Heroes Never Rust #91: Sentimentality

29 Wednesday Apr 2015

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Alan Moore, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Heroes Never Rust, sean ironman, This Side of Paradise, Watchmen

Heroes Never Rust #91 by Sean Ironman

Watchmen: Sentimentality

Watchmen presents a bleak world. Superheroes are no the superheroes many people are familiar with. The world, or at least a great deal of the world, seems to hate the vigilantes. But, there is one real moment of, not happiness, but positivity. At the end of the ninth issue, Silk Spectre convinces Doctor Manhattan to return to Earth. He feels that humanity is no different than anything else in the universe—a collection of atoms. By the end, though, he sees that life is special:

In each human coupling, a thousand mission sperm vie for a single egg. Multiply those odds by countless generations, against the odds of your ancestors being alive; meeting; siring this precise son; that exact daughter…until your mother loves a man she has every reason to hate, and of that union, of the thousand million children competing for fertilization, it was you, only you, that emerged. To distill so specific a form from that chaos of improbability, like turning air to gold…that is the crowning unlikelihood. The thermodynamic miracle.

In my Forms of Illustrated Narrative course a few weeks ago, as we discussed the second half of Watchmen, one student remarked that the ending to the ninth issue is a bit sentimental. I don’t view it that way, but I can see the student’s point, especially because it seems that when a work presents a bleak view, emotion is okay, but when there is some happiness or positivity involved, the work becomes sentimental. Sentimentality is looked down upon in literary writing. Many writers, especially those at the beginning of their careers, are so afraid of their work being labeled sentimental that the emotion is stripped from the story. The stories become bland and do not affect the reader. The stories die on the page. But, what is sentimentality, and how can a writer produce a work that feels alive that has emotion in it without the work being labeled sentimental?

First, sentimentality does not just relate to positive emotions. Sentimentality, at least in its current use, appeals to shallow, unsophisticated emotions with no regard for reason or logic. In This Side of Paradise, F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote, “I’m not sentimental—I’m as romantic as you are. The idea, you know, is that the sentimental person thinks things will last—the romantic person has a desperate confidence that they won’t.” Sentimentality takes the reality out of the story and presents a simplistic view in an effort to get the reader to feel what the writer wants the reader to feel.

That’s a problem for a number of reasons. Instead of focusing on the characters and the story, the writer is trying to manipulate the reader into feeling a certain way. No one likes to be sold something. Present the story and let the reader feel what they will feel. Another problem is with the simplistic view. James Baldwin once remarked, “Sentimentality, the ostentatious parading of excessive and spurious emotion, is the mark of dishonesty…the wet eyes of the sentimentalist betray his aversion to experience, his fear of life, his arid heart; and it is always, therefore, the signal of secret and violent inhumanity, the mark of cruelty.” In sentimental work, emotion is contrived, dishonest. We, literary writers, are out to explore humanity. Honestly. We search for the Truth, for meaning. But, sentimental work is about controlling the reader, not exploring the story and the subject matter. Life is complicated. Situations are complicated. Emotions are complicated. That complication needs to be shown in the work.

In a work, like Watchmen, a writer must balance emotions. Watchmen is dark, not overly so, but it is about a world on the brink of nuclear war and deals with many superheroes who do nothing about the situation. Until recently, sentiment used to be the standard word for feelings. Now, it has been twisted to mean describe empty, meaningless emotion. That’s the issue with sentiment, really. It affects adult readers in the opposite way, making the reader not feel. Sentimental work is broad and deals with unearned emotion. Emotions are sloppy. Highly emotional situations are not overly sad, or overly happy, but a combination of emotions that leave a person not knowing how to feel. It’s not so much emotion that should be avoided, but expected emotion. In Watchmen, the end of issue nine works because it is one ray of positivity in the twelve-issue comic. The positivity interacts and counterbalances with the negativity, creating a story that the reader has to think about. The work becomes intellectual, not just emotional.

There are such things as simple emotions and complex emotions. This is supported by psychologists, by the way, not just my own rambling. Simple emotions are fear, happiness, anger, sadness, etc. Complex emotions, such as shame, pride, guilt, require us to know about the character’s situation and values. Simple emotions are basically like an animal reflex, according to Keith Oatley, a professor emeritus of cognitive psychology at the University of Toronto. In order to understand complex emotions, one must think, analyze, and interpret events—events that are complicated because there are multiple contradictory emotional triggers. Sentimental works try to get the reader swept up in emotion, controlling the heart instead of the head, but this doesn’t work well with adult readers. I do not mean to look down on YA works or younger readers, but biologically speaking, younger people have more difficulty regulating emotions, causing them to be more impulse and driven by emotions rather than logic and reason. Emotional reactivity grabs younger readers easier than adult readers, which is why there are many YA books that are sentimental, and that work even though they are sentimental. It’s all about audience.

But, adult readers need messier, more complex situations. Adult readers need to be challenged emotionally. At the end of the day, avoiding sentimentality in one’s writing is the same solution as just writing in an age that so much narrative is competing for readers—give the reader something new.

Make your writing as emotional as you want. But, make your writing complex. Don’t give the reader something that he or she already knows. Aim for an emotional ambiguity. It allows you as a literary fiction (or nonfiction) writer to explore the subject matter fully and create complex characters, and it avoids the sentimental.

I have told this my undergraduate nonfiction workshop many times—If you write an essay about a dead grandparent, don’t write about how sad you are that the grandparent is dead. That would be writing into readers’ expectations. Give readers something new. Write about how happy you are that the old hag is dead. Or don’t write about death at all. Remember, sentiment is socialized. Sentiment is expected, simplistic emotion. Sentiment is pre-conceived. Sentiment is controlling your reader and treating them like an animal, only allowing the reader instinctive, reflexive emotional responses. Allow the reader to think. Send your readers into the deep end and see if they can figure their way out. Emotion and sentiment are separate from one another. Emotion can be present in your work (positive or negative), but just make it complex enough that you are not telling the reader how to feel.

Ambiguity is a good thing.

_______

Photo by John King

Sean Ironman (Episode 102) earned his MFA at the University of Central Florida. Currently, he teaches creative nonfiction and digital media at the University of Central Arkansas as a visiting professor. His work can be read in The Writer’s Chronicle, Redivider, and Breakers: A Comics Anthology, among others.

Heroes Never Rust #90: Skip the Door

22 Wednesday Apr 2015

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Alan Moore, Dave Gibbons, Heroes Never Rust, sean ironman, Watchmen

Heroes Never Rust #90 by Sean Ironman

Watchmen: When Not to Show

Watchmen, for the most part, is devoid of action. There are blips on the radar, but the comic is very much a bunch of talking heads.

But the eighth issue is the most action packed. We get Rorschach taking on Big Figure and his henchmen, Night Owl and Silk Spectre breaking Rorschach from prison, and the murder of Hollis Mason, the original Night Owl. The issue is bloody and violent, but upon re-reading it, I was in awe of how little Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons show the violence. Many beginner writers go overboard with action scenes, and they could do worse than studying the eighth issue in finding a way to be violent without showing too much. This goes for every aspect of a story, really. When does a writer cut away? What does a writer show to the reader?

In the first action scene of the issue, Big Figure, a crime boss from the 1960s that Night Owl and Rorschach put in jail, uses the prison riot distracting guards to his benefit and goes to Rorchach’s cell with two henchmen. Rorschach pisses off one of the henchmen, who tries to grab Rorschach through the bars. Rorschach ties his hands so that Big Figure can’t open the cell. Wanting revenge, Big Figure has the second henchman cut the first henchman’s throat so they can get to the lock. In one panel, we see the second henchman with a shiv to the first henchman’s throat. But, we don’t see the throat cut. We get a shot of Rorschach with a stone cold look on his face as blood splashes onto his stomach.

Why change perspective there? Does it have something to do with the reader not being able to handle the grisly scene? Some might say so, but I wouldn’t. If someone didn’t want to read a comic with violence like this, they would not have advanced to the eighth issue. And if they miraculously did and still did not want to see violence, they still get a scene where a person’s throat is cut. They might not see the knife cut through skin, but they know what’s going on. The slitting of the throat is not shown because it does not matter. It’s unimportant. Skip the door and all that.

The henchman is barely a character. Readers are shown Rorschach’s response. He’s one of the main characters of the comic. And his response is that he has none. He doesn’t even acknowledge the man dying. The moment is used to support Rorschach’s characterization, not to give the audience a violent encounter. That’s the difference between violence being used gratuitously and violence serving the story.

Later, violence is used in a similar fashion when Night Owl and Silk Spectre proceed to rescue Rorschach from prison. At first, Rorschach refuses to leave until he settles the score with Big Figure, who has run into a bathroom. Big Figure’s death is not shown. Instead, readers stay with Night Owl and Silk Spectre as they wait in the hall. Again, Big Figure is not important. It might be “cool” to get a death scene, but the story does not require it. The story needs to keep the main characters front and center. So, while the reader can understand what is going on in the bathroom, the reader would not understand what Silk Spectre and Night Owl discuss while waiting. It’s more important for the reader to stay with those two and their conversation than to follow Rorschach. There is nothing surprising about what happens to Big Figure. Skip the door.

Now, the final action scene of the issue—the death of Hollis Mason, the original Night Owl, is a bit different. No main character is present. One could argue that the scene does not affect the main plot of Watchmen, and one would be right in that assumption. Yet, it still is an important scene. It deals with the aftereffects of the main plot. It gives the story weight.

In Watchmen, much of the public dislikes superheroes. A gang blames Doctor Manhattan and the other vigilantes for the troubles of the world, for the world being on the verge of nuclear Armageddon. Hollis Mason released a book years earlier revealing he was Night Owl. The gang, not understanding there is a new Night Owl, go to kill Hollis because they think they are stopping a superhero. They break into his house and beat him to death.

Instead of seeing him die, the scene is cut up. Readers are given one panel of the fight, and then one of Hollis in the past as Night Owl fighting criminals. Due to the break in the scene, the sequence becomes about more than just the death of Hollis Mason. It becomes about consequences.

About the aftermath. Doctor Manhattan, Rorschach, Night Owl, and Silk Spectre can’t save everyone. Their existence, in itself, is capable of bringing pain to others. And what happens years later to these superheroes, when they’re old and forgotten?

Watchmen, at its very heart, is a study about superheroes in the real world. The consequences of their existence. The effect they have on the world. That’s what makes Watchmen so interesting. But, superheroes can’t just affect the world in a good way. That’s not interesting. That’s not real. Bad things will happen, like they do with Hollis Mason. No one can save the entire world.

_______

Photo by John King

Heroes Never Rust #88: Turning Exposition into Plot

08 Wednesday Apr 2015

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Comic Books, Heroes Never Rust

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Alan Moore, Dave Gibbons, Dr. Malcolm Long, Exposition, Heroes Never Rust, Plot, Rorschach, Watchmen

Heroes Never Rust #88 by Sean Ironman

Watchmen: Turning Exposition into Plot

At the end of the fifth issue, Rorschach was caught by the police and unmasked. The sixth issue of Watchmen deals with the fallout and gives Rorschach center stage. While the other characters kind of sit around, Rorschach is the active one. He is the only one concerned with who killed The Comedian. So far, he has been the hero of the comic. At the same time, Rorschach is screwed up. He’s barely sane. No one seems to want much to do with him, including his ex-partner, and he slinks through the shadows in his mask and trench coat. But, readers have yet to find out why. Why is Rorschach the way he is? Readers, at times, do need to understand why the characters readers are following act the way they act. Character motivation is important for readers to know. But, the issue with backstory is that exposition is boring for readers. Get back to the murder mystery. Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons have their cake and eat it too. They get to keep the story moving forward and reveal Rorschach’s backstory by introducing another character.

Say hello to Dr. Malcolm Long, Rorschach’s prison psychiatrist.

When Doctor Manhattan was given a focus in issue four, he was the main character of that issue. But, in issue 6, Rorschach’s issue, Dr. Malcolm Long is the main character. Rorschach is relegated to a supporting role. Think of it like a novel that is told from multiple characters’ point of views. When one character takes over, the others become supporting characters for the chapter. The issue is refocused so that the story is no longer Rorschach dealing with being in prison but now it is Dr. Long’s attempt to understand and help Rorschach. This allows backstory to be given directly to the reader and still keep the story going because as we learn more about Rorschach, Dr. Long is getting closer (or so he believes) to his goal. The issue basically acts as a mini-story in the larger Watchmen comic.

Scenes in which Dr. Long does not appear in are from notes he is given after the fact. For example, a scene depicting Rorschach in line for food beat another inmate after said inmate attempts to stab him. The reader is shown the scene as if the reader was following Rorschach, but the scene is introduced with a narration caption from Dr. Long’s point of view. “The Deputy Warden just called. Apparently Kovacs was involved in an incident today, just after he’d seen me. It happened during lunch, in the canteen…” The comics medium allows for the scene to be presented in a visual manner and not stay in Dr. Long’s language. There is more leeway here than in prose, but the concept remains the same. By introducing the scene from Dr. Long’s point of view, the story stays focused on showing Dr. Long’s analysis of Rorschach, rather than just giving readers Rorschach in prison. There is a story to follow.

If Dr. Long’s story only featured Rorschach, the issue would fail. If it is indeed supposed to be Dr. Long’s story, then readers need to be given his whole story. He needs to become a real person and be just as well rounded as the other characters in Watchmen. Throughout the issue, readers are presented with scenes from Dr. Long’s personal life. It begins innocently with Dr. Long working late hours at home and his wife makes him take a break. A few pages later, the scene is repeated. Only this time, Dr. Long refuses to take a break and his wife goes to bed angry. The story readers are following quickly becomes not one of Dr. Long helping Rorschach but one of Dr. Long being corrupted by Rorschach. He begins to see only the horrors of the world, like Rorschach, and stop believing in the goodness of people. At the end of the issue, nothing has changed with Rorschach—his own plot has not been moved forward. But, Dr. Long is broken. The final sequence features Dr. Long staring closely at a Rorschach test in the dark and the comic ends with an all black panel. “We are alone. There is nothing else.” The issue is not taken totally away from Rorschach, however. Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons understand still that this issue is one piece of a larger story. By having Rorschach be the reason this seemingly fine doctor breaks down makes Rorschach’s own journey more interesting and relatable. Readers are put in Dr. Long’s place. We are also trying to understand Rorschach. And at the end, just like Dr. Long, we too could not handle the horrors Rorschach faces.

_______

Photo by John King

Heroes Never Rust #86: Watchmen: Non-Chronological Storytelling

25 Wednesday Mar 2015

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Comic Books, Heroes Never Rust

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Alan Moore, Flashbacks, Heroes Never Rust, sean ironman, storytelling, time, Watchmen

Heroes Never Rust #86 by Sean Ironman

Watchmen: Non-Chronological Storytelling

The fourth issue of Watchmen is a centerpiece for delving into Doctor Manhattan’s character. At the end of the third issue, he teleports to Mars. There, he builds a massive clock tower and, basically, reflects on his life. Reflect might not be the right word. Doctor Manhattan is the one vigilante with superpowers. He sees time differently than we do, with events taking place simultaneously. He is, at once, in the past, present, and future. The issue with all of this, of course, is that the reader is not Doctor Manhattan. At the end of the day, no matter how experimental a comic is or prose is, a person reads one sentence at a time, views one panel at a time, in sequence. These smaller pieces add up. Letters to words to phrases to sentences to paragraphs to pages. Even in comics, a visual medium, the reader views events in a sequence. An issue that many stories may have (comics or prose) is showing non-chronological storytelling. When your story features a character who literally views the world non-chronologically, the problem may be exacerbated. The reader needs to understand the story, regardless of whether he or she likes the story or not. Understanding the events presented is important.

Doctor Manhattan goes through his entire history from being a boy wanting to follow in his father’s footsteps as a watchmaker to attending Princeton to meeting Janey Slater to falling in love to his accident and supposed death and eventually his rebirth as a superpowered being to becoming a vigilante and meeting Laurie, the second Silk Spectre. There are other events that I’m leaving out, too. All of this is taking place as Doctor Manhattan reflects on his life from the story’s present day on Mars. To keep track of all of these different time periods (over a few decades), the story is given a framing device of Doctor Manhattan searching/walking on Mars. The frame is returned to time and time again, actually similar to a car revving. Each time, the story leaves the frame, the story gets a little bit more confident going further into the time periods and returning to the frame less and less and jumping from time period to time period without being taken back to the present day. Readers are still firmly placed—they aren’t thrown around time, so they can keep track of events.

In visual design, like on the comic book page, a viewer/reader needs a line of sight. A viewer/reader needs to understand how to read a page—basically a line to move a viewer/reader down and across the page. A story needs a similar line. Readers need through-line to move them from scene to scene. The frame story of Doctor Manhattan on Mars is that line. It gives the reader a base to feel safe and secure. I have written about this before, but it is important for a reader to feel like the writer is in control, that the writer is not just throwing whatever is on the top of his or her head at the reader.

Comics have a bit more leeway on changing the scenery and time period suddenly because readers are capable of processing images faster than text. Just changing the colors and images between panels is enough to communicate to a reader that there has been a change in time and setting. So, comics can change scene faster and still have the reader keep track of what is going on. But, Watchmen also uses text. If there’s one thing I learned about transitions in prose (and I think this goes for nonfiction as well) is that beginning writers tend to overthink them. Elbows and knees are ugly. How many people can say that the most beautiful part of their partner is the elbow? There are exceptions, I’m sure, but the elbow serves a utilitarian purpose. It’s not meant to be beautiful. The same with transitions. Transitions are utilitarian. They serve a purpose to move the reader from one place in the story to another place in the story. Many beginner writers try to turn transitions into art. In Watchmen, readers are moved from one time period to another period in a simple manner—“It is 1985. I am on Mars. I am fifty-six years old.” You cannot really get simpler than that. Readers get the year, the place, and the age of Doctor Manhattan, the narrator. The text firmly places us into the time period. The transition is also written in a style befitting Doctor Manhattan—there is no emotion. Alan Moore uses the text as not only a transition, but also as a means for characterization. But, the transitions are not overdone. They fit the voice of the character, and they move readers from place to place. And that is it. The transitions do not do the heavy lifting. They get the job done, and the story moves on.

_______

Photo by John King

Heroes Never Rust #85: Watchmen & Sex

18 Wednesday Mar 2015

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Erotic Literature, Heroes Never Rust

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Alan Moore, Heroes Never Rust, sean ironman, Watchmen

Heroes Never Rust #85 by Sean Ironman

Watchmen: Sex

A great deal occurs in the third issue of Watchmen. Laurie and Dan get their taste for superheroics reinvigorated when they are jumped in an alley. Doctor Manhattan is confronted on television for allegedly giving cancer to people around him due to his super powers. He leaves Earth for Mars. Rorschach continues with his theory that someone is trying to plot against the superheroes. But, the scene that sticks out to me as the most interesting is Doctor Manhattan’s sex scene with Laurie toward the beginning.

The scene opens with Doctor Manhattan’s blue hands touching Laurie’s face. Then, a third hand appears. Freaked out, Laurie screams and the sex stops. Two Doctor Manhattans are in bed with her. When she goes to another room in their house, she spots a third Doctor Manhattan in some sort of a lab—his office, I presume. Laurie, upset that her boyfriend thinks so little of loving her that he duplicates himself so that he can continue his work, storms out. It’s a short scene, only two pages, but it’s a vital one that helps develop both characters and moves the plot along, giving Doctor Manhattan no reason to remain on Earth after Laurie leaves him.

Sex can be difficult for some readers to get through in a story. It’s not for me (as a writer or a reader) so sometimes I’m confused by certain readers’ responses to stories featuring sex. I can understand when readers feel sex scenes are gratuitous, and I feel the same in certain works, True Blood, for example. But, gratuitous can go for any type of scene. A conversation can be gratuitous. A gratuitous scene goes overboard long after the scene accomplishes what it was meant to accomplish for the story. If a conversation goes on too long, then it is gratuitous. The same with an action scene. Any scene. Of course, there are gratuitous sex scenes. But, just because sex is present doesn’t meant the scene is gratuitous.

First, there is little nudity in the sex scene in issue three. Laurie pulls the covers up. The reader knows she is naked, but showing her breasts would be gratuitous here. Readers are shown Doctor Manhattan’s ass, but he spends the majority of Watchmen nude, so that doesn’t really count. The scene is shown knowing full well that most people view sex as an intimate act. It’s personal. And because most readers would agree with that idea, the scene works well. Doctor Manhattan has become so distant from his humanity that he cannot even be present when making love to his girlfriend. If readers did not view sex as a personal and private act, they might very well agree with Doctor Manhattan as Laurie complains and storms out. Instead, readers are able to understand that Doctor Manhattan has become less interested in human acts. He would rather stick to his experiments. During the argument, Laurie throws a beaker filled with some sort of liquid at Doctor Manhattan. It smashes on the counter, spilling its contents. As one Doctor Manhattan tells Laurie he is prepared to discuss why she is angry, another duplicate fixes the mess and recreates the beaker and liquid. Even as he is fighting with girlfriend, his mind is really on his experiment.

Second, the sex portion of this scene is only in three panels (four if you count the larger panel of Laurie pulling away from the two Doctor Manhattans). Twelve panels show the argument and Laurie storming out. The sex is not the important aspect of the scene. (When are the physical actions of a scene the most important aspect? Most of the time it’s the mental or emotional responses of the characters.) The sex is presented to get to Laurie storming out. She can only stand so much of Doctor Manhattan not caring. In an act as intimate as sex, she needs him to care. To want to be there with her in the moment. The sex that is shown is only a close-up of Doctor Manhattan’s hands on Laurie’s face. It’s enough to have the reader understand what is going on, but that’s where the sex ends. Once a reader understands the choreography of a scene, the scene can focus on character development, show reflection, or show internal thoughts. Beyond that, a scene can become gratuitous.

Watchmen is a book for adults. In my opinion, if one is writing for an adult audience, nothing is off limits. Adults can handle it. If they can’t, then they need to take a look at their life. Hiding away from what’s in the world is not in the interest of art. At some point in the creative process, a writer must consider their audience. I don’t mean pandering to their audience. But, a writer should ask himself or herself who they are writing toward. I read Watchmen the first time when I was eighteen. Perhaps I could have read it a couple of years younger, but to truly appreciate it, readers must be mature. If I read Watchmen back when I was only reading X-Men comics and discussing them with neighborhood friends in my parents’ driveway, I would have hated it. Including sex in adult stories is not a necessity, but it does allow a writer to connect to readers and to get readers to think about an idea in a different way. I spent my childhood reading superhero comics, and when I read Watchmen, I finally understood what it would mean to have superpowers. Watchmen places superheroes in the real world—the comic makes them relatable. We have sex, and so do the superheroes.

_______

Photo by John King

Heroes Never Rust #80: Ridiculousness in Fiction

11 Wednesday Feb 2015

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Comic Books, Heroes Never Rust

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Heroes Never Rust, Mark Millar, Nemesis, Steve McNiven, Suspension of Disbelief

Heroes Never Rust #80 by Sean Ironman

Ridiculousness in Fiction

As the story speeds along in the second issue of Nemesis, the situations get more and more over the top. That’s not necessarily bad, unless you wanted a different type of story. In the last few decades in comics, there’s been a push toward realism in superhero stories. In the eighties, comics like Frank Miller’s Daredevil: Born Again and Alan Moore’s and Dave Gibbons’ Watchmen began a study of superheroes in the real world. There was outrageousness still to be found, but comics had definitely taken another step closer to our world. For decades prior, there were steps, such as the Marvel Universe in the 1960s with characters like the Fantastic Four and Spider-man, but in recent years realism has taken a firmer hand in comics storytelling. You can even take a look at the films based on superhero comics. Up until a couple of years ago, the idea filmmakers went to was how do we take these comic book characters and put them in the real world.

This has begun to change, however. First, in the comics themselves, and then this past year, we’ve had more outrageous ideas in many of the films, such as Guardians of the Galaxy and X-Men: Days of Future Past. I like a bit of ridiculousness in my comics, in most stories come to think of it. The more I write creative nonfiction, the more my fiction gets a bit ridiculous. But, and here’s where I have the issue, when does the outrageousness become too much? How does a writer fit in ridiculous events and characters and yet still have the reader buy the world? Because at the end of the day, no matter what type of story the writer is telling, the reader has to believe that the events can take place in the story’s world.

The more I read, the more I think it has to do with pacing. Pacing isn’t focused on as much as it should, I think. Or perhaps in the creative writing classes I took in undergrad and grad school it wasn’t. But, to me, pacing is one of the most important craft elements a beginning writer should focus on. The reason a lot of realistic superhero stories fail is that they spend so much time on trying to explain why the superhero does what he or she does and how they were created. Take the Amazing Spider-man series with Andrew Garfield (a terrific actor stuck in crappy movies). He can’t just be bitten by a radioactive spider and the story move forward. The movies try to explain that Peter Parker’s father did something to him so that he could have survived the bite. By spending more time on this idea, the audience begins to question the outrageous idea. And at no point is the audience going to be given a good enough explanation on why Peter Parker gained powers instead of dying. Pacing is really just the speed at which the audience is given information. The faster it moves, the less time the reader has to question what is going on. If the writer spends too much time on an idea, the reader gets to run that over and over in the head and find holes and start disbelieving what is going on.

In Nemesis, the supervillain does some outrageous acts in the second issue. He has an underground bunker that I think Bill Gates would have difficulty financing. He blows up a football stadium, steals the Hope Diamond, breaks into the Pentagon and fills the building with nerve gas killing nearly everybody in the building, has his car split in two and rides a hidden motorcycle out of it to escape the police, grabs a rocket launcher in mid-air and fires it to destroy a helicopter, and swims through a sewer grate in the Potomac like he knew exactly where it would be. Keep in mind that this is in twenty-five pages (and he has the President of the United States still held captive from last issue). That’s a lot for the reader to buy. But, the comic moves along at such a quick pace that the reader doesn’t have the time to question what is happening.

Perhaps the fast pace helps the reader feel safe, as if the writer knows exactly what he is doing. The more I read the more I believe that to be true. Anything can happen in the story, but the reader needs to feel like there is a solid authorial plan. Nemesis could do whatever he wants—Hell, even after all the crazy things he does, he ends up getting caught and tells the cops that this is all just part of the plan. How can someone really plan something so complex? Well, they can’t, but it’s just part of the suspension of disbelief of the story. The comic sets it up pretty early on that the story is going to play loose with reality. The characters are going to do outrageous things and the reader can’t think too hard about it. It’s up to the reader at that point if they are going to read the book. If they’re on board, great. If not, oh well. After all, haters gonna hate.

_______

Photo by John King

Heroes Never Rust #71: Ms. Marvel vs. Possibly Offensive Imagery

10 Wednesday Dec 2014

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Comic Books, Heroes Never Rust

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Heroes Never Rust, Kamala Khan, Marvel, Ms. Marvel, sean ironman, Willow Wilson

Heroes Never Rust #71 by Sean Ironman

Ms. Marvel vs. Possibly Offensive Imagery

In the first issue of Ms. Marvel, the Terrigen Mists were released and when Kamala Khan came into contact with the mists, she gained superpowers and transformed into Ms. Marvel, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed member of the Avengers. Kamala looked up to Ms. Marvel and wanted to be an Avenger, so when she gained the power to transform herself, she understandably went with Ms. Marvel, not having control over her new ability. This could be problematic if not handled carefully. Acquiring superpowers, especially for the lead in a superhero comic book, usually allows the person to become great. Even if the hero isn’t liked by many people (Spider-Man, for example), the reader relates to the character. And, let’s face it, kids want to be that superhero. Having a Muslim, brown-skinned girl turn into a character who is basically a model for the Aryan race is not the message the writer, or Marvel (now owned by Disney), wants to send. Telling girls that in order to be a superhero, they have to become light-skinned, tall, and blonde is probably the most offensive thing the comic could do.

But.

Willow Wilson, the writer, uses the idea of having to become someone else to be a superhero to provide conflict for Kamala. First, the idea that Kamala turns into Carol Danvers (Ms. Marvel) works to make Kamala relatable to readers. Even if a reader doesn’t like Carol Danvers (which is insane. How could someone not like her?), someone reading a superhero comic likes a superhero. The reader might like Captain America, or Iron Man, or Maggot. It doesn’t matter. Everyone reading Ms. Marvel can relate to Kamala because readers of superhero comics like at least one superhero, if not many. Even if the reader can’t relate to Kamala’s other life experiences, her idolizing of Carol Danvers gives the reader a way in to the character.

What saves the comic from being offensive is that Kamala is not comfortable with being Carol Danvers and rejects her new body. “I always thought that if I had amazing hair, if I could pull off great boots, if I could fly—that would make me feel strong. That would make me happy. But the hair gets in my face, the boots pinch, and this leotard is giving me an epic wedgie.” If the comic didn’t comment on Kamala’s new body, it would be offensive. But, it uses the new body as a source of conflict for Kamala. The character grew up like many of us. We can’t be superheroes because we’re not strong enough, not fast enough, not tall enough. Everyone at some point in their life has talked themselves out of doing something because of who they are. Kamala never thought she could be a superhero because she never saw one that was like her. In the dream sequence from the first issue, she imagines herself as Carol Danvers. Even in her dreams, she can’t be herself and save the day.

Though she hates the new body, and can’t really figure out how to return to normal at first, she realizes that what made her happy was that she saved another human being. “Maybe putting on a costume doesn’t make you brave. Maybe it’s something else.” The comic doesn’t ignore the fact that most superheroes are white and look like models. Not understanding that something could be offensive and ignoring it makes it worse. And, quite honestly, makes the writer look bad, like he or she didn’t really analyze the story being told. Wilson avoids falling into those traps because she has taken a hard look at comics today and understands where Kamala Khan fits in. She’s able to use Kamala’s specific characteristics to both make the character unique and seemingly universal. The second issue ends with Kamala looking at the Ms. Marvel poster she has in her bedroom and making the same pose. This time, however she stays in her own body.

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Photo by John King

Heroes Never Rust #70: The Next Great American Hero

03 Wednesday Dec 2014

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Comic Books, Heroes Never Rust

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Heroes Never Rust, Kamala Khan, Ms. Marvel, sean ironman

Heroes Never Rust #70 by Sean Ironman

The Next Great American Hero

Many decades ago, comic book creators figured out certain characteristics a comic book superhero needs to attract an audience. No matter how much power a character has or how many successes they earn, a superhero is an outsider. Superman is popular, but Clark Kent isn’t. Bruce Wayne is rich and successful, but he doesn’t fit in as Batman, who is even an outsider in superhero groups. The Fantastic Four are celebrities, but they constantly have money problems and stay in the tower. Peter Parker is bullied, and even as Spider-Man, he is hunted by the police. I don’t know whether the outsider characteristic is because creators have found most people who read comics think of himself or herself as an outsider, or if everyone just thinks of themselves as outsiders. Whatever it is, when a new character is created, he or she is usually an outsider.

The specifics of being an outsider change, though. Showing readers a billionaire who kicks ass at night might not work as well today as it did with Batman because of the ever-increasing class inequality. Even Peter Parker wouldn’t be an outsider today. Yes, he’s a nerd, but that’s not too bad anymore with computer nerds getting rich. I mean, c’mon, he was married to a model for many years. Peter Parker has become cool. In the mid-twentieth century, outsiders were people who were to themselves. They were people who had few friends, if any, and weren’t interested in the same things as their peers. Loners. Now, though, the culture has gotten so diverse. I don’t know whether it’s the rise of Psychology or the internet or whatever, and I don’t really care. But being a loner doesn’t mean as much as it used to. (Or perhaps that’s just me, a loner, no longer caring). So what’s the outsider of today that a comic creator can use for a new character?

Enter Kamala Khan, the new female superhero of Ms. Marvel.

Let’s face it, women are outsiders. It’s how the world is. Just look at this whole controversy with Bill Cosby. Nineteen women have come forward, at the time of writing this post, since 1965 and accused him of sexual assault. And what has he suffered? Production on his new show shut down? The “controversy” has devolved into whether these women are truthful or not. Women are not respected by our society. In a personal essay I recently finished, I used a character called Dr. Smith, a woman. After introducing the character by Dr. Smith, I used “her” to refer to “her gloves.” A person who agreed to critique the essay, a woman, said she was confused for a moment because the doctor was female and suggested that I say she’s a woman before referring to “her gloves.” I did not make that change. I don’t see why a doctor has to be specifically introduced as a woman, as if it’s an oddity for a woman to be a doctor.

There are other female characters, however. But, what about Muslim superheroes? I guess Grant Morrison introduced Dust in his run on New X-Men. But, a Muslim woman as a main character for a superhero comic? I can’t think of any. And, let’s face another fact. Ever since the September 11 tragedy, many Americans have not thought fondly about Muslims. Even recently, actor Ben Affleck (the former cinematic Daredevil and future cinematic Batman) got into a heated disagreement with Bill Maher on Maher’s HBO show, Real Time, because Maher argued that Islam is too often a religion of violence.

Now, sometimes, to be honest, I get tired of the effect political correctness has on storytelling. If the comic just focused on Kamala’s gender and religion, there would be a problem. That, to me, would be offensive. But, it doesn’t. Of course, the comic refers to her religion and she is clearly drawn as a teenage girl, those characteristics are used the same as Peter Parker’s nerdy traits—she is made to be an outsider. But, from that point, she is depicted as a capable young woman who is good at heart. Her religion and gender make her a real person, but the comic doesn’t rely on them to keep the reader’s interests. Honestly, this is the best new comic I’ve read since Hawkeye. Kamala is written to make her accessible to the audience. Everyone, or at least comic book readers, feel as if they are outsiders. In the first issue, Kamala deals with her bossy parents. She sneaks out of her house to go to a party. She loves superheroes. And when someone is in trouble, Kamala goes to save them, not thinking of herself. She reminds me of early Peter Parker. The cover of the first issue allows readers to hold it up to their own faces so that they too can be Ms. Marvel. I have seen countless photographs of children (and even adults) of all backgrounds doing this. The specifics of her character make her interesting, but her thoughts and desires make her relatable. Readers don’t have to have the same background as the character to follow that character on an adventure.

As you can probably tell by my photo below, I am a white male. I have heard other white males say that they don’t believe a superhero could do certain things because the superhero is a woman. I shit you not. Maybe companies like Marvel and DC think that all white males think that same way.

I guess I can only speak for myself, but I want my heroes like Kamala. Her character is a perfect balance between emotions I can relate to and a story that is not my own. In my creative nonfiction workshop, I tell my students nearly every week that they don’t have to agree with an author’s thoughts on life. I tell them that agreeing does not make the essay good and having a different opinion does not make the essay bad. I prefer to read about lives other than my own. I don’t want to read about my life. I live it. Why would I waste time reading about me?

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Photo by John King

Heroes Never Rust #67: The Power and Humility of Superman

12 Wednesday Nov 2014

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Comic Books, Heroes Never Rust

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Bjarne Hansen, Heroes Never Rust, Jeph Loeb, sean ironman, Superman: For All Seasons, Tim Sale

Heroes Never Rust #67 by Sean Ironman

The Power and Humility of Superman

Issue two of Superman: For All Seasons covers the summer from Lois Lane’s point of view. It opens with Superman flying through Metropolis over Lois’s narration about Perry White, Editor-in-Chief of The Daily Planet, telling her not to believe what she sees and hears. But then Superman came and now she doesn’t know what to believe. With all the super-powered characters, along with other fantastical creatures, to which readers have been exposed, I think many of us forget, I know I do, just what it would do to see someone like Superman. We have learned certain things in our lives. We cannot fly without a machine. We cannot outrun a train. We cannot be shot or stabbed and remain unhurt. We cannot do the impossible. And then Superman comes along. He does all of it easily. He’s not like Batman, who trains for years, or one of the X-Men who have to focus their powers. He flies and runs and lifts as if the laws of physics mean nothing.

Halfway through the issue, a terrorist holds a gun to Lois in front of Lex Luthor and Superman. Lex, ever so full of himself, says, “I’ll handle this, Lois. I can negotiate with anyone, even terrorists.” Displaying the speed of Superman in still images is a tough act. Motion lines don’t really get the job done. Loeb and Sale show his speed by cutting Lex saying terrorists into three panels. He gets one syllable across in each panel. In the first, Superman stands beside Luthor. In the second, Superman is just a blue, red, and yellow blur. And in the third, Superman has the terrorists gun and stands beside Luthor once again. The other three characters haven’t realized what happened.

Superman does a lot in this issue. He dives into the deep waters and pulls a submarine full of terrorists up onto land. He stops a missile from hitting Metropolis. He puts out a fire and beats back robots Luthor created so that the city wouldn’t have to depend on Superman. He does the impossible throughout. Many people have commented on in the past that if Lois Lane were such a good reporter, she would recognize Clark Kent as Superman. Something I guess that the new movies have chosen to do away with by having Lois know his secret identity. But people are missing just what Superman does to Lois. Here is a woman who has grown up to be, in kind words, a realist. Like she states in the opening, she doesn’t believe what she sees and hears. She tells readers that, along with her sister, she once believed in Prince Charming. Then, she grew up. None of the men she met were Prince Charming. Until Superman. A man in a cape, who with all the power in the world chooses to help people because…well, he wants to do good. She can’t understand this. Superman, to Lois, doesn’t do the impossible by lifting heavy things or being faster than a speeding bullet—he’s a representation of the impossible because he’s good-hearted, and she hasn’t had much experience with that.

After she’s rescued, she narrates over Clark Kent alone in his apartment, “Where does he go when he’s not keeping a bridge from collapsing? Or stopping a train from derailing? Or answering a child’s cry for help?” The reason she doesn’t recognize Clark as Superman is because she can’t understand that Superman can be human. And, yes, he’s Kryptonian, I know, but he’s a human being at heart. A being with all this power pretending to be a reporter at The Daily Planet is too far out of her realm of thinking. Superman isn’t off in some castle somewhere. He’s not a god. He goes home to Smallville to visit Ma and Pa Kent, and when Ma Kent asks why he came, he says, “I don’t know…lonely, I guess.” Lois wouldn’t be able to understand that about him. To her, he has everything. He can take on whatever physical challenge there is and he doesn’t take shit from Luthor. He’s confident and capable. But that doesn’t mean he has no wants, no desires. Superman has done a lot of good for the world, but he’s lost. On the porch at night, he admits to Ma Kent that even Smallville doesn’t feel like home anymore. He went off to find his life, but he hasn’t been able to build a new home yet. He’s caught between forces, Kryptonian and Human, Smallville and Metropolis, helping people and living a nice life.

The issue ends with Lex Luthor tracking down a woman who was saved by Superman earlier in the issue. He comes into her apartment and she has shrine to Superman. Candles, photos, and newspaper clippings cover the walls and tables. To some, he is a god. Luthor wants to bring Superman down because Superman existing takes away from Luthor’s greatness. Lois is love with Superman because he’s everything she can’t find in a regular man. But Superman is so simple, and I don’t mean dumb. He just wants everyone to be good to one another and to help as many people as he can. He doesn’t want to see the evil in the world push around the good. He’s what we’re supposed to be, what we should be striving for. But he represents something that is so far away from where humanity is at that people either want to drag him down or raise him up, when they really should just follow his example. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so alone.

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Photo by John King

Heroes Never Rust #66: Superman, A Man’s Son

05 Wednesday Nov 2014

Posted by thedrunkenodyssey in Comic Books, Heroes Never Rust

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Bjarne Hansen, Heroes Never Rust, Jeph Loeb, sean ironman, Superman, Superman: For All Seasons, Tim Sale

Heroes Never Rust #66 by Sean Ironman

Man of Steel: Superman, A Man’s Son

One of the complaints that I hear about the superhero films made in the last few years is that they are origin stories. How many times must we get Spider-Man’s origin? Superman’s origin? I must admit that I have made the same complaints. Superman, after all, has been around since 1938. There is a reason why he has lasted so long, and it is not because he only has a great origin story. These characters have a lot of potential and have many great stories and ideas that can be adapted to film. Is the answer to stop crafting stories that deal with the character’s origin? No. A character’s past can be an important aspect of a story. When I am writing memoir, I may use an event multiple times. I find that different parts of one event are important at different times. The trick is to not write the same scene again and again and again. In Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale’s Superman: For All Season, Superman’s origin is given, but told through events that differ from the usual approach.

Superman is well known, especially his origin. Krypton explodes. Superman is sent, as a child, in a rocket ship to Earth. Ma and Pa Kent find the ship and raise him as their own. Some people may remember other characters such as Lana Lang, a love interest in Smallville. Loeb and Sale don’t repeat these events. Too many people know about them. And let’s face it, who is reading Superman comics? Well, people who read Superman comics. People who are familiar with comics, or perhaps familiar with the character from films. How many readers come to Superman: For All Seasons and have no knowledge of the character? I doubt very few, if any at all.

The comic skips Krypton and skips the Kents finding the rocket ship. The story even begins after Clark Kent has discovered his abilities. Where’s the tension and conflict in him discovering his abilities? For All Seasons is not about Superman finding his powers—it is about why Clark Kent must become Superman. The first issue, “Spring,” deals with Clark during his final months in Smallville. It is about a boy who must leave the only home he has ever known because he has the ability to be more than he is.

The first issue is narrated by Pa Kent. It wastes no time to reveal Superman. Narration opens with a close-up of the S on Superman’s chest. Pa Kent goes down the line of what Superman can do. Leap tall buildings. Change the course of rivers. Outrun a bullet. “Believe it or not, there was a time before all that. When he was just…a man’s son.” The page is laid out in three panels. In each one, the “camera” moves closer and closer to Superman’s chest, until the last panel is mostly yellow. But the next page is what sets the tone and focus of the issue. We get a large two-page layout consisting of two panels. Both are two-pages wide, with the top two-thirds consisting of a shot of Clark Kent in overalls just off his porch in Smallville and the final third of the spread being a close-up of Clark shouting for Pa Kent. Instead of a page showing off what Clark is capable of, or even focusing on Clark, the panels leave so much room for the background, for Smallville. In the largest panel, Clark is far to the right and far from the camera. The porch takes up most of the panel. We see boots, a barrel, a porch swing with pillows and a blanket. We see the family dog and chickens, and there’s a red barn a few yards away. The second panel is mainly the yellow sky darkening in the evening. Clark is out on the very right, calling for his father. The focus is not on Clark but on what made Clark Superman (and I don’t mean his superpowers).

Clark Kent leads a comfortable life, for the most part. His family has a nice little farm, he has friends and a girlfriend, he knows the town people, and they are kind to him. Clark can spend his whole life in Smallville and lead a happy life. But that wouldn’t be best for the rest of the world. Clark can help people. He saves a man from a tornado and Pa Kent reflects back on it. “There are so few things a person can be really sure of. But, I believe, in the wild trouble of that moment…our son…became a man.” After, Clark looks out at the destruction and says, “I could have done more,” and Pa Kent thinks back that thinking he could have done more will continue to haunt him. They raised him right, and now they have to let him go out into the world. Superman: For All Seasons is more about a father having to let his child leave home than Superman battling some supervillain. It’s one of my favorite Superman stories. Pa Kent says it best on the final page of the first issue, “At the end of the day, I’m not sure we’re all that different from any other parents. We worry about our son. That he’s eating right. That he’s making friends. That he’ll stay out of harm’s way. Even if he is Superman.” By focusing on Pa Kent’s reflections and staying away from the obvious points of Superman’s youth (the discovery of his powers), Superman: For All Seasons allows an entry point for the reader. Haven’t we all felt we’ve had to move on, move away from our family and friends, from the place we are safe, so that we may have chance to reach our own potential?

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