Me and my X-Men

I had a conversation on Twitter the other night highlighting for me that I should never, ever review X-Men comics in public.

This isn’t because I’m overly harsh, or because I’m slavishly adoring. It isn’t because I don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s merely that, after twenty-five years with these characters, I am no longer reading X-Men comics and their ilk as stories created by other people.

I am reading letters from my oldest friends.

I read most of the comics I buy. I read stories about Iron Man, the Avengers, I read comics about Black Canary and Batgirl. I read Terry Moore’s work, I read Ted Naifeh’s. But when I open an X-Men comic I am not really reading it, not like the coherent work of fiction it is. I skim it, looking for the characters I love best, reading up on what’s going on in their lives.

To wit, I forgot about a fight between two characters that takes place in Wolverine and the X-Men approximately six seconds after I closed the book, because I had been catching up with Rachel, and finding out how AvX was affecting her life.

I read and mostly enjoy the majority of Marvel’s Big Crossover Events. I have found that, over the last ten years or so, there has been some effort to balance narrative consequences against the demands of the market in superhero comics, and I appreciate that. But I have no distance, no way of looking at the current crossover, Avengers vs. X-Men, because, well, it involves X-Men. It involves all the characters I first wanted to date. These are my ex-girlfriends we’re discussing, you understand. I don’t really care at all what Thor is doing — and I like Thor, I truly do — as long as the Phoenix is involved.

When it comes to X-Men I’m that person who hears a tornado has unexpectedly struck Los Angeles and who calls her one friend in California to see if she’s okay. Sure, maybe the rest of the city is on fire, that’s really shocking and sad. But how is Rogue doing, is what I want to know.

I have no data on whether AvX is a good event or not. (I will argue that Fear Itself was pretty good in the main title, and variable in the collateral books. Civil War was pretty variable throughout. I really liked Secret Invasion in the main books, and found the extra titles confusing. I do have opinions on these things, if it’s not an X-Men event.) All I am watching in this crossover event is a limited cast of about twenty favorite characters, and how this is going to affect their personal lives and relationships with each other when it’s all over.

All of which leads me to a conclusion. Namely, if I feel that an X-Men comic is written for me all me it’s perfect and it’s mine then … I kinda wonder what audience the title is supposed to have. Surely I am not Marvel’s main X-Men demographic. I know this is not true. Therefore I am pleased and relieved when there are parts of the comics that don’t appeal to me. I am pleased and relieved when a storyline focuses on a character I care less about. I revel in the stories that are about my favorites, of course. But that can’t be all the X-Men ever is.

I can’t decide if this is a rational approach to X-Men fandom, or the internalization of my marginalization.

Either way, it makes me a happier X-Men fan. I read the stories I want to read, I ignore all the rest.

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End notes that don’t fit elsewhere into this post:

SPOILERS FOR AVX FOLLOW.

1. Storylines I always ignore and immediately wipe from my brain include ALL super-fast demonic/alien/whatever pregnancies. They are cheap and demeaning to everyone. EXCEPTION: Peter David is making me reconsider my stance on this, over in X-Factor. He seems to actually care how the people involved might feel afterwards.

2. I was trying to figure out how old the New Mutants are supposed to be now. When they were introduced, Sam was eighteen, so was Dani, Berto and Xian were, what, fifteen? And Rahne was thirteen. So there is an unchangeable five year age difference between Rahne and Dani. So, if Rahne is, what, twenty? Dani is twenty-five? But I thought Sam was being written older than that? And that makes Roberto twenty-three, and how old was he when he took over his father’s company? Nineteen? Sheesh.

3. I find the fact that Rachel has not up and slapped some people for the assertion that the Phoenix is uncontrollable to be mysterious. Yet I can make even this characterization consistent. Also, all Logan vs. Rachel duels are colored for me by the fact that he killed her once, a grudge I hold bitterly to this very day.

4. Who thinks giving Illyana some Phoenix power is a good idea? Anyone? Anyone?

:crickets:

That girl has a personal metric for “reasonable” and “a good idea” that I don’t think anyone else will like.

5. Other storylines I tend to ignore are all of these hero-vs.-hero slugfests. They have, historically, been light on consequences since that would make the Marvel U very different. This is, however, why I LOVED The Initiative and Dark Reign to pieces. I will forgive a non-infinite but large number of massive crossover events I don’t care for because I loved The Initiative and Dark Reign so much.

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CONvergence is soon

My local Big Convention, CONvergence, is coming up very, very soon.

Ulp.

How did that happen?

In the words of the website:

“CONvergence is an annual convention for fans of Science Fiction and Fantasy in all media, held each July at the DoubleTree by Hilton Hotel Bloomington. We are a 4-day event with more than 5,000 attendees, and the premiere event of our kind in the upper mid-west.

2012′s convention theme is Wonder Women, a four-day celebration of the female creators and characters of science fiction, and you can expect that theme to run through many of the panels, parties and costumes to be found at CONvergence this year.”

That doesn’t quite convey the, the sheer scope of the convention, really.

There are larger conventions, certainly. No question. And there are conventions with more specialized depth, again, without question. But CONvergence does something of which I heartily approve. CONvergence tries, very hard, to include everyone.

There is a movie room, full of couches and dim light and popcorn. Movies play something around twenty hours a day for four days. There is an anime room, with chairs and dim light and imported snacks. Anime plays for something around twenty hours a day for four days. There is a LAN gaming room that runs until everyone’s eyeballs are bleeding. There is tabletop and CCG and other gaming. There is a masquerade costume contest. There is live music in at least two venues. There is DJ’d music in at least two venues. There is a pool and hot tub. There is an art show. There is a science crafts room. There is a dealer’s room. There is programming on movies, comics, tv, books, culture, and science the runs from morning until long after the watershed. There are radio dramas. Live comedy. Free coffee drinks and tea for about eighteen hours a day for four days. A consuite that feeds thousands of people every day for four days. And there are parties.

The party circuit at CONvergence is an unholy beast of a thing. All the parties face a two-story open-air space containing the pool and an open courtyard. All the parties — what are there, forty of them? — run from about nine o’clock at night until about three in the morning, more or less. Because of the courtyard, they are really one gigantic open-air party, six hours a night. The noise is deafening. The alcohol does not stop flowing. The snacks are superb and the eye-candy is unparalleled.

Because the convention is four days, because it runs twenty-four hours for four days — with minor lapses in the action between four and eight a.m. — there is something for everyone. You can go to the programming, and have a quiet night in. You can sleep until two p.m., have a fortifying dinner, and party until three a.m.. You can spend all your time — and money — in the art show and the dealer’s room. You can stand in lines and get things signed by authors, artists, and tv folk. You can spend an afternoon in the science lab making crafts after a morning of all-ages anime. You can spend four days catching up with friends you never see elsewhere, loitering in the hot tub and sipping free espresso.

Your mileage may truly vary.

Now, because CONvergence does all of these things, there are going to be other conventions that do some of these things much better. That’s as may be. Go to Dragon*Con if you like, go to San Diego, go to Anime Iowa, go to WorldCon. That’s fine, that’s ducky. I’m not saying CONvergence is any of those things. But what it is, is it’s a pan-geek party of mind-blowing proportions. If you have a niche, you will find your ilk at CONvergence. Somewhere. Just be patient and look around.

You will, of course, have to put up with everyone else doing their things too, at the same time. CONvergence is not scent-free, it’s not peanut-free, there is unscheduled nudity and surprise libertarianism. It is loud, ye gods and little fishes, it is punishingly loud courtyardside at midnight on Friday. You will be pushed. You will be poked by someone’s wings or bat’leth. Drunk people will be drunk at, near, and around you. Your views, however right you are, will be provoked or ignored. You will get sticky and people will be late. Especially to meet for dinner. If you require more control of your surroundings, CONvergence is perhaps not quite the thing for you.

I will say, it’s not the thing for me as a steady diet. I like people to be on time, I don’t like sticky, and surprise libertarianism and I are not the best of friends. But for four days a year I purely love this convention. It is inclusive as all-get-out. I and mine are welcome here under a sort of leave-well-enough-alone banner that appeals to me.

I’m going to be on an alarming number of panels this year. I have said for many years that I don’t care for the panels at CONvergence, that they are not my cup of tea. I decided to put up and volunteer instead of whingeing. But, as I said, there is so much going on at the con I am not worried about missing things. Whatever fun is happening, there will be more in a minute, just around the corner.

Hope to see some of you there!

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June 26 2012

1. I took yesterday off work, hoping that if I didn’t talk my voice might recover. This seems to have not quite worked, as I have a persistent cough and my voice is still gone.

2. I did read two and a half books yesterday.

3. This is the History of Rome podcast I’ve been mentioning. One hundred and seventy-nine parts, around two hundred episodes, each between fifteen and forty minutes in length. I love it.

4. J and I have been working through the Sherlock commentary tracks, and thoroughly enjoying same.

5. I am grumpy about the new schedule software work is using, and the various stipulations the union agreed to regarding said scheduling software. To complain about it would bore you all to tears, so I will leave my grumpiness at this juncture.

6. It’s been a pretty good few weeks, no, possibly even months, with the kids. I keep thinking that each age they are at is my favorite, and then the next age comes along and I like that even better.

Miss Phryne Fisher

So, I’ve been reading — devouring, really — the Phryne Fisher series of mysteries. By Kerry Greenwood, there are approximately a kajillion of these short, well-written novels. They are mysteries, they mostly involve murders, and I find them both engrossing and charming.

Things I like about the series:

1. It’s historical fiction. Well-researched, meticulously accurate historical fiction set in the Jazz Age. I love the Jazz Age, I love historical fiction, this is exactly my thing.

2. It’s set in Australia, which makes it suitably exotic to my eye. I know a bit about the founding of Australia but not much more than that. So the Jazz Age time period is made fresh and interesting by the new-to-me setting.

3. Phryne Fisher as a protagonist is an outsider by inclination and choice. This makes her a commenter-on and observer-of her culture and surroundings. It also makes her very modern, in a historical period that was already fairly modern.

And I mean “modern” in the sense that the concerns of the day — drugs, jobs, the stagnant economy, terrorism, corruption of the youth, family values, and corporate greed — are the same concerns of our day. Which leads me to a digression, to wit, that those are the concerns of EVERY day, including the Romans in the History of Rome podcast I am listening to on every drive to and from work. The Romans under Antinous, fourth of The Five Good Emperors, were concerned about the economy, border incursions, family values, and corporate greed.

Humans don’t change that much over the generations.

5. Ms. Greenwood’s historical accuracy correctly describes Australia of the 1920s as both multiethnic and terribly racist. The books are populated by a suitably diverse cast of people, ALL of whom are portrayed as fully-realized and complex human beings. This extends beyond matters of race and into age, sex, religion, disability, and sexual orientation. For every gay murderer, there are two gay perfectly ordinary people, if you see what I’m getting at.

6. The supporting cast is delightful, and a pleasure to follow.

7. At the end of each book is a bibliography of Greenwood’s historical reference books. A bibliography! Of reference texts! Just for ME!!

Things that are slightly more problematic, depending on your preferences.

1. Phyrne Fisher as a character:

grew up terribly poor
came into fantastic money
is titled
served in The Great War
lived in the Paris demimonde where she was a famous artist’s model
is fabulously wealthy
is NOT racist or prejudiced, ever
has a lot of sex
is never jealous
is polyamorous
has stunning green eyes that everyone remarks upon
can talk anyone into doing anything
is a gymnast
can shoot a gun
can drive a car
can fly a plane

If, at this point, some of you are mock-coughing the phrase “MarySue” into your hand, I would not blame you. Yet I can’t really feel that way about her. For one thing, Ms. Greenwood has obviously given a lot of thought as to the timeline, and where Phryne picked up all these skills, and when she did all these things. It all hangs together. For another, Phryne is NOT the best at everything. She is a decent shot, but not the best. She is a good driver, but not the best. She is a good gymnast, but not the best.

The analogy I keep coming around to is that Phryne is a 150-point GURPS character in a world of 80-point characters. If this is to your taste, great. If it’s going to bother you, avoid these books. But if you play tabletop RPGs, and you are used to the convention that the protagonist — usually you and your party — are just special and better than everyone else, this is no worse.

2. I have no sense as to whether or not these are good as mysteries. That is so far down my list of concerns, you have no idea. I just sort of roll around in the silk and the Hispanio-Suaza and the Jicky and the endless cups of tea.

Things that are neither good nor bad, merely of interest to me:

1. Everyone is constantly, relentlessly drinking tea.

2. Phryne is a confirmed caffeine drinker.

3. Everyone’s clothes are described in every scene.

4. Some of the crimes are quite horrid. Not described in loving detail, not at all. But you can get the gist perfectly clearly.

5. There is sex in the books, though these are not in any way romance novels or romance-mystery crossovers. They are mysteries, featuring an adult character who has sex.

I am trying to put my finger on exactly why I am so loving these books. I think it’s a combination of three things. First, HISTORY. Second, they are competence porn — Phryne is so good at things! Third, I on occasion really like books about people who are just better than everyone else and use their powers for good. I read Heinlein as a kid, I have an inexplicable weakness for S.M. Stirling’s Islander books, I love the Vorkosigan family to pieces, and I read superhero comics. So. It’s kinda a thing I like.

Friends and art

For all that I was sick this week, I had a lovely, sociable couple of days.

A friend of mine was in town for business, and met me at circus on Wednesday. We talked a wide variety of things, not least of which was the awesomeness of the kids doing circus. They are artists, those kids, and I am reminded of how impressive they are when guests of mine come visit.

Yesterday I met some out-of-town friends and we went to the art institute. I don’t get to the MIA often enough, and welcomed the chance.

Since my friends were driving the itinerary, rather than my kids, I saw some pieces I’d yet to see. There was a lolarious literal rendition of The Annunciation, by Girolamo da Santacroce, in which God fires the Holy Spirit at Mary. The Holy Spirit begins as a dove and then transforms into the infant Jesus still hurtling through the air at Mary. Who is kneeling in blissfully accepting mediation, or something like that.

I kinda wanted to tell Mary to duck, or at least put her hands up to catch him, or something.

I also came across a piece that was new to me, Location Shooting, by Alfred Leslie. It’s huge, and lovely, and foreboding, but also comforting to me. I burst out laughing when I saw it because it was such a delightful thing.

My son wanted to spend about a half-hour debating the engineering and symbolism of The Coaci Inkstand. Which is lovely and exquisite, and does stand in some irony near an oil painting of Jesus driving the moneychangers out of the temple.

I was pleased with K when, standing in a recreated historical dining room, she pointed out that we were in a Pirates of the Caribbean-style room. I checked the dates, and, yep, my daughter can correctly identify mid-to-late eighteenth-century American home decor. From a Disney movie.

I’ll take it as a win.

June 21 2012

1. Yesterday was the summer solstice. I don’t cling to it the way I cling to the winter solstice — the day the light begins to return — but I appreciate it. And we are certainly having a summer solstice. It is hot, deeply humid, with sporadic storms out of nowhere. The neighborhood is redolent with life, with plants and greenery and insects and birds and mammals.

I love that, if you Google Earth my neighborhood, it’s a forest. I live in a habit zone called urban forest, and you can really tell. A few days ago the neighborhood flock of wild turkeys — eight chicks! — were in our yard. We have foxes, opossums, and raccoons galore. The birders in the neighborhood are constantly spotting things that Ought To Live Up North.

The only downside to this, and to it being the summer solstice, is that the neighborhood birds wake up at 3:45 in the morning. Right outside my window.

2. J is on a HUGE tear of reading Sherlock fic. When she finds something she considers especially appalling or incomprehensible, she sends the link to me.

I will spare you all the results.

3. Our backyard neighbor is dying of stomach cancer. He’s at home, his wife is caring for him, and it’s all very sad.

4. I’m still sick, and haven’t the brains to be interesting. Moreover, when I’m sick I Hate Everything. The combination of the two moods means I largely stay off the internet. I don’t have anything good to contribute, and all I want to do is shriek at perfectly blameless people who are irritating me. Since many of these people are my friends, and since I know it’s not them, it’s me, I stay away and read books.

5. I’m up to book eight of the Phryne Fisher mysteries.

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Nothing to see here, folks

1. We’ve had some doozy storms in the last few days. Lots of trees down and flooding.

2. I am sick. I used to have thoughts, and opinions, and interesting things to say, but now I have snot.

3. …

4. …

5. Yeah, I got nothing.

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June 18 2012

1. All thought I might have had this weekend was eaten by allergies and Benadryl.

2. I spent the weekend reading the Phryne Fisher mystery series. All I want to do is read these books.

3. All I want to do is read other books on my to-read list, too.

June 15 2012

1. Adventures in cooking continue apace. I bought some vegetarian fake sausages at the co-op yesterday, and made a chipotle-bean-tomato thingy that was REALLY good. And, even using pre-made fake meats, it is still lower in salt than, say, an egg cheese mcmuffin. The bread I make for myself is lower in salt than commercial bread. The beans I make for myself are lower in salt than commercial beans. If I could make cheese, I bet it would be lower in salt than the cheese from the store.

2. M is afraid of tornadoes. To deal with this he watches endless episodes of the tv show Stormchasers.

If we give nothing else to our son, we have given him the idea that the answer to fear is knowledge. However scary reality is — and tornadoes are plenty scary — it is less scary than wondering in ignorance. Everybody knows that the feeling you get when you finally see the monster in the movie is relief, not greater terror.

3. I rewatched the classic Doctor Who story “The Happiness Patrol” this week. There’s something odd in that story, something about the performance of femininity. The actual members of the Happiness Patrol are almost all women, and are attired in exaggerated — even for the 1980s — makeup and hair. Femininity as performance, as statement. And at the same time, compliance and fake smiles and getting along with others are the rewarded behaviors. Expressions of anger, or fear, or resentment are punished.

The whole thing smacks as a metaphor for a woman or child living with an abuser. In some ways. I’m not saying that’s what the writers meant, and the metaphor is not perfect. But there is some serious creepiness under all the pink and glitter.

Tendonitis and wicked queens

I went to the physical therapist yesterday for the chronic elbow and wrist pain. Yes, I have tendonitis. Yes, I can expect to wear this brace for six months. Yes, I have exercises to do.

I knew all of this, but it’s best sometimes to go have a professional say it rather than relying on Things I Looked Up on the Internet.

I’m taking the kids to all their circus classes this week, because J is busy with choir rehearsals and concerts. The summer show kids are practicing in every free space during every free moment. They are an impressive bunch of athletes.

I envy them their health and youth.

Now, I would not TRADE my infirmity and age and oh-sweet-crickets WISDOM for their health and youth. Ahahahah.

No.

But I watched a girl climb up a rope upside-down, using only her arms, her feet not touching the rope above her head, and I purely envied that. I don’t want to take it from her, and I don’t want to trade, but I envy it.

The idea that the wicked queen of story kills the young because they might usurp her kingdom/power/place has always made sense to me. I am a student of history, and I know how congenital political legacies work. The part where the wicked queen wants to kill the young because they are pretty, on the other hand … I’ve never really gotten that. Why is attractiveness something to kill over?

At the physical therapist’s office this morning I was sitting near a teenager getting PT for a wrenched shoulder. She would be back at her sport in six to eight weeks, it seemed. I had a pang, half-eavesdropping on her. I wanted all the best for her, so she could return to whatever sport had caused the injury. But I also felt a sharp, brief, resentment. My elbow was injured from doing far, far less, and it will take for-fucking-ever to heal.

If it ever does.

Maybe the wicked queen doesn’t kill the young because they have clear complexions and thick hair.

Maybe she kills them because their bones do not ache, their joints do not creak, and the things they tear heal.

My envy is nothing so poisonous as that. I merely want to lecture the young about not wasting this marvelous window of opportunity. And I also know perfectly well that even the young can be damaged, for permanent, for life. Many of my friends have legacy damage from their athletic youth. But for the first time in my life, I am coming to grasp, a bit, how the wicked queen might be feeling.

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