Urban fantasy, MASKS style

This is hilarious. And fascinating.

I’m not a great fan of the “princess” novels of Jim C. Hines, where he reimagines fairytale princesses as action heroes. I’m just not into the princess thing; call it a matter of taste. But I almost suffocated laughing when he recently tried to replicate his main character’s pose on the cover of the first book … and then proceeded to try imitating the poses of other fantasy cover girls to point out how ridiculous they are. He’s in good shape, and he’s a good sport, but it’s just too snicker-worthy for words (more pictures at the link above): 

And then things got really interesting! 

You see, LiveJournal user Ocelott took Hines’ idea a step further, trying to replicate the poses herself (with the advantage of being both female and a former dancer, albeit with a bad knee) and then tried imitating male poses from the covers of well-known fantasy hits like Ariel and Jim Butcher’s Dresden Files novels. And as you’ll see if you read her comments on the photos, she found the female poses uncomfortable and impractical for fighting, while she found the male poses natural, strong, and sensible for the characters being portrayed. Harry Dresden really could use his staff from that position, either to throw fireballs or to crack somebody in the head. But what the hell does Mercy Thompson think she’s doing?

 

The point of all this, of course, is that female fantasy heroines are posed to look sexy first and strong second, if at all, while men are almost always posed to look just plain strong, and maybe a bit mysterious if they have time. They get more practical clothes, too. These are all points that have been made many, many times, and I at least have accepted them as part of life for as long as I’ve been able to read. Women on book covers look stupid; what else is new? 

But while I was looking at Ocelott’s photos, I got a fairly brilliant idea. 

In Masks, Rae is almost never posed for sex appeal, either on the cover or in my illustrations. This is partly because I’m not drawing to appeal to horny teenage guys; I’m trying to convey plot points and create a sense of drama. Mostly, however, it’s because I’m just not a very good artist! I have to sweat blood over even a two-figure illustration, and it still comes out looking sort of weird to my eyes, so I’m not going to try to throw sex appeal in there if I’ve managed to get the anatomy and physics mostly right. I have enough trouble making sure Rae’s eyes are on the same level—I can’t be bothered to try a swaybacked Wonder Woman pose into the bargain. So even when you see Rae’s butt, it’s because she’s throwing a shin strike at Trevor, not because she’s got such a great butt:

 (Fun fact? Both the figures in this shot used male models. Rae was originally a random guy on a martial-arts blog, and Trevor was my older brother, a martial artist who graciously let me throw a shin strike at his ribs and then take a picture of him blocking it.) 

Yes, you’ve discovered my secret: Rae looks like a real person because I couldn’t afford fake people, and it turns out using real people looks better. (At least, it does when you’re as lousy an artist as I am.) Rae’s pose on the Volume 1 cover looks natural and anatomically possible because I made it the old-fashioned way, by dressing up a real person and taking her picture. If you have that costume, and a patient woman of the right build, and a window for light, you can replicate that shot with very little trouble. 

 

All of which gave me an idea! 

I liked Ocelott’s gender-bending pictures so much that I decided to see if I could turn out some cool-looking Rae pinups based on her “male” poses. It was also a great chance to show off the new haircut Rae will have in Volume 2 (people who’ve read the end of Volume 1 know why!). Here’s my first attempt, based on a Simon R. Green cover and Ocelott’s resulting photo. I gave Rae a staff because she doesn’t really use swords, but I could easily envision her picking up a stick or a pipe:

 

Not bad, huh? She looks kind of badass! 

Then I tried the popped-collar shot, which made me smile because it means Rae has borrowed Trevor’s jacket. You can see him in the background there, wondering what on earth is going on. Good fun, this!

 And now I come to the shot that originally inspired this blog entry. I saw this photo on Ocelott’s page and my first thought was, “Damn, Rae has to do that. Even if she doesn’t have the chest for it.” I just loved the set of Ocelott’s head and shoulders, and I wanted to try it with Rae. First I tried it with the staff again:

And then—just for a stretch—I tried it with a coyote. Not Pocket Coyote, mind you—an actual coyote who appears in Chapter 29. He even (spoiler alert!) reappears, giant-sized, in Volume 2, so this is technically canonical. I had to change the position of Rae’s arm because she’s touching fur, not pulling a staff, but it still mostly works, I think.

Real people. Awesome art. Who knew? Oh, that’s right. Me. And you guys. 

Do we rock or what?

DC Comics: Too dumb to live?

Pardon me, folks, I feel a rant coming on. This one is a grown-up-ish rant, so readers under 13, you might want to go find a happier blog to read today. Readers under 18, feel free to stay, but I don’t want to hear about it from your parents later.

Just us grown-up impersonators now? Good.

Lately there’s been yet another foofaw in the comic-book world about DC Comics’ treatment of female creators and characters. Things sort of exploded back in July, when a female fan in a Batgirl costume stood up at Comic-Con San Diego and asked a DC editor why, in the course of rebooting the company’s whole comic-book universe and launching 52 new #1 issues in September, the company’s creative staffed dropped from 12% female to 2% female. There was a lot of hemming and hawing, and the best explanation offered—that there simply weren’t enough female creators willing and able to work on DC’s relaunch—smelled a bit fishy.

Now the new comics are hitting the stands, and the fish-stink borders on hallucinogenic.

In the first issue of a comic-book series called Red Hood and the Outlaws, a superheroine named Starfire (you might remember her as the bubbly, naïve alien girl in the Teen Titans cartoons) had this conversation:

 

And the entire internet exploded.

A lot of female fans have complained about the way the reboot has treated female characters, pointing to Starfire as the tip of the iceberg. There’s the first issue of Catwoman, too, which ends with Catwoman having sex with Batman on a rooftop and seems to be pretty much all about shots of the main character in red lingerie, with her face conveniently cropped out:

 

Then there’s Voodoo, the first monthly DC title to have a black female as its lead character. Naturally, she’s a stripper, and this is the panel they chose to release as a sneak peek:

 

And I’m done posting panels for now, because this is beyond absurd and all the way out to disgusting.

I could talk about how these portrayals are demeaning to women, especially female fans, and how DC is sending wrong messages to impressionable teenage readers by telling the boys that this is how girls act and telling the girls that this is how heroes act. I could talk about the long, rich history of sexism and misogyny in mainstream comics, but honestly, I don’t think anybody who’s been reading comics for any length of time doubts that this stuff goes on, or that it goes mostly unchallenged. (If you'd like a cogent, well-written summary of the female fan response, however, the best one I've read is here.)

No, what I want to talk about is how incredibly stupid this kind of stuff is. Not because it’s unethical, or because it’s bad art. Let’s cut right to the bottom line here—by making this crap their primary product, DC Comics is leaving piles of money on the table.

DC Comics (and its parent corporation, Warner Bros.) is literally too stupid to take the money and run, too dumb to make hay while the sun shines, too brain-damaged to open its mouth when it’s raining soup. Marvel Comics does this, too, but DC’s the big offender at the moment. Both companies have an opportunity to double their customer base—at a minimum—and they’re chucking it for some soft-core porn.

Don’t believe me? I’ll prove it.

 

First, a few basic facts. Females make up approximately half of all human beings on planet Earth. Women buy and read many more books and magazines than men do, and are more likely to spend their leisure time reading, including (if not especially) in English-speaking countries. This is particularly true of fiction—women make up 80% of the market there. So of the people out there looking for an entertaining story, presented in the form of ink stains on paper, four-fifths are women and girls. Wouldn’t it be nice if they read comic books?

But wait, I hear you saying. Women and girls don’t read comic books. Comic books are for boys—always have been, always will be. Traditional superhero comics, in particular, don’t appeal to girls for some reason; girls who do read comics prefer manga, or cartoon-based comics, or edgy, independent, Vertigo-type stuff.  Why should we make superhero stories for people who don’t like stories about superheroes?

Well, the problem with that argument is that girls do like stories about superheroes. It’s just that most of them aren’t willing to wade through the cesspool to find the good ones. I know, and not just because I'm a female comic fan. I know because I created a female superhero with a life of her own—and both girls and boys read those stories like crazy.

I created Rae Masterson in 1998 after I read an article in the Los Angeles Times that said the comic-book industry was in freefall, and perhaps the best hope of saving it was to draw in female readers. I created a scrappy girl superhero mostly to see if I could, reasoning that if my middle-school classmates could afford to see Titanic four times every weekend, then surely a few of those dollars could easily be diverted to comics, as long as the comics were better than seeing Titanic again.

Inside of a few years, I had a small cult going around the stories, based entirely on word of mouth, and I was getting letters and emails from readers—both male and female—who were just as enthusiastic about Rae and Trevor as I was about Daredevil’s adventures. In high school, when I knew most of my readers at least by first name, I could say with confidence that my readership was solidly 50-50, an even split between male and female readers. Now that the much-improved stories are being serialized on Pocket Coyote, the reader base is closer to 60 to 65% female, according to Facebook stats and blog traffic. I still have all the elements of a good mainstream superhero story—lots of action and twisty plots and stuff blowing up, plus several metric tons of sarcasm—but I’ve also got relationship drama, and I go out of my way to make sure that my male and female characters are all fully developed and have their own unique character arcs. Everybody changes, everybody lives. (And everybody keeps their clothes on, though that wasn’t really a goal—it just sort of happened.)

 

Think about what those numbers could mean to DC Comics. If they stopped actively discouraging women from reading their books—stopped telling them over and over again that the only way to be accepted in this exciting fictional world was to fly around in lingerie and have sex on rooftops—they could more than double their fanbase. A particularly popular monthly comic book may sell 100,000 copies per issue; a writer who consistently wrote nuanced female characters with their clothes on could, with some intelligence and support from marketing, raise those numbers to something in the neighborhood of 200,000 to 250,000. That’s what it would look like if a mainstream comic could suddenly sprout Masks audience demographics. That’s 150,000 new fans—people who otherwise wouldn’t be reading your comics. New customers. That’s what DC Comics, and to a lesser extent Marvel, is leaving on the table.

Now, I hear you saying that Masks has a paltry circulation compared with, say, anything with Batman on the cover. My sample size is small enough that it might not scale up to something the size of the X-Men empire. My argument might be more valid if only there were an example of a mainstream comic-book property with fully developed (and fully clothed) female characters that made its producers a lot of money!

Oh, wait. There is.

I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of comic-book writers I know who go out of their way to write female characters with personalities and character arcs—but they’re all bestsellers, and most are winners of one or more Eisner awards (comicdom’s equivalent of the Oscar), usually for the work featuring those characters. Two of them saw their work represented in big-budget superhero movies this summer, and both of those movies blew out the doors of multiplexes worldwide. Thor drew heavily from J. Michael Straczynski’s run on the comic, which was notable in part for the complexity it brought to female characters like Jane Foster, Sif, and Loki (who was running around as a female for a while—long story). The movie, which prominently features Jane and gives Sif a chance to shine too, is closing in on $450 million in gross receipts worldwide, $181 million of that made in the United States.

Then there’s Captain America: The First Avenger, which is indebted to Ed Brubaker’s multi-Eisner-winning run on the character (in fact, Brubaker is credited in the film’s acknowledgments, along with creators Joe Simon and Jack Kirby). The movie features Hayley Atwell as kickass British secret agent Peggy Carter, who combines elements of several female characters from Brubaker’s run and who holds her own quite effectively with the movie’s male leads. That flick is still in theaters, but it’s made around $175 million domestically as of this writing, and $360 million globally.

I saw both movies in theaters—Thor once and Captain America three times (long story). I saw Thor in a suburban multiplex, with an audience that was maybe 40% female. Captain America demographics varied a bit according to the time of day, but at least one showing was half-and-half. And while some of those girls and women were obviously there with the boys—accompanying their husbands, boyfriends, fathers and brothers—quite a few were alone, like I was, or were there with other women. They went to a superhero movie, voluntarily, and paid money to see it. All while mainstream comics are turning superheroines into blow-up dolls, in part because "chicks don't read comics anyway". And they're hemorrhaging money.

I’ve got news for you, comic-book industry: women are out there, and a bunch of them like stories about superheroes. You could be selling something they want to buy, and instead you’re selling Starfire’s breasts and Catwoman's butt. You’re hanging out a big “No Girls Allowed” sign on your clubhouse while the club is going bankrupt. I was smarter than this when I was fourteen years old. Don’t try to tell me a fourteen-year-old girl can crank out better stories than an entire industry full of people who’ve spent decades honing their storytelling skills. I know you guys can do better than this. You’re just choosing not to. 

Now, I’m perfectly happy to take your money and run. If you don’t want to go after this big, hungry market, I’ll merrily pursue it in your place, and reap the rewards. I expect to spend some time building up word of mouth on Masks, because I don’t have a big media conglomerate’s marketing department on my side, but it’s not rocket science. I know I can make money at this, and have fun doing it, even while giving away chapters for free and relying on the sales of trade collections to recoup my investment. I will gladly take advantage of the stupidity of the Big Two, and nip off with my little sliver of the pie. I can do wonderful things with even a sliver.

But wouldn’t it be better if someone in New York thought about making that pie twice as big?