Transfigured Characters

I think one of the best philosophical points I've seen in comics lately is that dying changes you even if you come back to life again. This comes across in a dialogue between the Black Widow and some reckless bloggers who spread the news that Bucky Barnes is still alive when actually he's had a power weapon rammed through the front wall of his chest.

At first, everybody's wrong. And then they figure it out after the Widow has more or less trashed the office, thrashed the people and threshed the documents as if they were wheat. (See what I did there?)

The truth is that even if comic characters like Steve Rogers, Simon Williams (who?!), Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, and Oliver Queen die and come back, they are no longer the same people they were. Their fears of death have mutated. And their fears for their loved ones are even more complex.

The reason for this is simple. None of them died thinking, "Hey, I'm a key franchise character, they won't kill me." In their comic-book world, they died while being heroes or villains or whatever. They had no thought of coming back, they never took it for granted. Their resurrections weren't expected, nor taken for granted after the fact.

But moving from a state of not fearing (or thinking about) death to one of having experienced death, and then being alive again — that is a mysterious return from that "undiscovered country, from whose bourne no traveller returns." It is even more so for Steve Rogers, the victim of two deaths and several clonings as of the present time.

Not for nothing did the iconists and semioticists deliberately confound death and transfiguration. If death grants humans a reversal of life, is the reversal of death necessarily the same life? It would appear not.

Moon Knight

I was very young when I first encountered Marc Spector. Some of you will not remember the (originally) black-and-white graphic periodical called Epic. It was produced by Marvel Comics, had achingly beautiful artwork... and I wish I hadn't sold my copies off in the great comics inflation of the 1980s.

I have just read the latest incarnation of Moon Knight, the heroic alter-ego of the mysterious Spector. The odd thing is that just before that, I read the latest installment of Martian Manhunter. And the message I got from both books is that the one fundamental constant of basic human nature (whether mediated by alienness or alien gods) is the desire and drive for revenge.

But vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, I shall repay.

Perhaps that is why Batman is never about revenge, and neither is Superman. Or Wonder Woman. Or Green Lantern. It's only the odd and alien who are. Because while it is human to desire revenge, it isn't very productive. Perhaps it is best to leave it to the gods, God, and their proxies.

I have never felt comfortable with revenge. It's something I used to earnestly desire, as a small kid often beaten up. Then I learnt violence and ways of hitting people painfully, with many body parts and impromptu tools. This was fun at first. Then I realised that true power consists of being able to do it, but never showing it, never actually doing it. For it is not for us to take revenge, but to reach the understanding that it will one day be payback time, and everyone gets some – including ourselves.

Such odd thoughts on a Saturday night. Hmph.

Hobgoblins

The problem with having a synthesizing mind is that you tend to see parallels in everything. For example, here is the latest Order of the Stick online comic strip. It portrays an interesting scenario; a preoccupied commander with his pet monster/associate, ruthlessly sending half his hobgoblin forces to their doom while waiting for the other half to win glory.

It is the logical result of cost/benefit analysis when applied to people instead of things. But the turnaround moment is interesting, and it begs the question, "Does it always take a really great rock to change things?"