the official zutara dissertation (p.4)
So far, we have discussed why Zuko and Katara would have been a good couple, how the narrative set them up for a romance through symbolism, narrative arcs and theme, and rebutted the most frequent arguments for why they wouldn’t work.
Now we turn to the last aspect of the show that, ironically, proves how great Zutara is as a ship: the canon romances. In this section, we will dissect the reasons that Katara and Aang do not work in canon, and how this helps to enhance the perfection of Zutara.
BOOK 4: THE TRAGEDY OF KATAANG
1. Kataang is fundamentally imbalanced.
There is no give-and-take between Katara and Aang. Katara is always the one giving emotional support while Aang is always the one taking without providing anywhere close to the same effort in return.
Katara pulls Aang out of the Avatar State when he is filled with rage and grief over the loss of his people (Book 1: The Southern Air Temple), and again when he is devastated about losing Appa (Book 2: The Desert). Katara encourages Aang when he thinks he cannot master earthbending (Book 2: Bitter Work), soothes his guilt over running away (Book 1: The Storm), and comforts him when he is worried about Bumi (Book 2: Return to Omashu), when he is hurting over Appa’s loss (Book 2: Journey to Ba Sing Se), and when he feels like he has failed after the fall of Ba Sing Se (Book 3: The Awakening).
These are just the notable scenes I could find, excluding the dozens of small moments Katara looks after Aang. In return, there are, at best, three moments where Aang gives her emotional support: briefly standing in solidarity with her against Pakku, as well as resting a hand on her shoulder after Jet dies, and when she breaks down after her fight with Hama. The third one, however, also has Sokka with an arm around her, so it can’t even be considered a moment where Aang is the only one to comfort her, as compared to every moment listed above where Katara is the only one to comfort Aang.
In fact, Aang is the only love interest Katara has in the show that never expresses sympathy for her loss of her mother. Every other male character Katara is romantically linked to in some way (Haru, Jet, Zuko) – has a moment of bonding with Katara over the deepest trauma of her life. But Aang, her canonical love interest, doesn’t even give Katara so much as an “I’m sorry” when he hears about her loss.
When the opportunity arises for Aang to actually support Katara in the Southern Raiders for once, he is instead preachy and judgemental (“What exactly do you think this will accomplish?” “Katara, you sound like Jet!” “You do have a choice. Forgiveness” “The monks used to say revenge is like a two-headed rat viper”) and makes it all about him (“How do you think I felt about the sandbenders when they took Appa?”)
It is particularly insulting for Aang to compare Katara’s loss to his, not just because comparing grief is, frankly, insensitive, but also because Aang’s temporary loss of his animal companion is in no way comparable to Katara’s permanent loss of her mother. Comparing Katara to Jet, who Aang is fully aware manipulated her and broke her trust, is also an extremely hurtful and frankly inaccurate comparison to make. Instead of offering compassion and understanding to the girl he supposedly loves, Aang only makes things more difficult for her by deepening her hurt and anger.
What makes this worse is the fact that Katara has never once treated Aang this way, offering him unconditional love and acceptance even when he goes into the Avatar State or yells at her (Book 2: The Desert), while Aang presumes to dictate to Katara how to handle her grief and her trauma. Katara gets no help from Aang in this entire episode, at her lowest moment, when she is most in need of it.
This is, in fact a pattern that lies at the core of Kataang. It is primarily slanted in Aang’s favour, allowing him to benefit far more from the relationship than Katara does. The two established canon benefits Aang provides Katara are that he is a means for her to achieve her dreams (since he enables her to travel) and that he gives her hope. That’s great, but it’s in no way exclusive to Katara.
As the Avatar, Aang provides hope to everyone in the world who wants to defeat the Fire Nation. The fact that he helps her to travel and learn waterbending is great, but it is a benefit she receives from his role as the Avatar and his flying bison, not Aang himself as a person. There is nothing that Aang as a character gives Katara that she cannot get from someone else, and in fact she frequently gets more from other characters.
There was clearly an attempt at the start to establish that Aang helps Katara have fun and allows her to regain some of her lost childhood. This could have worked if it had actually been sustained, but it isn’t. Apart from one penguin sledding scene and one dance scene (which we’ll get into in the following section), Aang is just another person for Katara to look after, support and help, to her own detriment.
Kataang does not work because the emotional labour of the relationship falls primarily and heavily on Katara, a character who is already burdened with being the caretaker for everyone else, and who has assumed this role since she was eight years old. The imbalance in this relationship is particularly damning given that it runs contrary to the show’s key theme of balance and harmony, especially when one partner is supposed to be the embodiment of balance and is the literal protagonist.
2. Katara and Aang are unable to see and accept each other for who they truly are.
Aang’s idealization of Katara is fairly explicit, with multiple shots from his perspective where she is literally presented in slow motion and rose-tinted vision. This is a fairly common method of indicating romantic attraction in kids’ shows so I can let that slide, but the real problem is that Aang cannot, or will not, see and accept all of Katara. In fact, he tends to dismiss her anger and her darker side on multiple occasions:
When Katara challenges Pakku to a fight (Book 1: The Waterbending Master), Aang tries to deter Katara by saying “Katara, you don’t have to do this for me!” He instantly assumes that the only reason Katara would indulge in such violent pursuits is for him, rather than her own rightful anger at the sexism she is facing, thus reframing the situation around his needs instead of hers. Furthermore, the fact that his instinctive response is to dissuade instead of supporting Katara, despite knowing that she has already tried the diplomatic route, proves how Aang is more focused on dismissing Katara’s anger than understanding that why it might be justified and even necessary. He only supports her when she makes it clear that she will not be deterred (a rather frequent pattern in their dynamic).
When Katara is irritated at Toph for refusing to be a part of the group, and yells at her (Book 2: The Chase) Aang’s response is to go “No, she didn’t mean that!” (to which Katara actually says “Yes, I did!”). Instead of trying to validate Katara’s feelings to find a solution, Aang’s first response is to downplay or even erase her anger to play peacemaker.
Aang notices that Katara is upset with her father (Book 3: The Awakening), yet never bothers to get to the bottom of it or helps her deal with it after she says she’s fine (even though she is clearly not fine). In contrast, when Katara notices that Aang isn’t acting like his usual self on the way to Ba Sing Se, she makes it a point to get to the root of the matter and tries to solve it.
Aang says “You did the right thing. Forgiveness is the first step you have to take to begin healing” when Katara says that she did not kill Yon Rha (Book 3: The Southern Raiders), to which she frowns and tells him that she didn’t, and will never, forgive him. Aang still cannot see that his own beliefs are not what is best for Katara, that they take different views of anger and justice, and hers are just as valid as his.
Aang is in love with a shallow version of Katara, with the kind, gentle girl who takes care of him. He cannot reconcile his view of her with the Katara that can also be vengeful, furious and merciless. Aang sees Katara’s rage and Katara’s softness as separate, when in reality one cannot exist without the other. Katara’s kindness and compassion is driven by her anger and righteousness, and vice versa. It is what compels her to challenge the sexism of the Northern Water Tribe, to stand up for the imprisoned earthbenders, to help the Fire Nation village. Katara’s anger is an intrinsic part of who she is, and while Aang usually helps her with the actions she takes as a result of that anger (since it does benefit people), he is never shown to understand it as a part of Katara. Instead, he mitigates, downplays, or when all else fails, ignores it entirely.
Let it not be said, however, that Aang shoulders all the blame.
Katara also falls victim to idealization, unable to separate Aang from the Avatar, the person she has pinned all her hopes of ending the war on. Katara’s unwavering faith in Aang blinds her to his faults – running away from his problems instead of confronting them, being too playful and careless when he needs to be serious, being selfish and self-centred at times. Every other major character has taken Aang to task for these flaws, either scolding him for his mistakes or challenging him, except Katara.
When Aang burns Katara with his firebending due to his carelessness (Book 1: The Deserter), Sokka is the one to hold him to task for it. Katara, the one who was actually injured, and would have been permanently scarred, by his actions, brushes away his apology and tells him it’s okay. She does not scold him, or even express displeasure with him, despite the fact that she only got hurt because he blatantly refused to listen to her concerns or her advice.
When Toph criticizes the way Aang is approaching earthbending (Book 2: Bitter Work), Katara is the one who tries to persuade Toph to adopt a softer teaching method. She coddles and comforts Aang when he is upset about his lack of success at earthbending, both refusing to push him and attempting to dissuade Toph from doing so as well.
When Zuko scolds Aang for taking his training too lightly and challenges him (Book 3: Sozin’s Comet Part 1) Katara immediately leaps to Aang’s defense. Despite knowing Aang is nowhere near ready, and that the comet is approaching dangerously soon, Katara still excuses Aang instead of helping him to grow and do better.
Even when Aang is actively in conflict with her decisions, Katara still refrains from attacking his and telling him why he is wrong. She only defends herself, and her own choices. The one and only time Katara ever calls Aang out on his flaws is when he refuses to kill the Fire Lord, a matter of global importance where the lives of thousands hang in the balance. Even then, however, her indomitable faith is unshaken, and she never once doubts he will return, despite his track record of fleeing from difficult tasks (which it looks like he has just done once again).
Katara is never able to meaningfully challenge or confront Aang, usually enabling him when he actually needs to be pushed. This makes it impossible for Katara and Aang to meet each other as equals, which spells disaster not only for their interpersonal relationship but also for their future roles. As the Avatar, Aang needs a partner who can disagree with his decisions when necessary, who is capable of balancing out his worst qualities instead of enabling them, and can tell him when he is doing something wrong. Katara, at least in the show, is rarely (if ever) able to do this, and from whatever the comics and LOK tell us of their relationship… it seems clear that she never learned how to.
The sad thing is that Kataang could have worked. They are both idealists and optimists, sometimes to the point of naivete. They are both the last of their respective bending disciplines. Katara could have helped Aang to grow and heal from his trauma, while Aang could have helped her rediscover some of the childish playfulness she lost with the death of her mother and take the weight off the world off her shoulders.
Instead, the show created an imbalanced relationship that forced a teenage girl to play caregiver with no reciprocation, one where both parties saw the other through rose-tinted glasses instead of understanding and accepting them for who they really were.
Ironically, therefore, Katara’s canonical romance only serves to improve Zutara, as the imbalance and shallowness of Kataang perfectly juxtaposes and highlights the beautiful harmony, intimacy and depth that Zuko and Katara have in comparison.
