Tag Archives: Book-Review

Superman/Wonder Woman, Vol. 1: Power Couple by Charles Soule

This graphic novel collects the first 7 issues of this story arc, which is one that I haven’t managed to follow in the New 52. I knew of it’s implications, of course…it’s difficult to read anything current in the DC Universe and not know of this romance of titans, but I wanted to finally delve into the story and see for myself.

First, I’ll say that I’ve read reviews and heard strong opinions on whether or not this is sensationalist storytelling on DC’s part to put Superman and Wonder Woman together as a couple. I also have reservations about this, but I’m not reviewing that editorial decision. That is what it is, and there’s no point in reading any review of this collection if you disagree with the plot so entirely.

That said, the writing in these issues is strong. I really haven’t read Soule’s work until this, and I’m impressed with the way he crafts his dialogue. These are two of the most primary characters in the DC Universe…no small undertaking to handle on the page, and he does so deftly. What is actually quite fascinating about the romantic concept here is how both characters are developed in ways that we didn’t see coming. Superman’s desire to maintain a dual identity is as much for the protection of his emotional well being as it is for the protection of those he loves here…and Wonder Woman sees this as a weakness that she has difficulty reconciling. Both struggle to balance the selflessness of their role to protect their world with the very human selfishness of wanting to be happy with someone else. In doing so, Soule is wrestling with the role of the hero, the failings that come from the humanity of the heroes viewed by the public as gods among us, and the heightened repercussions of their choices. As Wonder Woman frets over the tragedy that inevitably befalls the hero, Batman chastises Superman:

“You two have a spat, and the world burns? How can you not be aware of the stakes of what you’re doing?”

I appreciate how Wonder Woman, particularly, is handled in this collection. After her strong start in the New 52, I was worried that she would be overly romanticized or weakened here. I’m glad that quite the opposite is true. We feel her trepidation and insecurities surrounding their relationship…the vulnerabilities that any of us have when being involved with someone. Yet, she is still the adept warrior who needs no help from Superman, and in fact arrives to save him in a critical moment. Both are recognized as the most powerful heroes on the planet, a just due that is all too easily missed when writing Wonder Woman.

I can also say that, for the first time, I felt that I truly heard Diana’s voice in Soule’s writing.

Unfortunately, what Soule does so beautifully with dialogue and character development, he misses in overall plot. The storyline of battling escaped Kryptonians bent of world destruction is merely a forgettable vehicle with which to convey the larger issues presented here, and the climactic fight scene feels dismissive and bordering on unbelievable.

I was a fan of Daniel’s artwork in the Justice League, and he performs just as well here for the most part. He’s a bit more inconsistent in these pages, however, particularly in facial expressions, which leave especially our protagonists looking oddly unfamiliar in several panels.

I respect what DC’s trying to do here, and the way in which they are exploring the characters. There is quite a bit within these pages that is thought provoking, and indicative of the angst with which we see heroes in the “real world” today. I wish that a more thorough plot had been used to convey this adventure, as the final pages fell quite flat and were disappointing. Overall, this concept is off to a good start, but has much room to improve.

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

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Batman and Philosophy: The Dark Knight of the Soul by Mark D. White

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

My curiosity has been easily piqued by books in this vein…that is, popular culture and philosophy examinations. I’m interested in them because the characters and worlds of the books that we read, and programs and films that we watch, provide so much insight into the philosophical and theological through-lines of our generation and culture. Batman has long been one of my favorite superheroes, because his existence on the edge between hero and antihero…the way in which he embraces the darkness in order to attempt to use it for good…is simultaneously disturbing and enthralling.

I anticipated Batman and Philosophy to be an interesting and fun read, but didn’t think that it would be quite as thought-provoking as it turned out to be. I’ll say up front that, if you’ve done any serious study of philosophy or theology, then you will likely, as I did, anticipate a more academic tone in the writing, but remember that this is geared to a more general audience. I think that’s a good thing, because it doesn’t become bogged down in the trappings of academic writing, but I don’t think that it will feel shallow to any reader. The writing styles, as with any collected volume, vary greatly, and are disappointing at times. While some of the contributors don’t shy away from the more formal tone of their discipline, others make attempts at interjecting humor that left me scratching my head more than laughing.

That said, there are extremely well-crafted analyses of the Dark Knight and his world lying behind that forced humor, and I found myself in deep thought more often than not as I worked my way through these pages. In fact, I’ll admit that, in all of the thought and exploration and appreciation that I have given the character of Batman through the years, some of the deeper questions raised by the writers of these chapters had never occurred to me. Moreover, once they’re presented for your consideration, you’re left with that wonderful feeling of having so much more left to think about on the topic.

My favorite chapter was “Alfred, the Dark Knight of Faith: Batman and Kierkegaard”, in which Alfred appears as the true hero through the lens of Kierkegaard’s Fear and Trembling (I’ve always had an existentialist tendency, I’ll confess). I also found the chapter, “Could Batman Have Been the Joker?” and it’s exploration of modal logic and possible worlds in relation to the genre of comic book literature at large to be absolutely fascinating. There are thought-provoking discussions of identity, as well…one of the central tenants of many superhero characters. And, of course, the discussion of whether or not Batman is better than Superman…well, that’s just fun.

Some chapters dwelt a bit too heavily in a humanist philosophy for my taste, and others left obvious holes in their arguments (debating whether or not Batman was ethically justified in permitting Robin to accompany him ducks the fact that Robin is a moral free agent).

What I found particularly engaging about this collection is that the authors are well-read in the literature. Not only do they display their expertise in their discipline, but each chapter is well-noted with specific Batman story-arcs, including examples and dialogue, to provide cases to which to apply their analyses. In many instances, I found myself digging back through my bookshelves to re-read these stories (and, in one case, purchased a graphic novel that had been glaringly absent from my shelf).

Batman and Philosophy is a surprisingly deep and provocative exploration of the Dark Night Detective and his world, as well as his place in the larger DC Universe and comic book history and thought in general. The book is a light read at under 250 pages, accessible while not boring, and I found myself engaged with each chapter. If you’re a Batman fan, and especially if you enjoy philosophical discourse at all, I would recommend you treat yourself to this collection.

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American Gods by Neil Gaiman

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

This is a bad land for gods.

That is perhaps what rings in my ears the most at the conclusion of Neil Gaiman’s
American Gods, a heavy novel at just north of 400 pages that alternatively was either difficult to pick up or difficult to put down.

I had never experienced Gaiman in literary form before this book. I knew him from his comics writing, most notably The Sandman, and was curious as to his other writing. The title of this one arrested my attention, and it took me a bit to decipher what’s going on within the pages.

I’ll set the stage: Our protagonist, Shadow, is released from prison days early because his wife has been killed. He encounters a gentleman who wants to hire him as a sort of bodyguard while traveling to the funeral, and he agrees. He is then caught up in a brewing war…a war between the old gods, those of Norse, Roman, Greek pantheons as well as from various other traditions and countries…and the new gods, the gods of technology, of media, of all the things that America holds dear. Those are the gods that Americans have come to worship, and leave the old gods are fighting for their survival.

Yet…this is a bad land for gods.

It sounds gripping, right? And certainly, at the end, you’re drawn into the climactic conflicts in true graphic novel style. The book takes a while to pick up momentum…I was over 150 pages in before I felt like I was really moving, and after that point it was very start-and-stop. I found the novel outright difficult to continue at times, and, at around 250 pages or so, I was forcing my way through only because I refuse, on principle, to stop reading a book that I have started. Now, while that sounds bad, I’ll say also that the pacing is my only complaint about Gaiman’s craft here. His narrative is clear and imaginative, his dialogue nothing short of brilliant at times. I’m perfectly willing to concede that the pacing problem was me, not the author, and his craft at painting these gods…these gods in our country…is original, resourceful, and thought-provoking. Gaiman weaves in ancient religious traditions throughout the novel that I found myself wishing I knew more of, and I’m left with the feeling that these were frequently over my head.

So, my disappointment in the novel has nothing to do with Gaiman’s skill as a writer. What gives me pause is the discontinuity is what the novel says, the commentary (if I may over-use that word) that it makes. America is, in fact, a bad land for gods, as Gaiman states. It is a country of mis-matched origins, of disconnected histories woven into one, each bringing with it its own beliefs and traditions that have melded in a collision with a lack of history. Thus, traditions have been forgotten, and, in the rush of modern life, former religions are left by the wayside, discarded as futile and ancient, while new religions of business and technology replace them. Yet, even these religions hold little power, and are quickly forgotten as new religions are spun to take their places. And so, we reap the fruits of a shallow existence, of one without history or tradition or belief in anything other than what is most convenient. This is the world that Gaiman gives us in American Gods, and this is the critique that I find most true and lasting. And, in fact, had it been left there, I think that this would have been an outstanding novel because, agree with the statement or not, it is a powerful statement to make.

This, however, is merely (if I can apply that descriptor) the foundation for Gaiman to explore the concept and power of worship. The gods are left with power only when they are worshipped. The gods worshipped the most have the most power. As the protagonist tells us, human beings believe…it’s what we do, and thus we will believe in something, however shallow that something is as the former things fade into the background.

Is it, then this scattershot belief that makes this such a bad land for gods?

Again, that question is worth unpacking, and is enough for two novels. I applaud Gaiman for letting this circulate through his story.

Then, however…then comes the excessively didactic proclamation that the gods are, in fact, created by man, and only have power when man worships them…that man has not accepted responsibility for his inventions of belief, which now run amok and do damage while left unattended, eventually withering and dying away, impotent and powerless when forgotten. The breadth of Gaiman’s closure here seems to sweep all religions into this net, no faiths excluded, thus diminishing the very metaphysical statement that he makes earlier. Man, then, is the being with all the power, here, and the only true worship is self-worship…a remarkably shallow statement that leaves the reader empty after so much promise.

And yet…Gaiman hints at surprisingly redemptive moments through human belief. Shadow’s relating of the account of the thieves hanging on either side of Christ during the crucifixion, and reminding that the thieves should perhaps be remembered because perhaps they know spiritual realities more than many others, is quick, simple, and wants to be powerful. Later, the gods tell Shadow that it didn’t matter that he didn’t believe in them, because they believed in him…both stories of faith in something larger that ourselves that can salvage us despite our inability to do anything in our own favor. Is this fundamental state of the human condition also manufactured, left empty as it relies only on gods that we have created and are thus less than are we? Perhaps then, we are sacrifical to ourselves, or to our own creations, as would seem to be the case when Shadow hangs on the tree in the final chapters, an attempt at a Christological metaphor so obvious and so dysfunctional that I couldn’t have handled anything more glaring and in our face than it was.

I had read and heard much praise about this novel and, while certainly well-written, it left me profoundly disappointed in it’s lack of coherency and connectivity. Gaiman’s prose adeptly proclaims one thing, only to contradict it later. Perhaps that’s the point, and I’m missing something larger here, but I expected more of Gaiman. This novel is worth exploring…sort of. If your curiosity isn’t nagging you to read it, though, I can’t say that you’ll be happy it’s on your shelf.

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Sweet Talk by Stephanie Vaughn

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I wasn’t familiar with Stephanie Vaughn prior to hearing her story, “Able, Baker, Charlie, Dog” on the New Yorker fiction podcast. The experience was one in which I remember where I was during the story, one in which I sat in my car after the commute from the office, unable to move until the story had completed. I remember sitting there, in that car, as Gemma looked out over the icy river after her father. “I was his eldest child, and he taught me what he knew,” one of the closing lines of the story, still echoes around my head. I searched out the story that same evening, and purchased this collection simply because of it.

I think the reason that “Able, Baker, Charlie, Dog” caught me so by surprise, struck me so where I live, is because of the intricate, fragile relationship between father and daughter that the story portrays. I read it shortly after the birth of our daughter, and in the midst of attempting to imagine our future and the care with which I was attempting to craft my relationship with her from the beginning, this story was…shaking…to me as Vaughn so clearly painted each character through the other’s eyes.

This collection is filled with just that…moments that are familiar to each of us in some capacity, not in their setting but in their events, capturing the one through the eyes of the other. I found myself examining many of the moments through which I have already traveled, and anticipating those through which I still must, looking to the other individuals that inhabit my own narrative with fresh perspective. The events that Vaughn captures are astounding in their normalcy, familiar in their commonality. There are no moments here in which I found myself closing the book to examine what the author meant. What Vaughn is doing, and what she is doing well, is placing each of us, either retroactively or predictively, into these situations through her characters and giving us the opportunity to explore ourselves.

Vaughn is following the same cast of characters here through various settings and stages of life. I immediately equated this with Salinger’s Nine Stories, but don’t, because, while parallels are easily drawn to the approach, there is nothing nearly as metaphysical going on in Vaughn’s collection. It’s absence is in no way a detractor. Vaughn’s stories are complex but never overwhelming. The timbre of her language resonates with a uniqueness, her prose is concise but never succinct, and always original. Her wit is quick, leaving the reader with a smile but never quite laughing aloud. This is not a lengthy read at just under 200 pages, but you may find yourself spacing it out into a story per evening as I did for over a week. This is because, what I did find myself pondering after each…the relationships in my own life…was worth the time to digest.

I wasn’t aware of Vaughn prior to that podcast. I’m certainly glad that has changed. Sweet Talk is a touching and sincere addition to your shelf that you will find quite necessary.

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