In Defense of Cersei Lannister

I am no stranger to lady crushes. In fact, I am a lady crush connoisseur.

Throughout the course of my life, I have been obsessed with an array of famous women including, but not limited to, Bea Arthur, Bette Davis and the ever-so illustrious Sharon Stone. If they’ve got a sharp wit or a scent of danger, they’ve probably featured on my Tumblr. My friends know that when I speak the name “Sharon,” I am by no means referring to a personal friend of mine (or anyone I have ever met). So when the “Sh” sound leaves my mouth, they know to tune out immediately.

But now my friends dread another name: Cersei. The name rolls off my tongue as easily as “I” or “bread,” my two other most commonly used words. Yes, Cersei Lannister from HBO’s Game of Thrones, the Queen Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, known for her murderous and merciless antics, ambitious power plays, and striking cheekbones. She is also known for her incestuous relationship with her brother, but that need not be discussed here …

After a nine-month hiatus, the third season of Game of Thrones premieres Sunday, March 31. My allegiance to Cersei has not waned since that June finale, after which I started and promptly finished George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series, the books on which the show is based. I basked in the glow of the imaginary Cersei that I hadn’t known through actress Lena Headey’s exceptional portrayal.

I followed her as she further descended into a shriveling ball of madness and paranoia, as her plans went horribly wrong, as she continuously revealed herself as an inept handler of power. I needed no further proof — this was a character to love.

I can’t help but think that if I were a Roman in gladiator times, I would have been one of those spectators crying out, “Get him! GET HIM!” When it comes to television, I am a seasoned voyeur: I demand no distractions in hopes that I will be able to immerse myself entirely. When I can immerse myself. I feel that rush that comes from complete identification with a character (despite the possibility that they might be discussing activities such as beheading and the like). The wonderful thing about fantasy television is that emotions and plots are so dramatic that these connections come easily.

It only took a couple of episodes, then, for my Cersei obsession to cement. I knew she would join my ranks of spirit animals when I watched her peruse Winterfell with a look like she smelled something rank — I am also wholly incapable of masking what I am feeling (often, annoyance).

My obsession became serious when Cersei told her (obnoxious) husband, King Robert, “I should wear the armor, and you the gown.” All of the pieces fell together: I realized that Cersei was desperately trying to escape the confines of her gender. And aren’t we all, ladies? Perhaps in less dramatic fashion, but still.

Accordingly, there was (and is) no turning back: “Anyone who isn’t us is the enemy;” “Power is power.” Each statement is more grandiose than the next, and all solidify my understanding that Cersei wants the power that her gender can’t afford her. Pretty soon, I was ordering posters and changing my desktop background.

It’s no wonder that so many viewers hate Cersei – she is the quintessentially misunderstood character, more complex than the average hero or even the average villain. We’re supposed to like Jon Snow because he’s the underdog. We’re supposed to hate Tywin Lannister because he’s a bad father to fan favorite Tyrion. We’re supposed to hate Cersei because she’s manipulative and incestuous, and because she manages to love that rotten ball of tripe, King Joffrey. But isn’t that a boring way to watch television?

HBO didn’t become one of the most critically acclaimed premium cable networks by disregarding the audiences’ love for the battle of good versus evil. From a one-dimensional perspective, Game of Thrones presents that battle. A more savvy viewer will see that every character is morally ambiguous (except the irredeemable Joffrey). While Cersei has her bad moments, she was clearly raised to be manipulative and power-hungry. She is jealous of Jaime, who wages wars while she sits at Robert’s side. Instead of expressing her frustrations like a normal person, she doles out punishment. While this isn’t the right way to go about things, if I were married to an insufferable man, unable to assert control, I would probably kill someone, too. At the very least, I’d get snarky with a sibling.

Season three will cast Cersei in an even more unsympathetic light, but I will stand by her. She is like all of us in some way — quick to anger, prone to bad decision-making, jealous, bored with it all. Socially configured: That’s the kind of character I like. Don’t give me a Jon Snow and expect me to be entertained or provoked to thought. Give me a hot mess of humanity and let me pick it apart for myself.