Continuity Shmontinuity

In my infinite wisdom, instead of doing website homework, here I am at midnight, doing a quick update on what I think about comic books and continuity. Because I'm awesome (nerdy) like that (really lonely).

EDIT: this didn't turn out to be a "quick" update at all. Oh well.

Lets limit our discussion to continuity in the work produced by the Big Two, since those are the two companies that make mincemeat out of their own continuities on an almost monthly basis (gotta keep those prima donna writers/artists happy!) and charge $3.50 a pop for their troubles. The things that get fan(boy)s out of wack are usually character origins, powers (if any), relationships, events, etc. which seem to change at either a given notice, or disappear altogether. Comic books take the statement "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" and proceed to skullfuck it. They not only try their hardest to "fix" it, they break it again, fix it, break it again, pretend they never broke it in the first place during fan panels, then fix it by giving it a new origin or costume. Then they walk away while a city's worth of continuity and history lies burning in the background.

Now lets back up here. First of all, comics characters like Superman and Spiderman have been around for decades. There is such a thing called time compression, where the timeline of events in a fictional work that exists in our world for decades, and occupies a much smaller space of time in its own realm, faces problems related to character aging and development, parallels with real-world current events and so on. In the fictional world, Sherlock Holmes is always in that vague area of late 30's to early 40s, the kids from the Simpsons never grow up, the 4077 M*A*S*H* doesn't leave Korea for about 10 years, even though the actual main conflict lasted about 3 years. Such is the case in comics - characters are in a stasis, and it will drive you insane to contemplate it in terms of the real world. Holidays, birthdays, personal landmarks, all will loop, or be presented in a new way, every single time. It seems like a sort of trap of time, right? A prison of events. Groundhog's Day, but an entire life, contained, presented, then set skittering back to the beginning by the flick of a writer's pen.

The problems arise when readers want two things at once. We want someone with a backstory, a solid beginning. We want to know where they were born, what they were like as children, how they grew up and out and how they became the people we see today. We want a beginning and a middle - certainly not an ending. We want to be all caught up, and the action we see now is all en media res as far as we're concerned. However, the paradox here is that we also want new things to be happening all the time, but we do not want to see any obvious passage of time. This makes writing quite tricky. Writers want a beginning, a middle and an ending. Thats what they call a story. Fans are not logical or showered human beings. We want nothing of the sort.

When a fictional character ironically turns out to have a life of his or her own, there is no discernible way of making an end without evoking nasally whines of protest, or putting a stop to something that has too many roots in a variety of facets to simply pull the plug on and move on from. Unless of course, you opt for the eventual "alternate reality" story. The comic book writer's real release is in putting their unique take on how a character, or characters, should end. Some are done in such a spectacular fashion (take Kingdom Come, for example) that many would actually be happy if such an end were part of canon (and as it turns out, it is). But therein lies the paradox once again - we, the fans, wouldn't mind seeing an end, as long as there is an infinite amount of stories to still comprise the middle.

After the Silver Age, comics started probing real continuity, but still in a guarded way. Past events could be recalled by characters, and their effects could be felt in the "present" or help set up future events. Time was moving once again, instead of the characters occupying one very small pocket of life where their adventures would take place, before the status quo was restored by the next issue. As fans matured, and new fans inherited that maturity, this thirst for continuity grew stronger. I suppose it was meant to be something that the readers could relate to, to see characters have memories, and futures, and childhoods. At the same time of course, it gave the comics an excuse to peddle back issues or future issues, since the age of decompression was slowly dawning on comics as well.

Here's the thing though: the same person has not been writing Superman or Batman since they first came on the scene in the late 30's. Writers come and go, and since the Silver Age, they've had more influence on several aspects of the characters (costumes, powers, personalities), most importantly continuity. There is always that general continuity that is accepted as canon: Bruce Banner becomes the Hulk after a gamma radiation accident, Bruce Wayne witnesses his parents' murder, Captain America was a WWII hero and a recipient of the highly experimental super soldier serum. However, when it comes to individual writers, this continuity, and all the other things that come afterwards such as love interests, powers, encounters with villains, are all subjective to how they feel they would like to tackle the character. Even then, no writer ever stays the same person over the years, thank goodness. A writer depicting a character one way one year may not think the same 5 years down the line. With such changes, comes changes in continuity. Since its not the Golden Age any more, writers are given more range with what they can or can't do with characters.

It is nice to see continuity follow characters, especially given the amount of "big event" gimmicks we're encouraged to throw money at these days by the Big Two. At the same time I have to wonder, unless you're an ethereal being like Wonder Woman who will always be the same for hundreds of years, how old the Batman or any of the Green Lanterns supposed to be, if we're led to believe that most of the events we read about them participating in are counted as part of continuity. Thats one busy-ass year, if you think about it. I don't care how superpowered you are, a couple of Infinite Crises or Civil Wars every few months would age you horribly.

The cover for this is that years are imagined to pass for the characters, so that these events have a sort of "space" to occur in. Dick Grayson grew up and became Nightwing. Jason Todd is now a fully grown man too (despite what the super-punches to the reality walls would have done to expedite the process) and Tim Drake is the current Robin. Then how come Bruce doesn't look or feel a day over 35, maybe 42? By all rights, since Nightwing is about 24-26, maybe 14 years passed since his early days as Robin, Bruce should be about that age if not more, if we're to assume he starts being Batman around his mid-20s. Even that doesn't sit well, since we also have to take into account the apparent years he puts in to train mind, body and soul to become Batman. See? It doesn't work. 10 more years might pass, and Batman will still look fairly young, will move fast and his mind will be as sharp as a tack. This is why I respect Bruce Timm and his DC Animated Universe; even though it has a perceived bias towards all things Bat, it does have a beginning and an end (appropriately enough, with a Batman story).

Comic book timelines don't work because the readers and the writers are always at odds. While any writer worth his salt would like to take a work forward, the fans would like it to stay static for the sake of familiarity and comfort. Its funny that this sort of arrested development is what appeals to a demographic mainly made up of man-children (I am one of them) who hold on to that one part of their lives where they felt the most complete and the ideal versions of the person they've always wanted to be. We're never going to adjust to having a salt and pepper haired Superman on our comics covers (unless he's from an alternate history) because thats not what we're used to. We want our youth, and the symbols of our youth, to remain unchanged against the forces of time.

I don't understand the harping on about continuity then, if writers who have been entrusted to be custodians of the continuity we hold dear will undoubtedly have either a new take on the stories (otherwise why bother hiring them and putting their names on the cover?) or will simply be human and overlook some aspects of it? Fans have the luxury of pointing out inconsistencies, but the writers are the ones writing the history. Perhaps they leave something out for a reason, because they were never happy with it in the first place. Geoff Johns has expressed his distaste with the incarnation of Clark Kent to appear in John Byrne's much lauded (and still influential) Superman reboot of 1986, and that is why his Clark Kent eschews those traits.

It is simply pointless (but no doubt fun for most!) to debate continuity in comics, as the medium does not allow for regular continuity to occur because of its many constraints. It doesn't work at all to think of comics in terms of real life and how the latter is shaped, and also demand the time compression required to keep the characters timeless. Of course, other writers find ways out of it (either by foregoing dreaded decompression or - gasp! - just clever writing) and manage to weave stories that just stand on their own and entertain us for the 20 minutes it takes to read most of them. That was the initial escapist fantasy comics held; they were a day in the life of extraordinary people living lives certainly more unusual than ours, but no less extraordinary. We like to fool ourselves into thinking that we look for more than that in our entertainment media, but in the process of sweating over the details, we lose sight of the fun in reading comics, which can be quite disheartening. To me, at least.

Yeah, I like comics, deal.

How to use the bathroom

You'd think the title of this post is silly, but seriously. There are people in this world, aged beyond middle school, who have as of yet to fully grasp the mechanics of the bathroom (although, if they're struggling with it during or past middle school, I'd say a serious inquisition is in order). I am amazed at the amount of times I've walked into a public bathroom, especially at an academic institution, and found an impression piece of crapulence and toilet paper, festooning the depository, waiting for some poor sap to come clean it up. Its kind of a sad state of affairs: people who really should know better by now are making this horrible mess for people who presumably never got that level of education and have to be content with this line of work to clean it.

At any rate what the hell, people?! Is it really that hard to hit "flush" a couple of times? Unless you're concerned with saving water, so I guess its some form of cockamamie logic you're using to simply pollute your immediate environment rather than actually dispose of your waste properly. Cats can do it. Are you saying you're dumber than a cat? Don't answer that.

I know Alexander the Great probably looked back at the breadth of his domain and wept that he had no more worlds to conquer, but a) you're not Alexander and b) its worth looking back for 10 seconds to examine the bowl your ass just conquered, not so much to make you weep, but to keep the rest of us from doing so. If it isn't working properly and you were unable to flush properly, thats understandable. Nothing much to do there. But I've had several experiences where the only stall available is one with a horrible little gift waiting for me inside and had no choice but to extend a covered finger to hit the small - so small! - flush switch, and voila! The waters, they flow. So what was the previous person's excuse? Are they leaving a feculent Hansel and Gretel trail so that they can trace public bathrooms leading the way home? If so, I shudder to think about the vile hovel that brown trail would lead to. I imagine an overflowing chasm of poop, with a tiny roof on top, and a man sitting on the chimney pantsless, with a shotgun pointed square at passing motorists and teens. In this housing market, I guess you have to hold on to what you can.

Rain and Rainbows

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Invasion of the Hostile Other: the Alien as Monster in Childhood’s End and Dawn

Nothing much to discuss this time around, but I thought I'd post a paper I wrote 3 years ago that I'm still sort of proud of. Its a little pretentious, but aren't we all un undergrad? Enjoy my paper on aliens and monsters and stuff!

Invasion of the Hostile Other: the Alien as Monster in Childhood’s End and Dawn

In science fiction, the word “alien” can inspire imagery of an Othered being that either purports to help or destroy. “Helper” or friendly aliens such as the creature from E.T.: The Extraterrestrial or Chewbacca from Star Wars can still look different, but such appearance is eschewed in favor of their personalities which are welcomed due to their adherence to human values. The hostile or “destroyer” aliens are depicted as daunting, ugly beasts with the personality to match. This is the “monster” perception that is ascribed to aliens in most sci-fi texts. Even if the aliens do not resemble the tentacled monsters from old Hollywood B movies, they can still present a personality that makes them “monsters” in a more figurative sense. They may feel superior to humans and feel that the latter should be destroyed or conquered; sometimes, they feel they should help, in the way a parent guides her child.

Walter Benn Michaels writes:

“The otherness of the alien is the otherness of its body and, in fact, this insistence on the physical difference between human and alien may be deployed…against the idea that the differences between humans…are in no way important” (Michaels 650).

The first point of contact with the alien – the appearance itself – reminds humans of the insignificance of their own dichotomies. There is a feeling of insignificance at being confronted by a being that cannot be classified in human terms because it reminds Man that he is not unique and alone in the universe; he is not the only being with societies, technology or ideals. Such elements are held in esteem as the essence of being human, and they are rendered useless when faced by the alien monster. The monster presents difference in its complete package as a physical and mental being. It looks different and thinks differently – perhaps even feels differently. Aliens that are hostile to humans not only a physical level, but on an emotional or ideological level, are considered monsters because their sheer Otherness is being imposed with violence.

There is also the sense of the uncanny while encountering creatures such as the Oankali or the Overlords; these are beings whose physiology does not offer the comfort of familiarity to the viewer. In that sense, they are “monsters”, as creatures with tentacles, horns, tails and other physical indications of Otherness. Sobchack’s chapter section on monsters in her book “Screening Space” is interesting in its breakdown of typical “monsters” of film, each with their unique sense of Otherness: these are the machines (alternatively, robots), the Creatures, the mutated man-as-alien, and the alien from outer space (not a creature born from nuclear experimentation). She makes an observation of the camera’s treatment of the monster, making it even more of an Other:

“…the narrative presentation of the SF Monster is nearly always objective [due to SF not preoccupying itself with themes of sin and guilt]. He becomes an object to look at, not one to feel for. Despite the supposed emphasis on the individual, close-ups of the Monster are fairly infrequent and we never find ourselves identifying to any degree with him, either in his human or mutated form….The camera keeps its distance. We are not hypnotized by them as Dracula can…we feel none of their pain and suffering as we do the Frankenstein Monster’s…” (Sobchack 52-3).

The Monster is usually separated from the realm of human thought and emotion so that the audience/reader (depending on the medium) can fully realize their Otherness and be repulsed by it. Something that represents such a binary opposite must be feared or hated, according to conventional beliefs. They are feared or hated because if they do not conform to the center’s idea of normality, they are assumed to be against such values. The historical contexts of the two novels, then, are important and deliberate. Childhood’s End was written in 1953, at a time when the U.S. was being roused by the McCarthy’s red scare, while Dawn was written in 1987 when the U.S. and Soviet Russia were threatening nuclear warfare. Both novels were written at a time when prevailing attitudes in the world consisted of the need to identify and isolate an Other in order to form one’s own identity. The threat of being possibly taken over and assimilated by a faceless enemy is a chilling prospect for the inhabitants of the “free world” in the West – it is as just as much a horrible concept for the humans in either novel when faced with the alien visitors.

The aliens in Arthur C. Clarke’s Childhood’s End and Octavia Butler’s Dawn are described as being completely different from humans, both physically and mentally. Their appearance differs greatly and they exhibit characteristics that run contrary to human ideals. The question posed in this paper is: are they monsters in the truest (sci-fi) sense? Are their intentions for the good of mankind or to its detriment?

There are examples in sci-fi texts where appearance is not the most important qualifier for the “monster” alien. Chewbacca was a tall, hairy, ape-like creature that communicated with intonated moans and groans. He represented a primal, extreme version of human form, yet he was already an established friend of Hans Solo. Humans had gotten accustomed to the Wookies and had managed to establish friendly relations with them. Another example of personality taking precedence over appearance is that of Worf in Star Trek: The Next Generation. He was a Klingon and certainly looked menacing. Although he and the other Klingons portrayed in the series maintained an uneasy peace with Starfleet, they are also “monster” looking aliens who had managed to enter human society despite their appearance.

However, such characters are placed rather conveniently; they are depicted as being ensconced in human society for centuries with enough time to assimilate human culture and mannerisms. The alien in those cases has acquiesced to the humans’ calls for assimilation of human values and ideals. It is when the alien chooses not to budge, and humans are the ones who have to try to understand it, when the former are referred to as “hostile beings”. Here, the human way of life is championed in lieu of mutual assimilation.

Adam Roberts offers some insight into the common view of aliens in sci-fi with regards to their mentality. He writes of the bug creatures from Robert Heinlein’s Starship Troopers:

“Heinlein’s giant bugs are one apotheosis of ‘the enemy’: they have none of the qualities humanity has traditionally valued, qualities like compassion, intellect, culture, spirituality, and they are unambiguously devoted to the violent destruction of our kind. They are also hive creatures, without a separate, individual existence” (Roberts 101).

This statement shares two points: for one, the alien Other is monstrous in its total lack of human textures such as emotions or spirituality. The second point is that a homogenous, faceless other is one to be feared and vilified as well (enemies in sci-fi typically exhibit the hive mentality that is meant to be a polar opposite of Western individualism so that one can identify them as an Other. This provides allegorical references to Communism or terrorism as an instantly recognizable vilified group.).

The Oankali and the Overlords are homogenous in appearance, but humans may appear the same way to them, so such a judgment is difficult to make without truly knowing if the former are able to discern among humans. Roberts’ first statement about the lack of traditional human qualities within aliens is important because it identifies the core ideological differences between humans and hostile aliens. The word “hostile” is an important qualifier here, for as was noted above, not all aliens exhibit inhuman characteristics. Those who share elements of humanity are accepted into the fold, while all others are considered at least potentially dangerous.

The respective plots in Childhood’s End and Dawn can be read as intertextual. Both are stories about benevolent aliens who arrive at Earth to help humanity in their own fashion. Butler’s narrative, which was written approximately 35 years after Childhood’s End, reads like a thinly veiled reference to the latter. While Childhood’s End offered a scenario where the aliens sought to help mankind progress to the next evolutionary step, Dawn sheds more detail on the process itself. The alien Overlords of Childhood’s End seek to aid humanity in two steps: the first step involves ridding the world of war, hunger, disease and all other human ailments, whether physical, mental or political. The second step involves elevating humanity to a plane of evolution that will allow them to merge with the Overmind whom the Overlords serve. The Oankali of Dawn want to help humans by a two step process as well; first, the survivors of the final nuclear holocaust are rescued and healed and second, their genetic material is changed in order to facilitate a genetic “trade” between the Oankali and the humans. This will not only “save” humanity, but will also help the Oankali to propagate their species. Both sets of aliens are looking to change humans for what they claim to be is for their own good.

Aliens are seen as monsters when they try to interfere with the normal course of human existence, as the Oankali and Overlords are perceived to be doing at first glance. Rose writes in his book Alien Encounters, “…it is sometimes a cosmic influence, a visitor from space, that transforms man into the alien” (182). This is the kind of interference that humans would normally fight against, if it were not for the fact that the Overlords had laid a path for themselves first by ridding humans of all their social and physical ills. There is a price to pay for the good that the Overlords bring, which comes by the stagnation of art and human scientific advantage, especially in the field of astronomy.

“Mankind had grown to trust [the Overlords], and to accept without question the superhuman altruism that had kept Karellen and his companions so long exiled from their homes. If, indeed, it was altruism. For there were still some who wondered if the policies of the Overlords would always coincide with the true welfare of mankind” (76). The Overlords are changing humanity, whether humanity wishes it or not. Humans have long abandoned any sense of rebellion against the aliens, but they also serve to lose the next generation of humans to the greater purpose ordained by the Overlords, orchestrated by the Overmind.

The aliens in Childhood’s End are there to help the humans realize a state of evolution that the former will never see, but at the same time they are effectively eliminating the human race as it is known to them. This can be construed as the aliens being “monsters”. If the perspective changes, the Overlords appear to be helping humanity achieve their potential. This is evident in Karellen’s thoughts at the end of the novel:

“For all their achievements, thought Karellen, for all their mastery of the universe, his people were no better than a tribe that had passed its whole existence upon some flat and dusty plain…And they could only watch and wonder; they could never scale those heights.” (Clarke 218).

The Overlords’ plan is not so much one to destroy the human race than a great sacrifice. They have existed far longer than humans and have achieved far more than humans could ever conceive of doing. However, they will not be privy to the kind of existence that the last generation of humans will be. They have worked for hundreds of years to help bring humanity to its next evolutionary process.

Zivkova writes in his article “Utopia in Childhood’s End”:

“The scientific Utopia depicted in this work of the British author has a significant feature. It does not represent the fruits of human zeal, but rather comes as the result of external intervention by non-Earthly beings, whose degree of scientific advancement is incomparably higher than Man’s. The motives of these “altruistic” deeds of the Overlords are not directly pertinent to our deliberation…by the end of the novel [it] became clear that in the plans of the newcomers from cosmos Utopia was only a temporary and secondary phase whose background was devoid of only altruistic motives in the stricter sense of the word” (Zivkova).

Although Zivkova mainly tackles the concept of utopia as it pertains to Childhood’s End, his point here is still important: are the Overlords destroying what was once the human race for a greater purpose, one unknown to Man until the last days of humanity, and one executed without the express consent of Man? The answer is both yes and no: they are destroying what the humans were, because it is time for them to become something else. They have known what it was like to live in Utopia, and each human experienced it their own way. This was humanity’s final forays through its childhood, before it would be time for it to step into the maturation brought about by evolution. Man would have no say in this endeavor because Man would have destroyed himself long before his infancy was over. It would take the power of the Overlords and the Overmind to bring mankind’s “adolescence” into fruition.

The Oankali can either be considered benevolent or malicious based on how the text is read. The basic premise is that they are genetic traders who pass on a little of their own genetic makeup to other races, which is what they are doing with the humans. The children borne by Lilith and the other survivors will not be human, according to the Oankali. Lilith tries to convince Nikanj that what its people are doing is not acceptable by human standards, but it will not listen. She says “It won’t be a daughter…It will be a thing – not human” (Butler 246). Nikanj has many responses to her argument, which can be summed up in one statement it makes here: “The child will be yours, and Joseph’s, Ajahas’ and Dichaan’s…The child inside you matters” (Butler 247).

Lilith’s claim that humanity will be destroyed by the Oankali’s actions is countered by Nikanj’s assertion that the children will be different, and yet will be human to a certain degree. Butler appears to be speaking for the two sorts of reading that can take place with this novel, one of the belief that the Oankali are destroying humans with no quarter and the other believing that the aliens are helping humans. The latter find proof of this in the fact that the Oankali have not harmed any humans except in self defense, have rescued as many as they could after nuclear war and they are giving them a new lease on Earth. Roberts reads the Oankali as being “benign and positive” and “the symbolic embodiment of diversity; and their strength – the technology they wield…their position as the literal saviours of mankind, and their uniformly rational, kindly demeanour – reflects that diversity as a fundamental good” (Roberts 135).

Robert’s definition of the monster in sci-fi holds human characteristics such as spirituality and compassion as important determinants of whether a being is a monster or not. So if Lilith’s humanity has been compromised – she does not realize the extent to which the Oankali are saving humanity rather than destroying it – then the Oankali can be seen as more compassionate and essentially human than Lilith. She herself fears that her fellow humans regard her as an alien, due to her “favored” status with the Oankali and her new alien “abilities”. The threat of difference – the difference of the Oankali, the difference among the motley group of human survivors, the sheer Otherness of the Oankali – is a theme in Dawn. Difference is something new that does not have a history to it and the sometimes the reaction is to mistrust it (perhaps out of self-preservation):

“Different is threatening to most species,” Nikanj answered. “Different is dangerous. It might kill you. That was true to your animal ancestors and your nearest animal relatives. And its true for you.” (Butler 186).

Difference is also the theme that binds the Overlords and Oankali together; they are different in agenda than the humans. When Karellen declares that “The stars are not for Man”, he is making a grand statement on the position of humanity as compared to the Overlords, which is naïve and unprepared for anything the universe has to offer. This goes against basic human ideals that one day, the heavens and beyond will reveal its vast knowledge to Man. Instead, the door has been figuratively shut for them. The Overlords could be conceived as monsters at this point, depriving Man of the very cosmos that bore him. It is not until Jan has traveled beyond the solar system when the reader realizes just how overwhelming the universe really is – that the Overlords were not being condescending, but cautionary. When the last generation of humans rises into space to meet the Overmind, Karellen’s almost prophetic words come true: the Stars truly are not for Man, in his infancy. They are to belong to the new race of Man, who are not men at all. The Overlords have taken great pains to help usher Man into the next stage of evolution and are perceived as monsters simply because humans were not allowed to do it “their way”. The larger scope of things is missing from the humans’ perspective on this matter.

On a similar matter of the aliens’ agenda, the Oankali can be seen as monsters for intervening, as the Overlords did, in humanity’s fate and bringing in a new era. While some may see their genetic trade as an elimination of an entire species, it is important to note that there is still a trace of humanity left in the next generation. Roberts refers to the Oankali as the ultimate proponent for diversity because of their genetic trade, and diversity is a virtue that is valued by humans. If the humans themselves are opposed to such diversity being introduced into their society, they are more close-minded than the aliens they accuse. Here, again, the larger scope of the events overshadows the humans’ perception of how their lives should play out, or were meant to play out.

The Overlords and the Oankali are not monsters in any sense of the term because, in the broader sense, they give more to the humans than they take away. The Overlords take away a generation but give them a state of existence they themselves can never aspire to (their devilish appearance, coupled with the fact that humans are set to be the most favored being in the eyes of the Overmind, subverts the Biblical connotation of Satan refusing to bow to Adam). The Oankali take away a generation as well, but not only give humans a new lease on life, they also give them all the benefits of Oankali abilities, as well as the aspect of being some percentage human. This is indeed an advantage that the humans are receiving, since the Oankali themselves are far removed from their original ancestors. Both aliens make grand sacrifices and perform great deeds that are unlike the hostile actions of the typical sci-fi monster.