Super//Human: Mirror Images

At first glance, comic book superheroes always seem so larger-than life; after all, they’re “stronger than a locomotive, faster than a speeding bullet, and able leap tall buildings in a single bound!” Most people are normal by definition, and so most people can’t relate to billionaires in costumes, Norse gods and intergalactic refugees. Those aren’t exactly the kind of people you run into when hanging out on a Saturday night, or come to think of it; anywhere, ever.

(If they are, you’re either at a fan convention or in need of professional help, like a therapist.)

But because of their inherent absurdity, what might not be obvious is the fact that like any other form of media, even the most outlandish superhero stories have people, (relatively) normal ones as writers and editors, and like their more down-to-earth colleagues who write conventional stories, these people often write what they know; life experiences and personal beliefs and apply it to their stories. After all, as with all of fiction, it’s easier to write about and care for a character you can relate to, which brings me to my first point.

As any long-time comic book fan (example: me, guilty as charged) can tell you, despite the fantasy thrill ride they’re presented as, superhero characters have feet of clay. Genius billionaires like Batman and Iron Man might save cities, but they share the very mundane worry of their job costing them their personal life, even if their definition of "job" is considerably more violent and explosive than you or me. Thor stories shows that even Norse gods have difficulty dealing with the pressure of expectations that people pile on them, and Superman? It’s very easy for an alien on Earth to feel alone in a crowd, something I think all of us can relate to. So are superheroes beloved by readers and moviegoers only because of their flashy powers?

The point these writers are trying to make is that despite the over-the-top, exaggerated, even… well, comical nature of their stories, these characters all have very familiar fears, hopes, and dreams, and this is why over time, I believe the operative word in "super-human" characters has shifted from “super” to “human”, storytellers needed their audience to get invested, and they did so by holding up a mirror to our experiences.

Sometimes it might be more of a funhouse mirror where the point they’re making is so distorted and obscured you can’t recognize it without a metaphorical DNA test, yet the point is still there somewhere… most of the time. But I suppose that’s probably part of the risk when your job is to write about punchy people in tights and capes facing bizarre adventures such as alien invasions, time travel, and sometimes both of those at once.

This reflection is not bound to individual characters either; socially conscious and opinionated comic book writers have long used their stories as a platform of criticism and satire of social issues. The mutant characters of the X-Men franchise face discrimination based on genetic differences as an allegory of minority struggles like the Civil Rights movement. Sure, the part where giant robots hunt them down might be a not-so-minor difference, but in my opinion the more absurd parts like that only serves the story and does not weaken the message. Of course, particularly creative writers can probably use said giant robots as further allegory and symbolism (representing institutionalized racism in governments? I don't know), but frankly I don't have the patience, willpower, or enough battery left on my laptop to go that far.

There is also Alan Moore's widely acclaimed Watchmen, which criticizes the American culture and politics of the Cold War era (which was still ongoing then) and wraps it up in a serious story featuring costumed crimefighters, a giant squid monster, and a blue glowing watchmaker, and if you think that sounds like a crazy hallucination... well, Mr. Moore is an excellent storyteller, but probably not someone whose medical "consumption" you want to emulate.

All in all, superhero stories might not be the first medium that comes to mind when you think of social criticism, but they've been doing it longer than you think (X-Men, for example, started in 1963), which is ironic in a way, considering that some superhero comic books were first made during WWII and heavily reeked of propaganda as a result. These days however, with social media giving writers constant access to topics and debate, the continued existence of community-company letter columns, and the sheer number of people reading and discussing the stories, social commentary is a vital part of the comic book industry.

In conclusion, I believe that that the exaggerated fiction of superhero stories doesn't mean it's any less valid as both a form of storytelling and a platform of social commentary, maybe not everyone likes these kinds of stories and that's just fine, but it shouldn't lead them to dismiss the potential value of an entire genre. 

Bangga Erizal

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