When you think of Margaret Atwood, dragons probably aren’t the first thing that comes to mind. The author of The Handmaid’s Tale and The Testaments is more often associated with dystopian futures and complex female characters than fire-breathing beasts. But in 2015, Atwood surprised many by penning a piece for The Guardian about Game of Thrones, specifically its dragons. What makes this particularly fascinating is that Atwood, a literary titan known for her sharp social commentary, chose to engage with a fantasy series that, on the surface, seems worlds apart from her own work. Personally, I think this speaks to her ability to find depth and meaning in even the most unexpected places.
Atwood’s take on the dragons of Game of Thrones is both insightful and, frankly, a bit cheeky. She notes that George R.R. Martin’s dragons are less like the mystical creatures of myth and more like ‘superweapon bazookas.’ What this really suggests is that Atwood sees the dragons not just as fantastical elements but as tools of power—a lens that aligns with her own exploration of power dynamics in her writing. One thing that immediately stands out is her observation that the dragons are ‘aesthetically attractive,’ though she prefers their book descriptions to their on-screen portrayal. This raises a deeper question: does the visual representation of fantasy creatures ever truly capture their essence, or do they lose something in translation?
What many people don’t realize is that Atwood’s commentary on the dragons is inseparable from her admiration for Daenerys Targaryen, the so-called Mother of Dragons. In her piece, Atwood praises Daenerys as a ‘benevolent and smart leader’—a character we can ‘approve of, more or less.’ From my perspective, this endorsement is no accident. Atwood’s own work is filled with strong, complex female protagonists, from Offred in The Handmaid’s Tale to Grace Marks in Alias Grace. Daenerys, with her ambition and moral ambiguity, fits squarely into this lineage. If you take a step back and think about it, Atwood’s fascination with Daenerys is a reflection of her broader interest in women who challenge societal norms and wield power in male-dominated worlds.
But here’s where things get interesting: Atwood’s predictions about Daenerys’s fate were wildly off the mark. She hoped Daenerys would defeat the Night King and perhaps even marry, maybe not Tyrion Lannister, but someone worthy of her. Instead, Daenerys’s arc ended in tragedy, with her burning King’s Landing and being killed by Jon Snow. A detail that I find especially interesting is how Atwood’s misreading of Daenerys’s character highlights the unpredictability of Game of Thrones—a series that delights in subverting expectations. Personally, I think this mismatch between Atwood’s hopes and the show’s reality underscores the tension between what we want from our heroes and what they ultimately become.
This brings me to a broader point: the dragons, and by extension Daenerys, are symbols of power and its consequences. Atwood’s critique of the dragons as ‘superweapon bazookas’ feels prescient when you consider how Daenerys’s use of her dragons leads to her downfall. What this really suggests is that power, whether in the form of dragons or political authority, is never neutral. It corrupts, it destroys, and it demands a price. From my perspective, this is where Atwood’s commentary intersects most powerfully with her own work. Both Game of Thrones and The Handmaid’s Tale explore how power shapes individuals and societies, often with devastating results.
Looking back, I’m struck by how Atwood’s piece feels like a time capsule of a moment when Game of Thrones was still a cultural phenomenon, and its ending was anyone’s guess. Her optimism for Daenerys now reads as almost poignant, a reminder of how deeply we invest in fictional characters and their journeys. What makes this particularly fascinating is how Atwood’s analysis, though rooted in 2015, still resonates today. It’s a testament to her ability to see beyond the surface, to find meaning in the dragons and the women who ride them.
In the end, Atwood’s take on Game of Thrones is more than just a fan’s musings—it’s a masterclass in how to read fiction critically and thoughtfully. Personally, I think her commentary invites us to think about why we’re drawn to certain stories and characters, and what they reveal about us. If you take a step back and think about it, the dragons of Game of Thrones aren’t just creatures of fantasy; they’re mirrors reflecting our own desires, fears, and flaws. And that, in my opinion, is what makes Atwood’s insights so enduring.
