Seven Seasons of Buffy: Science Fiction and Fantasy Authors Discuss Their Favorite Television Show (Smart Pop series) (27 page)

This is Buffy’s story—the hard, harsh, demanding, arduous life of the magician-in-training, which is closely parallel to the training of a martial-arts master.

One of the well-known characteristics of a magical initiation
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is that after an Initiation, before the year is out, the Initiate’s life falls apart. We’ve seen this happen to Buffy repeatedly.

She arrives in Sunnydale and is rejected by those she considers her social peers (“Dead Man’s Party,” 4-2). She lost Angel, acquired a mysterious sister and lost her only-child status, lost her mother, and even lost Giles (“Once More, With Feeling,” 6-7).

She dropped out of college with no profession that can earn money—having no visible means of support is the hallmark of the High Initiate. She has even acquired an inner planes master (the First Slayer)—a demanding ancestral presence lurking on the astral plane pushing and guiding toward wisdom.

If you’ve read the books by Carlos Castaneda on the Yaqui way to power (an American Indian Tradition),
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you will see that Buffy’s life does put her through the series of initiations Castaneda is put through by his Yaqui teacher.

Willow on the other hand has not been treading the initiatory path while she’s been learning how to do magic.

So, by comparison, Willow’s life has been relatively (only relatively)
stable. She lost Oz (“Wild at Heart,” 4-6), but went on. She acquired Tara—truly a surprise though not a shock to discover she’s now gay,
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an identity change, though not creating any self-loathing or rejection by her peers.

But Tara, as odd as her family is, is not the same kind of challenge for Willow that Buffy faces when falling in love, or lust, with a vampire or a soldier who hunts demons.

Willow has not had an easy time of it. She has suffered. She has dared. And she’s failed ignominiously a few times. But Willow’s response to any failure is to acquire more knowledge and more power.

Buffy’s response to stress, strain, trials, tests, grief, and failure is to look within, to question who she is, to fight against the destiny of the Slayer (“I want a normal life!”) and to reconcile herself to the sacrifices her destiny demands (“I’ll do what I have to do.”) In contrast, Willow tends to look at these same kinds of events as entirely external problems to be solved, or opportunities to gain knowledge or power.

Willow has steadily acquired magical power but without going through the mystical symbolic initiations that have tempered Buffy. She has been able to bring up enough power to solve the group’s problems—and always magic provides an easy and definitive, external solution to the problem of the day.
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Her value to the group lies in her knowledge and power. She can find out anything and fix anything.
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Lured, seduced by such rewards, she has reached for more and more power—and at last acquired more than she can handle. Why? What’s the difference between Buffy and Willow?

Buffy, we have seen from the very beginning, has a robust sense of self-esteem. Though her mother is divorced, and refuses to notice Buffy’s oddities, she has provided the kind of nurturing that has allowed Buffy to develop self-confidence and an inner strength.

Willow, on the other hand, shows through body language, tone of voice, use of eyes, style of dress, hairdo, and social awkwardness that she does not have that kind of inward self-confidence.

We aren’t told why—her parents are not visible enough for analysis. We do see that Willow hardly ever mentions her family, and the bare glimpses we’ve had of her mother
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only reinforce the notion that her parents aren’t part of her life and haven’t been for a long time.

But it doesn’t matter why Willow starts out as the quintessential geek, buried in her computer, with razor-sharp intellect, cutting right through all her schoolwork without noticing it’s there. She takes to Giles’s books like a duck to water, and remembers what she reads (and reads at blazing speed).

Given that much sheer brain power, how could Willow not have the easy social presence and confident manner that Buffy has? Because the product of her intellect (good grades, etc.) has never solved whatever emotional problem lurks at the depths of her personality.

This is a very common situation—in fact to some extent anyone can relate to this problem. We all have some talent, some power, some attribute that we develop early in life to execute our “coping strategy.”

In psychology, “coping strategy” is the term for how we deal with challenges, difficulties, and “life.” For example, when confronted by bullies, some people run away, some retreat without turning their backs, some bluster and shout to intimidate the bullies, and some wade right in and kick ass. When confronted by an abusive spouse, some people appease and blame themselves for the other’s behavior, and some just leave.

Generally, what a person does in response to a challenge is determined by what has worked well for that person in early childhood. In the teen years, coping strategies are developed, honed, practiced, and mastered to the point where the twentysomething people don’t even realize they have them. It just seems like the only right response.

Buffy is an ass-kicker—that’s her coping strategy. When she was the social queen of her school, she out-dressed, out-insulted, out-clique-gathered, and out-flirted everyone. When she became the Slayer, she out-punched, out-staked, out-kicked, and out-sassed the vampires. The smart remarks are the holdover from her social-queen days, a brilliant piece of writing.
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Willow is a conflict-avoider and, as some self-help books would term it, an appeaser. In the very first episode, when Buffy introduces herself to Willow, Willow’s first thought is that Buffy wants her seat, and she is prepared to give it to her.

Typically, the appeaser personality tends to be preoccupied with issues involving status, and power, and the idea that power confers status, which releases one from the need to appease someone who is more powerful. For example, Willow says “I’m not your sidekick” in a tone that indicates a sidekick is someone with less status or power.

When confronted with an angry person, Willow tries to soothe them. When confronted with a problem, she does research. Her power is intellectual. In high school, she avoided social situations, stuck with the boy-next-door for a friend, and gravitated to Buffy’s crowd because they valued her intellectual abilities.

Willow is a person who thirsts for an external acknowledgment of her value, but fears that acknowledgment as well. Although this is built into every episode from the beginning, it is verbalized finally in season six. Willow actually tells Buffy she only feels useful when using magic. Without the magic, she’s simply an ordinary human who is only in the way.

The pain of that conflict was not assuaged by her intellectual abilities, so when she was offered a plum of a scholarship, she turned it down to stay in Sunnydale with Buffy, fighting vampires and demons.

At that point, she was in the midst of developing a new coping strategy, or rather a refinement of the one that had always worked for her. Willow was feeling the awakening of her magical powers, which depend on the ability to concentrate—an ability she had honed to perfection hiding from life within her computer.

Most likely, Willow was unaware of why magic was so alluring to her subconscious mind. It was a renewed hope that here at last was the tool she could use to become self-confident, to find her self-esteem, to define her identity, to cause the world to accept her—or at least stop forcing her to appease.

When she entered college, she had already had a taste of wielding magic, but she knew she didn’t have access to the information she needed. So she was drawn into investigating witchcraft. She found a very ordinary college group and a woman even more shy than herself,
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someone who didn’t have to be appeased, but who would do the appeasing—at least at first.

When Willow discovered that, in addition to being more shy than herself, Tara was the genuine article—a real magic-user schooled and trained in the craft—Tara became the instant love of Willow’s life. It was not a healthy relationship from the very beginning.

How can that be? How can the most beautiful and perfect relationship on this show be unhealthy at the core?

Tara had knowledge and skill in magic, but apparently lacked the training to be an initiator. She was still very much a student and not qualified to be a high priestess. She could not lead Willow to self-confidence because she had none herself. She became Willow’s tool in the relentless pursuit of power for power’s sake.

She appeased Willow—which melted Willow into total adoration—and very often that appeasement was done by allowing Willow to have access to Tara’s knowledge, and, through joint rituals, directly to her personal power—much more power than Willow was prepared to channel.

In other words, this relationship is unhealthy because it is a prime example of a codependent
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relationship. Willow supplies Tara with the confidence of belonging to a peer group, thus allowing her to avoid tackling her shyness. Tara supplies Willow with magical power to augment her intellectual power, so Willow can repeat the unsuccessful coping strategy of her childhood—using her intellectual power to gain acceptance. This time she substitutes magical power for intellectual power, as if that would make a difference.

Tara comes to wisdom first, however, possibly because of her family background. When she saw Willow becoming addicted to using magic, she practiced “tough love” and left Willow
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in spite of how much it hurt both of them. If you study the psychology of addiction and the process of breaking addiction—where the term “tough love” is used extensively—you will find that such a leaving is absolutely the final, last resort to help a person come to their senses. There is no act of love more convincing than tough love. It is Tara’s initiation of sacrifice.

But, from Willow’s point of view, this separation was only provisional—“just until you get a grip on yourself”—not the absolute, total
and irretrievable loss that Willow so needed at that point to begin her Becoming—to begin her initiatory path.

By applications of intellect or magic, Willow has been able to avoid the consequences of her actions time and again. She needs the initiation of confronting the whole, total, irreversible, irretrievable, consequence of her choices.

Buffy had to choose to send Angel to Hell. And she had to live through the consequences of that choice. When Angel returns from Hell, he lurks awhile, and then leaves permanently. She chose not to cling to Riley—and by the time she changed her mind it was too late. When Buffy makes a decision about fighting the monsters, it changes the world, permanently. Her actions have irreversible consequences and she’s learned to live with that.

Willow had Oz walk out on her—but again, it’s only temporary—only because he needs to get a handle on his shifting and his beast. We all expect to see him come back. Willow had Tara walk out on her, but again, only until Willow gets a grip on her problem. Now Tara is dead—but not as a direct consequence of a free will choice that Willow has made. In all these critical instances, the situation Willow is in has been caused by someone else’s choice, not Willow’s.

This kind of a life pattern does not equip one to handle great power. It makes one the victim of power, should it ever materialize — as money, position, weaponry, or even magic.

Though Willow’s friends are supportive of her attempt to cope with her addiction, they see Willow’s condition as similar to that of an alcoholic. Nothing could be further from the truth.

For a magician, the breath is the power. Life itself is power. Every thought, every emotion, manifests in far-reaching ways. A magician cannot take a step without the earth trembling. It is like physical strength. A very strong man has to turn a door handle very, very gently so as not to break it off. A magician must tread lightly through the world, leaving not a trace, for the alternative is to leave a swath of destruction behind.

Willow is not addicted to magic. Willow is addicted to the surging hope that this deed or the next or the next will finally assuage her inner pain.

The cure is to find that inner pain, penetrate it to the underlying fear, confront that fear, find the little person inside the fear (the child within) and love that little person.

Willow has to learn to accept herself, accept her own inadequacies,
her intellect, and her talent for magic and by the series finale, she apparently does.

To achieve that, she had to have her standard, tried and true coping strategy of appeasement destroyed, and be left naked before the world with no way to cope.

The death of Tara has the potential to do this for Willow because it is permanent. Willow’s first move upon finding Tara dead was to appeal to a god who could restore Tara as Buffy was restored. She did everything she could to appease that great power, and it didn’t work.

Left with no one to turn to, no one to appease, and all that power burning holes in her soul, Willow finally surges forth into a more mature and aggressive Willow.

But typically for an appeaser who has so much power that she becomes the one who must be appeased, she fastens on the motive of revenge. She has the power to kill a human being, and she proceeds to do so without mercy.

Many fans see this as Willow’s character changing, but that isn’t what’s happened. The seeds of this moment have been there since the first time we ever saw Willow. In that moment of murder for revenge,
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Willow’s character has come to full maturity.