Tangled Webs: Conflict of Visions

In his book Conflict of Visions, the economist Tom Sowell suggested that many political disagreements ultimately come down to a difference in worldview about whether the government can effectively dictate from the top-down, which he describes as the liberal view, or about whether individuals and local communities are in a better position to make the important decisions, which he describes as the conservative view. There are a lot of exceptions and caveats—plenty of social conservatives want everyone in the country to abide by their set of top-down rules—but it’s a meaningful difference in perspective which can spread into other discussions about policy, such as whether federal or international standards in education are a good idea, or about whether the government should subsidize certain industries. Many arguments about Spider-Man comics stem from a similar divide, based on the question of whether the aspect that is unique and important about the character is that he is young, or that we’ve seen him grow up.

Editor Tom Brevoort has written a few times about youth, including in an extensive comment on Marvel’s old forums.

Youth is the element that defined Spider-Man back in the days when he was created, the thing that separated him from all of the other competing superhuman crime-fighters and made him unique. Whereas up till that time, teen-agers in comics had been relegated to being either junior-sized reflections of their mentors, or simple sidekicks, Spider-Man was the one series in which a teen-ager was the hero, was the lead. And that influenced everything about the series, gave it its heart. As Steve Ditko once pointed out, being High School age meant that it was acceptable for Peter Parker to screw up, to make mistakes and learn from them, in a way that would have been pathetic for more established, more heroic super heroes. (Ditko also lamented having had Peter graduate High School and go onto College.) Unlike other heroes before him, Spider-Man was the audience–so successfully so that the folks working on X-Men in the 60s very quickly lost sight of their own premise, and attempted to turn the team into five Spider-Men, with dismal results.

Spider-Man is no more about responsibility than Batman is about criminals being a superstitious and cowardly lot. That’s the tagline to the first adventure, and a strong moral message to go out on, but it’s what that story is about, not what the series is about. And in point of fact, it wasn’t until the late 80s/early 90s that you began to see that phrase start to get beaten on like a drum, with story titles like “The Greatest Responsibility” and “Power and Responsibility” and so forth–not coincidentally, a time after Peter had been married, and the creators were looking for some other bedrock to take the place of youth. Responsibility is certainly an element of Spider-Man–but then, show me a hero for whom it’s not an element.

Spider-Man is about finding your place in the world, about figuring out who you are and who you want to be. It’s about screwing up and trying again, It’s about believing that you’re worthwhile while fearing that you’er not, all the while being judged by authority figures who misunderstand you.

Once you strip this element away, Spider-Man becomes just another in a long line of super heroes who are well-adjusted and self-aware (well, as well-adjusted as any super heroes can be). He becomes another set of powers and a costume–he loses the unique ground upon which he stands. It’s no coincidence that when the character is done in other media, they inevitably default to the core, to the essential essence, and don’t come anywhere near to a married Spider-Man until perhaps the point where they’re ready to end the series. because really, that’s what you’re doing at that point, whether you know it or not. You’re resolving the final question of Peter Parker’s self-worth, allowing him to overcome all of his fears and doubts and guilt and letting him grow up and find acceptance. And that’s the one thing you can never let him do.

Joe Quesada made similar points in an old CBR interview.

At the heart of every great character and character universe, there are certain metaphors, iconography and trappings that play a significant part in what makes those characters great. You can deviate from time to time and move away from those things in order to keep the characters and their world’s interesting, but you have to be careful how far you deviate. There is a point where you can go one step too far, to the point where you can’t take it back easily without tearing everything up.

Take the Fantastic Four, for example. What is at the heart of this super hero team? Is it that they’re a team or that they were formed out of a cosmic accident? Is it the high adventure, science fantasy aspect of the book that makes it what it is? Well, all those things are a part of it, but what is really at the heart of the world of the FF is family. Keep the book on point, keep it about family and you’ll be fine. That’s why, Reed and Sue getting married only serves to enhance the FF experience having kids does, as well. On the flip side, Johnny being single works best because it serves as nice counterpoint to a married Sue and Reed.

Now, imagine if we decided to take away the aspect of family from an FF title, what would we have left? Sure, we could still do FF stories. Of course, we’d figure out a way around it, but it wouldn’t be the best that the FF can be. Now, could we remove the element of family for some time in order to make the book interesting, to see what that would be like? Absolutely. But what if we did something that would remove the element of family in a way that couldn’t be reversed properly? Well, then we’ve done a tremendous amount of damage to the title.

Spider-Man is by far the most successful teen hero ever, despite NPR claiming that the Kamala Ms. Marvel is one of the top 100 comic books ever, while Lee/ Ditko’s Amazing Spider-Man and Bendis/ Bagley’s Ultimate Spider-Man aren’t. However, there is another perspective about what makes the series unique.

Readers have either seen him grow up, or can pick up a variety of classic runs and follow a progression from the high school student of Lee/ Ditko to the married teacher in the JMS run. While the comics have often reversed course, we’ve seen some big changes. He graduated high school. He lost his first great love. He graduated college, and went on to grad school. He left grad school to focus on photography. He proposed to a woman who knew his secret identity, and got married to her. His best friend died but maintained his integrity after a struggle with inner demons. His Aunt learned his secret. And then the rest of the world did. This might get to why One More Day is so objectionable to many of the readers, as it reversed many of these decisions.

There has been focus on the illusion of change as a strategy for handling these types of series, but there hasn’t been as much on what the commitment to change would mean. With that approach, major developments would not be contradicted and would remain a consistent part of the character’s history. And you can certainly make an argument for it.

In Malcolm Macdowell’s Blink, he cites the example of an improv comedy troupe able to create one act plays seemingly spontaneously. Each of them always make sure to follow through on what their costars set up. It’s tougher to improvise when one of the players decides to ignore the rules of the narrative, but there’s always room to incorporate what’s been established.

While there’s a major difference between something as finite as a one act play, and an ongoing series, this blueprint could be applied to serial fiction. It’s a medium in which the story is told chapter by chapter, and in the case of the Spider-Man comics, without a clear idea of how or when it’s going to end.

In an interview with Write Now! magazine for a Spider-Man roundtable, J.M. DeMatteis explained his approach to the series.

I never really found it difficult writing the book as long as I let the characters lead me. The stories grew out of their internal struggles, their hearts and souls. Trying to impose a plot from the outside—as I did with one particularly wretched Spider-Man annual that clumsily tried to wrap up threads from my cancelled Man-Thing series—was a blueprint for disaster.

A writer is limited in letting characters lead the story if significant change isn’t a possibility.

Readers who follow the comics want to see the writers build on the foundation of the issues they’ve read, as it creates the sense that the previous stories were worthwhile and relevant. For the writers, working backwards to figure out how a retcon works can be time-consuming, and contrary to the instinct to just build on what the previous guys did.

Marvel’s economic incentives may also changed in a way to make this a necessary model. Their digital unlimited program is one of the best deals ever for comic consumers, but it does mean that readers can pick up any issue that wasn’t published in the last half-year really cheap. And if there’s no sense that the new adventures are essential, readers will be perfectly comfortable waiting a few months rather than paying to get it now.

In a foreword to a Death of Jean Dewolff collection, Peter David explained that he started picking up the Spider-Man comics again when he asked a fanboy friend if Peter had ever gotten married to Gwen Stacy, and learned that big changes had happened in the series in the intervening years. With a straightforward “commitment to change” system, it’s much easier to explain to an absent reader what’s happened with the characters since the last time they followed the title. It’s a lot like finding out what’s happened to a real person. “Peter and MJ had a baby” or “Peter and MJ got divorced” is simpler to understand than “Peter and MJ broke up, but the marriage was also erased from existence by Mephisto” or “Aunt May got married to J Jonah Jameson’s father, but she no longer remembers that Peter Parker is Spider-Man.” Explaining the nuances of what’s no longer continuity can get quite complicated, and scare away lapsed readers.

A commitment to change approach can carry significant risks. It suggests further alterations in the near-future, as there will be more deviations and those will become a permanent part of the series. This is fine with many fans of the married Spider-Man, who have suggested allowing Spider-Man to further grow and evolve. They argue that “growth” is the chief reason for Spider‑Man’s popularity and appeal, though the sequels making less money than the original Spider‑Man film somewhat contradicts that notion. These fans view Spider‑Man as the everyman who has evolved since his first appearance. So, he should keep evolving, with new jobs and at some point, at least one kid.

This creates a mess for the next writers. It’s difficult to reverse these changes, or to go from a status quo in which Peter Parker is a married father to one where he is not. Killing Peter’s wife and/ or child is way too depressing and there are significant disadvantages to having either Peter or Mary Jane abandon their family. There are some mega-arcs Marvel could do to shake things up (Mary Jane goes missing, Mary Jane takes the kids and goes into hiding when a new villain targets Peter) but the readers would still be aware that at the end of the storyline, Peter Parker would still be a happily married father. Marvel published 130+ issues of Spider‑Girl, if anyone wants a series about Peter Parker raising a family. You could argue that it’s inadequate as Peter’s not the main character in that series, but the reason Peter’s not the main character is that his life in that book is no longer interesting enough to justify headlining a monthly, let alone an (almost) weekly. Look at how the Renew Your Vows monthly jumped ahead in time so that Peter’s daughter could be in high school.

With a commitment to change approach, you might just lose what made the series interesting and compelling in the first place, especially when irreversible changes start piling up. Then you’re left with something radically different (and likely not an improvement) over the original. Or you’re left in a position in which none of the changes seems to matter, such as when Peter Parker divorces his fifth wife.

Within this conflict of visions, there will be further distinctions about what makes the character tic and what’s the best moving going forward. There will be different views on the effect particular changes have on the series, as well as the tradeoffs with potential developments. Do you guys think there are other ways of looking at this, and what’s your own perspective?