Creating and promoting a character like Batwoman, then, interacts with the classic wish-fulfillment mythos in a very simple way. Take the traditional power fantasy and expand the definition of the person who is allowed to live it out. Fans of the genre get a recognizable superhero origin story, while adult women (and lesbians, and Jewish people, and veterans kicked out of the service because of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”; pale-skinned redheads, too, I suppose, though there’s not exactly a dearth of them) have a character to project their fantasies onto.
And yet... fantasy management is a complicated thing. If superhero comics really work on a pure power-fantasy basis, then, when I think about that breakup in the coffee shop, I am projecting myself into the wrong part of Batwoman’s life. I should be fantasizing about leaping from rooftop to rooftop, trading quips with Batman, stomping bad guys with those customized boots. The moment when Kate gets dumped should be collateral damage, the sad tradeoff that has to be made in order to keep from sharing her identity with others. Under the classic secret-identity conundrum, if Kate could only reveal her nocturnal activities then, instead of telling her to grow up and storming off in a huff, her girlfriend would be impressed, and a little turned on. Loneliness is part of the responsibility that comes with the power. The panel that ends this scene, where Kate looks forlorn as the other woman stomps out, ought to be a low point.
Instead, this ends up being the moment I most want to be Kate. I like her outings as Batwoman; I like the fights and the stomping, and I sure as hell like the costume. The part of the fantasy that grabs me, though, is not the image of physical power, much less some “correct” idea of female empowerment. The particular connection that I want to share with Kate is the power that comes from having a secret.
This aspect of my wish-fulfillment is not, I think, particularly eccentric. Secret identity has been a flipside of the superhero/vigilante’s physical power pretty much from the start. Batman had Bruce Wayne, Wonder Woman had Diana Prince, Spider-Man had Peter Parker. Usually there would be at least a token explanation for this plot device – Batman’s power thrived on mystery, Peter had to protect his family and girlfriends from supervillains – but the trope took on a life that could sometimes defy logic. Tony Stark used to claim Iron Man was his bodyguard long past the point that anybody could have bought it. More to the point, it’s hard to conceive a billionaire/daredevil/narcissist like Tony, having turned himself into a superhero, being able to resist the impulse to brag about it to the world and dare anybody to stop him. The recent film franchise, to its credit, absolutely gets this, and has Tony out himself by the end of the first movie.
Modern superhero comics are still ambivalent on the subject of whether heroes should have secret identities. There are good Watsonian (in-universe) and Doylist (metatextual) arguments on each side, and Marvel’s Civil War event of a few years back was, as much as anything, an on-the-page squabble about the relevance of genre conventions. Kate Kane/Batwoman still has a double life, and she likely always will. It’s not entirely clear, though, that the story she is part of thinks this is a good idea. Batwoman: Elegy resonates with the damaging power of secrets. We eventually learn that Kate was kicked out of the military for refusing to lie about her sexuality. In the present day, she openly flirts and dances with other women. She even lets her father in on her superhero identity, and eventually they fall out because she learns he has been keeping secrets about the family’s past.
At work here are familiar tropes from many types of fiction: Lying about your identity is bad because it’s inauthentic (a golden rule of romance fiction); lying about the past is bad, because deception weaves a tangled web and corruption breeds more corruption (a golden rule of mystery and noir). In either case, the truth will out, and then it will come back to haunt you. Yet superhero stories, which often draw heavily on both romance and mystery, frequently flaunt or ignore these rules when it comes to secret identity. Along with the many logistical and ethical problems, this seems like another argument for dropping the convention altogether.
Yet the secret identity persists and, in the end, I’m glad that it does. If we insist, or accept, that the superhero fantasy is one of raw power, then it’s that much easier to let the adolescent males to whom this supposedly speaks chase the rest of us off the playground. Of course, grown women may have as much reason – and as much right – as teenage boys to dream about physical power. In fact, strength and secrecy are closely linked for female heroes. Kate Kane may look like a hungover party girl and thus easy prey for a villain, but in truth she has already looked around the room and found 20 ways to fend off an attack.
Yet, even beyond the allure of hidden physical strength, the fantasy of secret identity has an appeal that transcends demographics. For anybody who knows the experience of getting lost in a make-believe world – for anyone who knows the experience, in other words, of being a geek and being a fan – the secret identity has an appeal that is part of the text itself. It’s a dream of meaning, a wish for purpose. Beyond this day-to-day life, beyond what you see of me, I am working on something extraordinary.
Just as soon as I finish up with The Vampire Diaries.
The Green Lantern Mythos: A Metaphor For My (Comic Book) Life
Jill Pantozzi is a pop-culture journalist/host who goes by the moniker “The Nerdy Bird” online. You can find her thoughts on all things geeky including, but not limited to, comic books, movies and video games at her personal blog, Has Boobs, Reads Comics. Jill went to school for journalism and spent the first five years after college working as a radio DJ in New Jersey before she made the move back to reporting. She’s been a contributor to sites like MTV Splash Page, Publishers Weekly, Topless Robot, and more. Along with other work there, Jill contributes the weekly op-ed column “Hey, That’s My Cape!” to Newsarama. She’s currently working full-time as associate editor for the geek girl culture site The Mary Sue, and her first comic will be included in the all-female created Womanthology from IDW Publishing.
I love Green Lantern.
I love the characters, I love the stories, and I especially love how there’s something for everyone to be found in the recent “War of Light” storyline because of the emotions involved. If you’re not familiar with the series, comics superstar Geoff Johns introduced the idea into the Green Lantern books that instead of there being just the one Lantern Corps (green, representing willpower), there are multiple Corps, each with a different color, and each embodying a different part of the “emotional spectrum.” Rage, avarice, fear, willpower, hope, compassion, and love are taken to another level entirely by their respective Corps, who each wield special power rings. As a reader, seeing individual characters fueled by just one emotion – instead of the several we experience on a daily basis – spotlights what those emotions mean and can do to an individual.
Humans are emotional creatures, and in my experience, comic fans are especially emotional because of our deep passion for these four-color marvels. When you care about something that much, no matter its impact on the world at large, it becomes serious business. If you’ve ever visited a comic book forum or comment section online, you know what I mean.
To me, comics are a form of entertainment, but they’ve managed to make me feel more than anything else ever has, and that’s likely one of the major reasons I keep coming back for more. Although I’ve only been reading comics for about seven years, and am still considered a newcomer by most, these colorful books have led me through that emotional spectrum and back.
Red Lanterns: Rage
The Red Lanterns, embodying rage, are my favorite Corps of the spectrum. I mean, come on! They vomit napalm blood, and one of their members is a cat.
The Red Lanterns get angry at just about everything – which, coincidentally, is often how comic fans are perceived. Kill off a character? Fans get angry. Bring a character back from the dead? Fans get angry. Change a character’s costume? Fans get really angry. You see what I’m getting at.
I am certainly not
immune to this. I experienced an intense personal comic book rage when DC announced they were relaunching their entire line (and much of their continuity) as “The New 52” in 2011. As much as I know about the ins-and-outs of the comic industry, and no matter how much I realize that I do not own these characters, some of the changes made got me pretty upset. The worst was when I learned that Barbara Gordon, who had spent the last 20 years in a wheelchair after the Joker shot and paralyzed her from the waist down (Alan Moore’s The Killing Joke, 1988), would regain the use of her legs. Barbara had been fighting crime as the computer genius/information broker Oracle, but now DC was telling us that she would return to her former Batgirl identity.
I really saw red over this. I’m a redhead who spends most of her time in a wheelchair thanks to my being born with a type of Muscular Dystrophy, so it’s safe to say that Oracle was someone I admired. I expressed my anger and disappointment at DC swapping one of their most prominent disabled characters for one who was able-bodied in an op-ed piece titled “Oracle is Stronger Than Batgirl Will Ever be” for Newsarama. Luckily, I wrote that piece after taking some time to digest the news, but it didn’t change the fact that I was angry. I look up to Batman, I look up to Wonder Woman, but I could relate to Oracle like no one else. Barbara Gordon is fantastic no matter what, but her Oracle persona was something special. I’m less angry about it now, but I still wish that DC had seen the continuing potential in Oracle, and marketed her the way she deserved.
Orange Lanterns: Avarice
The Orange Lanterns – or should I say the only Orange Lantern, Larfleeze – are not known for sharing. The gist of Larfleeze? He’s so greedy that he wants everything. No matter what (or whom) it is. If he knows what it is, he wants it. If he doesn’t know what it is, he wants it. Other characters can wield an orange power ring, but the rings tend to control their wearers. As a result, Larfleeze is so full of avarice that he doesn’t allow anyone else to join his corps voluntarily.
Larfleeze is absolutely a reflection of our own materialism. I’m not a greedy person naturally (except maybe when it comes to spending time with those I love), but I freely admit I am deeply attached to the action figures sitting on my shelf right now. They’re not at all important in the grand scheme of things – yet if anyone tried to take the figures away from me, or tell me they weren’t worthy of my devotion, I’d be a very grumpy fan indeed. Larfleeze may desire a broken toilet seat the rest of us see as trash, but someone could potentially see the need for a few garbage bags in my room, too. Would I let them get within ten feet of my precious collectables? Never.
I keep pretty much all of the comics I buy every week, but I don’t consider myself a comic collector. No, where my real greed comes into play is with toys and action figures. Whether they come from Toys R Us or Etsy, I gotta have them all. It’s honestly a good thing I don’t have money to burn, or else I would probably need an intervention for all the comic book memorabilia I’d be purchasing.
I’m greedy in one other big way: I feel like the comic book characters closest to my heart are my characters. I didn’t create them, I don’t own them, but I’m so invested in them they truly feel like mine. I know I’m not alone in this, and the long history that comes along with DC and Marvel properties are at least partially to blame. The characters are embedded in our culture. Everyone has an opinion on them. Tell me your neighbor didn’t have something to say when they took away Superman’s red underpants.
Sinestro Corps: Fear
The Sinestro Corps, as the name suggests, is led by Sinestro – an ex-Green Lantern who was a scary dude even when he was on the side of the heroes. The Sinestro Corps seek to instill fear in others; Sinestro himself is a master at doing so, but seems to be mostly immune to fear himself. I wish I were that lucky.
Unfortunately, fear plays a rather large role in my comic book life. My first attempt at cosplay was extremely daunting, and I was scared out of my mind. I chose to dress up as Poison Ivy, a member of Batman’s Rogue Gallery. Her costume (depending on who’s drawing her) is basically a one-piece bathing suit made out of leaves. I can’t say how I come across to others, but I’m not the most extroverted person, so when it came time to take off my coat and actually reveal the costume on a convention floor, I really wanted to get back in my car and hide.
Did I mention this was the middle of winter in New York? Granted, I was indoors for the show, but it still felt odd to be wearing that modest amount of clothing. Not only was I frightened to be cosplaying at all, but I was also incredibly worried about a wardrobe malfunction that thankfully never happened. I found comfort after tons of strangers told me I did a fantastic job on my costume, but there was nothing quite like that initial terror.
While I was angry at the characters and storylines that DC was changing in its “New 52” relaunch, it was really a fear of the unknown that bothered me. Comics are not only a source of entertainment, they’re a big comfort for me as well. What if I didn’t like the new stories? What if the changes were so drastic I stopped reading them all together? Since the majority of my reading list is DC comics, this could have potentially meant a major change for my routine. Not going to the comic shop every week to pick up the newest DCs would just be... weird.
There was also that tiny chance that it would derail my career path. (You know, nothing to panic about.) Writing about comics was not what I set out to do when I decided to be a journalist at age 13, but I’ve come to truly love it. Sure, I can write on just about anything, but could I find something to write about that was also a hobby I enjoyed? Neither of these scenarios have come to pass, but for a time, they put a fear in me worse than any character death ever could.
Green Lanterns: Willpower
Willpower is something I have to search for a lot while doing my job, so it’s a good thing the Green Lanterns are a constant source of inspiration. Wielding their green energy constructs takes incredible willpower; without it, they’d fail in their mission – or worse, die.
Fortunately, in my line of work, things aren’t so life or death. However, it’s sometimes a challenge to give your opinion on a particular topic – because, well, everyone has strong opinions in comics. It’s one thing to talk about something you’re enjoying, that’s easy. It’s far more challenging to go into critical territory – to review a comic that perhaps wasn’t so great, or to criticize a publisher for their actions or inactions. It’s especially challenging if your thoughts don’t follow public opinion – or anger those specifically involved.
As a writer, you put yourself out there for public scrutiny – in the comic community, that scrutiny can be brutal. Folks are really attached to their comics, and the Internet breeds a special kind of emotional outpouring – such as calling a writer insulting names, or being otherwise rude or offensive. I’ve gotten my fair share of “critical” comments on my opinion articles, which seems weird because it’s an opinion, my personal viewpoint. You’d think I’d be entitled to that, but some people still find a way to tell me I’m wrong.
The feedback I’d receive on opinion pieces used to really upset me, but after seeing the ebb and flow of Internet commentary and speaking with others in the industry, I came to realize a few things. No. 1: Not everyone commenting online is in his or her right mind. No. 2: Anonymity breeds terrible behavior from human beings. The things these people have the nerve to say online would never come out of their mouths if they saw you face to face. And No. 3: Continuing on after receiving harsh criticism can take a lot of effort (especially if the critics have hit a nerve), but for the most part it’s better – and a lot more fun – to just laugh them off. The willpower it takes to not fall into their traps can be phenomenal, but it’s totally rewarding when you see someone getting angry (particularly those pesky trolls) because you’re not reacting.
Blue Lanterns: Hope
The Blue Lanterns are all about hope. From what we’ve seen so far, they’re a pretty serene and peaceful bunch. I’d like to think I’m a hopeful person. My ability to stay
optimistic in comics can run low in the midst of what sometimes feels like constant negativity, but there are some hopeful things happening, too.
I started my own blog as a means of getting back into writing after I’d worked as a radio DJ for a few years. I used my blog to cover my first convention, and then sent the post off to a few comic book websites. Comic Book Resources sent back an extremely positive response, and it wasn’t too long before I was working for them. Yes! I was getting paid to write about comics! It made me hopeful that the choice I had made to stray back into writing was the right one.
Something else that really fills me with hope? Creators that “get it” – they depict a wide range of characters in realistic and respectful ways. There are tons of fantastic indie creators who do a remarkable job at this, but the same cannot always be said for the two biggest comic book publishers. Time and again, Marvel and DC publish stories and hire creators that promote stereotypes and demean women, which is a disservice to both new and established readers. At times the publishers don’t seem to recognize that the comic book readership has evolved, and there’s a need for their stories and marketing to change along with it.
Fortunately, many people working in the industry do understand this. Creators such as Greg Rucka, Cully Hamner, Gail Simone, Francis Manapul, Marcus To, Dan Slott, Cliff Chiang, Jamal Igle, Jesus Saiz, and Paul Cornell give me hope. Hope that comics will continue to evolve into an inclusive rather than exclusive form of entertainment. Hope that we’ll see a wider range of body types illustrated on comic pages. Hope for storylines that include characters who are minorities, of all sexualities and gender identities, or who have disabilities – and treat them not just with respect, but as characters who can be equally if not more successful than those already out there.
Chicks Dig Comics: A Celebration of Comic Books by the Women Who Love Them Page 9
