The character and series, beloved by so many, deserves more.
The Channel 4 adaptation of Candice Carty-Williams’s best-selling, wonderful novel Queenie has been hotly anticipated for years.
Released in 2019, the book was a lockdown hit, with many millennials relating deeply to the the break-ups, job worries and rifts with friends and family that contribute to the eponymous character’s “quarter-life crisis”.
But while the source material – and TV show – extend far beyond that, many conversations and reviews of both are quick to dismiss this by referring to Queenie – both character and story – predominantly as a “Black Bridget Jones“.
Carty-Williams herself initially came up with the comparison in the form of a tagline years ago (she worked in marketing before becoming an author). But the writer has since clarified that she suggested it because she thought a book like hers was a hard sell.
To push for representation and achieve as wide a readership as possible, Carty-Williams needed a well-known character to help potential readers relate to a new one, and Miss Jones proved to be the ultimate Trojan horse.
“Well, everyone has made the comparison to a Black Bridget Jones,” she told Stylist in an interview after the book was released. “That’s how I thought of her in the beginning, too. But this book is also naturally political just because of who Queenie is. She’s not Bridget Jones. She could never be.”
Sure, I can understand the likeness, to some extent. Queenie is a young, messy star of a romcom-esque story, working in the media in London and trying to find her way, often resulting in some cringey, uncomfortable and compromising situations.
She even goes to a party dressed as a bunny, just as Bridget does at the infamous tarts and vicars party.
But that mishap is a mere wry wink from Carty-Williams – who is also the showrunner and an executive producer on the series – and not a request for the character and show to be defined solely by that comparison.
By describing Queenie as a “Black Bridget Jones”, you limit her to a predefined romcom character and reduce her story to a slapstick comedy piece, and little else. And that, in turn, ignores the fact that Queenie remains a hit because the character and story resonate with a huge community, even outside of any romantic storyline.
The book and series look at issues surrounding consent, casual sex, the fetishisation of Black women and what happens when female validation stems predominantly from the male gaze.
The narrative interrogates racial bias in healthcare, gentrification across South London, particularly Brixton, and the long-term impact of trauma on relationships, as the protagonist struggles to forgive her mother for events that transpired when she was very young.
Queenie weaves in stories of the Windrush generation, of Black culture and heritage, and how they all inform her life, as well as other young women like her. It demonstrates the impact of everyday microaggressions – we see a small child trying to touch Queenie’s braided hair at a local lido and a young woman groping her behind, asking if it’s real.
Carty-Williams depicts how the “Strong Black Woman” stereotype is harmful, and portrays both the protagonist’s struggle with her mental health and the ways in which this is still often stigmatised in the Black community.
Queenie deals with a lot, so to solely define both novel and TV series as a “Black Bridget Jones” does its careful handling of trauma and its depiction of being a Black woman – so beautifully crafted for the screen, and meaning so much to so many – a huge disservice.
What’s more, elements of the Bridget Jones narrative – the dismissal of Bridget’s own body because it weighed over 61kg, the single shaming, the blatant sexual harassment, with no ramifications – feel so far from what Queenie is about at its core.
Each Bridget Jones film also ends with a romantic interest being the by-and-large answer to her problems, whereas Queenie’s journey, by contrast, is much more holistic and intimate.
The biggest relationship she works on is the one with herself.
Short of being used as pop culture shorthand, the Bridget Jones legacy has no meaningful place in Queenie’s world, and not because the character doesn’t still have its place – and a new film on the way, starring The White Lotus and One Day’s Leo Woodall – but because we have to make space for different voices, perspectives and a variety of female-led TV shows.
Not every woman in her 20s trying to figure it out is a Bridget Jones. Many are a Queenie Jenkins, despite what the vast majority of film, TV and books would have you believe, and she deserves her own identity and legacy, not a tiresome comparison to British romcoms past.
Queenie is now available to stream on Channel 4.
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