The Mighty Thor asks: Where the Ladies At?

Eric here. And I'm wondering....What makes a heroine?

In the comics, all to often, it requires first that you be an offshoot of an established male hero. The latest, of course, you probably saw in the news: in the future, there will be a female Thor.

This is a little different than previous female counterparts to male heroes, ala Batgirl, Mary Marvel, Supergirl, Spider-Woman, Stargirl, Zatanna (after her dad, Zarara) and others. This time, it's all about the hammer of Thor (it's called Mjölnir) being taken up by a so-far unknown woman after the original Thor can't pick it up—because only the worthy can wield the might uru hammer. It says so right on the side: ""Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor."  

So that's cool... right?

I get it that in the decades and decades of intellectual property rights in comic books, that the creators must constantly return to the well of established characters, both to keep them interesting or completely revamp them, so those copyrights can stay fresh fresh fresh. The last thing Disney or Warner Bros. wants is a lapsed copyright, as public domain characters don't make money for the owner. 

In Marvel's defense, at least this time it’s not going to be some "Thorina" who's just a glorified sidekick. (Valkyrie arguably already is that knockoff. And she might even turn out to be this new Thor.) Maybe it'll even bring in new readers of the female persuasion to the comics, though I remain a bit too cynical to think it's that simple a fix after sixty years of writing comics mainly for 11-year-old boys of any age.

But it got me thinking... what if great works of fantasy and scifi went through the same constant, unending need for new content that comics did? What female knock off characters would we get?

Bilbobina Baggins—She knew, once she met the handsome Gollum, she'd put his ring on it.

Antonia "Buck" Rogers—the 25th Century can't imagine how fabulous this lady from the 20th is.

Endoria Wiggins—I got nothing, but I know, if Orson Scott Card wrote it, she wouldn't be a lesbian.

The list could go on and on. Hellgirl, Sharrie Potter, Joan Carter of Mars, Captain Jane T. Kirk...

But would we ever see a male take on Ellen Ripley? Dorothy Gale? Mary Poppins? Buffy? Xena? Anita Blake? Lucy or Susan Pevensie? Dana Scully? Disney princesses like Belle, Ariel, and Merida? Would you ever see a male Katniss? 

No. And we don't need to. Not even for copyright protection purposes.

Of course, we've seen all of these types of characters as dudes... but I'm talking about an actual male Katniss. Hell, we don't even get to see male versions of original female super-heroes. There's no Invisible Man (well, not to match up to Susan Richards). There's a Wonder Man, but that was more about Marvel stealing a copyright from DC. Where's the Black Widower? The Scarlet Warlock? Big Bard? Power Boy (showing his lack of chest hair)? Black Canary...Guy? 

There is a Catman, however. One down!

All of this is to say: there aren't enough original female super-heroic protagonists. Period. Even today, as woman are by far the biggest readers in our culture. It's a frustrating, embarrassing imbalance still. A lady Thor may help, but for now, it just underscores that a whole new character with the same marketing push might have been the way to go.

On Short Skirts and Big Swords: Modern Feminism and Fantasy

Yesterday I attended WonderCon for the first time, which turned out to be a “Comic-Con Lite,” with fewer crowds, but the same geek camaraderie and creative energy as its big sister.  The most intriguing aspect of this con, however, was not the actual con itself; it was the fact that, rather than have the Convention Center all to itself, WonderCon shared facilities with both a high school cheerleading competition and a girls’ volleyball tournament.  This was either poor planning on Anaheim’s part or inspired, depending on one’s perspective. 

Suffice it to say, scantily-clad girls were in abundance yesterday.  Whether they were dressed as Supergirl , Xena, or any number of half-dressed manga mavens or trotting around in tight, barely-there volleyball shorts and cheerleading uniforms, the half-naked women at the convention center yesterday outnumbered the men, and at times, as geek fanboys snapped photos of underage girls in sparkly cheerleading costumes and volleyball girls posed with R2-D2 for pics of their own, the lines between fandom and reality became curiously blurred.

When I arrived home last night and settled down with the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly (Game of Thrones, people!  Get excited!) I came across an article about how Zoey Deschanel’s New Girl has come under fire from feminists for her silly, spunky, gushy girliness, and how producers have responded by “toning down” the very thing that has many viewers in love with the show: title character Jess’s combination of girlish innocence and silliness.

Cap this off with my near-constant questioning of how women are portrayed in fantasy art and on covers, and I found myself pondering the question: what does feminism mean in today’s society?  And what does it mean for the fantasy genre?

One thing is for certain: women and girls growing up in today’s society are not practicing our mothers’ feminism.  We aren’t burning bras, we’re embracing them, particularly the sexy, lacy, push-up kind.  And not because we have to, but because it’s what we want.  The cheerleaders, the volleyball girls and the bikini-clad woman warriors with swords aren’t scantily-clad to satisfy the male gaze of our patriarchal society; the former wear short skirts and tight shorts because they can more successfully compete as athletes, and the latter walk the halls with all the confidence their super heroine personas inspire, a confidence I wish I had as I slump around in my sweatshirt and jeans.  Jess of New Girl recently came under fire from feminist organizations because she’s just so girly, to which the producers and star say, “so what?”  Can’t a woman be girly and a feminist?  Is the bodice a constrictive symbol of male power if I choose to wear it?

This leads, inevitably, to how women are portrayed in modern fantasy.  Yes, women in Martin’s Game of Thrones are perceived by society as lacking power, but no one who crosses Cersei, Dany or Lady Stark would believe the truth of that statement.  These women are fiercely protective of their own, tough as nails, and able to manipulate the subtleties of power in ways their men cannot.  My Ki’leah from Song and Northern Queen prefers to wear dresses and do her hair, but they don’t define who she is or how she governs.  In fact, I would argue that women who present themselves as women in fantasy have more power because they are underestimated by both the men in their worlds and the readers themselves, whose preconceived notions of women in fantasy have been defined by the centuries of patriarchal expectations.  One answer is to put swords in the hands of women, send them into battle, and call it power, but must women give up our very nature in order to gain power and be viewed as strong?

And where do men fit in?  As I waited in line for the Snow White and the Huntsman panel (which I missed—argh!) I noticed a tremendous amount of men in line for the next panel, which was a sneak peek at the next Resident Evil movie.  At the panel, I watched clips of teeny tiny Milla Jovovich kick major zombie ass—while men clapped and cheered.  I was intrigued to discover that this video game-turned-movie franchise is ten years old, and RE’s Alice is the only female action heroine to carry an entire movie franchise.  When guys read my book, they tell me their favorite character is Britta, the female warrior.  Clearly, men aren’t threatened by women with power; so why do we continue to give them—and ourselves—a bad rap?  Isn’t it time to lay this particular argument to rest?

Like Princess Leia, who used her sexy slave costume to choke her captor and forever turned societal expectations of women in fantasy upside down—creating generations of fanboy believers in the process—I believe it’s time for feminism to accept that yes, women want to be taken seriously and we want to be heard, but not at the cost of what makes us female.  And not at the cost of men, either.  People, it’s time to bring balance to the Force.

by Kim Vandervort