Some marble blocks have statues embedded within them
(As a warning, if you don’t want to read any spoilers whatsoever, steer clear. I won’t be incredibly detailed, but I will touch on some end-game plot points.)
Considering that I discovered comics at an early age, I took a surprisingly long time to really experience comics the way that I experience novels: with reflection and a critical eye. Sandman led the charge, as I realized the literary merits that many comics can have, although since I haven’t read much of what by general consensus is considered required reading.
But this week, I read Watchmen. I waited a few days to absorb and reflect, for good reason. Sometimes my immediate reaction to a work is directly contrary to what my later, weighted opinion is - The Departed is a prime example of something I viscerally hated for the first few days which I’ve now come to really love inordinately. At any rate, I have decided that I really like and appreciate Watchmen. But I also have a little slice of strong dislike.
Truly, I love all the mechanics of it. The writing style and the layering and the character-building and all the under-the-skin bits that make this comic such a force, all of that is masterful. Having a framed story, the excerpted Black Freighter comic, mirror the over-arching plot was not as overbearing a device as it can sometimes be, and I always like a story about a relatively good person becoming the thing they hate. This is probably a catharsis mechanism, but that’s how I roll sometimes.
This was one of the first major publications to strip all the romance and fancy out of superheroes and leave them naked and human, instead of the Superman brand of hero. No one here has impeccable morals and willpower and ginormous muscles. I mean, how awesome is a paunchy superhero out there hero-ing? And the only guy with superpowers, he is completely disconnected from humanity because of those superpowers. No Superman nobility here, just straightforward alien-ness that says “I have super awesome cosmic powers, and I’d like to watch the grass grow rather than save a civilization.” Brilliant.
All the human characters are carefully flawed people in addition to being “cape” caricatures. It keeps the reader from ever being fully comfortable and attaching to any one character, and in my experience made me keep questioning the story the way that unreliable narrators always do so that you don’t become complacent. I can’t point to many stories, no matter what the medium, where this sort of tap-dance is executed in a way I feel is well done. A lot of times I become so detached from the story I get ejected (the comic version of Wanted is a prime example), but I actually stayed pretty in touch with Watchmen despite not having a connecting character.
Now, I mentioned that I like stories concerning the good guy becoming the thing he hates. You’d think I’d like Ozymandias becoming a war-mongering, fear-wielding villain in order to bring about the goal of ultimate peace. But I didn’t buy into the depth of self-delusion it would take for someone of his (and this is everywhere in the comic) supposed intellect to decide that this was the most brilliant idea EVAR. Also, I don’t think idolizing dead historical figures and having a penchant for crime-fighting is enough of a backstory to justify his actions. This idea was much more exquisitely crafted in Red Son, when a Communist Superman realizes that he’s just as much of an asshole as some of the supervillains. The evolution of it was well-tempered, efficient, and fulfilling. His shift from utterly moral - if incredibly helpful - bystander to world-crushing, scary bastard ruler isn’t just organic, it seems almost inevitable. Watchmen just didn’t provide enough leverage to transport me to that belief. As revolutionary as Manhattan’s superhuman-means-not-human arc was, Ozymandias’s plot just fell flat. I got the feeling that he woke up one morning and decided to Pinky and the Brain it from now on.
And, OK, this might be nitpicky, but the psychic-backlash art project monster? Was an incredibly bizarre plot device, and the psychic-backlash “information” was rather silly, in my opinion. Its method of delivery (transporting it kills it, and its death triggers the psychic death-show) was genius, but I just didn’t buy that a major city would be wiped out by a psychic imprint of the awful things people come up with on a daily basis. The first issue of Ultimate Galactus remains one of the most disturbing things I have ever read. Not only is the psychic package deeply scary on its own (effectively projected on media as well as psychically, complete with the sound of an alien race dying), which still alone bothers me to read, people who are sensitive enough to the message begin to kill themselves out of hopelessness and fear. Instead of “psychic-backlash head explodey,” these people make a choice. Now that is some powerful mental information.
All that to say, I read a lot of other comics before I read Watchmen, obviously. I live in a world 20 years from Watchmen’s publication. In my comics world, the unromantic view of superheroes is commonplace - if not the normative function. I can’t “unexperience” these things that have plumbed the depths of ideas first outlined in Watchmen (and subsequently can’t rid myself of my forehead slapping “argh” moment when I realized that yes, actually, saving the world by tearing it up was the big plot), and therefore I am completely disconnected from experiencing that awe and wonder of knowing it blew the doors off of the superhero comic. Despite how much I liked the comic, I still feel sad knowing that I’ve profited from Alan Moore’s seminal work and still seen it done better in other places since then.
This city deserves a better class of criminal
I’ve been thinking a lot lately of this article I read on io9, Why We Deserve Better Villains - And How to Get Them. The specific problem addressed here is this:
The problem of villain suckage is endemic in heroic narratives, where villains get redeemed, become sympathetic, or lose their menace too easily.
It goes on to list the ways that villains can become neutered, and I feel comfortable saying that I agree with almost all their examples. I love Iron Man like a crazy person, but not because of the hero versus villain aspect. I love a pitch-perfect portrayal of my favorite bits of Tony Stark, the sudden public rediscovery of how awesome Robert Downey Jr. is (and how they’d forgotten it, I don’t know), and frankly all the little dog-whistle checks you get from a fan making their geek-dream movie. The final fight versus evil Jeff Bridges? Lame-o, because I frankly didn’t perceive him as a viable threat. Bigger, angrier, rocket-filled suit? Yes. OMGWORLDENDING unstoppable evil force? …eh.
I don’t even need to weigh in on Darth Vader, because I think it’s pretty much understood at this point how horribly, horribly wrong that went. (Horribly.)
On first viewing The Dark Knight, I practically grinned and giggled through the entire movie, freaking out the girls sitting next to me. I didn’t waste any precious moments of enjoyment reflecting on why I had such a reaction, but later it was pretty much revealed in what the io9 article says: the Joker was an excellent villain. And there’s no need for me to go into too much depth about why that’s so, as countless blog posts and articles are all over it: nuanced direction, writing, and acting, dealing with a chaotic, unredeemed character of awesome.
Those are the villains I like, the villains that are the most impressive, that enrich a story by providing the starkest counterpoint that can strengthen the heroic nature of the protagonist. This is why the classic trickster archetype works so well - from Coyote to Loki to Lucifer - as a fixed force, one that will never elect to stop being the way they are, and so casts a stronger, more enchanting light on the beneficent persons opposing them. Sure this feeds directly into our escapism and feelings of catharsis (in the traditional sense) when Good triumphs over Evil.
But more than that, good villains are just damned enjoyable. My current favorite villain is Melisande Shahrizai, from the first three Kushiel books (Dart, Chosen, and Avatar). Her trademark is political subterfuge with the goal of toppling the monarchy in her home country of Terre D’Ange. She plays the absolutely classic long game, the kind that takes years to come to fruition but is planned out to the last man (with the exception of Phèdre, of course, but you can’t do much when you’re the scion of the god that she’s the mortal instrument of).
She is remorseless about almost every action she makes, and even when something saddens her (Anafiel Delaunay’s death, for instance), well, sometimes you break a few eggs. She does not count the cost in human life, and simply plays her political games just because she can. What makes Melisande the ultimate villain in my eyes is not just her desire to make an audience out of Phèdre, which could rightly be reckoned an error of judgment, as if unaware that now our favorite anguisette would be compelled to try and stop her.
Instead, Melisande’s few direct contacts are salvos to Phèdre, invitations to indeed seek to foil her machinations. For Melisande, political intrigue has two pleasures: one is the skillful manipulation of people to your ends, and the second is having someone equal to the task seeking to defuse those ends at the same time. Even when she seeks a personal goal, such as finding her kidnapped son, she does not lose her steel. Phèdre asks her to end her intrigues against Terre D’Ange’s queen and family and to remain forever in her religiously protected sanctuary by the sea. Melisande in turn says she will only promise one, because even her son is not worth turning against her nature.
This, by the by, is why I refuse to read the last three Kusheline books, which revolve around her son. Melisande fades into the background, as is only proper for such a strong villain in order to not overplay her awesomeitude (you know it’s true), but then she loses her teeth completely. Suddenly she is all caring mother and no longer the woman who could bring entire countries to their knees by herself. Humanizing her, by suddenly making her son of the utmost importance to her even beyond her schemes, completely destroyed her character. And my enjoyment of the entire series after that point, I might add.
All that to say, I’m tremendously thrilled to see what could be a return in popular media - so far in movies, but I am hoping in TV as well this season - of the kind of intractable, terrifying villain that warms my little heart.
What to say when you’ve got nothin’ to say
I really did have great plans to turn this blog around and write in it really regularly and all that nice stuff. I really didn’t want it to just be sitting here…hanging out…doing nothing…
But then I realized I can’t really blog about work. Partially due to HIPAA, and the fact that violations don’t just mean OMGZFIRED it means OMGZLITIGATION. Plus, it’s not as if my name isn’t plastered all over the website, and everyone can use Google now (although only I have the true art of the Google Fu down in the lab). Anonymity’s supposed to be freeing, but I’ve always thought it was a drag. So starting a new blog out in the wildness of the interwebs and going by a fake name is right out.
And then on top of that, I’m in the middle of this furious amount of self-congratulatory free time. Most of my nights I’m either reading feminist weblogs, playing Ragnarok Online, re-reading my favorite books (I can’t afford new ones that often - I don’t even buy new clothes!), or watching TV series with Pac. That’s actually a pretty good place to be in. Only when I relax can I actually focus on settling a story in my head before I write it, and hey, score, I discovered I am no longer addicted to RO.
This is basically what I do when I’m not spending time being an adult, which means planning a wedding, going to work, and trying to somehow balance two ailing cars that need repairs every couple of weeks. Being an adult can be retarded sometimes.
I don’t know. What do you think I should write about?
The drinks absolve our sins
My move is over, and I’ve had the internet back for a while now. Yet I can’t really find anything to blog about. I go through periods, as my long-term readers may have noticed, where I become so intensely private I won’t even talk about political opinions in public. I’m not sure why I get into these moods, but I’ve been in one for a little while. I’m still not really ready to talk about anything deeply personal, though in summary (just so no one thinks I’m hiding terribly unpleasant secrets), my commute is much shorter, Pac’s schedule has changed so I see him more, and I’m really very happy. But rather than sit here in what I term “radio silence,” despite the mixing of metaphors, I’ll give you a list of things I’ve been sifting through/thinking about.
The Pill Kills - There is so much wrong here that I could probably write a term paper on it. The entire site is loaded with words designed to evoke emotional reaction, hoping that if you’re emotionally involved your logical faculties won’t notice the gaping problems in their “scientific” information. Oh, and apparently taking birth control means that your husband will treat you like his property - since men did so well not treating women like property before the birth control pill was available. Because it’s not about your right to your own body, it’s about mens’ rights to your body and what a bunch of old (supposedly) undersexed men think are God’s rights to your body. (Don’t get me wrong, Catholicism does a lot of things right, but like many Judeo-Christian religions, they do a lot of things wrong too.)
California declares equal rights to marriage - I am ridiculously grateful for this ruling, which says that all citizens will receive equal marriage rights. It also rules on something much, much bigger than the right to obtain a marriage license. What makes people fight so hard for equal marriage rights? Equal rights. The right to be free from discrimination against your sexual orientation, at the same level as the right to be free from religious, gender, or racial discrimination. Period. In re Marriage Cases contains a few sentences that give me hope back for this country, that maybe we’ll remember that we believe in freedom still. The California court has declared that sexual orientation falls under its equal protection clause, and therefore laws that discriminate based upon sexual orientation will be under legal scrutiny. And on top of that, the Governator has publicly stated he will not veto and will not encourage any amendment (not that there won’t be one on the ballot in November anyway).
I’m not dead yet!
No, I haven’t died. I’ve been moving, and as of yet have no internet. Woe. I’ll be back soon, though, I promise. No more radio silence. 
Blogging is stealing our authors?
Or so sayeth Robin Hobb, at any rate. I will admit that there are many people, myself included, who have gotten so plugged into the Internet that given an hour of spare time, we’d rather blog than write.
I think it’s completely ridiculous to say that blogging means that you stop writing and begin sucking. Neil Gaiman blogs, and most of his blogs are “so I’m writing _____ at the moment.” In fact, I believe his blog was instrumental in bringing American Gods to life, one of the best, most life-changing books I’ve read in my life.
I don’t write anymore because I choose to read or play DS, or watch new movies. Mostly, I read. I don’t think anyone can accuse me of blogging when I ought to be writing, at least not anymore, and I’ve been blogging for about 7 years.
For you I’ve waited all these years
This weekend, Pac asked me to marry him. And in August, I am.
It’s incredibly hard to think of what to say about it. I am past the point of happy, I am content. Incredibly content. Waking up late on a cold Saturday when you’re that perfect degree of warm in your blankets content. Spring day after a long winter when the breeze caresses your face like a friend content.
But what do you say about the person who makes you smile even when you’ve had a bad day at work and you’ve got an appointment with a cancer screening the next day? The same person who trusted that you’d come back whole long after you’d given up, who always asked “What can I do to help?” and then did it.
He is the other half of my soul, whose presence I feel even in his absence. He’s the man who never asks me to be anything but myself, even when that means being teary and hormonal and helpless. He’s the man who took me to an Equality Now screening of Serenity for our first official date and asked me to marry him in my living room with my grandmother’s ring. He’s the man who thinks I look beautiful in baggy scrubs after a full day’s work and kisses me even when I’m sick.
I don’t know what else I can say, other than I’m marrying the person I know I’m spending my life with, who makes me incredibly happy. And now you know too.