I have a proposition, dear reader. It’s about challenging the narratives given to you.
I’m going to suggest an exercise that might at first seem unrelated, a non sequitur. But I promise, by the end of this piece you’ll understand where I’m coming from.
My favorite superhero is Aquaman.
Yes, that Aquaman — Arthur Curry, DC’s King of Atlantis, belittled by Saturday Night Live and the Big Bang Theory alike and given a poor representation in the early Saturday morning cartoons that depict him riding an oversized pink seahorse.
“What good is he outside of the water?” the average citizen might ask. Batman is a brooding detective. Superman is an invulnerable Boy Scout. What about Aquaman? And how could any comic book artist in their right mind give a founding member of the Justice League such an atrocious color scheme?
Some of these points are better than others. But consider the fact Aquaman is essentially a retelling of the King Arthur myth: A prince whose parentage was hidden for his own safety until such time as he needed to reclaim the throne for the kingdom’s sake. His brother is jealous of his birthright and schemes to seize it. Aquaman’s marriage is political, to a water sorceress of a traditionally bellicose Atlantean subculture. In one of his more memorable storylines a few decades ago, his son was killed by his other great enemy, the treasure hunter Black Manta.
Readers who are interested in exploring this complex superhero would best be served by starting off with Geoff Johns’ New 52 run that began almost four years ago.
The reason I bring this up is because media portrayals of Aquaman are simplistic and one-note. They don’t mention his trident — his weapon of choice — can pierce Superman’s skin. Critics leave out how Marvel introduced Thor two decades later to serve as his analogue. Too many are left unaware the core of Aquaman’s character is the conflict between his love for the surface world and his duty to Atlantis.
This divided loyalty means Aquaman has entertained readers with seventy years of smart stories. Like all superheroes, some of his plots have been puerile or worthy of an eye roll. But the point is when people dismiss Aquaman as a joke, they dismiss many engaging, worthwhile books that contribute to the pop culture monolith we see in theaters and on television.
This is a harmless example, but consider how many times somebody sees John Oliver on YouTube and swallows his argument for the simple reason it’s funny. The world is complex and there are rarely, if ever, issues in which one point of view is entirely valid. So remember Aquaman. Think about the story being presented to you, and don’t be afraid to critique it. Start with this column, if you like.
But seriously — Aquaman is really cool.
awurdema@indiana.edu
