Amy Reads the Week (of September 23rd, 2007)

Welcome, Gentle Reader, to the new day and time for my weekly column! Fridays had become too problematic and stressful, Column-Wise, so I will see how Sundays work out. Please let me know what you think!

I must be honest, as Constant Readers of This Blog might have noticed the steady decline of posts, particularly those comic-related. I Do Apologize, Friends, but this past month has been, personally, academically, emotionally, professionally, Rather Busy. But this weekend afforded me Some Time to catch up on my comics reading, and what I read, First and Foremost, were Minx titles.

Three of them, in fact. Three months of Minx titles that had been waiting, patiently, at My Local, and while I picked them up last weekend, I promptly fell sick this week, and any spare time afforded by my schedule was spent in the Recuperation Process. While I still recover from a cold that has settled, Quite Stubbornly, in my chest and throat, I am feeling Much Better, and less feverish and delirious, as was the case Tuesday last!

Confessions of a Blabbermouth, Clubbing, and Good as Lily were on the docket, along with a bonus third volume of Kat and Mouse, the remainder of Mike Carey’s Vicious Circle (which Poor Mr. Reads has waited less-than-patiently for me to finish!), and issues of the new Wonder Girl and the current Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Several titles which all, in Some Way or Another, deal with the sometimes troublesome lives of adolescent and teenaged girls. As you might remember, Gentle Reader, this is a subject I am Quite Interested in, not only as a former adolescent and teenaged girl myself, but also as a former teacher of said girls, and a possible future parent of said girls. I’ve a goddaughter, too, and Mr. Reads and I are Greatly Concerned with her Happy and Healthy Upbringing outside of the safety of the familial sphere. Also, too, her Happy Comic Book Upbringing, and we supply her with Spider-Man, Supergirl, and Wonder Woman paraphernalia at Every Opportunity.

But as DC’s Minx line is an imprint particularly concerned with young female readership—it is, it seems, after all, the Reason for the Read!—it seems Obvious that the Subject Matter should be Young Woman Friendly. Some titles do this better than others, of course. Plain Janes rises to the top, as cream does, followed closely by Re-Gifters and Confessions of a Blabbermouth. All three of those titles seem to understand, and Understand Well, the particular concerns of adolescents and teens, and most importantly, how far to Push the Envelope. Confessions of a Blabbermouth has the unique perspective of a teenaged woman herself, as Mr. Carey’s daughter, Louise Carey, is one of the authors.

I say brava to Ms. Carey, and bravo to Mr. Carey (with whose works I have spent much of my weekend!) for such a creative partnership, and bravo to DC for pushing it forward. But, and I confess this hesitantly, Gentle Reader, as I do not believe that Only Women Can Write Feminist Literature, but, with that said, I wish there were more Minx lines written by women. As Minx seems to be an imprint aimed at young women, and an imprint that seems to want to put forth, More Often Than Not, strong, progressive, confident young female characters, I’m afraid that so many male writers on such an imprint might send a different message. But then, This Humble Author always wants to see More Diversity of gender, race, sexual preference, love-of-raspberry-cheesecake, among other things in Comic Books, and among Comic Writers, in particular.

Alas, Friends, I wish I could discuss this with you further, but the night grows late, I am still ill, and Robot Chicken airs shortly before my (much needed!) bedtime. Instead, I ask of you, Constant Readers: what are your thoughts on the Minx line?

Amy Reads the Year (on August 31st, 2007)

I should tell you, Gentle Reader, that this post was, originally, to speak out against the suggestion that they are “Just Comics.” As in, why do we Speak Out So Articulately against injustice in comics when they are, so They Say, nothing more than comic books? And by “we” I mean, of course, any number of combinations of persons who reasonably object to injustice in our favorite pop culture medium, but for the purposes of my month-long retrospective, I refer, at this juncture, to Women, Specifically.

But in truth, this is a subject near and dear to my heart as I have Sung It Long and Often. In fact, I have sung it So Long and So Often that I fear Constant Readers to This Humble Blog might grow weary of my bellyaching and look to more moderate climes for reading and enjoyment.

That is to say, Friends, that you know How I Feel about the importance of comic books, and popular culture at large, and that to say so, again, would be a tad bit repetitive.

So, then, faced with the dilemma as to what subject best to offer to you, Gentlest of Readers, I was Rather Uncertain. This is a retrospective, is it not? A display of a year’s worth of comic blogging by This Humble Author in order to capture, to the Best of my Abilities, the flavor of the year, comic-book-wise. But retrospectives do not look to the past alone. Rather, they look forward, and offer a view of the future through the comfort and solidity of the past.

What is past is past, no? We have Come Through The Dark and entered, if I may be so bold as to say, The Light. That is, we *know* what is to be done in comics. We *know* what is to be done in our pop cultures.

More women in positive, leading roles. More superheroes of various racial, economic, class, and diverse backgrounds. More positive portrayals of alternative relationships. Remember the Ladies, yes (gratitude, Mrs. Adams), but Remember, too, the Girls. Protect the female characters so that they are not reduced to stereotypes, Refrigerated or Otherwise (gratitude, Ms. Simone) but do not tiptoe around them, either.

I could go on, Gentle Reader, but there are those who have said this before me, and said better than This Humble Author ever could. I point to my sidebar and draw your attention to the brutally honest and wonderful critics there. This year has, more than anything else internet-wise, introduced me to a coterie of well-read, critically thinking, diverse bloggers who are devoted to the betterment of comic books (Gratitude, When Fangirls Attack, Girl-Wonder.Org). And they are devoted *precisely* because They Love Comics.

I, too, Love Comics, and rather than repeat myself once more, rather than offer a response that dulls in comparison to Those Bloggers I Respect, Admire, and above all else, Read On A Daily Basis, I offer you a list of the best things comics have brought to me over the past year. No surprise to you, I’m sure, Gentle Reader, as we are all Well Aware of This Humble Author’s affinity for lists! Without further ado, then?

August 2006-August 2007: The Best of the Comic Book Universe
as viewed by This Humble Author

Welcome to Tranquility – Constant Readers of Arrogant Self-Reliance are Well Aware of the Reads’ adoration for All Things Simone, but Ms. Gail Simone truly has Outdone Herself with this title. Smart, ruthless, funny, poignant, it offers an interesting dichotomy to her other new title this year, Gen-13, but, in my humble opinion outshines its Sister in Every Way.

52 – While I am No Fan of Countdown, I believe it is because I am Overwhelmed by the ingenuity of 52. Bringing forward characters like Booster Gold—and paving the way for his Own Title!—was a stroke of genius on the parts of Mr. Rucka, Mr. Waid, Mr. Johns, and Mr. Morrison. While the title begins slightly before my self-imposed time frame of August 2006-August 2007, it peaks during this time.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season #8 – I came to Buffy Rather Late, I’m ashamed to admit, although I remember trying to watch it during the original airing of Season 2. Alas, lack of funds and of television prevented me from doing so, and I caught on to the phenomenon much later. To bring forth new ideas in such an innovative way—and what is more innovative than the marriage of image-and-text?—is not mere fan fodder but *true* innovation.

DC’s Minx Line – There has been some skepticism regarding the Minx line, and while I believe that some of the skepticism is Much Deserved, I also believe that it is, in No Small Part, a Step in the Right Direction. These are fun and smart stories that may function as bridges for younger readers, introducing them to the comic book universe. Personally, I would love to see more diversity of author and artist in this series.

The New New Avengers – I miss Cap, Friends, and I am Quite Angry at both Tony Stark and Reed Richards. But more importantly, I am Intrigued and Fascinated by the New New Avengers, and as one of the few Marvel lines I am reading, this title is encouraging me to explore further options, Marvel-wise.

Manhunter – While not confined to the timeframe to which I’ve confined myself, Manhunter is new to This Humble Author, at least, and I’m Quite Happy for it. Kate Spencer is, without a doubt, one of the most fascinating female comic book characters being written today. DC, don’t lose this title. I Beg Of You. Just Don’t.

The Justice Society of America: One Year Later – Friends, I’ve chastised myself enough for this, but I will do it again, for sake of argument. Why, o Why was I not reading This Title Sooner? The art! The writing! The characterization! Power Girl! Liberty Belle! I am sometimes, indeed, Almost Ridiculous, and in this case, certainly, The Fool (gratitude, Mr. Eliot, Mr. Prufrock). I regret my earlier disavowal, and promise to be consistent with my readings, forthwith.

Thank you, Friends, for a Wonderful Year Of Blogging. Here is to Many More To Come!

Amy Reads the Year (on August 17th, 2007)

It is Week Three of Arrogant Self Reliance’s Blogiversary, Gentle Reader, and originally, I planned to answer All Four Questions I posed in my initial post two weeks ago. For those in the audience Not Following Along At Home, I have seen these four questions over and over again throughout this past year, regarding the Woman (in comics) Question. Sometimes sincere, sometimes ironic, sometimes snide, the four questions boil down as follows:

1) "Do women read comics?"

2) "Why do women *still* read comics?"

3) "If you don’t like it, Ladies, why not *make the comics*?"

4) "Why don’t women understand that they are *just comics*?"

And in some Roundabout Way, I intend this post to be an answer to Question Number Two.

Recently, I returned from the Annual Before-School-Starts Trip Home to visit the Parents Reads. As the Parents Reads live in New Orleans, this trip, inevitably, coincides with Hurricane Season, so I drive, always, in case we need to make A Clean Getaway.

The trip from Small College Town to New Orleans isn’t *terribly* long, but long enough, all the same. Longer than Kenneth Branagh’s Hamlet, shorter than a Twilight Zone Marathon. This Humble Author often stops in the same town both to and from New Orleans, for gas, for lunch, for a stretch.

This past week, while driving back to Small College Town and thus Mr. and Pup Reads, both of whom were Unable to Accompany Me Home due to Prior Obligations (on Mr. Reads’ end, anyhow, as Pup Reads contributes little to the running and management of the household other than love and adorability), I stopped at a Large Chain Fast-Food Establishment to acquire sustenance, however greasy. While in line, I noticed a little plastic box on the wall, about waist-height, with two rows of toys in them: some miniature teddy bears, and some action figures a la Legion.

Gentle Reader, it has been Some Time since I have purchased a Happy Meal, but that time is not as distant as You Might Think. In particular, fun action figures, the Very Happy Plastic Halloween Happy Meal Pails, I’ve been known, On Occasion, to Indulge the inner Girl Amy Reads. And she was, if I may be so bold to say, Rather Giddy over seeing DC characters in Happy Meals.

Not just This Humble Author, however, but another Girl, Bona Fide “Girl” by Age at that, waist-height, staring, with awe, at the Legion Toys. She reached out a chubby hand and pressed it against the glass, right over Lightning Lad’s face. And then Said Girl’s Parent came over, took the child by the hand, said, “No, honey, you want a girl toy,” and led her away.

Now, let us forget, just for a moment, my Other Problem with this scenario. That’s right, Friends, the unmentioned one: the lack of female Legion members in the toy set. Let us move past that and instead, look directly at the problem as to why some express shock and awe over the fact that Women Read Comics, and *still* Read Comics. Really, it’s quite simple: because people don’t believe Girls Should.

Now as the Delightful and Articulate Ms. Healey reminds us, and often, Girls Do Read Comics, and they are, at times, Rather Perturbed at that. I certainly read comics at a young age, and as a child, I was bombarded with images of Strong Women in Comics and Science Fiction.

It’s true, Friends. I can recount wearing Wonder Woman and Supergirl underoos under my school uniform. I remember my aunt coiling my long hair into Princess Leia cinnamon buns for Halloween, for Friday afternoon, for fun. I remember sitting in front of the television, watching Wonder Woman, sitting in my bedroom, reading comics and sci fi/fantasy books. But also, I remember watching The Incredible Hulk, and reading Action Comics, and pretending to be Spider-Man. I remember watching The Challenge of the Super Friends. I remember getting boy *and* girl toys with my cheeseburgers, because my parents allowed me to choose what I wanted.

Now, Gentle Reader, let me assure you: the Parents Reads, while Wonderful and Lovely People, are Rather Shocked by the—dare I say it?—rampant liberality of their daughter. That is to say, the Parents Reads had No Agenda, Feminist or Otherwise, in the raising and maintaining of their Girl Child. So when I say that I got both boy and girl toys, both He-Man and She-Ra, both GI Joe and Jem and the Holograms, both Wonder Woman and Superman, that was the product of Good Parenting. Because of things like this, I grew up knowing “Math is Hard!” *not* because Barbie said so, and *not* because I was a Girl Child, but because, for an English-and-History Reader like myself, Math *was* harder, not nearly as easy to grasp as Books, and Dates, and Abstract Arguments.

That being said, I saw this Girl Child in front of me denied a toy *simply because it wasn’t a “girl toy”*. And I was reminded, one year after beginning a blog on feminism and pop culture, the very reason why I began said blog in the first place. I remembered the reason why Future Babies Reads will have Spider-Man *and* Wonder Woman, regardless of gender.

A few weeks ago, I read a Brother Blogger’s Post about trying to find fun Spider-Man, et al clothes for his Daughter. I curse my faulty memory, Gentle Reader, so please, if you know Said Blogger’s name and web address, send it to me! But I empathized with his plight, and applauded his solution which was buy it anyway.

Of course telling *you* this, Most Gentle of Readers, is a bit of the proverbial Preaching to the Choir. Who knows this better than Constant Visitors to Arrogant Self-Reliance? But occasionally—just occasionally, Friends!—others wander in from the proverbial woodworks, and there, perhaps, a change is sparked.

Amy Reads the Year (on August 10th, 2007)

(Or, Yes, Friends, Women Read Comics)

Gentle Reader, I write to you tonight from the home of the Parents Reads, which, as some of My (More) Constant Readers may recall, is in New Orleans, now nearly two years Post-Katrina. And while I would like to tell you all that everything is Shiny in the Big Easy, I cannot do any such thing. This is not a city in the sterile cleanup of afterbirth, but rather a city stuck in messy birth, or perhaps even in resuscitation, pumping life into something that so many consider dead.

But this city is, first and foremost, My Hometown, and one cannot return Home without remembering how one came to be in the first place, no?

That is to say, sitting in the very room in which This Humble Author first stayed up past bedtime to finish a book, in the very room in which This Humble Author first read a comic book, first pretended to be The Amazon Princess, makes one consider the first question I posed in the first post of my month-long blogiversary:

Do Women Read Comics?

The answer is rather simple, Friends.

Yes, they do.

. . .

But of course, the answer *isn’t* that simple, is it? Women Read Comics, but they don’t read superhero comics. And Women Read Comics, but they only read superhero comics. And Women Read Comics, but really, they read graphic novels. And of course Women Read Comics, but only Manga, and only Manga from Japan, and etc. etc. ad nauseam infinitum.

So I wonder, Gentle Reader, what that question could mean in The Larger Scheme Of Things. Is the Question—and I do acknowledge it as A Proper Noun Question as I have heard it repeated over and over again with a Certain Tone that implies credulity, i.e. “*Do* women read comics??”—relegated solely to Cape Titles, or is there a larger wonderment over whether Women, whomever They Might Be, enjoy the marriage of Art and Text?

Ekphrasis is a term with which only recently have I become familiar. And while my understanding of the marriage of art-and-text is more William Blake than Grant Morrison, more LEL than Gail Simone, there is something to be said for the perfect harmony of art-and-text. One is not merely a complement of the other, but rather, they are two parts of a whole.

In comic books, we see even more than the marriage of art-and-text, no? In fact, what we see is art-as-text and text-as-art and both as Text, that is, Story. So to ask a question as loaded as “Do Women Read Comics?” is to suggest that women are not artistic, or not interested in text, or in Texts, which we all know is Rather Ridiculous, when we spread it thin in such a way.

But, and there is a “but,” Gentle Reader, there is a Very Real Dichotomy in the perception of male and female comic book readership. Certainly, as we are all Well Aware, there are more male than female writers, artists, editors, and executives in the Comic Book Industry, but does a gender majority automatically mean gender exclusion, gender neglect, gender bias? That is to say, does a large male readership and authorship automatically mean a *lack* of female readership and authorship?

The logical fallacy rears its ugly head the moment the idea is presented, and we all trip and fall, flat on our faces. Here, Friends, I will be the first to trip and break the mold:

I am a Woman, and I Read Comics.

There I break the mold and with this one negation, or rather, this one affirmation of Female Readership, we can no longer ask: “Do Women Read Comics?” Now, we must ask why so many insist that Women Do Not Read Comics, or, if they do, they Read Them Wrong, and if they discuss them, they Are Too Loud (and wrong).

Gentle Reader, a confession: I love, absolutely *love* superhero comics. Again and again on this blog, I have shouted To The Rooftops my love for superhero titles. Hearing my Brother and Sister Bloggers rave about Manga, I have dipped my toes into those waters, as well. I adore Graphic Novels, too, and find the idea of art-and-text to be truly visionary.

I cannot answer for every Man or Woman Reading Comics, but I can answer for myself, and my answer is this: I read comics because I am terrible at art, and seeing a story unfold visually and textually astounds me.

Or, my answer is this: I read comics because I am a good storyteller, and seeing a story unfold over generations astounds me.

Or this: I read comics because I enjoy science fiction, and fantasy, and historical fiction, and realism, and modernism, and Victorianism, and postmodernism, and fashion, and cultural critique, and subtext.

Or: I read comics because I read comics.

The idea that one would have to ask if Women Read Comics seems almost silly, and it is a question I have heard less and less over the past few years. And Gentle Reader, let me do say that it is a question that is less spoken and more implied. It is a question implied every time I reveal that I am a Reader of Comics, and the implication usually goes Something Like This:

“Really? *You* read comics?”

Yes, I do, and whether that shock is because I am a Woman, an Academic, Middle-Aged, none or all of the above, it is still there, and it means something that it is. Why is there incredulity over the Reading of Comics? Why must one express utter disbelief over something that should be commonplace? Everyday? A Shared Experience among Men and Women alike?

We need to reconsider *why* We, All Of Us, Men and Women Alike, Read Comics. Then, we need to *remember* why We, All Of Us, Men and Women Alike, Read Comics.

My answer is this: I read comics because I love them.

. . .

One final outcome of my time spent at my childhood home, the Reads Parsonage, if you will: I am, at this very moment, Doing “Homework” in the Very Room in which I did Every Scrap Of Homework I ever had pre-college. As I am Rather Egalitarian about my memories, both good and bad, I offer you, Gentlest of Readers, some Homework Of Your Own.

I am a Woman who Reads Comics, and also, a Woman who enjoys Finding New Comics, so please, Friends, take a glance at the sidebar to your right. There you will find This Humble Author’s Current Pull List, both Cape and Manga. Are there Comics that this Woman should be Read(ing)? If so, what are they, and why?

Until then, Friends, Good Night, and Good Reading.

Amy Reads the Year (on August 03rd, 2007)

(Or, The Answer to Question Number Three)

Welcome, Gentle Reader, to the month-long one-year blogiversary of Arrogant Self-Reliance! This Humble Author has spanned two blog addresses, two personas, and finally—finally!—has settled Quite Comfortably into this Rather Cozy Space. Over the next month I will endeavor to bring you the highlights—and lowlights—of the past year in pop culture as I readdress some Issues I find Most Important.

Yes, Friends, you’re right: I want to talk about Women in Pop Culture. And today, thanks to the Glories that are When Fangirls Attack and Google Alerts, I’ve stumbled across Quite the Entrée into Said Discussion.

A few days ago on MotherJones.Com, Charlie Anders wrote this stunning article, “Supergirls Gone Wild: Gender Bias In Comics Shortchanges Superwomen,” which offers a broader discussion of Female Readership in the Comic Book Universe. This idea of Readership has challenged me the past few days, and I have summed up--or rather, expanded--the Woman (in comics) Question into Four Questions.

In the wake of Comic-Con and, even farther and even faster (gratitude, Ms. Bishop), an entire year of discussion about Female Comic Book Readership, the first question of “Do Women Read Comics?” has morphed into ever-spiraling and ever-complicated questions such as: “Why do women *still* read comics?” (question number two) and “If you don’t like it, Ladies, why not *make the comics*?” (question number three) and of course, “Why don’t Women understand that they are *just comics*?” (question number four).

Friends, I am fascinated by both the idea of Female Authorship and the idea of Female Readership, two issues that are Very Important to my Academic Work. I read women’s works, and I read about women reading women’s works. What is more popular culture than the idea of audience? Without audience, there can be no “popular,” and without people, there can be no “culture.” Therefore, by fault of my wacky and illogical logic, “Popular Culture” is, at its heart, dependent on both Authorship *and* Readership.

Fandom, meet my Career. Career, meet my Fandom.

To wit, in answer to Question Number Three in the Rowdy Roundup of Questions for Feisty Female Fans:

You cannot have a book without a reader.

Or,

Books need both Readers *and* Writers.

While I am Ever-Ready to write on A Title Of My Own (Big Barda or The Amazon Princess for me, DC!), and while I am Ever-Writing on A Comic Of My Own (Happy to send Treatments, DC!), these are those ever-illusive and often-proverbial “Pipe Dreams” exactly because they are dreams. Even further, they are dreams exactly because I am, First and Foremost, A Reader: by choice, by trade, by training, by profession, by paycheck, by understanding. Reading is What I Do, and if you may forgive a modest lack of modesty for the moment, I am Exceptional at my job.

But because I am Good at What I Do, I also become, while not Hulk-Smash upset at it, Rather Perturbed by the idea that if I don’t like something that is out there, then rather try and change it, I should just accept what is there and personally make what I want.

That argument, to me, at least, feels Very Similar to the following analogy:

Mr. Reads and I go out to dinner. We both order steak, medium, loaded baked potatoes, smothered onions, and steamed asparagus. Mr. Reads enjoys every bit of his meal except for the asparagus, which he finds to be a bit too raw, and his steak, which is cooked at medium-rare instead of medium. He expresses his concerns, and the restaurant brings him new asparagus, cooks his steak to his liking, and, for his troubles, comps his dessert. I, too, find the asparagus a bit too raw, and find my steak to be medium-rare instead of medium. When I bring my concerns to the restaurant, not only do they not fix my meal, they pack it in a take-home container and tell me to “cook it to my liking” once I get home. As Mr. Reads and I ordered and paid the same amount for *the same meal* we should receive *the same service* for our *same complaints* no?

While this may seem A Bit Over The Top (and very conducive to hunger!), let us take it even further. If Mr. Reads—who is, I Assure You, Gentle Reader, the Kindest and Gentlest of Men—were to offer his complaint to the management with a loud, booming voice, he would be considered an aggressive and masculine specimen. Perhaps he would be considered a Steak Aficionado, even. A Steak Guru, if you will. He certainly knows his steaks, if he can become So Worked Up over an improperly cooked piece of meat! Whereas if I—and I Assure You, Gentle Reader, that despite my Well-Mannered and Gentle Demeanor, I am the More Likely Member of the Reads Family to offer a loud, booming voice—were to do the same, I would be escorted from the premises for my hysterical and inappropriate behavior.

Still don’t believe This Humble Author? Then one final extreme:

Mr. Reads and I, both unhappy with our meals despite dessert compensation for Mr. Reads (which This Humble Author did not get to enjoy since she was Tossed Out of Said Restaurant on her posterior), come home and write negative reviews of Said Restaurant on the Internet. Mr. Reads finds a commiserating audience who also has had Similar Problems with Said Restaurant. I, too, find a core of like-minded individuals who sympathize with my Tossing. Then my review is spammed by trolls begging to know Who The @#$! Do I Think I Am for daring to review negatively Their Favorite Restaurant. My review is plastered on site after site as a Bad Example of Restaurant Reviewing, and is held up as The Classic Example of How Women Take Everything To Extremes. While I was willing to give Said Restaurant another chance, I no longer want to take the chance of sitting Anywhere Near these fellow restaurant-attendees.

Extreme, I know. Perhaps silly, and certainly flawed. But Gentle Reader, this is *what it feels like* when I am told that if I don’t like the way comic books are being written, then I should just write my own. Rather than fight against change, these naysayers instead believe that a small ghettoized space is appropriate for those who feel as if comics do not portray women, ethnic minorities, homosexuals, differently abled, and others enough.

It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

I’ve heard them all already, the arguments, the beliefs, the statistics, the decrying that There Are More Male Comic Book Readers than Female Comic Book Readers, or, There Are More Male Comic Book Writers than Female Comic Book Writers, or, Superheroes are Symbolic so it Doesn’t Matter if 90% of them are white males.

To which I say, There *should* be more Women writing Comic Books, and there *should* be more Diversity in Comic Books, because if there is, there is a Very Strong Probability that there will be More Readers.

I don’t believe that Only Women can write great female characters, nor do I believe that all titles with a woman as lead—Birds of Prey, Wonder Woman, Catwoman—should go to Women Writers. This is a further example of the ghettoizing of which I spoke earlier. Nor do I believe that Men cannot write Great Female Characters. I point to Mr. Rucka, Mr. Whedon, Mr. McKeever, Mr. Vaughan, and many, many others to belie this misconception. So, too, do we need more writers such as These Great Ones. But I do believe that the system, as a whole, is flawed. That the system is comfortable. Also, as I am Ever The Optimist, I believe the system can expand.

Further representation, Gentle Reader. Further discussion. Open marketplace of ideas and emotions and critiques.

Friends, I love Comic Books. I love Superhero Comic Books. I love the symbolism, the idea that the Outsider—the Alien, the Orphan, the Goddess-Made-Of-Clay, the Ultimate Other—is the person to point out injustice. I love that Cape Books make me believe in something Greater, something Mythic, something Colossal. I love that Superheroes are Larger Than Life, and that they make the characters, and the readers, aspire to Great Things. I love the gaudiness of the costumes, the extremes of the plots, the fact that Outlandishness and Utter Fantasy often come to stand for Gritty Reality and are Archetypal Discussions relevant to every time period, even Ours. I love that Superman has three weaknesses and Wonder Woman has none.

I love Batman because he is dark and challenging and not very friendly at all. I love Superman because Kal-El/Superman is the mask and Clark Kent is The Real Deal. I love Hellboy because he makes mistakes, over and over again, and still fights the good fight. I love Daredevil because sometimes, his Catholicism conflicts with his desire for vengeance, and sometimes, it supplements it. I can identify with these male characters because I see parts of them in me.

But.

But, these characters have had the benefits of More Good Writing than Not. They haven’t been tossed aside as lightly as some of their Sisters have. They haven’t been reduced to the Representation of Their Bodies as some of their Sisters have. That is not to say that they don’t have Bodies Issues Of Their Own. Of course they do. These are Comic Books. Everything is Larger Than Life, a Bit More Fantastical.

I *want* that Fantastical. I crave it. That’s why I am, First and Foremost, A Reader Of Comics. But Fantastical is *not* the same as Stereotypical. Fantastical is *not* the same as Ridiculous Representation.

And therein lies the difference.

This Is What a Girl, a Super Girl, Should Be Like

Summer term has started, Gentle Reader, and already, I’m drowning in work, work, work. I’ve been up for less than an hour, with only one cup of coffee (so far!) to make me Somewhat Coherent. I wasn’t going to blog about this yet, rather wait until this afternoon, after dissertation work and office hours and class (oh my!), but Kalinara's early post this morning inspired me. I just will endeavor to bring you something Arrogant Self-Reliance rarely does: brevity.

A few minutes ago, Mr. Reads called me over to his computer to show me something that, as he claimed, was going to “make me giddy.” As so often happens, Mr. Reads was not wrong. He showed me this interview with Mr. Bedard and these concept sketches by Mr. Guedes, and I became, to put it Mildly, Giddy Indeed.

Kalinara has reviewed Mr. Bedard’s plans for his upcoming stint on Supergirl, and I agree with her completely. Here is an idea for a Supergirl that truly is, as Kalinara terms it, a “teen of steel.” Indeed! In a complementary fashion, I’d like to draw Your Attention, Friends, to the concept art accompanying the interview.

*This* is what a Super Girl should look like, because this is what a Strong Girl looks like. As Mr. Reads said this morning, she has a *girl’s* body, not a woman’s body, and that makes all the difference. A little awkward, a little over-confident, and completely comfortable in her own skin. Look at her stance, how she hams it up for the viewer, her strength, her proportions. This is a Young Woman in Comics that I believe will attract younger, female readers. This is a Supergirl that I would have loved to have as a Young Girl Myself.

In particular, Gentle Reader, look at this image of Supergirl sitting down, with her cape tucked over her leg. I have taught, on Many Occasions, young women in this age range. Once, I was even Such A Girl Myself. And for those of you with any doubt, let me tell you that *girls sit this way, all the time*. In all honesty, I, as a 30-year-old woman, *still* sit this way, on occasion.

This is a realistic portrayal of a woman for a comic book. This is just plain Super.

Bravo, Mr. Bedard and Mr. Guedes. You have brought the Super Girl back to Supergirl.

Art Saves (Because It Must): A Brief Review of The Plain Janes

You may remember, Gentle Reader, that Mr. Reads and I Hopped Across The Pond this past January for my Research Trip Of Grand Proportions. When I (finally!) stole a spare moment or two from research to look at Art, Mr. Reads dragged me, kicking and screaming the whole way, to the Tate Modern. Not that I pooh-poohed the idea of Art, in General. I adore Art, particularly as I Cannot Produce It. I don’t have that talent for visualizing something out of nothing. If I stare at A Blank Page, I can only see, as Mr. Hamlet would say, Words, Words, Words. I am a Writer, by nature, by profession, by trade, by choice, and most importantly for this discussion, by Training. My plans for a comic book—yes, even I, Gentle Reader, have plans for A Comic Book Of My Own—have been aborted, time and again, by my sincere lack of artistic talent. One cannot break through in a medium that proclaims the marriage between Art and Text if one cannot produce half of the equation, no?

Rather, I kicked and screamed my way to the Tate Modern because not only was I leaving the Tate Britain, and thus Waterhouses and Rossettis and Siddals (oh my!), but also because Modern Art baffles me. It is true, Friends. I have no appreciation for the Modern or Postmodern Artistic, and sometimes even Literary, Sentiment. I am a Victorianist, by nature, by profession, by trade, by choice, and most importantly for this discussion, by Training. I *understand* Victorian art. I *adore* Victorian art. And while I dally in the 20^th Century for the occasional Magritte or Picasso or Dali, my heart and my understanding are rooted firmly in the 19^th.

I offer you this rather lengthy and personal introduction so that you understand the oddity of my absolute joy over discovering a room, yes, an *entire room*, devoted to those most militant of artistic activists, the Guerrilla Girls. I do not like Modern Art, Gentle Reader, nor do I like Postmodern Art. That of course includes the Dadaists, the Performance Artists, and should therefore include the Guerrilla Girls. But even Mr. Reads, who has known me for almost ten years, was surprised to hear me squeal with delight inside That Most Auspicious Of Monuments To The Modern And Postmodern Art Movements, the Tate Modern.

And Squeal I Did, Friends, loudly, publicly, to looks of surprise and consternation from My Fellow Museum-Goers. The Guerrilla Girls are activists who draw attention to the lack of women and minorities in the arts. Their militant tactics included such things as plastering posters such as This One (gratitude, Tate Modern) to raise awareness of women and minorities working within the arts. This is a cause I appreciate and believe in. This is an artistic movement that I have admired for as long as I have been aware of it.

So when This Humble Author realized that Cecil Castellucci and Jim Rugg’s The Plain Janes offers a microcosmic look at the effects of guerrilla art in one small town and one small high school, you can only imagine the squeal of delight over said discovery. Even further, when This Humble Author realized that The Plain Janes details the use of such guerrilla art by a Young Woman as a means of recovering from the Shock and Horror of a terrorist attack, you can only imagine how much I fell in love with this book.

“Art Saves” are the words written on a notebook Main Jane recovers from the bombing site. “Art Saves” are the words she takes to heart when she rescues a John Doe from the bomb site. “Art Saves” are the words Main Jane repeats, like the Prayer They Are, to make sense of a senseless tragedy. She is a Survivor, she is a Hero, she saves One Man from the rubble, and still, her whole world falls apart.

Gentle Reader, you may be aware of the fact that This Humble Author is from New Orleans, and that I was home, visiting family, when we had to evacuate for Hurricane Katrina. The Reads Clan and the Reads-in-Laws were the lucky ones. We all had somewhere to go: most came here, to Mr. Reads’ and my house, and others scattered across the South, to various friends and family. But with Math there is always Aftermath. So many of our Friends and Family Lost Everything. And while we are Grateful for the Lives Saved, we still Struggle Through Recovery.

That is to say, The Plain Janes is a title that I would give to any young man or woman trying to make sense of a senseless tragedy. What Castellucci and Rugg do, and do Very Well, is avoid the idea of The Perfect Happy Ending. This book understands that Not All Endings Are Perfectly Happy, and that is Perfectly Okay.

Even further, what Castellucci and Rugg do Even Better is offer an alternative definition of Hero. A Hero is not only someone who saves, but someone who survives, as well. Because it’s just as hard to pick up the pieces and carry on as it is to pick up the person lying next to you and drag him or her to safety. Because Being A Hero means being strong, even in the face of danger, and being strong, even in the face of ceaseless fear.

That’s what affects Main Jane the most, Gentle Reader: ceaseless fear. Her parents move her to the suburbs for her safety, and she hates it: the lack of culture, the high school cliques, leaving her friends behind, and most importantly, leaving behind John Doe, the man she saved, the man whose notebook she holds on to, like the talismanic item it is, the man to whom she writes, detailing her pains, her fears, her frustrations. Because Main Jane’s parents aren’t the only ones suffering under ceaseless fear. Her mother’s incessant phone calls affect Main Jane’s tranquility, certainly, but so, too, does her desire to reinvent herself. To throw off the cloak of normalcy and popularity, and to become The Person She Wants To Become.

And so she begins that quest. She refuses the popular girls’ offer to sit in their lunch group and finds the right table for her. “And then,” Main Jane says, “When you least expect it: Paradise!” She means Jane (the actress), Jayne (the brain), and Polly Jane (the athlete). Even when the Janes, her “tribe,” are “completely unimpressed” with her, she says, “I just know that these girls, these Janes, are my friends.”

Taking cues from the words “Art Saves,” Jane comes to the Startling Realization that so few ever come to: in order to save others, you first Must Save Yourself. So she uses art to cement a relationship with these Janes. They form P.L.A.I.N., “People Loving Art In Neighborhoods,” a secret group that performs (Guerrilla) Acts of Random Art. They form friendships. They bring a community of teenagers together.

As with almost all stories involving teenagers, lines are divided quickly between The Teens and The Adults. And The Teens seem to understand that Art *can* Save, because It Must. That is to say, what some see as vandalism is a way to bring beauty back into a world so devoid of it. The acts of the P.L.A.I.N. Janes are acts of creation, not of destruction. They become ways of making sense in a world that lacks sense, lacks understanding. Through these Random Acts Of Artness, Main Jane not only gains friends she wanted (the P.L.A.I.N. Janes) and friends she didn’t (Cindy, the Queen Bee), but she also gains a sense of self.

Art Saves Main Jane, as she predicted it would.

The link between Art and Tragedy is solid, Gentle Reader. Tug on it, and you find no give. Art reflects larger senseless tragedies, as the poetry of WWI soldiers such as Mr. Sassoon or Mr. Owen reflects, and art reflects personal tragedies, as well, smaller in scale, perhaps, but just as tragic, just as senseless. Ask Ms. Bishop, and she will tell you that “The art of losing’s not too hard to master/though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster” (“One Art”). Ms. Plath will tell you, too, that “Dying,/is an art, like everything else” (“Lady Lazarus”). And while These Great Poems use the word “art” to denote skill, they intend for us to understand skill as talent, as grace. Something one has an affinity for, to do very well (to do it so it feels like hell, so sayeth Ms. Plath). Art becomes a way of understanding tragedy, certainly, with the act of the poem, the painting, the photograph, the book. But art, by its very nature, is a skill set, a way of *dealing* with tragedy, not only with the act of the poem, the painting, the photograph, the book, but also with the community of the poem, the painting, the photograph, the book.

Art is public. By its very nature, it is meant to be shared. By its very nature, it is meant to speak, and speak loudly, to those who wish to hear. And by its very nature, Art is meant to be interpreted. While some see Salvation, others see Despair. What The Plain Janes makes perfectly clear is that while some see Destruction, others see Creation.

A common consequence of Destruction is Creation, Gentle Reader, and while said Creation is open for interpretation, The Plain Janes interprets it as self-creation. As self-understanding. For one teenaged girl, one Main Jane, yes, but through her, for dozens, perhaps hundreds of others.

Art Saves, because it must.

Amy Reads the Week (of May 18th, 2007)

You may have guessed this by now, Gentle Reader, but I don’t believe in essentialism. That is to say, I don’t believe that because I was born with a Uterus and 2 X Chromosomes that I am predisposed to liking Pink, and Dolls, and Romantic Comedies. Further, while I believe in it more than I do essentialism, I don’t particularly like the idea that social constructivism has determined my self. I don’t like the fact that despite my triumph over essentialism, that hive mind we call Society came along and determined that because I am a Girl—wrapped in a pink blanket upon birth and granted dominion over all things cute, ruffled, and/or fluffy—I have been socially geared towards things such as Pink, and Dolls, and Romantic Comedies. Also Motherhood, heterosexuality, passivity, intuition, and that annoying partridge in that bloody pear tree.

Even further, I don’t believe that because Mr. Reads was born with male anatomy and XY Chromosomes that he is predisposed to like football, beer, and, say, superhero comics. In fact, I would Greatly Argue that Mr. Reads likes, say, Superhero Comics because he was, as a child, inclined *not* to like football or trucks but rather liked books, and science, and fantasy. And I would say that This Humble Author likes, say, Superhero Comics not because I was inclined towards All Thing Male, All The Time, but rather because I saw a woman in satin tights fight for *my* rights and the good ole red, white, and blue.

Over the past few weeks, I have been thinking about What Attracts Us, yes, We Few, We Happy Few, We Fans of Comics, to the Comic Book Medium, at large, and the Superhero Comic Universe, specifically. Because while the argument can be made that Many People read Comics—Graphic Novels, Manga, William Blake, virtually anything defined as a Marriage between Image and Text, those Stories Told Visually, even Ekphrasis might work here, by definition—not all of those Readers are Superhero Fans. The Superhero Comic is a unique genre in and of itself, and it relies, by definition, on the existence of The Superhero, The Villain, and the Battle Between Good and Evil.

Of course, Gentle Reader, you may argue that All Literature is represented as The Battle Between Good and Evil, and you may just be right. But Said Battle isn’t always defined in clear-cut terms, complete with Flights, and Tights. And those who are attracted to Said Battles, again, We Happy Few, are attracted to them, specifically, for a reason.

I don’t know if I can express My Reason in so many words, because That Reason is Rather Personal. But then, all literary choices are personal; we are attracted to the things we are attracted to because we are Who We Are. While I no longer read Romance Novels (although I did for many, many years) because I find them somewhat unrealistic, I now read more Superhero Titles than I did ever before. And what is more unrealistic than the idea of an alien come to save America and the World? Or an Amazon leaving an Island of Women to save Man’s World? Or a son, marked by the tragic deaths of his parents, becoming the Savior of His City? Or that Said Amazon can fight for my rights in those assuredly confining and rather counterproductive satin tights, anyhow?

There is something to be said, then, for the Power of Fantasy. For the Suspension of Realism, even if just for the 30+ pages of a Comic Book, or the 300+ pages of a Romance Novel, or for the 2 hours of a movie. We read because we desire some suspension of realism, no? We escape to fictional realms every time we open a novel, or step into a movie theater, or play a video game. We, as a Fanbase, desire some sort of escape from The Real World.

But, as many have argued before me, nothing mirrors The Real World’s problems better than Fiction, and Science Fiction specifically. 1984 discussed the growing anxiety over governmental spying, surveillance, and control. Brave New World warned us of the dangers of “playing god.” Lord of the Rings showed the disastrous results of environmental disregard.

But I say that the reverse is true, as well. Nothing mirrors The Real World’s capacity for Greatness better than Fiction, and Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Comic Books, specifically. Just as Mysteries are about making the disorderly orderly, so too are Comic Books about making the Alien Familiar, the Other a person not to fear but to aspire to. Superman shows us that even the one who should be The Ultimate Outsider can be the one to Save Us All. Wonder Woman demonstrates that what seems to be radical inclusive feminism is in fact an attempt to save all of us, men and women alike. Batman shows us that with Great Anguish comes Great Resolve, and that Good can be born out of Evil. As does Spider-Man. As does Catwoman. As does Big Barda.

The more we depend on essentialist arguments, Gentle Reader—those arguments that claim this or that is for boys or girls, but never the twain shall meet—the more we isolate ourselves. The more we separate, and separate, ad nauseam. But let us not be so eager to embrace social constructivism, either. Let us instead think not in terms of Either/Or, but rather in shades of gray. Further, let us determine why some insist, yes, insist on claiming separatism For Us All.

When This Humble Author was growing up, Barbie said, quite loudly and publicly, “Math is Hard!” And so began the debate over whether this item of Pop Culture, this Doll, this Inanimate, Programmed Thing could have any bearing on Young Girls’ Lives. So began the discovery that elementary schools actually reinforced this idea that “Math is Hard!” if you were a girl. Unbeknownst to educators, almost an entire educational system was geared towards Feminine=Humanities, Masculine=Math and Science. And now, some twenty years later, we are still struggling to make sure our girls are encouraged in both literature *and* math, and our boys are encouraged in both math *and* literature. Colleges and Universities, even, work hard to encourage more women to go into engineering, hard sciences, and advanced math and computer fields. Because there just aren’t that many women there, even now, twenty years later.

All because of an essentialist argument that no one was even aware was being made.

All because a doll once said, “Math is Hard!"

Make Mine Amazonian: A Brief Review of Wonder Woman #7

The Suffragettes understood the difficulty of discussing pressing concerns during larger, national and international crises, Gentle Reader. When The Great War broke out, they were expected to forgo their fight for The Larger Fight. Put down your placard and hammer, Sister Suffragette; the riveters need a Rosie, the boys need your support. When they continued to demand the Vote, on both sides of the Pond, they were chastised, condemned, and even physically hurt because of it.

But they kept on keeping on, fought the good fight, brought the government to reconciliation with its female population. The Suffragettes won the vote, a legal voice, decades, a century after the fight began In Earnest. They were called harridans, unsexed females (a term This Humble Author truly despises, the use of “females” rather than “women”), The Shrieking Sisterhood, the Damned Mob. They protested, hunger striked, broke windows and set fires, wrote letters upon letters upon letters, demanded justice and a voice and they got it, finally, after so much suffering, violence, pain, and even, in Emily Davison’s case, martyred death.

Women fought, bled, and died for This Humble Author to have The Right To Vote. They fought, bled, starved, and bruised for me to minor in Women’s Studies, for me to be a Feminist Scholar, for me to write a dissertation that in no small part is about them. Centuries upon centuries of suffering, Gentle Reader. Centuries. And it still hasn’t helped completely.

It. By It, I of course mean The Struggle for Women’s Rights. I mean Feminism. I mean that sometimes we tear ourselves down from the inside out.

So many of my Brother and Sister Bloggers have reviewed Wonder Woman #7, and all of them reviewed it well. As it was with #6, so it is with #7. There isn’t much I can add to the conversation. Wonder Woman is behaving in a strange, horrifying manner. She’s expressing concern over the broken body of a colleague, then dropping him because he, in a delusional pained state, makes an off-color joke. And she smiles, yes, *smiles*, Friends, while she does it.

Why does so much of popular culture insist that Feminism is about misandry? Why does so much of popular culture insist that Feminists hate men? Hate women? And, in all truth, hate themselves?

This Is Not My Wonder Woman.

I have been a Wonder Woman fan for over 25 years. I have read countless incarnations of her. I supported Diana Prince, lover of Steve Trevor. I supported Princess Diana, ambassador of peace. I even supported Wonder Woman, killer of Maxwell Lord, savior of humanity. And throughout this, I have always known that *Wonder Woman Is Not Human*.

Why, why, Friends, do so many try to insist she become so?

Wonder Woman is a fascinating character because she *isn’t* us. She has a different set of morals, skills, and requirements. She has a different sense of Justice. She is a Zealot, you might even say, for Justice. Blinded by it, literally, in the case of Rucka’s run, because she refuses, that’s right, *refuses* to stop her quest for justice.

She killed Maxwell Lord because that was the only way to protect those she was sworn to protect. She may experience regret, she may believe that she needs to understand humanity in order to return as its savior, but in the end, She Is Not Human.

And therein lies the rub, Gentle Reader. I don’t want a human Wonder Woman. Make mine Amazonian. Make mine Other. Make mine Princess Diana.

Why do we, as a society, try so hard to make the Other One Of Us? Why do we try to normalize, insist, yes, insist that there is a “Normal” in the first place? Why do we pretend that Wonder Woman is less alien than Superman, when in fact, she’s not? Or even that just because Batman happens to be Bruce Wayne, that he is human, and therefore “Normal”?

Why do we need our heroes to be Just Like Everyone Else?

I don’t know if I’ve said this before, Friends, but I adore Martian Manhunter. I adore him, specifically, because he is so alien. When he finds something human that he likes, he expresses nothing but Pure Joy (Oreos! Yes, Oreos!). I adore Hellboy for the same reason. Because both characters insist on being What They Want to Be, rather than What Others Expect Them To Be. Martian Manhunter is never as interesting as when he rejects his human form; Hellboy is never as interesting as when he rejects his demonic expectations.

Wonder Woman is never less interesting as when she caricaturizes Feminism.

She is a Symbol for Women’s Rights, has been for a few decades now, and despite her strange origins, she stands for Feminism, now. The problem is that so many producers of popular culture don’t really, truly understand what Feminism is. The reason is almost frighteningly simple, really, because *there is no one Feminism*.

That is to say, Feminism is not misandry. It’s not a She-Woman Man-Hating Club. It’s not a self-loathing cycle of despair, either. I am not a Feminist because I hate men. I am not a Feminist because I hate myself. Nor am I a Feminist because I hate other women, and want to fight them for any scrap of power I can grab.

I am a Feminist because I believe in equal rights. I am a Feminist because I believe that we live in a society that forces women into maternity, heterosexual imperatives, low-paying jobs, domesticity, self-hatred, particularly of their own bodies, proms, believing Math is Hard! and that Sci-Fi and Comics are for Boys! I am a Feminist because women *fought* and *died* for me, yes, *me*, to have more rights, various opportunities, and a better life than they themselves had. I am a Feminist because I believe Woman’s Story is mostly untold. I am a Feminist because I am physically stronger and intellectually smarter than some men, and not so much than others, and I’m completely okay with both. I am a Feminist because I believe Women should be whatever they want to be, whether that’s a CEO or a Stay-At-Home-Mom. Feminism gives us the Choice.

I am a Feminist because I believe in Choice.

I am a Feminist because I have the power to speak for those who can’t speak for themselves, and I therefore have the imperative to do so.

Wonder Woman became a Hero because she had the power to do so. She fought for the right to come and help “Man’s World,” or maybe she just had “Mother Issues,” but in the end, she has come to help. Yes, Friends, To Help. And if she’s soul-searching, or trying to find herself, or just taking a vacation, I support her. But if Becoming Human, or Finding Herself means that she no longer cares about people in pain, just because those people happen to be men? I can’t, in all good consciousness, believe that this is the same character that blinded herself to fight Medusa. Or that this is the same character that began said soul-searching in the first place because *she hurt and killed a human*.

Let’s bring back what’s truly interesting about Wonder Woman: her Otherness. The navigation of this world through *her* eyes. Her Amazonian Ideals. Her frightening sense of Pure Justice.

Make Mine Amazonian again, please.

Amy Reads the Week (of March 30th, 2007)

Super Spectacular Women’s History Month Edition #5!

Often in our pop cultures, Gentle Reader, there is a dichotomous presentation of Woman offered; Madonna or Magdalene, Pure or Sexy, Good Girl or Bad Girl, Woman is often one or the other, but rarely, if ever, both. The Good Girl is so very, very good, and the Bad Girl? Well, she’s usually better. Both have sex appeal in their own right, both are desirous to those-who-like-women, and both can tread, just a toe or two, on The Other Side.

Because we so very love when our Good Girls go A Little Bad, or our Bad Girls have that ever-flaunted Heart o’Gold, or when we see a Bad Girl vulnerable and a Good Girl sexy. It seems—just seems, Gentle Reader!—that we like our dichotomies because they offer the chance to be something other than a stereotype.

This is, of course, the moment when the non-stereotype *becomes* the stereotype. That is to say, when Sandy in Grease puts on the leather pants, she’s not *really* a Good Girl Gone Bad, but rather, the Good Girl proving that she can, if Danny so desires, be A Little Bad. Or when Faith cries in Angel’s arms, telling him that she is Nothing At All, it’s not *really* a Bad Girl Gone Good, but rather, the Bad Girl proving that she does, deep down inside, want to be loved. The Good Girl’s Sexiness, and the Bad Girl’s Vulnerability, then, become part of the very definitions of these two types, and therefore are wrapped up in the very stereotype laid out for them in the first place.

Part of our desire for these stereotypes is, of course, our desire to fix things or sully them, our desire to Reform the Rake or Uncross Crossed Legs, our desire to be The One who will change things, for a little Good, or a little Bad. But most importantly, these two stereotypes of female characters, more often than not, demonstrate a complete lack of understanding of women’s power over their own bodies. That is to say, part of the Madonna/Magdalene stereotype is the firm desire to see women either as virginal or fallen, but rarely in charge of their own sexuality.

Our popular culture representations of women’s sexuality are troubling, at least, and Quite Frightening, at worst. Gallons of ink, both literal and cyber, have been spilled over the (Sexy) Woman Question in various media, and We, None of Us, can come to a consensus. Sexy, demeaning, outlandish, uncomfortable, ridiculous, beautiful, all of these words and more have been used to describe the costumes of various comic book characters, of television stars, of video game characters.

Wonder Woman, for example, wears spankies and a bustier, but I certainly would never call her outfit outlandish. She is, of course, very firmly in the Good Girl Camp, as she does, after all, come from an Entire Island Of Women (and no men). Catwoman, on the other hand, covers her entire body, from neck to toes, and still, there is no denying the skintight fantasy of her (literal) Catsuit. Then, of course, Catwoman is very firmly in the Bad Girl Camp, an ex-prostitute, no less, who has no qualms about her own sexuality. At all. Buffy often Slayed Vampires in heels, leather pants, and tank tops, but since she was a Good Girl, those outfits seemed fine, while Faith, the Bad Girl of All Bad Girl Slayers, Slayed in the same, and made it seem overtly sexual.

I work on fashion, Gentle Reader, in my Academic Life, and while the fashion I study is of the decidedly Bustled and Crinolined variety, I do occasionally foray into twentieth-century discussions. I pay particular attention to discussions of clothing—or lack thereof—in the Comic Book Universe, because more often than not, the discussion boils down to a Dichotomy of Its Own: “it’s just a comic book” versus “it’s never ‘just a comic book.’”

As a concluding thought in my month-long Women’s History Month Edition of this column, I’d like to point out this very thought that has haunted me for Some Time Now and is, in fact, the very reason I began this blog in the first place: the idea that Things Don’t Matter if those Things occur in popular culture. It just isn’t so, Friends, and here’s why.

Popular Culture reflects the desires, and fears, of the society in which it exists.

It’s why Wonder Woman and Superman fight off Nazis in the 1940s, why we saw so many movies about the dangers of genetic testing a few years back, why since 9/11 America has had a wealth of film and television about superheroes. It’s why teenagers are punished in horror movies for having sex, why spy movies became so popular during the height of the Cold War, why the Geek gets the Girl, always. Even farther and even faster, it’s why Stepmothers are the Bad Guys in fairy tales, why Cinderella becomes a Princess, why Children should never wander into Dark Woods alone.

It’s why the Good Girl, if she Stays Good, will get the Guy, why the Bad Girl can be reformed, and usually through Death.

All of these desires and fears are represented through familiar storylines, yes, and also, through familiar images, and symbols, and tropes. White for purity, water for birth and rebirth, fire for cleansing, yellow for disease. If there is a killer on the loose, and you say “I’m going to go check the basement,” you know, With Great Certainty, that you will not come back alive. If there are zombies, gardening tools are Your Best Friends, and if there are vampires, images and ideas of Catholicism will save you, whether you’re Catholic or not. It’s why curly hair represents both ethnicity and danger in women, and why certain white shirts on men signal violence against women.

It’s why Wonder Woman’s lasso is golden, Catwoman’s whip is black, and Willow’s hair turns white at the end of Buffy. It’s why Faith of “Young Goodman Brown” fame wears pink ribbons. It’s why Queen Victoria only appeared in public in black, after Albert’s death. Symbols, representations, cultural tropes and motifs that are understood, digested, and *read* by All of Us.

150 years ago, Gentle Reader, Charles Dickens was just about the most popular author In The World. His books were read (and sometimes written) in installments, and he sold thousands upon thousands of copies. Everyone knew the characters, the stories, and the ideas, whether they read the books or not. That is what it means to be an author of popular culture. Today, his books are considered High Literature, and are studied in schools and universities worldwide. This Humble Author herself studies Mr. Dickens, and has yet to hear anyone tell her to stop reading, writing, and teaching his work because “it’s just a popular book.”

Let us enjoy our popular cultures, and let us take them seriously. Let us not dismiss other’s concerns over sexism, or exclusion, because we don’t care about those specific concerns. Let us remember that we, All Of Us, have concerns and joys and fears and hopes in our Popular Cultures, and desiring change for the skimpy fashions of our superheroines, or development of female characters beyond the Good Girl/Bad Girl dichotomy are concerns that are just as important as those over the revival of a character long since dead, or an unpopular retcon.

Because we love them enough to care, to discuss, to blog, to buy, to read, to rejoice, to rebuke, they’re never, ever, *ever* Just Comic Books.

I considered writing a list as a celebration of Complexity, and of Popular Culture, and as a Last Hurrah of Women’s History Month. One consideration was for a Good Girl/Bad Girl list, and another was for 31, yes, 31 Complex Female Characters of Popular Culture. But instead, I want to hear from you, Gentle Reader. Give me your lists, or your recommendations, of women in popular culture. Who am I not following, but should be? What writer am I not reading, To My Detriment? As always, I am on the lookout for A Few (More) Good Books/Films/Shows!

Above all else, enjoy the rest of Women’s History Month, this celebration of Women Remembered and Forgotten, of Heroes who Fought the Good Fight. Let's remember those who fought for our voice, even though they themselves were allowed No Voice Of Their Own. Let us remember those women, Fictional and Historical, who Defied Stereotypes, both Good and Bad, to make the world A Better Place.

For the Good Girls, and the Bad Ones, for the Good Girls Gone Bad, and Bad Girls Gone Good, and those who are Just Okay and Somewhat Middling and Quite In Charge of Their Bodies and Selves and Lives, and Those We Love To Hate and Those We Hate To Love, and just Those That We Can't Help But Love because they Defy Stereotypes and Refuse to be Pigeonholed into One-Dimensionality.

For those women, and the thousands more, We Salute You.

Amy Reads the Week (of March 23rd, 2007)

Super Spectacular Women’s History Month Edition #4!

Gentle Reader, if you look at the sidebar to the right, you’ll see that Manhunter is on my pull list. Well, I need to confess something: Manhunter only made my list because of the Wonder Woman crossover. I read the first issue of that crossover, realized that I would never understand half of what was going on unless I read the whole series, and then months and months went by, without doing that very thing.

Mr. Reads has sworn, for months and maybe years now, that I would Absolutely Adore Manhunter. He believed this fact so much so that he gave me all 29 issues and said READ. As last week was, so very wonderfully, Spring Break Week for the Family Reads, I actually had Some Time To Myself one evening while Mr. Reads D&Ded with his friends. There were jellybeans, a snuggly Pup Reads to warm my toes, and 29 issues of Manhunter just waiting to be read.

And Friends, I have to say that Shelly is 100% correct: Manhunter *is* the best comic book I probably wasn’t reading. But I’ve rectified that. Scout’s Honor.

How to express the Total Joy over seeing a comic book that understands that a Heroine doesn’t have to be perfect? Or even suffer from One Fatal Flaw? No Hubris for Kate Spencer. No Hubris at all. Just a nicotine habit (which This Humble Author certainly can understand, even after 6 months cigarette-free!), anxiety over career and parenting and marriage, and not one, no, not *one* gratuitous romantic interest. Kate’s anxieties, it seems, are better served by her heroing, or her lawyering, or, God forbid, the Ever-Present Editorial Axe looming over her Precious DC Head.

When comic book readers ask for characters they can relate to—whether those readers are of the Double-X Chromosome Persuasion or otherwise—said readers are not asking for carbon copies. That is, when I ask, “Please, let me see a character I can relate to!” that wish can be fulfilled by a Kate Spencer (workaholic, anxious, ex-smoker), a Hellboy (looks different than others, tries to do the right thing, often confused by conflicting expectations on him), a Batman (slightly OC with a dash of martyr complex thrown in to seal the deal), or an Oracle (workaholic, trying to help and protect friends and family). That wish can be fulfilled a number of different ways, all of them good, all of them relatable by thousands of other readers, as well.

But most importantly—and indeed, perhaps, the Most Important Of All—I ask for characters that don’t suffer under stereotypes, whether those stereotypes are gender-specific, or race-specific, or sexual-preference-specific, or otherwise. Kate Spencer is a straight woman that isn’t running herself ragged looking for That Special Man To Complete Her Life. She belies the stereotype that all single women in their 30s must have a man to complete her. Rather, Kate gets divorced, co-exists rather well with her ex-husband, his new wife, their new child, and Kate’s son, of whom majority custody goes to the father. Nor is Kate The Perfect Mother, or The Failed Mother, two major motifs involving women and popular social conceptions of maternity. She makes parenting mistakes, she recognizes those mistakes, and she does what, truly, is best for her son: she shares custody with his father.

In fiction, we so often see the trope of the Monstrous Mother, that woman, almost fairy-tale in origin and evil, who is selfish, greedy, non-nurturing, sexual, everything that almost every society says a mother decidedly should *not* be. We have the Victorians to thank for our current conceptions of Maternity (the Domestic Goddess in her robes and crown of white), but this Perfect Mother Expectation we have goes back centuries. Mothers are not selfish, or sexual, or greedy, or anything but nurturing. So says society, therefore so say we all (gratitude, BSG).

“Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of all children,” says the Crow in O’Barr’s comic book. “Do you understand? Do you understand?” Not Father, but Mother. Mother is the name for God, the name for perfection, for perfect expectation.

Mother.

We have, as a society, somewhat romanticized the bond between Mother and Child. We expect it as a biological imperative, and when we see refusals of those expectations—the mother who abandons her children, or chooses leave-the-home-career over stay-at-home-career—we see them as aberrations, not only of our expectations, but of the very fabric of our society. The very things that hold us together. But by placing biological imperatives on parenting, and, in particular, maternity, we discount those parents who adopt, or raise another’s child, or the countless sisters and brothers and aunts and uncles and grandparents and friends and teachers who all take an active part in raising a child. It doesn’t only take a mother or a village; it takes a world.

Kate Spencer offers a progressive approach to motherhood that belies the somewhat traditional expectations comic books place on that role. One Year Later, she shares her mothering duties with her husband’s new wife, and even before then, she comes to the conclusion that her husband is a better parent than she is, a conclusion not often reached, even today. But even further, she is a Mother, in a comic book. There aren’t many of them, Friends, and perhaps we should wonder why.

Or perhaps we don’t even have to wonder why. Parenting is hard, the gig that never ends, even after the children become upstanding citizens. One rightfully can’t put one’s life in danger every night of the week and not expect some of that to spill over. Some get a little help from their friends (Catwoman), while some relinquish custody to the better-fit parent (Manhunter), while some enlist the adopted or biological child into the fight against evil (Hippolyta, Black Canary I). Some children’s lives are threatened because of their parents’ crimefighting (Helena, Catwoman’s daughter), and some are downright wiped from existence (Scarlet Witch’s children).

I’ve discussed maternity in comics before, particularly in regards to Catwoman and Black Canary, but I think this is a larger social concern that is being replicated in our pop culture media. We expect our mothers to be perfect, selfless beings, and perhaps—just perhaps, Gentle Reader!—we expect our maternal heroines to be even more perfect, even more selfless. Kate Spencer is a mother *and* a superhero; she sacrifices not only for her child, but for *the entire world*. Selina Kyle does the same, and the reason for both seems to be making the world safe, for the children. For *their* children.

Gail Simone’s theory regarding Women in Refrigerators demonstrates how girlfriends and wives often are used/hurt/killed to get at male heroes, and I’d like to point out the heroine version of this theory. We see an overwhelming amount of Children In Dark Woods stories involving children and their heroinic mothers (gratitude to Ragtime for the invention of the word “heroinic”!). Children in Dark Woods is, of course, the fairy tale motif of Children In Danger precisely because their mother was 1) not their mother (i.e. stepmother), 2) not paying attention (i.e. selfish), or 3) threatening (i.e. a woman of power). Women are put in Refrigerators to hurt male heroes, and children are stolen, threatened, or lost to hurt the female ones. WiR suggests that the worst possible pain for a man is not only to lose the person he loves, but also to be *unable to save her*. Children in Dark Woods suggests the same for women, but make it a child, and make it the suggestion of Bad Motherhood.

And that is the clencher, no? If a male hero’s girlfriend/wife is hurt or killed to get at him, he isn’t considered a bad boyfriend or husband. But if a heroine’s child is hurt or killed to get at her, she most likely is considered to be a Bad Mother. And there are few labels worse in our society than Bad Mother. When Kate Spencer’s son is hurt because he was playing with her Manhunter weapons, she is not the only one who thinks that she’s been a Bad Mother; everyone does. Even This Humble Author has suffered under this assumption (yes, even me, Gentle Reader!) in that I took Selina to task for being so carefree with her own life when Helena needs her, oh so much.

I have No Definitive Answers, Friends, because this isn’t a problem easily solved. Rather, let us think on those stereotypes as they exist not only in comic books, but in the world. And perhaps let us Call Attention to Things Such As This the next time someone says, “it’s just a comic book! What does it matter that Powergirl’s breasts are so large?” or, “it’s just a comic book! Why do the liberals always have to have a gay/black/female/cheesecake-loving hero to read it?” It’s never *just a comic book* because—I’ve said it before and I will say it a thousand times more—our pop culture reflects our innermost desires.

Our popular culture reflects Us.

So in honor of those who fight for our rights, change our diapers, balance our checkbooks, bring home the bacon *and* cook it, I offer you a list of my Seven Favorite Fictional Heroinic Mothers—one for every day I read the week, of course!

1) Joyce Summers – Buffy’s mother, after initial disbelief, took her daughter’s Slaying in stride, and even came to be a formidable Force Against Darkness, in that she kept her daughter, and the Scooby Gang, loved. Her death was one of the more painful and heartbreaking moments in television history.

2) Lorelai Gilmore – she raised her daughter on her terms, in her own way, and what a daughter Rory is! There’s no hero like the everyday mom, the one who creates a great life for herself and her child.

3) Linda Park-West – she lost her unborn children because of a fight between Flash and Zoom, and a later fight restored them again. During Infinite Crisis, when Wally’s about to disappear, Linda grabs the twins, and her husband, and disappears into the Speed Force with him. She is a rock, and without her, Wally wouldn’t be nearly as interesting.

4) Cordelia Chase – before a deity hijacks her body, of course! She serves as a surrogate mother to baby Connor and helps Angel raise his child. When Connor comes back, before Cordy disappears, she helps heal him, as well.

5) Fallen Angel (Lee) – She hides her child so that he won’t be swallowed by Bete Noire, only to find him come back after years in hiding. So she spends her time trying to protect him from the city, and to undo the pain and hurt done in his absence and his presence.

6) Claire Fraser – Diana Gabaldon’s character who leaves her True Love to give birth safely, and does her best to keep her daughter healthy and happy. Sometimes, this means saying goodbye.

7) Catwoman (Selina Kyle) – and finally, Selina! I considered putting Manhunter on the list, but realized I already Waxed Poetic Enough on her, and decided on Selina Kyle instead. Despite the initial problems I had with the OYL jump, I have adored everything involving Selina’s interactions with Helena.

The “Girl-Standards”: Thoughts on Those Titles We Womenfolk Might Like; or, how I recently read (and watched) a lot of Hellboy

Have I ever told you how much I adore Dark Horse Comics, Gentle Reader? I know I often point to the Two Houses, both alike in Dignity in Fair New York where we Lay Our Scene, but I feel the need to look at the Alternatives, as well. And, yes, I’ve recently read most of the Hellboy trade paperbacks, and purchased issue #1 of Buffy Season 8, and watched Hellboy: Blood and Iron, so Dark Horse has been on my mind, just a bit. But Dark Horse, overall, provides a nice alternative to The Big Two, particularly in that they seem dedicated to fostering new, creator-owned talent.

Mike Mignola’s Hellboy is nothing short of genius, it’s true, but what I find Very Interesting is that it is often touted as one of the Girl-Friendly Comics About In The World. I find these lists, these “How to Get Your Girlfriend/Girl Best Friend/Wife to Read Comic Books” lists to be A Bit Odd. Mr. Reads often crows over his triumphant role in my re-indoctrination into the world of superhero comics, but it must be said, Friends, that I’ve read comics, off and on, for 20+ years. I had Lost Sight of Superhero comics sometime around the time my Wonder Woman underoos started to get a bit snug, but I had my college-years graphic novel reading to fill in the meantime: Sandman, Ghost World, Squee, The Dreaming, The Crow.

You know.

Girl-Standards.

What is it about the Comic Book Audience that, while sometimes Quite Proud of its predominantly-male community, is seemingly so determined to establish a so-called "Girl-Friendly" Canon? And what is it about titles like Sandman, Fables, Y the Last Man, and yes, Hellboy, that some readers are so convinced will help introduce womenfolk to these books-with-pictures? And, the really big question here, why do some readers/writers/etc. not understand why some women feel excluded from the comic book community, but yet remain committed to sharing their comic book love with their sisters/girlfriends/girl-friends/wives?

I find myself working this backwards, in some way, in that I am the only one of my Girl-friends who reads comic books. In fact, at a recent evening at a Dear Friend’s House, I spent most of the night chatting Captain America’s untimely demise, and Marvel’s Civil War Crisis, with said Dear Friend’s Husband. Said Dear Friend (who is, undeniably, Quite Dear Indeed!) appreciates our, well, appreciation for comics, but doesn’t, personally, like the medium.

Some of my Girl-friends have ventured Graphic Novel Way—Persepolis, Veils, Box Office Poison—but few, if any, have ever read Superhero Titles. No Tights and Flights, no Capes, no Sonic Cries, no Amazons Attacking, or Villains Uniting, or Secret Wars, well, Secreting. Yet my Girl-friends tell me, again and again, that they find the Blogosphere’s Feminist Discussions of Comic Books Intriguing and, it seems, Enticing.

So believe me when I say that I understand this need to share a love, a fandom, a (Mary) Marvel. I know how it feels to want my friends and family to like and enjoy the very things I enjoy, to want to be able to discuss these things that are, in truth, Very Important to me. But when I attempt to entice my Girl-friends over Comic Book Way, I turn to titles like Fallen Angel, or Birds of Prey, or Wonder Woman, and rarely, very rarely, Sandman, or JtHM, or The Crow.

So I began to wonder: why, then, are these titles considered to be Girl-Standards? What is it about Sandman, or Fables, that seems more “female-friendly,” than, say, the Birds of Prey, or Catwoman? Specifically, I began to wonder why a title like Hellboy, almost overwhelmingly male in its choice of characters, and almost always female in its choice of villains, is considered so very “girl-friendly.” I don’t have A Definitive Answer, Friends, but I have some thoughts, Hellboy-specific.

1) Hellboy Tells Stories.
It’s a title almost solely dedicated to the spinning of yarns, the telling of tales. When you read Hellboy, you not only get action, particularly of the beat-em-up shoot-em-up variety, you get a great story, as well. These stories are also heavily influenced by somewhat familiar histories and mythologies, so there is never the feeling that one needs to catch-up if one hasn’t been reading since The Dawn Of Time. Even in The Big Two’s stand-alone titles are references to other heroes, or stories, or crises, and if one hasn’t been reading *this* title since the mid-80s, or *that* title since 1947, one probably will have no idea who X character is, or why he or she should even care.

2) Hellboy Doesn’t Believe In Essentialism.
Hellboy, the character, is a demon. From Hell. But because of love and nurturing and free will and, in no small part, pancakes, he denies what so many assume to be his Natural Self, his Destiny, his Born Purpose to do and be what *he* wants. Women so often suffer under Essentialist Expectations. That is to say, so many in our society, and in societies long past, believe that because a woman has a uterus, or 2 x-chromosomes, or breasts, or 2 eyes and a mouth, then she must be weak/maternal/sneaky/sexy/super-skinny/catty/etc. Hellboy belies that very idea of essentialism—that we Are What We Are and That’s That—and the entire series is based on this very thing.

3) The Evil In Hellboy Is Often Old-School.
So very often in this title, Those That Commit Evil are often Those From An Older Time. Nazis, Old World Vampires or Witches, people, monsters, or things that try to bring the world back to The Way It Was Before (whatever time that was, Gentle Reader!) are The Bad Guys. Hellboy and the Bureau are about promoting change in the world. They look forwards, not backwards, and are not frightened by new ideas but by old ones. In This Humble Author’s Very Humble Opinion, old ideas are often the scariest because old ideas are often the ones rooted in oppression.

4) Hellboy Is About Equal-Opportunity Chivalry And Challenge.
Hellboy, the character, doesn’t try to save women, specifically, nor does he coddle evil just because that particular evil in that particular story happens to be female. Instead, lines are drawn between Good and Evil, not Men and Women.

5) Hellboy Is Just Good. Period.
This is a point I Can’t Stress Enough, Gentle Reader! The Comic Book Industry shouldn’t have to ask for a female audience, nor should it mollycoddle its female audience. It needs to offer great stories, with interesting and complex characters that women can relate to. Yes, sometimes that character is a woman, but sometimes that character is a man.

Or a boy.

A Hell-Boy, even.