SELLING THE SUPERHERO WOMEN

 

I started to respond to Tom Brevoort's post on Marvel's 1977 reprint collection THE SUPERHERO WOMEN, and to its attendant comments on that blog. But I decided I would do so here first, and reprint my remarks there afterward. 

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First, I agree with Tom that the selection from SPIDER-MAN #62 doesn't really make the character of Medusa look all that great. Of course, there was no inherent sexism in this guest-starring story, because Stan Lee had written other Spidey stories in which male guest-stars like Quicksilver or The Iceman acted stupidly in order to make the story work. A better selection would have been Medusa's solo story from MARVEL SUPER HEROES, published around the same time as the Spidey story, which in turn may've been designed to get casual readers interested in the long-locked lass.

The RED SONJA story is an okay selection, and the FANTASTIC FOUR entry is well chosen. This story depicted Sue Storm gaining her force field powers, thus responding, after roughly three years, to fans' complaints about her lack of overall power. 

I have the impression that the MS MARVEL selection arose from the company's ongoing agenda to protect the "Marvel" name in any character. Certainly that agenda underlay the creation of the "Marvel Captain Marvel" in the first place, and since a CBR article mentions that the company was taking pitches for various "Ms. Marvel" concepts as early as 1972-- two years after UNCANNY X-MEN and Marvel Girl were off the stands-- that applied to the final, approved version as well. (I couldn't locate an online recapitulation of the story that Jean Grey herself was considered as a possible "Ms. Marvel.")

The selection of the two-part THOR story featuring Hela was a strange one. Since she wasn't purely villainous, she wasn't all that consequential to THOR in particular or to Marvel as a whole. Why not the first Enchantress story, since she was at least important to the universe, and since the tale was a good stand-alone? Maybe Stan just wanted to spotlight some of his post-Kirby work with the God of Thunder, which work was actually pretty good. I'm not surprised there was no Sif-centric story, because I can't think of any at all up to 1977.

A better choice IMO would have been issues X-MEN #62-63. Granted, Marvel Girl was usually a pretty weak sister for most of the feature's run, but this was one of the few times, if not the only time, she was allowed to shine and save the day. And until re-reading the issue, I'd forgot that it included Magneto hitting on Jean Grey big-time, in the old "reign at my side" context. So, Mags, checking out the Young Talent? Sort of like that story where Magneto has the mentally enslaved Scarlet Witch do a hootchie-koo dance for him, years before she was retconned into his pride and joy.

The "Femizons" story was meh, and I suppose the CAT and SHANNA stories were attempts by Stan to repeat his "Well, we tried" defense. The Black Widow story from SPIDER-MAN is another story where the guest star acts stupidly to make the story work, but it holds some historical interest for debuting the bitchin' catsuit-costume. 

That leaves only the Wasp's debut story in the ANT-MAN feature from 1963, which is IMO the best story in the collection. Though Stan's only credited with the plot for "The Creature from Kosmos," I'd theorize that he gave scripter Ernie Hart a pretty thorough breakdown of the whole story, since Stan was after all doing his best to build his then-small universe. For an early Silver Age adventure, it's pretty layered. Ant-Man starts having existential doubts about who will carry on for him while simultaneously grieving for his lost wife Maria. When he considers the possibility of a partner, 1963 readers might have expected (if not for the cover and splash page) the introduction of a kid sidekick-- "Pismire, the Ant Wonder!" Instead Henry Pym gets a meet-cute with Jan Van Dyne, a young woman who slightly resembles Maria, and thought balloons establish that both are instantly attracted to one another. Despite Pym's defensive reaction to the effect that Jan is just "a child," I think it's obvious that she's close to 20, and probably a bit older, given that there's no question of her inheriting the Van Dyne fortune when her pop gets killed. None of that Magneto-type trolling for Old Henry!

I also don't think there's a good argument for Jan, before or after she becomes The Wasp, being an "airhead." Her determination to avenge her dad is what leads Pym to play "Batman" to her "Robin," and to give her the chance not just for vengeance, but to take up the life of a superhero. But she accepts the duty partly because she knows that he's attracted to her, and not as a kid. So all of her subsequent expressions of stereotypical femininity-- drooling over other men, or her frequent references to shopping-- are part of her plan to stay close to Henry and keep reminding him that she's a woman, not a sidekick. And of course, she may actually LIKE shopping. I have it on good authority that some women really do!

INDIVIDUAL AND COLLECTIVE STATURE PT. 3

 As I reviewed the original INDIVIDUAL AND COLLECTIVE STATURE, I decided that I had been too vague in giving my reasons for stating that a particular pair of icons had transitioned from being defined by "individual stature" to "collective stature."

In that essay, I stated:

Slightly later, Giant-Man (renamed Goliath) and The Wasp rejoined the feature. However, they no longer had their own feature, as did Thor, Iron Man and Captain America, and so, even though they came to AVENGERS with separate stature, over time the stature they had as Avengers team-members excelled the stature they'd earned from their own (essentially failed) series. As with the team-debuts of Hawkeye et al, the first story in which Goliath and Wasp rejoined would count as a crossover, but not others, because from then on those two heroes would be on roughly the same level as the neophytes who never had their own features. 

I did not give any reasons for saying why I believed the Wasp and the former Ant-Man/Giant-Man had, by their appearances in the AVENGERS title,"excelled the stature they'd earned from their own (essentially failed) series." I didn't make it a matter of the sheer number of the two icons' appearances in AVENGERS as opposed to their own feature, though one might construe as much. If so, that would relate to my established principle of Quantitative Escalation.

However, my intent as I recall it was that the appearances of the two icons was of greater qualitative consequence than their appearances in their own feature. This distinction relates, rather, to the principle of Qualitative Escalation, first mentioned in ESCALATION PROCLAMATION PT. 2.

There, too, my earlier statements require expansion. A quantitative assessments requires little explanation; it only signifies, "how many times did a serial icon appear in distinct narratives?" But I possibly should have expanded on my definition of "qualitative," though I've made clear, throughout many other posts, that I believe that "literary quality" always inheres in an author's mastery of one or more of the four potentialities. 

If the corpus of stories that starred Giant-Man and the Wasp had shown mastery of one of the potentialities, then I might consider that that corpus was a qualitative success, even if the series failed to catch on with readers and become successful. But on the whole, the ANT-MAN/GIANT-MAN serial was marked by generally inferior art and writing in comparison with the other Marvel serials of the period. 

In contrast, though there were some subpar AVENGERS stories following the re-entry of Goliath and the Wasp, the overall level of quality was much higher in all four of the potentialities (even there wasn't much more *didactic* appeal in AVENGERS than there had been in ANT-MAN/GIANT-MAN). 

For instance, if I choose to focus upon "the creation of new villain-icons" as an indicator of a superhero serial's mythopoeic potentiality, then most of the ANT-MAN/GIANT-MAN villains barely stir one's memory, except for The Egghead and The Whirlwind.  (And they, like their enemies, generally got better stories when they made appearances in AVENGERS.) In contrast, the AVENGERS feature, even confined only to the first period in which Goliath and the Wasp were members, boasted characters like Ultron and the Grim Reaper, both of whom generated far more consequential narratives for the evolving Marvel mythology. And writer Roy Thomas was certainly at his most inventive in terms of extending parts of the mythology that he did not invent, as with the Kree-Skrull War.

Therefore, Henry Pym and Janet Van Dyne benefit from their association with the better stories of AVENGERS, as opposed to those of their own feature, and "qualitatively" their Collective Stature supervenes their Individual Stature. And of course, this is also true given that these two icons made many more appearances in AVENGERS in the ensuing decades, and remain best known to comics-fans as members of that team, not as solo acts. Even stories that may be dramatically bad, like "Henry Pym, Wife Beater," have become inextricable to the cosmos now designated as "Earth-616" in a limited mythopoeic sense.

ANT-ATOMY LESSON PT 2

Re: the aforementioned "practical application":

In EXCLUSION CONCLUSION I mentioned that though I had opposed the particular type of exclusionism endorsed by Peter Coogan's 2006 critical book SUPERHERO: THE SECRET ORIGIN OF A GENRE, but admitted that my own system was also founded on various forms of exclusion, as with, say, assigning certain works, especially those of a serial nature, to one Fryean mythos rather than another.

The difference between my system and Coogan's, I believe, is that I don't assert that my categories are proscriptive in nature.  I articulated the "51 percent rule" as a means of dealing with the potential of a given author or set of authors who may choose to vary the elements of the stories they produce, particularly for a serial concept.  I admitted that though there might be potential exceptions to the rule, 'most creators start with a given mythos, make only token shifts to other mythoi, usually proving "loyal" to a particular emotional *dynamis.*'

Now, in Part 1 of this series I examined in some detail the first two stories featuring the Marvel Comics character Henry Pym.  This is a prime example of a story-concept in which the authors began with one scenario, appropriate to a "one-off" non-continuing character, and then changed that scenario for the purpose of making Pym into a recurring hero, and a costumed one at that.

There's no question that Ant-Man belongs to that category I have loosely termed "the superhero idiom."

But what about Henry Pym in his original conception?

Well, at the beginning of GRAVITY'S CROSSBOW PART 4 I said:

I established in Part 3 that though Northrop Frye had dealt with the nature of protagonists’ power-of-action—henceforth called *dynamis*—purely in terms of its physical nature, and thus as a “narrative value,” *dynamis* of any kind or degree must possess “significant values” as well. As I observed here, *dynamis* can apply to either of the principal axes of narrative—plot or character—though in this essay I will deal with it only with respect to characters.

At present I’ve discerned only two (though there may be more) universally applicable significant values. Universality means that they will apply to any *dynamis,* no matter whether one speaks of characters who symbolize “might” in their respective narrative worlds—which can be anything from Superman to Dirty Harry—or those who represent a more compromised form of *dynamis,* as with Kafla’s “Joseph K” or Graham Greene’s Henry Scobie, who both exist primarly not to act but to suffer.

At the time I wrote this (March 2012) I had not yet revised my terminology for what I called the "physical nature" of *dynamis*; I was still following Frye's example re: his term "power of action."  In August 2012 I finally gave this "narrative value" its own term, that of *dynamicity.*  Thus I can recast the theory expressed in March to say that protagonists in any mythos are defined by one narrative value, that of *dynamicity,* and two significant values.  In GRAVITY'S CROSSBOW 4 I specified that one of these would be *centricity,* the quality of being the focal presence of the story, and the other would be *conviction.*  However, I set aside the second term in STATURE REQUIREMENTS, where I stated that "conviction" could be used as an ancillary term for a process of audience-conviction but that the term *stature* would take its place, connoting the power-of-action alloted to a protagonist based on the mythos dominating his story or stories.

So, Henry Pym.

Clearly the Pym of "The Man in the Ant Hill" doesn't demonstrate high *dynamicity.*  Given that he's drawn by action-expert Jack Kirby, it's not surprising that this hubristic scientist wins one of his fights with a human-sized ant.  But during the bulk of the story, Pym is shown running like mad from the attacking ants.  Going by the three-part dynamicity scale introduced in this essay, Pym is at best *mesodynamic,* and not the sort of rare type (like Jack Burton) who can exceed his limitations.

Is Pym the imaginative center, the focal presence, of "Ant Hill?"  I would say so.  I have seen innumerable stories in which some cipher-like viewpoint character comes across some oddball metaphenomenal presence-- which can include normal creatures, like Pym's ants, who are only unusual/dangerous because of the protagonist's special situation.  In fact, about a month before Pym became Ant-Man, Kirby again illustrated a story of a man stuck amidst a hive of giant insects-- this time, bees.

In this story, the bees were the stars, the main character was a viewpoint character who lacked centricity. But the Pym story really is about him first and the ants second; it is his struggle to achieve humility that motivates the story.

Finally, with respect to the remaining significant value, Pym's stature is not that of any type of adventure-protagonist, but that of a hero belonging to the mythos of drama, like most of the characters in these suspense/horror tales.  His *pathos,* not his *agon,* is the most important aspect of his story.

Now, within my system it is possible for the protagonist of a dramatic narrative to have aspects similar to characters belonging to the "superhero idiom."  Harry Potter, my go-to example for the drama, has the *megadynamicity* and *centricity* I associate with the normative superhero, but he does not conform to the superhero archetype because he belongs to the dramatic mythos rather than the adventure-mythos.

But where one may deem Potter a *hero*-- or even a "superhero"-- purely within the sphere of his mythos, the Henry Pym" of "Man in the Ant Hill" is not even close to being a drama-hero, even though he is both the viewpoint character and the focal presence of the story.  He is best deemed a *demihero,* in that he incarnates what I've termed "instinctive will" rather than "intellectual will."

In contrast, the moment Pym appears in "Return of the Ant Man," he shifts toward the domain of the intellectual will.  True, Pym doesn't start out with the desire to become a costumed superhero; this decision is thrust upon him by the intrusion of enemy spies upon his project.  However, even before the "anti-radiation gas" project ever begins, Pym is taking a much more "proactive" stance than he did as a demihero, when he foolishly tested his serum on himself without any sort of back-up plan.  He's not only re-concocted his serums, he's decided to pursue his studies of ants on a basis that suggests personal risk, which is why Pym designs a costume strong enough to protect him from ant-bites.  Whereas in the "Ant Hill" he plans to make a "grand gesture" to embarass his rivals but is undone by his own ineptitude, in "Return" he successfully makes a bigger-than-life gesture by turning his experimental garb into a superhero costume, saving not only his own life but the lives of the FBI agents. 

Thus as Ant-Man Pym does fulfill all three of the values I've determined for the superheroic figure within the adventure-genre, possessing megadynamicity, centricity, and adventurous stature.

In closing I will mention that the narrative opposition of heroic and demiheroic qualities is one that informs one of the superhero genre's most famous tropes: that of the double identity.  But that's another essay.

ANT-ATOMY LESSON PT. 1

Since it’s not that long ago that I wrote two pieces on “The Care and Esteeming of Little Myths,” it’s entirely appropriate that I should focus now upon a literally little myth-figure, that of the Silver Age Ant-Man,.  With this character I plan to show a practical application of my demihero-concept—though the actual application will appear in Part 2.  This essay I’ll devote only to charting the transformation of Henry Pym from demihero to superhero.

 

I’ll begin with a quick summation of “The Man in the Ant Hill,” from TALES TO ASTONISH #27 (January 1962).

 

 

Henry Pym begins his fictive life as a Frankenstein manqué.  When his colleagues criticize him for “ridiculous theories” that “never work,” and tell him to “stick to practical projects,” he boasts that he’ll soon prove himself “a greater scientist than any of you.”  This inflated ego leads the scientist to invent two serums: one that can shrink anything to insect-sized proportions, and another that can restore the object to normal.  He’s already made it work with a chair, but because one of his hypothetical uses involves shrinking people (as in transporting troops to war), he tests it on himself. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 He somehow forgets to put the enlarging serum within reach, runs out of his house in a panic, and falls afoul of a troop of hostile ants.  He improbably seeks shelter in the ants’ own hill, and almost drowns in the ants’ supply of honey.  One kindly (?) ant saves him, but the other ants attack again.  He drives them off with a lighted match and outwrestles one hostile ant with a judo move.

 

 

 

 

  He escapes the anthill and tries to get back to his house.  Providentially the one friendly ant helps him again, so that he reaches the enlarging serum.  Restored to normalcy, he throws away the serums and tells his colleagues that from now on he will “stick to practical projects.”  The story ends on a note of humility, as a caption says that he’ll never “knowingly step upon an ant hill,” because of the “one small ant to whom he owned his very life.”

 

Eight months later, within a week of Spider-Man’s debut in AMAZING FANTASY #15, “The Return of the Ant Man” appeared in TALES TO ASTONISH #35 (September 1962).

 

 

 

The story recapitulates in a few panels what happened in the earlier story.  Then Pym changes his mind: having destroyed the original serums, he decides to concoct them again and then hide them away for safekeeping.  His experiences in the ant hill bring about a growing fascination with ants.  He devises a cybernetic helmet that will allow him to communicate with them, as well as a “protective costume” to shield him when he shrinks again to meet the creatures on their level.  However, the U.S. government comes calling, casually asking this expert in diverse technologies to come up with “a gas to make people immune to radioactivity,” which will supposedly be an immense advantage in a nuclear conflict.  The agents of “a nation on the other side of the world” learn of the research and agree that this gas would be a great asset.  Though Pym’s laboratory is guarded by FBI agents, the foreign agents overpower them and demand the anti-radiation formula.  Pym patriotically refuses to give it up.  The spies lock everyone up while they search the lab for Pym’s notes, after which they plan to blow up the lab and everyone in it.  Pym luckily is confined to a place where he can get to both his costume and his shrinking serum.  Once he “gets small,” he returns to the anthill in his yard.  He dominates most of the ants with his helmet because “my wavelength is stronger than theirs,” except one big ant whom he must conquer with his human-sized strength and yet more judo.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He has one more quick conflict with a beetle which is “the size of a dinosaur” at this level.  Then Ant-Man leads his troop of obedient ants into the house.  With their help he frees the bound FBI agents and inconveniences the spies until the good agents overcome them.  He returns to his lab and enlarges, having concealed himself so that neither the spies nor the agents are aware of his role in the dramatic upset.  He concludes the adventure by wondering whether he will become Ant-Man again, though an enthusiastic final caption confirms that he will do so by “the next issue of TALES TO ASTONISH.”

 

On a side note, Ant-Man apparently makes some more public deeds of heroism before the story in TTA #36, for that story begins with the populace celebrating Ant-Man as a “living legend.”  It may be of some interest that in this respect the Ant-Man feature followed the same trajectory as the first two issues of the FANTASTIC FOUR series, which also started out with the heroes performing their first deed without officially revealing themselves to humanity at large, while their second adventure began with them already celebrated as great heroes by the entire free world.

 

It’s interesting that “Man in the Ant Hill” partakes of a pattern well used by the “Atlas” suspense/horror tales of the late 1950s and early 1960s: what might best be called the “hubris avoided” pattern.  Pym is not a bad man, but he pursues science in the name of fanciful dreams.  When this causes his practical-minded colleagues to sneer at him, he overcompensates by wanting to be considered greater than all of them.  Yet perversely, he tests his shrinking serum on himself, which has the effect of “cutting him down to size.”  He even conveniently forgets to place the enlarging serum where he can reach it, and makes his situation worse by panicking and running out where the hostile ants pursue him.  Only one ant—the equivalent of a “friendly native” in a jungle-story—enables Pym to survive his foolish endeavor, and to put aside his hubristic ways.

 

In contrast, since “Return of the Ant Man” is meant to launch a continuing superhero, the Pym of this tale is almost without any inappropriate ego: not only does he patriotically agree to help the government on a project he doesn’t even come up with (and which works only in terms of comic-book logic), he doesn’t even announce his presence to the FBI agents.  Of course, by the next issue Ant-Man has found that becoming a fulltime superhero has its ego-building perks as well, though in keeping with the superheroes of the period, it’s never asserted that this is his primary motive.

 

More in Part 2.