Wonder Women

One of the first comic books I owned was Secret Origins #3 (1973), featuring the origin of Wonder Woman. The art puzzled me: While the cover's Wonder Woman was lithe like a Seventies model with long, flowing hair, the interior art, a reprint of the 1941 original, gave the Amazon a boxy figure and tight curls like Betty Grable. At the time, I could barely comprehend how art could show one character in such different ways. Now, it's easy to understand: Each era portrayed Wonder Woman as the ideal of the times.

But those were not the only two visions of Wonder Woman available at the time. In the very same year, the contemporary Wonder Woman was the white-suited non-powered version who followed her mentor, I Ching. Also debuting in 1973 was the Super Friends, which showed a Wonder Woman looking like the Sixties version and superpowered, but nowhere near the levels of Superman. By 1976, Wonder Woman in the comics had regained her powers, while the TV version played by Lynda Carter was set in the Forties – prompting DC's Wonder Woman solo title to tell wartime adventures set on Earth Two (but with Seventies-style art) – until the TV show skipped ahead, without explanation, to the Seventies – and the comic version made the same jump, to contemporary stories set on Earth One. In four years, fans were given seven or eight distinct versions of Wonder Woman; trying to juggle all the various versions was probably more complicated than understanding any of the individual stories. And in that era before the Internet, there was no guide to any of this; it was simply up to the fan to make sense of it.

Four decades later, the world once again abounds in alternate versions of Wonder Woman. In 2011, the post-Crisis version of Wonder Woman gave way to the post-Flashpoint New 52 Wonder Woman. Five years later, a tremendous multiplicity of Wonder Women burst upon the scene. The DC Rebirth gave us a new "main" Wonder Woman who is still trying to unravel the secrets of her past, which involves some medley of the New 52 and other elements. Then, within just a few months, DC published two distinctly different Wonder Woman origin graphic novels – the long-awaited "Earth One" from Grant Morrison, and Jill Thompson's Wonder Woman: The True Amazon. Between the publication dates of those two works, the monthly title began running Greg Rucka's "Year One" origin story; an astounding three origin stories were published/begun in under six months! As if that weren't enough, DC's cinematic universe introduced yet another version of Wonder Woman, played by Gal Gadot in Batman v Superman, as yet mysterious with her story to be explained in a 2017 solo film. All of this came on the heels of superb work done in 2011-2014 by Brian Azzarello, a refreshing take on Wonder Woman and her world that deserved to serve as a foundation for a decade or more to come – like Byrne's Superman and Miller's Batman – rather than be made obsolete after only a year.

As the character turns 75, a high degree of attention is fitting; it is harder, however, to explain why multiple, conflicting origin stories make for the right kind of attention. Certainly, part of the answer is that this bouquet of origin stories was unplanned; the movies and comics are not in sync, and Morrison's story was in the works and long delayed. Rebirth, like the New 52, is obviously a creative direction driven by business considerations. And there we have it: Multiple, uncoordinated creative voices led to multiple, uncoordinated versions of one of the best-known superheroes within a very short span of time.

The rapidfire shuffle of new versions serves as a poll of how the modern comics creator perceives Wonder Woman, and in this, we see one interesting consensus: Azzarello, Morrison, Thompson, and Rucka all speak to the sexuality of the Amazons in general or Diana specifically in a way that had not – probably could not have – been seen before. Both Azzarello and Thompson describe Amazons routinely using men from the world at large as a source of fertilization, with hints and a choice image or two of a domination fantasy. Meanwhile, Morrison and Rucka both give Diana female lovers in her past but leave her open to opposite-sex attraction once Steve Trevor enters her world. These new origins variously assert that Hercules and his men raped the Amazons, a violent horror unimaginable in 1941 comics, a modern extrapolation of Moulton's 1941 panels showing Hercules and Hippolyta lying together as he betrays her.

Morrison and Azzarello also agree to make Diana not a creature made of clay, but rather the direct offspring of Zeus, though Azzarello makes her the principal god's daughter of Zeus; Morrison, his granddaughter. Azzarello modernizes his gods by showing them in Las Vegas, posing as truckers. Morrison modernizes Diana's world by making Steve Trevor the descendent of African slaves, a real people with real history spent in chains like the imaginary Amazons.

Morrison and Rucka also agree by maintaining the Steve Trevor element in Diana's origin, while Thompson diverges sharply by making the young Diana a spoiled brat whose journey to man's world is penance for the sin of hubris and the tragedy it caused; it should not be lost on the reader that in departing from Moulton's original story, Thompson's is classically Greek – character flaws determine the future. A tragedy doesn't happen to a person; a tragedy is who they are. This is the great contribution of Thompson's version, and makes it welcome despite the certain overcrowding of recent origin stories. Thompson abandons the 1941 source material to emphasize in tone the vastly earlier source material of Greek mythology.

None of these stories disagree on one thing: Wonder Woman is wonderful. Nolan's cinematic Wonder Woman immediately wows Superman and Batman by battling Doomsday energetically and somewhat enthusiastically. Rucka and Morrison show the modern world pointing its cellphone cameras at Diana and snapping away, hashtagging her into social media immortality. She glows, indifferent to the attention, like a Forties movie star sipping a milkshake while the world adores her. She's beautiful, strong, brave, and brilliant; there is no depiction of Wonder Woman that doesn't agree on this.

For all these many versions, and creators, it is Rucka and the filmmakers who get to hold serve. Rucka has suggested a multiplicity of Wonder Women in his single version, with a composite past or composite memories of various pasts, with a Multiverse backstory that may involve the overarching Rebirth plot with Dr. Manhattan at the center. Perhaps he will make these alternate memories not "lies" surrounding one true backstory but disparate elements all partly true; this is akin to what Geoff Johns did with Superman in Secret Origin and Morrison in his Batman epic that asserted that all past eras actually happened to the one and only Batman. Wonder Woman is not the first superhero to get multiple, contradictory origin stories; hopefully one of them – and it would be Rucka's – has the chance to be left uncontradicted long enough to give a generation of readers a firm legend to believe in.

However many people read DC's comics, far more will see the 2017 movie, and this will become the "real" Wonder Woman for a generation. This Wonder Woman, we know from the trailer, rescues a crashing Steve Trevor and comes to man's world to stop World War One (not Two). Until the movie debuts, we can guess the details of the content, and one clue is a canny reply to the old stories. In 1942's All Star Comics #12, as the men on the team head off to battle the Axis, Wonder Woman, one of the mightiest heroes in the story, stays home, bidding the male heroes, "Good luck, boys – and I wish I could be going with you," after having agreed off-panel to be their secretary. In 2017, Steve Trevor introduces Diana as his secretary, and after we see her perform some wonderful heroics, he adds, "She's a very good secretary." After 75 years, we can poke fun at 1942's prejudices. Maybe after another 75 years, audiences won't be expected to find that funny.

Retro Review: Fifty-Two

Ten years ago this week, DC launched 52, something longer than a miniseries but with a definite end built right into its short title. The title and concept of 52 play back on itself in a variety of ways. The series ran 52 issues in 52 weeks, from May 2006 until the same month in 2007. The number itself occurred many times within the story, often as an Easter egg for its own sake, but ultimately as a clue to a mystery. After DC had shown a propensity for delays on other, more modest, projects, the idea of a weekly series with several collaborating writers seemed like an unrealistic goal, but 52 came out on time each and every week, a creative success in each of its separate subplots.

52 was built on an unusual base of concepts: It was set in the year immediately after Infinite Crisis and was given sole power to tell the tale of that year, with all other DC comics skipping ahead "One Year Later." Consequently, it seemed that any monthly comic might contain spoilers for 52, but that seems to have been prevented either by good preparation or the simple fact that 52 and its four writers – Grant Morrison, Geoff Johns, Greg Rucka, and Mark Waid – focused on minor characters who didn't headline in the monthlies.

The stars of the main subplots of 52 were as follows:

• Animal Man, Starfire, and Adam Strange

• The Question, Renee Montoya, and Batwoman

• Black Adam and Isis

• Will Magnus and other prominent scientists

• Booster Gold, Skeets, and his rival, Supernova

• Ralph Dibny

• Steel and Lex Luthor

Effectively, DC got a tremendous proportion of readers to buy about seven full issues' worth of material concerning each of those subplots, something that could not possible have been achieved by scripting and publishing the stories separately: Imagine how few readers would buy a seven-issue Elongated Man series.

So, initially, it seemed to cynics like a sales job based on promises: A series so central to DC's plots that readers would feel compelled to read it, but based on unimportant characters and the seemingly imminent risk of failed deadlines. The result, however, was a delight: The quartet of writers and their army of artists managed to hit every deadline, and the stories were without exception worth reading. 52 made a collection of minor characters worth reading about with the most important element in fiction – engaging, original storytelling, full of surprises. Each subplot in 52 was something more than it seemed to be; someone – usually more than one someone – was involved in deception, and the stakes were always bigger than they seemed to be. What seemed at the outset to be sullied and selfish motives ultimately proved selfless. Time and time again, 52 took the high road, giving each of its constituent stories another level than first impressions seemed to indicate.

In retrospect, 52 employed somewhat of a formula across most of its plots. There were characters who seemed good but had a hidden evil identity in at least five of the plots: Black Adam's stepbrother was befriended by an anthropomorphic alligator, Sobek, who stuttered and claimed to be fearful, but was really a murderous double agent for Intergang. The team of superheroes made by and working for Lex Luthor had one very bad egg in the form of Everyman, real name Hannibal, and like Dr. Lecter, a sociopathic cannibal. Dr. Cale, the beautiful blonde scientist who warms up to Will Magnus, was another double agent, loyal to Apokolips. Two plots have a golden toaster-sized traitor: Doctor Fate's helmet is actually Felix Faust, intent on stealing Ralph Dibny's soul; and, Booster Gold's sidekick Skeets has been taken over by Mister Mind. Other deceptions abound: Lobo pretends to be living according to a vow of nonviolence, but he breaks this vow three times, twice by design. Supernova, a hero who fills the void left by Superman, is actually the very man he seems to antagonize, Booster Gold. And, the ongoing mystery of what the Question plans for Renee Montoya is resolved when she – and we – find out that the Question intends for her to become the new Question after her death.

The pattern of deceptions across every plot in 52 plays into the larger pattern of sneak attacks, common to many Morrison stories in the decade after 9/11. Enemies who could not overpower their foe directly set up plans that come crashing into them when they're least expected, perhaps most shockingly when Sobek tricks his "friend" Osiris into saying the magic words that remove his superpowers, then crunches into his flesh with powerful jaws, killing him in his moment of vulnerability. In this subplot, evil plans come to fruition, but in the two subplots, the savvy heroes have prepared counter-sneak attacks of their own, just as the Seven Soldiers and Batman do in Morrison's other works. Ralph Dibny deduces early on that "Doctor Fate" is not what he seems to be, and plans a very clever sacrifice that cheats not only the magician, but also the Devil himself (in this case, Neron). At the end, we learn that the gun that Ralph pointed at himself in issue #1 fired wishes, not bullets, and that the flask he kept sipping from held power-giving gingold, not liquor. Rip Hunter intervenes to give Booster Gold the tip-off he needs to outwit Mister Mind, so the two of them can save the Multiverse. In the other plots, the heroes have to work hard to make up for their unpreparedness, and they manage to salvage the situation after initial setbacks.

The big plot, covering most but not all of the subplots, is that Intergang is preparing an era of crime on Earth, serving their dark lord, Darkseid. They win a few skirmishes in 52, leading to millions of deaths, but, obviously, fail to achieve the victory they seek, but we know by story's end that they lurk in the shadows, and have something else planned. Separate from that main plot is the impending threat of Lady Styx, an interstellar bringer of death who is killed by Lobo, but only temporarily. Distinct from all of that is the return of the Multiverse, and the immediate threat to it posed by Mister Mind. Along the way, 52 makes some big changes to the DCU, killing Vic Sage and Ralph Dibny, depriving Black Adam from his powers, and giving us a new Batwoman.

Another Morrisonian device is the way that Mister Mind is ultimately defeated: Rip Hunter and Booster Gold send him back in time, where, in his larval stage, he meets up, seemingly haphazardly, with Sivana, who imprisons and torments him. This is stunningly parallel to what happens at the end of Return of Bruce Wayne, in which Batman and his allies – including Booster and Rip – put the Hyper-Adapter into a time machine and send it into the past, where it is vanquished by a familiar DC villain, Vandal Savage. Other time loops bring Ralph Dibny back to his wife's death and Booster Gold back to the day he meets his best friend, Ted Kord. There is also a considerable parallel between All-Star Superman and the Steel-Luthor subplot, with a superpowered Lex Luthor being defeated at the end by someone in Metropolis who out-thinks him, turns off his powers, and then punches him out. The abundance of Morrisonian patterns in 52 suggests that he had more influence on the plotting than his 25% share of the staff might seem to imply.

The stories make use of other literary reference: the three lost space travelers are on a journey home like the Odyssey, with lotus-eating, a Cyclops (the Emerald Head of Ekron), and a suitor (the unspectacular Roger) wooing Animal Man's wife, Ellen. The Four Horsemen constructed by Intergang obviously come from the Book of Revelation, as echoed in the Crime Bible. And DC lore is mined quite effectively in the small details everywhere, with Isis being adapted from the 1970s Saturday morning live action show, the new Batwoman being related ("Kate the younger") to the 1950s Batman love interest, Supernova being adapted from an alternate identity of Superman back in World's Finest #178, and a depowered Clark Kent jumping from a window in order to get a scoop a la Lois Lane.

Though 52 is devoted to the minor characters, DC's stars cross the stage in cameos, with Clark Kent, Diana Prince, and Bruce Wayne all making appearances, the last of those very key as a prequel to Morrison's Batman run. The JSA, the Green Lanterns, and a wide sweep of other major heroes all play a role here and there. Though it's an excellent thing to read now, unusual as a work of that length with a pre-planned beginning and end, it was scripted to suit the needs of its times, launching the post-Infinite Crisis DCU with panache and intrigue. And, just as 52 begins quite literally in the wreckage left by Infinite Crisis, it drops ominous clues to something coming down the road, something that would prove to be Final Crisis.

52 was an impressive accomplishment, one that was extended, but poorly, into another yearlong series, Countdown, which mirrored its structure (weekly issues for a year; leading into, rather than out from, a crisis), and counting down just as 52 counted up. But the success of 52 was not repeated then, nor has that format been repeated since. 52 was a singular thing, a start and a finish, with the final panels of both its first and last issues asking the reader, "Are you ready?"