Superman
I just spent all afternoon writing a prospectus for edits on the book I’m tentatively calling Five Eyes Break, which is the next book in the Craft Sequence after Two Serpents Rise. I was going to take some time to discuss the Craft Sequence, my plans for it, Two Serpents Rise, and crazy worldbuilding, but that’s beyond me at this stage of typing-degeneration. I’ll make it up to you on Monday, Internet, I promise.
Instead, let’s talk about Superman! I still haven’t seen the movie, but Superman’s in the air. I’ve never been as much of a Superman reader as I am a Bat-fan, but the character’s grown on me over the years—and outside of his continuity, he remains one of the most versatile and powerful symbols in comics. Superman can be the standardbearer of undeconstructed Truth, Justice, and the American Way. He can be an incarnation of Reaganist foreign interventionism. He can be Jesus, or Jesus, or Jesus. He can even be Stalin (sort of).
He is the ur-Superhero. Eric Burns White has used Myth Criticism a couple times to describe Superman as the archetype superhero, the perfect iteration of the myth, from which all other superheroes are a deviation. Here’s a good summary of the argument, though there are spoilers for Man of Steel near the end. Superman is the Superhero; Batman is a superhero with a vengeance complex and an unhealthy fascination with terror. Maybe those faults make Batman a more interesting character, but they don’t detract from the value of Superman.
My friend Dan and I were talking about Herculean labors the other day, and Dan raised the excellent point that Hercules, for all his position as the Strong Man of Greek Myth, solves his trials by being smart. Each labor is designed to be impossible to accomplish with strength alone—the Augean Stables, for example, would take one man, no matter how strong, his entire life to clean out. Hercules solves this by redirecting a river. He couldn’t do that without his immense strength, sure, but immense strength alone wouldn’t solve the problem.
I propose a similar model for Superman stories. The best of them aren’t “Superman hits Bad Guy faster than the speed of light, bad guy goes away,” they’re “Superman is placed in a position where it seems impossible to act in a Supermanly manner, and must figure out how to act and remain Superman anyway.” The climax of Richard Donner’s first Superman movie (Lex Luthor’s two-missile dilemma) might be the simplest possible formulation of the Superman challenge. Grant Morrison’s All Star Superman lives and breathes and is beautiful thanks to this type of challenge. (And / but this sort of story also runs the risk of making Superman stories a little self-centered in their morality, which Alan Moore points out in his great Superman tale, Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow?)
Anyway, that’s all. No outrage here, just some pondering. And, by god, if you read comics at all, read All Star Superman, and Alan Moore’s Superman stories—Alan Moore’s DC Universe collects many of his tales of the name-brand character, but his Supreme: The Story of the Year and even his Tom Strong books have lots and lots of Superman in them.
