Coincidence in Fiction, Part 1

Originally published September 17, 1999, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1348

Happenstance vs. Conspiracies. Fate vs. Machinations. The Incredible Hulk Annual vs. Incredible Hulk #1. Save the first two for later, let’s look at the third.

Now, let’s be candid: You all know that I feel more of an emotional attachment to the Hulk than most other characters. And certainly John Byrne’s publicly expressed sentiments that my being forced from the title might be viewed as proof that “there is a God” didn’t exactly endear him to me. So the following is not exactly… how shall we say it… unbiased. Then again, it’s an opinion column, so what else is new? To say nothing of the fact that the title is burning up a considerable amount of bandwidth on the computer boards, so there must be something worth discussing here unmotivated by personal history.

In the Hulk ’99 Annual, we pay homage to the brand spanking new vision of the Hulk which is intended to serve John during his next decade or so on the book. From soup to nuts, changes are made to update and, presumably, improve on a story which has stood up with no complaints that I’m aware of for the last thirty-five years.

Betty is no longer allowed to be a young, relatively naive woman who is fascinated by the highly educated and sophisticated Banner. Indeed, the emotional attachment between the two, one a worldly intellectual scientist, the other a sheltered army brat who is making her first, tentative steps out from under her domineering father’s control—the emotional heart of the story—is MIA. Instead she is a scientist, savvy and tough, “Betty” in name only.

Likewise the weapon being tested is a gamma bomb in name only—in misnomer, actually. We are told, “It is the firing mechanism of a gamma laser, not a true explosive device.” Oh. “Bruce Banner, caught in the heart of the detonation of a firing mechanism of a gamma laser…” Yeah, that sounds better.

As for Rick Jones and Bruce Banner themselves—well, remember how back in the 1950s people were concerned about being Commie dupes? No longer. Rick and Bruce are, in fact, newly minted Skrull dupes. The Reds are out, the Greens are in. Igor the spy is now Igor the shape-shifted Skrull, as much of a participant in, and developer of, the gamma bomb—device—whatever—as Banner is. (Although admittedly, whenever you have an assistant named Igor on a fictional science project, you just know it’ll end in tears.) Rick Jones is no longer the cocky, harmonica-playing teen who snuck onto the army base on a dare, but instead is manipulated by a Skrull to prove his bravery in a way that provides almost no risk to himself (so he thinks). Plus, in the most X-Files-ish moment of the book, Bruce admits to Rick that he is privy to a massive Skrull plot which is “Something many men have worked hard to keep the world from knowing about… something you should be happy to remain ignorant about.” I daresay we all would, except the caption promises a “soul-shattering limited series” on that very topic later this year. Of course, for all we know, the series will be so spectacular that our souls will indeed be shattered. But did the Hulk’s origin have to be shattered as well?

Well, apparently when John’s running the show, yes, it does. Because to judge from both this and the Spider-Man reboot, John absolutely despises coincidence.

It couldn’t be that the burglar who broke into the Parker’s house just so happened to be the same guy who Spidey let pass earlier that evening. It had to be that the burglar had been drawn to Peter’s house after Uncle Ben purchased a computer, and saw Spider-Man emerge from the house, and one thing led to another to the point where Ben’s death was not an unhappy turn of events, but in fact virtually pre-destined from the moment the story began. Likewise, it couldn’t be that Rick Jones just so happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Bruce had the poor judgment to have a spy on staff who didn’t bother to stop the detonation. In the world of John Byrne, coincidence, happenstance, and bottom line crappy luck are simply no longer permissible in the stories of people’s lives. Instead, earthbound (or alien earthbound) forces must be put meticulously into place so that the outcome is predestined, not by fate, but by actions directly attributable to evil forces that the heroes know nothing about until it’s too late. Right. And Barry Allen was hit by a lightning bolt sent by Mopee.

However, it may very well be that John is on to something here. After all, too much contrivance winds up producing bad fiction. The thing is, fans get very passionate when comic book origins are tampered with, because such tampering inevitably has ramifications for all the issues down the line.

This tends to drive fans nuts. This would be okay if it were a DC book because then you could just shout, “Continuity” to which the reply would be “Hypertime!” which is the fannish equivalent of “Marco! Polo!” But Marvel doesn’t have Hypertime as its convenient catch-all. The closest equivalent it ever had was Roy Thomas. You’ve heard of the Anti-Monitor? Roy’s the Anti-Hypertime, actually capable of pulling diverse and contradictory origins together in a deft “I meant to do that” fashion. Can’t dovetail Marvel’s origins with the cold war anymore? Screw this revisionist Skrull stuff: Unleash Roy Thomas, aided and abetted by Peter Sanderson, and watch ‘em go.

But what to do with John? The answer is easy: Marvel should pick up the license for Classics Illustrated and put him in charge of the line.

It’s the perfect venue. Fans may get exorcised by changes to comic origins, but by and large, they won’t give a damn about classic works of literature. If Hollywood can give happy endings to The Scarlet Letter and Les Miserables, John can certainly be allowed to work his magic on those nasty, coincidence-heavy classics and have them make sense to an entirely new readership who, chances are, never read them in the first place.

Just imagine:

Marvel Classics Illustrated Presents: Romeo and Juliet. If Friar Laurence’s missive to Romeo informing him of Juliet’s faked death had gotten to Romeo in time, the play would have ended happily. Bad luck? Star-crossed lovers? Like hell: In the MCI version, there is actually an evil organization which makes certain that key pieces of information are withheld from powerful individuals so that everyone actually comes to a bad end, thus enabling the cabal to secure its own power and accomplish its own diabolical plans. Members of the organization can be identified by the fact that they’re named after a city. In Romeo and Juliet, it is in fact the diabolical County Paris who makes sure that the message does not get to Romeo. We also see their evil machinations in King Lear where vital information is withheld until the damage is done. Who withholds that info? The Duke of Albany. Albany. Paris. Coincidence? I think not.

Marvel Classics Illustrated Presents: Les Miserables. How in the hell does Javert keep running into Jean Valjean? After all, Jean Valjean lives his entire life without finding out what happened to his sister, or bumping into her so much as once. Yet happenstance crosses Javert’s and Valjean’s path repeatedly. Why so? As it turns out, Valjean’s sister is, in fact, behind it all. Angry because her brother was so incompetent that he couldn’t even steal a loaf of bread without getting nailed for it, thus leaving her and her kids hungry, Valjean’s sister sets up a vast spy network developed solely to keep tabs on her idiot brother. As soon as she receives any word on his whereabouts, she arranges matters so that Javert is sure to find him once again.

Marvel Classics Illustrated Presents: Oliver Twist. So there’s Oliver on his first excursion with the Artful Dodger, and Oliver Just So Happens to be wrongfully accused of stealing from a gentleman who Just So Happens to be his grandfather. What are the odds, I ask you? Slim-to-none, certainly. No, we now learn that the entire situation was in fact planned by a little remembered member of Fagin’s band who accompanied the Dodger and Oliver on the unfortunate excursion. His name? Charley Bates. His reason? Anger over his name. Everyone else has cool names like “Dodger” and “Twist.” What’s he got? Charley Bates, whom Dickens refers to repeatedly as “Master Bates.” (Don’t yell at me, it’s in the book.) Angered over the blows fate has dealt him, Charley Bates remains in the background. As his name would imply, he is a master manipulator, determined to bring down Bill Sikes and Fagin just out of sheer hostility. He makes sure to put everyone in the right place at the right time, bringing both Sikes and Fagin to their unfortunate end. (No, Fagin doesn’t go dancing away with the Dodger as in the movie; in the book, the charmingly titled chapter, “The Jew’s Last Night Alive” should give you some clue as to his original fate.)

More titles improved in accordance with the new Marvel vision, as well as the greatest conspiracy theory of all, next week.

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705.)