A letter to Professor Diana Fox at Bridgewater State College in Massachussetts.
The letter of hers that I refer to was a response to Stan Lee's Op-Ed in the Times
about the universality of his Spider-Man character. She points out that, though Spidey's
costume completely covers his face and thus leaves him raceless, it is not gender-neutral
and thus excludes girls from identifying with the hero. She also complained about Spidey's
"all-American" costume in this age of "anti-American rallies around the world."

Dear Professor Fox,

I just read your letter in the New York Times regarding Spider-Man's
supposed "universality." As both a comics artist and a political
progressive, I was affected by your words.

Your point about gender is an important one. The machismo of the super-hero
world not only keeps girls from identifying with "superheroic" qualities; in
addition, as Scott McCloud points out in his fantastic book "Understanding
Comics," the lack of comics with female appeal actually robs the comic book
world of half of its potential talent pool, year after year, as girls turn
away from comics to more inviting pursuits. One of the many reasons why
comics has yet to achieve the status that film or novels have is that far
too many voices are excluded not only from the stories themselves but from
the talent pool that creates them.

As for your point about Spider-Man and anti-Americanism, however, I fear you
may not have read enough Spidey comics. Superman and Captain America not
only claim to somehow symbolize the soul of America; more importantly, they
also both (despite having fought the Nazis in comic book pages throughout
World War II) embody an uncomfortably semi-fascist aesthetic of human
perfection. Though Spider-Man's costume may be red and blue, in all other
respects he is almost an anti-Superman, and that's precisely why he changed
the comics world so much when he appeared. Far from invincible, Spider-Man
also wallows in a world of frighteningly complex moral debate.
Unfortunately for old Spidey, nothing is ever quite so simple as "Truth,
Justice, and the American Way." Hounded by the press and mistrusted even by
those whose lives he saves, Spider-Man is very much a New Yorker, but not
much of a super-patriot.

Though I've always loved Batman more, I think that in this particularly
complex and grievous time in world politics, Spider-Man's ongoing
self-criticism and moral debate, along with his anguish over the possibility
of that his superhero life will endanger innocents and loved ones (I wish that
the architects of the US war in Afghanistan had shown half of Spider-Man's
concern for civilian casualties), may make him the right hero for the moment.

I applaud your taking a critical eye to the world of comic books: we need it
badly. But, please, don't say "it's just a comic." Comics may have a long
way to go towards diversity and inclusion, but undervaluing the
medium--which has as much inherent potential for storytelling as any other
medium--only places obstacles in the path, and perpetuates the culture of
mediocrity that currently holds the mainstream comics world hostage.

Sincerely,

Adam Rosenblatt
Austin, TX
adam.rosenblatt@aya.yale.edu
posted by Adam at 11:02 AM [edit]

Worried angels looking down

Jaime was looking down on you at the bottom
of the staircase as he said goodbye and got quick
the hell off the phone: too late. I heard you say hello.

I'd like to walk a bit with Merry and Pippin, to see perhaps
a bearded tree or the coldest water. I'd like to walk accompanied,
but for once alone in my thoughts of you, and to have no one ask
about that which is unrelated to our quest. There are, after all,

so many worried angels looking down. They see you at the landing,
they see me trying to save my choking friends. How do they ever
find any comfort on cloud-shaped pillows, with a view like that?

I'm doing the best that I can. I won't call till maybe June maybe. I'd like
to walk a bit with Merry and Pippin, and to understand their hearts,
which haven't appeared as of yet in the book. I'd like to drink the coldest water,
so cold it burns a bit going down, and lie under an enchanted tree.

Jaime was looking down at you and your new boyfriend maybe. He got the hell
off the phone too late. I'd like to drink the coldest water, hear you say hello,
and frozen inside from what I'd sipped I'd say nothing back. There are, after all,
so many worried angels looking down. And I'm doing the best that I can.
posted by Adam at 1:40 AM [edit]

Playa Bagdad

The salt of Mexican beaches came off you easy once you had given me the chance.
All my luck is everywhere: Playa Bagdad, Matamoros and ice cream, the long return
in a green automobile just to get sand stuck in the sheets. This is crazy, can't you see
that this is completely crazy? The sun had never gotten so high, the barbecue so everywhere,
the records so lost underneath the bed. My life was supposed to be in New England,
not in this crazy place, not diving into a wave and coming up again to find you,
and to be so lucky and so lost. And then to fall accidentally asleep, freshly-showered,
a package brought from one life onto this strange, burnt, kissed piece of shore.
posted by Adam at 1:58 AM [edit]