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Walter Ong makes a controversial argument based on the notion that the literate world stresses dialogue over dialectical opposition: “When something is wrong in the social or

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economic order, it is hard for technological man to believe that the cause reduces simply to individual’s or some group’s villainy” (The Presence 257). While acknowledging that vio-lence has not disappeared from the human landscape, Ong nevertheless draws a sharp dis-tinction between what he considers the dominant approaches to problem solving in uniformly different societies: on one hand, the antagonist approach in oral culture and, on the other, the peaceful protest approach in literate culture. While some historians and soci-ologists might take issue with his broad claims, it can safely be argued that the violent con-frontation of epic heroism has now been relegated to genre fiction like horror, fantasy, and thriller fiction and is often called escapist (thus identifying a clear difference between reality and the story depicted). In this way, the dominant sensibility of literacy negatively judges superhero stories as an adolescent power fantasy on the basis of “reality” as defined by literate culture — and yet the superhero story continues to grow in prominence. With this in mind, it becomes vitally important to show how this residue of oral culture not only persists but flourishes in superhero stories. In addition to examining the explanations for the dominance of superhero stories within the medium of comic books and the general popularity of the superhero, this chapter will use comic books’ longest- lived superhero to exemplify the reemergence of the epic heroic tradition. This extended study of Superman over the years of his “life” will demonstrate how “the man of tomorrow” is also the hero of oral culture in the sense of primary orality. Employing Ong’s description of the oral epic, this overview of Superman will demonstrate how the superhero story (1) creates heavy heroes within mythic and literal circumstances, (2) uses formulaic materials and recombines elements of previous stories, (3) repeats stories with subtle differences within plot points, and (4) employs common knowledge to develop the variants later seen as sacred stories. Also, this analysis will illustrate how the epic heroic characteristics persist even as Superman stories are told in the post–1980s era of comic books characterized by secondary orality; the strong sense Superman as epic hero seems to cause him to be less affected by any of the later era’s literate age self- awareness. In addition, this chapter will demonstrate one of the most notable aspects of our new orality: the quick development of Superman from a rough- hewn folk hero to a refined epic hero (a development always presumed to take much longer in orthodox oral cultures).

To be thorough, it must be acknowledged that many other explanations have already been offered to identify the reasons why the superhero was and is a success, taking into account both the medium and the culture of the United States and the world.²With the potential to relegate comic books as a second- class, transitional medium, a popular expla-nation of the success of superhero comic books is that comics serve as a forerunner for the visual spectacle of film. Although William W. Savage, Jr., refers generally to the heroes of comic books in his version of this argument, Bradford Wright applies Savage’s words exclu-sively to “costumed superheroes”: “[Comic books] could show whatever the artist could draw, their lines and colors directing the imagination, their balloon- held texts defining time and space. Comic book artists and writers could produce that which could be conceived, which was more than the creators of motion pictures and radio programs could claim” (qtd.

in Wright 14). Although Savage doesn’t fully take into account the imaginative leaps needed to make iconographic art³realistic or to fill in the gaps between panels, he is wise to generally apply this description to comic book heroes; without Wright’s application of the quotation, Savage’s ideas would apply to science fiction or fantasy stories that also had fantastic elements.

In addition, it would also apply to all other genres as any location or wardrobe could be drawn and thus potentially enhance the historical drama or even the romance.⁴In addition

to seeming like common sense, it works to explain the success of comic book superheroes only in a very limited way. Another popular explanation of the success of superheroes lies in the idea that they satisfy increasingly widespread adolescent fantasies. According to Wright:

While echoes of ... mid–twentieth century controversy resonate into the twenty-first cen-tury in debates over the link between violent images in popular culture and a rash of espe-cially horrific juvenile crimes, the youth market has actually grown more expansive and influential — to the point where American culture itself has arguably become “juvenilized.”

The cultural history of comic books thus helps to trace the emergence, challenge, and tri-umph of adolescence as both a market and cultural obsession [xvi].

The basic premise and arc of the superhero story is often characterized as adolescent in the desire for amazing powers that defy the rules of the “real” world and in the fantasy of over-powering your enemies through your strength or guile. Likewise, in The Mechanical Bride (a work that predates The Gutenberg Galaxy by over a decade), Marshall McLuhan would interpret Superman in a similar way as a power fantasy, an expression of a youthful desire for the emotional satisfaction offered by the groupthink of totalitarian regimes: “The atti-tudes of Superman to current social problems likewise reflect the strong- arm totalitarian methods of the immature and barbaric mind” (The Mechanical 105).⁵However, these expla-nations (and arguments against the respectability of the superhero), which rely upon the

“power fantasy” as an expression of a juvenilized and/or fascist culture, too conveniently ignore that very similar heroes exist in the long history of world mythology in oral epics.⁶ In many ways, the superhero does resemble the heroes in the stories of “barbaric” oral cultures, distinguished more by exaggerated characteristics and action than by extended introspection (as Ong notes, something much more difficult to memorize) (Orality 69).

Their stories begin with some sort of violation of the self and culture that calls the hero to action and the often violent resolution reinstitutes cultural values. For Odysseus, those cul-tural values might be hospitality and rightful pride and for Superman, those values might be service and egalitarianism. Nevertheless, they occupy very similar moral universes that rhetorically pit the just position against the evil of the world and repeatedly identify the hero within the just position through the use of epithets. For Odysseus, those epithets might be “lion- hearted,” “wily,” or “favorite of Zeus” and for Superman, those epithets might be

“the man of steel,” “the man of tomorrow,” or “faster than a speeding bullet”⁷(with Super-man’s epithets putting him in line with the futurist sensibility of an industrial age). As has been noted by Richard Reynolds and many others, the superpowers of superheroes are not a reliable means to identify the characters known as superheroes (although amazing powers do continue to put the superhero in line with the epic hero); one only has to consider the other prototype for all superheroes that almost immediately follows Superman in historical reckoning: Batman, a non- powered detective. However, the non- powered superheroes share with the powered superheroes certain characteristics, previously mentioned: seeking justice outside the law, experiencing an orphan status, wearing a disguise that leads to a dual identity. Both seeking justice and an orphan status can be seen prominently not only super-hero comic books but also in the American pulps (often acknowledged as material and nar-rative predecessors of comic books) and in some radio and film productions:

Superman and the superhero emerged at the end of the Great Depression and during the run- up to the outbreak of the European wars. Millions of Americans had experienced poverty and unemployment, millions more had had their faith in the notion of uninter-rupted economic progress seriously undermined. Avenging “Lone Wolf ” heroes abounded

in popular narrative of the 1930s and ’40s on both sides of the Atlantic: From Doc Savage to Philip Marlowe, from Hannay in Hitchcock’s 39 Steps to the Green Hornet, from Rick Blaine in Casablanca to Captain Midnight of the radio serials [Reynolds 18].

However, seeking justice outside the law and experiencing an orphan status can also be seen in the longer history of American heroic mythology. Heroes ranging from Benjamin Franklin in his autobiography and Natty Bumpo in James Fennimore Cooper’s “Leather-stocking Tales” are recognized as an almost essential outgrowth of the ideas central to Amer-ican identity of natural law and revolution (that leave AmerAmer-icans without a “mother”

country).⁸

Nevertheless, as satisfying as it might be for Americans to focus on these characteristics and make the superhero quintessentially American, these traits are also part of the standards of epic heroism and can be seen in the epic hero already mentioned: Odysseus. Hospitality, Zeus’ gold standard for morality, is not enforced through the legal recourse taken by Odysseus’ son before his departure to find his father; Odysseus not only relearns its value through his journey but also punishes the violators of this higher law upon his return to Ithaca. And while not a completely a literal orphan, Odysseus does lose his mother during and perhaps as a consequence of his journey and becomes estranged from the world around him for reasons just mentioned. In terms established by studies like Joseph Campbell’s Hero with a Thousand Faces, the hero must always prove himself and to do so, must separate him-self from his culture (a process by which one is willfully orphaned). Very similar things could be said about the epithets and themes of other epic heroes even when widely different cultures produce epic heroes such as Beowulf. (Beowulf, “the Geat,” realizes a Christian imperative by working outside the false cultural ethic of personal revenge to save those unrelated to him; although known as “son of Ecgetheow,” the presence of his father is only known through his father’s pledge to Hrothgar.) This is not to deny the American values embodied within the stories of the superheroes as epic heroes always do embody the values of their culture (even though those values often seem on the verge of complete disappearance within the framework of the story). In many ways, this is the strength of this explanation of superheroes, as it does not deny previous explanations of the superhero based upon specific cultural values; if anything, the idea of the superhero as epic hero further asserts the validity of such explanations.

This leaves what may be the trait that many consider to be most distinctive in the overall characterization of the superhero: wearing the disguise that leads to a dual identity.

After all, this duality within one’s identity is emphasized and reinforced by a technical inno-vation readily associated with comic books: the word balloon and the thought balloon.

Many consider it unlikely to be traced backward to a point not American or not part of the literate world. Like the other traits, the disguise and dual identity can be interpreted as something distinctly American and in this case, related even more particularly to the time of the superhero’s inception in America. To some, the split represents the post–Depression era in which despair was felt but hope was desired, with the secret identity representing the reality of the common man (an ineffective Clark Kent) and the superhero representing the fantasy of the common man (a world- changing Superman). Wright articulates this idea very well in his historical analysis of Superman:

From Depression- era popular culture, there came a passionate celebration of the common man. The idea that virtue resided within regular, unassuming Americans found expression ... [But] Superman’s America was something of a paradox — a land where the virtue of the poor and weak towered over that of the wealthy and powerful. Yet the common man could

not expect to prevail on his own in this America, and neither could the progressive reform-ers who tried to fight for justice within the system. Only the righteous violence of Super-man, it seemed could relieve deep social problems ... [10, 13].

However, the explanation could date back further and be tied to orphan status, with citizens of the revolutionary country known as the United States torn between the mother country and the new world. Or in a way that places the dual identity within a larger context, the split could represent the popularization of Sigmund Freud’s notion of the split between conscious and unconscious: the dominant model of the mind in the early 20th century.

Within the context of this study that finds superhero comic books so closely tied to orality in which form and content are inseparable, I again suggest that the Americanist reading of the superhero is too narrow (but not invalid). In addition, I will take what may seem an unexpected stand in limited favor of the second reading of the disguise and dual identity, not so much to affirm the reality of Freud’s model of the mind in certain terms but to affirm the development of interior thought in literate culture. While this line of argument may seem to place the foremost trait of the superhero outside the confines of oral culture, it actually suggests that the superhero is an epic hero who works not only within an oral framework but also within a literate framework. The tension developed in the dual identity of the superhero is not the result of thinking about thought characteristic of psychoanalysis but rather the anxious desire to bring order to the world and self (to avoid the alienation from self Ong suggests is characteristic of literacy) (Interfaces 41–47)).

In his highly contested work, The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicam-eral Mind, Julian Jaynes makes a speculative argument, suggesting the physical design of the primitive mind produced voices that were interpreted as the gods speaking. With the advent of writing, Jaynes argues that the “bicameral mind” begins to break down and reveal the voices as a component on one’s self. Therefore, stories produced before the advent of writing contain remarkably unself- conscious characters and stories produced after contain notably self- conscious characters of which he considers Odysseus an exemplar. McLuhan would generally agree with this idea, with the theory that the Homeric man becomes a “split- man as he assumes an individualized ego” (carefully employing language specific to psychoanalysis (The Gutenberg 51). As Ong notes, bicamerality may just be another word for orality (Orality 30) and Jaynes’s ideas bring up questions of the historicity of Homer’s Odyssey that can never be fully answered.⁹Whether or not the construction of the character has anything to do with a change in the physical design of the brain as Jaynes states, it is worthwhile to think of Odysseus as a hero formed by the intersection of oral heroics with encroaching concerns of the literate world. To say that the superhero does the same acknowl-edges a minor intersection of orality and literacy in comic books, but it is also lines up the superhero more squarely with Odysseus; he is one of the most indelible of epic heroes and just happens to have a penchant for disguises that reveal essential parts of who he is or should be (most notably, the supposedly humble beggar at the end of the story). This “begs”

the question of whether he is truly an epic hero of pure orality because he appeals to our literate sensibilities. However, I prefer to think of this situation with two complimentary ideas in mind: that oral culture doesn’t lack all sense of self- consciousness and that the superhero is popular because it reawakens orality in all its complexity within a literate cul-ture. When Ong cautions those who study orality and literacy to not be so schematic in the divisions between the two states, this could lead to the conclusion that the impulses toward literacy pre- dated the actual acts of writing. Nevertheless, as important as I consider this point, I do not wish to take it too far for several reasons: it has the potential to “break

down” useful distinctions between the states of orality and literacy, and neither Odysseus or the Golden Age superheroes are truly self- conscious in the sense developed by psycho-analysis. Superman’s early thoughts had very little to do with introspection and more to do with literal situations — even when those thoughts concerned his dual identity: “What a predicament!— I can’t permit these thugs to get away with murder. Yet — if I act as Superman, I’ll be forced to reveal my true identity” (Siegel, “The Machinations” 82). The disguises and role playing of these heroes merely serve as metaphors for self- consciousness and perhaps as an indicator of the things to come; in other words, they do not embody the conscious experience of modern man so much as the anxiety of heroes who straddle the worlds of orality and literacy.¹⁰

Regardless, at this point, it should be clear that the practices of the superhero comic book industry have created within that industry (and in turn, within the culture at large) characteristics more like that of primary orality. As has been argued in chapter 2, superhero comic books have been profoundly shaped by the practices of the industrial culture of the United States in the 20th century. From the factory driven division of labor (the comic book writer, penciler, inker, colorist, letterer, editor, etc.) to the public relations impetus of large corporations (branding superhero products with specific slogans), the basic aesthetics of superhero stories have grown from a shift in consciousness that accompanies the industrial world. The lawsuits designed to protect industry- owned properties of comic book companies would seem to limit the “ownership” that storytellers might have over superheroes and their stories. Yet, the regular rotation of creators on major superhero comic book titles and the large editorial boards that preside over those titles validate (at least superficially) the idea that everyone has a story to tell about every superhero. The ultimate intention of marketing superheroes is to reinforce and increase their popularity, the wide embrace of superheroes by popular consumer culture. We have inherited larger- than- life, mythic heroes who are larger- than- life and mythic because the culture has a sense of collective possession; not only do comic book artists and filmmakers have a story to tell about that superhero but so does everyone who has played with a superhero action figure, worn a superhero costume, or read superhero fanfiction. In this way, a larger awareness of cultural practice can show us how we move from cliché to archetype or as I suggest, from a pop culture hero to a cultural stan-dard. Again, from a cultural studies standpoint, the idea of superheroes as the product of an oral culture society gives a more accurate way to evaluate their purpose and value.

The overview of the superhero as an epic hero should not be seen as a characterization

The overview of the superhero as an epic hero should not be seen as a characterization