The Power of Gender Switching in Retellings
Classics endure because they speak to fundamental human experiences, but they were also shaped by the cultural expectations of their time. Many traditional narratives assume fixed gender roles—men as creators, seekers, and decision-makers, women as muses, victims, or caretakers. When we switch these roles, the dynamics of power, agency, and perception shift in deeply revealing ways.
Stories like Hamlet, Dracula, or Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde take on new dimensions when gender roles are reversed. A female Hamlet might highlight different aspects of madness and revenge—would her hesitation be read as weakness or calculation? A female Dracula would raise questions about seduction, control, and the fears of female autonomy in patriarchal societies. A female Dr. Jekyll battling the monstrous side of her nature could reflect anxieties about suppressed desires or women’s expected roles.
Mary Shelley and Mademoiselle Frankenstein
Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is a novel steeped in themes of creation, responsibility, and obsession, explored through a male scientist defying natural laws. But what happens when that scientist is a woman? How does society perceive female ambition, intellectual defiance, and the act of giving life—not biologically, but through unnatural means? A female Victor Frankenstein (or in my case, Océane Frankenstein) doesn’t simply retell the story; she transforms its emotional core.
This gender switch reframes the psychological and philosophical landscape of the novel. Océane’s decision to reanimate the dead is both tender and catastrophic. It’s bound not only to Enlightenment-era curiosity but to Romantic-era emotionality. Her sensibility—rooted in compassion, desperation, and the ache of a world that has already taken everything—renders the creature not merely a failed experiment, but a reflection of every longing part of herself.
Things Can Go Very Wrong or Very Right
Gender-swapping in literature can be tricky if they simply transplant a male arc onto a female character (or vice versa) without attending to the intricacies of lived experience. But when done thoughtfully, as in Valerie Martin’s Mary Reilly or Madeline Miller’s Circe, it opens new dimensions. These retellings don’t modernize their protagonists to be conveniently witty or rebellious—they dive deeper into the period’s gender constraints and explore how women navigated power, pain, and legacy within them.
Recent popular gender-switched novels include Gender-Swapped Fairy Tales by Karrie Fransman & Jonathan Plackett; The Princess Will Save You by Sarah Henning—an homage to The Princess Bride; Bad Girls Never Say Die by Jennifer Mathieu—a reimaging of The Outsiders and Travelers Along the Way by Aminah Mae Safi—a retelling of Robin Hood.
What classic stories do you think would change the most with a gender swap? Change in a good way? Or change in a bad way? Share your thoughts in the comments—I’d love to hear your perspective.
