Doctors Prefer Lesbians: An Exploration of the Relationships between the 12th Doctor and Bill Potts

The Doctor has never been good at dealing with the relationships of his companions.  From the First Doctor, when he pretty much swept Susan out of the TARDIS, shoeless and with nothing but love in her heart and the clothes on her back, to the Twelfth official incarnation in Peter Capaldi when he gave Clara the cold shoulder for an entire season and then ignored her pain for another season for having and losing a relationship with Danny, we’ve seen some pretty passive-aggressive and downright odd behaviors in the Doctor when his companions seek companionship outside of him.

And then we had were given Season 10, wrapped up like a gift, and things changed.

It could be said that the Doctor learned from his experiences with Clara and her relationships, yet the Doctor has had all memory of Clara erased, so something else is causing his general aplomb over finding out Bill’s been having a strange experience with another college student, his ability to take human love in stride and even express empathy over Bill’s losing Heather at the end.  Heather is even a small part of why the Doctor decides to start traveling again, and asking Bill to go with him–he is once again willing to entertain the possibilities of the universe, instead of just repeating that she’s not human anymore and that’s that.

Bill, as every fan who’s seen season 10 should know by know, is openly gay, the first of the Doctor’s companions to be, so to speak, canonically gay, even though there are a few others who had bisexual or homosexual encounters written into their stories–most notably Ace.  The question is, then, does this have an effect on how the Doctor treats Bill?

The answer is, of course, that the Doctor treats each of his companions differently, and treats everyone differently depending upon which regeneration he’s in, but it seems that the Doctor is not only supportive but empathetic of Bill’s crushes and relationship woes in a way he never was previously, even going back to the Classic era.  The most notable relationship that was actually written into the show in the ’70s was Jo Grant’s meeting and eventually deciding to marry Dr. Clifford Jones in The Green Death.

Anyone who’s seen that story will recall that the Doctor was disbelieving at first when Jo wanted to go off to Wales to work with Jones instead of going with him to Metabilis 3, and then openly suspicious of Jones when finally drawn to Wales himself.  The Doctor was taken aback when Jo decided to get married and stop working with him, as though he simply didn’t understand how a mere romantic relationship could trump what he and Jo already had.

3rd Doctor and Jo Grant, with from Deep Breath originally spoken by the 12th Doctor and Clara
Hints of a future incarnation, perhaps?

Years pass, Doctor Who goes on a lengthy hiatus, and then the 9th Doctor returns, to meet another young blond who doesn’t yet know much about the world but is willing to go off on adventures with him.  The Doctor this time falls into the paramour role, particularly in his 10th incarnation, trying on the role of the lover as though he’s tired of being left out and wants to know what it is humans are constantly getting so worked up about.

Predictably, it doesn’t end well, but the Doctor bounces back and meets a nice young doctor who has a crush on him but makes the decision to separate herself from him, and in the ensuing departure the Doctor actually seems to learn something important about human relationships that will have a significant impact on his next regeneration.

Enter the 11th Doctor, whose reliance upon pantomime and bravado thinly disguises his inability to negotiate Amy’s relationship with Rory and what it means to be close to a young human woman without the complications of romance getting in the way.  The Doctor, after all, only decides to make sure Amy and Rory’s relationship doesn’t conveniently falter because there is something significant about her time and why he was pulled to her house with the scary crack in the wall and he’s worried that if anything changes because of him something terrible will happen.  But at least he hasn’t fallen into the old love trap like he did the last time.

The Doctor doesn’t seem terribly disturbed by Rory’s being forced to follow Amy around like a lovestruck orphan puppy, in much the same way Mickey did the same to Rose in series 1.  He seems to accept that heterosexual relationships among humans are unequal and in many ways deeply shaming for at least one half of the partnership.  Even as Rory gains traction and demonstrates his value as a real companion, his role is undercut by the drama, first of Amy’s being the mother of River Song and thus being the center of an entire season arc, and then of his own increasing desire not to be in the TARDIS anymore and lack of general enjoyment when he gets swept up into yet another adventure.  The Doctor doesn’t seem to mind as long as Amy is happy, and Amy seems to be happy until Rory gets sent back into the past by a weeping angel and she realizes she must choose real life if she ever wants to see him again, and even this ending undercuts Rory’s courage in ending his own life to create a paradox which saves himself and Amy.  The Doctor even tries to convince Amy to change her mind.

Clara’s relationship with Danny Pink was a disaster from the very beginning, not helped in the least by the Doctor’s view that he deserves to have an opinion about whom Clara dates; in this case there doesn’t seem to be anything significant about Danny or whether Clara is with him, and thus the Doctor has no rational reason–in his view–to support her in any way in this relationship.  Somehow, the Doctor even becomes face blind and doesn’t connect Orson Pink, whom he meets in “Listen,” with the very same Danny Pink who looks just like him.  It’s a very passive aggressive situation, not helped by the fact that often Clara only seems to be staying with both of them out of a contrarian desire to always be the best at everything.

With Clara, the Doctor seems to be at his most jealous, perhaps because she is the first human companion he’s had in hundreds of years who has come close to being an equal.  Clara’s character development resembles Ace’s, who was at one point being groomed to enter the Timelord Academy.  Clara, though she is no longer fragmented, is still something more than human, and for her to have such human urges as the one which drove her to seek a romantic relationship with Danny, is quite disturbing to the Doctor, who admits that may not understand humans at times but still believes he is deserving of honesty from his companions.

The tone of Series 9, the post-Danny series, is really set at the very beginning by Missy, when she explains the difference between Timelord and human relationships by comparing what the Doctor has with Clara to a lady and her pet dog.  Though Missy is generally unpredictable and often unhinged, she still grew up in Timelord society, and thus can speak to the more platonic, egalitarian relationships that she knew, and against which humanity will always fall short, in her estimation.  Too, though the Doctor has come to understand the power of human love in his many interactions with humans, he no doubt has a difficult time parsing the many nuances of relationships, particularly the heterosexual ones he’s witnessed as a majority and against which all his friendships with female humans necessarily are judged.  It may be possible that he’s always felt uncomfortable in the highly gendered human civilizations he’s encountered, and because he keeps regenerating into what humans consider male, found himself behaving like one out of constant social pressure–or simply having it rub off on him.

Which brings us back to Bill.  Given what we know about Timelord biology, and the fact that every Timelord has the potential to regenerate into a spectrum of genders and gender presentations, the Doctor’s understanding of relationships must be most comparable to what humans would describe as pansexual or bisexual, with the caveat that it was also most likely asexual/aromantic.  Indeed, given what we know about Timelord regeneration, it could be said that everything we understand about Timelord gender is false, and only judged through our own oppressively binary lens of gender.  It’s possible Timelords don’t even have gender, or that it doesn’t mean the same thing as it does to humans.  Referring specifically to the scene in “Hell Bent” in which the General regenerates into a female presentation and the guard refers to her as Ma’am instead of Sir, it’s entirely possible that the Timelords have absorbed a more binary form of address from those cultures with whom they have come in contact over the millenia, or even that whatever has been translated into English is just the best approximation of address that humans would understand.

Either way, the fact that Bill dates people of the same gender as herself must come through to the Doctor as a more equal sort of relationship, as he is able to judge these all-too-human functions, much like his relationship with the Master has always been–one in which they sparred, intellectually, for a sort of victory over each other, but in which both always respected and loved the other, to the point that when the Doctor thought he was dying he sent his confession dial to Missy, whom he considered his best friend.  Somehow the Doctor is more at ease in considering Bill’s potential relationships, and even in supporting them.  Just last week, in “Extremis,” the Doctor went out of his way to include a note about Penny in an email he sent himself from an alien computer simulation, so that he could tell Bill to call her, before it’s too late.  He’s never seemed compelled to push at Bill’s potential paramours, or conform to a semi-hostile heterosexual male posturing in the way he did with Mickey, Rory and Danny.  Even Jack often made the 9th and 10th Doctors seem more at ease–Jack’s disturbing inability to die aside–than some of his female companions did.  Perhaps the 10th Doctor’s manic effusion was directly related to the hetero mating urges of his companions.  He was considerably calmer and more measured when Donna Noble was in the TARDIS than with either Rose or Martha.

I believe that in his way the Doctor has always been a little in love–in his own way, in the same way he is in love with humanity in general–with all his companions, all the way back to Ian and Barbara, whether or not he would admit it, and to have to watch some of them fall into such petty things as heterosexual relationships, with their archaic mating rituals and painful lack of honesty until, generally, it’s too late, must have been particularly tiring for a Timelord who, although he’d left his people behind and often expressed distaste for them, was still raised on more egalitarian ideals.  I love that Timelord procreation and romantic relationships–if they exist–are still in the realm of mystery for viewers of the show, and that the Doctor really only brings out his feelings for his humans, who have such attachment to those sorts of things.  And I love that the Doctor and Bill’s relationship thus far has been so close, with often biting honesty, and that he has been so supportive of her in so many ways.

NW, by Zadie Smith

Most novels are about people, their struggles and conflicts
and relationships.  NW is about a place—specifically the NW
post code of London.  Just a little
north of the museums and parks and palaces that London is known for is a part
of the city that is defined by the people who live there now, not its history
or appeal to tourists.  In NW, everyone knows everyone, communities
are close-knit, almost claustrophobic, and trying to overcome one’s past is
nothing so simple as moving south of the river, or even changing one’s name.

Natalie
Blake and Leah Hanwell are the entry characters to NW’s twisting streets and maze-like estates, outlined by the
secondary stories of Nathan and Felix. 
The women are trying to overcome not only their origins but the
traditional gender roles that push them towards lives of domesticity, while
Nathan and Felix deal with the twofold hazard of being both black and male in a
society that always adds the two together and gets “criminal.”  The stories in NW could take place in many parts not only of England but also the
United States, however the way that Smith writes places the reader squarely in
a world she obviously knows well, making the reader feel all the cramped
council flats, the dirty streets, the crowded tube carriages. 

Within
the grim yet comic irony of Margaret Atwood, Smith weaves the epic fatalism of
Ernest Hemingway, and the geographical groundedness of James Joyce to create a
novel where dreams of something else collide with reality, over and over, in
much the same way that characters repeatedly collide with each other until the
simultaneously explosive and mundane conclusion.  Smith’s characters are richly realized and yet starkly
written, expertly drawn by the ways in which they act and interact with each
other.  Like Carver or Hemingway,
Smith uses language sparingly, allowing her characters to speak for
themselves. 

Readers
looking for a novel that isn’t afraid to broach difficult or awkward topics,
yet maintains a reverence and respect for the frailties of the human condition,
will fall in love with Zadie Smith’s scalpel wielding in cross-sectioning a
complicated community in NW.  Readers who enjoy stories set in London
will be fully immersed by the world Smith creates, and the vibrancy of her
characters.  Those interested in
stories of second-generation immigrant communities can’t help but be fascinated
by Smith’s rendering of complicated individuals seeking both escape and
validation from their families and origins in a novel that encompasses many
complicated layers of human nature and desire.

The Well, by Catherine Chanter

Readers might feel, upon jumping into
the well, that they had no idea what they were in for.  Ruth and Mark, who decide to leave the
London after allegations of pedophilia and viewing child pornography on his
work computer refuse to leave them alone, don’t know what they’re in for when
they buy The Well and decide to become farmers either.  The
Well
takes readers on a long, strange trip through the human psyche,
plumbing the depths of fear, rage, love, and religious zealotry. 

When the
temporary drought in England turns into years-long lack of water for most of
the country, it continues to rain at The Well.  Ruth and Mark at first thank their good fortune, but as
their neighbors grow increasingly hostile and suspicious, tensions—which they’d
thought long left behind in London—flair up between Ruth and Mark.  The rift between them is further driven
by the arrival first of Ruth’s daughter Angie, with her son Lucien and friends
they are traveling with, and then a mysterious religious group of four women
who want to worship at The Well. 

Told by
Ruth, who is under house arrest for a suspicious death that occurred at The
Well two months previous, The Well is
an all-too-prescient look at what could happen in the near future from climate
change.  Ruth is a sincere, though
non-reliable narrator trying to figure out the point at which it all went
wrong, and the reader is with her every step of the way, with every discovery
she makes.  While scientists crawl
over the fields and waterways of the The Well’s lands trying to solve the
mystery of the continuing rain, Ruth roams the cottage, the woods, the fields, trying
to find the evidence that will either release her or confirm her worst fears
about herself.

The Well will appeal to
near-future science fiction lovers interested in dystopia and the social
implications of climate change. 
Readers who enjoy mystery and psychological thrillers will find much to
love in Chanter’s claustrophobic ride through Ruth’s memories.  Families and relationships feature
strongly in this novel, which will appeal to readers who like character-driven
narratives that investigate how people relate to each other and what makes them
tick.  This is definitely a
recommended new novel for people looking to get caught up in a compelling
story.

The Stars Change, by Mary Anne Mohanraj

Mary Anne Mohanraj’s short novel The Stars Change imagines a world in
which all the promise of society has been—nominally—reached, placing its
inhabitants on the brink of an all-out war that could decide the fate of not
only their world but their entire known universe.  The Stars Change
plumbs the depths of the humanist philosophical debate, inviting the reader to
consider what parts of us—bodies, minds, emotions, intelligence, instinct,
urges—really make us human, and whether humanity is really the ideal for which
we all should strive. 

Taking
place on a world in which the largest university ever created—the University of
All Worlds—has been built as a place of learning and cooperation, The Stars Change alternates between the
points of view of a palette of characters both human and non-human—feline,
reptilian, insectoid, and more—with each person’s story intersecting and
setting off waves of consequence for those against whom they bump up.  Though the plot progression is linear, The Stars Change places emphasis on the
incidental—that which takes place at the same time, just before, or just after
a character’s experience—to show how even the smallest actions can have a deep
effect on others, especially the unknown other. 

At
first the novel may be difficult to get into, as the opening chapter is a
stream of consciousness from an unnamed actor.  The reader doesn’t find out until the end how the beginning
is relevant.  Mohanraj sketches
characters quickly, allowing readers to learn about them from each other’s
actions and reactions, from the way they think of others and in small
flashbacks throughout the tightly plotted action of the story.  Each character experiences desire,
fear, and need in their own ways. 
Mohanraj has created a story that allows all characters to be
individuals and yet take part in the sentient ecology of their world as part of
a larger whole.  Though characters
achieve greater self-knowledge and, in many instances greater peace with themselves,
by the end of the story, it is the reader who benefits most from the many
perspectives on consciousness and humanity that the characters bring.

Readers who enjoy far-future science
fiction that imagines humans and non-human life forms coexisting, as well as a
look at the future of medical technology, will enjoy the ways that Mohanraj
imagines the future.  Readers
looking for a future that includes underrepresented groups of people will also
enjoy the novel.  Adventurous
readers interested in human psychology what attracts people to each other will
find much to think about in The Stars
Change.