On dying Amazons

With Amazons Attack! just around the corner, I can’t help but find myself thinking back across their Post Crisis history, specifically in terms of their interactions with the rest of the DCU, but also in terms of their more significant storylines within the Wonder Woman title. Wherever the Amazons have appeared in significant numbers in the past, it has been in the context of war, of suffering, of tragedy, and predictably with a high body count. I don’t mean that to sound flippant, in fact I find it disturbing just how often in the past we have been treated to images of hundreds of dignified, strong, intelligent and noble women being slaughtered either by each other or at the hands of the villains of the day. When I see this, it is compounded by the nameless way they have are treated, and also by the way the story of their tragedy has been extended to include yet another degradation. It begs me to ponder; do the Amazons have to die to be interesting? Do they have to die in order to appear outside of the Wonder Woman title, and what does that say for their comparative relationship with ‘Man’s World’? What does this all indicate for representations of women in comic books (when whole nations of them have to die frequently, gratuitously, and sometimes without any particular reason in order to be included in a major storyline)? And perhaps most importantly, will Amazons Attack! carry on that trend? Back when I was a frequent poster on the DC Message Boards there was always frequent discussion on just how many times you can massacre a race of women that has never numbered over more than a few thousand, and still justify that it isn’t gratuitous. Lets have a bit of a history lesson to assess why that discussion has occurred.

Back in War of the Gods, one of the few company crossovers to feature the Amazons to any significant degree, Hippolyta takes a delegation of Amazons on a world tour; their first exchange with the outside world in centuries. During the storyline Circe manages to manipulate their rivals, the Bana Mighdall Amazons into framing the Themyscirans for murder, and also turns Hippolyta into Shim’Tar. During the crossover, a few Amazons die during the conflict, and their relationship with the outside world is damaged by the incident. At the time I remember being irked by the whole thing, most particularly because of the tragic resonance it achieved in the context of their historical suffering at the hands of Herakles. Were I to know it would only be the beginning of a trend, I may have despaired even more.

Before appearing outside of the Wonder Woman title again, the Amazons went through a number of internal conflicts, struggles and invasions, in the space of only a few years at a time. In one of them, Circe yet again decided to manipulate the Bana Mighdall Amazons by sending them to Themyscira to claim the island as their own and then transporting all of the Amazons to a demon dimension where they were forced to band together in their struggle to survive.

It intrigues me here that not only are the Amazons subject to more suffering, but that Circe becomes the symbol of that suffering. I wonder to what extent this trend of tragedy might have been more noticeable had she been a male villain. In fact, during their tenure, other significant Amazon storylines involve them being manipulated by female powers, including Eris and Ariadne. Does the fact that the villains are women make the Amazons’ gratuitous miseries any less so? And do so many really have to die to get panel time?

In their next significant appearance, the Amazons are invaded by Darkseid who invades them purely as an aside in his quest for Godly power. Even the resolution of the conflict revolves around Diana’s persuading him to leave. This is another unfortunate aside in the situation of the Amazons; that they fail to appear in a context outside of Diana, and act as a blank slate for her suffering as well as their own. The body count at the end of this event is incredible, if we’re to go by the art.

Contextually, this particular event is quintessential for what makes me uncomfortable about the kinds of stories the Amazons are included in. It is John Byrne’s introductory arc, and so anything that plays out here is marred by the fact that it is important for him to make a big impression. Indeed, what makes a bigger impression than killing lots of Amazons in a conflict that has nothing to do with them? It’s gratuitous, and what’s more, it’s an event that bears no relevance to future storytelling until Jimenez uses it years later to provide his own massacre of the Amazons with resonance. More infuriating, from what I can remember, the Amazons during Byrne’s story are relatively nameless, identical and in the end ultimately void of anything composing personality, in terms of art as well as writing. The event reeks of shock-value, and provides further material to indicate the Amazons as nothing but cannon fodder in a war fought between Diana and her foes.

The penchant for big Amazonian battles gets picked up again much later with Jimenez’ run on the title, where he manages to massacre them once, and then kill off a few more later. Firstly, we have the Civil War during which the two Amazonian tribes come to blows over tensions exaggerated by Ariadne’s manipulation. A hell of a lot of Amazons die here, and their conflict is resolved with Hippolyta’s abdication and abolition of their monarchy. What matters more with this story, other than the now familiar body count, is that President Lex Luthor uses it to undermine their standing as a peaceful nation in the face of the UN, and Diana’s mission in general. It is a very well written yet horribly annoying plot point that helps to redraw that line between the Amazons and the outside world.


Jimenez follows this up by having the Amazons fight on the side of mankind against Imperiex during Our Worlds At War. In order for the Amazons to appear in this company crossover, they apparently had to barter quite a lot. Not only does Hippolyta die, but she is the only one to do so during the storyline who isn’t given a resurrection at a later date. To add insult to injury, Themyscira is completely decimated during the event, the Amazons are forced to fight alongside Darkseid, and then their sacrifices achieve little panel time other than in the Wonder Woman title anyway. And if you thought that at least this would cement their future relationships with the outside world, you would be sadly wrong. In fact you could, at this point, be forgiven for thinking DC editorial sees it’s Amazons as nothing more than an apparently exponential nation of corpses.


To overcome this, Jimenez makes an important move to representing the Amazons in a context that a) isn’t about war, death or suffering, and b) places them firmly in the DCU in a context which is cooperative, rather than one of necessary difference. He reintroduced them after OWAW with a newly replenished, futuristic, blessed, floating Themyscira (lovingly and patronisingly referred to on the message boards at the time as ‘My Little Pony island’, or the Themysciran Archipelago). This new island paradise was opened to the world as a University for cultural exchange, not just with Man’s World, but across dimensions and worlds. The rebuilding had bonded together the Themysciran and Bana Mighdall Amazons into one nation, represented by Artemis’ and Phillipus’ relatively (if not officially) joint standing as their representatives to the outside world. It was a good move in trying to provide a situation where the Amazons could appear in other comic books without having Wonder Woman attached to them, or marching in line ready for war. Had this particular progression been taken seriously, and applied in the DCU, the theme of tragedy might have been laid to rest, and provided for more varied stories concerning the Amazons, and their place in the world of Man.

But alas, not everyone agreed with that idea, and the Amazons failed to be included outside the Wonder Woman title, and quickly became subject to more massacring.

As soon as Jimenez left, Simonson decided to kill more Amazons in a confusing conflict with something called ‘The Shattered God’ and a Roman Goddess. Again, the Amazons actually play little part in the story other than as targets for a conflict that actually has nothing to do with them, and is certainly not resolved by them. Loeb does the same in his Superman/Batman arc, where the reintroduced Supergirl’s arrival is commemorated by having an army of Doomsday clones attack Themyscira, and the death of Harbinger.


Most recently, Rucka came on board and, despite being one of my favourite Wonder Woman runs, made decisions that further cemented the ‘dead-Amazon’ syndrome. Firstly, he kicked them out of the sky and into US territorial waters. The event put a quick stop to their status as a university of cultural exchange, as they became embroiled in political stalemate with the military surrounding the island. Any concessions concerning previous battles fought together, and any progress supposedly achieved by being a university was undermined by the suspicion they were still treated to by the outside world. Before resolving this, it appears constrictions of the Infinite Crisis company crossover took precedent. Diana’s killing of Max Lord rendered the Amazons the subject of scrutiny and distrust, as well as attack by the OMAC army who went about slaughtering them not just in the pages of Wonder Woman, but Infinite Crisis too. Though well-written, by now I have to say I had grown quite despairing at the sight of yet more Amazons brandishing arms at the sight of invasion, and dying in each others arms. It is only more of a testament to the trend that this conflict was not ended in triumph, but in retreat from the world altogether.

What is promising about Amazons Attack! is that, while it provides a continuation of the above storyline, it also already breaks some of the conventions of prior Amazon appearances. Firstly, it is a storyline that actually centres on them. It is a story that incorporates Diana in a central role, even crosses into the Wonder Woman title. But it is not about her, its about them. Secondly, they have become the invaders, they are going out to meet the outside world, rather than have it trample up the beach or over their philosophical space. Thirdly, it is a storyline touted as having a big impact on the DCU. The idea that the Amazons will be a part of that is a huge change from where they have been before.


Yet the question remains. Do the Amazons have to die to be interesting? Thus far the evidence from DC seems to be an unequivocal yes, and the ‘Lord of the Rings’ scale of the upcoming storyline lends itself to the idea that we may yet see more Amazons dying in each others arms. And I can’t help but wonder what message that conveys.

And I really wish they hadn’t been referred to as ‘sexy aliens’ in Pfeifer’s interview. For crying out loud…

any thoughts?

alex x


go here for an interview with series writer Will Pfeifer

and here for an interview with the series artist Pete Woods, as well as a look at some of the gorgeous art involved.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back: Part Two - Overshadowing the Amazon Princess

So then I read Wonder Woman 226, and the satisfaction and inspiration I found in the previous issue took a bit of a down turn.

There are many ways I could, if I wanted to, spin this issue to a positive end. In its pages, the relationship between Diana and Kal, Wonder Woman and Superman, is explored through a series of poignant vignettes, depicting key scenes in their lives and in their relationship. The lean is definitely towards Diana, the stories within are mostly specific to important happenings within her own narrative, and Superman’s part in being her friend during those times.

In a strange way, this issue should appeal to some of my most emotive academic and personal interests. Metaphorically at least, the story explodes the idea of the individual as a singular entity, by constantly referring back to the way we, as individuals, and Diana, as an Ambassador/Heroine/Woman, are defined by the people we let into our lives, those other individuals who share our experiences. No matter how we try to draw lines between ourselves and the other people in our lives, we find ourselves irrevocably involved in them, and them in us. We experience joy, sorrow, love, but we do so with other people there to share them, inspire them, nurture them, be our focus. This issue demonstrates that quite beautifully, showing Diana in some of her happiest and tragic moments, and the way Kal has been there in one way or another to give them audience, an ear, a shoulder, a smile.

Another academic interest in this issue comes from the metaphor it provides concerning the binary opposition of man/woman. By interweaving the lives of Diana and Kal, or perhaps more Kal into Diana’s, the issue serves as an example of man and woman as categories which define, reify and yet also undermine one another. Indeed, there are many ways this issue explodes and problematises the dichotomies of man/woman, inside/outside, that the likes of Eve Sedgwick and Ed Cohen have done such good work discussing academically, though I won’t go into them here.

Yet, in all of this, I still can’t seem to move past some of the wider implications of the issue. This was to serve as the final issue of Wonder Woman. Not the ending (as purposefully explained in the previous issue) but an ending at least. Yet for some reason, the possibilities that fact implied for the subject matter were abandoned in favour of an instalment in the wider storyline of Infinite Crisis playing out across the DCU.

The choice to review the relationship between Superman and Wonder Woman seems to gain its impetus from the fact that their friendship had recently suffered much difficulty within the text. While the most striking part of that conflict (their fight in issue 219) did indeed occur within the pages of Wonder Woman, the drama of their crumbled relationship actually occurred elsewhere; in the preceding chapters of the Sacrifice arc (where Diana and Kal first came to blows and also odds), and in the pages of Infinite Crisis itself. What’s more, while issue 226’ review served as a kind of prompt to all those of us who were either unaware of or had forgotten about the importance of that relationship, the resolution of their conflict also occurred in the pages of Infinite Crisis, rather than in Diana’s title itself.

As such the issue suggests for me a sense of unfulfillment, an instalment in a wider narrative (a metanarrative perhaps?) that, while having an important effect on Diana’s story, was not, in fact, her story. This is not a story of ‘Wonder Woman’, but rather about something else, and seems to have missed the opportunity to bear any relationship to the very first issue for a sense of closure, or indeed any particular thematic points from previous issues. It practically ignores the supporting cast of recent years, as well as any of the other threads left over from Rucka’s run (such as the Ares/Circe/Lyta situation, Vanessa Kapatelis, Leslie’s relationship with Ferdinand, or her conflict with Veronica Cale etc) and instead attempts a reinterpretation of history. Its strange, for an issue that does in fact recall a series of events from previous Wonder Woman issues, it seems to bear very little resemblance to any of them, or to provide them with much more meaning, the vignettes so overshadowed by the wider implications of the text and its relationship to Infinite Crisis.

Much worse, the continuity is wrong. I am in one mind about the two implications of that particular problem. On the one hand, if these continuity glitches were a mistake, they evidence an editorial laziness not quite acceptable for the final issue of any title, let alone one of DC’s flagship characters. Secondly, if these glitches were in fact deliberate revisions, part of DC’s attempt to establish a new continuity to its ‘New Earth’ in the wake of Infinite Crisis, then this is simply more fuel to the already raging fire that this issue was not the final issue of Wonder Woman, but a chapter in a different story altogether, and speaks ill sentiment of editorial appreciation for Diana as a character.

What provides this issue with such a disappointing resonance was the way it fails to capitalise on the promise of the previous issue. As discussed in the first part of this thread, the previous issue was all about moving away from grand narratives down to personal ones, it was about changing the world heart by heart, it was about renewed faith in Diana’s story, her uniqueness, her personal touch. This issue, rather than providing us with a continuation of that theme, relegates the continuation of Diana’s story to only one or two pages at the end, using the rest of the issue to tie her up to Superman. Another disappointing aspect to that choice is that Superman is such a larger than life character, bringing with him so much of his own mythology, that his presence within the text doesn’t exactly overshadow Diana, but threatens to suggest that her story can only take place in the context of his own. For much of her comic book career since the 1940s, people have fallen back on describing the character of Wonder Woman as ‘Superman lite’, his star-spangled female counterpart, rather than acknowledging the idiosyncratic points that make her such a unique heroine. By choosing to have her share panel time with Superman in what was to be her final issue, the result is a reinstating of that old assumption, a kind of step back from trying to set Diana with a unique place in the DCU. Even the cover to the issue, shown above, represents Diana in a diminutive position with regards to Superman, his shadow and presence gaining their overpowering context from her rather demure physical pose. The context of Infinite Crisis also accentuates the idea that Diana's personal narrative is being disregarded in favour of another narrative, even within her own book.

And so, from going forward so brightly in the previous issue, where the importance of Diana’s personal narrative seemed so clear, this issue does a hell of a good job reminding us that Diana’s story is one that is subject to the whims of higher powers and wider happenings. It is the comic book version of a TV ‘clip show’, and had it been entered somewhere else, i.e. as a chapter in an annual, a special, or some other collection of stories, or indeed even as an earlier issue, it might have been a good clip show. But in the context of being the final issue? It is a whimper rather than the bang Rucka’s run had consistently proven itself to be, and I suspect more of a testament to bad editorial decision-making than his writing. Still, I couldn’t help but feel short changed, and would be very interested to hear Rucka’s thoughts on the matter.

And yours.

alex x

One Step Forward; Two Steps Back: Part One - Endings of the Amazon Princess

Back when I was at university, a bunch of us used to meet up in a café to conduct our seminars. One particular occasion we were chewing over postmodern philosophy a bit, trying to get our heads around it (or at least some of it). We were looking at the idea of ‘incredulity towards metanarratives’, a suspicion of anything that seeks to instate itself as the ‘grand story’ of what is and isn’t legitimate knowledge, the engendering of a state of questioning awareness, and scepticism of theoretical certainties. It was like studying finesse, always just about graspable, but it just had to feel right. It was also the makings of something of a paradox. For those of you familiar, and those of you interested even if not, one of the greatest critiques always fired at postmodern philosophy is the idea that postmodernism itself runs the risk of becoming a metanarrative, the kind it seeks to critique; it runs the risk of becoming arbiter to correct and incorrect modes of thought. By recommending scepticism of the rules, is it instating a rule? And the way postmodernism seems to flout that criticism is in its evasive style, in being enigmatic, and in the process, more than a little bit vague. Postmodern philosophy does a lot to critique, but does very little to suggest, to replace, to reinstate. It tears down houses, like science, like metaphysics, and it doesn’t bother building you a new one. In that way it, perhaps, avoids being accused of being a metanarrative, but it does then leave you thinking you’re out in the cold. If there are no true ways of doing things, no grand story of how things are supposed to be, what are you left with? Pragmatically, what do you do with postmodernism? If postmodern theoretical work does manage to escape the accusation of being a metanarrative, what alternative does it represent? If we are to remain incredulous to attempts at creating foundations of thought, what are we left with? If we’ve learned to question everything, if we’ve got the tools to cast down our most certain ideas, how do we move forward? And most importantly, how do we change the world?

The latter question bugged the hell out of me. I wanted to change the world. I still do, in all the idiosyncratic ways people do. I want people to be happier, and I want to celebrate difference without reifying it. I want to open things up, and get rid of a lot of other things altogether. I want to get rid of pineapple on pizza…(sorry Timmy), how does my incredulity, my critical finesse, my distrust of statements of truth help me change the world? How do I change the world if not by making up rules, by being certain and setting up foundations of thought and sanctioned forms of knowledge? The answer is lying in the pages of number 225, volume two, of Wonder Woman. The answer, is incrementally.



Throughout the issue, Athena takes us on a journey from the grand to the personal, she speaks to us of the crumbling of the Gods, and the endurance of Diana, not simply as their champion, but as her own. For those of you taking note, Athena’s appearances during Rucka’s run often portrayed her as playing chess with the characters of the storylines, pitting them against each other and manoeuvring them towards her endgame. The game of chess, as it begins, is open-ended. It has rules, but it also has a multitude of outcomes, dependent on the players. And as they are moved across the board, those outcomes become few, they become streamlined, and inevitability comes into play (the parallel between that process and the solidifying of discourses in the social world only just occurred to me). Athena plays the game of fate with the people on Earth, including Diana.

By issue 225, Athena’s chessboard is nowhere to be seen. She tells us that this is an end to the story, as it has been written from the beginning. The board is not gone because this is the end, nor is it gone because she has achieved her endgame. The board is gone because Athena’s quite possibly had a change of heart. For now she speaks to us of endings, plural. She’s done playing the game of fate, and with it goes the idea of a grand play in which all the cast have played a part. The Gods, as she informs us, are withdrawing from the stage, taking with it the certainty, finality, foundation they represent. She goes us a step further, she undermines the Gods to the reader, reducing them down to characteristics of pettiness and vanity. And in so doing, Athena encourages us to challenge what they represent, she gives us the encouragement to be incredulous, to critique, to question, by exposing their flaws. And then there is Diana.

Athena speaks of Diana with a curious turn of reverence, using the kind of devotion and deference in her exposition we would expect Diana herself to use in referring to the Gods. Athena is worshipping Diana, not as a God, but as a representative of humanity, as a champion of the personal and the individual. Athena, lovingly perhaps, speaks of Diana’s own strengths and flaws, hinting at her tragic complexity. Just as she speaks of the retreat of the Gods, she juxtaposes it with the endurance of Diana. And why is it that Diana will endure? Because, she contains within her the gifts of her Gods, without actually being one. Diana is a part of the grand story and ancient tradition, but she is not it. She will not stagnate, because she will always grow. She contains the ability to change and adapt that the Gods do not.

In the final pages, Athena speaks to us of change, and the great task of trying to change the world we live in. How, she asks, do we measure the success of a mission that seeks to change the cast of humanity’s heart? How do we change the world when it is so set in its certainties, in its foundations, in its Gods, in its metanarratives of what is and isn’t the right way of doing things? Incrementally. Bit by bit, piece-by-piece, person by person. Diana returns from her meeting with the Gods to be greeted by her friends and her supporters. Each has travelled far to see her, to offer support. She addresses each one, not as a mass, but individually, requesting names, asking them where they’re from. She does so because it’s the only way to do it, heart by heart. She’s going to change the world, and she’s going to do it by paying attention to each and every narrative of the people she meets. And she’s going to change with it in a way the grand stories never get to do.


In that single issue of Wonder Woman there seems to be that inspiration for my answer to the postmodern conundrum. I can’t hope to defend such a philosophical and theoretical framework against its critics. I’m not even going to try too hard. But I can change the world a little bit by sharing the things I feel I’ve learned, the questioning part of me, the critique, the incredulity to certainty. And by being comfortable with the uncertainty it has engendered (as I’ve mentioned before) and open to the conversations always already implied in my movements in the world, I stand the chance of learning to change as well as be changed.

alex x