Essex Serpent takes you back to 19th century London. A mythical creature, mysterious and deadly, steals the show. Love, science, faith, class- big themes here. With a talented cast, it dives deep into human nature. Based on a novel, it’s a wild ride. You might even find yourself saying, ‘Wow, did I really just watch that?’

Meet the characters from The Essex Serpent

Cora Seaborne

Oh Cora, total force of nature — restless, brilliant, full of grief and curiosity and a scandalous disregard for “proper” behavior. She’s equal parts scientist and magnet for trouble, always poking at fossils and legends like they owe her an explanation (and honestly, sometimes they do). She insists on kindness and fierce independence but will also linger over tea and tiny domestic comforts, which is both adorable and stubbornly human. She gets flustered about social niceties one moment and then lectures a room the next — you can almost see the gears grinding.

Will Ransome

Will is the quietly steady kind of person who makes you think of warm kitchens and old hymns, but he’s not a saint — awkward with romance, very loyal, and sometimes smolderingly jealous in the most polite way. He cares for people with a patient, practical love, and his inner life is deeper than his polite smiles let on; also he has weirdly good handwriting, which is somehow important. He loves nature almost like a devotional practice and that makes him both comforting and maddeningly reserved. He tries very hard to do the right thing and often ends up complicatedly human about it.

Dr. Luke Garrett

Luke is the pragmatic doctor who keeps a stubborn, wry humor even when everything’s bleak; he heals with hands and sarcasm and somehow both. He’s skeptical about serpent hysteria and prefers evidence, but he’s not unromantic — he’s quietly protective, a bit bruised, and would rather fix a wound than talk about feelings (so of course you should ask him anyway). He collects odd specimens and keeps a tidy study that belies his occasionally chaotic bedside manner. He’s kind of a grumpy lighthouse of competence — reliable, a little messy, very human.

Stella Ransome

Stella is fragile and bright, like sunlight through a thin curtain — she flutters with moods and has this heartbreaking mix of gentleness and sharp edges. She tries to be the airy, cheerful wife but has a fierce streak of individuality that springs out at inconvenient times (and then she blushes and apologizes, dramatic much). She makes small, meaningful rebellions — a ribbon here, a stubborn refusal there — and you can feel the pressure she’s under, which is both sad and quietly heroic. She smiles a lot but isn’t simple; there’s a restless, complicated heart behind that smile.

Martha

Martha is the kind of no-nonsense local who knows everything and says it plainly, which is both terrifying and comforting; she’s got gossip, superstition, and a secret soft spot for children and odd little animals. She’ll scold you and then feed you, and she seems to believe in both rational explanations and a good curse, depending on her mood (so pick your moment). Practical, loyal, and a touch mysterious — she remembers names, dates, and slights forever, which is impressive and slightly intimidating. Also she bakes a mean loaf and will judge your manners, probably with a wink.

Dr. George Spencer

George is all brain and tweed, the kind of scholar who can quote a treatise and then trip over his own shoelace in the hallway — gloriously human for a man of ideas. He’s proud of his intellect and sometimes a bit pompous, but underneath there’s a real hunger for truth and a softness he almost hides (too many books, not enough dancing). He loves collecting specimens and arguing about classification at dinner parties, which is either delightful or excruciating depending on who you are. He keeps a bizarre little notebook of observations and odd sketches, because of course he does.

Naomi

Naomi is sharp, perceptive, and quick with a laugh that cuts through tension like a knife dipped in honey — she’s small but ferocious in the best way. She knows the land and its superstitions and tells truth plainly, often in ways others don’t want to hear, and yet she’s inexplicably tender with the people she trusts. She’ll trade you a secret for a biscuit and has this habit of humming when she’s nervous, which is oddly endearing. Sometimes sweet, sometimes savage, always real — a quietly fierce presence you don’t forget.