A Bridgerton Story

While scrolling aimlessly through social media yesterday, I was excited to see the Bridgerton Series 3 release date announced, even if that date is still painfully far in the future.

Now, I am not generally a Netflix person, although Oranguette and I do enjoy watching a series together now and then. But I will make a big exception for Bridgerton. I love everything about the series. The costumes, the visually stunning sets, the orchestral renditions of pop songs, the melodrama, the diversity of characters, the subplots, the romance, the steamy sex scenes. And of course the pseudonymous writing of Lady Whistledown (perhaps I should change my moniker to Lady Orangutan?). I am, moreover, a sucker for redemption tales in any form, and what are romance stories but stories of redemption?

Yes, I am well aware the Bridgerton universe, while historically inspired, is not historically accurate. Now is not the time for pedantry, thank you.

Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story

So what does Bridgerton have to do with neurodiversity? Nothing, as far as a I can tell. The Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story prequel, does, however, have a lot to say about mental illness.

I watched this series not long after our intentional shift towards neurodiverse-affirming approaches. The depiction of King George III's mental illness clearly reflects the two different approaches used in regards to Oranguette's own mental health struggles, and the moral quagmire that surrounds mental health treatment.

King George's mother, Princess Augusta, brings in Dr. Monro, a figure based on the historical Dr. Monro that treated "madness" at Bedlam, to treat George using questionable and cruel methods. Although controlling and calculating, Princess Augusta comes across as a shrewd woman making her way in within the aristocratic system she is entrenched in, rather than an intrinsically evil person. She is invested in her family's success (and succession), and arguably even cares about her son's wellbeing in and of itself. Nevertheless, Dr. Monro's treatments are violent, humiliating, abusive, and completely ineffective. Which (minus the physical violence and ice baths, in all fairness) is not too far from how I would describe the approaches pushed on Oranguette by Institution 1.

Interestingly, King George himself consents to these so-called treatments. In my opinion, this arc in the storyline brilliantly portrays how the road to hell is paved with good intentions, if you will. Dr. Monro, I'm sure, very much wanted to cure King George to advance his own professional standing and status. Princess Augusta wanted her son cured to ensure the succession to the throne, and possibly even because she loved him. George himself obviously wished to be free of his madness. Yet somehow they all go barrelling full speed along a terrible path, and seem unable to do anything other than double down when the so-called treatments were obviously not working. All of this feels so eerily familiar.

Queen Charlotte is the only one seemingly able to step back and see all this madness -- both that of King George and of the horrific treatments -- for what it is. She finally dismisses Dr. Monro. She meets her husband where he is at, even if that is on the floor underneath a bed. She accepts his delusions and limitations, and encourages and works beside him to help him do what he still can as monarch. They forge a successful partnership, in which she loves him as he is. In other words, she affirms him.

I briefly fancied myself a modern-day Queen Charlotte, when I finally had the sense to dismiss our own Dr. Monro and stop with the metaphorical ice baths. That was a rather wild flight of fancy, but in moments of uncertainty, there are worse questions to ask than "What would Bridgerton's Queen Charlotte do?".