives into the disparity that exists between male and female heroes in storytelling, using Lucas’s Star Wars as an example.
The Problem with the Heroine’s Journey
My mom says I can’t be a Jedi because I’m a girl.
My eight-year-old brain screamed, “Garbage! I can be anything. There absolutely would be girl Jedis! They don’t live on Earth. Jedis live all over the universe. Why wouldn’t there be girl Jedis in worlds that have very different rules and customs than ours?” But in the original 1977 film, there are no girl Jedis. In fact, there are only two women of note: Princess Leia, who is one of the lead characters, and Luke’s Aunt Beru, who we only meet for a moment. Neither are Jedis. So, sigh, my mom was right.
Yes, in later films, there are women Jedis walking around, in council meetings, and so on. But in the 1970s, there were none. If we look at the journey that Princess Leia takes in the original Star Wars movie, she is neither a hero nor a heroine. She goes through two different stages in the film. She is a damsel in distress needing to be saved, and later she is a feisty military operator, butting up against a scoundrel/pirate to return the stolen plans of the Death Star to her people. When the hero’s quest is over, she presides over a royal ceremony to honor Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, and Chewbacca for saving the Alliance.
What were the different experiences that Leia and Luke were living out on screen? Luke is the orphaned hero who is cast out from his family’s protection onto the road of the quest. He is aided by a magical teacher, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and meets several helpers along the way. Leia is aided by Luke, Obi-Wan, and Han Solo as well. But her journey is not to gain a secret, but freedom and sovereignty for herself and her people. Luke is a hero. Leia is not a heroine but a Queen.
The Hero’s Journey has become pervasive. The idea became part of modern storytelling parlance in the late 1980s thanks to the work of Janelle Balnicke, Phil Cousineau, William Free, Bill Moyers, and Christopher Vogler. Their books and films examined the different aspects of Campbell’s influence. Their works skyrocketed the Hero’s Journey from an abstract concept in mythological theory and philosophy to an organizing principle across multiple domains from filmmaking to psychotherapy. In the last several years, a “science of heroism” has emerged based on the Hero’s Journey. The program isn’t quite a flighty woo-fest; it’s part of the curriculum at Stanford Graduate School of Business.
Like other areas where the male default doesn’t quite fit women’s stories, the Hero’s Journey doesn’t match the contours of women’s experience. Where is the part of the journey where the hero has to fight off unwanted sexual advances? How about the part where the heroine has to convince the reluctant crew that she knows how to sail a ship or captain a star cruiser? What about the pregnancy scare after a night of romantic conquest? In the heroes’ lives we are familiar with, we never see these played out. Alfred doesn’t turn to Batman before a night of vigilante justice and say, “Do you really need that donut?” Perry White doesn’t turn to Clark Kent and say, “Do you really want to work as a reporter here? Won’t it interfere with marriage and kids?” Spiderman isn’t told to smile more. Luke Skywalker doesn’t have to worry that his pursuit of mastering the force will make him unmarriageable. When Zorro takes on the colonizing Spanish nobility, no one double-checks him to see if they really are cheating the peasants, and no one presumes that Harrison Ford can’t carry an Indiana Jones movie at 80 years of age.
The hero has his own mythic structure. Campbell himself called the Hero’s Journey the monomyth of human experience. Except, it’s mostly the man-o-myth experience. We know the structure well. Depending on which expert on Joseph Campbell’s original work you follow, there are anywhere from 9 to 17 steps in the Hero’s Journey. Campbell himself characterized it rather simply in discussing the overall structure.
A hero ventures forth from the world of common day into a region of supernatural wonder: fabulous forces are there encountered, and a decisive victory is won: the hero comes back from this mysterious adventure with the power to bestow boons on his fellow man.
Simple, right? Boy leaves home for adventure, boy encounters trials, boy has losses, boy makes manly decision(s); boy is transformed, becomes man, and teaches other boys how to become men.
Because the story of the hero is the story of men in patriarchy, women in patriarchy are not obvious heroes or heroines. There have been many women writers who have attempted to adapt the Hero’s Journey structure for women. The sentiment is in the right place, “Wait, women are important! Women need adventure! Women can bring back just as much meaning as men!” My answer to these protestations is that they are correct in their critique. Women are certainly capable of anything a man can accomplish. But it is the question that is wrong. It’s not because women aren’t capable that we are ostracized, but because the title of hero is not won through personal trial and subsequent success in the quest. The title of hero is given to the person who through the quest acquires a truth, and then shares it with their community. And in most cultures, women aren’t trusted to bestow a boon or share the elixir of life. In our stories, and in our lived experience, men don’t want the women around them teaching them the ways of the force or showing them up in a glorious pursuit.
Arguments for Women Heroes
People want there to be a path for women to be heroes and heroines. I get that. But the Hero’s Journey as a model for women’s narratives is challenging. It simply doesn’t meet the lived experience of women. It’s not because women can’t do the hero’s work. It is because culture expects very different behavior from us. The woman who steps on the Hero’s Journey is an outsider from the outset. She doesn’t fit the model of what the world expects of women. Yes, she is there to change that. But she can’t do that work the same way Luke Skywalker or Indiana Jones does it. While we may place women in similar roles and in similar jobs, the vast majority of people, men and women alike, don’t want to see women in those roles (for an examination, see the Melissa McCarthy–led Ghostbusters reboot and the backlash, or ask someone what they think of Hillary Clinton). A woman can be a hero or heroine, but she first must take the Queen’s Path and achieve sovereignty—otherwise, she’s just an interloper on the Hero’s Journey.
I’ve had this argument many times with people. These folks are well meaning. They argue passionately for the role of women heroes. But for me, it is not that the women aren’t capable; it’s that society doesn’t want them there. A woman who finds herself called to the quest must first eschew all the tropes and expectations and determine her own sovereign path. She must free herself before she can free anyone else. The presumption that women take the same road is to ignore the different structural impediments that men and women face on their road to self-realization.
The underlying argument is not that women aren’t capable of being heroes; it is that culture doesn’t want to see us that way. And ultimately the role of hero is to go and learn something profound and deep that you then share with your people. If no one wants what you’re sharing, the Hero’s Journey isn’t meaningful. It’s not a Hero’s Journey; it’s just a trial of misery with no meaning.
Women have our own archetypal structure, or to use Campbell’s term, monomyth. Our journeys include the impact of the patriarchy as well as the way of overcoming it. Anyone who wishes to live their lives according to their own will rather than a narrow set of expectations is free to do so. What they need is a set of instructions. Women are changing the world. We can make these changes for ourselves, our children, and men. First, though, we have to tell our own stories. That begins with an archetypal journey that focuses on women’s experiences, not one that adapts a man’s monomyth and tries to force a woman to ignore the cultural, social, familial, and biological forces that make her care about her role, her destiny, and her legacy. We are Queens, and by reclaiming our rights to our own unique journeys, we can remake the world. Like the pieces on a chessboard, the Queen has more power, more maneuverability, and more flexibility. She moves in ways that kings, bishops, and soldiers cannot. When we learn to see the game, and break it, we can claim a territory for ourselves that before this moment had only been available to a king.
The Queen’s Path: A Revolutionary Guide to Women’s Empowerment and Sovereignty will be released on November 5, but you can pre-order it right now.
Lacy Baugher Milas is the Books Editor at Paste Magazine, but loves nerding out about all sorts of pop culture. You can find her on Twitter @LacyMB
