A Different Kind of Damsel: One Fan’s Journey Toward Liking Sansa Stark

I met George R.R. Martin once. Back in 2011, I was at Professor Thom’s Bar in New York City, settling in for a new episode of Game of Thrones with a beer and a plate of waffle fries. Before the episode started, a small group walked in and grabbed the couches next to mine. At the center of the group was a bearded man in overalls.

I had brought along my paperback copy of A Game of Thrones. Originally, I wanted to go into the show cold without any knowledge of the source material and judge it for what it was, but after Jaime Lannister threw Bran out that tower window, I needed to know what was coming. Looking over at the couch next to me, the bearded man in overalls looked familiar. I flipped to the back of the book to the author’s photograph, and I tried to subtly motion to my husband between my book and the very real George R.R. Martin sitting on the couch next to me. His eyes widened, and we both gave each other a look that said, “Stay cool, don’t panic…it’s just George R.R. Martin, sitting on the couch next to us.”

We managed to hold it together as patrons came over to shake his hand and bartenders brought him free drinks, and throughout the episode, he laughed and cheered along with the rest of the crowd, seemingly pleased with the show’s adaptation of his work. After the episode was over, I finally worked up the courage to say hello and ask him for an autograph. He graciously signed my book, and I told him that I loved the character of Arya because she reminded me of my sister. He chuckled and suggested that if my sister is Arya, perhaps I am the Sansa of the family. My face turned red, and I insisted that no, I am nothing like Sansa. Sansa is a weak, silly, empty-headed girl more obsessed with manners and marrying Joffrey. Heaven forbid.

Today, I am caught up on the books, all the way up through A Dance with Dragons, and my opinion of Sansa has changed enormously. My opinion of women in fantasy has changed too, and I now realize why I once found it so much easier to love Arya than to love Sansa.

At first glance, the answer seems simple. Arya is clever, and often a good judge of character—she immediately pegs Joffrey as an evil, spoiled brat, and rightly so. Despite only having a few fighting lessons, she holds onto everything that she learned from Syrio, and after she travels to Braavos, she becomes far more deadly than even she could have imagined. Everyone wants her on their team, no matter what the game. If Westeros was picking kickball teams, Arya definitely wouldn’t be the last one chosen.

Arya fits the hero type that I grew up reading about in fantasy books. She is a woman of action. When everything goes to hell in King’s Landing, she grabs her sword and gets out of there as fast as her legs can carry her. She travels in disguise and survives every trial she encounters. She hangs out with the Hound for a good part of A Storm of Swords, and he’s a dangerous alcoholic who killed a kid and used to work for the Lannisters. In the otherwise dark and desperate world of Westeros, Arya is a bit of a wish fulfillment fantasy for young girls.

My biggest mistake regarding Sansa was mistaking her decisions as indicative of passivity or inaction. Her actions leading up to the death of her father were foolish, but after Ned Stark’s beheading, both Sansa and Arya make choices calculated to ensure their own survival. Arya might seem braver to grab her sword and escape Kings Landing, but she does it because she knows she cannot survive if she stays. Her temper is too quick. She doesn’t have Sansa’s patience or the ability to guard her emotions, or at least not yet. If she had stayed, Arya would have met a bloody death like her father. She would have run in recklessly just like she tried to do at the Twins and the Red Wedding, and even if she managed to take a soldier or two with her, it would have been a waste of her life.

On the other hand, Sansa stays because she knows she cannot survive on the streets of Kings Landing or on her own in the wilderness. But unlike Arya, she can survive in among the upper crust of the royal city. Though she is closely guarded by the Lannisters, she probably could have escaped if she wanted to, but Sansa is smart enough to know that leaving Kings Landing isn’t enough. If she left, mercenaries would hunt her down and return her to Cersei for a reward.

Rather than run in with sword swinging, Sansa takes an approach more in line with the ones followed by Varys or Petyr Baelish. She withdraws and makes herself seem demure and unthreatening. Readers probably mistake this choice for passivity because Sansa is a beautiful young girl, which makes it easy to assume that she is a helpless maiden awaiting rescue. I completely disagree. Sansa makes Cersei believe that she has won so that Cersei will turn her attention elsewhere and leave her alone, and then she can plan a real escape through an advantageous marriage. It is a plan, one that ultimately fails, but it’s a plan nonetheless. Her betrothal to Tyrion isn’t only about ending his womanizing or binding their houses together. Their marriage is also intended to kill Sansa’s last hope of leaving. I don’t think Sansa would ever have taken Dontos’ escape plan seriously if Cersei had not married Sansa off to Tyrion.

Sansa is not a fighter like Arya, which makes it harder for readers to connect with her journey, but I believe it is completely intentional that Sansa is with Petyr while Arya is training in Braavos. Both of them have the chance to hone their natural talents from a true master. Under the tutelage of the Faceless Men, Arya is becoming a deadly assassin, and if Sansa watches and learns from Littlefinger, she could become a master manipulator. Petyr overcame his low birth and rose to be Master of Coin. If there is anyone in the kingdom who could help Sansa rise above her circumstances and end up on top, or at least alive, by the end of it all, it’s him.

I admire Sansa for being a survivor and for having the potential to surprise everyone in Westeros. Now when I look back on the night that I met George R.R. Martin, I’m no longer embarrassed by his suggestion that was a Sansa, because I know that being a Sansa doesn’t make a person weak. In a book series that continually subverts fantasy tropes and character types, Sansa is perhaps Martin’s best hat trick of all, hiding a cunning politician-in-training underneath a damsel in distress.

• Published on 04/04/2015 at 1:00 PM CDT
• Last updated on 04/04/2015 at 1:49 AM CDT