Back in 1997, I took an anthropology class. One of our first assignments was to pick a children's story from our childhood, one that had a "significant influence" on us, and try to wring out the cultural assumptions it contained, the lessons it tried to teach, and the lessons it actually taught.
After pondering the usual array of fables and fairy tales, I realized that those weren't really my culture, and that those stories hadn't had nearly the influence on me that comics and television had. (No big surprise, there: depending on your demographic preferences, I'm either a last-year Boomer or early Gen-X -- two generations pretty well defined by the subsumption of folk culture by pop culture.)
Early on in my youth, Jack Kirby asserted unequivocally that comics were flat-out modern mythology, that they were the Folklore of Our Times, and had that emblazoned right on the covers of his quintessential work. I briefly considered writing about the Fourth World, about the ideas of Life and Anti-Life that even today shape the core of my personal ethos, but the saga of the New Gods was both two obscure and too inchoate to discuss briefly. I settled, instead, on an earlier Lee and Kirby creation...
Once Upon A Time, there was a brilliant scientist. Bruce Banner was a quiet, unassuming man who designed weapons for the United States Government. He had designed a new kind of bomb called a Gamma Bomb, and, one day, this new weapon was about to be tested. Minutes before the bomb was supposed to go off, however, a teenager drove out to the testing range. Young Rick had driven out there on a dare, having no idea that a test was scheduled for that day. Dr. Banner saw Rick's car on the testing range, and, shouting to his assistant to halt the countdown, drove out to the range himself. Dr. Banner didn't know that his assistant was actually a Soviet spy, however, who saw this as an opportunity to dispose of an important American scientist. The countdown continued.
Dr. Banner reached Rick in time to get him to the safety of a trench, but, before he could take cover himself, the bomb detonated, bathing him in mysterious Gamma radiation. He survived - but ever after, whenever he became frightened or angry, he transformed into a huge, destructive creature of immense power and unbridled rage.
He did not live happily ever after.
The psychological stresses imposed upon society by the Cold War and the even colder realizations of the extent of humanity's destructive potential spawned a rich vein of mythology, folklore, and urban legend. Written in 1962, the story of the Incredible Hulk is an enduring icon of that era, familiar to many children who have discovered it though comic books or television. Stan Lee, co-creator of the Hulk, has written that his primary inspirations were Frankenstein and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He sought to combine the two into the tragic figure of a man who had created his own curse. The narrative that emerged, however, is something more than a simple re-hashing of classic stories. It is a tale rich in the culture of its day, reflecting both the values and the fears of the Atomic Age.
Comic books are often condemned for being populated by "cardboard stereotypes." In more traditional forms of children's literature, however, such figures are considered "mythic archetypes". While later writers contributed depth and dimension to this serial myth, in its earliest form, the tale of the Hulk is no exception. General "Thunderbolt" Ross, commander of Gamma Base, is the blustering, foul-tempered soldier - a "Man's Man." His daughter, Betty, is quiet and passive - and portrayed as desirable. She never voices more than a passing attraction for the quiet Dr. Banner, knowing that her father would disapprove, and eventually marries the vain, arrogant Major Talbot, who, whatever his flaws, meets her father's standards of machismo. Rick Jones, an orphan, is a reckless, irresponsible teenager - who immediately reforms after finding a surrogate father in the unlikely person of Dr. Banner. Banner's assistant is a ruthless, backstabbing, Communist spy. Bruce Banner himself is the stereotypical intellectual: quiet, pacifistic, physically weak, a social maladroit; Ross, on several occasions, refers to him as a "milksop", while his raging, green, gamma-spawned alter-ego would express his unflagging contempt for "Puny Banner."
And yet, he builds atomic bombs.
When scientist Robert Oppenheimer witnessed the very first atomic detonation, it is said that he murmured a line from Hindu scripture: "I am become Death, Shatterer of Worlds." Bruce Banner's tale is the literal manifestation of that event: he has become an iconic incarnation of atomic destruction, mindless and raging, dropping from the sky unpredictably, without warning, without reason. The fact that the Hulk frequently battles and defeats other monstrosities and even more destructive threats mirrors the anxiety caused by the doctrine of Mutually Assured Destruction: we are protected by that which can destroy us.
Banner's transformation also reflects a subconscious attitude toward science and toward scientists, one closely tied to the undercurrent of anti-intellectualism that has always been a subtext of American culture. The Manhattan Project cast a new light on the scientific community: these quiet, unassuming men, rational and logical, often amusingly eccentric, frequently pacifists, could rip matter itself asunder and raze entire cities to the ground.
Buried inside each court wizard might be a monster.
Banner himself does not realize the enormity of his actions until he sees a hapless teenager about to be vaporized. Then and only then does it become clear to him that he has created something which will slaughter children. His willingness to sacrifice himself for Rick does not wholly redeem his transgressions, however. His transformation into the Hulk is wholly suited to his contradictory actions: he has been granted vast power, but it is beyond his control - an ironic parallel to the very nature of atomic science.
Rick Jones, too, must face the consequences of his actions. His irresponsibility has destroyed Banner's career and any possibility of a normal life. However, his subsequent loyalty to both Banner and to the Hulk has earned him something of a surrogate father in the one case, and the status of (in the creature's own words) "Hulk's only friend." Of course, having the strongest person in the world as one's best friend may seem like every child's dream, but when the behemoth in question has the intellect and emotional maturity of an ill-tempered three-year-old, it becomes something of a mixed blessing. A tantrum, after all, can level a city.
Serial fiction such as the comic book is an unusual art-form. Its tales never really end - they continue to grow and develop and evolve from month to month, issue to issue. Different writers bring different emphases and different styles to a saga. The story of the Hulk is no exception. While it is more unitary than, for example, the innumerable variations of the Batman, it has still garnered layers of detail and complexity over the years. No matter the baroque elaborations of the latest monthly tribulations of Bruce and Betty Banner, however, they still have at their core that central kernel of Atomic Age Myth: the tale of the scientist who discovers, beneath his veneer of intellect, the Shatterer of Worlds.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Blogger Question for Blogspot Users!
KDDR has languished for a year or more now, largely because I find the Blogger interface obstructive.
There are two important things that I can't figure out:
Any hints or help from the more experienced of you?
There are two important things that I can't figure out:
- Adding images to links. Several of the blogs I read regularly include neatly-formatted thumbnails that you can click to link to a larger image. I can't even get a simple [img src="URL"] to work.
- The equivalent of the "LJ Cut". Those few of you who've actually perused my dusty and neglected blog know that I tend to... ramble at length. I'd like to learn the secret of (More...) in Blogspot syntax, to spare casual readers the effort of paging through my purple prose when they're looking for a particular entry. Spoiler protection would also be apprecated, I'm sure.
Any hints or help from the more experienced of you?
LEGACY 2020: General Premise.
(This was originally written back in November of 2006 -- two days shy of a year ago, actually -- in the first flush of the L2020 concept. The campaign concept lost steam, so I didn't post it at the time. Now, however, it looks like the game will be played after all -- and looking it over, I can present this unchanged.)
----
First, the boilerplate:
LEGACY 2020 is a proposal for a superhero role-playing campaign set in a world in which superheroes emerged in the early 20th Century, then aged in real time, interacting with each other and the world around them, having children and grandchildren and passing on their legacies. This project is for personal amusement, and in no way is intended to violate the intellectual property rights of the creators and copyright holders.
And now, the details:
Unlike Mr. Allston, I'm not brave enough to incorporate every comic-book superhero into a single world. For one thing, it would be horrifically cluttered; for another, it wouldn't leave me any material for the inevitable cross-time crises that are a staple of the genre.
Instead, the L2020 project will be an alternate DC Universe. If Marvel was once "The House Of Ideas", DC has long been "The House of Legacies". DC characters pass their titles, powers, or simply callings on to successors. They do so in the "mainstream continuity", and have done so for half a century. They also have a precedent for masterful re-interpretations of their characters in "Elseworlds", exploring how stories could be retold and reintegrated in hindsight, if they had, in fact, been subject to the tides of time and change.
In other words, DC has a rich vein of material to plunder.
Of course, the idea of an "alternate DC universe" is in itself no simple matter. DC is, after all, the Borg of the Comics World, assimilating other comics companies and adding their biological and technological distinctiveness to their own -- and this tendency extends back to the earliest origins of the company.
The characters currently considered part of the "Mainstream DC Universe" include:
1. Characters from National Allied Publications, Detective Comics, Inc., and All-American Publications.
2. The Quality Comics stable, acquired by National Periodicals in 1956.
3. The Fawcett Comics characters, licensed by DC in 1972 and purchased outright in 1980.
4. The Charlton Comics superheroes, acquired in 1983.
5. Characters created by various DC licensees who were absorbed, back-licensed, or outright appropriated for the comics -- the appearance of the Wonder Twins in Extreme Justice, for example.
6. Some, but not all, of the characters appearing under the "Vertigo" imprint -- primarily those who originated in the "Mainstream DCU"."
They're all fair game for L-2020, and I'll try to use as many as I can -- though I have no intention of rewriting the history of every character.
Also "fair game" are characters who have lapsed into the Public Domain, including characters from such long-defunct publishers as Nedor and Centaur. I won't make an effort to include their extensive stables into the Legacy "mainstream", but I will draw upon them to fill the occasional hole in the timeline.
The core premise of the L-2020 Campaign is that characters make their public debut in the same year that their features debuted in our timeline, and age normally thereafter. Of course, there are exceptions:
1. "Aging normally" is relative. Alien physiologies, magical creations, and life-extending technologies and side-effects will benefit certain individuals, though no exploding supervillains will bestow extended lifespans on entire super-teams.
2. Characters set in historical time periods are, of course, still set in those time periods... as intriguing as the notion of Jonah Hex as a scarred Viet Nam vet in 1972 might be.
3. Characters who began in relative obscurity but later achieved far greater prominence may have their debuts and timelines adjusted to put them in the "proper" period. This could include Green Arrow and Animal Man.
4. Introduction dates for characters closely associated with other, more prominent characters may be adjusted to better fit the "primary" character's timelines.
5. Characters introduced into other characters' backstories by later writers may be introduced at their "retcon point", at the actual publication date of their debut, or not at all.
Needless to say, relationships between characters will often change, frequently enough to be considered the rule instead of the exception. Cousins may become offspring. Children may become grandchildren. Entirely new characters will certainly show up.
----
First, the boilerplate:
LEGACY 2020 is a proposal for a superhero role-playing campaign set in a world in which superheroes emerged in the early 20th Century, then aged in real time, interacting with each other and the world around them, having children and grandchildren and passing on their legacies. This project is for personal amusement, and in no way is intended to violate the intellectual property rights of the creators and copyright holders.
And now, the details:
Unlike Mr. Allston, I'm not brave enough to incorporate every comic-book superhero into a single world. For one thing, it would be horrifically cluttered; for another, it wouldn't leave me any material for the inevitable cross-time crises that are a staple of the genre.
Instead, the L2020 project will be an alternate DC Universe. If Marvel was once "The House Of Ideas", DC has long been "The House of Legacies". DC characters pass their titles, powers, or simply callings on to successors. They do so in the "mainstream continuity", and have done so for half a century. They also have a precedent for masterful re-interpretations of their characters in "Elseworlds", exploring how stories could be retold and reintegrated in hindsight, if they had, in fact, been subject to the tides of time and change.
In other words, DC has a rich vein of material to plunder.
Of course, the idea of an "alternate DC universe" is in itself no simple matter. DC is, after all, the Borg of the Comics World, assimilating other comics companies and adding their biological and technological distinctiveness to their own -- and this tendency extends back to the earliest origins of the company.
The characters currently considered part of the "Mainstream DC Universe" include:
1. Characters from National Allied Publications, Detective Comics, Inc., and All-American Publications.
2. The Quality Comics stable, acquired by National Periodicals in 1956.
3. The Fawcett Comics characters, licensed by DC in 1972 and purchased outright in 1980.
4. The Charlton Comics superheroes, acquired in 1983.
5. Characters created by various DC licensees who were absorbed, back-licensed, or outright appropriated for the comics -- the appearance of the Wonder Twins in Extreme Justice, for example.
6. Some, but not all, of the characters appearing under the "Vertigo" imprint -- primarily those who originated in the "Mainstream DCU"."
They're all fair game for L-2020, and I'll try to use as many as I can -- though I have no intention of rewriting the history of every character.
Also "fair game" are characters who have lapsed into the Public Domain, including characters from such long-defunct publishers as Nedor and Centaur. I won't make an effort to include their extensive stables into the Legacy "mainstream", but I will draw upon them to fill the occasional hole in the timeline.
The core premise of the L-2020 Campaign is that characters make their public debut in the same year that their features debuted in our timeline, and age normally thereafter. Of course, there are exceptions:
1. "Aging normally" is relative. Alien physiologies, magical creations, and life-extending technologies and side-effects will benefit certain individuals, though no exploding supervillains will bestow extended lifespans on entire super-teams.
2. Characters set in historical time periods are, of course, still set in those time periods... as intriguing as the notion of Jonah Hex as a scarred Viet Nam vet in 1972 might be.
3. Characters who began in relative obscurity but later achieved far greater prominence may have their debuts and timelines adjusted to put them in the "proper" period. This could include Green Arrow and Animal Man.
4. Introduction dates for characters closely associated with other, more prominent characters may be adjusted to better fit the "primary" character's timelines.
5. Characters introduced into other characters' backstories by later writers may be introduced at their "retcon point", at the actual publication date of their debut, or not at all.
Needless to say, relationships between characters will often change, frequently enough to be considered the rule instead of the exception. Cousins may become offspring. Children may become grandchildren. Entirely new characters will certainly show up.
I Am Not A Number!
Last week, the scans_daily community on LiveJournal posted the extant pages of Jack Kirby's unpublished version of The Prisoner.
I love the opening on the first page:
In this age, when the individual can find himself at the mercy of advanced technology welded by an organized and ruthless enemy, THIS BOOK BECOMES IMPORTANT TO ALL OF US!!!
That's something Your Obedient Serpent has said for decades, now: McGoohan's eccentric experiment is an invaluable survival guide to anyone living in the (post)modern world. And Jack just comes right out and says it: this comic book is important. No "subtle themes" or "hidden messages" for Kirby. If he thought something was important, he'd SHOUT IT TO THE HEAVENS, in boldfaced italics.
Somehow, he made it work. Which is why we call him "The King".
And this, dear reader, is why it stokes Your Obedient Serpent's ire to hear Starlin and his sycophants expound on how Jack "never really said" what the Anti-Life Equation was. What they MEAN is, "we never read The Forever People." Kirby wasn't at all mysterious about the Equation: he explicitly spells it out (and yes, in boldfaced italics) over and over -- but he does it in the pages of what too many people consider the goofiest, most dated, most embarrassing installment of the Fourth World saga.
Your Obedient Serpent, on the other claw, read Jimmy Olsen, Mister Miracle, and The Forever People when they came out. New Gods, however, didn't cross my path until almost a decade later, thanks to a friend who dragged me to his college library's restricted-access collection of classic comics, specifically so I could catch up on those chapters of the Fourth World that I'd missed.
Perhaps that skews my perceptions of the Great Unfinished Work. Through the '80s, New Gods was reprinted several times, but the other threads of the saga were neglected until their black-and-white collections from a few years back and the wonderful, wonderful Fourth World Omnibus volumes currently being released. New Gods is grand, sweeping, epic, and bombastic -- but I think it's also the Fourth World title that explains the least about the actual philosophical struggles involved.
I love the opening on the first page:
In this age, when the individual can find himself at the mercy of advanced technology welded by an organized and ruthless enemy, THIS BOOK BECOMES IMPORTANT TO ALL OF US!!!
That's something Your Obedient Serpent has said for decades, now: McGoohan's eccentric experiment is an invaluable survival guide to anyone living in the (post)modern world. And Jack just comes right out and says it: this comic book is important. No "subtle themes" or "hidden messages" for Kirby. If he thought something was important, he'd SHOUT IT TO THE HEAVENS, in boldfaced italics.
Somehow, he made it work. Which is why we call him "The King".
And this, dear reader, is why it stokes Your Obedient Serpent's ire to hear Starlin and his sycophants expound on how Jack "never really said" what the Anti-Life Equation was. What they MEAN is, "we never read The Forever People." Kirby wasn't at all mysterious about the Equation: he explicitly spells it out (and yes, in boldfaced italics) over and over -- but he does it in the pages of what too many people consider the goofiest, most dated, most embarrassing installment of the Fourth World saga.
Your Obedient Serpent, on the other claw, read Jimmy Olsen, Mister Miracle, and The Forever People when they came out. New Gods, however, didn't cross my path until almost a decade later, thanks to a friend who dragged me to his college library's restricted-access collection of classic comics, specifically so I could catch up on those chapters of the Fourth World that I'd missed.
Perhaps that skews my perceptions of the Great Unfinished Work. Through the '80s, New Gods was reprinted several times, but the other threads of the saga were neglected until their black-and-white collections from a few years back and the wonderful, wonderful Fourth World Omnibus volumes currently being released. New Gods is grand, sweeping, epic, and bombastic -- but I think it's also the Fourth World title that explains the least about the actual philosophical struggles involved.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Viva Oracle!
This was originally posted as a response to Ragnell's post about Booster Gold #4, which ends with the surprise reveal that Barbara Gordon's crippling and subsequent career as Oracle happened because of the Bad Guy Time Travellers and their plot to thwart the origins of the whole Justice League -- including their "rightful" leader, Batgirl.
I love this idea, and I can't wait to see how it plays out... but until I read the comments in Ragnell's post, it never occurred to me that DC would actually have Booster and Rip succeed in "fixing" that one.
Frankly, I think they'd be damned foolish to consider it.
I can't consider Oracle a "mistake" on DC's part. Barbara Gordon as Oracle is a far more interesting, original character than Barbara Gordon ever was as the Earth-One Betty Kane, introduced to bolster the sagging ratings of a campy TV show that most fans would rather forget.
She's a more successful character, too. Her tenure as Oracle (1989-2007) is just three years shy of her tenure as Batgirl (1967-1988). At this stage, her Batgirl career was faltering; one reason Moore was allowed to treat her so cavalierly was because the character has simply failed to find a niche. She had never broken out of back-up series and Special Guest Sidekick appearances. The closest thing she'd gotten to a "team" was as a tagger-on to the Dynamic Duo. In the stories, Barbara was wondering if she was really making a difference as a crime-fighter, if she might do more good by directing her talents elsewhere.
At least one person has said that they want to see Barbara resume the Batgirl role because Oracle, the "Superhero OnStar", "makes things too easy" for other DCU characters, and writers tend to use her as a crutch. To Your Obedient Serpent, this almost qualifies for the Women in Refrigerators List: impose a major life change to a female character to produce a desired effect on a male character.
I keep hearing people object to the creation of Oracle because of the Fridge Listing of Barbara Gordon in The Killing Joke. Sure, Babs's crippling is classic Fridge List material. That was Alan Moore's script -- and while it set the stage for the introduction of Oracle, it was NOT her origin.
Barbara Gordon's recreation of herself as the Oracle was the work of John Ostrander, and it was as far from the Fridge List as you can get. It pulled the character out of the shadows of the Established Male Dynastic Centerpiece, and made her a unique, exotic figure in her own right. It gave her her own story, in her own way.
Barbara Gordon was always a highly-intelligent character with a photographic memory. That was there from her introduction. Ostrander's genius was in using the crippling injury imposed by another writer to refocus the character on that intellect.
As a front-line fighter, Barbara was a B-List character, and her chosen nom de guerre insured that she'd remain there, as "Batman's Girl Sidekick". As Oracle, she's A-List. The idea of Barbara Gordon leading the Justice League only makes sense after 20 years of seeing her as Oracle. Batgirl was no leader, and showed no signs of developing into one. As a kick-fighter, she was playing catch-up to people with more training, more motivation, and more special "edges" than she would ever have. It took Ostrander's re-emphasis of the character according to her unique strengths that allowed her to become the formidable presence she is today.
Taking that away from her would be crippling the character. Frankly, if Barbara got the use of her legs back (without time-travel trickery), I'd be utterly disappointed if she gave up being Oracle. She's done far more good that way that she ever would as one more high-heeled boot to a bad guy's face.
(Okay, if she got healed and put the costume on again strictly because she was offered leadership of the JLA, I could buy it.)
And you know what? "Oracle" only works as an ex-crimefighter. Putting some random person hospitalized by violence into the chair and behind the keyboard just doesn't have the emotional impact.
Finally... I'm hardly a fan of the school that insists that a superhero has to have some driving trauma, but I've got to admit, Oracle has a lot more solid motivation than the librarian who took a few judo classes and started crimefighting for fun.
I love this idea, and I can't wait to see how it plays out... but until I read the comments in Ragnell's post, it never occurred to me that DC would actually have Booster and Rip succeed in "fixing" that one.
Frankly, I think they'd be damned foolish to consider it.
I can't consider Oracle a "mistake" on DC's part. Barbara Gordon as Oracle is a far more interesting, original character than Barbara Gordon ever was as the Earth-One Betty Kane, introduced to bolster the sagging ratings of a campy TV show that most fans would rather forget.
She's a more successful character, too. Her tenure as Oracle (1989-2007) is just three years shy of her tenure as Batgirl (1967-1988). At this stage, her Batgirl career was faltering; one reason Moore was allowed to treat her so cavalierly was because the character has simply failed to find a niche. She had never broken out of back-up series and Special Guest Sidekick appearances. The closest thing she'd gotten to a "team" was as a tagger-on to the Dynamic Duo. In the stories, Barbara was wondering if she was really making a difference as a crime-fighter, if she might do more good by directing her talents elsewhere.
At least one person has said that they want to see Barbara resume the Batgirl role because Oracle, the "Superhero OnStar", "makes things too easy" for other DCU characters, and writers tend to use her as a crutch. To Your Obedient Serpent, this almost qualifies for the Women in Refrigerators List: impose a major life change to a female character to produce a desired effect on a male character.
I keep hearing people object to the creation of Oracle because of the Fridge Listing of Barbara Gordon in The Killing Joke. Sure, Babs's crippling is classic Fridge List material. That was Alan Moore's script -- and while it set the stage for the introduction of Oracle, it was NOT her origin.
Barbara Gordon's recreation of herself as the Oracle was the work of John Ostrander, and it was as far from the Fridge List as you can get. It pulled the character out of the shadows of the Established Male Dynastic Centerpiece, and made her a unique, exotic figure in her own right. It gave her her own story, in her own way.
Barbara Gordon was always a highly-intelligent character with a photographic memory. That was there from her introduction. Ostrander's genius was in using the crippling injury imposed by another writer to refocus the character on that intellect.
As a front-line fighter, Barbara was a B-List character, and her chosen nom de guerre insured that she'd remain there, as "Batman's Girl Sidekick". As Oracle, she's A-List. The idea of Barbara Gordon leading the Justice League only makes sense after 20 years of seeing her as Oracle. Batgirl was no leader, and showed no signs of developing into one. As a kick-fighter, she was playing catch-up to people with more training, more motivation, and more special "edges" than she would ever have. It took Ostrander's re-emphasis of the character according to her unique strengths that allowed her to become the formidable presence she is today.
Taking that away from her would be crippling the character. Frankly, if Barbara got the use of her legs back (without time-travel trickery), I'd be utterly disappointed if she gave up being Oracle. She's done far more good that way that she ever would as one more high-heeled boot to a bad guy's face.
(Okay, if she got healed and put the costume on again strictly because she was offered leadership of the JLA, I could buy it.)
And you know what? "Oracle" only works as an ex-crimefighter. Putting some random person hospitalized by violence into the chair and behind the keyboard just doesn't have the emotional impact.
Finally... I'm hardly a fan of the school that insists that a superhero has to have some driving trauma, but I've got to admit, Oracle has a lot more solid motivation than the librarian who took a few judo classes and started crimefighting for fun.
Friday, February 23, 2007
52 Forty-Two
The most recent issue of 52 defined the essential difference between Plastic Man and The Elongated Man.
Eel O'Brien is made out of rubber.
Ralph Dibny is made out of AWESOME.
Eel O'Brien is made out of rubber.
Ralph Dibny is made out of AWESOME.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
LEGACY 2020: Introduction
(This post was deleted for several months, but is now reinstated -- since the campaign in question is actually about to start. I apologize for the purple prose... but don't expect to see the last of it. When writing comes easily to me, it tends to come in violet hues.)
For the first time in his long decades, Your Obedient Serpent has fallen under the siren sway of Marisumene, the little-known but oft-encountered Muse of Fanfic.
I have in recent years overcome the common disdain in which many hold this pursuit. The distinction between those who write unauthorized tales of popular characters for their own pleasure and those who write "authorized" tales of popular characters in return for a corporate paycheck is, in fact, the paycheck and little more. As just a single example, Alan Moore's much-revered League of Extraordinary Gentlemen is unabashed fanfic concerning characters who have (for the most part) lapsed into the public domain.
As an aside, I must credit Paul Gadzikowski and his webcomic, Arthur, King of Time and Space, for removing the last barrier in my mind between fanfic and "respectable" fiction. Much of AKOTAS incorporates a reworking of Gadzikowski's older fanfic tales featuring Doctor Who, the Star Trek crew, and others into an integrated, intricate, and ambitious retelling of the reign of King Arthur -- and it easily could be argued that any retelling of the Arthurian Cycle is in itself "fanfic".
When I realized that I would not have read Gadzikowski's fanfic stories, obstensibly because they "didn't involve original characters", but thoroughly enjoyed the same stories when the cast was replaced by characters older by centuries, I realized that the distinction was, to be charitable, arbitrary.
My own foray into Marisumene's demesne began this weekend past. Our Mutants & Masterminds campaign had stalled, disrupted by conflicting expectations and play styles 'twixt Game Host and Players, and, like a third-string DC book in the face of the Blizzard of '78, cancellation loomed. As a result, one of my fellow players and I began discussing other possible settings for a superhero game.
I grew up on the cusp of the Silver and Bronze Ages, that time when the term "Silver Age" had been coined, but we'd no idea that later epochs would include us in it. Unlike many of my era -- or Argent Afficianados of more recent vintage -- I don't see the "Spirit of the Silver Age" as retelling the same stories, or perserving the characters of that time inviolate and eternal. To the contrary, that contradicts what I consider the true spirit of the times (at least on the DC side of the fence): change and innovation, but with a sense of legacy.
DC, in this period, was regularly publishing reprints: back-up stories in their line of monthlies ("52 BIG Pages! Only 25 cents!"), annuals and specials, filler issues whenever the Dreaded Deadline Doom loomed large*, great tabloid-sized reprints of classic First Issues, and even entire titles dedicated to reprinting classic tales.
* Wouldn't it be nice if they gave us classic Golden and Silver Age reprints each month instead of clinging to the fiction that a quarterly book like Wonder Woman was still a "monthly" that was "running late"? The most implausible fantasies between the glossy covers of today's comics are in the indicia.
Fascinated at the glimpse of archaic characters from another time, I devoured these offerings ravenously, along with weighty, hardbound tomes: collected tales of Superman and Batman "from the '30s to the '70s"; Feiffer's The Great Comic Book Heroes, which in those early editions actually contained reprinted tales of the characters he both exalted and castigated; any history of this magical medium upon which I could lay my eager talons, but most especially those which offered the elusive images of those ancient pages.
Alas, these items no longer reside within my hoard. If you thought Smaug irked by the loss of a single golden cup... But I digress, as I so often do.
The concept of "Earth-Two" enchanted me, of course, particularly when DC started publishing stories that took place there: the Bronze Age revival of All Star Comics, the recurring Mr. & Mrs. Superman feature in Superman Family, the stories of the Huntress, and more. The idea of a setting where these characters were allowed to have children, grow old, and, above all, change rather than remaining in an ageless stasis appeals to me to this day.
Needless to say, I was the target audience for John Byrne's Generations -- not to mention such works as James Robinson's The Golden Age and Darwyn Cooke's The New Frontier.
As for the relevance of all this to role-playing games... Aaron Allston, I believe, once described his own long-running Champions campaign as a world in which every superhero, from every publisher, debuted in action at the same time their comics debuted in our world, and aged normally from their, with the child of Superman and Mary Marvel patrolling the skies of Metropolis.
And thus, there is precedence. And this, then, is the lure that has brought me into the clutches of Marisumene, the same lure that brings us all into her arms: given the freedom to rewrite the histories of these characters to my liking... what would I do? Which elements of their history would I retain? What latter-day retcons would I incorporate into their stories from the beginning? What new ideas could I introduce?
In the days and weeks to come, I intend to explore these ideas in this oft-neglected journal.
For the first time in his long decades, Your Obedient Serpent has fallen under the siren sway of Marisumene, the little-known but oft-encountered Muse of Fanfic.
I have in recent years overcome the common disdain in which many hold this pursuit. The distinction between those who write unauthorized tales of popular characters for their own pleasure and those who write "authorized" tales of popular characters in return for a corporate paycheck is, in fact, the paycheck and little more. As just a single example, Alan Moore's much-revered League of Extraordinary Gentlemen is unabashed fanfic concerning characters who have (for the most part) lapsed into the public domain.
As an aside, I must credit Paul Gadzikowski and his webcomic, Arthur, King of Time and Space, for removing the last barrier in my mind between fanfic and "respectable" fiction. Much of AKOTAS incorporates a reworking of Gadzikowski's older fanfic tales featuring Doctor Who, the Star Trek crew, and others into an integrated, intricate, and ambitious retelling of the reign of King Arthur -- and it easily could be argued that any retelling of the Arthurian Cycle is in itself "fanfic".
When I realized that I would not have read Gadzikowski's fanfic stories, obstensibly because they "didn't involve original characters", but thoroughly enjoyed the same stories when the cast was replaced by characters older by centuries, I realized that the distinction was, to be charitable, arbitrary.
My own foray into Marisumene's demesne began this weekend past. Our Mutants & Masterminds campaign had stalled, disrupted by conflicting expectations and play styles 'twixt Game Host and Players, and, like a third-string DC book in the face of the Blizzard of '78, cancellation loomed. As a result, one of my fellow players and I began discussing other possible settings for a superhero game.
I grew up on the cusp of the Silver and Bronze Ages, that time when the term "Silver Age" had been coined, but we'd no idea that later epochs would include us in it. Unlike many of my era -- or Argent Afficianados of more recent vintage -- I don't see the "Spirit of the Silver Age" as retelling the same stories, or perserving the characters of that time inviolate and eternal. To the contrary, that contradicts what I consider the true spirit of the times (at least on the DC side of the fence): change and innovation, but with a sense of legacy.
DC, in this period, was regularly publishing reprints: back-up stories in their line of monthlies ("52 BIG Pages! Only 25 cents!"), annuals and specials, filler issues whenever the Dreaded Deadline Doom loomed large*, great tabloid-sized reprints of classic First Issues, and even entire titles dedicated to reprinting classic tales.
* Wouldn't it be nice if they gave us classic Golden and Silver Age reprints each month instead of clinging to the fiction that a quarterly book like Wonder Woman was still a "monthly" that was "running late"? The most implausible fantasies between the glossy covers of today's comics are in the indicia.
Fascinated at the glimpse of archaic characters from another time, I devoured these offerings ravenously, along with weighty, hardbound tomes: collected tales of Superman and Batman "from the '30s to the '70s"; Feiffer's The Great Comic Book Heroes, which in those early editions actually contained reprinted tales of the characters he both exalted and castigated; any history of this magical medium upon which I could lay my eager talons, but most especially those which offered the elusive images of those ancient pages.
Alas, these items no longer reside within my hoard. If you thought Smaug irked by the loss of a single golden cup... But I digress, as I so often do.
The concept of "Earth-Two" enchanted me, of course, particularly when DC started publishing stories that took place there: the Bronze Age revival of All Star Comics, the recurring Mr. & Mrs. Superman feature in Superman Family, the stories of the Huntress, and more. The idea of a setting where these characters were allowed to have children, grow old, and, above all, change rather than remaining in an ageless stasis appeals to me to this day.
Needless to say, I was the target audience for John Byrne's Generations -- not to mention such works as James Robinson's The Golden Age and Darwyn Cooke's The New Frontier.
As for the relevance of all this to role-playing games... Aaron Allston, I believe, once described his own long-running Champions campaign as a world in which every superhero, from every publisher, debuted in action at the same time their comics debuted in our world, and aged normally from their, with the child of Superman and Mary Marvel patrolling the skies of Metropolis.
And thus, there is precedence. And this, then, is the lure that has brought me into the clutches of Marisumene, the same lure that brings us all into her arms: given the freedom to rewrite the histories of these characters to my liking... what would I do? Which elements of their history would I retain? What latter-day retcons would I incorporate into their stories from the beginning? What new ideas could I introduce?
In the days and weeks to come, I intend to explore these ideas in this oft-neglected journal.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
And now, a moment of perspective.
If Internet Fandom had been around in the '50s, the Silver Age of Comics never would have happened.
"Have you heard about what they're doing to Green Lantern? They're ditching Alan Scott and replacing him with some test pilot! And instead of a unique magic ring and an ancient lantern, they're making him one of THOUSANDS of space-cops with some kind of technological gizmo! Hell-OOO? National? It's been DONE!"
"Have you heard about what they're doing to Green Lantern? They're ditching Alan Scott and replacing him with some test pilot! And instead of a unique magic ring and an ancient lantern, they're making him one of THOUSANDS of space-cops with some kind of technological gizmo! Hell-OOO? National? It's been DONE!"
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Grampa's Got A Brand New Blog
Well, after months of posting comments in other people's comics blogs, I've finally gotten a Blogger account of my very own.
This is where Your Obedient Serpent will post his musings on comic books, cartoons, and on occasion, other mass media. Goodness knows, I prattle on about such things often enough; I should certainly be able to muster an occasional column on sundry circumstances.
The title might require some explanation. Almost anyone involved with this particular subculture is familiar with Kirby Dots, the psychadelic pop-art effect that the late, great Jack Kirby developed to indicate vast, incomprehensible cosmic forces that would beggar "Doc" Smith's vocabulary.
A less-celebrated stylistic affectation that I have always considered at least as significant are the swooping trails and pathways that wove through Steve Ditko's otherworldly tales -- not only those crafted for Marvel's Master of the Mystic Arts, but in his excursions into the arcane for the cereal-box presses of Charlton. The Dark Dimension, the Astral Realms, all were permeated by strangely-angled curvilinear ribbons. It is no accident that subsequent creators have invoked the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak as the most distinctive signature spell of the good doctor.
Thus, while my aesthetics and philosophical sentiments hew more closely toward Mr. Kirby's, I thought it fitting to also honor his Objectivist colleague.
This is where Your Obedient Serpent will post his musings on comic books, cartoons, and on occasion, other mass media. Goodness knows, I prattle on about such things often enough; I should certainly be able to muster an occasional column on sundry circumstances.
The title might require some explanation. Almost anyone involved with this particular subculture is familiar with Kirby Dots, the psychadelic pop-art effect that the late, great Jack Kirby developed to indicate vast, incomprehensible cosmic forces that would beggar "Doc" Smith's vocabulary.
A less-celebrated stylistic affectation that I have always considered at least as significant are the swooping trails and pathways that wove through Steve Ditko's otherworldly tales -- not only those crafted for Marvel's Master of the Mystic Arts, but in his excursions into the arcane for the cereal-box presses of Charlton. The Dark Dimension, the Astral Realms, all were permeated by strangely-angled curvilinear ribbons. It is no accident that subsequent creators have invoked the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak as the most distinctive signature spell of the good doctor.
Thus, while my aesthetics and philosophical sentiments hew more closely toward Mr. Kirby's, I thought it fitting to also honor his Objectivist colleague.
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