Ultimately, this is the keystone that holds the whole thing together. While it may sound pretentious and a bit self-serving, the story of the Eleventh Doctor is ultimately about itself and the escapism that stories like "Doctor Who" represent. There's a reason this show has survived for fifty years, inspired generation upon generations of fans, and ignited a debate about whether or not the show itself constitutes the basis of a genuine religious experience. It's because "Doctor Who," like all great escapist fiction, offers a reprieve from the everyday world while simultaneously encouraging us to make that world a better place. At the beginning of this article, we made the (kind of pretentious) claim that the Matt Smith era is, at heart, a dark fairy tale about the dichotomy between fiction and reality. The bulk of the Eleventh Doctor's tenure was largely concerned with Amy Pond's efforts to balance her real-life commitments (her relationship with Rory) and the reckless comfort found in the imaginary (her travels with the Doctor). The result is an examination of the way fiction and reality intermingle to give us purpose, direction, and inspiration. It may have come two episodes late, but the revelation that Amy Pond eventually finds work as a children's author only solidifies her arc: she's a girl who outgrows her imaginary friend but never forgets him. It stands to reason that this might well be the thesis of Moffat's entire run on "Who" so far: the Doctor himself is, in essence, a story. It might not even matter what the "truth" of the matter is, but what that story means to you is nothing less than paramount. Depending on who you ask, the Doctor can be a scarf-wearing lunatic with a penchant for jelly babies, a buzz-headed war veteran desperately seeking redemption via an essential human connection, or a childish, prideful old man who legitimately thinks bow-ties are the apotheosis of fashion. The Doctor is all these things and none of them. He's everything that a good story should be. And now that the book is closed (for now), the sad and wonderful tale of the Raggedy Man now stands as another great era of "Who" that exists as an almost-completely independent statement: a testimonial about the power of story, the importance of fairy tales, and the impossible allure of a simple blue box.
