Von Blog

(I began writing this post a few weeks ago, got sidetracked with the actual project, other classwork, and an assortment of extracurriculars. Better late than never, I always say.)

As I was leafing through the pages of Turabian, finding the proper citation method for my sources, I was struck by a single, glaring fact.

Nowhere in the bibliographic citation section did they have information on how comic books are to be cited.

To give you, the reader, a bit of context, here are a list of the things that are considered important enough to be cited, according to Turabian: books, book reviews, journals, articles, websites, manuscripts, published proceedings, a thesis or disseration, blog entries or comments on blogs, items on online databases, A paper presented at a meeting or conference, one source quoted in another, e-mail messages, etc.

In short, Turabian views all of these possible sources as legitimate and more than usable. Give that a minute to sink in. Turabian gives no citation information on how to cite a comic book, but gives in-depth information on how to cite a blog entry. Even comments on blogs! Have you ever read the comment section on a blog? If it’s even legible to begin with, it’s usually filled with the most racist, sexist, poorly-worded bile this side of Charle’s Manson’s prison cell. But as Turabian tells it, you’re more likely to find worthy historical information on “Emily’s ‘Hello Kitty’ blog” or “Simon’s Guide to Blindfolded Hopscotch blog” than in a superhero comic book.

And therin lies the problem: American comic books have been systematically degraded by critics and academics alike, so much so that it doesn’t even deserve mention in a supposedly inclusive citation guide. Even if I weren’t fan, I think I would still consider writing a paper on such a “trashy” topic as comics just out of general principle.

Not to completely bash Turabian. It has proven invaulable to my research. But honestly? I think the day I write a paper that uses a blog comment as a source is the day I drop out of school and devote my life to slamming my fingers in the door repeatedly.

    The first time, it was cute. Funny even. Having an idea, then being told that the paper topic I had developed wasn’t feasable. I dried my tears, girded my loins, and decided on another paper topic about the Marvel Comics S.H.I.E.L.D. title.

And then reality lifted its steel-toed boot of truth and kicked me in the teeth.

    Apparently, no one felt it neccesary to either keep or reprint the elder-issues of the S.H.I.E.L.D. title from the 1980’s. Not only that, but very little information existed on my rather-obscure topic. So what did I do in order to recify the situation? Choose a more mainstream character to write a paper on? Did I begin raiding the campus library for Batman or Superman books? Did I decide to cast my credibility as a comic book fan out of the window by…selling out?

Of course not. First of all, reading Batman and Superman isn’t selling out. Superman shoots fire from his eyes, and Batman…well, Batman is Batman. ‘Nuff said.

As for the topic, I just chose something more obscure. Take that, common sense.

My third (and last, God willing) paper topic will be based on the late 70’s, early 80’s comic book, Power Man and Iron Fist. This title teamed up Power Man (A.K.A. Luke Cage, an African-American ex-con who gained enhanced strength and impenetrable skin due to a science experiment gone awry in prison) and Iron Fist, (A.K.A. Danny Rand, a well-to-do white man who, through years of training in the mystic mountains of China, taught himself to harness the whole of his body’s energies into fiery punches) two characters who couldn’t have less in common and yet functioned as a single, unbreakable unit. 

I chose this topic because it speaks to a racial component that I have not addressed thoroughly in any of my other papers on American superhero comic books. It both destroys and creates racial cliches, both enforces and demolishes ethnic stereotypes, and simultaniously works to both degrade and develop long-held racial beliefs. The title, in my view however, was a pedagogical success because not only was Luke Cage strong, noble and intelligent, but Danny Rand was written in a way that allowed Luke Cage to be so.

The most exciting facet of all of this is that primary and secondary sources actually exist. I have a collection of the first 50 issues of the Power Man/Iron Fist title, which is very good considering I intend to work with the early years of the book. As for secondary sources, I have already found two books that give some much-needed cultural background on the character of Luke Cage, as well as the evolution and depiction of African American superheroes in general.

My next goal is to find some secondary sources, either published or on the ‘net, that shed some intellectual light on the Power Man/Iron Fist title as a whole.

This shouldn’t be a problem, unless of course I’m forced to change topics in the next fifteen minutes.

I had an idea for my 299 paper. It was to be a glorious, powerful, and in-depth journey through the history of American comic books, busting at the seams with verbose language and thoughtful, colorful research. It was to cover the Marvel Civil War, while simultaniously weaving politics, civil rights and the allegory into a tapestry of literary gold.

Sadly, that paper will never see the light of day.

Perhaps a bit melodramatic. The fact is, I wanted to write my paper on the Marvel comic book event, Civil War, a 7 issue mini-series that sees the U.S. Government flexing its dictatorial muscles by requiring any and all superheroes to register themselves with the powers that be, or risk arrest and detention. Some heroes, led by Iron Man, champion the cause of registration, while others, led by Captain America, choose to go underground and fight what they see as a breach of civil liberties. All in all, a pretty solid story with enough modern day allegory to write an entire book on, let alone a paper.

But Civil War was released only a year or two ago, making the historical narrtive a bit stunted, if not totally impotent. So I had to scrap the Civil War idea. I’ll have to admit, it hurt initially. But I have moved on.

And have arrived at my new paper topic: The Depiction of the Government Agency S.H.I.E.L.D. During the Reagan Years, 1981-1989.

S.H.I.E.L.D., it must be said, is a covert agency set in the Marvel Universe, that conducts special opts, coordinates superhero teams, and monitors any and all threats from big time villians bent on world conquest. You know, like the CIA, except with a modicum of ethical standards. Well, sometimes anyway.

And I chose the Reagan Era because I was interested to see just how favorably (or unfavorably) a secret government agency like S.H.I.E.L.D. was portrayed during the ’80’s, at the height of American Conservatism, trickle down economics, and Thatcher-supported Apartheid.

You know, the good ‘ole days.

I am sitting in Hyperion. With a short mocha. Listening to the Decemberists. Blogging. I’m even wearing glasses. Now if only I had a Religious Studies book beside me.

On second inspection, I have found that I, too, have one of those.

I am a double major in History and Religion. But because this is a History 299 Blog and not a Religion 299 Blog, it is my decision to be a history major that requires some explaination. I decided to become a history major for two reasons: Mr. Marr and Mr. Savino. Mr. Marr was my sophmore history teacher at the Humanities Specialty Center at my high school. He was the first teacher I ever had that taught history because he was passionate about the subject. He would grow angry and incensed at what he saw as horrible historical occurances, and he would become fascinated and appear almost child-like with wonder at those individuals in history that were able to overcome, outlast, or outlive. In short, Mr. Marr lived the history he taught, and instilled that same passion in his students. Not to mention his penchant for revealing some of the more violent or scatological aspects of history that other teachers would frown upon.

And Mr. Savino. He was my 20th Century American History teacher my Junior year in high school. It was an entire class devoted to a step-by-step, chronological narrative of the History of America in the 20th Century. Savino also had a passion for his work, although it wasn’t as fiery. Instead, Savino instilled in his students his passion for history through his impossibly objective point-of-view. From the factors that lead to WWI to the attacks on the World Trade Center, Mr. Savino was able to teach his course through an objective lense that was nevertheless colorful and entertainning. He was able to step-back and deliver, as Joe Friday requested, “just the facts.”

These two educators inspired me to choose History as a major.

And as I sit here, enjoying a beverage that will keep me wired long into the night, I am kept grounded by a single, solitary fear: What am I going to write my History 299 paper on?

 Last year, I took two classes with Professor Moon: History of U.S. Sexuality and U.S. History and Popular Culture. In these two courses, I wrote papers on Wonder Woman and Captain America respectively; research choices that came with the personal caveat that the resulting papers had to contain more than simply rehashed fanboy antics. And, despite my personal fandom, being scholarly came easily. Yet I would be amiss if I didn’t tell you that writing papers on the aforementioned topic feels like an uphill battle.

    For instance, when was the last time you ever heard of a scholarly article containing an in-depth study of the evolution of Batman’s relationship with Talia Al-Ghul? Or a Professor delivering a lecture on the finer points of Kryptonian civilization as depicted in the Silver Age of the Superman title? Or even a well-reviewed book explaining the femenist ideology apparent in the early years of the Wonder Woman title? I’ll venture a guess and say “never” on all three counts.

   And therein lies the problem. American comic books, as pervasive as they are, are not seen as legitimate forms of historical documentation, nor are they seen as legitmate forms of art, and that includes both the written and drawn aspects of the medium. And even for those few wizened souls who see comic books for what they truly are (Modern Mythology in so many words; Our own Pantheon of Gods, who have simply traded in their togas for brightly colored spandex) there are a plethora of naysayers and cultural critics who snub their noses at the very idea of such ” pulp trash” being passed off as worthy of any meaningful historical study.

Perhaps a decision of this magnitude requires another coffee.