Out-worldly tasks: waging wars and raising babies | Karolina Kowalska

The sound of a speeding bullet piercing through the air is soon followed by a violent thud as a silhouette lands on the ground. Their cape floats gently in the wind as the figure stands up to reveal a striking symbol on their chest. This iconic image of superheroes presents them as unattainable gods, sent to protect the innocent and punish the guilty. The majority of comic book readers rarely ask themselves if Superman experiences work problems or whether Batman struggles with parenting – superheroes are conventionally above petty human struggles. However, that is not the case in Mister Miracle (2017) by Tom King, which recycles the original comic book about this character, written in the 70s by Jack Kirby. Using various themes and devices depicting daily life, the author steps away from standard comic book themes and presents a story that readers can relate to – domestic themes are intertwined with superhero canon in order to elicit a personal connection in the reader and humanize the god-like characters of the DC Universe.

A superhero, as a representative of the comic book genre and thus a character performing super-heroics, can be defined based on three main principles – their mission, powers, and identity, otherwise known as MPI (introduced by Peter Coogan). The author defines his MPI structure in the following terms: the mission must serve the public; superpowers are the iconic attributes that distinguish superheroes from ordinary heroes; last but not least, superhero identity is defined as encompassing the character’s codename, costume, and civilian secret identity.

Following Coogan’s definition of a superhero, it is easy to define the issue of “superheroics” – all the actions performed and elements associated with a given character that fit the MPI structure of defining a superhero. On the other hand, “daily routine” and “domesticity” can be easily summarized as the opposite of super-heroics – the tasks that an average human being performs on a daily basis as well as events typically associated with them, such as going to work, starting a family, etc.

The main idea that separates Mister Miracle from other contemporary comic books is the bending and shifting of the standards and clichés of the superhero genre. What strikes the reader most is the discrepancy between performing out-worldly tasks such as waging an intergalactic war and raising a newborn baby.

Throughout the book, the main character – Scott Free (known by his superhero persona, Mister Miracle) struggles with mental health issues (the book opens on his failed suicide attempt), dealing with grief after the death of his beloved mentor, and co-parenting his first child, all the while staying “professionally” active. These everyday issues interwoven with classic superhero tropes make the character something more than just another unattainable superhero ideal. They make him relatable.

The major departures from typical comic book narratives presented in Mister Miracle are those contrasting public and private spheres of life. Throughout their history, spanning nearly 80 years, comic books have unfortunately often fallen prey to the notion of confining their male heroes to public duty (professional super-heroism, politics), while their female counterparts are often doomed to eventually end up leaning into the more private sphere of life, often despite sharing the same abilities as their male colleagues. That worldview is understandable, given the socio-cultural context of the 30s when the superhero genre was born. Today, however, the public and personal spheres are more intertwined, gender roles become blurred, and interpersonal relationships between men and women tend to be more cooperative in nature. This exact view of the changing world is reflected in Mister Miracle.

Scott and his wife, Barda, are both professionally active superheroes. They are also new parents. The importance of family, or rather the lack of thereof, is arguably the crucial superhero trope of all time. It is often the death of a family member that pushes the characters to pursue their superhero identity, most usually that of a guardian figure in the hero’s life: parents, older relatives, mentors. However, superhero narratives rarely tackle the problem of the hero’s own parenthood, and although Mister Miracle does rely on the dead mentor trope (although, some might argue that it somewhat subverts it – I will explain that further on), the main story point is the struggle of two people trying to raise a child while maintaining their professional lives.

Scott and Barda take turns taking care of their newborn son and waging a bloody war on their home planet. Not only does the comedic montage depicting that struggle mirror the real, though much more down-to-earth situations millions of working parents face these days, but it also emphasizes the partnership Scott and Barda have achieved in their marriage.

With Scott never once batting an eye at being the one to stay home, the issue of super-heroic masculinity arises. Aside from taking on roles commonly recognized as feminine – being confined to the private sphere, taking care of children, etc. – and sometimes even stereotypically feminine character traits (Barda’s active role in killing their childhood abuser, while Scott stands by paralyzed by his emotional response), Mister Miracle’s protagonist is visually distinct from the typical hyper-masculine superhero form. His slender silhouette and, compared to Barda’s impressively muscular and tall build, small frame distinguish him from the well-established canon of superhero beauty. Mister Miracle’s appearance and willingness to step out of the confines of actions typically associated with masculinity make him a relatable, fleshed-out character in a world where masculinity becomes more versatile.

As previously mentioned, the trope of an absent mentor figure is explored in Mister Miracle as well, yet the death of the mentor does not become the necessary trigger for the protagonist to embark on an adventure. In comic book narratives, a father figure helps the hero understand his manhood and prompts him to take action. King portrays a griefstricken son who, being unable to accept his mentor’s death, still believes his guardian to be alive – Scott regularly engages in verbal conversations with the deceased. It is very easy to relate to that picture. The grief after the death of a loved one often pushes those left behind into irrational states of blurred memories and the feeling of abandonment. People deny the death of a family member while continuing to seek their guidance, oftentimes refusing to part with the deceased’s earthly belongings, especially if the passing occurred in tragic circumstances. The nature of Scott’s mentor’s death is absurdly down-to-earth – he lost his short battle with lung cancer caused by his lifelong smoking. This is not the way heroes leave this world – they die gloriously on a battlefield, protecting the innocent, instead of being bed-bound, struggling to catch their breath.

Similarly to the issue of masculinity, Mister Miracle explores unconventional takes on femininity. As mentioned before, Barda is not a typical superheroine; the depiction of this character is a separate matter of its own. Her visual representation is possibly the most striking feature contrasting her with other female superheroes. Barda is much taller than her husband, her body is muscular and covered with countless scars, and her costume acts as a protective armor covering every inch of her body, including the massive helmet on her head. This practical, modest, outward appearance directly contrasts the sexualization of female forms comic books are widely known for. As correctly summed up by the legendary comic book author Alan Moore, superheroines must look almost artificial – “totally plastic and smooth . . . [with] long eyelashes, little tiny mouth[s] . . . no character”. Barda’s rough, almost brutish impression is a realistic depiction of what a woman who trained all her life and is frequently engaged in physical combat would look like – this can be illustrated by the real-life examples of MMA fighters or female soldiers. Not only does this realism allow for the reader to stop and think: “this is a person I could potentially meet on the street”, but it also contrasts the typical comic book image of scantily-clad superheroines with a fighter who chooses practicality and safety over aesthetics.

In the examples provided above, an interesting pattern of relatability arises. At this point, it is important to stress why readers and comic book fans would even appreciate this device. It is possible to say that seeing your heroes struggle with the same daily problems as regular people is somewhat inspiring. If the all-powerful hero can tackle both super-villains AND personal problems, then should the latter pose any threat to me?

Hero-worship and relatability allow comic book narratives for a level of familiarity, representing the broader moral conduct of the Western society – love, justice, and equality. Naturally, some may argue that these are not universal values, or that mirroring our world in terms of a black and white struggle between good and evil is just too simple. Nevertheless, superhero narratives provide sufficient content for self-identification.

Similarly, the issue of representation is another valid factor contributing to making Mister Miracle a relatable superhero. In making the character of Scott Free a gentle, kind man of a slender stature and unresolved childhood trauma, the authors present the hero of the 21st century – a hero accessible to anyone no matter their gender, race or identity. By introducing the themes of daily routine, work-life balance, and the struggles of parenthood, King creates a vibrant, relatable world, in which, even though real, the Justice League, acting as fantastic, wish-fulfilling gods, seems just as far away and unattainable as it is in our world.

Karolina Kowalska