Broken Frontier

Crisis on Infinite Earths and its current sequel Infinite Crisis are predicated on the well-known comic book concept of continuity: The idea that the histories, actions, and existences of interacting characters should not contradict each other – and when they do, efforts must be made to present explanations to disentangle those incongruities. If this is achieved – or if it is achieved well enough – all the stories are deemed eligible to exist under one umbrella “universe,” such as the Marvel Universe or the DC Universe (even if the stories themselves transcend the literal universe, crossing into an alternate dimension, or manage to cross over into another company’s publishing universe).

Sometimes corrections occur outside the story, say on the letter’s page between fans and editors (e.g. Marvel’s No-Prize), sometimes they come through omission (e.g. Maxwell Lord’s absent cybernetics in The OMAC Project), sometimes they form an entire plot unto themselves as with the aforementioned Crises, and there are even times when these corrections to continuity come about as a result of all three…and then repeat the cycle again. This last option also applies to the Crises – with Zero Hour following and patching the original Crisis and DC’s rumored “52” event promising to do the same for Infinite Crisis – and, in fact, to any continuity-bearing story. The option to amend, correct, and expand upon a facet of Marvel’s 1986 Secret Wars II always remains open, as do the avenues through and between the events of Heroes Return, The Fall of the Mutants, and, inevitably, the current House of M.

This has all been explored, dissected, and debated elsewhere over the years – in far better and greater detail than I could ever muster here – and it will continue to for perhaps as long as these characters exist (and perhaps even thereafter, should historians and the literati pick up the banner). These incongruities, whether explicit or subjective, will continue to be redressed for years come, all in a quest for coherent believability, for greater realism, under the wide header of “continuity.”

But incongruity is not inconsistency. And continuity does not, in fact, make stories any more coherent…nor any more realistic.

For example, in the 853rd century setting of the DC 1,000,000 titles, the original Superman is shown to be alive and well. However, in New Year's Evil: Gog, he is shown to be slaughtered (repeatedly) by the time-traveling villain Gog. The contradiction is resolved how? DC’s Kingdom event explains away the contradiction, presumably, by (re)introducing the concept of Hypertime, where multiple timelines can all exist at once even if they contradict or defy each other. Gog has killed Superman in one timeline; Superman lives to the 853rd century in the “prime” timeline. Continuity is satisfied.

But reality is not.

For example, in 2003, I began taking medication to reduce my cholesterol and remain alive and well. However, in 2005, my cholesterol is shown to be higher (greatly) due to the villainous medication. The contradiction is resolved how?

It is not. My doctor cannot explain it. I am simply told to drop the medication. Continuity is not satisfied.

But reality is.

How can Captain Atom show up in Identity Crisis if he died the month previous in Superman/Batman? I’m not sure, but I’m certain a story can be devised to uphold continuity and explain away the contradiction (as well as lead to his new Wildstorm Universe existence). Conversely, how can my favorite stir fry restaurant go out of business in my neighborhood if it’s expanding nationally? I’m not sure, and, frankly, I’m not likely to ever find out (even if it was well-patronized). Storytelling slight-of-hand can explain how the Vision is both made from scratch and created from the remains of the original Human Torch, but the missing link as to how my rent in Arlington once got paid without the check clearing will remain an enduring mystery.

In Powers, we can learn what the enigmatic “Kaotic Chic” means. In Batman, we can learn who the Red Hood is. In X-Men, we can learn of Wolverine’s true past. But, in life, I’ll never learn who sprayed the graphitti on the bridges overlooking the Massachusetts Turnpike. In life, I’ll never learn if Amanda Kerr ever liked me in high school. In life, I’ll never learn why Sasha Walker died, where Joey Spina is, or how Josh Splansky survived. I’ll be lucky to discover simply why my train was late yesterday—these larger “dangling plotlines” (each either their own contradictions) are even less likely to be resolved, frankly.

Continuity is said to make the universes more coherent, more real. That’s rubbish: It makes the stories easier. They no longer coexist as myths, like those of the Greek gods, where mutually exclusive stories of a legendary character still exist together because they enrich their protagonist rather than detract; the multitude of tales about King Arthur, even those which clash and conflict, weave a deeper tapestry for the hero, not a weaker, more entangled one. Further, it leaves his audiences to construct their best, most essential version of the character themselves, tying together those adventures they enjoy most through the power of imagination, while discounting the rest.

Some creators do wish to make their characters rich and complex – they just wish to make them their characters. That is, among the large number of things Superman has that I lack is a rotating team of creators, each hoping to leave their own mark on the iconic character. As such, there is the subtle idea of one-upmanship, of the Oedipal poet, fueling continuity. Various creative teams are often looking to improve, perfect, essentialize, or expand a character in their control; I can’t say with any certainty that my life is driven by the same outside motivation.

Concepts like Marvel’s Ultimate line, its What If…? series, DC’s Elseworlds books, and Hypertime don’t just allow for continuity to be suspended in the name of storytelling: They also potentially allow for my claims of realism. In fact, this concept can be taken further if one considers Grant Morrison’s Flex Mentallo mini-series and Warren Ellis’ own description of Hypertime (as quoted at the JLA Hypertimeline site):

Take a glass sphere studded all over with holes, and then drive a long stick right through the middle of it, passing exactly through the center of the volume. That's the base DC timeline. Jab another stick through right next to it, but at a different angle, so that they're touching at one point. That's an Elseworlds story. Another stick, this one rippled, placed close in so that it touches the first stick at two or three points. That's the base Marvel timeline. Perhaps others follow the line of the DC stick for a while before diverging, a slow diagonal collision along it before peeling off. This sphere contains the timeline of all comic-book realities, and they theoretically all have access to each other. In high time, at the top of the sphere, is OUR reality, and we can look down on the totality of Hypertime, the entire volume.

Hypertime is a tool for the consideration of fictional reality.

Therefore, at least in this one case, looser continuity allows for greater possibilities and a closer tie not just to realism but also to reality itself.

Concepts like Hypertime (or the Bleed, or the Aleph), truly, are each just a tool, and, in the specific case of Hypertime, one that did not seem to survive even its warranty as stories were either drawn tighter to a universe’s continuity or, alternatively, thumbed their nose at it all together. After all, if a creator sees no importance in continuity, why would they go out of their way to help explain her story’s reason for existing by way of Hypertime. (The answer: Her editor and publisher demanded it. But that can grow tiring very quickly, I imagine, especially if the editor herself isn’t warm on the Hypertime concept or simply has bigger fish to fry. After all, continuity was largely a fan’s game to begin with, not an editor’s hunt.)

Ellis adds the caveat to his Hypertime synopsis – “I think that's what (Grant Morrison) said, anyway.” – thereby making the Authority figure’s comments on the landscape of the DC Universe after this Crisis that much more interesting. In a recent interview with Silver Bullet Comics, the mind behind Animal Man and New X-Men promised that the current outlook on continuity would itself soon be experiencing an overhaul with DC’s “52”:

I just got back from a series of incredible creative summits in New York and couldn't believe the energy, imagination and refreshing lack of prima donna ego bullshit on show. "52" is being planned meticulously and written like a TV drama. Based on the material we've got so far, I think this project will break new ground for mainstream comics and I can't imagine any other company being capable of anything like it right now, so it's going to be very unique and absorbing read, squeezing down four years of continuity into one. It's the first real, full-length 'graphic novel' about superheroes and is likely to change the way we think of what can be done with them.

This may add a slightly more realistic element to the storytelling, which, in turn, may make it slightly more mature and compelling. Of course, it could just as easily go astray, and the impact on the very concept of continuity may make it even more distant from the everyman, four-dimensional life.

In short, if “52” does change our viewpoints as readers, then bravo – I welcome it. If it doesn’t, I’m certain it can ultimately explained away. Of course, that’s the problem: Even if it does succeed, it could still one day be up-ended and undone. Paradoxically, real life is less reliable than that – and less coherent.

I would welcome a retcon in my life. A Flashback month. A zero issue. But, whether any life is well or poorly scripted, they will never come.

Savor the inconsistency of real life, the one villain our heroes never face nor conquer.