Carol Sturka and the Quiet Revolution: 'Pluribus' Brings a Lesbian Hero to the End of the World

In a television landscape often dominated by traditional heroes, Apple TV’s “Pluribus” offers something refreshingly different: a flawed, deeply human lesbian protagonist tasked with saving the last vestiges of individuality in a world overtaken by enforced harmony. Created by Vince Gilligan, best known for his iconic antiheroes in “Breaking Bad” and “Better Call Saul, ” “Pluribus” marks a bold pivot. Here, the focus is on Carol Sturka, a speculative romance novelist whose sexual orientation is central but never tokenized, and whose journey through a post-apocalyptic New Mexico is as much about identity and connection as it is about survival .

Set in Albuquerque, “Pluribus” begins with an extraterrestrial virus sweeping the globe, transforming nearly all of humanity into the “Others”—a peaceful, optimistic hive mind. Carol Sturka, portrayed by Rhea Seehorn, is one of only thirteen people immune to the virus, left to navigate a world where her stubborn independence and emotional complexity stand in stark contrast to the enforced joy of the collective .

Carol’s resistance is not just biological but philosophical. She rails against the loss of autonomy and the erasure of pain, even as she is hunted—not with violence, but with relentless, gentle attempts to assimilate her into the Others’ consciousness. The stakes are existential: Should humanity surrender individuality for the comfort of unity, or is suffering a necessary price for freedom?

“Pluribus” distinguishes itself by placing a lesbian character at the narrative’s center, not as sidekick or tragic figure, but as the story’s anchor and potential savior. Carol’s queerness is woven throughout the narrative, shaping both her relationships and her worldview. In a standout early episode, Carol’s partner and manager, Helen, accompanies her on a trip to Norway—a rare glimpse into Carol’s life before the pandemic of minds. Their rapport is laced with dry humor and palpable affection, providing emotional grounding amid the show’s surreal stakes .

As the story unfolds, the Others select their liaison to Carol by searching Helen’s memories for the person who most resembles Carol’s ideal romantic fantasy—another woman, Zosia, who becomes both guide and adversary. This narrative choice highlights both the intimacy and complexity of lesbian desire, while avoiding stereotypes or reductionist tropes .

Vince Gilligan’s motivation for “Pluribus” stemmed from a desire to move away from the antiheroes that defined his earlier work. He wanted to create a protagonist who was fundamentally good, yet unmistakably flawed—a person whose sarcasm, negativity, and general miserableness made her both relatable and distinct. The choice to make Carol a lesbian was deliberate, not incidental, reflecting Gilligan’s effort to bring more authentic and varied queer representation to mainstream television .

Importantly, Carol is not defined solely by her sexuality. Instead, her queerness operates as one layer in a richly textured character: a successful, if grumpy, romance novelist who is skeptical of the very love stories she writes. This meta-narrative—of a lesbian romance author grappling with the meaning of connection in a world where everyone is forcibly connected—adds depth and nuance to both her character and the show’s themes .

At its core, “Pluribus” is a meditation on the tension between individuality and community—an especially resonant theme within LGBTQ+ contexts, where chosen family, collective action, and the assertion of selfhood have long been intertwined. Carol’s resistance to the Others is not simply contrarian; it is rooted in her lived experience as someone whose identity has often been at odds with mainstream expectations.

The show does not romanticize isolation, nor does it present the hive mind as unequivocally evil. Instead, it explores the ambiguities of connection: the comfort of belonging, the terror of losing oneself, the loneliness of being right, and the hope that even flawed individuals can make a difference. Carol’s journey is, in many ways, a queer allegory—an exploration of what it means to fight for authenticity when conformity is the path of least resistance .

Critics have praised “Pluribus” for its inventive storytelling and nuanced character work, with particular acclaim for Seehorn’s performance as Carol. The show’s willingness to grapple with loneliness, despair, and the limits of optimism has resonated with audiences, especially within the LGBTQ+ community. Its portrayal of a lesbian lead who is neither idealized nor pathologized represents a significant step forward for queer visibility in genre television .

The show’s attention to detail—such as the inclusion of Carol’s fictional novel series “Bloodsong of Wycaro, ” a sapphic “romantasy” epic—adds further layers of authenticity and representation. Carol’s internal conflict about her own work, and her skepticism toward the genre she inhabits, is played for both comedy and pathos, inviting viewers to question the stories we tell ourselves about love, happiness, and what it means to belong .

“Pluribus” is not merely another post-apocalyptic drama; it is a thoughtful, layered exploration of identity, resistance, and hope. By centering a lesbian protagonist who is as prickly as she is principled, the series challenges conventional notions of heroism and delivers a story that is both timely and timeless. Carol Sturka stands as a beacon for anyone who has ever felt out of step with the world—queer or otherwise—reminding us that sometimes, the greatest acts of courage are the ones that refuse to be assimilated.