Monthly Archives: November 2009

Event of the Century!

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Image United #1
Writer: Robert Kirkman
Artists: Larsen, Liefeld, McFarlane, Portacio, Silvestri, Valentino

Working for Marvel Comics may be a dream come true for a lot of young artists, but it’s a raw deal when you think about it. If you just do your job and get your pages in on time, nobody but hardcore fanboys will ever remember your name. But if you’re actually creative and introduce some new characters and ideas, Marvel “rewards” you by taking ownership of all your creations and maybe paying royalties if by a miracle your characters appear in other media. In 1992, several superstar artists said enough was enough and they left Marvel to form Image Comics.

For a brief period, Image was king. Everyone* was excited about the next generation of superheroes, who all had cool names like Spawn and Savage Dragon. But according to Internet wisdom, those early Image comics weren’t any good. Lacking in competent characterization and storytelling, the comics relied instead on flashy art and lots of gore and cheesecake. I can’t personally confirm any of that, as my knowledge of Image was limited to a few issues of Spawn and WildCATS that I borrowed from my brother and neglected to return. I didn’t hate them (I was a kid and easy to pander to) but they must not have made much of an impression because I don’t remember anything about those books and never bothered to collect them.

But that was back in the 90’s. It’s almost 2010 now, and Image is an established publisher (if nowhere near the size of Marvel or DC). And being an established comics publisher in North America means publishing superhero crossovers. Even a cursory glance at the Direct Market sales for Secret Invasion or Blackest Night reveals that everyone** loves superhero crossovers. That’s why the hot shot creators from 1992 (minus Jim Lee) came together to give the fanboys one more thing to buy, Image United. And I bought it too, because what the hell, it’s only money.

So what does a creator-owned crossover look like?

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Right off the bat, I recognized Spawn, Savage Dragon, and Witchblade, but I had no clue who the rest of them were. To his credit, Robert Kirkman seems to understand that Image United could be a reader’s first exposure to Image, so he spends a good portion of the book laboriously introducing everyone. And since these are Image characters they all have hardcore names like Badrock (big guy in back), Ripclaw (below Spawn), Shadowhawk (upper left), Fortress (middle), and the unironically named Shaft. Things get complicated fairly quickly though, as a dozen more characters are introduced in rapid succession. With such a large cast, it’s not surprising that most of the characters lack distinguishable personalities.

With all the introductions, the story just barely gets started. Supervillains are simultaneously causing trouble in various cities, and the heroes don’t know who’s coordinating the attacks. But the readers do, because the main villain shows up at the end. Apparently, the Image Universe is being threatened by none other than Al Simmons! Don’t feel bad if you have no idea who the hell Al Simmons is, I didn’t either. If you look up “Al Simmons” on Wikipedia you’ll find entries for a baseball player and a Canadian musician who specializes in children’s music. But Al Simmons was also the civilian identity of the original Spawn, who I guess lost the job at some point. You learn new things every day.

But screw the story, let’s talk about the art. Six different artists worked on this book, but don’t ask me who did what because … I’m going to level with you guys. I don’t have an encyclopedic knowledge of comic book artists. I don’t know what Whilce Portacio’s style looks like. I’m pretty sure I can recognize what Rob Liefeld drew but only because of the extra teeth in each mouth. Does that mean I’m not qualified to review this comic? If you’re a hardcore fanboy, my opinion probably doesn’t mean shit to you, but I’m okay with that. I’m still going to argue that the art in this comic leaves something to be desired.

(The following image may be offensive to people who hate cheesecake and/or bad anatomy). Let’s begin with this panel featuring Cyberforce.

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There’s a lot of linework and detail, but it’s all in service to a rather drab scene. A bunch of generic, techno-themed heroes are standing in front of boxes and gray walls. That’s not eye-catching. And the woman on the far right is trying her hardest to pull off the brokeback pose.

Moving on to big fight scene. There are about five gallons worth of steroids in this panel.

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This is supposed to be the dramatic smackdown of the issue, but it feels rather flat. Like so many listless fight scenes in so many mediocre comics, the characters come across less like they’re pounding each other and more like they’re posing for a picture. The static nature of the fight is only reinforced by the tendency of the characters to have lengthy chats in between punches. Of course, many superhero fans would argue this is just a convention of the genre. But it’s a shitty convention perpetuated by lousy comics, so why defend it?

Now for the big reveal.

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I have to admit, if I were a 12 year old I’d probably think this was the coolest image ever (except for the left hand, which seems detached from the rest of the body). But how many 12 year olds are actually reading superhero comics these days? I suspect that Image United is geared towards the same adult readership that DC and Marvel compete for. And judging this panel as an adult, Omega Spawn comes across as a design that tries too hard but doesn’t get very far. He looks just like regular Spawn, but with more pointy crap layered on the standard outfit.

To sum up, the creators tried to make a book that was appealing to new readers, but they couldn’t think outside the tiny box that is mainstream superhero comics. While the story is easily comprehensible, only the true believers will give a shit. In my case, I didn’t know who half the characters were but I was able to follow along. But the comic didn’t have any emotional impact on me, as there’s nothing in the story that leads me to care what happens to these people. I’m not terribly concerned that Omega Spawn is going to blow up the Image Universe and deny me the awesomeness of (white) Shaft. The art is also intended for the true believers, relying heavily on genre conventions like talky fight scenes, steroidal men, and ridiculously busty women.

But maybe the Image creators were only ever interested in pandering to the same old base. And if they wanted to produce a crossover as insular and self-reverential as Secret Invasion or Blackest Night, then they’ve succeeded.

*By everyone, I mean 12 year old boys.

**By everyone, I mean 30 year 0ld men.

Can Wonder Woman Be a Superdick? (part 1)

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I’ve been doing a series of posts about superheroes and gender. In the most recent I talked about superdickery. Superdickery here refers to the way super-heroes tend to stand in for the uber-patriarch, both as benign law-giver and as evil ogre-father. In the post, I talked especially about how Marvel’s innovation was to shift more explicitly towards the idea of superhero as nightmare ogre-father (the Hulk! the Thing!) Ultimately, though, the ogre-father is still the father; Marvel comics are still about dreams of empowerment, rather than about denigrating or undermining those visions of absolute mastery.

Okay. So…if superheroing is all about superdickery, what happens when you have a female superhero? As the title up there says, can Wonder Woman be a superdick? And, if so, how, if at all, is that dickishness different when it’s attached to a woman?

There have been a couple of gestures at making Wonder Woman dickish. As I mentioned last post, Kate Beaton’s butch WW can be seen as dickish to some extent. And Greg Rucka’s WW in the Hiketeia might be considered superdickish in some sense too.

Overall, though, male writers have seemed distinctly uncomfortable with having Wonder Woman act as a superdick. I’m going to talk about some specific examples in a minute. First though, I want to discuss briefly why the superdickery meme is so hard (as it were) to apply to female characters.

In general, the whole point of the superdick is that you have some non-powered weakling (Bruce Banner, Clark Kent, whoever), and then the superhero acts as empowerment fantasy. Bruce Banner can’t lay down the law — but Hulk can smash. Peter Parker can’t replace Unlce Ben — but Spider-Man can! Bruce Wayne cant’ fight evil in his undies — but Batman will. Etc.

On the one hand, this is a pretty simple formulation. On the other hand, though, it is, I think, plugged into some fairly profound dynamics around male identity. As I discussed in this post, this post, and this post, male identity is built around a central incoherence. This incoherence can be seen as biologically Oedipal (with Freud), or as cultural (with Eve Sedgwick.) Either way, the point is that a male is both identified with patriarchal power (the father) and distanced from that power (the child.) To be identified with patriarchal power is to turn one’s back on femininity, and in some sense on humanity — so that the uberpatriarch is both a monster and, in some sense, unmasculine, since he rejects women (what gender is the Thing under those briefs, exactly?) But, on the other hand, to be a sniveling child outside of patriarchal power is to be feminized.

In short, the engine behind the super-hero split identity is the anxiety of maleness. Peter/Spider-Man is constantly vacillating between two people because neither one is stable. Peter is under pressure to take up the rod of superdickery and become a real man; Spider-Man is under pressure to cast aside the rod of superdickery and pay attention to the girls already so he can become a real man.

Women aren’t implicated in this psychodrama. Female identity isn’t incoherent — or at least, it’s not incoherent in the same way. A commenter on a recent article of mine at Reason put the point succinctly:

girls can think ninjas are cool without any blowback. Any man who likes sparkly emo vampires is probably sorting through some issues.

That’s exactly the point; a girl who likes ninjas doesn’t have her femininity called into question (on the contrary, butch women are often considered especially hot, as I argue here. Men who like romance, on the other hand, open themselves up (as it were) to the charge of not being sufficiently masculine.

So that means women have it easy compared to poor, conflicted men, right? Well, not exactly. It’s true that female identity is in some sense more stable…but there’s a certain amount of coercion which goes into enforcing that stability. Men are always defined by their lack of the phallus, always anxiously scurrying after the unattainable superdick…or dropping it like a hot potato and scurrying away when they get it. Women, on the other hand, aren’t supposed to have the superdick in the first place, so they’re just kind of supposed to sit there and be. Basically, for women, the ideal is more coherent, which means that individual slip ups (watching ninja movies) aren’t necessarily always as important. However, overall, a more coherent ideal can actually be more limiting. Always striving and failing is tiresome, but probably preferable overall to being stuck in prison.

Which brings us back to Wonder Woman.

That’s from Denny O’Neil and Mike Sekowsy’s first issue on WW from 1968. And, as you can see, the creators seem to be of the opinion that WW is a freak. And why is she a freak? Not because she’s actually a monster like the Thing, but simply because she’s got “muscles” and is a woman. And, not coincidentally, in the following issues of their run on the series, O’Neill and Sekowsky actually depowered WW, turning her into a civilian spy — still a crime fighter, but one who wouldn’t necessarily scare the (male) kiddies.

O’Neill and Sekowsky are more blatant than most, but they’re hardly alone in their discomfort with the super-powered WW. Throughout “The Greatest Wonder Woman Stories Ever Told,” there’s a constant, insistent effort to evade the image of Wonder Woman as superdick — to domesticate her, if you will. In Robert Kanigher’s “Top Secret,” Steve Trevor engages in an elaborate plot to get Wonder Woman to marry him. His scheme fails…but it forces WW to create her Diana Prince identity in which (of course) she serves under Steve in the military. In this story, then, Wonder Woman isn’t Diana’s empowerment fantasy; rather, Diana is *Steve’s* empowerment fantasy. WW does get the better of Steve, but only by doing what he wants. She bows to his superdickery and relinquishes her own.

Similarly, in Robert Kanigher’s revealingly titled “Be Wonder Woman…and Die!” the emotional focus of the story is on a terminally ill young actress who impersonates Wonder Woman and then expires beautifully. It’s pretty clearly a Mary Sue story in some sense — a WW fan appears, is lauded by her idol, and then shuffles off the mortal coil to great acclaim. But you do have to wonder — if this is a Mary Sue, whose Mary Sue is it? Who exactly is getting off on a depowered and dead WW clone? Could it be the male writer,by chance?

One final example; Wonder Woman #230, from 1977. (Todd Munson very kindly gave me this issue when I visited his class at Randolph-Macon a few weeks back. ) This issue is by Marty Pasko, and it’s set in the 1940s to tie in with the then-current TV series. It’s also obsessed with doubling. The villain is the Cheetah, who suffers from multiple-personality disorder; normally she’s an everyday socialite (Priscilla Rich), but when she sees Wonder Woman she has a psychotic episode and turns into a supervillain. In this sotry, Priscilla accidentally encounters WW and has her transformation triggered. As the Cheetah she then manages to discover WW’s secret identity, and makes plans to use the information to kill her. However, Cheetah turns back to Priscilla before she can take action. Priscilla then contacts Diana Prince…and hypnotizes her into forgetting she’s Wonder Woman, figuring that if Wonder Woman disappears, Priscilla herself will never change into the Cheetah again.

So along the way here there are several suggestive incidents.

— Early in the issue, Steve Trevor is gushing on and on about Wonder Woman. Diana Prince is clearly quite pissed about this; she’s jealous of her alter ego. Thus, there’s a definite implication that Diana *wants* to get rid of WW, just as Priscilla wants to get rid of the Cheetah.

— There’s an erotic tension between the female antagonists. Priscilla’s repressed emotions are released whenever she sees Wonder Woman; it’s not hard to read a lesbian subtext into that. Moreover, the hypnotic encounter between Priscilla and Diana is framed as seduction; Priscilla even comments (lasciviously?) on how “naive” Diana is.

In breaking the mirror here, Priscilla is banishing both Wonder Woman and the Cheetah. Where agonized male-male tensions tend to lead to heroes hitting villains and hyperbolic violence, the female-female encounter/seduction does the reverse. It doesn’t redouble anxieties around female identity; it eliminates them. Priscilla is ushering Diana back into femininity. (I don’t think it’s a coincidence that in the last panel Diana’s face seems definitely softer and less butch than it does towards the top of the page.)

Priscilla can be seen, in other words, as patrolling the boundaries of femininity. This is actually a fairly common dynamic, I think; women are often harsher on (small) infractions against femininity than men are. My wife pointed out that Patti Smith in the 70s once commented that there’s nothing more disgusting than seeing some woman’s breast hanging over a guitar. The quote is interesting too, because, like this encounter, there’s definitely some not quite dealt with eroticism there; Smith is perceiving female guitarists as sexual beings; there’s a same-sex frisson. I haven’t quite worked this through, but it seems like there’s a parallel here with Eve Sedgwick’s ideas about male homosociality. That is, men form homosocial bonds (and repress explicit homosexual ones) as a way of cementing patriarchal power. Women might be seen as forming homosocial bonds (and repressing explicit homosexual ones) as a way of policing or reaffirming femininity — which again essentially has the effect of cementing patriarchal power. That seems like a good description of what Priscilla is doing here, certainly — she seduces/explains the error of her ways to Diana in order to prevent Diana from becoming a superdick, and so leading Priscilla herself into superdickery.

On the one hand this ends up being a false consciousness argument (women reinforcing the patriarchal order out of a mistaken fear of their own power/acceptance of their natural role.) On the other hand, it might also be seen as a not unrational risk assessment. Priscilla is worried that Wonder Woman’s escape from femininity will bring reprisals against Priscilla herself (she’ll become the cheetah, get herself in trouble, and end up being punished.) Similarly, Patti Smith, as a female rockstar, could be seen as covering her own ass — too many female rockstars might cause trouble.

I don’t know; not sure that that’s all thought through as well as I might like. But I think there is definitely a sense in which bonds between women are used to patrol femininity just as bonds between men are used to patrol masculinity. And the obsessively doubled relationship between Priscilla/Cheetah and Diana/Wonder Woman seems to get at that.

Though at the same time, of course, there’s a tradition of feminist sisterhood which is about confronting or challenging patriarchy. It’s interesting in that regard how, even though this is set in the 40s when the Marston /Peter stories took place, there are just a lot less women here than in Marston’s writing. The only woman who’s around is Priscilla, which is obviously an antagonistic relationship….

— Because WW has disappeared, Steve has to take her spot in a video. (The director comments “I’d rather shoot a war hero than some broad in a silly get-up anyway!”) The Cheetah has booby-trapped the camera, though. Priscilla doesn’t want to kill anyone…so she figures she has to remind Diana of who she was. She leads Diana off to the side (which looks again very much like femme/butch seduction)

and this time the female/female encounter brings WW and the Cheetah both back.

Because we see this entirely from Priscilla’s perspective, though, this comes across more as sad necessity than triumphant victory. The return of female superpowers may be necessary, but it’s not ideal or normal. And, moreover, it really does result in bad news for Priscilla; she gets beaten up, captured, and sent off to Paradise Island for reeducation (where presumably she’ll be reintegrated back into femininity.)

—Soon after WW reappears we get this panel:

The reappearance of WW seems to humorously undermine Steve’s maleness. When a woman wields the superdick, men are less male. Not only can’t Steve take WW’s place, but even in wanting to he becomes ridiculous; less of a man.

— The comic ends with WW back in Diana Prince identity, talking to Steve. Steve is worrying about the possibility of WW disappearing again — and Diana suggests that if WW does disappear Steve should spend more time looking for her. There’s certainly a hint here that Diana would like WW to go away— she wants Steve to recognize, or respond, to Diana instead. Like Priscilla, Diana seems to in part want to lose her super-powers and her super-identity.

This isn’t that unusual a trope — as I mentioned in the last post, Spider-Man often wants to lost his powers, as does Bruce Banner, and so forth. The difference here is, perhaps, that when Diana is just Diana, there’s no indication that she wants to be anything else. She doesn’t wish she had her powers back, or think about WW. Instead, Priscilla has to remind her who she was. When Peter Parker, or whoever, is depowered, his identity remains incoherent; he still wants the superdick. But for Diana, the only tension is when she’s Wonder Woman. A feminized Diana, sans superdick, is perfectly happy — just as, presumably, a Priscilla without the Cheetah would be perfectly happy. There isn’t the attraction/repulsion for patriarchal authority that you tend to feel in male super-hero narratives. Instead, the energy of the story seems to push pretty firmly towards just turning superfemales into ordinary women and being done with it. Of course, it can’t end up there because, you know, Wonder Woman’s name is on the cover of the comic, and you need more stories with her. But that isn’t Marty Pasko’s fault. He didn’t create the character.

And next time we’ll talk about the guy who did create the character and how he felt about superdickery. Hopefully we’ll get to that next week.

In the meantime…this is actually part of a long series of posts on latter-day Wonder Woman iterations. You can read the whole series here.

Partially Congealed Pundit: A to Z

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I wrote these all between 2000 and 2004 or so.

Anthropology A to Z

Analyzing bigamy, chiropractors dissecting Ethiopians find gratuitous horniness. “Inferior jism kills,” lament medical non-Negroes. “Our prostitutes qualmlessly relish sable, towering usufructuaries.” Vampire-vivisectionist-vasectomites want xenopotency — yea, zoöplasty.

Grants A to Z

Argh. Bastard coins demand enthusiastic flim-flam, genuflecting horse-pucky — iterated. Jejune kleptomaniacs like myself nuzzle other’s piss (quantified.) Respect seeps through undergarments viscously. Wampum-warranted xenogenesis yields zilch.

Marx A to Z

Attacked by capitalists, Dimitri Endclass fretfully grunted, “Help!” Injustice jouster King Lumpen materialized. “No obstreperous prole quashing, reactionary swine!” the über-underdog vociferated. “Working-class xanthochroi yean Zion!”

Physics A to Z

“Atomic bomb,” cogito. Deductively, ergo, funding. Gravity’s hierophant, I, Jehovah-Kewpie, license meritocrats; noblesse oblige. Prosper, quantum Rotarians! Seek, thou, universal vacuity! Wantonly X-ray your Zeitgeist!

Spielberg A to Z

Amiable Bildungsroman chug-a-lugs deep emotions, feels great! Heroine (innocent, jiggly) kisses lachrymose morality’s nether orifice. Peddlers quiver righteously! Suddenly, teleologically, upstart visionaries win! Xeroxed youngsters zombify!

Xmas A to Z

Avaricious bambinos covet Disney-detritus. Elders’ Fallopian genitals, heaving immaculately, jaculate kenosis-knickknacks. Levittowners merrily nurse organized pedophilia. Quasi-riant revenue-ravenous Santa Taws uncoil. Vultures watch Xt.’s yummy zygote.

Music For Middle-Brow Snobs: Best Of

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I’m participating in the music best of madness which Tucker and Marty are organizing over at Factual Opinion. As part of that I put together a list of my favorite songs of the year that I remembered at the moment, and, what the hey, I organized them in descending order of goodness. Some of these have shown up in downloads before…but now they’re in an exciting new list!

1. Ina unt Ina — Teacher (All Sides of Ina)
2. Justin Townes Earle — Mama’s Eyes (Midnight at the Movies)
3. Amerie — Dangerous (In Love and War!)
4. Funeral Mist — White Stone (Maranatha)
5. Antony and the Johnsons — One Dove (The Crying Light)
6. Legion of Two — Legion of Two (Riffs)
7. Lovers — Let’s Stay Lost (I Am the West)
8. Brooke Valentine — Dr. Do Right (Physical Education Mix Tape)
9. Drukdh — Distant Cry of Cranes (Microcosmos)
10. Mariah Carey — More Than Just Friends (Memoir of an Imperfect Angel)
11. The Horse’s Ha — Asleep in a Waterfall (Of The Cathmawr Yards)
12. The Juan Maclean — One Day (The Future Will Come)
13. Ithdabquth Qliphoth — Funeral Spirit of Holy, Holy and Holy Trance-formation (Funeral Spirit of Holy, Holy and Holy Trance-formation)
14. Raekwon — Surgical Gloves (Only Built For Cuban Linx II)
15 Electrik Red — Friend Lover (How to Be a Lady: Volume 1)

This download has been removed for copyright reasons; so if you missed it, you’re out of luck, alas.

TwiHard the Hunter

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I’ve gotten into a bit of a back and forth about the Twilight series with pop-culture blogger Alyssa Rosenberg. It started with Alyssa’s article on the Atlantic website in which she argued that the Twilight is a poor excuse for a fantasy series because Bella is overly passive:

I don’t imagine that I was alone when I was young in wishing there was something magical about me – or in reading Talking to Dragons until it became dog-eared or keeping The Mists of Avalon perpetually on renewal at the library. What girl doesn’t wish she could discover some special attribute about herself that would smooth her way through the demons of junior high school and beyond—particularly if that something would get her noticed for the first time by a boy or girl with special attributes of their own? But earlier this week, when I stumbled over the Twilight finish line, reaching the final page of Breaking Dawn, the series’ last book, it seemed clear to me that even in my younger days, Bella Swann would never have captured my imagination in the same way Cimorene, or Juniper, or Wise Child, or Morgaine had, and still do. Those heroines understand the joy of being loved by someone else. But their stories make the case that being a witch, or a warrior, or a queen—even without a king—might be better than an eternity as a metaphorical princess in a metaphorical tower, no matter how much the vampire company sparkles.

I responded in an article on Splice Today:

The real issue is, as Rosenberg says, that Bella’s actions are all inspired by her love for family and friends, rather than by a desire to save entire kingdoms and uphold “justice and freedom.” Of course, by this standard, Elizabeth Bennett isn’t much of a role model either—why, she never saves anyone! And what about Jane Eyre, refusing to sacrifice herself by going off to do mission work among the poor and heathen and benighted. What kind of model for young girls is that?

Rosenberg might as well just come out and say, “You know what? I don’t really like romance—and, on top of that, I’m kind of a liberal do-gooder who thinks that abstract notions like justice and power are more important than love and family.” Rosenberg accuses Meyer of turning Bella into a “metaphorical princess in a metaphorical tower.” But she’s not a princess in a tower; she’s a wife in a family, and one who at the end is not only equal to her husband in strength and magical powers, but actually superior to him. That hardly seems rabidly anti-feminist to me-but I like Pride and Prejudice too, so what do I know.

Rosenberg came back on her own blog to tell me that I’m still wrong, most pointedly because she does in fact like romance novels. Assuming makes an ass out of me as they say…though, as I’ll argue here, for somebody who likes romance novels, Alyssa is awfully uncomfortable with some of the central points of the genre.

So first, on a couple of interpretive points. Alyssa takes me to task for overestimating Bella’s achievements and power. In my Splice Today essay, I argue that Bella has to practice to master her magical vampiric abilities in the last volume, and that she ends up being stronger than Edward. Alyssa responds:

I think Noah’s actually mistaken: when Bella finally uses her powers, she exerts them much farther than she’s ever been able to in her practice sessions, which kind of defeats the point if you’re trying to make an argument about “determination and commitment.” (Also, to the point Noah makes in a paragraph I pull out below about Bella being more powerful than Edward, Meyer seems to establish pretty clearly that that’s just because she’s a new vampire, not that it’ll be permanent.)

Bella does become much more powerful at the end of the book all of a sudden; the rationale is that her loved ones are threatened, and that gives her the inspiration to exert an extra oomph. But it’s not clear to me that therefore all the training and work was worthless. Surely the point could just as easily be, you put all the effort in, you exert yourself to the limit, and maybe that will be enough to get that miracle you need. It’s a little overly pat, sure; but I think it’s a stretch to argue that it’s not about Bella working to achieve success.

As for the strength thing — Bella’s natural vampiric strength will fade after she’s a newborn, sure. But her power seems to only be getting stronger — and it’s her power (the ability to negate other vampires’ powers) which really makes her more special, and more powerful, than Edward. (It’s also worth noting that Bella is unusuall self-controlled for a new vampire, which is a big part of the reason she’s even able to use her physical strength in a way that’s at all useful to her or anyone else.)

To move onto more substantial disagreements: Alyssa responded to my comparison of Bella with Elizabeth Bennett and Jane Eyre by saying this:

I think Noah forgets that I’m writting a critique of Twilight within the realm of fairy tale, and about why it’s a step backwards within the innovations of that genre. But I absolutely agree that I would be completely and utterly freaked out if teenage girls wanted to emulate Jane Eyre. Less so if they wanted to be little Lizzy Bennets, since she’s an intellectual and stands up to class prejudice (to the extent capable within her constraints of course). But I do think those books are regularly read with the acknowledgment that a) they’re about an era when women’s choices were substantially limited, b) frequently read in a context like a classroom where those roles can be discussed, and c) presented social criticisms in the times they were written. Twilight is neither set in another era (although it’s curiously removed from the technology of today) nor is it mostly read in a critical context like a classroom. And while I recognize that many, many Twilight readers can distinguish fact from fiction, I do think that some of the book’s themes demand a critical context, particularly the obsessiveness of the love affairs. Perhaps it’s just me, but I think it’s important, especially with young girls, to have a conversation about the fact that sometimes, no matter how much you love someone, if he leaves you, he is never coming back. I don’t think this is a trifling point: Bella never experiences permanent romantic loss, something a lot of contemporary fairy tales have managed to incorporate into the genre, and that’s a genuinely valuable lesson in a society where most people date before they marry.

So there’s a bunch there…but let’s start at the top.

First, I wasn’t saying that Jane Eyre was a bad model. On the contrary, I was saying that, at least in the incident I referenced, she’s a fine model. At the end of the book, the aptly named St. John tells Jane that she should marry him and come with him to be a missionary in some far away, benighted land. Despite great pressure, from St. John and her own conscience, Jane eventually refuses to go, putting her love and family above the call to change the world for the better. That’s a choice Bella would agree with. Would Alyssa?

Alyssa is more willing to accept Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice as a role model…but even here, she’s leery. Elizabeth, after all, isn’t really sufficiently independent; she doesn’t save the world, she marries to devote herself to the estate and her husband — not quite independent enough, for all her spunkiness. So, to make Pride and Prejudice safe, we need to read it in a classroom context, where girls can be taught what to think and what not to think about their chosen romance.

As someone who spent 14 years developing curriculum for high school students, I can say with some certainty that this is utter nonsense. The only thing students get from studying a book in school is bored. If Pride and Prejudice ever had any relevance, the fastest way to denude it of same is to relegate it to the classroom. And Alyssa’s comments on Twilight in this connection are almost Kantian; the problem with the books is that they’re not read in a classroom context, and as a result, girls actually enjoy them! The fall of society and/or feminism is certainly at hand.

I also find this point kind of bizarre:

“Bella never experiences permanent romantic loss”

It’s true; Bella gets everything she wants. At the end. Along the way, though, she experiences intense, brutal despair, not once, but multiple times. Edward rejects here and she really thinks he doesn’t love her, causing her to be almost nonfunctional for months.Then Jacob rejects her, making her miserable for an extended period. And it’s those experiences, as much as (or more than) the eventual triumph, that are really the heart of the series. To suggest that Bella needs to be *more* depressed really seems kind of ridiculous. I do get the point that most girls are going to not get the first guy they love, and that it’s useful to point that out . But at the same time, Twilight is not shy about acknowledging, and even reveling in, romantic disappointment.

The real heart of our disagreement is here, though:

As for the assertion that “I’m kind of a liberal do-gooder who thinks that abstract notions like justice and power are more important than love and family.” First, it’s a mistake again to conflate the abstract concepts of justice and equality as they exist in fairy tales with contemporary politics. And one of the things I find fascinating about contemporary fairy tales of all stripes is the ways they’ve managed to make the condition of societies and of individual marriages co-equal. In a lot of contemporary fairy tales, the main characters have to establish peace or societal equilibrium in order to craft a space where a marriage can thrive….I actually think it exalts love to tie it to larger societal concerns, rather than to isolate it entirely from society, and it makes for wider-ranging and more interesting stories, too.

Abstract justice in fairy tales doesn’t map exactly onto contemporary politics, of course…but it isn’t divorced from them either. And, indeed, in the rest of her argument here Alyssa goes on to make parallels between how life and politics work in a fairy tale and how they work in the real world. She likes certain fairy tales, she says, because they present an image in which men and women fall in love and work together to save the world (or work together to save the world and fall in love.) The dream Alyssa wants is one in which social and political engagement maps onto romance, and the two enrich each other. That’s why she doesn’t like the message in Jane Eyre, where political and social engagement is shown as existing in contrast to love; it’s why she’s uncomfortable with the message in Pride and Prejudice, where Elizabeth Bennet never really thinks all that much about social or political engagement (Alyssa says at the end of her essay that Elizabeth engages in rebellion…but really, calling a little satirical wit rebellion seems fairly desperate wishful thinking.) And her enthusiasm for great social change and rebellion is also why Alyssa absolutely hates Forks, the little town where Bella spends her life.

There is no larger world beyond family and Forks in the Twilight books, and if I were immortal, I think I might get kind of bored with that after a while. But then, I was never the kind of girl who could stare at a guy’s face for that long.

Okay, sure, I get that the treacly romance eternal love thing is irritating. But what is wrong with Forks? And why, as Alyssa repeatedly insists, is it lame, or passive, to save your loved ones and your entire family? Why exactly is Bella a failure? Because she doesn’t want to rule a kingdom? Because she doesn’t want to save the world? Because she’s chosen to care for those she loves and not impose her passing messianic dreams on the rest of the populace? Because her story — which is much more romance than fairy tale — ends in private happiness rather than public triumph?

Alyssa reminds me that she works as a political reporter, and is therefore not a liberal do-gooder at all, but instead is non-partisan. All right. Then she should be fine with the following argument, hopefully. Most people — girls, boys, what have you — they’re not going to save the world. Most of them don’t even want to save the world, you know? Is that because they’re victims of false consciousness and read too many Twilight books? Or is it because wanting to save the world is a kind of megalomaniacal sickness that most people just aren’t especially afflicted with? Or is it because there are different strokes for different folks? In any case, the fact remains; Bella, like most people, cares about the people she cares about. On their behalf, she’s able to do great things — risk her life, battle against evil, even perform miracles. But she doesn’t get off — and most of her readers don’t get off — on writing the wrongs of the world. Does that make her, and them, less virtuous or wrong? Are all those people in the Forkses of the world just not ambitious enough? I’m a liberal do-gooder myself, but still, that seems like a pretty presumptuous conclusion to me.

Update: It sounds like Alyssa is probably not going to respond further, so I should probably add that she’s been incredibly gracious and pleasant throughout the whole back and forth. So thanks, Alyssa. It’s been fun.

Desert Island Comics

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As you may have heard, the HU bloggers are taking a break this Thanksgiving week.

I will be heading off to Indonesia myself so it seemed “appropriate” to bring up the subject of desert island comics (see here for Shaenon K. Garrity’s survey of various industry professionals on the same subject). I was first exposed to the whole concept through the BBC’s Desert Island Discs about 20 years back. Now I won’t be following all the rules laid down by Roy Plomley but the radio program did have the useful proviso that the guest would be “automatically given the Complete Works of Shakespeare and either the Bible or another appropriate religious or philosophical work” (from Wikipedia).

One way in which I’ll deviate away from that program’s premise is that I’m going to be choosing a comic and only a single one at that. I’ve never viewed a desert island comic as one which a person might objectively consider the best ever made. Nor would it necessarily be that person’s favorite comic (though this would be the most obvious choice) or even a comic which has affected the person the most deeply. These factors might be seen to overlap but some books have a habit of affecting readers at particular periods of their lives only. Rather, it whould be a combination of all these factors to varying degrees: aesthetic beauty, emotional involvement or attachment, length and most importantly timelessness – a complex simplicity which affords endless re-readings. After all, you’ll be stuck on that island for quite a bit of time – maybe for the rest of your life.

Lest we forget, you’ll be taking along your desert island disc and desert island book as well. In my case, I will be searching for a desert island comic to go along with my copy of Luo Guanzhong’s Romance of the Three Kingdoms and a piece of music by J. S. Bach. It certainly wouldn’t be a copy of Watchmen, a run of Kirby’s Fantastic Four, Chris Ware’s The Acme Novelty Library or a collection of comics by Robert Crumb. As far as modern day pamphlet comics are concerned, Love and Rockets probably stands as good as chance as any of being included in my short list but even that would be a stretch. I would consider bringing along a collection of Krazy Kat or Peanuts strips. The former in particular seems to demonstrate quite engagingly the growth of the artist from his early years of enthusiasm to a middle period of great flowering before the final months of unmistakable and very palpable struggle and depression.

[Second to last Krazy Kat Sunday from Rob Stolzer’s collection.]

But what I would really need is something to balance out a palate made raw by too much erudition and history and whenever I think about this, it is Carl Bark’s Disney Duck Comics which come to mind first (the Uncle Scrooge stories in particular have a place close to my heart). When I read Art Spiegelman and Francoise Mouly’s Toon Treasury of Classic Children’s Comics a few months back, one thing I noticed was how exceptional Bark’s stories were even in the presence of his illustrious peers. It must be said though that I can’t discount the effect of nostalgia here. “The Paul Bunyan Machine” story from Uncle Scrooge #28 was one of the first comics I ever read as a child.

Is it perhaps a bit disturbing that I’m putting a Barks Duck story in the same category as Shakespeare or one of the most important books in Chinese literature? Perhaps. It may simply be a reflection of the youthfulness of comics as an art form. Still, as far as reading material is concerned, there are few things as relaxing or viscerally delightful as a good comic. Certainly no piece of traditional literature has offered me so much for so little effort. In the same way that the qualities of the best children’s comics exceed those of most (if not all) children’s literature, what comics have always offered is a very accessible and intensely rich and fulfilling experience, one which has every chance of breaking down the crumbling barriers between high and low art. Only time will tell if it fulfills this promise.