The Problem With Superman (Part I)

I think one of the things that was annoying me most bout Docx's rant against genre literature in The Guardian is that it seems to largely miss the point of one of "low" art's great strengths: That, as little is often expected of it, it often has the freedom to germinate the ideas that eventually get refined into both high art and commercial art. It's no accident that comic books -- a medium where just about anything can happen -- are proving to be the backbone of the movie industry, with a great number of ideas and stories being generated that couldn't find homes in more "respectable" mediums. (I'm in danger of overusing quotes here, I know.) Never mind that Neil Gaiman's Sandman and the invasion of British writers into the American mainstream comic book publishing world just about legitimized the whole field. ("I say, old chap. Is that a comic book you're reading?" "No, no. It's a graphic novel!" "Oh. very well, then. carry on.") No, putting Gaiman, Alan Moore and the rest aside for a moment, the serious treatment of comic books, their history and their tropes has been a serious conversation in fiction, from Michael Chabon's brilliant The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay to Austin Grossman's excellent Soon I Will Be Invincible to my old friend Jeff DeRego's Union Dues short stories, the comic book and it's role in the culture has been fair game for years. It's part of the conversation. And that's just a sliver of the influence the derided genres have had on the rarefied "literary" end of the spectrum. It is not that one group of work is one thing, while the other is another, it's that there is a current running between the literary works, and in that current, even the humblest airplane thriller might have something important to say, even if its a kernel of a literary conceit, or a novelty of perspective.

High-end literary fiction often lives up to its title. It does. But it doesn't hold a monopoly on ideas, and a lot of the best ones, be they a lyrical device or the presentation of a metaphor, or just an effective execution of an age-old trope ... a lot of those get generate down in the pulp.

And it's with that in mind that my mind drifts to that most iconic of the early comic book heroes: Superman.

Just about every American knows Superman. Born on the doomed planet Krypton, rocketed to Earth by his scientist father. Raised in Kansas by a loving couple who taught him truth, justice and the American way. Uses his mighty alien powers for good. Flies, except on Smallville, because they didn't want to run up the effects budget or something. Yeah. we know the story. It's one of those stories, out of all the millions generated in the 20th Century, that we can almost guarantee will survive for ages to come, like Sherlock Holmes (which were basically pulp stories) or the works of Shakespeare (which were performed, more often than not) for commoners.) It's a hard truth to break to the literary elites: the stuff for commoners usually outlives everything else. It's sturdy, and it's built to touch some real need or instinct.

But I have a secret. I don't much care for Superman ....