Sign in with FacebookKeely's Reviews > V For Vendetta
V For Vendetta
by Alan Moore, David Lloyd , Steve Whitaker , Siobhan Dodds
by Alan Moore, David Lloyd , Steve Whitaker , Siobhan Dodds
Keely's review
bookshelves: comics, science-fiction, dystopian, reviewed
Oct 04, 10
bookshelves: comics, science-fiction, dystopian, reviewed
Read in January, 2006
I struggled for a long time with the growing notion that conservatives simply aren't funny. At first it seemed a silly idea, since conservatism draws from sources as varied as progressivism: all levels of intelligence and wealth, all kinds of people from all walks of life--yet none of them are funny.
Certainly they can tell jokes and be charming, but not satirical, not biting. Subversion doesn't come naturally to them, and it should have been clear why: Conservatism relies on ideals, on grand heroic notions which are to be believed in. Progressives (or Liberals) rely on deconstruction of these notions, which is in itself a subversion.
That might not entirely explain the sad discrepancy between Doonesbury and Mallard Fillmore, but it's a start. I feel like this difference in mode is also to blame for some of the more common critiques of Alan Moore's work.
He's recently achieved notoriety as a Hollywood Gold Standard--and as the scowling, bearded mascot of rebranding 'Comics' as 'Graphic Novels' (despite the fact that Moore, Gaiman, and I all prefer the original term). As a product of this new visibility, he has been discovered by new readers, some of whom dismiss him as a subversive anarchist.
I agree that he is subversive, and that he is interested in exploring violent anarchism in his works, but he has too much subtlety to be saddled with the views of some of his characters. Critics can quickly identify attacks on their ideologies, but seem less skilled at seeing how an apparent 'progressive' like Moore simultaneously attacks his own representation of the agents of change.
Rorschach in Watchmen is a parody of the superhero staple of morality by violence (or is it the other way 'round?), a parody the film version completely fails to recognize. Likewise, 'V' is meant to be flawed, fraught and difficult, and Moore invites us to question his philosophies and methods.
Moore always gives his characters motives because his characters operate by their psychology: their history, their disposition, their experiences. But in 'V', Moore is giving us a background to establish a motive, which is why we might end up on V's side (beyond the David and Goliath trope).
Moore gives us this motive so that he can communicate his ideas clearly. We see that V's actions are accountable personally, which leads us to ask whether they are accountable socially, morally, or ethically. It is, after all, a story concerned with the nature of politics, power, subjugation, and resistance. Like a philosopher hashing out his ideas, Moore explores his theme by setting limits to focus the hypothesis.
Whether V can be excused or praised outside his personal motivations is another argument, but the fact that Moore has isolated and located this argument at a point in narrative space shows his thoughtful, deliberate mastery of the form.
Like Watchmen, the film version mostly strips out this layer of complexity, and is content (like the majority of action films or violent dystopias) to let this personal struggle be the end of the moral question, thus reducing V to a violent hero (or antihero). This idealized 'personal morality' is common not only in action movies, but in cape comics and conservatism--yet focusing on a wholly personal response precludes observing how politics works, or any grand social scale which is necessarily defined by the impersonal.
The personal is simply not important, not viable, and in the end, gets lost in the mix. The billions of personal elements counteract one another into a kind of Brownian Motion, stirring without direction, while the real forces of power move above them and alongside them, shaping the world.
Think of all the people acting out their personal moralities, proud as peacocks. You hear people talk about turning off the water when they brush their teeth despite the fact that more than ninety percent of water use is industrial. People buy free-range organic despite the fact that the money still goes to the same five companies (and the term 'organic' is entirely unregulated). People get self-satisfied about their Prius when five shipping tankers produce as many tons of emissions as all the cars in the world.
It is not that these personal beliefs cannot change things, in fact they often come to the forefront, but this change is momentary and complex, and hence, no great theory could be made to predict it, so it cannot be harnessed, only taken for granted by the forces of power. The more people act personally, the more they will be taken advantage of, impersonally.
It isn't surprising that critiques of Moore tend to focus on these personal, symbolic journeys, but that's simply not how Moore operates. Sympathy for his characters should be mistrusted, just as we must mistrust Milton's Satan; even with all his charm, it is the utmost foolishness not to recognize him for who he is.
You don't have to look hard to see these little subversions--these clues that something isn't right--but you do have to look. There is a fast-paced, exciting, complex plot atop it all, and it's easy to get caught up in Alan Moore's stories. Unlike some authors, Moore won't spell it out for you, but calling him an Anarchist is an oversimplification.
In interviews, Moore has said that an Anarchist state is one where the powerful rule the weak by fear and force of arms, noting that this describes every government and nation in history, no matter what florid terms are used to make such governance more appealing. Moore may use V to present the ideal of the Anarchist, but we must remember: he doesn't believe in ideals.
Which is why Alan Moore is funny. When you are quite sure that he is being serious, you can be certain that he is being funny. After all, the surest sign that we have ceased to think clearly about something is that we can no longer laugh at it. So remember: if you aren't laughing, you aren't thinking; and if you aren't thinking, then you definitely won't understand Moore.
Certainly they can tell jokes and be charming, but not satirical, not biting. Subversion doesn't come naturally to them, and it should have been clear why: Conservatism relies on ideals, on grand heroic notions which are to be believed in. Progressives (or Liberals) rely on deconstruction of these notions, which is in itself a subversion.
That might not entirely explain the sad discrepancy between Doonesbury and Mallard Fillmore, but it's a start. I feel like this difference in mode is also to blame for some of the more common critiques of Alan Moore's work.
He's recently achieved notoriety as a Hollywood Gold Standard--and as the scowling, bearded mascot of rebranding 'Comics' as 'Graphic Novels' (despite the fact that Moore, Gaiman, and I all prefer the original term). As a product of this new visibility, he has been discovered by new readers, some of whom dismiss him as a subversive anarchist.
I agree that he is subversive, and that he is interested in exploring violent anarchism in his works, but he has too much subtlety to be saddled with the views of some of his characters. Critics can quickly identify attacks on their ideologies, but seem less skilled at seeing how an apparent 'progressive' like Moore simultaneously attacks his own representation of the agents of change.
Rorschach in Watchmen is a parody of the superhero staple of morality by violence (or is it the other way 'round?), a parody the film version completely fails to recognize. Likewise, 'V' is meant to be flawed, fraught and difficult, and Moore invites us to question his philosophies and methods.
Moore always gives his characters motives because his characters operate by their psychology: their history, their disposition, their experiences. But in 'V', Moore is giving us a background to establish a motive, which is why we might end up on V's side (beyond the David and Goliath trope).
Moore gives us this motive so that he can communicate his ideas clearly. We see that V's actions are accountable personally, which leads us to ask whether they are accountable socially, morally, or ethically. It is, after all, a story concerned with the nature of politics, power, subjugation, and resistance. Like a philosopher hashing out his ideas, Moore explores his theme by setting limits to focus the hypothesis.
Whether V can be excused or praised outside his personal motivations is another argument, but the fact that Moore has isolated and located this argument at a point in narrative space shows his thoughtful, deliberate mastery of the form.
Like Watchmen, the film version mostly strips out this layer of complexity, and is content (like the majority of action films or violent dystopias) to let this personal struggle be the end of the moral question, thus reducing V to a violent hero (or antihero). This idealized 'personal morality' is common not only in action movies, but in cape comics and conservatism--yet focusing on a wholly personal response precludes observing how politics works, or any grand social scale which is necessarily defined by the impersonal.
The personal is simply not important, not viable, and in the end, gets lost in the mix. The billions of personal elements counteract one another into a kind of Brownian Motion, stirring without direction, while the real forces of power move above them and alongside them, shaping the world.
Think of all the people acting out their personal moralities, proud as peacocks. You hear people talk about turning off the water when they brush their teeth despite the fact that more than ninety percent of water use is industrial. People buy free-range organic despite the fact that the money still goes to the same five companies (and the term 'organic' is entirely unregulated). People get self-satisfied about their Prius when five shipping tankers produce as many tons of emissions as all the cars in the world.
It is not that these personal beliefs cannot change things, in fact they often come to the forefront, but this change is momentary and complex, and hence, no great theory could be made to predict it, so it cannot be harnessed, only taken for granted by the forces of power. The more people act personally, the more they will be taken advantage of, impersonally.
It isn't surprising that critiques of Moore tend to focus on these personal, symbolic journeys, but that's simply not how Moore operates. Sympathy for his characters should be mistrusted, just as we must mistrust Milton's Satan; even with all his charm, it is the utmost foolishness not to recognize him for who he is.
You don't have to look hard to see these little subversions--these clues that something isn't right--but you do have to look. There is a fast-paced, exciting, complex plot atop it all, and it's easy to get caught up in Alan Moore's stories. Unlike some authors, Moore won't spell it out for you, but calling him an Anarchist is an oversimplification.
In interviews, Moore has said that an Anarchist state is one where the powerful rule the weak by fear and force of arms, noting that this describes every government and nation in history, no matter what florid terms are used to make such governance more appealing. Moore may use V to present the ideal of the Anarchist, but we must remember: he doesn't believe in ideals.
Which is why Alan Moore is funny. When you are quite sure that he is being serious, you can be certain that he is being funny. After all, the surest sign that we have ceased to think clearly about something is that we can no longer laugh at it. So remember: if you aren't laughing, you aren't thinking; and if you aren't thinking, then you definitely won't understand Moore.
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I know a little bit about it, the transvestite doll thing, but that's about it. I also find it interesting to see how an idea is transformed by the process of expressing it, especially by an author like Moore, whose work is very invested in ideas.I hadn't thought of your point about Fawkes; I wasn't very familiar with him when I first read this, but it makes sense. That's one of the subtle details that I feel a lot of people miss about this book. The politics aren't as straightforward as simple totalitarianism versus anarchism, there's a lot more there.
Thanks for the comment!
I find your the last paragraph of your review especially pertinent, though often it is the easiest for any of us to forget. The real tragedy is failing to find the humor in the things we take too seriously.
It's true, which is why controlling the thoughts and actions of others is often achieved by making them react out of fear and desperation, inimical to both thought and laughter.
If you'd like a humorous, and conservative, book about anarchism (I said "about", not "in favor of"), then check out G.K. Chesterton's "The Man Who Was Thursday".
Thanks for the suggestion, looks most interesting; though, before you pigeonhole Chesterton as merely conservative, recall it was he who said: "The whole modern world has divided itself into Conservatives and Progressives. The business of Progressives is to go on making mistakes. The business of the Conservatives is to prevent the mistakes from being corrected."
"The whole modern world has divided itself into Conservatives and Progressives. The business of Progressives is to go on making mistakes. The business of the Conservatives is to prevent the mistakes from being corrected."Absolutely correct - he was more than just conservative, progressive, liberal, or what-have-you... he was orthodox. :-)
Catholics have always been in a balancing act, as Chesterton put it in "Orthodoxy":
This is the thrilling romance of Orthodoxy. People have fallen into a foolish habit of speaking of orthodoxy as something heavy, humdrum, and safe. There never was anything so perilous or so exciting as orthodoxy. It was sanity: and to be sane is more dramatic than to be mad. It was the equilibrium of a man behind madly rushing horses, seeming to stoop this way and to sway that, yet in every attitude having the grace of statuary and the accuracy of arithmetic. The Church in its early days went fierce and fast with any warhorse; yet it is utterly unhistoric to say that she merely went mad along one idea, like a vulgar fanaticism. She swerved to left and right, so exactly as to avoid enormous obstacles. She left on one hand the huge bulk of Arianism, buttressed by all the worldly powers to make Christianity too worldly. The next instant she was swerving to avoid an orientalism, which would have made it too unworldly. The orthodox Church never took the tame course or accepted the conventions; the orthodox Church was never respectable. It would have been easier to have accepted the earthly power of the Arians. It would have been easy, in the Calvinistic seventeenth century, to fall into the bottomless pit of predestination. It is easy to be a madman: it is easy to be a heretic. It is always easy to let the age have its head; the difficult thing is to keep one's own. It is always easy to be a modernist; as it is easy to be a snob. To have fallen into any of those open traps of error and exaggeration which fashion after fashion and sect after sect set along the historic path of Christendom--that would indeed have been simple. It is always simple to fall; there are an infinity of angles at which one falls, only one at which one stands. To have fallen into any one of the fads from Gnosticism to Christian Science would indeed have been obvious and tame. But to have avoided them all has been one whirling adventure; and in my vision the heavenly chariot flies thundering through the ages, the dull heresies sprawling and prostrate, the wild truth reeling but erect.
I love the way he says that, in being "strict" and "by-the-book", you are part of an adventure more thrilling than any rebellion or anarchy.
I hope you're right. I would really like to think that V is a send-up of anarchy and not an endorsement of it. But I just don't see that in the text. If Moore's didactic introduction about encroaching fascism is all part of a greater joke, I confess he's too much of an ironist for me.
Well, the fact that he chose Guy Fawkes as the image of his revolutionary figure makes the book pretty deeply ironic, since Fawkes was a traditionalist who was part of a plan to install a strong, central ruler with ties to the church--hardly the image of a freedom-fighter.
Well, there seems to be more than one way of understanding the significance and motivations of the Gunpowder Plot. You can focus on the plotters' desire to install a Catholic ruler -- which, yes, would make V's choice of icon pretty ironic. Or you can focus on the plotters' desire to be free of state oppression. Fawkes and co. didn't have the right to practice their religion freely under the Anglican King James I, and Catholics were often singled out for unfair treatment. Under this lens, Fawkes seems like an appropriate icon for V: down with authority!Plus, as far as I know no one else has ever come close to blowing up Parliament. To some extent the choice of icon is inevitable and apropos for that reason alone.
Certainly, though as readers, we can't say whether the destruction of parliament inspired the image of the character, or the choice of character defined the climax.It is true that the members of the Gunpowder Plot were oppressed and fighting for their own freedoms, but the fact that they just wanted to reverse the state of affairs, trading in Protestant for Catholic, is a fairly strong indictment of revolutionaries: that all they really want to do is install a new regime roughly indistinguishable from the previous one--a problem central to Moore's story and analysis of power struggles.
In his words, all governments are anarchy, if you define anarchy as a state where a small group retains power by dominating and excluding the general populace, who have few outlets for challenging that power.
Nicely said! Certainly I was constantly thinking about that exact "indictment of revolutionaries" as I was reading the story. But I'm much less convinced that V for Vendetta acknowledges that problem internally in any serious way. V does some straight-up evil sh*t during the story -- sometimes to people who might be colored as deserving it, sometimes not -- but what he does is always portrayed as liberating, not oppressing; part of the solution, not part of the problem. Within the story, the only credible person who seems to take issue with V is Evey -- and so the triumphal tone as Evey takes up his mask is nearly proof positive to me that V's "anarchy" is to be taken at face value, not ironically.Can you tell me what part of the story you think problematizes V's philosophy from within? Something that isn't just us, as readers, projecting our feelings about what he does onto the work? Remember, of course, that lots of people who read this book come away taking a lot of it seriously!
It's true, and that's often a problem with Moore's work, as I discuss in some length in my Watchmen review--and in both books, for similar reasons. As I say there, anyone who comes away feeling Rorschach is the hero isn't paying attention, and there's a similar undercurrent with V.He's set up in the position of the hero, but a lot of what he does is despicable. To me, it feels like Moore is challenging us to condemn him--much as he does with Rorschach. We have this character in the position of the freedom fighter, the man-unto-himself, but we have to remember that for both characters, they only reject society after it rejects them, so it is not a true condemnation, it is tinged with bitterness. Both men are fundamentally broken--something we're shown over and over throughout the stories--and so we have to ask how much of their rhetoric is really justified.
I draw a parallel to Milton's Satan: a character who is placed in the role of the iconoclast, the freedom fighter, but whose reason is so flawed that it cannot be trusted. Milton makes Satan appealing to show us how dangerously tempting the path of sin is. Moore is doing something similar with the fantasy of power--and undercurrent that has defined the way comic book heroes work.
Is there a part of our lizard brain that wants to smash everyone who we feel is in our way? Certainly. Is this a workable moral system for an individual or society? No.
It's true that Moore isn't giving us the 'other side of the coin' with V, but I think that's because Moore is avoiding idealism. There is no virtuous, just fascist entity, and Moore certainly isn't going to invent one. Instead he gives us a conflict between two flawed purveyors of violence, one who is the outcast underdog, and the other the established system. There is a natural inclination to side with the underdog in such situations--it's how our stories tend to run--but Moore makes V so dangerous and untrustworthy that I don't think we're meant to feel righteous in our support of him.
Sure, Moore writes a screed about the demons of fascism, but in what we see V do--'freeing' Evey by totally dominating her--we must recognize that V is a fascist demon, himself. How did Orwell put it? Freedom is Slavery?
I see your point. At the same time, I also see how V and Rorschach are not presented in the same way. Rorschach is crazy as in crazy. It's textually clear that he's deluded about reality. Other characters in Watchmen, more ordinary ones who are easier to relate to (the Eveys of the story, if you like), treat Rorschach like the crazy person that he is. Some of the windmills Rorschach is tilting at are actually real demons, but that's almost by accident. He's a grimly comic figure, and not self-consciously so.V is not delusional -- or at least, not obviously. The injustices he fights are all real. Evey's reaction to V's death is very different from how we imagine Nite Owl's reaction to Rorschach's. V is loved; Rorschach is not. So where it's possible to extract from the text that Rorschach is no role model, I don't know that it's possible to do the same for V.
I love the connection between V's torture of Evey and Big Brother's of Winston. There may even be callouts to this effect in Moore's scene in the form of the rat and the episode between Valerie and Ruth. But this is just not enough for me. There are many episodes in literature of one character hurting another in order to help them in the long run -- and the moral of those episodes can go either way, depending on context. The narrative and rhetoric surrounding Evey's torture suggests that she is freed, that V has done her a favor after all. All it would take to show the opposite is for us to see Evey kill one person, betraying her prior nobility. But she does not. That says to me that Evey's torture is played as redemptive and not debilitating, that V was justified, and again that anarchy is not being drawn as equivalent to fascism. Contrast with the incident in Nineteen Eighty-Four, where we know Winston is broken when he betrays his newly fledged ideals, and this is one important way Big Brother is shown to be evil.
So... I'm unconvinced, on the basis of the text. It sounds like you've got more familiarity with Moore's larger body of work than I do. If you say Moore would never have intentionally written a story that exalted a character like V, I believe you. But if so, I think Moore does a rather poor job communicating what he meant to communicate within the text of V for Vendetta.
Yeah, it can be hard to say. I mean, Watchment predates V, so clearly he was capable of tackling these things and subverting them.I guess the point where I feel V is not sane is when we get his whole backstory of how he was 'created', particularly the final scene of him with the fire--he isn't a person with normal human experiences, with a childhood, he's a creature with a perspective so warped by what he's been through that I don't think of him as being sane, but rather being twisted up and obsessive.It's true that he's very rational and deliberate about it, with loads of justifications for his actions, but again, he's not someone who came to those conclusions without bias, he was driven to them by the extremity of his experience. His main motivation, however he rationalizes it, is vengeance--it's right in the title--and that's not about politics.
But I haven't read it for some time, so you may be right. I know that originally, the character was supposed to be a cross-dressing terrorist lashing out against repression of alternative sexuality, but the bigwigs at DC cut that idea down, so instead of a face of white makeup, lipstick, and eyeshadow, we get the Guy Fawkes mask. Perhaps the loss of this core concept muddled his message.
My favorite aspect was the irony of using the symbol of Guy Fawkes for the destruction of a conservative government when the actual Guy Fawkes would likely have supported such a government.