There are things I really love in story, that I know very well other people are sick of. Those narratives still speak to me, I still get value from them, even though others may have moved on.
There are narratives I, personally, am done with. Though I remember needing those narratives to help me find my way. The “misfit kid finds a group of people that understand him or her” narrative. The “adults have ruined everything, now it’s up to this band of kids to solve the problem” narrative. Those are useful, I have used them, but I’m done.
Yet, there is a narrative that has always been popular and seems to be having a resurgence on what passes for my television these days, that I have never cared much for. This is the “young woman is murdered, entire show is about how and why and who, for umpteen episodes.” Mayday seems to have this premise. The Killing. There are others, I’m sure, that I am not paying attention to.
I love stories about women. I seek them out. But I have a strong preference for those stories to feature said woman as something more than a prop for the evils and redemption of others.
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