We as a species have always been fascinated with superheroes.
It started with Gilgamesh. From there, Heracles (no sic, I’m pretentiously using the Greek variant) to Beowulf to Paul Bunyan to Superman/Wonder Woman/Batman et al, to the Shadow, the Bionic Couple, Jessica Fletcher, Remo Williams and, arguably, the jokes about Chuck Norris. Feel free to add to the list, but I’ll fight for all but the last.
I’ve been trying to put this together since I finished Carrie Vaughn’s “After the Golden Age”. We love the idea of people who can do more than people can do, who choose to protect the rest of us who can’t. Standard rationale is wish-fulfillment. We're frustrated with our humdrum lives and identify with the heroes. I used to think that. Now I’m not so sure.
It’s not enough for Parking-Space Guy™ to find me a spot when I’m in a hurry. I also expect him to battle evil Gridlock Girl™ and her partner, the Traffic Terror™. I want Cashier Queen™ to use her laser vision on anyone who brings 11 items into the express lane. Laundry Lad™ would be popular, don’t you think? But the superhero I need most is the indomitable Muse Man™, sworn enemy of writer’s block and unfunny punch lines. Maybe if I close my eyes and wish really hard…
Nope. Zip, nada, zilch. Reality remains unbroken. There is no snappy ending. We’re on our own.
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