Four-­Color  Creatures:     Japanese  Monstrosity  In  American  Comic  Books,  Manga,  and     Popular  Culture,  1938-­1970       By   Brent  A.  Fujioka   B.A.,  University  of  Hawaii  at  Manoa,  2005   M.A.,  Washington  State  University,  2008   M.A.,  Brown  University,  2011         A  Dissertation  Submitted  in  Partial  Fulfillment  of  the     Requirements  for  the  Degree  of  Doctor  of  Philosophy  in  the   Department  of  American  Studies  at  Brown  University         Providence,  Rhode  Island   May  2015         ©  Copyright  2015  by  Brent  A.  Fujioka     This  dissertation  by  Brent  A.  Fujioka  is  accepted  in  its  present  form   by  the  Department  of  American  Studies  as  satisfying  the   dissertation  requirement  for  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Philosophy.         Date:  _________________       _______________________________________________   Robert  G.  Lee,  Advisor     Recommended  to  the  Graduate  Council     Date:  _________________       _______________________________________________   Ralph  E.  Rodriguez,  Reader       Date:  _________________       _______________________________________________   Naoko  Shibusawa,  Reader     Approved  by  the  Graduate  Council     Date:  _________________       _______________________________________________   Peter  M.  Weber,  Dean  of  the  Graduate  School iii               CURRICULUM  VITAE     Brent  A.  Fujioka  was  born  in  Honolulu,  Hawaii,  on  August  3,  1981.  He   graduated  from  the  University  of  Hawaii  at  Manoa  with  his  B.A.,  and  received  M.A.s   in  English  from  Washington  State  University  and  American  Civilization  from  Brown   University.  While  at  Brown,  he  instructed  two  undergraduate  seminars:  “It’s  the  End   of  the  World  As  We  Know  It:  Zombie  and  Apocalypse  Narratives  In  American   Popular  Culture”  and  “Four-­‐Color  Creatures:  Race,  Gender,  and  Monstrosity  In   American  Comic  Books  and  Popular  Culture.”  He  also  served  as  lead  organizer  for   the  colloquium  series,  “Raising  the  Undead:  The  Image  of  the  Zombie  in   Transnational  Popular  Culture.”       iv               ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS       This  dissertation  is  the  result  of  many  years  of  research  and  writing.   Throughout  that  time,  there  have  been  many  friends,  mentors,  and  family  members   that  provided  me  with  invaluable  feedback,  support,  and  words  of  encouragement.       I  would  like  to  start  by  thanking  my  committee.  Over  the  years,  they  have  all   generously  given  their  time  and  energy  to  me,  whether  in  the  form  of  meeting  to   discuss  ideas  or  providing  feedback  about  my  work.  I  have  had  the  good  fortune  of   not  only  being  their  student,  but  also  serving  as  a  teaching  assistant  for  each  of  them,   and  those  experiences  have  provided  me  with  invaluable  insight  into  what  it  means   to  be  both  an  effective  instructor  and  a  consummate  professional.  Through  his  own   work,  Bob  Lee  sparked  my  interest  in  Asian  American  Studies  when  I  was  an   undergraduate  at  the  University  of  Hawaii.  During  my  time  at  Brown,  he  has  been   completely  supportive  of  every  outlandish,  out-­‐of-­‐the-­‐box  idea  that  I’ve  managed  to   come  up  with,  whether  it  involved  organizing  a  colloquium  about  zombies,  teaching   a  course  on  comic  books,  or  writing  a  dissertation  about  monstrosity.  His  feedback   and  support  throughout  this  process  has  been  invaluable.  With  Ralph,  I  found   something  of  a  kindred  spirit,  for  we  both  share  a  background  in  literature  and  an   interest  in  comic  books  and  graphic  novels.  He  was  one  of  the  very  first  people  I  met   v       when  I  initially  visited  Brown  years  ago,  and  many  of  the  theoretical  insights  he   provided  in  classes  and  conversations  compelled  me  to  grow  as  a  researcher  and  as   an  intellectual.  Naoko  has  made  me  a  better,  more  thoughtful  scholar,  and  has   prompted  me  to  consider  how  my  work  could  appeal  to  those  outside  my  discipline.   While  I’ve  known  her  the  longest  of  all  the  individuals  on  my  committee—since  my   time  at  the  University  of  Hawaii—she  has  always  pushed  me  beyond  my  comfort   zone  and  compelled  me  to  consider  alternate  perspectives  that  challenge  my   arguments.  My  work  is  absolutely  the  better  for  it.     There  have  also  been  numerous  friends  and  colleagues  who  provided  much   needed  emotional  support  since  this  journey  began.  I  would  not  have  made  it   through  my  first  year  without  the  help  of  my  peers,  Ronaldo  Noche  and  Amy   Johnson.  Their  kindness  at  a  time  when  I  doubted  whether  I  could  actually  see  this   through  made  a  huge  difference.  The  friendship  of  Maria  Hwang,  Heather  Lee,  and   Crystal  Ngo  has  also  been  a  source  of  inspiration,  even  in  trying  times.  Our   conversations  have  always  made  me  feel  like  part  of  a  larger  community,  despite   how  withdrawn  I  may  have  been  throughout  the  last  six  years.   I  would  also  like  to  thank  Jeff  Cabral,  the  best  department  manager  that   Brown  has  ever  had.  Many  hours  were  spent  in  his  office  talking  about  everything   from  superheroes  to  politics  to  the  Boston  Red  Sox,  which  kept  me  grounded   throughout  this  entire  experience  and  made  me  feel  like  a  normal  human  being.  His   assistance  with  logistical  issues  was  invaluable.  Huge  thanks  also  to  Matt  Guterl  and   Rich  Meckel,  who—as  chair  and  DGS  respectively—fought  tooth  and  nail  to  secure   vi       desperately  needed  sixth  year  funding  for  my  cohort,  which  enabled  me  to  finish   this  dissertation.     I’ve  also  been  shaped  by  a  number  of  instructors  and  peers  from  my  time   before  Brown,  and  while  I  can’t  name  them  all  here,  I  would  like  to  recognize  a  few   that  helped  shape  my  intellectual  development.  At  the  University  of  Hawaii,  Gary   Pak,  Todd  Sammons,  and  the  late  Ian  MacMillan  were  instrumental  in  sparking  my   interest  in  literature  and  creative  writing  as  an  undergraduate.  At  Washington  State   University,  Paul  Brians  helped  develop  the  idea  for  my  thesis,  which  eventually   became  the  third  chapter  of  this  dissertation.  Anne  Stiles,  now  at  St.  Louis  University,   sparked  my  interest  in  monstrosity  during  a  graduate  seminar  on  Victorian   Literature.  Bob  Eddy  helped  me  to  refine  my  pedagogical  and  theoretical  outlook  as   an  instructor,  and  provided  me  with  valuable  skills  that  I  still  utilize  in  the   classroom  today.  Colleagues  like  Rachel  Mark,  Hannah  Allen,  Amir  Hassan,  Kellan   Deardorff,  Gregory  Phillips,  and  many,  many  others  enriched  my  academic  and   personal  life  with  their  friendship  and  support.   It  is  also  important  to  acknowledge  the  many  students  that  I  have  taught  over   the  years.  For  me,  teaching  has  always  been  an  extremely  rewarding,   multidirectional  process.  Here  at  Brown,  I  have  been  blessed  with  incredibly  gifted   and  engaged  students  in  the  courses  that  I  have  instructed.  Their  interest  in  classes   based  on  my  research  has  consistently  demonstrated  that  not  only  are  such   offerings  about  popular  subjects  viable  in  a  university  setting,  but  there  is  significant   demand  for  them,  as  they  reflect  on  the  lived  experiences  of  many  young  people   today.     vii       Finally,  I  would  like  to  thank  my  family.  My  parents,  Brian  and  Carol,  have   provided  me  with  material  and  emotional  support  since  day  one.  They  have   sacrificed  greatly  to  ensure  my  success.  The  completion  of  this  dissertation  is  not   just  my  accomplishment,  but  theirs  as  well.  My  sister,  Brianne,  is  a  gifted  educator  in   her  own  right,  and  has  always  supported  my  scholarly  goals.  My  uncle,  Ronald   Kuriki,  always  believed  that  I  could  do  this,  and  encouraged  me  all  the  way  through,   knowing  how  important  it  was.  My  maternal  grandparents,  James  and  Grace  Kuriki,   passed  away  many  years  ago,  long  before  they  could  witness  this  accomplishment.   As  a  Nisei  from  Hawaii,  my  grandfather,  the  son  of  an  immigrant  woodcutter,  likely   never  imagined  that  I  would  graduate  with  a  Ph.D.,  let  alone  from  a  prestigious   institution  like  Brown.  My  paternal  grandparents,  Jack  and  Masako  Fujioka,  were   also  lost  to  us  many  years  ago,  but  their  hopes  and  dreams  live  on.  It  is  to  them  and   to  all  the  succeeding  generations  to  come  that  I  dedicate  this  work.     viii               TABLE  OF  CONTENTS     Introduction                     1     Chapter  1.     Monsters  and  Monstrosity  In  Theory,  Literature,  and  History       18       Chapter  2.     Yellow  Perils:  The  Construction  of  the  (Monstrous)  Asian  Body  In  the     American  Cultural  Imagination               75     Chapter  3.     Enemies  Real  and  Imagined:  The  Monstrous  Japanese  in  Golden  Age     Comic  Books                     101     Chapter  4.     Welcome  to  the  New  Age:  Deviant  and  Subversive  Monstrosity  in  the     Postwar  Era                   162     ix         Chapter  5.     Monstrous  Marvels  and  Atomic  Humanoids:  A  Comparative  Analysis  of     American  and  Japanese  Superheroes  of  the  1950s  and  1960s       212     Conclusion                     271     Bibliography                     368   x               LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS     1.  The  World  Map                   279   2.  Frontispiece  of  a  Dracula  pamphlet             280   3.  Monstrous  Races                   281   4.  First  issue  of  Yellow  Claw                 282   5.  The  Yellow  Peril                   283   6.  “What  Shall  We  Do  With  Our  Boys”  cartoon           284   7.  “Open  Door”  cartoon                 285   8.  First  issue  of  Action  Comics               286   9.  Captain  America  punches  a  demonic  Japanese  soldier         287   10.  Captain  America  battles  Japanese  soldiers           288   11.  Timely  superheroes  battle  the  Japanese  navy           289   12.  Page  from  a  story  featuring  the  Black  Dragon  Society         290   13.  Superman  stops  a  Japanese  saboteur             291   14.  Wonder  Woman  uses  animalistic  terms  while  fighting  Japanese  soldiers   292   15.  Japanese  soldier  threatens  Native  American           293   16.  First  issue  of  Detective  Comics               294   17.  Slam  Bradley  battles  Chinese  criminals           295   xi       18.  First  issue  of  Silver  Streak  Comics             296   19.  Cover  appearance  of  The  Claw  and  Daredevil           297   20.  First  issue  of  Captain  America  Comics             298   21.  Daredevil  Battles  Hitler                 299   22.  “How  to  Spot  a  Jap”  instructional  cartoon           300   23.  Captain  Fujiyama  gives  orders  to  the  Singapore  Stranglers       301   24.  Human  Torch  and  Toro  create  propagandistic  fireworks  display     302   25-­‐26.  Page  calling  for  national  unity  and  cooperation  during  World  War  II   303   27.  Superheroes  pledge  allegiance  to  the  flag           305   28.  The  Blackhawks  and  Chop-­‐Chop             306   29.  Uniforms  of  Wing  How  and  the  Crimson  Avenger         307   30.  Wing  How  declares  the  Japanese  are  ancient  enemies  of  China     308   31.  Superman  operates  wartime  printing  press           309   32.  Superman  hoists  Hitler  and  Hirohito             310   33.  Superman  attacks  Japanese  soldiers  on  motorbike         311   34.  Superman  rides  a  bomb  into  battle             312   35.  Captain  Midnight  foils  a  breakout  at  a  Japanese  internment  camp     313   36.  The  Green  Hornet  battles  Japanese  saboteurs  near  Tule  Lake     314   37.  Japanese  American  youths  reading  comics  at  Tule  Lake         315   38.  Cover  of  Crime  Suspenstories  22               316   39.  Captain  America,  Commie  Smasher             317   40.  Captain  America  transitions  into  horror  comic         318   41.  Return  of  Captain  America  during  the  Silver  Age         319   xii       42.  Page  depicting  the  discovery  of  Captain  America         320   43.  First  issue  of  Crime  Does  Not  Pay             321   44.  First  issue  of  Adventures  Into  the  Unknown           322   45.  E.C.  horror  cover  featuring  a  werewolf             323   46.  E.C.  science  fiction  cover                 324   47.  E.C.  suspense  cover                 325   48.  E.C.  war  cover                   326   49.  Mad  cover                     327   50.  D.C.  Korean  War  Cover                 328   51.  D.C.  Korean  War  Cover                 329   52.  Chinese  American  secret  agent  Jimmy  Woo           330   53.  Kappa  by  Toriyama  Sekien               331   54.  Tengu  by  Toriyama  Sekien               332   55.  Night  Parade  of  100  Demons               333   56.  Godzilla  vs.  Charles  Barkley               334   57.  Godzilla  (2014)  Imax  poster               335   58.  D.C.  Public  Service  Announcement             336   59.  Barry  Allen,  the  Silver  Age  Flash             337   60.  Hal  Jordan,  the  Silver  Age  Green  Lantern           338   61.  Silver  Age  Hawkman                 339   62.  The  Justice  League  of  America               340   63.  Atlas-­‐era  monster  comic  cover               341   64.  Fin  Fang  Foom                   342   xiii       65.  Dragon  Seed  Saga                   343   66.  Hulk  prototype                   344   67.  Dr.  Doom  prototype                 345   68.  Magneto  prototype                 346   69.  Electro  prototype                 347   70.  Diablo  prototype                   348   71.  Sandman  prototype                 349   72.  Cyclops  prototype                 350   73.  The  Thing  prototype                 351   74.  Spider-­‐Man  prototype                 352   75.  Hank  Pym  as  “The  Man  in  the  Ant  Hill”             353   76.  Sunfire                     354   77.  Black  Panther                   355   78.  Multiracial  platoon  in  Sgt.  Fury  and  His  Howling  Commandos     356   79.  The  Hate  Monger                   357   80.  The  Mandarin                   358   81.  Choju-­Giga                   359   82.  Portrait  of  Tetsuwan  Atomu               360   83.  Tezuka’s  avatar                   361   84.  Pluto  the  Robot                   362   85.  Atlas  and  Dr.  Ram                 363   86.  Birth  of  Atomu                   364   87.  Kitaro                     365   xiv       88.  Nezumi  Otoko                   366   89.  Kitaro  as  a  misunderstood  whale  monster           367     xv               INTRODUCTION       At  2:46  p.m.  on  March  11,  2011,  Japan  was  hit  by  a  9.03  magnitude   earthquake,  the  fourth  largest  event  in  the  world  and  the  most  powerful  that  had   ever  hit  the  country  since  records  were  first  kept  in  1900.1  Centered  off  the   northeastern  coast  of  the  island  of  Honshu,  it  triggered  a  massive  tsunami,  which   sent  waves  inland  as  high  as  twenty-­‐nine  feet.  Together,  the  two  events  killed  more   than  fifteen  thousand  people  and  caused  billions  of  dollars  in  damage  and   destruction.    Today,  the  event  is  known  by  two  designations:  3/11,  or  The  Great   Tohoku  Earthquake.  The  disaster  quickly  escalated  into  a  global  nuclear  crisis,  as   power  outages  and  flooding  caused  reactors  to  meltdown  at  the  Fukushima  Daiichi   Nuclear  Power  Plant.  Americans  and  others  around  the  world  saw  these  events  play   out  in  real  time  on  live  television,  and  many  of  them  turned  to  the  Internet  and   social  media  to  learn  more  and  express  themselves.       Almost  immediately,  rumors  circulated  online  that  during  a  broadcast  CNN   International  News  anchor  Rosemary  Church  compared  the  destruction  caused  by   the  earthquake  to  an  attack  by  the  Japanese  movie  monster,  Godzilla.  The  online   chatter  alleged  that  she  joked  about  the  situation,  giggling  with  a  guest  on  the  air.   Understandably,  this  generated  significant  outrage,  much  of  it  directed  toward  the                                                                                                                   1  National  Oceanic  and  Atmospheric  Administration.  Summary  Report:  March  11,   2011  Japan  Earthquake  and  Tsunami.   1           broadcaster  herself,  but  in  the  end,  media  reports  found  that  the  story  was  false,  the   product  of  a  “viral”  rumor  spread  across  the  internet.2  Still,  “Godzilla”  remained  a   trending  term  on  Twitter  for  hours  after  the  disaster.       Considerably  more  disturbing  were  the  messages  that  ordinary  Americans   posted  on  the  social  networking  site,  Facebook.  While  many  utilized  the   communicative  potential  of  new  media  to  convey  their  sympathies  for  the  victims  of   the  disaster,  urging  their  friends  to  “Pray  for  Japan,”  others  invoked  World  War  II   and  the  attack  on  Pearl  Harbor  in  their  comments.3  In  the  casual,  ungrammatical   English  that  is  characteristic  of  the  Internet,  one  user  wrote,  “I’m  not  saying  that  I   wish  for  a  tsunami  to  strike  a  country  because  it’s  terrible,  but  I  wish  Japan  woulda   got  hit  by  tsunami  on  anniversary  of  Pearl  Harbor.”  Others  were  decidedly  more   cheerful  in  tone,  posting,  “Remember  pearl  harbor?  Go  tsunami  go!”  Another   individual  approached  the  events  from  a  religious  perspective,  noting,  “Apparently   God  is  still  upset  about  the  events  of  Pearl  Harbor.”  Yet  another  wrote,  “ya  know   Japan,  this  earthquake  is  just  gods  way  of  getting  you  back  for  that  Pearl  Harbor   deal…’buy  American.’”     These  comments  were  not  isolated  to  a  specific  segment  of  the  population,   but  originated  from  individuals  of  all  ages,  races,  genders,  and  classes.  While  these   examples  are  certainly  not  representative  of  the  multiplicity  of  viewpoints  and   statements  that  emerged  after  the  Tohoku  Earthquake,  they  do  help  to  illustrate  not   only  how  the  Japanese,  for  many  Americans,  constitute  a  foreign  population  that   exists  in  fundamental  opposition  to  the  West—what  Edward  Said  calls  “The                                                                                                                   2  Coscarelli;  Dumenco;  Hall.   3  Asakawa;  Grey;  Yu.   2           Other”—but  they  also  gesture  toward  issues  that  are  at  the  heart  of  this  dissertation,   namely  the  association  between  Japanese  identity,  World  War  II,  and  monstrosity.     In  part,  these  incidents  generated  two  questions  in  my  mind:  First,  how  could   Japan,  a  recognized  ally  of  the  United  States,  rapidly  revert  from  a  friend  to  an   enemy  within  the  minds  of  ordinary  Americans,  particularly  in  the  aftermath  of  a   natural  disaster?    Secondly,  why  is  it  that  within  American  culture  the  Japanese  are   associated  with  a  list  of  nouns,  adjectives,  and  historical  events  that  signify  the   antagonistic,  the  foreign,  and  the  bizarre?  If  you  ask  an  average  American  to  name   everything  that  comes  to  mind  when  they  think  of  Japan,  they  are  likely  to  provide   you  with  a  veritable  laundry  list  of  associations  ranging  from  the  weird  to  the   outright  monstrous.  Such  an  activity  almost  certainly  generates  responses  like:   World  War  II,  the  atomic  bombs,  kamikaze  pilots,  Godzilla,  samurai,  ninja,  geisha,   sushi,  bizarre  sexual  fetishes,  animated  pornography,  crazy  television  shows,   advanced  technology,  anime,  giant  robots,  Hello  Kitty,  Pokémon,  unconventional   fashion,  and  foreign  competition.  The  list  goes  on  and  on.   To  address  these  questions,  this  project  asserts  that  a  discursive  formation  of   monstrosity  defines  Japan  and  Japanese  identity  within  the  United  States.  The   narrative  frame  underlying  this  specific  understanding  of  Japan  consists  of  a   constellation  of  established  historical  and  theoretical  knowledge  that  is  embedded   into  the  foundation  of  American  and  European  culture  and  society,  which  defines   Asia  and  the  region  typically  designated  as  “the  East”  as  a  land  of  monsters.  In  other   words,  I  posit  that  the  way  we  understand  Japan  today  is  grounded  in  an  ancient   template  that  has  been  built  upon  and  modified  for  centuries,  manifesting  most   3           frequently  and  visibly  within  popular  culture.  Over  time,  these  ideas  have  been   reinforced,  refined,  and  recrafted  in  a  variety  of  ways,  perhaps  most  obviously   through  racial  representation,  yet  discourses  about  difference  continue  to  emanate   from  this  source.   It  should  be  noted  that  this  project  is  not  concerned  with  biological  or   existential  questions  about  the  nature  of  monsters.  That  is  tangential  and  beyond   the  scope  of  this  study.  Rather,  this  dissertation  is  concerned  with  how  monstrosity   functions  as  both  a  metaphor  and  a  discourse,  examining  how  it  has  been  applied  to   certain  individuals  and  segments  of  the  population  within  American  culture  to  vilify   and  establish  them  as  less  than  human,  often  for  the  purpose  of  justifying  violence   or  oppressive  action.  Whether  monsters  are  real  or  fictive  is  irrelevant  to  the  larger   findings  of  this  project,  as  we  often  find  that  belief  drives  action,  regardless  of  truth   or  objective  reality.  In  other  words,  just  because  something  is  not  real  does  not   mean  that  it  has  no  power,  influence,  or  real-­‐life  consequences.     To  interrogate  how  this  manifests  within  culture,  I  have  chosen  to  examine   the  comic  form,  including  American  comic  books  and  Japanese  manga.  There  are  a   number  of  reasons  for  this.  First,  a  key  assumption  of  this  project  is  that  the  comic   book  medium,  particularly  its  earliest  publications,  reproduces  existing  narratives   in  new  and  easily  accessible  ways.  Indeed,  many  stories  deliberately  work  within   the  mythic  and  epic  traditions,  utilizing  the  recurring  elements  of  these  genres.  As  a   result,  many  comic  book  narratives  are  essentially  a  reworking  of  historical  and   generic  traditions,  which  are  filtered  and  adapted  for  contemporary  audiences.  This   4           means  that  they  are  an  ideal  format  for  interrogating  the  long-­‐held  assumptions— especially  influential  ones—that  have  circulated  throughout  all  forms  of  culture.   Further,  the  ephemeral  nature  of  the  medium—where  comics  were  designed   to  have  no  lasting  value  beyond  the  immediate  period  following  their  publication— and  the  desire  for  accessibility,  led  to  the  production  of  materials  containing  basic   narratives  and  representations,  in  stark  contrast  to  what  we  find  in  modern  comic   books,  where  stories  often  contain  layers  of  narrative  complexity  and  embedded   meaning.  Many  of  the  stories  found  in  these  early  materials  constitute  the  basest   form  of  cultural  transmission,  devoid  of  obfuscation,  implication,  and  subtlety.  As  a   result,  they  give  us  a  clear  picture  of  how  individuals  from  a  diverse  array  of   backgrounds  understood  important  political  issues  and  illustrate  the  dominant   ideological  assumptions  that  operated  at  the  time.  The  meaning  of  these  stories  was   not  masked  for  the  sake  of  complexity  or  sensitivity,  but  instead,  bluntly  presented,   almost  shockingly  so.  As  a  result,  depictions  of  racism  and  sexism,  for  example,  are   highly  visible  because  they  are  presented  to  the  reader  with  radical  simplicity.       Additionally,  comic  books  function  as  a  form  of  predominantly  working  class   culture,  and  traditionally  cater  to  the  tastes  of  the  masses.  This  is  particularly  true  of   American  comic  books  in  the  past,  where  print  runs  frequently  surpassed  the   hundred  thousand  and  even  one  million  mark,  but  also  in  Japan,  where  manga  is  still   utilized  as  a  form  of  mass  entertainment  by  working  professionals.    As  Fredrik   Schodt  notes,  the  medium  largely  functions  as  a  portable  television  for  an  urbanized   society  and  an  “on-­‐the-­‐go”  population.4  Indeed,  the  idea  that  comics  are  for  children                                                                                                                   4  Schodt,  Manga,  Manga!  25-­‐26.   5           is  a  stereotype  that  emerged  from  specific  historical  conditions  in  the  United  States,   and  most  comics  were,  and  still  are,  aimed  at  much  broader  demographics.  As  a   result,  their  success  and  positive  reception  can  be  taken  as  a  respectable  barometer   of  the  opinion  of  a  given  population  or  public  at  a  specific  historical  moment.     The  time  frame  for  this  project  spans  from  1938  to  1970.  Throughout  this   period,  I  focus  on  a  number  of  key  moments,  events,  and  cultural  products  that  have   informed  the  image  of  Japan  within  the  United  States.  I  have  specifically  adopted   this  periodization  for  two  primary  reasons:  First,  it  incorporates  the  rise  of   American  comic  books  as  a  mass  medium,  beginning  with  the  introduction  of   Superman  in  June  of  1938.  By  examining  the  earliest  years  of  the  industry,  we  gain   insight  into  the  specific  influences  and  antecedents  that  contributed  to  the  kinds  of   stories  that  appear  within  the  medium.  Additionally,  it  enables  us  to  see  the  various   thematic  transitions  between  the  Great  Depression,  World  War  II,  and  Postwar  eras   that  most  directly  affect  the  representation  of  the  Japanese  in  comic  books.  Secondly,   in  terms  of  an  endpoint,  I  have  chosen  1970  because  it  is  during  the  previous  decade,   specifically  1963  with  the  debut  of  the  Tetsuwan  Atomu  anime,  that  manga   production  ceases  to  be  solely  about  comics,  and  the  industry  adopts  a  media-­‐mix   economy,  of  which  manga  was  only  a  single  part.  As  a  result,  extending  the   discussion  into  the  present  would  require  a  much  broader  focus  that  goes  beyond   the  scope  of  manga  itself,  potentially  transforming  the  project  into  a  multimedia   analysis.  I  have  therefore  chosen  an  endpoint  that  keeps  this  dissertation   manageable  while  maintaining  the  focus  on  comics.  That  is  also  the  reason  why  this   project  does  not  consider  the  influence  of  Japanese  kawaii  or  “cute”  culture,  which   6           emerges  toward  the  end  of  this  period,  as  brands  like  Sanrio  were  focused  primarily   around  merchandising  rather  than  the  production  of  manga.   Further,  this  study  adopts  a  transnational  perspective,  examining  not  only   American  cultural  production,  but  also  how  these  publications  affected  the   development  and  form  of  manga  in  Japan,  showing  how  the  Japanese  have   functioned  as  active  agents  by  engaging  with  this  discourse  of  monstrosity.  By   interrogating  this  process  of  cultural  exchange  over  a  given  period  of  time,  I   demonstrate  how  the  relationship  between  the  United  States  and  Japan  and  the   cultural  exchange  between  the  two  nations,  has  affected  the  production  of   narratives  within  comic  books  and  manga.  In  essence,  I  argue  that  there  is  a   transpacific  network  of  multidirectional  influences  that  has  significantly  shaped  the   output  of  these  two  mediums.  While  scholars  have  gestured  toward  this  connection   in  the  past,  this  is  the  first  study  that  explicitly  interrogates  how  this  historically   established  constellation  of  influences  and  exchanges  has  directly  shaped  these   industries  and  their  cultural  products.   Conceptually,  this  project  is  divided  into  two  separate  yet  complimentary   halves.  The  first  provides  background  on  the  subject  of  monstrosity  and  its   relationship  to  Japanese  identity  and  the  Asian  body,  examining  the  ancient  and   modern  origins  of  this  discourse.  Further,  it  illustrates  specifically  how  it  applies   throughout  recent  history,  focusing  on  World  War  II,  which  serves  as  an  inception   point  for  the  argument.  The  second  half  considers  the  operation  of  this  discourse  in   relation  to  Japanese  cultural  agency.  It  examines  how  Japanese  writers,  artists,  and   filmmakers  have  not  only  utilized  Western  ideas  of  monstrosity  but  also  yokai,  to   7           interrogate  social  and  cultural  anxieties  in  the  latter  half  of  the  twentieth-­‐century.  It   shows  how  they  have  responded  to  this  image  cultivated  within  American  culture,   and  analyzes  how,  in  recent  years,  Japanese  print  and  animated  media  have  become   symbolic  of  Japan  itself,  inadvertently  reinforcing  existing  narratives  about  Japanese   monstrosity.     This  dissertation  functions  as  a  historically  informed  work  of  cultural  studies   interrogated  through  the  use  of  an  interdisciplinary  methodology.  It  utilizes  a   combination  of  traditional  archival  sources,  such  as  historical  records,  statistics,   interviews,  documents,  and  printed  publications,  while  incorporating  and  analyzing   these  materials  through  the  use  of  various  theoretical  paradigms  in  order  to  develop   a  reading  and  interpretation  of  the  monstrous  representations  found  in  comic  books   and  manga.  This  study  also  relies  heavily  on  fan-­‐based  publications,  including   periodicals  like  Roy  Thomas’  Alter-­Ego.  Despite  recent  scholarship  on  comics  in  the   academy,  these  materials  continue  to  be  the  best  source  for  inside  information   about  the  industry,  interviews  with  creators,  and  previously  undocumented   historical  knowledge.  Much  of  the  underlying  schema  of  Comic  Studies  is  predicated   on  the  scholarship  of  fans,  including  the  periodization  of  American  comic  book   history  itself.5     I  would  also  like  to  comment  on  how  this  dissertation  contributes  to  the  field   of  Comic  Studies.  One  of  the  larger  disciplinary  goals  of  this  project  is  to  reposition   and  reassert  the  centrality  of  the  mainstream  superhero  comics  to  the  field.  While                                                                                                                   5  Many  of  the  most  reliable  databases  on  comic  books  today,  including  the  Who’s   Who  of  American  Comic  Books  and  the  Grand  Comic  Book  Database,  were  started  by   academics,  like  the  late  Jerry  Bails,  who  pursued  their  interest  in  comics  as  a  hobby   outside  their  scholarly  work  in  the  humanities  and  physical  sciences.   8           there  has  been  something  of  a  renewed  focus  on  these  titles,  due  in  no  small  part  to   the  success  of  Hollywood  films,  for  most  of  its  history,  Comic  Studies  has  primarily   focused  on  titles  designed  for  “mature  readers”  and  standalone  graphic  novels,   particularly  those  produced  since  the  1980s,  which  introduced  postmodern   elements  into  the  medium.6  Further,  while  there  have  been  a  number  of  worthwhile   studies  and  canonical  histories  produced  for  popular  audiences,  like  Jim  Steranko’s   History  of  Comics,  Robert  Harvey’s  Art  of  the  Comic  Book,  Bradford  Wright’s  Comic   Book  Nation,  Jean-­‐Paul  Gabilliet’s  Of  Comics  and  Men:  A  Cultural  History  of  American   Comic  Books,  and  Twomorrows  Publishing’s  multivolume  series  The  American  Comic   Book  Chronicles,  much  of  that  work  has  been  neglected  in  the  mainstream  of  Comic   Studies,  because  the  field  privileges  theoretical  and  literary  interpretations  of  works   that  have  been  arbitrarily  deemed  worthy  of  critical  attention  over  the  material  that   continues  to  dominate  the  industry.   As  previously  noted,  comic  books  have  traditionally  carried  the  stigma  of   being  children’s  literature.  As  a  result,  Comic  Studies  has  long  been  marginalized  in   academic  circles  with  few  exceptions.  Thus,  within  the  field—and  by  extension   academia  in  general—the  subject  has  been  justified  by  interrogating  select  material   deemed  by  cultural  arbiters  as  more  “prestigious”  or  “literary”  than  others.  In  many   cases,  the  focus  of  these  studies  is  highly  contemporaneous,  situated  in  the  moment   when  comics  “grew  up”  and  began  incorporating  mature  themes  and  a  complex   structure  into  their  narratives.  Many  scholarly  studies  focus  on  the  output  of  the   prolific  writers  who  spearheaded  this  change  in  the  medium,  like  Marc  Singer’s                                                                                                                   6  Di  Liddo  20-­‐21,  62;  Reynolds  117.   9           Grant  Morrison:  Combining  the  Worlds  of  Contemporary  Comics  and  Annalisa  Di   Liddo’s  Alan  Moore:  Comics  As  Performance,  Fiction  As  Scalpel.  Others  center  around   specific  themes  or  aspects  of  these  works,  particularly  race,  gender,  and  sexuality  in   the  modern  autobiographical  graphic  novel,  including  Hillary  Chute’s  Graphic   Women:  Life,  Narrative,  and  Contemporary  Comics  and  Joseph  Witek’s  Comic  Books   As  History:  The  Narrative  Art  of  Jack  Johnson,  Art  Spigelman,  and  Harvey  Pekar.  As  a   result,  comic  scholarship  has  been  produced  along  traditional  academic  lines— privileging  canonical  works  while  ignoring  others.  While  there  is  nothing  wrong   with  examining  important,  groundbreaking  texts  that  had  a  transformative  impact   on  production  within  the  industry,  many  of  these  studies  ignore  the  bulk  of  the   medium’s  output,  and  the  scholarship  produced  does  not  adequately  reflect  the   majority  of  the  material  consumed  by  readers.   There  are  also  a  number  of  logistical  reasons  for  eschewing  the  mainstream.   First,  writing  about  superhero  comic  books  requires  an  immense  amount  of   knowledge  about  both  the  material  one  is  analyzing  and  the  history  of  the  medium.   In  order  to  do  the  subject  justice,  one  must  understand  nearly  eighty  years  worth  of   what  Richard  Reynolds  dubs  “serial  continuity,”  the  glue  that  binds  these   interconnected  stories  and  their  respective  fictive  universes  together.7  Additionally,   the  sheer  breadth  of  this  material  can  result  in  numerous  unintended  errors  and   omissions  within  scholarship,  provoking  the  ire  of  the  fan  community,  which  is   familiar  with  every  facet  of  these  stories.  Lastly,  the  vast  majority  of  comic  books  are   rare,  out-­‐of-­‐print,  and  difficult  to  obtain.  Despite  the  recent  surge  of  interest  in  the                                                                                                                   7  Reynolds  38.   10           subject,  there  are  still  relatively  few  publicly  accessible  archives  of  comic  books   within  the  United  States  and  literally  no  comprehensive  collections  that  are  outside   private  hands.  As  a  result,  even  if  one  is  inclined  to  put  forth  the  effort  to  read   thousands  of  comic  books,  it  remains  very  difficult  to  locate  and  access  pre-­‐1970s   content  without  enduring  significant  financial  burden.     These  factors  have  created  a  significant  gap  within  the  existing  scholarship   that  this  project  attempts  to  address.  Due  to  this  narrow  focus  on  graphic  novels  and   critically  acclaimed  works,  many  of  the  best  analyses  of  comics  have  not  appeared  in   peer-­‐reviewed  journals,  but  in  fanzines  and  publications  like  The  Comics  Journal.   Returning  the  focus  to  mainstream  superhero  comics  is  particularly  important  for   those  who  engage  in  historically  informed  readings  of  this  material,  as  such  work   relies  heavily  on  information  provided  by  creators  who  worked  in  the  medium   during  the  Golden  and  Silver  Ages  of  American  comic  books.  Works  like  Charles   Hatfield’s  Hand  of  Fire:  The  Comics  Art  of  Jack  Kirby,  Thomas  Andrae’s  Carl  Barks  and   the  Disney  Comic  Book:  Unmasking  the  Myth  of  Modernity,  and  Jeffrey  Brown’s  Black   Superheroes,  Milestone  Comics,  and  Their  Fans,  illustrate  how  scholarship  of  the   mainstream  can  cater  to  both  academic  and  popular  audiences.  Further,  while  gritty   postmodern  comic  book  series,  like  Alan  Moore  and  Dave  Gibbon’s  Watchmen  or   Frank  Miller’s  The  Dark  Knight  Returns  may  be  favorite  subjects  of  today’s  scholars,   these  books  build  and  capitalize  on  a  foundation  of  narratives  and  characterization   that  are  nearly  a  century  old.  Repositioning  the  centrality  of  older  texts  to  the   medium  illuminates  neglected  materials  and  produces  new  insights  on  the   processes  of  adaptation,  reinscription,  and  creative  appropriation  that  we  are  seeing   11           in  our  contemporary  culture.  This  is  particularly  important  now,  when  Hollywood   has  had  great  success  in  placing  longstanding  characters  and  stories  into  the  center   of  multimillion-­‐dollar  global  entertainment  franchises.     Again,  each  chapter  of  this  dissertation  focuses  on  a  particular  cultural   moment  or  thematic  that  has  shaped  the  American  view  of  Japan,  and  much  of  it  is   presented  in  chronological  order  for  the  sake  of  readability.  The  project  traces  the   understanding  and  evolution  of  monstrosity  in  Western  society,  illustrating  how   ancient  concepts  have  shaped  the  construction  of  Asia,  and  by  extension  Japanese   and  Japanese  American  identity,  throughout  the  modern  era.  Here,  we  are   concerned  with  the  prevalence  of  these  associations  in  comics  books  and  manga,   and  illustrate  the  centrality  of  the  metaphor  of  the  monster  in  our  understanding  of   race,  the  vilification  of  difference,  and  the  construction  of  the  other  within  American   society.   Chapter  one  establishes  the  theoretical  and  historical  foundation  for  this   study.  Utilizing  perspectives  from  literary  theory  and  media  studies,  it  articulates  an   approach  to  understanding  the  concept  of  monstrosity,  addressing  not  only  its   metaphorical  use  within  culture,  but  also  exploring  the  meanings  attached  to  it  in   the  process  of  representation.  It  frames  monstrosity  as  a  central  element  in  the   genres  that  dominate  the  comic  book  medium,  demonstrating  how  many  of  the   narratives  within  these  forms  of  popular  fiction  rely  on  difference.  Lastly,  it   examines  ancient  connections  in  history  and  literature  that  establish  the  East  as  a   land  of  marvelous  creatures  and  monstrous  races.  It  charts  the  development  of  this   idea  over  time,  and  analyzes  how  it  has  circulated  and  evolved,  shaped  by  religious   12           influences  throughout  the  medieval  era  and  later  by  science  and  medicalization  in   modernity.     Chapter  two  explores  the  construction  of  the  Asian  body  in  American  culture,   illustrating  how  it  functions  as  a  vessel  for  core  ideas  about  monstrosity.  It  focuses   on  the  elements  of  contradiction  and  liminality  in  Asian  identity  within  the  legal,   political,  and  cultural  spheres  of  the  United  States.  Engaging  in  a  historical   examination  of  the  American  fascination  with  Asian  monstrosity,  it  highlights  the   career  of  Chang  and  Eng  Bunker,  the  famous  Siamese  Twins,  and  charts  how   biological  diversity  was  interpreted  as  medical  monstrosity  in  the  nineteenth   century,  largely  due  to  the  influence  of  pseudo  sciences  like  teratology,  resulting  in   the  promotion  of  a  racialized  logic  of  inferiority  and  bodily  difference  that  is  at  the   core  of  popular  entertainment  institutions  like  the  freak  show.  Further,  it  discusses   how  these  ideas,  coupled  with  ancient  notions  about  monsters  and  foreign  peoples,   fed  into  an  understanding  of  Asian  immigration  and  the  presence  of  foreign  bodies   in  America  as  being  representative  of  the  Yellow  Peril.  Finally,  it  discusses  Japanese   immigration  to  the  United  States,  contextualizing  the  discussion  of  Asian   monstrosity  in  the  subsequent  sections.     Chapter  three  interrogates  representations  of  the  Japanese  in  American   comic  books  produced  throughout  the  1930s  and  1940s,  particularly  during  World   War  II.  Here,  we  discuss  the  origins  of  the  American  comic  book  industry,  detailing   specifically  how  they  functioned  as  one  of  the  leading  forms  of  visual  culture   throughout  the  period.  We  focus  on  the  ubiquity  of  the  Asian  villain  in  Golden  Age   comic  books  (1938-­‐1955),  patterned  primarily  after  the  archetype  of  Fu  Manchu,   13           and  how,  with  the  onset  of  World  War  II,  the  panethnic  understanding  of  Asian   populations  in  the  United  States  undergoes  a  transformation,  and  villains  shift  from   being  Chinese  to  Japanese,  aligning  specifically  with  the  goals  of  American  foreign   policy.  We  examine  how  the  Japanese  were  vilified  and  dehumanized  in  the  majority   of  comics  from  this  period—introduced  to  readers  as  either  animalistic,  uncivilized,   savages  who  had  no  respect  for  human  life,  or  literal  monsters,  sporting  claws  and   fangs,  who  threatened  the  sovereignty  of  the  United  States—regularly  doing  battle   with  heroes,  like  Superman,  Captain  America,  and  Wonder  Woman.  We  also   interrogate  the  role  that  the  state  and  federal  government  played  in  influencing  the   content  of  these  publications,  and  how  the  individuals  producing  these  materials   drew  from  their  personal  ethnic  and  political  backgrounds  to  not  only  create  some   of  the  most  iconic  superheroes  in  American  culture,  but  also  some  of  the  most   spectacular  wartime  propaganda  of  the  twentieth  century.     Chapter  four  focuses  on  the  postwar  era  and  the  early  1950s,  analyzing  the   differing  use  of  monstrosity  in  the  visual  culture  of  the  United  States  and  Japan.     Here,  we  find  that  the  popularization  of  crime  and  horror  comics  in  America,   following  the  decline  of  superheroes,  results  in  the  demonization  of  the  medium,  as   cultural  critics,  specialists,  and  politicians  attack  comic  books  as  a  leading  cause  of   juvenile  delinquency.  We  examine  the  divergence  of  business  interests  and  those  of   the  state,  and  show  how  shifting  tastes  following  the  war  resulted  in  the  Senate   Subcommittee  Hearings  headed  by  Estes  Kefauver,  and  the  eventual  adoption  of   self-­‐censorship  by  the  industry  through  the  Comics  Code  Authority,  which  labeled   traditional  monsters  as  agents  of  disorder,  effectively  banning  them  from  the   14           medium  for  nearly  two  decades.  Conversely,  we  explore  an  entirely  different   dynamic  on  the  other  side  of  the  Pacific,  where  Japanese  cultural  producers,   particularly  filmmakers  like  Honda  Ishiro,  utilized  the  figure  of  the  monster  to   interrogate  the  dropping  of  the  atomic  bombs  on  Hiroshima  and  Nagasaki,  in  the   film,  Gojira.  It  is  there  that  monstrosity,  as  a  contemporary  extension  of  folk  belief,  is   deployed  through  the  genre  of  science  fiction  as  a  vehicle  for  social  and  cultural   critique,  simultaneously  leveling  harsh  criticism  against  the  American  government   for  its  continued  atomic  testing  in  the  Pacific,  while  allowing  domestic  audiences  to   cope  with  national  trauma,  resulting  in  the  development  of  what  Susan  Napier  dubs,   the  Japanese  “apocalyptic  imaginary.”8  Further,  we  explore  the  long-­‐lasting   association  between  Godzilla  and  Japan  itself  in  the  American  consciousness,   illustrating  how  processes  of  adaptation  and  localization,  combined  with  historical   memory,  effectively  transformed  the  movie  monster  into  a  signifier  of  Japanese   identity.     Chapter  five  takes  us  into  the  late  1950s  and  1960s  at  the  dawn  of  the  Silver   Age  of  American  comic  books  (1956-­‐1970)  and  the  emergence  of  manga  as  a  mass   medium  in  Japan.  Here,  we  explore  the  monstrous  origins  of  the  contemporary   superhero,  a  figure  rooted  in  the  genres  of  science  fiction  and  giant  monster  movies,   particularly  at  Marvel  Comics,  which  resulted  in  the  development  of  characters  as   relatable  outsiders  whose  mere  existence  serves  as  a  reminder  about  the  perils  of   uncontrolled  technological  development,  imperialism,  and  the  tenuous  border  that   separates  the  self  from  the  other.  Many  of  the  most  popular  and  iconic  superheroes                                                                                                                   8  Napier,  Anime:  From  Akira  to  Howl’s  Moving  Castle  251-­‐253.   15           today,  like  Spider-­‐Man,  the  Hulk,  Iron  Man,  and  the  X-­‐Men,  evolved  directly  out  of   Marvel’s  “giant  monster”  line,  which  borrowed  heavily  from  films  like  Gojira  and  The   Blob  in  their  constitution,  laying  the  groundwork  for  stories  that  inherently   challenged  dominant  ideas  about  race,  gender,  and  American  foreign  policy   throughout  the  decade.     Likewise,  we  find  that  in  Japanese  manga,  while  superheroes  exist  in   different  forms,  like  posthuman  cyborgs  and  supernatural  beings,  for  example,  they   effectively  serve  the  same  function  as  their  Western  counterparts,  namely  to   interrogate  various  cultural  anxieties  through  the  use  of  monstrosity.  Here,  we  focus   on  Tezuka  Osamu’s  Tetsuwan  Atomu,  popularly  known  as  Astro  Boy  in  the  United   States,  and  Mizuki  Shigeru’s  Kitaro,  two  of  the  most  popular  characters  in  early   Japanese  manga,  and  utilize  them  as  vehicles  to  engage  in  a  comparative  analysis  of   transnational  popular  culture.  Finally,  we  turn  to  a  discussion  of  anime  and  the   media-­‐mix  economy,  exploring  how  the  growth  and  development  of  the  manga   industry  has  helped  to  popularize  these  properties  in  the  United  States,  but  also  how   they  have  effectively  facilitated  in  the  labeling  of  these  cultural  products  as  exotic,   foreign  and  fundamentally  different  from  the  visual  media  produced  in  the  West,   despite  the  constellation  of  influences  and  exchanges  that  exist  between  them.     Finally,  I  would  like  to  end  this  introduction  with  a  note  on  the  presentation   of  names  within  this  text.  When  referring  to  individuals  of  Japanese  ancestry,  this   dissertation  follows  the  established  Japanese  custom  of  listing  them  by  surname   first,  then  personal  names.  This  pertains  to  the  various  writers,  artists,  and  scholars   whose  work  is  cited  within  the  study.  Exceptions  have  been  made  for  the  formal   16           titles  of  court  cases  and  other  items  that  originate  in  English.  All  other  names  are   presented  in  the  standard  Western  order  of  given  name,  followed  by  surname.   17                   CHAPTER  ONE:  MONSTERS  AND  MONSTROSITY  IN  THEORY,  LITERATURE,  AND   HISTORY     “I  believe  legends  and  myths  are  largely  made  of  truth”  ~  J.R.R.  Tolkien     “Ancient  feudal  Japan,  a  land  shrouded  in  mystery,  forbidden  to  foreigners.  A  group   of  magical  islands  home  to  witches  and  demons.”  ~  Narrator,  47  Ronin  (2013)     I.  Introduction   “Why  monsters?”     That  is  a  question  that  has  come  up  time  and  time  again  in  conversations   with  friends,  family,  and  colleagues.  I  admit  that  it  is  an  unusual  subject,  one  that   inspires  an  odd  combination  of  skepticism  and  curiosity  in  both  academics  and   those  outside  the  university.  While  I  am  interested  in  interrogating  the  function  of   monstrosity  within  popular  narratives  and  culture  in  order  to  discern  a  deeper   social  meaning  behind  these  texts,  there  is  more  to  it  than  that.  My  interest  in  the   subject  stems  from  a  desire  to  understand  and  trace  the  complex  relationship   between  the  ancient  and  modern,  specifically  how  monstrosity,  manifesting  through   other  forms,  like  racial  difference,  affects  the  way  that  we  view  the  world  and  the   production  of  representations  that  we  routinely  encounter  within  American  popular   culture.  Here,  my  goal  is  to  gesture  toward  a  new  way  of  understanding  familiar   18           issues,  utilizing  the  insights  gained  by  analyzing  the  discursive  formation  of   monstrosity.     Much  of  this  research  is  situated  in  a  constellation  of  niche  specializations   within  the  humanities,  which  have  only  recently  attracted  significant  scholarly   attention.  Most  people  are  not  aware  that  fields  like  Monster  Studies  and  Comic   Studies  exist,  let  alone  have  any  familiarity  with  the  core  concepts  and  approaches   that  are  utilized  in  such  scholarly  endeavors.  This  is  further  complicated  by  the   interdisciplinary  nature  of  the  research,  which  employs  theoretical  paradigms  from   multiple  disciplines,  requiring  me  to  justify  the  importance  of  this  subject  and   explain  the  basic  methodology  that  I  employ  throughout  the  course  of  this  research.     This  chapter,  then,  has  three  objectives.  First,  it  presents  the  theoretical   framework  for  this  study  by  forwarding  a  working  theory  of  monstrosity.  Building   off  the  work  of  scholars  in  a  variety  of  fields,  it  hybridizes  and  integrates   psychoanalytic,  poststructural,  and  filmic  approaches  to  engage  the  subject  and   better  understand  the  function  that  it  serves  within  American  society  and  culture.  It   treats  monstrosity  as  a  discursive  formation,  much  in  the  Foucauldian  sense,  as  a   body  of  information,  knowledge,  and  practices  that  informs  and  regulates  subject   formation.     Second,  it  critiques  the  archetypal  structure  of  what  Joseph  Campbell  calls   the  Heroic  Monomyth,  illustrating  not  only  its  essential  association  with  monsters,   whose  antagonistic  function  is  necessary  within  the  narrative  structure,  but  also   how  stories  in  this  genre  mark  the  different,  abnormal,  and  deviant  as  figures  that   must  be  subdued  or  obstacles  to  be  overcome.  The  ubiquity  of  this  formula,  which  is   19           particularly  prominent  in  the  adventure  or  quest  narrative,  links  such  tales  directly   to  the  comic  book  medium.  Further,  it  illustrates  how  these  materials  are  part  of  the   broader  literary  tradition,  and  how  they  not  only  reproduce  but  also  transform   familiar  tales,  deploying  them  in  newer,  easily  accessible  forms.   Finally,  it  briefly  surveys  the  historical  association  between  monsters  and  the   imaginative  construct  of  the  Orient  in  the  Western  consciousness.9  Here,  my  intent   is  to  show  that  contemporary  representations  of  Asia  as  foreign,  exotic,  dangerous,   static,  and  fundamentally  different  did  not  simply  emerge  spontaneously  at  some   random  point  in  history,  but  instead  are  central  to  the  way  that  the  West  has  always   understood  the  East.  It  positions  Asia  in  the  middle  of  this  discourse  and  suggests   that,  above  all  else,  monstrosity  is  at  the  core  of  these  longstanding  associations.   Here,  I  summarize  the  attitudes  and  beliefs  that  have  been  transmitted  throughout   the  centuries,  linking  them  with  the  idea  that  the  East  is  a  land  of  riches  guarded  by   monsters.  By  charting  the  intellectual  rationale  for  this  notion  and  surveying  the   texts  in  which  it  is  found,  this  section  presents  the  foundation  for  the   representations  of  the  Japanese  found  within  the  comic  book  medium.         II.  A  Working  Theory  of  Monstrosity                                                                                                                     9  I  recognize  that  this  section  is  far  from  exhaustive  in  its  treatment  of  this  subject.   However,  I  felt  that  it  was  incumbent  on  me  to  provide  a  brief  historical  overview  of   this  characterization  of  Asia  as  a  land  of  monsters,  particularly  as  it  relates  to   Ancient  Greece  and  the  Middle  East,  because  it  has  rarely  been  considered  in   scholarly  works.  Within  Asian  American  Studies,  the  most  extensive  coverage  of  this   topic  can  be  found  in  the  opening  chapter  of  Gary  Okihiro’s  Margins  and   Mainstreams.  Other  than  that  singular  work,  the  vast  majority  of  writing  on  this   subject  is  situated  in  the  fields  of  Medieval  Literature  and  Art,  Paleontology,   Religious  Studies,  and  the  Classics.   20             The  practice  of  theorizing  monstrosity  dates  back  to  ancient  times.  Here,  I   utilize  it  as  an  analytic  with  which  to  critique  representations  within  contemporary   American  visual  culture.  My  approach  is  both  literary  and  historical  in  nature,  for  it   considers  the  social  and  cultural  conditions  in  which  monstrosity  has  been  utilized   and  deployed,  but  also  recognizes  the  deeper  theoretical  meanings  and   interpretations  surrounding  the  subject.  Further,  I  consider  traditional   understandings  of  monsters  alongside  contemporary  scholarship  to  highlight  the   evolution  of  their  construction,  from  creatures  of  flesh  and  blood  to  modern   metaphor,  exploring  why  these  changes  occur  and  how  they  have  affected  our   collective  understanding  of  monstrosity.       Before  we  begin,  it  is  important  to  explain  the  relationship  between  monsters   and  the  broader,  more  amorphous  concept  of  monstrosity.  As  I  am  using  it  here,  the   latter  term  refers  to  a  wide-­‐ranging  social  discourse,  defined  in  part  by   characteristics,  traits,  or  visual  signifiers  that  represent  deviance,  abnormality,   excess,  and  difference.  Further,  the  monstrous  is  a  socially  constructed  idea,  defined   in  comparison  or  opposition  to  a  normative  standard,  and  as  a  result,  is  subject  to   change  and  variation  according  to  shifting  norms  at  any  given  place  or  time.  By  its   very  definition,  monstrosity  is  very  rarely  stable,  for  its  legibility  is  wholly   dependent  on  an  established  understanding  of  normality.     As  such,  we  can  view  monsters  as  monstrosity  embodied  and  given  life.   These  are  figures  that  stand  in  for  and  represent  the  meanings  attached  to  this   complex  and  evolving  discourse.  They  can  either  exist  as  entities  of  “real”  flesh  and   blood,  or  in  the  metaphorical  sense  as  imaginary  beings,  whose  existence  is   21           unsubstantiated,  but  whose  influence  has  real  and  lasting  effects  in  the  world.  When   it  comes  to  monsters,  belief  is  often  more  potent  than  reality,  for,  depending  on   existing  social  definitions,  they  can  manifest  in  almost  any  form  and  be  used  to   justify  almost  any  action,  no  matter  how  abhorrent.  Monstrosity  is  frequently  made   legible  through  either  visual  manifestations  of  bodily  difference,  often  in  the  form  of   extreme  excess  or  lack,  or  as  behavioral  characteristics  that  signify  deviance.     The  existence  of  monsters  has  primarily  been  understood  in  two  ways:  first   through  religion,  then  more  recently,  through  science.  Beginning  with  the  spread  of   Christianity  and  throughout  much  of  the  Middle  Ages,  monsters  were  interpreted   through  a  religious  paradigm.  It  is  important  to  note  that  early  on,  they  were  not   always  seen  as  being  inherently  evil,  but  rather  functioned  as  curiosities  and   marvels  of  nature.  In  his  fifth  century  text,  City  of  God,  Saint  Augustine  wrote  that   monsters  were  “sons  of  Noah,”  and  like  men,  were  creations  of  a  higher  power,  thus   representative  of  a  divine  will.10  In  short,  they  were  agents  who  embodied  the   diversity  and  splendor  of  nature.  His  argument  effectively  associated  the  monstrous   with  the  miraculous,  housing  them  both  under  the  umbrella  of  the  Christian   tradition.11  In  this  worldview,  monsters  were  a  constituent  part  of  God’s  plan,  and   their  presence  was  to  be  celebrated,  not  demonized.12  Ironically,  this  attitude  was   partly  reflected  centuries  later  in  the  visage  of  Saint  Christopher,  a  figure  of                                                                                                                   10  Reed  Kline  27;  Bovey  10;  Austin,  47.   11  Friedman,  Monstrous  Races  120.   12  Gilmore  55.   22           fascination  who  was  often  depicted  as  a  cynocephali,  and  an  emblem  of  the  possible   salvation  of  the  “monstrous  races”  of  the  East.13     Later  Christians,  however,  came  to  associate  monstrosity  as  a  sign  of  God’s   displeasure,  which,  in  their  minds,  could  only  be  linked  to  the  enemy  of  the  divine,   Satan  and  the  horde  of  demons  who  served  him.14  Indeed,  throughout  the  Middle   Ages,  the  term  “monster”  signified  that  which  was  unnatural  or  effectively  against   nature.15  It  was  believed  that  by  threatening  human  beings,  monsters  stood  in   opposition  to  the  stability  of  the  cosmic  order  and  God  himself.16  The  reasons  for   this  radical  change  in  interpretation  are  wide-­‐ranging  and  complex,  and  still   contentiously  debated  by  scholars  of  religion,  history,  and  literature.17  However,  we   can  say  with  relative  certainty  that  this  perspective  largely  came  about  with  the   prominence  of  Satan  in  the  Christian  worldview  and  his  rise  in  stature  from  fallen   angel  and  former  servant  of  the  Lord,  to  the  enemy  and  almost-­‐equal  of  God,   effectively  functioning  as  the  source  of  all  evil  in  the  world.     This  view  of  monstrosity  as  inherently  demonic  circulated  throughout  the   continent  and  played  an  important  role  later  during  the  fifteenth  century.  As   European  imperialists  encountered  Native  Americans  in  the  “strange”  and  “foreign”   New  World,  they  interpreted  much  of  what  they  encountered  through  their   established  religious  worldview.  They  saw  the  exotic  plants  and  animals  in  the   Americas  as  symbols  of  a  new  Eden,  a  paradise  that  had  been  infiltrated  by  evil                                                                                                                   13  Friedman,  Monstrous  Races  69.   14  Reed  Kline  28   15  Friedman,  Monstrous  Races  110.   16  Beal  30.   17  For  a  historical  account  about  monstrosity’s  association  with  Satan,  see  Pagels,   Elaine.  The  Origin  of  Satan.  New  York:  Random  House,  1995.   23           humanoid  agents  of  the  devil  who  were  functionally  perceived  as  “beasts”  and   “demons,”  due  to  their  uncivilized  social  and  cultural  practices.18  This  included  their   appearance,  the  stark  nakedness  of  which  fascinated  Europeans,  their  religious   practices,  including  cannibalism,  which  were  interpreted  as  devil  worship,  and  their   expressively  open  sexuality,  which  was  seen  as  unnatural  and  sinful.19  All  of  these   factors  reinforced  the  sense  of  superiority  with  which  imperialists  held  themselves   over  the  inferior,  monstrous  natures  of  the  Native  Americans.20  Further,  as  Jorge   Cañizares-­‐Esguerra  notes,  the  process  of  European  colonization  was  seen  as  the   antidote  to  this  demonic  infestation,  and  a  way  to  do  battle  against  the  devil  and  his   minions.21     These  religious  ideas  also  influenced  early  Renaissance  natural  philosophers,   like  Ambroise  Pare,  who  approached  the  phenomenon  of  monstrosity  from  a  more   rational  perspective.  In  his  influential  work  On  Monsters  and  Marvels,  written  in  the   sixteenth  century,  he  interrogates  the  relationship  between  odd,  exotic  creatures   and  “monstrous  births,”  children  born  with  deformities  or  unnatural  physical   characteristics.  In  this  text,  Pare  deploys  a  classificatory  system  to  identify  various   forms  of  monstrosity,  describing  their  symptoms  and  explaining  their  causes.  For   him,  monsters  are  defined  as  things  “outside”  nature,  which  exist  in  the  forms  of   severe  excess  and  lack,  while  marvels,  viewed  in  a  religious  context,  go  “against”   nature  entirely.22  In  defining  and  classifying  monstrosity,  Pare  reaffirms  the  classic                                                                                                                   18  Abulafia  4-­‐9.   19  Abulafia  54;  Clendinnen  4,  18;  Cañizares-­‐Esguerra  88;  Blevins  100.   20  Greenblatt  9.   21  Cañizares-­‐Esguerra  12-­‐14.   22  Pare  3.   24           idea  that  deviance  from  a  normative  standard  is  unnatural,  or  even  dangerous.   Furthering  this  notion,  he  claims  that  abnormalities  in  women’s  bodies,  resulting   from  extreme  abundance  or  absence,  was  bound  to  produce  monstrous  children,   and  that  their  wombs  could  birth  frogs,  toads,  snakes,  lizards,  and  harpies.23  While   this  is  certainly  emblematic  of  the  way  that  the  female  body  has  traditionally  been   associated  with  monstrosity,  it  also  illustrates  how  the  idea  of  difference,  as   deployed  in  his  work,  appropriates  religious  understandings,  adapting  them  for  a   scientific  worldview.     The  rise  of  the  Enlightenment  in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries   resulted  in  the  wholesale  rejection  of  spiritual  explanations  for  monsters,  labeling   them  as  mere  superstition.  It  marked  the  transformation  of  monstrosity  into   abnormality  and  the  beginning  of  a  scientific  order  that  classified  oddities  by  way  of   a  unitary  and  rational  system.24  No  longer  were  monsters  creatures  of  mystery  and   miraculous  origin.  Rather,  they  were  viewed  as  natural  curiosities  that  could  be   interpreted  in  terms  of  abnormality  or  mutation  and  through  a  biological   understanding  of  species.  As  a  result,  monstrosity,  like  other  physical  and   behavioral  forms  of  difference,  became  medicalized,  set  apart  from  a  normative   standard,  and  transformed  into  something  through  which  power  could  be  applied  to   the  body,  for  the  purpose  of  observation,  study,  and  correction.25  Under  science,  the   monster  was  transformed  into  a  symbol  for  natural  error,  deviance,  hybridity,  and                                                                                                                   23  Ibid.  56.   24  Asma  149.   25  Foucault  52.   25           irregular  excess  or  lack.26  Formerly  rare  and  mysterious,  monsters  were  now   everyday  beings,  made  ubiquitous  through  the  diagnosis  of  abnormality.27  Michel   Foucault  describes  this  discursive  transformation,  noting  that  during  the  eighteenth   century,  “The  monster  is  the  fundamental  figure  around  which  bodies  of  power  and   domains  of  knowledge  are  disturbed  and  reorganized.”28  From  that  point  on,  he   notes  that  this  figure  existed  in  the  “more  modest,  discreet,  and  less  scientifically   supercharged”  archetypes  of  the  criminal  and  the  masturbator,  or  sexual  deviant,   who  facilitated  clinical  appeals  for  the  correction  of  their  “dangerous”   abnormalities.29       While  monstrosity  became  metaphorical  in  this  sense,  described  as  an   observable  medical  condition  or  something  that  could  be  applied  to  any  undesirable   social  activity,  there  continued  to  be  great  interest  in  exploring  and  cataloguing  its   manifestations  in  the  form  of  physical  deformity.  Throughout  the  late  nineteenth   and  early  twentieth  centuries,  the  freak  show,  for  example,  was  utilized  as  a   scientific  method  of  observing  bodily  difference.30  Exhibitions  were  often  split  into   two  categories:  anthropological  and  abnormal,  with  the  former  showcasing   examples  of  “undiscovered”  humans,  and  the  latter  focusing  on  individuals  with   physical  abnormalities.31  Here,  as  with  monsters,  the  medical  gaze  was  deployed  for   the  purpose  of  knowledge  and  control.32  Interestingly,  even  after  the  process  of                                                                                                                   26  R.  Thompson  3.   27  Foucault  163.   28  Ibid.  62.   29  Ibid.  60-­‐75.   30  Bogdan  27.   31  Ibid.  6-­‐8.   32  Craton  26.   26           medicalization  had  begun,  this  institution  retained  characteristics  associated  with   monstrosity,  as  even  the  term  “freak”  connotes  the  absence  of  a  known   categorization,  harkening  back  to  the  former  idea  of  monsters  as  mysterious  and   unknowable  creatures.33  Still,  by  and  large,  the  freak  show  was  a  cultural  vehicle   designed  to  highlight  genetic  variation  and  generate  curiosity  and  entertainment   value  through  the  display  of  bodily  difference.       Having  briefly  surveyed  the  historical  transition  of  monstrosity  from   religious  to  scientific  paradigms,  I  would  also  like  to  explore  the  theoretical   dimension  of  the  subject,  as  it  is  understood  through  contemporary  cultural,  literary,   and  film  studies.  In  theorizing  the  monster,  this  section  provides  insights  into  how   and  why  monstrosity  is  deployed,  helping  to  frame  the  representational  discussion   in  the  following  chapters.  Further,  it  highlights  the  body  of  cultural  meanings   associated  with  monsters  in  order  to  show  that  this  approach,  currently  thought  to   be  a  niche  specialty,  has  much  to  contribute  to  other,  broader  fields  of  scholarship.       Many  contemporary  studies  on  monstrosity  utilize  social  scientific  and   literary  approaches,  analyzing  the  topic  through  the  field  of  psychoanalysis.  One   popular  way  of  theorizing  monstrosity  is  by  considering  it  in  the  context  of  what   Sigmund  Freud  dubs  “the  uncanny.”  He  describes  the  sensation  as  one  of  affective   terror,  which  creates  a  sense  of  discomfort  in  the  subject,  often  manifesting  in  the   form  of  nausea  and  panic.  Freud  claims  that  this  sense  of  horror  is  a  manifestation  of   repressed  fears,  stemming  from  childhood,  and  is  represented  by  something   familiar  that  had  been  transformed  into  a  strange  variant  of  itself  that  is  both                                                                                                                   33  R.  Adams  10.   27           recognizable  and  unknown  at  the  same  time.34  It  is  precisely  as  a  result  of  this   psychological  contradiction  that  the  uncanny  inspires  a  sense  of  fear  or  anxiety.35   Thus,  embodied  in  the  form  of  the  monster,  is  a  set  of  conflicting  traits,  those  that   remind  us  of  ourselves,  but  also  others  that  mark  it  as  fundamentally  different,  and   this  generates  the  horror  we  experience  in  these  cultural  encounters.     Likewise,  Julia  Kristeva’s  theory  of  abjection  further  expands  our   understanding  of  the  affect  produced  by  the  visualization  of  the  monstrous  body.   For  her,  the  abject  generates  a  sense  of  fear  and  fascination  in  the  subject  precisely   because,  like  the  uncanny,  it  combines  antithetical  elements  in  a  single  object,   existing  in  a  liminal  space  that  is  situated  outside  the  symbolic  order.  Most   importantly,  it  terrifies  due  to  this  lack  of  precise  definition,  and  threatens  to  violate   boundaries,  positions,  and  established  rules  or  conventions.36  The  process  of   abjection  is  one  of  border  crossing  and  the  destruction  of  distinctions,  in  which  this   fundamental  breakdown  of  symbolic  systems  simultaneously  generates  an  affect  of   contradictory  extremes,  like  repulsion  and  desire.  To  illustrate  how  this  works,   Kristeva  cites  the  example  of  a  corpse,  an  object  that  represents  the  transition  from   life  to  death,  and  notes  that   The  corpse  (or  cadaver:  cadere,  to  fall),  that  which  has  irremediably  come  a   cropper,  is  cesspool,  and  death;  it  upsets  even  more  violently  the  one  who   confronts  it  as  fragile  and  fallacious  chance  […]  No,  as  in  true  theater,  without   makeup  or  masks,  refuse  and  corpses  show  me  what  I  permanently  thrust   aside  in  order  to  live.  These  bodily  fluids,  this  defilement,  this  shit  are  what   life  withstands,  hardly  and  with  difficulty  on  the  part  of  death.  There,  I  am  at   the  border  of  my  condition  as  a  living  being.  My  body  extricates  itself,  as   being  alive,  from  that  border  […  ]the  corpse,  seen  without  God  and  outside  of                                                                                                                   34  Freud  141.   35  Ibid.  152.   36  Kristeva  4.   28           science,  is  the  utmost  of  abjection.  It  is  death  infecting  life.  Abject.  It  is   something  rejected  from  which  one  does  not  part,  from  which  one  does  not   protect  oneself  as  from  an  object.  Imaginary  uncanniness  and  real  threat,  it   beckons  to  us  and  ends  up  engulfing  us.37     Here,  we  see  how  the  abject  is  defined  by  its  ambiguity.38  It  blends  and  obscures   categories  rather  than  separates,  and  in  doing  so  manifests  as  a  threatening  entity   that  must  be  purged  for  the  preservation  of  the  status  quo.     In  this  way,  it  exemplifies  some  of  the  characteristics  that  Mary  Douglas  has   linked  to  uncleanness,  impurity,  and  disorder.  Like  with  abjection,  she  notes  that   “Danger  lies  in  transitional  states,  simply  because  transition  is  neither  one  state  nor   the  next,  it  is  undefinable.  The  person  who  must  pass  from  one  to  another  is  himself   in  danger  and  emanates  danger  to  others.”39  In  this  sense,  the  abject  is  a  pollutant,   which  threatens  to  not  only  spread  its  condition  to  those  around  them,  but  also   engage  in  the  destruction  of  society  at  large.  Consider  that  the  greatest  fear   surrounding  the  monster,  in  addition  to  the  loss  of  one’s  own  life,  is  the  idea  that  by   encountering  this  figure,  we  engage  in  a  process  of  becoming,  that  through  exposure   and  interaction—with  a  vampire,  zombie,  or  other  creature—we  will  somehow  be   infected  and  forever  changed.  Even  in  resisting  and  fighting  them,  there  will  be  no   purification  through  victory,  for  as  Friedrich  Nietzsche  famously  wrote,  “Whoever   fights  monsters  should  see  to  it  that  in  the  process  he  does  not  become  a  monster.   And  when  you  look  long  into  an  abyss,  the  abyss  also  looks  into  you.”40     Thus,  the  monster  functions  as  abject.  Its  body,  like  ours  but  different,                                                                                                                   37  Ibid.  3-­‐4.   38  Ibid.  9.   39  Douglas  119.   40  Nietzsche  89.   29           horrifies  and  thrills  us.  It  is  simultaneously  like  us,  but  not  like  us.  In  this  state,  it   crosses  the  border  between  self  and  other,  between  human  and  animal,  between   familiar  and  alien,  generating  a  complex  and  conflicted  affective  emotion.  More  than   anything  else,  it  is  elusive  and  ambiguous,  which  is  precisely  why  we  find  it  so   fascinating.  It  straddles  the  boundary  between  distinct  categories,  and  threatens  to   destroy  the  wall  that  separates  the  acceptable  from  the  forbidden  by  forcing  us  to   reconsider  the  naturalized  and  established  categories  that  we  use  to  understand  the   world.  As  a  result,  by  exploring  monstrosity,  we  see  how  these  figures  allow  for  the   deconstruction  and  re-­‐examination  of  the  basic  categories,  boundaries,  and   assumptions  around  which  society  is  constructed.  As  David  Gilmore  notes,     Being  thus  inexplicable,  monsters  are  not  only  physically  but  cognitively   threatening:  they  undermine  basic  understandings.  By  smashing  distinction,   monsters  offer  a  threat  to  the  culture’s  very  integrity  as  an  intellectual  whole,   or  more  precisely  to  the  assumption  that  such  distinctions  can  be  drawn  in   the  first  place.  In  other  words,  monsters  expose  the  radical  permeability  and   artificiality  of  all  our  classificatory  boundaries,  highlighting  the  arbitrariness   and  fragility  of  culture.41     In  this  sense,  monsters  are  inherently  transgressive.  Their  mere  existence   challenges  established  ways  of  understanding  the  world.42  Furthermore,  they  are   frequently  understood  through  an  established  dynamic  of  exteriority  and  interiority,   which  marks  the  divide  between  the  normal  and  the  abnormal.43  But  they  also  do   more  than  that.  As  Elaine  Graham  notes,  “Monsters  have  a  double  function,   therefore,  simultaneously  marking  the  boundaries  between  the  normal  and  the   pathological  but  also  exposing  the  fragility  of  the  very  taken-­‐for-­‐grantedness  of  such                                                                                                                   41  Gilmore  19.   42  Cohen  16.   43  Beal  4.   30           categories.”44  The  monster  trespasses  over  borders  and  overflows  categories.  It   does  not  fit  within  easily  containable  labels,  and  as  a  result,  is  impossible  to  classify,   categorize,  and  control.  As  James  Twitchell  explains,  “By  their  very  definition,   monsters  are  just  beyond  the  pale  of  the  normal  […]  Because  they  are  on  the  seam   where  our  rational  world  meets  the  next,  they  are  never  totally  nonhuman.  Instead,   they  usually  combine  some  major  human  attribute  with  some  truly  bizarre   element.”45   Perhaps  most  importantly,  the  monster  has  the  power  to  deconstruct   oppositional  binaries  in  academic  discourse.  While  there  is  a  tendency  to  define  this   figure  as  being  fundamentally  other,  one  whose  identity  is  established  purely  in   opposition  to  a  normative  standard,  by  considering  monstrosity  as  a  product  of   ambiguity  and  contradiction,  combining  elements  of  both  the  self  and  other,  we  end   up  with  a  complex  constellation  of  meanings  that  continually  threatens  to   undermine  established  ways  of  categorizing  and  understanding  the  world.  While  it   has  been  suggested  that  the  Self  is  defined  by  its  relationship  to  the  Other,  this   approach  challenges  that  notion,  and  gestures  toward  alternate  modes  of  identity   formation  that  refute  theoretical  binaries.46  In  many  respects,  monsters  embody   Homi  Bhabha’s  notion  of  hybridity,  for  they  occupy  a  third  space,  between  self  and                                                                                                                   44  Graham  39.   45  Twitchell  24.   46  For  example,  in  Orientalism  Said  suggests  that  the  West  defines  itself  in  relation  to   the  East,  however,  if  we  incorporate  the  approach  suggested  by  the  monster,  it  is   more  accurate  to  suggest  that  the  West  views  the  East  as  something  foreign,  yet   familiar,  and  that  it  is  within  that  contradictory  impulse  that  the  desire  to  separate   emerges.   31           other,  that  allows  for  the  articulation  of  subaltern  agency  in  a  way  that  provokes  a   self-­‐reflective  impulse  through  the  process  of  engagement.47     Further,  by  employing  this  insight  through  a  historically  informed   perspective,  we  can  analyze  culture  in  a  way  that  highlights  new  dimensions  in  the   study  of  racial  representation.  While  race  is  a  relatively  recent  invention  that   developed  alongside  European  imperialism,  it  owes  much  of  its  construction  to   ancient  ways  of  understanding  the  world,  particularly  the  interpretation  of  foreign   peoples  as  “monstrous  races.”48  We  will  discuss  much  of  this  history  in  the  following   section,  but  it  is  worth  noting  here  that  monstrosity  has  played  a  crucial  role  in  our   social  understanding  of  the  other.  Michael  Omi  and  Howard  Winant  have  shown   how  race  is  largely  a  political  phenomenon  that  is  intimately  linked  to  both  the   process  of  cultural  representation  and  social  institutions.49  However,  by   interrogating  the  former  through  this  analytic,  we  see  how  monstrosity  is  an   antecedent  of  race,  firmly  grounding  the  analysis  of  contemporary  racial   representations  in  a  much  longer  historical  continuity.       This  approach  also  allows  us  to  consider  larger  issues  in  American  culture   and  society.  As  noted,  monsters  have  frequently  been  interpreted  as  metaphors  that   represent  a  wide  array  of  fears  and  anxieties.50  Jeffrey  Jerome  Cohen  explains  the   value  of  utilizing  monstrosity  as  an  analytic,  noting  that,  “The  monstrous  body  is   pure  culture.  A  construct  and  a  projection,  the  monster  exists  only  to  be  read  […]   Like  a  letter  on  the  page,  the  monster  signifies  something  other  than  itself:  it  is                                                                                                                   47  Bhabha  277.   48  Alexander  23.   49  Omi  and  Winant  56.   50  Kearney  117.   32           always  a  displacement.”51  The  appeal  of  this  interpretive  angle  is  due  in  part  to  the   multiplicity  of  meanings  that  are  attached  to  the  monstrous  body.  As  Judith   Halberstam  puts  it,  monsters  function  as  “meaning  machines,”  a  kind  of  narrative   technology  that  allows  the  reader  to  project  and  condense  any  set  of  traits  onto  a   single  figure.52  The  monster  is  never  simply  a  monster.  It  always  embodies  and   stands  in  for  the  assumptions  and  contradictions  present  within  much  larger  social   discourses.   Even  in  an  age  of  rapid  technological  change,  we  remain  fascinated  by   monsters.  Within  American  culture,  they  are  the  focal  point  for  what  Cynthia   Freeland  calls  the  “cognitive  pleasures  of  horror.”53  She  notes  that  rather  than   sympathize  with  the  human  protagonists  in  popular  filmic  and  literary  narratives,   audiences  tend  to  focus  their  interest  on  villains,  antagonists,  and  monstrous   creatures.  As  consumers,  we  gain  pleasure  by  engaging  the  abject  other  in  locations   of  safety,  like  the  theater,  where  we  see  images  of  monsters  but  are  fully  aware  that   we  will  never  encounter  them  face-­‐to-­‐face  in  real  life.  As  Barbara  Creed  observes,  it   is  through  the  horror  film  that  the  audience  exercises  a  desire  to  witness  the  abject   in  its  perverse  glory,  viewing  violent  and  horrific  images,  knowing  full  well  that  once   their  curiosity  has  been  satisfied,  they  will  be  able  to  “eject”  the  monster,  purge  it   from  their  system,  and  leave  the  theater  unscathed.54  While  this  functions  as  a   “safety  valve”  providing  for  the  productive  release  of  collective  anxieties,  it  also   speaks  to  the  cultural  value  of  horror  as  a  representation  of  the  fantastic,  and  the                                                                                                                   51  Cohen,  Monster  Theory  4   52  Halberstam  21-­‐22.   53  Freeland  84.   54  Creed  10.   33           appeal  of  escapism,  visual  spectacle,  and  what  we  might  consider  problematic   interactions  with  a  manufactured  other.     In  this  respect,  monsters  function  as  agents  of  fantasy  that  are  constitutive   elements  of  the  genre.  They  are  products  of  the  imagination  that  challenge  the   boundary  between  the  real  and  fictive  worlds.  Although  they  do  not  exist  in  the   literal  sense,  we  have  seen  that  in  their  function  as  metaphors  and  literary   constructs  they  have  an  effect  on  the  way  individuals  view  the  world  and  conduct   themselves.  In  cultural  texts,  the  mere  presence  of  the  monster  can  transform  an   ordinary  location  into  a  space  of  the  fantastic.55  This  is  due  in  part  to  the  way  that   works  of  fantasy  frequently  oscillate  between  the  supernatural  on  the  one  hand,  and   the  naturalistic  on  the  other.56  While  we  have  already  touched  on  the  transgressive   nature  of  the  monster,  it  is  worth  noting  that  it  is  partly  because  of  its  fantastic   constitution  that  this  figure  is  able  to  tear  away  at  established  conventions,  and   provide  for  the  development  of  alternate  norms  and  social  realities.         In  her  classic  study  on  fantasy  fiction,  Rosemary  Jackson  describes  the   transformative  potential  of  the  genre,  noting  that  its  power  resides  in  its  ability  to   undermine  and  deconstruct  established  structures  of  meaning.57  Through  imaginary   constructs  like  the  monster,  which  these  narratives  also  employ  to  various  affect,   fantasy  enables  us  to  interrogate  reality  in  a  non-­‐threatening  way,  while   simultaneously  opening  up  alternate  spaces  in  which  to  explore  possibilities  that   exist  beyond  the  current  social  and  cultural  order.  As  Jackson  writes,  “In  this  way                                                                                                                   55  Gelder  1.   56  Carroll  145.   57  Jackson  72.   34           fantastic  literature  points  to  or  suggests  the  basis  upon  which  cultural  order  rests,   for  it  opens  up,  for  a  brief  moment,  on  to  disorder,  on  to  illegality,  on  to  that  which   lies  outside  the  law,  that  which  is  outside  dominant  value  systems.  The  fantastic   traces  the  unsaid  and  unseen  of  culture:  that  which  has  been  made  silent,  made   invisible,  covered  over  and  made  ‘absent’”58  In  short,  fantasy  asks  us  to  imagine   otherwise,  and  not  simply  envision  the  world  as  it  is,  but  rather  as  it  could  be.   Judith  Butler  has  also  discussed  the  radical  transformative  potential  of  the   fantastic,  specifically  with  regard  to  gender  politics  and  the  established  norms  that   dictate  socially  constructed  ideas  about  normality.  For  her,  fantasy  is  a  means  by   which  the  marginal  can  become  mainstream,  through  recurrent  exposure  to  the   abnormal  or  deviant,  resulting  its  their  normalization.  She  writes,   Fantasy  is  part  of  the  articulation  of  the  possible;  it  moves  us  beyond  what  is   merely  actual  and  present  into  a  realm  of  possibility,  the  not  yet  actualized  or   the  not  actualizable.  […]  Fantasy  is  not  the  opposite  of  reality;  it  is  what   reality  forecloses,  and,  as  a  result,  it  defines  the  limits  of  reality,  constituting   it  as  its  constitutive  outside.  The  critical  promise  of  fantasy,  when  and  where   it  exists,  is  to  challenge  the  cognitive  limits  of  what  will  and  will  not  be  called   reality.  Fantasy  is  what  allows  us  to  imagine  ourselves  and  other  otherwise;   it  establishes  the  possible  in  excess  of  the  real;  it  points  elsewhere,  and  when   it  is  embodied,  it  brings  the  elsewhere  home.59     In  short,  fantasy  affects  the  real  world.  As  Joshua  Bellin  notes,  it  essentially  frames   social  reality.60  While  on  the  surface,  such  cultural  productions  often   problematically  reinforce  the  status  quo  or  replicate  existing  divisions  of  race,  class,   and  gender  in  an  imaginary  setting  analogous  of  the  world  we  know,  they  also                                                                                                                   58  Ibid.  4.   59  Butler  28-­‐29.   60  Bellin  9.   35           provide  a  space,  no  matter  how  minute,  for  the  possible  interrogation  of   fundamental  social  assumptions,  which  is  otherwise  impossible  in  ordinary  life.       Far  from  simply  being  imaginary  creatures  that  play  upon  the  fears  of  the   young,  monsters  embody  many  of  the  cultural  values  and  anxieties  within  our   society.  Monstrosity,  as  the  discursive  formation  at  the  heart  of  these  figures,  is   structured  by  a  multiplicity  of  meanings,  all  of  which  directly  affect  and  reflect  the   human  condition.  Theorizing  the  complex  constellation  of  ideas  that  constitutes  this   subject  provides  us  with  new  ways  of  conceptualizing  established  ideas  and   practices.  Further,  it  provides  principles  for  the  reinterpretation  of  various  texts,   themes,  icons,  and  genres,  which  will  be  discussed  further  in  the  following  section.   III.  The  Heroic  Monomyth  and  the  Narrative  Form  of  Superhero  Comic  Books     In  order  to  understand  why  an  examination  of  monsters  is  necessary  in  a   study  on  representations  of  race  in  comic  books,  it  is  essential  that  we  consider  the   narrative  context  in  which  these  figures  frequently  appear.  Doing  so  highlights  the   relationship  of  monstrosity  to  the  subject  matter,  and  illustrates  the  integral  role   that  monsters  play  in  the  mythic  and  literary  traditions.  As  J.R.R.  Tolkien  observed   in  his  seminal  address,  “The  Monsters  and  the  Critics,”  characters  like  Grendel  are  a   central  component  to  epic  tales  like  Beowulf,  and  function  largely  as  the  focal  point   for  all  narrative  progression.61  This  is  due  in  part  to  the  casting  of  the  monster  as  the   principal  antagonist  within  these  fantastic  stories,  whose  defeat  is  designed  to   highlight  the  growth  and  courageous  character  of  the  mythic  hero.  In  the  epic   tradition,  the  monster,  therefore,  represents  the  challenge  that  must  be  overcome  in                                                                                                                   61  Tolkien  25-­‐26.   36           order  for  the  triumph  of  the  protagonist,  the  preservation  of  the  normal,  and  the   advance  of  “civilization.”     This  basic  narrative  structure  constitutes  what  Joseph  Campbell  calls,  “The   Heroic  Monomyth.”  His  model  consists  of  three  main  parts,  all  of  which  contain   various  subcategories  that  can  be  presented  in  a  variety  of  ways,  essentially   functioning  as  the  quintessential  quest  narrative.62  First  is  the  separation  or   departure,  in  which  the  hero  is  called  to  leave  their  home  and  embark  on  a  journey   in  order  to  fulfill  their  spiritual  destiny.  This  act  involves  the  crossing  of  a  threshold   or  border,  away  from  the  safe  and  familiar  into  a  foreign  area  filled  with  danger.63   After  this  passage,  they  face  a  series  of  trials  and  tribulations  that  test  their  worth   and  challenge  their  resolve.  This  often  manifests  as  difficulties  associated  with  the   journey  itself  or  a  conflict  with  a  primary  adversary.  Finally,  there  is  the  return  and   a  reintegration  into  society,  in  which  the  hero,  having  fulfilled  their  potential,  is   reborn,  bringing  back  treasure  or  restoring  peace  and  needed  resources  to  their   native  homeland.64     In  these  stories,  the  hero  and  the  monster  exist  in  a  seemingly  natural   relationship  of  conflict  and  violence  with  one  another.  The  outcome  of  the   protagonist’s  journey  is  dependent  upon  the  presence  of  this  antagonist  that  must   be  subdued,  either  through  battle  or  an  act  of  mental  cunning.  In  order  for  the  hero   to  become  something  greater,  there  needs  to  be  an  encounter  that  tests  their   character,  and  in  the  end,  the  monster  that  stands  against  them  usually  dies  by  their                                                                                                                   62  Campbell  28.   63  Ibid.  64.   64  Ibid.  170.   37           hand.  This  action  lies  at  the  core  of  heroism  in  the  archetypal  heroic  monomyth.  In   this  respect,  it  is  akin  to  what  Richard  Slotkin  identifies  as  the  idea  of  “regeneration   through  violence.”65  He  notes  that  it  functions  as  an  enduring  national  mythology  in   America,  largely  constructed  through  a  social  process  of  myth-­‐making,  which   essentially  defined  the  relationship  between  colonists  and  their  surroundings—both   the  land  and  its  inhabitants—as  one  of  perpetual  struggle  that  placed  violent  action   at  the  core  of  the  American  experience  in  the  New  World.  This  is  vitally  important,   for  according  to  Slotkin,     Myth  can  be  seen  as  an  intellectual  or  artistic  construct  that  bridges  the  gap   between  the  world  of  the  mind  and  the  world  of  affairs,  between  dream  and   reality,  between  impulse  or  desire  and  action.  It  draws  on  the  content  of   individual  and  collective  memory,  structures  it,  and  develops  from  it   imperatives  for  belief  and  action.  […]  Thus  myth  visions,  which  are  generated   by  the  mind,  ultimately  affect  both  man’s  perception  of  reality  and  his  actions.   Myth  describes  a  process,  credible  to  its  audience,  by  which  knowledge  is   transformed  into  power;  it  provides  a  scenario  or  prescription  for  action,   defining  and  limiting  the  possibilities  for  human  response  to  the  universe.66     Myths,  like  metaphors  of  monstrosity,  provide  the  real  world  rationale  and   justification  for  collective  social  action.  More  often  than  not,  this  model  has  been   employed  to  give  guiding  purpose  to  nationalistic  objectives  and  to  solidify  the   resolve  of  a  given  population  during  times  of  crisis.  The  tendency  to  celebrate  acts  of   violence  by  the  conquering  hero  is  a  foundational  trope  of  the  mythic  tradition.     Thus,  the  heroic  monomyth  itself  functions  as  a  narrative  structure  founded   on  imperialistic  ideals.  It  is  predicated  on  the  notion  that  the  hero  must  venture  into   foreign  lands,  do  battle  with  monsters  to  prove  their  worth,  and  return  as  a   conqueror  possessing  looted  treasure  as  a  symbol  of  their  “growth.”  Incidentally,                                                                                                                   65  Slotkin  5.     66  Ibid.  7   38           Campbell  himself  seems  to  recognize  this  connection  in  his  work.  Early  on,  he   describes  Columbus  as  a  heroic  figure  who  dared  to  venture  beyond  the  border  of   the  known  world,  writing   Beyond  them  is  darkness,  the  unknown,  and  danger;  just  as  beyond  the   parental  watch  is  danger  to  the  infant  and  beyond  the  protection  of  his   society  danger  to  the  member  of  the  tribe.  The  usual  person  is  more  than   content,  he  is  even  proud,  to  remain  within  the  indicated  bounds,  and   popular  belief  gives  him  every  reason  to  fear  so  much  as  the  first  step  into   the  unexplored.  Thus  the  sailors  of  the  bold  vessels  of  Columbus,  breaking   the  horizon  of  the  medieval  mind—sailing,  as  they  thought,  into  the   boundless  ocean  of  immortal  being  that  surrounds  the  cosmos,  like  an   endless  mythological  serpent  biting  its  tail—had  to  be  cozened  and  urged  on   like  children,  because  of  their  fear  of  the  fabled  leviathans,  mermaids,  dragon   kings,  and  other  monsters  of  the  deep.67     The  hero  in  these  stories,  then,  is  essentially  the  agent  of  empire,  the  individual  who   ventures  into  foreign  territory  bearing  the  flag  in  service  of  God  or  country.68  By   undertaking  this  burden,  the  mythic  hero  is  cast  as  a  savior,  whose  entire  existence   is  predicated  on  the  idea  that  they  must  exterminate  or  soundly  defeat  their  enemy   for  the  preservation  and  advancement  of  themselves  and  their  society.  As  Slotkin   observed,  it  is  through  destruction  and  violence  that  growth  and  stability  are   achieved.  Cultural  critics  like  John  Shelton  Lawrence  and  Robert  Jewett  similarly   contend  that  many  of  our  national  myths  are  constructed  around  narratives  of  what   they  call  “redemptive  violence.”  They  note  that,  “Narratives  of  superheroic   redemption  have  become  occasions  for  confessional  statements  of  personal   transformation  and  new  trajectories  of  life  meaning.”69  Violence,  then,  has  been                                                                                                                   67  Campbell  64.   68  Greenblatt  74.   69  Lawrence  and  Jewett  9.   39           deployed  in  American  culture  by  heroic  outsiders,  who  utilize  it  for  the  defense  and   social  redemption  of  those  who  find  themselves  under  siege.70   At  this  point,  one  may  be  wondering  how  this  fits  in  with  an  analysis  of  comic   books.  The  stories  within  the  medium  frequently  deploy  thematic  and  narrative   structures  that  rely  on  a  dynamic  relationship  between  good  and  evil.  More  than   anything  else,  comic  books  are  didactic  vehicles  for  reproducing  and  conveying   dominant  cultural  ideas  to  impressionable  audiences  in  newly  updated,  and  easily   accessible  forms.  Frequently,  these  narratives  deploy  established  ideas  of  heroism   and  villainy,  like  those  found  in  familiar  mythic  tales,  and  knowingly  utilize  many  of   the  same  themes  and  tropes  which  directly  tie  them  to  classical  literature  and   mythology.     As  Richard  Reynolds  points  out,  superhero  comic  books  effectively  constitute   a  “modern  mythology”  for  their  readers,  which  is  created  by  he  calls  “extra-­‐textual   continuity,”  the  continuous  and  interrelated  adventures  of  characters  that  inhabit  a   shared  universe.71  More  than  anything  else,  this  narrative  structure  is  designed  to   communicate  a  simple  moral  to  readers:  that  the  superhero  is  justified  in  doing   anything  and  everything  within  their  power  to  stop  the  forces  of  evil  that  threaten   society.  Lawrence  and  Jewett  expand  on  this  idea,  noting,  “It  gives  Americans  a   fantasy  land  without  ambiguities  to  cloud  the  moral  vision,  where  the  evil  empire  of   enemies  is  readily  discernable,  and  where  they  can  vicariously  (through   identification  with  the  Superhero)  smite  evil  before  it  overtakes  them.”72                                                                                                                     70  Ibid.  26.   71  Reynolds  43.   72  Lawrence  and  Jewett  48.   40           Naturally,  the  superhero  is  positioned  as  the  defender  of  society  within  this   dynamic,  who  fights  to  protect  their  city,  world,  or  universe  from  the  radical  change   that  the  super  villain  threatens  to  enact.73  We  tend  to  associate  them  with  all  that  is   right,  admirable,  and  just,  for  in  many  ways,  they  represent  our  loftiest  ambitions,   and  embody  our  highest  ideals.  However,  as  Reynolds  notes,  superheroes  are  also   agents  of  a  sanitary,  eternally  stable,  and  repressive  normality  that  is  ideologically   grounded  and  contributes  to  the  conservative  ideas  that  remain  at  the  core  of  these   narratives.  He  writes,     A  key  ideological  myth  of  the  superhero  comic  is  that  the  normal  and   everyday  enshrines  positive  values  that  must  be  defended  through  heroic   action—and  defended  over  and  over  again  almost  without  respite  against  an   endless  battery  of  menaces  determined  to  remake  the  world  for  the  benefit   of  aliens,  mutants,  criminals,  or  sub-­‐aquatic  being  from  Atlantis.  The  normal   is  valuable  and  is  constantly  under  attack,  which  means  that  almost  by   definition  the  superhero  is  battling  on  behalf  of  the  status  quo.  […]  The   superhero  has  a  mission  to  preserve  society,  not  re-­‐invent  it.74     Ironically,  the  superhero  is  a  figure  that  must  work  outside  the  system  in  order  to   defend  it.  In  these  narratives,  they  function  as  the  symbol  of  stability  in  times  of   crisis,  whose  actions  justify  the  status  quo  established  by  the  dominant  power   structure.  Indeed,  the  victory  of  good  over  evil  is  designed  to  cement  the  legitimacy   of  the  existing  social,  political,  and  economic  order  that  the  hero  fights  to  defend,   and  has  the  added  effect  of  dissuading  readers  who  may  be  tempted  to  pursue  the   destructive  path  of  evil  taken  by  the  villain.   Like  the  protagonist  in  the  Heroic  Monomyth,  the  superhero  is  defined  by  the   challenges  they  face  and  overcome.  Within  comic  books,  the  monstrous  evil  of  the                                                                                                                   73  Reynolds  77.   74  Ibid.  77.   41           antagonists  of  classic  mythology  is  distilled  and  concentrated  in  the  form  of  the   super  villain.  They  are  the  threat  that  the  hero  must  subdue  to  prove  their  worth,   and  it  is  their  villainy  against  which  we  measure  the  bravery  and  skill  of  the   protagonist.  In  his  analysis,  Reynolds  implicitly  recognizes  this  point,  and  echoing   Tolkien,  he  writes,  “Superheroes  are  not  called  upon  to  act  as  the  protagonists  of   individual  plots.  They  function  essentially  as  antagonists,  foils  for  the  true  star  of   each  story,  the  villain.”75  The  pairing  of  heroes  with  specific,  recurring  villains,  like   Batman  and  his  rogues  gallery,  for  example,  strengthens  the  writer’s  hand  by   allowing  them  to  “generate  new  variations  on  old  themes.”76  Here,  he  is  referring   not  only  to  the  shared  visual  cues  between  the  hero  and  villain,  but  also  to  the  ways   in  which  comic  books  retell  stories  in  familiar  forms.  Even  fans  recognize  the   centrality  of  villains  to  comic  book  narratives.  As  a  reader  of  comics  in  the  Golden   Age,  artist  Jules  Feiffer  notes  that,  “with  few  exceptions,  heroes  were  not  very   interesting.  And,  by  any  realistic  appraisal,  certainly  no  match  for  the  villains  who   were  bigger,  stronger,  smarter  (as  who  wasn’t?),  and  even  worse,  were  notorious   scene  stealers.”77     Villains,  while  charismatic,  were  frequently  depicted  in  unflattering  ways,   partly  due  to  the  fact  that  they  stood  in  for  the  monsters  that  had  previously   appeared  in  mythic  narratives.  They  were  characters  whose  appeal  was  grounded  in   the  fact  that  they  were  outsiders,  individuals  whose  very  existence  challenged   established  social  norms.  MLJ  Magazines  editor  Abner  Sundell  emphasized  this  fact                                                                                                                   75  Ibid.  51.   76  Ibid.  49.   77  Feiffer  8.   42           in  his  guide  to  writing  comics  published  in  the  1942  Writer’s  Yearbook.  He  wrote,   “Villains  should  be  fearsome  individuals,  visually.  […]  The  villain  must  represent  all   the  vices,  all  that  is  evil,  in  a  glance.  Artistically,  he  is  a  caricature  of  ‘bad.’  The   juvenile  mind  will  thus  identify  at  an  immediate  glance  the  battle  between  good  and   evil.”78  Given  the  way  that  many  of  these  narratives  were  constructed,  the  villain’s   defeat  was  a  foregone  conclusion,  and  even  their  mere  existence  was  only  for  the   benefit  of  the  hero  and  their  victory.  Here,  it  is  worth  recognizing  the  common  cliché   that  death  has  no  permanence  in  comics.  This  is  especially  true  for  super  villains,   who  rise  time  and  time  again  from  the  ashes  of  defeat,  much  like  the  antagonists  in   horror  movies,  only  to  have  their  plans  foiled  once  more,  their  exploits  continually   retold  and  remade,  much  like  the  narratives  of  the  medium  itself.   Sundell’s  comment  also  highlights  the  degree  to  which  stories  in  comic  books   were  written  according  to  strict  formulas  established  by  editors  and  publishers  in   the  earliest  years  of  the  industry.  Fawcett  artist  Jay  Disbrow,  for  example,  noted,   “comic  books  stories  were  being  written  to  a  rigid  formula  that  was  rarely  if  ever   departed  from.  Certain  criteria  must  of  necessity  be  followed,  and  it  would  have   been  unthinkable  for  any  comic  book  creator  to  defy  those  unwritten  laws,”  like   having  the  hero  demonstrate  weakness  or  question  the  righteousness  of  their   cause.79  D.C  Comics  writer  Robert  Kanigher  affirmed  the  adherence  to  this  formulaic   style  in  his  industry  manual,  How  to  Make  Money  Writing  for  Comics,  published  by   Cambridge  House  in  1943.  One  of  the  earliest  guides  on  the  subject,  it  noted  that  as  a   standard,                                                                                                                     78  Sundell  31.   79  Disbrow  25.   43           The  comics  formula  is  composed  of:  1)  The  hero;  2)  With  a  female  companion   drawn  along  Petty  lines;  3)  Frequently  aided  by  a  juvenile  assistant;  4)  In  a   desperate  struggle;  5)  In  which  life  and  the  heroine’s  honor;  6)  And  a   national  or  global  prize  is  at  stake;  7)  Against  the  diabolical  plotting  of  a   master  villain;  8)  And  his  gang;  9)  Against  whom  the  hero  has  to  employ  all   his  super-­‐talents  of  tossing  mountains  around,  juggling  battleships,  defying   gravity  and  common  sense;  10)  In  a  script  employing,  in  the  order  of  their   importance:  a)  Visualization  (pictures)  b)  Dialogue  c)  Captions.  80     This  model,  with  its  adherence  to  a  conflict  between  the  hero  and  villain  reinforces   the  degree  to  which  early  comic  book  narratives  borrowed  heavily  from  the  mythic   tradition  and  adventure  fiction.  While  there  were  many  factors  that  contributed  to   the  perception  that  such  an  editorial  structure  was  needed,  perhaps  the  most   important  was  a  general  concern  about  audience  reception.  In  a  medium  that  was   completely  dependent  upon  the  interests  of  its  readership,  comic  book  creators   often  went  with  established,  conventional  tales  over  exploratory  storytelling,   because  they  knew  such  books  would  sell.  Often,  this  required  writing  stories  that   reinforced  and  adhered  to  dominant  norms,  geared  toward  an  imagined  audience   consisting  of  straight,  white  male  readers.  Even  established  writers  like  Gardner  Fox,   the  co-­‐creator  of  iconic  D.C.  characters  like  The  Flash  and  Hawkman,  noted  that  “It   was  standard  practice  at  D.C.  and  also  at  Gaines’  outfit  to  work  almost  hand-­‐in-­‐glove   with  the  editors.  Story  lines  were  always  plotted  out  with  the  editors  with  whom   one  worked.”81  Responding  to  similar  criticism,  artist  C.C.  Beck  mused  over  the   subject,  rhetorically  asking,  “Why  are  comics  so  cut-­‐and-­‐dried,  so  formula-­‐ridden?   Because  the  public  which  buys  them  will  only  buy  easy  to  read,  easy  to  follow   stories  and  artwork.  A  comic  book  buyer  is  looking  for  a  how-­‐to-­‐enjoy-­‐yourself  kit                                                                                                                   80  Barr  17.   81  Fox,  “The  Life  and  Good  Times  of  Garder  F.  Fox”  25   44           with  step-­‐by-­‐step  instructions  telling  him  when  to  laugh,  when  to  cry,  when  to  hold   his  breath,  when  to  break  out  in  a  cold  sweat,  and  so  on.”82   It  is  also  worth  noting  that  various  influences  of  a  literary,  mythic,  and   religious  nature  have  been  a  continual  source  of  inspiration  for  writers  and  artists   within  the  industry.  Basing  much  of  their  output  and  creative  endeavors  on  these   classic  works,  they  have  knowingly  retrofitted  and  incorporated  familiar  themes   into  new  characters,  which  have  then  proceeded  to  become  “fan-­‐favorites.”  For   example,  Martin  Nodell,  the  co-­‐creator  of  the  Golden  Age  Green  Lantern,  has  noted   that  both  the  character  and  his  iconic  lamp  were  inspired  by  Chinese  mythological   elements.  He  recalled  the  process  that  led  to  the  design,  stating,  “On  my  way  home,  I   was  jotting  down  notes,  a  few  things  I  was  interested  in,  mostly  just  thinking  of   Greek  mythology,  and  [I  was]  interested  in  Chinese  folklore.  […]  I  designed  the   character  after  Greek  mythology.  Chinese  folklore  came  in  by  use  of  a  meteor   coming  and  crashing  down.”83  Even  the  superhero’s  civilian  name,  Alan  Scott,  was   derived  from  “Aladdin.”84  Similarly,  Marvel  Comics’  well-­‐known  writer  and  editor-­‐ in-­‐chief,  Stan  Lee,  has  frequently  admitted  to  such  influences  in  his  work.  His   character,  The  Hulk,  co-­‐created  with  artist  Jack  Kirby,  was  largely  his  attempt  to   hybridize  the  literary  themes  and  narrative  mechanics  present  in  the  Victorian   works,  Mary  Shelley’s  Frankenstein  and  Robert  Louis  Stevenson’s  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.                                                                                                                   82  Beck,  “The  Birth  and  Death  of  the  Golden  Age”  86   83  Nodell  22.   84  Murray  “Eternal  Green  Lantern”  3.   45           Hyde.85  More  obviously,  Thor,  the  god  of  thunder,  was  taken  directly  from  Norse   mythology  and  incorporated  into  comic  books  with  only  minor  modifications.       The  presence  of  such  characters  within  the  medium  has  led  scholars  to   popularly  argue  that  superheroes  can  be  interpreted  within  a  religious  paradigm,   and  that  they  essentially  function  as  modern  gods.  Lawrence  and  Jewett,  for   example,  claim  that  religious  powers  are  secularized  in  the  superhero  and  that  they   function  as  an  all-­‐powerful  “everyman,”  due  to  the  presence  of  their  civilian  alter-­‐ ego.86  In  one  of  the  most  well  known  works  on  the  subject,  Our  Gods  Wear  Spandex,   Christopher  Knowles  argues  that  the  reverence  of  superheroes  is  almost  religious  in   nature,  and  that  these  figures  essentially  serve  the  same  function  that  gods  did  in   the  ancient  world.87  Similarly,  Don  LoCicero  suggests  that  these  characters  are   derived  from  the  same  archetype  as  mythic  heroes,  except  for  the  fact  that  “science,   rather  than  the  gods,  provided  them  with  their  extra  ordinary  gifts.”88  Others  like   Simcha  Weinstein  contend  that  many  of  the  most  famous  characters  in  comic  books,   like  Superman,  were  directly  inspired  by  figures  and  beliefs  within  Judaism,  drawing   parallels  between  the  character’s  origin  story  and  that  of  Moses.89     Given  these  numerous  textual  influences,  it  is  no  surprise,  then,  that  the   earliest  defenders  of  the  industry,  who  spoke  out  against  attacks  by  a  legion  of  social   activists  led  by  the  psychologist  Fredric  Wertham,  often  compared  the  stories  in   comic  books  to  modern  day  fairy  tales  or  folklore.  Some  of  the  earliest  studies  on  the                                                                                                                   85  Lee,  interview  17.   86  Lawrence  and  Jewett  44.   87  Knowles  16,  18.   88  LoCicero  5.   89  Weinstein  26.   46           subject,  including  one  by  child  psychiatrists  Lauretta  Bender  and  Reginald  Lourie,   considered  superhero  comics  to  be  modern  iterations  of  ancient  narratives,  and   noted  that  these  characters  were  “scientific”  versions  of  the  “magical”  beings  that   populated  fairy  tales.90  For  the  most  part,  this  has  been  a  longstanding  and   established  perspective  for  those  who  work  in  the  medium.  For  example,  E.  Nelson   Bridwell,  a  writer  for  D.C.  Comics,  once  compared  the  characters  in  these  stories,  to   figures  from  classic  works  of  literature,  like  The  Epic  of  Gilgamesh,  The  Illiad,  The   Odyssey,  and  The  Tempest.91  Likewise,  Stan  Lee,  in  describing  Marvel’s  approach  to   comic  books  in  the  1960s,  remarked,  “We  think  of  them  as  fairy  tales  for   grownups.”92   Even  the  technology  of  the  medium  is  related  to  ancient  and  classical   narratives.  As  Scott  McCloud  notes,  comics  are  a  centuries-­‐old  method  of  pictoral   communication,  which  can  potentially  be  traced  back  as  far  as  the  hieroglyphics  of   Ancient  Egypt.93  Works  like  the  Mirabilia,  which  will  be  discussed  in  the  following   section,  feature  something  akin  to  comic  book  panels,  wherein  a  series  of  monsters   are  represented  visually  with  descriptive  text  accompanying  each  illustration.  As  if   to  make  the  comparison  even  more  apt,  in  some  of  the  etchings,  monsters  like  the   blemmyae  even  interact  with  the  frame  of  the  panel  itself,  using  their  hands  to  grasp   it,  as  if  they  were  emerging  from  the  surface  of  the  page  and  into  the  world  of  the   reader.                                                                                                                   90  Nyberg  16.   91  Bridwell  36-­‐38.   92  Fingeroth  and  Thomas  40.   93  McCloud,  Understanding  Comics  10-­‐16.   47           As  a  medium,  comic  books  have  routinely  demonstrated  their  ability  to   incorporate  existing  ideas  into  their  narratives  and  to  reproduce  them  in  new,   accessible  forms.  They  have  often  relied  on  classic  stories  for  their  inspiration  and  in   doing  so,  have  perpetuated  ideas  and  philosophies  associated  with  the  binary   conflict  of  good  versus  evil.  Further,  as  the  next  section  and  following  chapter  detail,   this  reliance  on  the  use  of  formulae  and  the  process  of  incorporation  have  resulted   in  negative  consequences  for  Asian  Americans,  who,  I  argue,  have  been  shaped  by   the  centuries-­‐old  perception  that  they  originate  from  a  land  of  monsters.   IV.  The  Monsters  of  the  East         The  Mirabilia,  or  The  Wonders  of  the  East,  a  medieval  manuscript  dating  from   970-­‐1150  A.D.,  is  a  fascinating  early  example  of  the  extent  to  which  monsters  have   historically  been  associated  with  distant,  unexplored  parts  of  the  world,  particularly   the  region  commonly  referred  to  as  the  Orient,  or  the  East.94  While  its  title  clearly   affirms  the  function  of  Asia  and  the  Middle  East  as  an  exotic  locale,  filled  with   unique  goods  and  peoples,  this  area  also  functions  as  a  site  of  danger.  Like  the   impenetrable  forests,  unscalable  mountains,  hidden  caves,  and  fearsome  rivers  of   ancient  lore,  this  is  a  land  populated  by  monsters.  The  text  depicts  the  numerous   creatures,  mythic  in  scale  and  wondrous  in  appearance  that  one  could  expect  to   encounter  if  they  traveled  out  past  the  borders  of  “civilization”  and  into  the   unknown.  In  India,  it  establishes  the  presence  of  cynocephali,  commonly  referred  to                                                                                                                   94  Bovey  8.   48           as  dog-­‐headed  men.95  Further,  it  describes  curious  creatures  known  as  blemmyae,   human-­‐like  beings  without  heads,  whose  eyes  and  mouths  were  located  on  their   chests.  It  tells  of  a  land  where  creatures  of  gigantic  proportions  roamed,  where  gold-­‐ gathering  ants  grew  to  be  the  size  of  dogs  and  giant  wild  men  foraged  and  hunted.   Also  present  were  the  legendary  creatures  familiar  to  the  Greeks  and  Romans— dragons  and  griffins—ferocious  flying  monsters  that  threatened  the  lives  of  those   who  foolishly  trespassed  into  their  domain  in  search  of  treasure.  Throughout  the   Middle  Ages,  many  manuscripts  like  this  emerged,  depicting,  through  narratives  and   artistic  renderings,  the  monstrous  races  and  creatures  that  one  could  expect  to  find   by  venturing  to  the  East.     Since  ancient  times,  Asia  has  been  conceptualized  as  a  foreign,  unknown  land   populated  by  “monstrous  races”  and  exotic  wonders.  Naturally,  this  designation  is   not  based  in  any  kind  of  factual  reality,  but  one  that  has  been  meticulously   constructed  throughout  a  long  history  of  cultural,  commercial,  and  imperial   interactions  and  exchanges  between  the  East  and  the  West.  To  that  extent,  it   functions  in  the  same  way  as  Edward  Said’s  concept  of  Orientalism,  a  knowledge-­‐ based  discursive  formation  that  defines  the  exotic,  mysterious,  backward,  and  static   Orient  in  opposition  to  the  rational,  modern,  and  progressive  Occident.  For  him,  it   acts  as  an  imagined  space,  onto  which  Western  perceptions  and  desires  are   projected.  However,  it  does  not  simply  exist  for  the  sake  of  fantasy,  but  is  a   discursive  marker  that  symbolizes  the  relationship  between  knowledge  and  power,                                                                                                                   95  European  descriptions  of  cynocephali  date  back  to  Ancient  Greece,  where  scholars   recounted  travelers’  tales  of  encountering  monstrous  races  in  distant  lands,  like   India  and  Ethiopia.     49           showcasing  the  way  in  which  the  idea  of  the  East  has  been  built,  controlled,  and   authorized  for  the  sake  of  the  West.  For  as  Said  notes,  “The  Orient  is  an  idea  that  has   a  history  and  a  tradition  of  thought,  imagery,  and  vocabulary  that  have  given  it   reality  and  presence  in  and  for  the  West”96     To  that  extent,  the  “Wonders  of  the  East”  and  the  monstrous  races  that   populate  the  region  serve  a  distinct  purpose;  namely,  they  exist  as  part  of  a  location   that  inspires  curiosity  and  desire.  They  define  Asia  as  a  fundamentally  different   locale,  and  mark  the  presence  of  goods  and  materials,  through  the  presentation  of   their  bodies,  that  cannot  be  found  in  the  West.  In  addition  to  being  a  desired  focal   point  for  commercial  trade,  it  also  provides  the  ideological  justification  for  imperial   conquest,  marking  the  people  in  Asia  as  different,  inferior,  uncivilized,  and  other.   Many  of  these  attributes  are  still  associated  with  Asians  today,  albeit  in  a  much   subtler  form.  This  connection  between  contemporary  ethnic  identity  and  the  idea  of   the  East  as  a  land  of  monsters  is  important,  because  as  Gary  Okihiro  has  noted,  the   Asian  American  experience  has  been  shaped  in  part  by  the  historical  “expansion   eastward  and  westward  to  Asia  for  conquest  and  trade.”97  In  part,  the  way  that  we   understand  Asians  in  the  present  is  still  rooted  in  ancient  ideas  about  monstrosity,   which  was  largely  constructed  alongside  the  process  of  exploration.       The  idea  that  Asia  is  a  land  of  monsters  can  be  traced  back  to  the  earliest   Western  societies.  Rudolf  Wittkower  contends  that  the  idea  of  the  East,  understood   principally  as  India  and  parts  of  Asia  Minor,  was  developed  within  the  culture  of                                                                                                                   96  Said,  5.   97  Okihiro  7.   50           Ancient  Greece.98  In  the  earliest  literary  works  by  Homer,  like  The  Illiad  and  The   Odyssey,  there  was  already  a  pronounced  division  in  the  way  that  the  author   understood  the  world,  particularly  in  terms  of  East  and  West.99  Further,  the   descriptions  of  monstrous  races  presented  in  these  narratives,  like  the  Cyclops  and   the  Lotus  Eaters,  are  strikingly  similar  to  what  others  would  report  for  centuries   following  his  lifetime,  illustrating  the  degree  to  which  the  world  was  understood   through  the  paradigms  established  in  ancient  texts.100       The  first  “credible”  account  of  India  was  written  by  Ctesias,  a  Persian  royal   court  physician  in  the  fourth  century,  B.C.  Positioned  at  the  gateway  between  the   unknown  lands  of  the  East  and  the  West,  he  was  seen  as  an  authoritative  source   whose  writing  related  factual  information  about  the  wonders  of  India  to  those  in   Greece.101  His  treatise,  the  Indika,  while  considered  a  lost  work  today,  was   remarkably  influential,  as  everything  that  we  know  about  it  has  been  relayed  to  us   by  references  in  other  manuscripts,  like  the  Bibliotheka  of  Photius,  illustrating  the   degree  to  which  his  fantastic  accounts  were  taken  as  fact  by  others.102  However,  as   medieval  scholars  note,  the  work  was  hardly  accurate,  and  instead  operated  as  a   functional  collection  of  Indian  folklore  and  tall  tales  that  he  had  likely  heard  from                                                                                                                   98  Wittkower  159.  There  is  evidence  to  suggest  that  these  ideas  about  the  East   preceded  authors  like  Homer  and  Herodotus,  but  there  is  very  little  surviving   textual  information  that  can  be  used  to  draw  a  definitive  link  to  this  idea  with  any   pre-­‐Grecian  society.  Wittkower  speculates  that  monstrous  archetypes,  like  that  of   the  “magical  prodigy,”  can  be  traced  back  from  Greece  to  Babylonia,  potentially   signifying  an  even  older  intellectual  lineage.  168.   99  Said  56.   100  Friedman,  Monstrous  Races  5.   101  Romm  78.   102  Friedman,  Monstrous  Races  5.   51           merchants  in  Persia.103  Meant  to  entertain  and  amaze  more  than  educate,  his  text   describes  a  variety  of  creatures,  like  cynocephali,  pygmies,  giants,  unicorns,  griffins,   manticores,  and  monopods—deformed  human-­‐like  beings  with  a  single,  large   foot.104   As  this  example  illustrates,  much  of  the  early  information  about  the  East   originated  from  dubious  and  unreliable  sources,  like  travelers,  merchants,  and   adventurers,  who  gave  accounts  about  their  personal  experiences  in  distant   lands.105  As  one  might  suspect,  the  tales  they  told  were  often  viewed  as  suspect,   given  the  fantastic  nature  of  their  testimony.  However,  they  were  not  roundly   dismissed  outright  because  of  the  fact  that  their  stories  were  at  least  partially   supported  and  corroborated  by  information  found  in  other  authoritative  texts.  Still,   serious  scholars  questioned  the  accuracy  of  claims  that  suggested  monsters,  like   gold-­‐guardian  griffins,  for  example,  populated  the  lands  of  Scythia,  dismissing  such   creatures  as  the  product  of  idle  fantasy  and  imagination.106   Additionally,  many  writers  relied  on  knowledge  that  they  received  from   others,  often  secondhand,  primarily  because  at  the  time,  few  Grecians  had  ventured   beyond  the  borders  of  the  ancient  world  and  into  the  unknown  lands  of  the  East.   This  kind  of  invocation,  in  which  the  author  presented  information  based  on  the   claims  of  others,  predates  surviving  manuscripts,  and  can  be  traced  to  the  earliest   works  of  antiquity.  For  example,  within  The  Histories,  Herodotus  repeatedly  relays   information  that  he  received  from  the  Scythians  and  Issedones,  about  the                                                                                                                   103  Friedman,  Monstrous  Races  5;  Romm  86-­‐87.   104  Wittkower  160-­‐161.   105  Gilmore  42.   106  Mayor  46-­‐47,  201.   52           “monstrous  races,”  like  the  Arimaspians,  that  live  beyond  their  lands.  He  writes,   “While  the  Issedones  themselves  are  well  known  we  must  rely  on  what  they  tell  us   for  our  knowledge  of  what  lies  beyond  them—the  one-­‐eyed  men  and  the  gold-­‐ guarding  griffins.  It  is  from  the  Issedones  that  the  Scythians  have  received  their   account.  The  rest  of  us,  because  we  have  heard  it  from  the  Scythians,  customarily   call  these  people  Arimaspians,  which  is  a  Scythian  word.”107     This  reliance  on  personal  accounts  and  anthropological  evidence  as  signifiers   of  expertise  is  strongly  reminiscent  of  contemporary  Orientalism.  Said  notes  that  it   is  primarily  through  this  assembled  body  of  knowledge  that  an  authoritative   discourse  was  constructed  around  the  Orient,  creating  its  imagined  geography  and   the  various  features  and  characteristics  attributed  to  it.108  Here,  we  see  that  in  the   ancient  world,  knowledge  about  the  East  was  produced  simultaneously  with  and,  to   a  large  degree,  as  a  result  of  reports  of  monsters.  In  this  sense,  the  two  are   inextricably  bound  together,  as  the  latter  was  often  used  to  construct  and  define  the   former.  It  did  not  matter  that  these  monsters  never  really  existed.  What  counted   was  that  people  thought  they  could  be  found  in  India,  and  that  perception  largely   shaped  the  construction  of  the  East  throughout  the  Western  world.        Perhaps  the  most  important  moment  in  this  ancient  chronology  is  a  point  of   contact  between  Europe  and  Asia,  specifically  Alexander  the  Great’s  military   campaign  into  India  in  326  B.C.  This  expedition  into  what  was  then  considered  to  be   the  unknown  lands  of  the  East,  produced  a  wide  array  of  writings  and  narratives  in   Ancient  Greece,  describing  the  “marvels”  of  the  region,  which  included  strange  and                                                                                                                   107  Herodotus  292;  bk.  4,  ch.  27.   108  Said  52.   53           exotic  beasts,  rare  and  desirable  goods,  reports  of  unfathomable  riches,  and  tales   affirming  the  presence  of  “monstrous  races”  unlike  any  found  in  the  West.  In  large   part,  many  of  Alexander’s  findings  were  influenced  by  the  existing  literature   produced  by  others.  As  much  of  what  he  encountered  throughout  Asia  was  alien  to   him,  he  interpreted  most  everything  through  the  lens  of  ancient  scholarship.  This   affirmed  the  content  of  existing  reports,  like  the  work  of  Ctesias,  for  example.   Alexander’s  observations  about  peoples  outside  of  the  Western  world  were   strongly  influenced  by  ancient  beliefs  about  ethnic  difference.  A  prominent   trademark  of  many  narratives  during  this  period  was  the  use  of  the  term  “barbarian”   to  identify  any  beings,  who  were  not  Greek  in  origin,  effectively  dividing  the  world   into  “us”  and  “them.”109  Further,  the  world  itself  was  understood  through  a   particularly  potent  brand  of  ethnocentrism,  wherein  Greece  was  seen  as  the  center   or  source  of  humanity,  while  the  lands  to  the  extreme  north,  south,  and  east  were   thought  to  be  the  home  of  exotic,  animalistic  beings,  who  engaged  in  strange  and   inhuman  practices.  Indeed,  one  major  result  of  Alexander’s  journeys  was  that  it   further  framed  the  world  through  a  discourse  of  civilization,  which  defined  the   Greeks  as  “civilized”  and  others  as  “uncivilized.”110  Much  of  this  had  to  do  with   foreign  cultures,  languages,  and  social  norms,  which  were  largely  understood   through  the  contrast  and  difference  to  those  found  in  Greece.  Tzvetan  Todorov   writes  that  such  comparisons  are  frequently  used  a  criterion  for  evaluating  the                                                                                                                   109  Asma  36;  Todorov  14.   110  Palencia-­‐Roth  30.   54           humanity  of  others,  noting,  “The  culture  of  foreigners,  being  incomprehensible,  is   judged  non-­‐existent,  and  without  culture  man  is  not  human.”111    While  some  scholars  are  quick  to  note  that  the  surviving  works  of  this  period   do  not  label  these  other  peoples  as  inferior  or  inhuman,  so  much  as  they  describe   them  with  a  great  sense  of  curiosity,  it  remains  certain  that  this  discourse  was   established  as  part  of  an  imperialist  impulse,  which  justified  conquest  through  the   presence  of  difference.112  This  was  reinforced  by  the  social  and  cultural  practices  of   these  foreign  populations,  with  texts  frequently  referring  to  them  as  cannibals,  or   noting  that  they  consumed  raw  meat  and  fish,  which  could  be  used  as  a  rationale  for   controlling,  correcting,  and  eliminating  those  they  encountered.113       These  notions  of  monstrosity  were  also  grounded  in  a  popular  understanding   of  geography  and  nature.  The  Greeks  believed  that  climate  had  a  significant  impact   on  the  mental  and  physical  development  of  the  self.  Extremes  and  deviance  from  the   natural  standard—established  by  what  one  would  expect  to  find  in  the   Mediterranean—was  thought  to  produce  abnormalities  and  differences  among   people.  Due  to  oppressive  heat,  areas  like  India  and  Ethiopia  were  believed  to  be   uninhabitable,  and  as  a  result,  the  presence,  physical  appearance,  and  social   customs  of  the  individuals  living  there  were  thought  to  be  non-­‐natural  and   abnormal.114  In  his  Politics,  Aristotle  argued  that  barbarians  were  difference   personified,  for  their  very  flesh  was  marked  by  the  climate,  which  in  turn  affected   the  distribution  of  the  four  humors  and  the  bodily  fluids  that  shaped  their                                                                                                                   111  Todorov  28.   112  Reder  51.   113  Palencia-­‐Roth  44.   114  Wey  Gomez  85.   55           character.115    This  understanding  of  nature  and  biology  was  used  to  explain  the   presence  of  unusual  creatures  and  peoples  in  the  ancient  world.  As  John  Block   Friedman  notes,  “In  the  ancient  world,  nature  was  understood  as  always  adhering  to   the  mean,  and  individual  births  or  even  races  of  people  who  differed  from  the   human  or  animal  norm  were  imagined  as  existing  outside  the  order  of  nature  and  so   were  called  monsters,  reflecting  God’s  displeasure  towards  man.”116   While  Alexander  was  not  the  first  to  tell  of  what  he  encountered  in  India,   tales  of  his  exploits  were  more  influential  and  circulated  on  a  much  greater  scale   than  the  reports  produced  before  him.  It  was  primarily  through  Alexander’s   journeys  that  Greeks  not  only  obtained  information  about  the  East,  but  were  also   exposed  to  a  variety  of  rare  and  desirable  goods.117  It  is  no  coincidence  that   campaigns  of  conquest  and  the  acquisition  of  previously  unexplored  territory   resulted  in  the  production  of  knowledge  about  monsters.118  Aside  from  traveler’s   tales,  imperial  adventures  were  one  of  the  few  ways  to  acquire  information  about   distant  lands.     With  their  assumptions  reinforced  by  this  new  information,  Grecian  scholars   reiterated  existing  ideas  about  India,  and  further  mythologized  the  East,  producing   other  authoritative  texts  on  monsters.  Megasthenes,  the  most  well  known  of  these   authors,  wrote  a  treatise  describing  the  geography  of  the  area,  its  inhabitants,   history,  and  culture.119  Like  the  works  of  earlier  times,  his  voice  was  given  authority                                                                                                                   115  Cohen,  Hybridity,  Identity  and  Monstrosity  32-­‐33.   116  Friedman,  “Monsters  At  Earth’s  Imagined  Corners”  51.   117  Friedman,  Monstrous  Races  75.   118  Graham  51.   119  Wittkower  162.   56           because,  unlike  many  others,  he  had  actually  traveled  to  the  area.  As  a  result,  his   observations  were  considered  objective  and  trustworthy.  Still,  he  repeated  many  of   the  falsehoods  that  had  been  commonplace  since  the  writings  of  Herodotus  and   Ctesias,  remarking  on  the  presence  of  gold-­‐gathering  ants,  cynocephali,  blemmyae,   and  pygmies.     It  is  important  to  note  the  frequency  with  which  authors  continually   borrowed  from  one  another  as  they  established  a  base  of  knowledge  about  India   and  the  East.  Over  the  course  of  many  centuries,  the  same  mistakes,  inaccuracies,   and  outright  falsehoods  appeared  from  text  to  text,  gradually  gaining  the  currency   of  truth.  As  Edward  Said  observes,  “Every  writer  on  the  Orient  (and  this  is  true  even   of  Homer)  assumes  some  Oriental  precedent,  some  previous  knowledge  of  the   Orient,  to  which  he  refers,  and  on  which  he  relies.”120  While  we  know  today  that   creatures  like  dog-­‐headed  men  almost  certainly  never  existed  in  Asia,  at  the  time,   even  learned  individuals,  having  never  been  to  India,  simply  related  what  they  were   told  by  others.     In  the  first  century,  A.D.,  Pliny  the  Elder  utilized  the  accounts  of  Ctesias  and   Megasthenes  to  describe  the  variety  of  creatures  that  were  found  throughout  the   East  in  his  multi-­‐volume  encyclopedic  work  known  as  the  Natural  History.121  In   many  respects,  this  marks  one  of  the  most  important  points  in  the  chronology   presented  here,  as  Pliny’s  work  was  an  important  source  for  the  transmission  of   information  about  the  East  during  the  Middle  Ages.  It  is  through  his  work  that  the   stories  of  old  were  preserved  and  relayed  to  other  areas  of  the  West,  forming  the                                                                                                                   120  Said  20.   121  Friedman,  Monstrous  Races  7.   57           basis  for  many  medieval  tales  about  monsters,  including  freshly  imagined  stories   involving  Alexander  the  Great  and  his  travels  in  India.122  From  his  writings,  it  is   clear  that  Pliny  himself  had  very  little  personal  knowledge  about  the  East,  if  any  at   all,  for  he  frequently  confused  and  conflated  India  with  Ethiopia.123   One  cannot  overstate  the  importance  of  these  ancient  texts  in  establishing   the  framework  for  how  Asia  is  understood  throughout  the  Western  world.  This   notion  of  the  East  as  a  land  of  monsters  that  developed  in  Grecian  culture  lasted  for   more  than  1,500  years  in  the  European  intellectual  tradition.124  It  was  not  until  the   fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries  that  people  began  to  reevaluate  these  ideas  about   India  and  the  East,  after  numerous  expeditions  tried  and  failed  to  discover  the   “monstrous  races.”125  The  monsters  believed  to  populate  Asia  were  not  imaginary   creatures  in  the  modern  sense,  acting  as  metaphors  for  social  and  cultural  anxieties.   Rather,  they  were  thought  to  be  real  beings  that  populated  the  landscape,  policing   the  border  between  the  worlds  of  civilization  and  barbarism,  whose  existence,   reinforced  by  the  credible  authority  of  ancient  texts,  was  without  question.126     Up  until  this  point,  we  have  talked  about  the  region  in  terms  of  encompassing   India  and  parts  of  Asia  Minor,  which  is  primarily  how  it  was  understood  throughout   the  ancient  world.  However,  by  the  Middle  Ages,  and  after  numerous  points  of   contact  with  Muslim  societies,  the  East  was  no  longer  the  mysterious,  unexplored   space  that  it  had  once  been.  Rather,  the  unknown  lands  that  were  thought  to  house                                                                                                                   122  Austin  29.   123  Friedman,  Monstrous  Races  8.   124  Wittkower  197.   125  Romm  216.   126  Edson  21.   58           monsters  shifted  to  the  periphery,  specifically  the  most  distant  areas  of  Asia  that   few  Europeans  had  ever  traveled  to.  As  a  result,  by  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth   centuries,  the  concept  of  the  East  itself  was  modified  to  reflect  this  new  reality,   expanding  to  include  and  incorporate  the  known  and  the  unknown  under  a  single   geographical  label.127  This  process  would  continue  over  time,  illustrating  the  degree   to  which  the  East  functioned  as  an  amorphous,  loosely  defined,  yet  evolving  concept   throughout  much  of  European  history.128     Alongside  this  model  emerged  new  tales  of  Alexander  the  Great,  which   rebranded  him  as  a  Christian  hero,  conquering  and  converting  the  savage  hordes  of   the  East.  By  the  twelfth  century,  his  expedition  into  the  region  had  become  a  focal   point  for  the  medieval  Christian  tradition,  with  newly  emerging  narratives  and  texts   that  celebrated  his  subjugation  of  Eastern  “hairy  wild  men”  and  monstrous   creatures,  defining  such  actions  as  a  trademark  of  Western  history  and   civilization.129  Indeed,  in  much  of  the  literature,  monsters  are  cast  as  minions  of  the   devil  and  seen  as  a  threat  posted  by  the  non-­‐Christian  world  against  the  faithful.130   It  was  against  this  rising  tide  of  demonic  evil  that  Alexander  stood  as  a  savior,  who,   like  other  Christian  heroes,  did  the  work  of  God  through  his  slaying  of  monstrous   creatures  and  races.   Of  particular  importance  was  the  iconography  and  conceptual  figuration  of   the  Gates  of  Alexander.  While  the  idea  originated  with  the  sixth  century  Alexander   Romance,  it  had  been  incorporated  into  the  Christian  reworking  of  Alexander  by  the                                                                                                                   127  Klein  39.   128  Said  57-­‐58.   129  Friedman,  Monstrous  Races  201-­‐202.   130  Graham  51;  Gilmore  51.   59           Middle  Ages,  and  was  used,  in  part,  to  explain  the  geographical  location  of  monsters.   According  to  the  original  narrative,  Alexander  had  chased  his  foes  to  a  narrow   mountain  pass  in  the  Caucusus  region,  and  enclosed  them  behind  an  impenetrable   iron  gate,  forever  separating  the  barbarians  of  the  north  from  the  lands  of  the   south.131  However,  by  the  twelfth  century,  mapmakers  frequently  repositioned  the   divide,  believing  that  the  structure  was  intended  to  separate  the  tribes  of  Gog  and   Magog,  positioned  in  the  East  in  the  biblical  tradition,  from  the  West.   A  famous  example  of  this  can  be  found  in  the  Psalter  mappamundi,  created   around  the  year  1262  (see  fig.  1).  It  depicts  the  Christian  cosmological  universe,   positioning  Jerusalem  at  the  center  of  the  world,  echoing  a  common  belief  at  the   time,  with  God  and  his  angel  above  in  the  heavens,  and  a  pair  of  dragons,  the   minions  of  the  devil,  down  below,  seemingly  smothered  by  the  weight  of  the  Earth.   More  importantly  however,  to  the  right  of  the  map,  situated  between  Asia  and  Africa,   are  Alexander’s  Gates.  While  the  East  is  at  the  top  in  this  representation  of  the  world,   other  mappamundi,  like  the  Hereford  and  the  Ebstorf,  depict  Northern  Asia  and   Scythia  as  a  prime  area  for  such  creatures.132  Of  particular  importance  here  is  the   way  that  Christianity  reworked  and  incorporated  not  only  centuries-­‐old  tales  and   concepts,  but  also  how  it  utilized  the  monster  to  explain  the  presence  of  evil  within   the  religious  tradition.  Further,  the  utilization  of  cartography  to  depict  the  location   of  monsters  would  continue  for  centuries  as  a  method  of  understanding  spatial   relations,  with  exotic,  dangerous,  and  unexplored  regions  labeled  as  the  home  of                                                                                                                   131  Asma  87.   132  Ibid  87.   60           these  mysterious  creatures.133  For  example,  the  sixteenth  century  Lennox-­‐Hunt   Globe  uses  the  phrase,  “Hic  Sunt  Dracones,”  literally  translated  as  “Here  Be  Dragons,”   in  reference  to  East  Asia,  marking  it  as  a  dangerous  locality  that  poses  a  threat,  not   only  to  travelers,  but  the  safety  of  Western  Europe  itself.     Furthermore,  there  is  another  side  to  this  iconographic  and  religious   characterization  of  Alexander  as  a  heroic  defender  of  the  faith  and  the  gatekeeper,   safeguarding  the  civilized  world  from  monsters  and  barbarians.  Despite  the   prevailing  depiction  of  him  as  an  overwhelmingly  positive  figure,  other   interpretations  of  Alexander  emerged  in  the  medieval  period  that  cast  him  as  sinful,   egotistical,  and  driven  by  a  compulsion  to  murder.134  Much  of  this  emerges  from  his   contact  and  proximity  to  the  monstrous  races  in  the  borderlands,  as  the  hero’s   righteousness  is  corrupted  by  prolonged  exposure  to  an  uncivilized  region   populated  by  monstrous  others,  which  allows  for  his  transformation  from  crusader   to  savage.  For  example,  throughout  his  journeys  in  India,  Alexander  becomes   obsessed  with  proving  himself  through  great  deeds,  as  he  raids  cities  and   consistently  slaughters  a  series  of  beasts,  like  giant  bats  and  serpents,  which   threaten  him  and  his  men.135  Much  of  this  echoes  the  belief  that  prolonged  exposure   to  the  monstrous  East  allowed  for  its  nature  to  permeate  the  minds  and  bodies  of   those  who  entered  it,  effectively  tainting  them  and  turning  them  into  the  very  thing   they  sought  to  destroy.                                                                                                                   133  Tuan  76-­‐77.     134  Orchard  117;  Oswald  1;  Asma  100.   135  Orchard  130.   61           Another  aspect  of  the  monstrous  East  emerged  with  the  Mongol  invasions  of   Eastern  and  Central  Europe  in  the  thirteenth  century.136  Like  the  barbarian  hordes   faced  by  Alexander,  this  event  had  a  significant  impact  on  the  way  that  monsters   were  perceived,  transforming  them  from  static  agents  that  existed  in  unexplored   spaces  past  the  borders  of  civilization,  into  an  organized,  militant  presence  that   threatened  to  breach  the  known  world,  conquering  and  subduing  Europe  through   violence.  The  Benedictine  monk  Matthew  Paris  wrote  an  account  of  the  Mongols  in   his  Historia  Anglorum,  which  summarized  existing  knowledge  about  the  invaders   and  their  habits.  Engaging  in  the  mistaken  practice  of  dubbing  them  “Tartars,”   monstrous  humanoids  who  had  emerged  from  the  land  of  Tartarus  from  Greek  lore,   he  wrote,  “The  men  are  inhuman  and  of  the  nature  of  beasts,  rather  to  be  called   monsters  than  men,  thirsting  after  and  drinking  blood,  and  tearing  and  devouring   the  flesh  of  dogs  and  human  beings.  […]  They  have  no  human  laws,  know  no  mercy,   and  are  more  cruel  than  lions  or  bears.”137  He  continued,  noting,     The  Saracens,  therefore,  desired  and  begged  to  be  allowed  to  enter  into   alliance  with  the  Christians,  in  order  that  they  might,  by  multiplying  their   forces,  be  enabled  to  resist  these  human  monsters.  These  Saracens,  the   memory  of  whom  is  detestable,  are  believed  to  have  been  of  the  ten  tribes,   who  abandoned  the  law  of  Moses,  and  followed  after  the  golden  calves;  and   Alexander  also  endeavored  to  shut  them  up  in  the  precipitous  Caspian   mountains  by  walls  cemented  with  bitumen;  but  as  this  work  appeared  to  be   beyond  human  accomplishment,  he  invoked  the  aid  of  the  God  of  Israel;  upon   which  the  ridges  of  the  mountains  united  one  with  another,  and  the  place   became  inaccessible  and  impassable.138     This  statement  by  Paris  reflects  the  severity  of  the  threat  posed  by  the  Mongols,  for   even  the  existing  “monstrous  races”  of  the  world  sought  the  help  of  their  enemies,                                                                                                                   136  W.  Wu  9-­‐10;  Lye  18.   137  Tchen,  Yellow  Peril  91.   138  Ibid.  92.   62           the  followers  of  Christ,  whose  heroes  like  Alexander,  according  to  tradition,  had   sought  to  seal  them  away  for  all  eternity  behind  his  mythical  gates.  These  conflicts   left  an  indelible  impression  on  the  European  imagination,  and  as  we  shall  discuss  in   the  following  chapter,  served  as  the  basis  for  the  Yellow  Peril,  a  racial  narrative  that   signifies  the  threat  posed  to  Western  society  by  people  of  Asian  descent.     Another  figure  like  Alexander  who  emerged  during  this  period  as  a  fallen   religious  hero  was  Vlad  Tepes,  the  fifteenth  century  Romanian  king  who  acted  as  a   kind  of  Christian  crusader,  protecting  Romania  from  the  Ottoman  Turks  in  the   borderlands  between  Western  Europe  and  Asia.139  While  he  is  known  today  as  the   historical  inspiration  for  Bram  Stoker’s  literary  vampire,  Count  Dracula,  Vlad   initially  took  up  Pope  Pius  II’s  call  for  a  new  crusade,  casting  Romania  as  a  last   bastion  of  Christianity  in  the  East,  defending  the  borders  of  Europe  from  the  army  of   invading  Turks  led  by  the  Sultan  Mehmed.140  However,  by  the  latter  part  of  that   century,  word  of  his  actions  spread  throughout  Europe  after  Catholic  monks  fled  to   Germany  following  an  attack  on  religious  institutions  and  the  seizure  of  their  wealth   by  the  crown.141  They  issued  a  series  of  religious  condemnations,  describing  Vlad’s   violence  and  acts  of  barbarity,  representing  him  as  a  man  who  had  been  driven   insane  by  his  exposure  to  the  East,  turning  on  his  allies  in  the  church  and  engaging   in  acts  of  torture  for  his  personal  amusement.  As  a  result,  a  sensationalistic  series  of   pamphlets  were  published  in  Germany  during  the  late  fifteenth  and  sixteenth                                                                                                                   139  Florescu  and  McNally,  Dracula  Prince  of  Many  Faces  13-­‐14,  28.   140  Ibid.  138   141  Florescu  and  McNally,  In  Search  of  Dracula  80.   63           centuries,  relating  gruesome  tales  about  Vlad  the  Impaler’s  murderous  impulses.142   In  particular,  these  materials  focused  on  his  penchant  for  impalement  as  a  preferred   method  of  execution,  and  featured  gory  frontispieces  depicting  such  acts  (see  fig.  2).   One  manuscript,  for  example,  advertised,  “The  shocking  story  of  a  MONSTER  and   BERSERKER  called  Dracula  who  committed  such  unchristian  deeds  as  killing  men  by   placing  them  on  stakes,  hacking  them  to  pieces  like  cabbage,  boiling  mothers  and   children  alive  and  compelling  men  to  acts  of  cannibalism.”143     Prior  to  this  moment,  impalement  was  a  practice  traditionally  associated   with  Asia,  as  it  was  commonly  utilized  by  the  Turks,  establishing  a  direct  connection   between  Vlad  the  Impaler’s  reputation  and  the  monstrous  habits  of  the  East.144  In   Europe  there  was  great  fascination  with  scenes  of  Chinese  torture,  particularly  as  an   artistic  aesthetic,  which,  no  doubt,  reinforced  the  association  between  a  kind  of   infectious  barbarism  and  the  peoples  of  Asia.145  There  were  long-­‐term  cultural   effects  of  this  linkage,  for  as  Caroline  Frank  observes,     It  is  likely  that  by  the  end  of  the  seventeenth-­‐century,  given  the  nature  of   these  impalement  stories  and  the  illustrations  accompanying  them,  this  form   of  torture  came  to  be  associated  in  the  Anglo-­‐American  imagination  with  a   generalized  East,  blurring  distinctions  between  Eastern  Europe,  the  Ottoman   Empire,  and  Persia,  implicating  China  by  virtue  of  its  cardinal  orientation.146     As  such,  Vlad  Tepes’  behavior  was  associated  with  his  proximity  to  the  East,  causing   him  to  revert  to  a  savage  state,  delighting  at  the  use  of  an  Oriental  torture  to  inflict   suffering  on  his  victims.  Represented  as  fallen  and  corrupted  in  the  popular  press,                                                                                                                   142  Florescu  and  McNally,  Dracula  Prince  of  Many  Faces  202.   143  Florescu  and  McNally,  In  Search  of  Dracula  84.   144  Ibid.  91.   145  Frank  83.   146  Ibid.  90.   64           the  story  of  Vlad  the  Impaler  serves  largely  as  a  cautionary  tale  about  the  East  itself,   showing  how  even  the  strongest  moral  constitutions  can  be  corrupted  by  the   infectious  influence  of  Asia.   Along  with  these  materials,  the  Middle  Ages  also  saw  the  popularization  of   various  travelogues,  of  both  fictive  and  factual  origin,  which  continued  to  promote   established  ideas  about  the  presence  of  monsters  in  the  East.  One  of  the  most   famous  of  these  is  the  Book  of  the  Marvels  of  the  World,  more  commonly  known  as   The  Travels  of  Marco  Polo,  a  thirteenth  century  text  that  describes  the  merchant’s   journey  through  Asia.  Along  the  way  to  China,  he  encounters  various  savage  races,   and  fearsome  animals.  In  India,  for  example,  he  uses  physical  differences  in  the   landscape  and  animals,  particularly  with  regard  to  size,  to  explain  what  he  sees,   writing,  “Not  only  in  this  kingdom,  but  throughout  India  in  general,  all  the  beasts   and  birds  are  unlike  those  of  our  own  country,  excepting  the  quails,  which  perfectly   resemble  ours;  the  others  are  all  different.  There  are  bats  as  large  as  vultures,  and   vultures  as  black  as  crows,  and  much  larger  than  ours.”147  Indeed,  almost  all  of  what   he  recounts  in  his  text  is  defined  by  its  difference  from  what  one  might  find  in   Europe.  As  expected,  he  also  reiterates  the  presence  of  the  familiar  cynocephali  in  an   isolated  space,  noting,   Angaman  is  a  very  large  island,  not  governed  by  a  king.  The  inhabitants  are   idolaters,  and  are  a  most  brutish  and  savage  race,  having  heads,  eyes,  and   teeth  resembling  those  of  the  canine  species.  Their  dispositions  are  cruel,  and   every  person,  not  being  of  their  own  nation,  whom  they  can  lay  their  hands   upon,  they  kill  and  eat.148                                                                                                                       147  Polo  291;  bk.  3,  ch.  19.   148  Ibid.  281;  bk.  3,  ch.  18.   65           Such  fantastic  descriptions  were  enhanced  by  illustrations  in  the  fourteenth  century   version  of  the  text,  which  depict  foreign  races  as  monsters  (see  fig.  3).  For  example,   the  Mekriti,  who  Marco  Polo  describes  as  “a  rude  tribe,  who  live  upon  the  flesh  of   animals,”  are  represented  by  three  of  the  most  commonly  recognized  monsters  of   the  age:  the  blemmyae,  monopod,  and  Cyclops.149  He  also  notes  the  presence  of   various  cannibalistic  tribes  in  areas  like  Zipangu  and  Fekech.150  When  describing   these  monstrous  races,  he  repeatedly  speaks  of  the  gold,  silk,  and  riches  that  can  be   found  in  these  areas,  echoing  accounts  by  Herodotus  and  other  ancient  writers.151  In   Kanbalu,  for  example,  the  location  of  the  Grand  Khan’s  court,  he  writes,  “To  this  city,   everything  that  is  most  rare  and  valuable  in  all  parts  of  the  world  finds  its  way,”   reporting  that  it  is  filled  with  gemstones,  pearls,  and  spices.152    In  part,  this   commonality  with  older  texts  again  illustrates  the  degree  to  which  ideas  about  the   wonders  of  the  East  were  passed  down  in  the  Western  tradition,  and  evolved  over   time,  as  new  reports  changed  the  way  that  they  were  interpreted  and  understood.153     Another  manuscript  of  note  is  the  Wonders  of  the  East  written  by  Friar   Catalani  Jordanus,  a  Catholic  missionary  in  India,  around  1330.  His  text,  presented   as  an  account  of  his  personal  experiences,  was  actually  a  compilation  of  stories  he   collected  during  his  travels  in  the  East.  Throughout,  he  describes  a  series  of  amazing   sights,  from  waters  that  turn  ordinary  metals  into  gold  to  the  nesting  habits  of   dragons,  encapsulated  in  large  part  by  his  declaration,  “Every  thing  indeed  is  a                                                                                                                   149  Ibid.  92;  bk.  1,  ch.  51.   150  Ibid.  bk.  3,  ch.  3,  11.   151  Ibid.  204;  bk.  2,  ch.25;  207;  bk.  2,  ch.  49;  211;  bk.  2,  ch.  52;  221;  bk.  2,  ch.  62;  227;   bk.  2,  ch.  67;  267;  bk.  3,  ch.  5;  270;  bk.  3,  ch.  7.   152  Ibid.  153;  bk.  2,  ch.  17.   153  Romm  120.   66           marvel  in  this  India!  Verily  it  is  quite  another  world!”154  He  notes  that  almost  every   monster  of  European  legend  and  myth  exists  in  India,  specifically  naming  the  Roc,  a   bird  “so  big  that  they  could  easily  carry  an  elephant  up  into  the  air,”  and  unicorns,   which  he  claims  the  natives  find  useful  for  medicinal  purposes.155  Like  Marco  Polo,   he  describes  the  cynocephali  that  inhabit  the  islands  of  the  East,  adding  that  the   women  of  this  strange  race  are  said  to  be  extremely  beautiful.156  He  also  repeats   some  of  the  oldest  descriptions  of  Ethiopia,  claiming  that,  “There  are  many  monsters   there,  such  as  gryphons  that  guard  the  golden  mountains  which  be  there.  Here,  too,   be  serpents  and  other  venomous  beasts,  of  vast  size  and  venomous  exceedingly.”157   Finally,  he  ends  with  a  discussion  of  the  Middle  East,  particularly  the  ancient   kingdoms  of  Babylon  and  Chaldea,  claiming  that  they  are  now  “destroyed  and   deserted,  where  are  hairy  serprents  and  monstrous  animals.”  Jordanus  describes   the  region  as  a  desolate,  unpopulated  area,  noting,  “In  the  night  season,  are  heard   such  shoutings,  such  howlings,  such  hissings,  that  it  is  called  Hell.  There  no  one   would  dare  to  pass  a  single  night,  even  with  a  great  army,  on  account  of  the  endless   terrors  and  spectres.”158    Similarly,  The  Travels  of  Sir  John  Mandeville,  which  first  appeared  in  1371,   describes  the  protagonist’s  trek  away  from  Jerusalem  and  into  the  exotic  lands  of   Asia.  Throughout  the  text,  he  relates  stories  and  his  encounters  with  a  variety  of   creatures,  like  the  phoenix,  centaurs,  satyrs,  Amazonians,  dragons,  and  cockatrices,                                                                                                                   154  Jordanus  37.   155  Ibid.  42-­‐43.   156  Ibid.  44.   157  Ibid.  45.   158  Ibid.  49.   67           in  addition  to  the  cynocephali,  blemmyae,  and  Cyclops  that  appear  in  Marco  Polo’s   text.159  Indeed,  one  of  the  central  themes  of  these  medieval  works  is  that  in  order  to   encounter  monsters,  one  must  leave  the  safe  and  familiar  and  venture  into  the   unknown,  a  task  left  only  to  travelers  and  adventurers,  like  Mandeville.160  Further,   the  text  also  reinforces  aspects  of  Christian  cosmological  geography,  as  the   protagonist  begins  his  journey  from  the  heart  of  Christendom  and  civilization  in   Jerusalem,  and  moves  outward,  encountering  exotic  peoples  whose  everyday   existence  violates  the  norms  of  the  West,  through  the  practice  of  cannibalism,  incest,   and  human  sacrifice.161  Again,  we  see  cynocephali  as  the  symbol  for  these  tribes,   with  the  author  writing,     After  that  isle  men  go  by  the  sea  ocean,  by  many  isles,  unto  an  isle  that  is   clept  Nacumera,  that  is  a  great  isle  and  good  and  fair.  And  it  is  in  compass   about,  more  than  a  thousand  mile.  And  all  the  men  and  women  of  the  isle   have  hounds’  heads,  and  they  be  clept  Cynocephales.  And  they  be  full   reasonable  and  of  good  understanding,  save  that  they  worship  an  ox  for  their   God.162     While  this  description  is  entirely  fictional,  it  is  still  worth  examining,  as  it  reveals   much  about  the  way  that  the  monstrous  races  were  understood  within  the  Christian   tradition.  Indeed,  for  the  faithful,  cynocephali  were  individuals  with  the  capacity  to   be  converted  and  saved  with  their  successful  acceptance  of  Christian  doctrine.   Figures  like  Saint  Christopher,  for  example,  represented  such  an  outcome,  and  for   many  of  the  faithful,  dog-­‐headed  men  were  symbolically  associated  with  Islam  and                                                                                                                   159  Mandeville  34;  ch.  7;  105;  ch.  16;  113;  ch.  17;  143-­‐144;  ch.  21;  147-­‐148;  ch.  22.   160  Oswald  117.   161  Carmago  81.   162  Mandeville  143;  ch.  21.   68           Muslims.163  Cynocephali,  then,  were  an  iconic  medieval  monster  precisely  because,   as  Joyce  Tally  Lionarons  notes,  they  “function  in  the  European  Middle  Ages  as  a  sort   of  collective  Other  for  medieval  Christian  culture—they  seem  almost,  but  not  quite,   human;  they  are  alien,  yet  in  some  way  still  the  same.”164     The  fictional  basis  of  these  travelogues  reflects  a  kind  of  imagined  geography   of  the  East.  While  they  purport  to  relate  factual  details  about  little  known,   unexplored  areas,  the  information  they  provided  was  largely  inaccurate,  consisting   either  of  falsified  claims,  misidentified  natural  phenomenon,  or  gossip  and  hearsay   acquired  from  unreliable  third  party  sources.  It  is  striking,  then,  that  for  these   writers,  all  that  was  required  to  write  about  these  areas  was  an  assertion  of   authorial  authority,  and  to  claim  that  as  one  who  had  traveled  outside  of  Europe,   they  had  the  knowledge  and  experience  to  convey  the  facts  about  things  that  they   actually  knew  very  little  of.  This  aligns  with  power  dynamics  associated  with  the   culture  of  Orientalism,  which,  as  Edward  Said  notes,  “To  have  such  knowledge  of   such  a  thing  is  to  dominate  it,  to  have  authority  over  it.  And  authority  here  means   for  ‘us’  to  deny  autonomy  to  ‘it’—the  Oriental  country—since  we  know  it  and  it   exists,  in  a  sense,  as  we  know  it.”165     More  importantly,  specialization  and  expertise  is  attained  precisely  through   the  regurgitation  of  established  knowledge  or  tropes  associated  with  the  East.  The   early  authors,  compilers,  travelers,  explorers,  and  others,  were  all  imbued  with   authority  simply  because  they  described  things  that  were  traditionally  associated                                                                                                                   163  Friedman,  Monstrous  Races  67.   164  Lionarons  169.   165  Said  32.   69           with  Asia.  As  Said  notes,  this  process  is  textual  and  grounded  in  the  academic   process.  He  writes,  “A  text  purporting  to  contain  knowledge  about  something  actual   […]  is  not  easily  dismissed.  Expertise  is  attributed  to  it.  The  authority  of  academics,   institutions,  and  governments  can  accrue  to  it,  surrounding  it  with  still  greater   prestige  than  its  practical  successes  warrant.  Most  importantly,  such  texts  can   create  not  only  knowledge  but  also  the  very  reality  they  appear  to  describe.”166   Perhaps  the  most  interesting  aspect  of  the  medieval  characterization  of  Asia   in  these  stories  is  the  degree  to  which  much  of  the  region  was  said  to  hold  immense   and  unfathomable  riches.  Many  of  the  tales  concerning  the  East,  particularly  India,   describe  vast  concentrations  of  gold  and  precious  stones,  which  one  could  obtain   there.  The  coexistence  of  these  valuable  items,  alongside  the  presence  of  monstrous   creatures  was  a  functional  trope  of  many  of  these  exploratory  narratives.  The  same   is  true  of  ancient  writings  like  the  Histories,  for  example,  where  Herodotus  notes   that  “Indians  in  Asia”  who  “dwell  farthest  to  the  east  and  closest  to  the  sunrise”   gather  great  quantities  of  gold.167  His  descriptions  are  highly  comparative  in  nature,   suggesting  that  distant  lands  hold  great  wealth,  in  contrast  to  those  that  are  more   familiar  and  closer  to  home.168  This  narrative  is  also  reinforced  by  the  accounts  of   ancient  prospectors  who  traveled  into  Asia  Minor,  specifically  the  area  of  Scythia,   and  told  tales  of  griffins  who  were  said  to  guard  large  caches  of  gold  in  the  lands  of   the  East.169                                                                                                                   166  Ibid.  94.   167  Herodotus  256;  bk.  3  ch.  98.   168  Romm  38.   169  Mayor  22-­‐23.   70           Other  scholars  have  also  noted  this  connection.  For  instance,  John  Kuo  Wei   Tchen,  in  New  York  Before  Chinatown,  describes  the  fascination  with  Chinese  goods   throughout  the  period  of  the  American  Revolution.  He  relates  that  items  like   porcelain  and  silk  were  highly  prized  as  exotic  symbols  of  wealth,  and  were  part  of  a   desirable  aesthetic  sensibility,  due  in  large  part  to  their  association  with  elite   culture.170  Caroline  Frank  affirms  this  notion,  pointing  out  that  the  consumption  of   commodities,  like  pottery,  was  grounded  in  the  practice  of  “an  obscuring  of  the   people  and  the  place  behind,  or  contained  within  the  prized  commodity,”  often  out   of  anxiety  about  the  economic  status  of  America  itself,  and  that  these  decorative   objects  were  appropriated  for  use  by  white  consumers,  who  were  largely  ignorant   about  the  cultural  context  of  their  production.171  Further,  economist  Andre  Gunder   Frank  points  out  that  Asia  was  once  the  focal  point  of  the  world  economy,  long   before  Europe,  noting  that  the  wealth  of  China  and  South  Asia  were  largely  seen  as   the  envy  of  the  world  before  1800.172  This  European  obsession  with  procuring  the   treasures  of  Asia  is  part  of  an  established  literary  and  historical  tradition  that   stretches  back  into  the  ancient  world.       The  accounts  by  Marco  Polo  and  John  Mandeville,  as  well  as  those  found  in   ancient  texts,  were  an  important  source  of  information  for  explorers  in  the  fifteenth   century.173  Christopher  Columbus,  for  example,  turned  to  these  works  as  he  sought   to  locate  an  oceanic  passage  to  Asia.  Driven  by  the  stories  of  riches  that  had  long   circulated  within  Western  culture,  he  believed  that  he  could  reach  China  and  Japan                                                                                                                   170  Tchen,  New  York  Before  Chinatown  6.   171  Frank  12-­‐13.   172  Gunder  Frank  96.   173  Romm  6.   71           by  sailing  west,  thereby  securing  the  rich  deposits  of  gold  that  Marco  Polo  had   reported  in  those  countries.174  As  Paul  Freeman  notes,     By  the  time  of  Columbus,  the  astonishing  wealth  of  Asia  was  accepted,   entrancing,  and  widely  mulled  over.  The  frightening  marvels  of  Asia  were   also  still  important  and  associated  with  exotic  products,  so  that  insofar  as   Columbus  heard  rumors  of  dog-­‐headed  humanoids  or  other  “monstrous   races,”  he  believed  he  was  close  to  the  spices  and  the  gold  of  his  dreams,  but   the  classic  marvels—monsters,  snakes,  rivers  of  sand,  a  land  of  perpetual   darkness—tended  to  yield  to  stories  that  concentrated  on  the  continent’s   riches.  The  strangeness  of  the  East  became  more  a  surrounding  atmosphere   for  its  wealth  rather  than  the  main  narrative.175     As  a  result,  Columbus  actively  sought  the  presence  of  monsters  during  his   expeditions  and  utilized  them  as  markers,  bodily  signposts  that  indicated  he  was  on   the  right  track  to  India.  The  inability  of  explorers  to  locate  these  creatures  of  legend   did  not  deter  their  efforts.  In  fact,  it  strengthened  their  resolve  to  find  them,   primarily  because  the  construction  of  Asia  as  a  land  of  monsters  was  so  central  to   the  European  understanding  of  the  region,  that  discarding  it  would  have  meant   abandoning  an  entire  ideological  worldview.176  While  the  sustained  lack  of  evidence   gradually  compelled  individuals  to  abandon  these  ancient  ideas  about  the  people  of   the  East  during  the  Renaissance,  this  longstanding  framework  did  not  go  away   completely,  and  instead,  I  argue,  serves  as  the  basis  for  much  of  how  Asia  and  its   peoples  are  understood  today.177     Throughout  subsequent  centuries,  ideas  about  monstrosity  continued  to   evolve,  as  the  existence  of  these  strange  beings  was  understood  through  science,   rather  than  myth,  superstition,  and  religion.  Instead,  these  creatures  became                                                                                                                   174  Abulafia  24-­‐25.   175  Freeman  143.   176  Tuan  85-­‐86.   177  Friedman,  Monstrous  Races  199.   72           subjects  within  popular  culture  itself,  and  as  we  shall  discuss  in  the  following   chapter,  were  integrated  into  various  forms  of  social  entertainment,  like  the  freak   show.  They  were  presented  as  natural  curiosities  that  appealed  to  the  public   precisely  because  of  their  exotic  nature.  With  the  transition  into  the  modern  era,   stories  about  monsters  became  fictional  narratives  designed  to  thrill  and  enthrall   audiences.  While  it  remained  possible  that  the  creatures  of  legend  still  existed  in   remote  corners  of  the  world,  the  prospect  grew  far  less  probable,  and  the  traditional   idea  of  the  East  as  a  land  of  monsters  evolved  along  with  this  realization,   transforming  into  a  metaphorical  figuration  that  describes  the  region’s  peoples.     In  many  respects,  we  can  see  this  transformative  understanding  of   monstrosity  in  the  work  of  Lafcadio  Hearn,  an  American  journalist  known  for  his   books,  In  Ghostly  Japan  and  Kwaidan:  Stories  and  Studies  of  Strange  Things.  In  them,   he  compiled  traditional  folk  tales  and  oral  accounts  of  weird  happenings  throughout   Japan,  presenting  the  country,  its  people,  and  its  culture  as  exotic  and  mysterious  for   the  amusement  of  American  readers.  While  Hearn  did  not  exaggerate  or  embellish   any  of  the  stories  featured  in  his  books,  his  selection  of  tales  reveals  a  great  deal   about  his  mindset  in  the  process  of  gathering  these  narratives.  The  majority  of  the   stories  focus  primarily  on  the  culture  of  yokai,  which  will  be  discussed  in  length  in   the  fourth  chapter,  or  the  spiritual  nature  of  Japan,  presenting  it  as  a  liminal  space,   where  beings  from  this  life  are  likely  to  encounter  those  of  the  next,  and  where   humans  coexist  alongside  monsters,  like  yurei,  or  hostile  spirits,  like  the  yuki-­onna   and  mujina,  in  spaces  of  nature,  like  forests,  mountains,  and  lakes.178                                                                                                                   178  Hearn  75,  109.   73             Interestingly,  the  book  is  primarily  geared  toward  entertainment,  exposing   readers  to  the  “authentically  “strange  culture  of  the  Japanese,  but  it  also  serves  a   pedagogical  function.  The  majority  of  the  stories  are  set  in  the  period  before   modernization,  giving  the  impression  that  the  nation  is  feudal,  deeply  traditional,   and  that  located  at  the  heart  of  Japanese  identity  is  an  undefinable  and  mysterious   characteristic  that  can  only  be  conveyed  through  folk  tales.  As  a  singular  piece  of   Japanese  culture  presented  to  a  foreign  audience  that  had  very  little  knowledge   about  the  differences  between  the  countries  of  Asia,  books  like  these  significantly   influenced  the  public  perception  of  Japan  in  the  United  States,  much  like  the  Arabian   Nights  shaped  perceptions  of  the  Orient  in  Europe.  Thus,  rather  than  simply  being   about  Japanese  culture,  these  stories  became  a  signifier  of  the  Japanese  themselves,   helping  to  establish  the  idea  that  Japan  is  a  fantastic  space  where  unexplainable   events  occur,  and  where  supernatural  beings  exist  alongside  humans,  within  the   American  imagination.     74                   CHAPTER  TWO:  YELLOW  PERILS:  THE  CONSTRUCTION  OF  THE  (MONSTROUS)   ASIAN  BODY  IN  THE  AMERICAN  CULTURAL  IMAGINATION     “Four  hundred  million  indefatigable  workers  (deft,  intelligent,  and  unafraid  to  die),   aroused  and  rejuvenescent,  managed  and  guided  by  forty-­‐five  million  additional   human  beings  who  are  splendid  fighting  animals,  scientific  and  modern,  constitute   that  menace  to  the  Western  world  which  has  been  well  named  the  ‘Yellow  Peril.’”  ~   Jack  London     “Remember,  in  my  day,  drawing  an  Asian  was  drawing  Fu  Manchu—that’s  the  only   Asians  they  knew.  The  Asians  were  wily…”  ~  Jack  Kirby     I.  Introduction     “Who…Or  What…Is  He??!”  asks  the  cover  of  the  first  issue  of  Yellow  Claw,  a   short-­‐lived  series  published  in  1956  by  Atlas  Comics  (see  fig.  4).  It  depicts  a  giant,   Fu-­‐Manchu-­‐like  character,  the  Yellow  Claw,  a  “sinister  ancient  Oriental  mystic  who   had  come  out  of  the  interior  of  China  bent  on  a  program  of  world  conquest,”   towering  over  the  skyline  of  New  York  City,  his  clawed,  bony  hand  outstretched   toward  the  reader  and  an  array  of  military  men,  civilians,  and  government  agents  in   the  foreground  of  the  image.  In  the  issue  itself,  the  Chinese  Communist  High   Command,  in  an  effort  to  advance  their  “campaign  of  world  domination,”  seeks  out  a   mythic  individual  known  as  the  Yellow  Claw  to  help  them  deal  with  the  American   fleet  in  the  Formosa  straits.  Journeying  deep  into  the  foothills  of  the  Tibetan  Alps,  a   75           search  party  led  by  General  Sung  locates  the  mystic,  who  humors  their  wishes,   demonstrating  his  powers  of  mind  control  and  ability  to  gaze  into  the  future.  They   enlist  his  aid,  but  as  they  leave,  confident  in  their  future  victory,  the  face  of  the   Yellow  Claw  displays  a  sinister  grin,  he  arches  his  hands  together,  and  declares,  “No,   General  Sung!  You  are  wrong!  One  rule  does  not  mean  your  rule…communist  rule.  It   means  my  rule!  One  day,  the  whole  world  will  be  ruled  by  the  Yellow  Claw!”179     Over  the  course  of  the  series’  four-­‐issue  run,  the  villain  engages  in  battles  of   wit  and  strategy  against  his  nemesis,  Jimmy  Woo,  a  Chinese  American  FBI  agent  who   is  widely  considered  to  be  one  of  the  first  Asian  American  heroes  within  the  medium.   Repeatedly  thwarting  the  Yellow  Claw’s  machinations,  and  covertly  assisted  by  the   villain’s  own  niece,  Suwan,  Woo  is  depicted  as  a  loyal,  honest  American,  who  simply   happens  to  be  Chinese,  which  gives  him  the  ability  to  move  back  and  forth  between   Western  society  and  the  shadowy,  crime-­‐ridden  enclaves  of  Chinatown.  As  the   series  goes  on,  the  Yellow  Claw  himself  becomes  less  threatening  and  more  comical.   While  part  of  this  is  attributable  to  Woo’s  presence,  which  essentially  neutralizes   him  as  a  viable  threat,  the  plans  that  the  villain  concocts  grow  more  outlandish  with   each  issue.  By  the  end  of  the  series,  the  Yellow  Claw’s  machinations  involved   everything  from  building  a  robot  patterned  after  a  Chinese  giant  to  convince   Malaysians  to  wage  war  against  the  United  States  to  manipulating  an  alien  named,   UFO,  the  Lightning  Man,  to  destroy  the  American  military  presence  in  the  South   Pacific.                                                                                                                     179  Maneely,  et  al.,  136.   76             In  many  respects,  the  ideas  behind  Yellow  Claw,  a  character  who  still  exists   within  the  Marvel  Universe  today,  embody  the  notion  of  the  Yellow  Peril,  a  phrase   popularized  in  America  by  Jack  London,  representative  of  a  race-­‐based  fear  of  the   East,  which  assumes  that  the  people  of  Asia  harbor  designs  of  world  domination  and   pose  an  imminent  threat  to  the  continued  existence  and  advancement  of  Western   civilization.180  Yellow  Claw,  like  Fu  Manchu  and  other  Asian  villains  before—and   after—him,  is  the  product  of  an  archetype  grounded  in  a  particular  understanding  of   the  Asian  body  that  encapsulates  and  is  founded  upon  elements  from  theoretical   and  historical  understandings  about  monstrosity.  The  numerous  inconsistencies,   contradictions,  mismatched  attributes,  and  confused  motivations  that  define  these   characters  help  to  reveal  more  about  our  own  perspective,  particularly  our  cultural   understanding  of  Asia  and  its  people,  than  anything  else.   This  chapter  argues  that  for  Americans,  the  Asian  body,  like  that  of  the   monster,  is  a  vessel  for  expressing  cultural  anxieties  over  critical  issues,  like  race,   class,  gender,  and  sexuality.  Its  continued,  visible  yet  somewhat  ephemeral,   presence  is  an  incessant,  haunting  reminder  of  the  unresolved  historical  tensions   and  unsettling  contradictions  that  shape  American  society.  Despite  pronouncements   to  the  contrary,  the  anxieties  encapsulated  by  the  Asian  body  simmer  beneath  the   seemingly  peaceful  surface  of  culture,  threatening  to  destabilize  the  status  quo  at   any  moment  through  challenges  to  hegemonic  notions  of  normality,  citizenship,  and   belonging.  This  is  possible  because  the  Asian  body  occupies  a  space  where  the  self   meets  the  other,  and  where  seemingly  incompatible  features  exist  in  unison,                                                                                                                   180  F.  Wu  13.   77           reflecting  back  and  revealing  alternate  modes  of  existence  that  threaten  the   dominant  principles  of  American  national  culture.   At  the  core  of  the  Asian  body  is  an  intense  and  pervasive  liminality,  defined   by  contradiction,  which  threatens  to  destabilize  categorical  and  classificatory   regimes,  and  undermine  the  core  assumptions  that  constitute  the  foundation  of   American  society.  The  monstrous  nature  of  the  Asian  body  is  derived  from  its   defiance  of  established  normality,  existing  between  categories,  resisting  simple   classification,  and  posing  alternate  modes  of  existence  and  comprehension.  The  fear   and  anxiety  generated  by  this  vessel  is  not  attributable  to  the  threat  of  physical   violence,  despite  what  we  are  presented  with  in  popular  culture,  but  rather,  due  to   the  chaos  and  havoc  that  it  threatens  to  wreak  on  our  collective  worldview.  It  calls   into  question  the  myths  and  assumptions  that  define  the  lives  and  regulate  the   conduct  of  ordinary  Americans,  challenging  the  status  quo  and  representing  the   possibilities  for  radical  social  change  through  what  Jeffrey  Jerome  Cohen  dubs   “category  crisis.”181   The  purpose  of  this  chapter  then,  is  to  put  the  theory  and  history  behind   monstrosity  discussed  in  the  previous  chapter  into  practice,  by  examining  how   these  forces  affect  the  process  of  representation  and  the  American  understanding  of   the  Asian  body.  Here,  we  also  bridge  the  gap  between  Europe  and  the  United  States,   showing  how  traditional  ideas  about  monsters  were  translated,  adapted,  and   incorporated  into  American  culture.  We  examine  how  this  intellectual  tradition  was   utilized  for  the  purpose  of  defining  Asian  populations,  and  how  it  specifically                                                                                                                   181  Cohen,  Monster  Theory  6.   78           affected  the  representation  of  the  Japanese  throughout  the  early  part  of  the   twentieth-­‐century.     We  begin  by  exploring  the  meaning  of  the  Asian  body  in  American  society,   elaborating  on  the  ideas  presented  in  this  introduction,  showing  precisely  how  it   encapsulates  and  represents  the  notion  of  monstrosity  presented  in  the  previous   chapter.  Specifically,  we  highlight  its  subversivity  and  the  transformative  potential   embodied  by  its  key  features  of  liminality  and  contradiction.  To  explore  the  origin  of   these  features,  we  then  turn  to  the  nineteenth  century,  charting  how  medical   monstrosity  and  pseudo  sciences  like  teratology,  the  study  of  monsters,  evolve  into   a  racialized  logic,  promoted  and  perpetuated  throughout  popular  print  and  visual   culture,  specifically  the  institution  of  the  freak  show.  We  see  how  ancient  ideas   about  monsters  and  foreign  lands  are  embodied  and  understood  through  modern   “wonders”  like  the  Siamese  twins,  Chang  and  Eng  Bunker.  Finally,  we  analyze  how   these  ideas  were  incorporated  into  the  general  panethnic  understanding  of  Asian   populations  and  the  popular  discourse  surrounding  the  highly  charged  issue  of   Chinese,  and  later  Japanese,  immigration,  which  manifested  culturally  in  the  idea  of   the  Yellow  Peril.   II.  The  Construction  of  the  Asian  Body  in  American  Culture       The  American  understanding  of  the  Asian  body  is  founded  on  a  multiplicity  of   contradictions  and  conflicting  ideas.  Indeed,  the  variety  of  identities  attached  to   Asian  populations  within  the  United  States  run  the  proverbial  gamut,  and   encompass  a  wide  breadth  of  the  cultural  landscape.  Consider  that  in  America,   Asians  are  simultaneously:  civilized,  yet  backward;  traditional,  but  modern;   79           masculine,  yet  feminine;  domestic,  but  alien;  morally  degenerate,  yet  honorable  and   admirable;  threatening,  but  placid;  desirable,  yet  repellant;  like  “us,”  but  different.   Further,  the  Asian  body  seemingly  falls  outside  established  racial  schemes  of  black   and  white,  existing  instead  in  ambiguous  shades  of  yellow  and  brown.  To  this  extent,   it  defies  classification  and  categorization,  refusing  to  comply  with  dominant  notions   of  race,  class,  and  gender  typically  associated  with  people  of  color  in  the  United   States.  Recognizing  this,  we  ask  how  we  reconcile  these  seemingly  incompatible   parts,  and  consider  the  source  that  many  of  these  ideas  originate  from.  Interrogating   this  subject  historically,  we  find  that  they  share  a  monstrous  origin,  at  least  part  of   which  is  uniquely  American  in  nature.   As  Lisa  Lowe  observes,  contradiction  is  a  core  element  of  the  individual  and   collective  identities  of  Asian  Americans  in  the  United  States.182  Born  out  of  economic,   diplomatic,  and  cultural  interaction  with  Asia  and  historical  engagement  with  the   political  processes,  particularly  with  Chinese  immigration  in  the  nineteenth  and   twentieth  centuries,  she  writes  that  Asians  have  simultaneously  been  placed   “’within’  the  U.S.  nation-­‐state,  its  workplaces,  and  its  markets,  yet  linguistically,   culturally,  and  racially  marked  Asians  as  ‘foreign’  and  ‘outside’  the  national   polity.”183  As  such,  the  term  “Asian  American”  itself  functions  as  a  signifier  of   contradiction,  gesturing  toward  the  perceived  incompatibility  between  the  Asian   body  and  the  hegemonic  ideals  of  the  cultural,  economic,  and  political  spheres  in  the   United  States.                                                                                                                   182  Lowe  56-­‐57.   183  Ibid.  8.   80           Similarly,  Gary  Okihiro  considers  the  position  of  the  Asian  body  in  terms  of   race  and  ethnicity,  examining  the  formation  of  “yellow”  as  an  intermediary,   undefined  position  between  the  established  binary  of  black  and  white.  He  notes,  “By   seeing  only  black  and  white,  the  presence  and  absence  of  all  color,  whites  render   Asians,  American  Indians,  and  Latinos  invisible,  ignoring  the  gradations  and   complexities  of  the  full  spectrum  between  racial  poles.”184  While  Okihiro  primarily   interrogates  this  perspective  from  an  activist  standpoint,  arguing  for  cooperation   amongst  oppressed  peoples,  others  like  Frank  Wu  argue  that  Asian  Americans   occupy  an  ambiguous  position  within  the  racial  spectrum,  observing  that  at   different  times,  they  are  conceptualized  and  understood  as  both  black  and  white.185   Due  to  their  status  in  this  undefined,  shifting  middle  ground,  Wu  writes  that  “Asian   Americans  fall  outside  the  scope  of  even  ‘other.’”186     Indeed,  there  have  been  numerous  instances  in  which  the  ethnic  and  racial   status  of  Asian  Americans  has  been  in  legal  dispute.  Famously,  Takao  Ozawa,  a   Japanese  national,  filed  for  citizenship  in  the  1922  Supreme  Court  case,  Takao   Ozawa  v.  United  States,  arguing  that  Asians  should  be  legally  classified  as  “white,”   and  therefore  qualify  for  naturalization.187  The  court  rejected  his  claims,  stating  that   only  Caucasians  could  be  considered  white,  and  that  Asians  fell  outside  the   definition  and  spectrum  of  whiteness.  In  fact,  this  exclusionary  process  was  one  of   the  key  factors  in  the  early  development  of  Japanese  American  identity,  as   immigrants  were  forced  to  articulate  new  forms  of  national  belonging  through  their                                                                                                                   184  Okihiro  62.   185  F.  Wu  18-­‐21.   186  Ibid.  26.   187  Okihiro  61.   81           cultural  heritage  in  response  to  institutional  discrimination.188  Similarly,  until  1923   many  South  Asians  were  considered  legally  “white”  because  they  did  not  fit  into  any   other  racial  category.189  In  different  parts  of  the  country  throughout  the  nineteenth   century,  Chinese  immigrants  were  classified  as  white,  Chinese,  and  even  black,  as   various  states  and  localities  struggled  to  define  individuals  who  were  neither  black   nor  white.190     Sabine  Doran,  in  her  rumination  of  the  color  yellow  and  its  meaning  in   European  and  American  culture,  observes  that  it  has  traditionally  been  associated   with  ambiguity  and  stigma,  often  applied  not  only  to  marginalized  populations,  like   Asians  and  Jews,  but  also  to  unsavory  forms  of  popular  culture,  such  as  yellow  books   and  yellow  journalism.  However,  of  particular  note  is  the  contradictory  nature  of   classic  associations  with  the  color,  for  as  Doran  writes,  “Historically,  in  Western   culture,  yellow  is  the  color  of  light,  illumination,  enlightenment,  and  gold  (absolute   value),  but  it  is  also  the  color  of  death,  decay,  and  excrement  (a  figure  of  negativity).   Thus,  unlike  the  dialectical  colors  of  black  and  white,  yellow  contains  opposition   within  itself.”191       Thus,  as  a  site  of  intense  cultural  contradiction,  the  Asian  body  largely   functions  as  a  signifier  of  liminality  within  American  society.  It  occupies  the   undefined  middle  ground,  frequently  defying  easy  classification  and  categorization,   in  almost  every  respect  to  race,  class,  gender,  and  sexuality.  Consider,  for  example,   the  paradoxical  nature  of  many  common  stereotypes  about  Asians:  they  are                                                                                                                   188  Azuma  14.   189  Ngai  38.   190  Okihiro  53.   191  Doran  6.   82           traditional,  yet  modern;  threatening  and  masculine,  but  docile  and  feminine;  they   are  disciplined  hardworkers,  yet  also  childlike  and  lazy;  at  times  they  are  bestial  and   inhuman,  but  look  just  like  us;  and  finally,  they  are  the  unassimilable  foreigner,  yet   also  the  quintessential  model  minority.  Thus  emerges  a  deep  and  abiding  liminality,   which  marks  the  Asian  body  as  undefinable,  something  belonging  neither  here  nor   there,  shaped  and  contained  by  various  conflicting  ideas.  Recognizing  this,  the   question  then  becomes  one  of  how  we  make  sense  of  these  seemingly  contradictory   pairings  that  embody  the  political  and  economic  anxieties  that  surround  the   presence  of  Asians  within  American  culture  and  society.     In  many  respects,  the  Asian  body,  like  that  of  the  monster,  functions  as  what   Judith  Halberstam  calls,  a  “meaning  machine,”  a  kind  of  technology  which,  as  she   notes,  “can  represent  gender,  race,  nationality,  class,  and  sexuality  in  one  body.”192   In  doing  so,  they  have  the  ability  to  break  down  divisions  of  identity  and  challenge,   disrupt,  and  unsettle  basic  assumptions  that  reinforce  the  status  quo.  Thus,  the   threat  posed  by  the  monstrous  body  is  precisely  that  it  attacks  the  foundation  of   knowledge  itself,  undermining  the  categories  that  we  use  to  understand  the  world.   As  Dana  Oswald  observes,    Just  like  the  monstrous  body,  the  human  body  that  does  not  fit  neatly  into   existing  categories  of  gender,  sex,  and  sexuality  not  only  disrupts  the  social   and  sexual  order,  it  reveals  the  gaps  and  flaws  in  the  architecture  of  society.   These  bodies—like  acts  of  erasure—destroy  something  that  was,  but  also   create  something  new.193     Indeed,  while  these  classifications  have  traditionally  been  used  to  marginalize  Asian   Americans,  along  with  other  people  of  color  by  ignoring  the  nuances  and                                                                                                                   192  Halberstaim  21-­‐22.   193  Oswald  207.   83           ambiguities  of  the  racial  spectrum,  they  also  allow  these  individuals  to,  as  Lisa  Lowe   notes,  serve  as  agents  of  “political  change,  cultural  expression,  and  political   transformation,”  precisely  because  their  social  and  cultural  contributions  disrupt   national  identity,  revealing  its  inconsistencies  and  its  relationship  to  processes  of   historical  “dislocation.”194  By  encompassing  both  extremes  of  binary  categorization,   the  Asian  body  simultaneously  incorporates  and  rejects  all  attempts  at  definition,   marking  it  as  truly  monstrous.     III.  Wonders  and  Curiosities:  Teratology,  Siamese  Twins,  and  the  Culture  of  the   Freak  Show     Much  of  this  historical  association  between  the  Asian  body  and  monstrosity   within  the  United  States,  in  both  a  physical  and  moral  sense,  can  potentially  be   traced  back  to  the  public  display  of  natural  curiosities  and  genetic  variation  through   the  institution  of  the  freak  show.  While  religious  and  scientific  ideas  about  the   monstrous  nature  of  the  East  and  its  peoples  circulated  throughout  Europe  for   centuries,  many  of  these  core  ideas  were  altered  and  adapted  in  their  migration  to   the  United  States,  localized  and  refined  specifically  as  a  result  of  Americans’   interaction  with  Asian  populations,  in  the  form  of  immigrants  and  through  cultural   and  entertainment  institutions  like  the  freak  show.  The  presentation  of  the   monstrous,  racialized  body  in  these  public  venues,  then,  helped  to  popularize   longstanding  ideas  about  Asians  in  American  culture,  demonstrating  that  even  in   close  proximity  they  remained  perpetually  foreign  and  different.     Historically,  the  freak  show  is  rooted  in  teratology,  the  study  of  monstrosity,   primarily  in  the  form  of  physical  abnormality  and  genetic  variation.  Human                                                                                                                   194  Lowe  9.   84           curiosities  were  first  exhibited  as  part  of  museums  as  early  as  the  eighteenth   century,  presented  as  specimens  of  other  races  in  an  attempt  to  help  understand   humanity’s  place  in  relation  to  the  rest  of  the  natural  world.195  Others,  like  those   born  with  congenital  abnormalities,  represented  unique  examples  of  evolutionary   and  biological  diversity,  whose  existence  taxonomically  served  to  establish  the   edges  of  humanity.  As  early  as  the  eighteenth  century,  scholars  like  Carl  Linnaeus   had  sought  to  demystify  such  monstrosity,  placing  it  within  a  strict  scientific   paradigm  and  understanding  it  in  terms  of  natural  error  rather  than  the   supernatural.196  Throughout  this  period,  institutions  like  museums  were  tasked   with  providing  the  public  about  factual  information  about  biological  diversity,  a  goal   that  was  almost  immediately  undercut  by  the  rise  of  P.T.  Barnum’s  American   Museum  in  1841,  and  his  subsequent  traveling  circus,  Barnum’s  Grand  Scientific  and   Musical  Theatre.197     While  various  individuals  of  Asian  descent  were  featured  in  sideshow   attractions  across  the  United  States,  like  Chinese  giants,  perhaps  the  most  famous   were  Chang  and  Eng  Bunker,  the  famed  Siamese  twins.  The  pair  were  among  the   first  performers  with  a  national  audience,  having  toured  across  the  country  starting   in  the  late  1820s,  and  being  renowned  as  the  famed  “Siamese  Twins.”198  Initially,   they  were  presented  as  intensely  foreign,  fitting  into  what  Robert  Bogdan  dubs,  the   “exotic  mode,”  wherein  “Non-­‐Western  people  with  demonstrable  physical   differences—those  who  were  very  tall,  very  short,  without  arms  and  legs,  Siamese                                                                                                                   195  Bogdan  29;  Durbach  39.   196  Asma  125.   197  Bogdan  32,  Asma  136.   198  Bogdan  201.   85           twins,  and  so  on—were  exhibited  within  the  exotic  motif  through  emphasis  of  their   anomalies  as  well  as  their  ‘strange  ways.’”199  However,  by  the  end  of  their  career   they  appeared  as  domesticated  and  respectable  citizens,  dressed  in  fine  western   attire  and  often  appearing  in  photographs  with  their  family  by  their  side.     The  intense  public  interest  in  Chang  and  Eng  was  built  around  their  identity   as  a  dual  curiosity,  both  as  a  racial  other  and  as  a  conjoined  twin.  Questions  swirled   about  how  they  managed  to  exist  as  part  of  a  single  entity,  ideas  which  were  further   complicated  by  their  exotic  racial  identities.200  Much  of  this  appeal  extends  back   beyond  just  the  American  context,  for  as  Michel  Foucault  observes,  conjoined  twins   have  long  been  a  subject  of  fascination  and  symbol  of  the  monstrous  other.  He   writes,   The  form  of  monstrosity  especially  privileged  during  the  Renaissance,  both  in   literature  generally  and  in  medical,  legal,  and  religious  books  was  Siamese   twins.  The  one  who  is  two  and  the  two  who  are  one.  In  analyses  at  the  end  of   the  sixteenth  and  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  centuries  we  almost   always,  or  at  least  regularly,  come  across  to  a  curious  reference  to  an   individual  who  has  one  head  and  two  bodies.201     However,  Chang  and  Eng  complicated  this  tradition,  precisely  because  their   condition  played  into  the  notion  of  racial  and  cultural  difference  made  physical.   While  early  modern  scholars  like  Ambroise  Pare  had  been  fascinated  by  the  subject   of  monstrous  births  and  genetic  abnormality,  which  they  believed  were  due  to   imbalances  in  the  mother’s  womb  during  fetal  development,  Chang  and  Eng,  along   with  their  synonymous  association  with  their  condition,  suggested  to  Americans   that  their  identity  was  informed  as  much  by  the  fact  that  they  were  “Siamese”  as                                                                                                                   199  Ibid.  107.   200  Ibid.  201.   201  Foucault  66.   86           their  unique  biology.202  Appearing  in  the  venue  of  the  freak  show,  which  had   previously  served  as  an  ethnographic  vehicle  for  exposing  audiences  to  foreign   people  and  cultures,  the  twins’  abnormal  body  effectively  functioned  as  a  signifier   for  Asian  identity,  popularizing  its  association  with  monstrosity  in  the  American   cultural  imagination.     Having  first  appeared  in  the  United  States  during  the  first  wave  of  Chinese   immigration,  there  is  little  doubt  that  Chang  and  Eng  Bunker  effectively  served  as   liminal  cultural  figures,  which  connected  longstanding  associations  between  the   East  and  monstrosity,  with  the  migration  of  specific  Asian  populations  to  America,   like  the  Chinese.  No  longer  were  monsters  mysterious,  unseen  beings  on  the   geographical  periphery;  rather,  they  were  here  in  America,  appearing  as  natural   curiosities,  whether  in  the  form  of  sideshow  freaks  or  strangely  dressed  foreigners.   As  Robert  G.  Lee  observes,  the  migration  of  large  numbers  of  Chinese  to  California   were  seen  as  a  “boundary  crisis,”  which  resulted  in  the  reconfiguration  of  America’s   envisioned  relationship  with  East  Asia.203    Indeed,  when  Chang  and  Eng  took  control   of  their  own  management  and  presented  themselves  as  respectable,  assimilated   Americans  with  wives  and  families,  it  blurred  these  boundaries  and  categories  even   further,  for  as  Allison  Pingree  observes,  “Even  as  the  symbol  of  the  twins  was  used  to   support  certain  dominant  values,  their  literal  bodies  presented  other  puzzles  and   contradictions  for  the  country  to  solve—ones  that,  ironically,  undermined  many  of   those  same  norms.”204                                                                                                                   202  Pare  56.   203  Lee  31.   204  Pingree  95.   87             Traditional  Western  ideas  about  Asian  monstrosity,  coupled  with  popular   images  of  Siamese  twins  and  other  exotic,  foreign  figures,  likely  fed  into  the   discourse  surrounding  Chinese  immigrants  as  agents  of  the  Yellow  Peril  throughout   nineteenth  century  American  culture.  As  noted  in  the  previous  chapter,  this  racial   narrative  is  founded  on  the  fear  of  a  hostile  and  invasive  Asian  population,  which   seeks  the  destruction  of  Western  civilization  through  imperial  conquest.  The  notion   of  the  Yellow  Peril  is  historically  contingent,  as  various  ethnic  groups,  including  the   Chinese,  Japanese  and  Koreans,  have  been  associated  with  it  in  the  American   imaginary  at  different  points  in  time.    While  the  concept  of  the  Yellow  Peril  has   existed  for  centuries,  the  origins  of  the  phrase  itself  are  rooted  in  the  visual  culture   of  the  nineteenth  century,  as  it  derives  from  an  1895  painting  of  the  same  name   commissioned  by  Kaiser  Wilhelm  II,  which  depicts  an  oncoming  clash  of  civilizations   between  the  East  and  the  West.  In  it,  the  religious  icons  of  Europe,  led  by  an  angel   with  a  flaming  sword,  a  shining  cross  in  the  skies  above  them,  prepare  to  do  battle   against  a  monstrous  foe  from  the  East,  symbolized  by  the  visage  of  the  Buddha   riding  atop  a  dragon,  with  dark  storm  clouds  heralding  his  arrival.205  At  the  bottom   of  the  image,  a  caption  reads,  “Nations  of  Europe:  Join  in  defense  of  your  faith  and   your  home”  (see  fig.  5).     While  clearly  hyperbolic,  elements  of  this  imagery  are  also  present  within   popular  American  publications  from  the  same  period,  like  newspapers  and   magazines.  Often  presented  in  terms  of  foreign  relations,  editorial  cartoons  depicted   China  itself  as  a  threatening,  monstrous  entity,  despite  its  victimization  at  the  hand                                                                                                                   205  Lye  22;  Thompson  1.   88           of  Western  powers,  and  immigrants  as  sinister  agents  of  crime,  disease,  economic   malfeasance,  and  racial  pollution  which  threatened  the  sovereignty  of  the  United   States.  For  example,  an  illustration  from  the  1870s  featured  in  The  Wasp  depicts  a   dehumanized,  monstrous-­‐looking  Chinese  immigrant  with  a  wrinkled  brow  and   multiple  arms  engaging  in  numerous  tasks,  like  textile  production,  the  rolling  of   tobacco,  the  building  of  shoes,  and  construction,  while  able-­‐bodied  white  Americans   stand  unemployed  and  disheartened  outside  the  building.206  At  the  top  of  the  image,   one  of  the  immigrant’s  outstretched  arms  holds  a  bag  of  money  labeled,  “earnings,”   which  he  is  sending  back  to  China  (see  fig.  6).  Similarly,  the  August  5,  1899  edition  of   Harper’s  Weekly  depicts  an  unknowing  Uncle  Sam  crouching  toward  an  open  set  of   ornate,  gilded  doors  decorated  by  sculptures  of  twin  dragons  above  it  and  the  image   of  a  demon,  with  canons  and  bayonets  pointed  toward  him  (See  fig.  7).207     Clearly,  this  signifies  the  trepidation  among  cultural  elites  about  expanding   commercial  trade  with  China,  but  it  also  serves  as  an  example  of  the  common   association  between  the  Chinese  and  dragons  in  American  visual  culture.  While   China  reveres  them  as  symbols  of  benevolence,  good  fortune,  and  imperial  might,   the  creature  has  an  entirely  different  meaning  within  the  European  context.208  In  the   Western  cultural  tradition,  dragons  are  symbols  of  danger  and  destruction,  which   often  guard  hordes  of  treasure  and,  if  awakened  from  their  slumber,  lay  siege  to   castles  and  countrysides.209  Put  simply,  in  Europe,  the  dragon  is  a  creature,  often  of   Eastern  or  distant  origin,  that  must  be  slain  by  mighty  heroes  to  ensure  the  survival                                                                                                                   206  Choy  88-­‐89.   207  Ibid.  67.   208  Frank  16-­‐17.   209  Honegger  35.   89           of  Western  civilization,  as  in  the  story  of  St.  George  and  the  Dragon,  or  the  poetic   ballad  of  Beowulf,  for  example.  Throughout  the  Middle  Ages,  dragons  were  also   thought  to  be  agents  of  the  devil,  further  imbuing  them  with  negative   connotations.210  Even  today,  the  dragon  is  used  as  a  metaphor  for  the  dangerous,   duplicitous,  and  alluring  nature  of  the  Asian  body,  as  seen  with  the  gendered   stereotype  of  the  Dragon  Lady,  or  in  the  presentation  of  martial  artists,  like  Bruce   Lee,  an  icon  of  Asian  masculinity,  whose  films  frequently  referenced  these   mythological  creatures.  While  Chinese  culture  itself  may  be  partially  responsible  for   this  link  between  itself  and  dragons  in  the  Western  mind—the  writings  of  Marco   Polo  mention  decorative  reliefs  encircling  pillars  in  the  palace  of  the  Great  Khan— such  associations  feed  into  a  constellation  of  narratives  that  connect  seemingly   disparate  elements  like  the  monstrous  races  of  the  East,  the  fear  of  demonic,  fire-­‐ breathing  lizards,  the  threat  of  the  Yellow  Peril,  and  increasing  rates  of  Asian   immigration,  transforming  them  into  different  faces  of  the  same  looming  threat.211     Perhaps  no  figure  in  contemporary  culture  is  linked  to  the  concept  of  the   Yellow  Peril  more  than  Fu  Manchu,  the  devilish  villain  created  by  British  novelist   Sax  Rohmer.  Appearing  as  the  central  antagonist  in  more  than  a  dozen  novels  from   1913  to  1959,  the  character  became  a  multimedia  sensation,  featured  in  comic  book,   radio,  film,  and  television  adaptations,  and  influenced  the  creation  of  numerous   other  Asian  villains  in  American  print  culture,  including  Flash  Gordon’s  Ming  the   Merciless,  the  Iron  Man  villain,  the  Mandarin,  and  the  Yellow  Claw,  who  was   mentioned  at  the  beginning  of  this  chapter.  The  character’s  inception  marked  the                                                                                                                   210  Chen  359.   211  Polo  101;  bk.  1,  ch.  57.   90           rise  to  prominence  of  the  archetypal  Asian  villain  within  popular  culture,  which,  in   turn,  largely  served  as  the  visual  manifestation  of  anxieties  over  immigration  and   the  fear  of  the  Yellow  Peril.  The  white  protagonist  of  the  Fu  Manchu  canon,  Nayland   Smith,  famously  describes  the  villain,  stating,     Imagine  a  personal,  tall,  lean,  and  feline,  high-­‐shouldered,  with  a  brow  like   Shakespeare  and  a  face  like  Satan,  a  close-­‐shaven  skull,  and  long,  magnetic   eyes  of  the  true  cat-­‐green.  Invest  him  with  all  the  cruel  cunning  of  an  entire   Eastern  race,  accumulated  in  one  giant  intellect,  with  all  the  resources  of   science  past  and  present,  with  all  the  resources,  if  you  will,  of  a  wealthy   government—which,  however,  already  has  denied  all  knowledge  of  his   existence.  Imagine  that  awful  being,  and  you  have  a  mental  picture  of  Dr.  Fu-­‐ Manchu,  the  yellow  peril  incarnate  in  one  man.212     As  the  monstrous  embodiment  of  the  Yellow  Peril,  Fu  Manchu,  like  the  Asian  body   itself,  is  defined  by  contradiction  and  liminality.  Drawing  from  this  description  by   Rohmer,  it  is  clear  that  he  is  a  being  trapped  between  competing  elements  of  the   human  and  the  bestial,  the  ancient  and  the  modern,  and  elements  of  the  East  and  the   West  itself.  Indeed,  the  threat  he  poses  stems  from  the  fact  that  he  transcends   categories,  drawing  his  power  from  his  identity  as  a  member  of  an  ancient  society   who  also  possesses  the  knowledge  and  modern  scientific  know-­‐how  of  the  West,   and  is  able  to  use  its  greatest  strength  against  it.  Further,  it  is  implied  that  he  draws   his  power  from  established  sources  of  evil,  given  the  description,  which  compares   his  physical  appearance  to  both  Satan  and  cats,  the  latter  being  the  common  familiar   of  witches  in  European  lore.  Despite  his  considerable  intellect,  he  is  driven  by  his   lust  for  power  and  conquest.  Like  the  “entire  Eastern  race”  he  represents,  he  cannot   be  reasoned  with,  only  vanquished,  for  as  long  as  he  lives  his  mad,  monstrous   ambition  threatens  the  safety  and  security  of  Western  civilization.                                                                                                                   212  Rohmer  15.   91             Cultural  constructions  like  Fu  Manchu  and  the  Yellow  Peril  were  deployed  to   demonize  Asian  populations  within  the  United  States  and  deny  their  claims  to   humanity  and  citizenship  during  the  late  nineteenth  and  early  twentieth  centuries.   They  helped  to  solidify  ideas  surrounding  the  Asian  body  itself,  particularly  that   immigrants  constituted  a  threatening,  silent  invasion,  and  that  they  largely   functioned  as  vessels  for  the  culture  of  Asia  itself,  marking  them  on  a  biological  level   as  unassimilable  and  eternally  foreign.  In  short,  they  were  monstrous,  in  both  the   American  imagination  and  the  lived  reality  of  ordinary  citizens.  Monstrosity  is   where  belief  becomes  the  driver  of  reality,  for  as  Scott  Poole  notes,  “Belief  and   ideology,  the  social  realities  produced  and  reproduced  by  the  images  of  the  monster,   turn  into  historical  actions  and  events.  It  is  not  enough  to  call  these  beliefs   metaphors  when  they  shape  actual  historical  behavior  or  act  as  anxious  reminders   of  inhuman  historical  acts,  a  cultural  memory  of  slaughter.”213     IV.  Takao  Ozawa  v.  United  States  and  Japanese  America   “Who  are  comprehended  within  the  phrase  ‘free  white  persons?”  Justice   George  Sutherland  rhetorically  asked  in  the  case  of  Takao  Ozawa  v.  U.S.,  in  which  the   plaintiff,  a  Japanese  national  raised  and  educated  in  the  United  States,  petitioned  for   citizenship  on  the  basis  that  Japanese  individuals  fell  under  the  purview  of   whiteness.214  Writing  on  behalf  of  the  majority,  Sutherland  declared  that  Ozawa  was   ineligible  on  the  basis  of  race  as  an  “alien”  who  was  neither  white,  nor  of  “African   descent.”  While  admitting  that  any  standardized  racial  test  was  faulty  at  best,  for   skin  color  “differs  greatly  among  members  of  the  same  race,  even  Anglo-­‐Saxons,”  he                                                                                                                   213  Poole  25.   214  Takao  Ozawa  v.  United  States.  260  US  178.  Supreme  Court  of  the  US.  1922.   92           strictly  afforded  the  privileges  of  whiteness  for  those  of  the  “Caucasian  race.”  He   concluded,  “The  appellant,  in  the  case  now  under  consideration,  however,  is  clearly   of  a  race  which  is  not  Caucasian  and  therefore  belongs  entirely  outside  the  zone  on   the  negative  side.”     This  ruling,  which  was  firmly  grounded  in  biological  and  scientific  notions  of   race,  drew  attention  to  the  liminal  legal  and  social  status  of  Asian  immigrants  in  the   United  States.  Sutherland  himself  noted  that  linking  the  category  of  “white”  with   “Caucasian”  was  problematic  and  that  “controversies  have  arisen  and  will  no  doubt   arise  again  in  respect  of  the  proper  classification  of  individuals  in  border  line  cases.”   This  momentary  recognition,  in  which  the  Justice  himself  acknowledged  the   difficulty  in  classifying  Asian  Americans  in  traditional  racial  schemas  of  black  and   white,  helps  us  to  understand  how  the  Japanese,  as  agents  of  the  contradiction  and   liminality  at  the  heart  of  monstrosity,  challenge  existing  categories  and  systems  of   classification  in  the  United  States.     To  conclude  this  chapter,  this  section  directly  connects  the  ideas  we  have   discussed  to  the  history  of  Japanese  immigration  and  elements  of  the  Japanese   American  experience  to  highlight  how  the  cultural  and  discursive  traditions  that   informed  institutions  like  the  freak  show,  affected  the  reception  of  the  Japanese  in   the  United  States.  Here,  we  contextualize  America’s  relationship  with  Japan  and  the   status  of  Japanese  Americans  throughout  the  latter  half  of  the  nineteenth  century   and  in  the  lead-­‐up  to  World  War  II  in  order  to  establish  the  foundation  for  the   cultural  analysis  in  the  following  chapters.  By  considering  the  role  of  monstrosity  in   the  construction  of  these  notions  about  the  Japanese,  we  get  a  better  sense  of  why   93           they,  and  by  extension  all  groups  of  Asian  descent,  were  regarded  as  a  threatening   and  invasive  force,  consisting  of  perpetual  foreigners  whose  biology  prevented  their   successful  assimilation  into  American  society,  and  how  that  notion  posed  various   challenges  to  the  legal  system.   Japanese  immigrants  first  entered  the  United  States  in  significant  numbers  in   the  later  1880s.  To  most  Americans,  they  were  seen  as  a  replacement  pool  of   unskilled  labor  that  could  fill  the  gap  left  by  restrictive  immigration  policies  that   limited  the  number  of  Chinese  workers  who  could  enter  the  United  States.  Indeed,   the  rise  of  anti-­‐Chinese  sentiment  in  America  throughout  the  latter  half  of  the   nineteenth  century  is  a  key  factor  in  explaining  the  increasing  rate  of  Japanese   immigration  during  this  period.  Legislatively,  we  can  point  to  the  Chinese  Exclusion   Act  of  1882,  which  effectively  ended  all  incoming  immigration  from  China,  and   resulted  in  significant  increases  in  the  Japanese  immigrant  population  from  the   1890s  into  the  early  part  of  the  twentieth  century.  As  Ronald  Takaki  notes,  within   two  decades  of  the  passage  of  the  Exclusion  Act,  the  Japanese  population  in  America   had  effectively  surpassed  that  of  the  Chinese,  numbering  72,257  to  71,531,   respectively.215   From  the  moment  of  their  incorporation  into  the  American  economy,   immigrant  workers  faced  exploitative  labor  policies.  They  found  that  their   employers  treated  them  as  expendable  commodities,  paying  low  wages  and  forcing   them  to  labor  in  difficult,  almost  inhumane,  conditions.  Roger  Daniels  notes  that  by   the  turn  of  the  century,  Japanese  laborers  were  regularly  using  tactics  like  strikes  to                                                                                                                   215  Takaki  180.   94           protest  their  treatment  and  to  organize  for  better  wages.216  In  response  to  this   resistance,  business  owners  deployed  a  racial  argument,  contending  that  the   presence  of  aggressive  Japanese  workers  threatened  the  “racial  purity”  of  the  United   States  and  the  values  of  “Western  Civilization.”217  Many  of  the  same  arguments  had   also  been  made  against  Chinese  workers  in  the  nineteenth  century,  which  illustrates   how  the  Japanese,  as  an  Asian  “race,”  were  seen  as  an  extension  of  those  who  came   before  them,  contributing  to  the  notion  that  they  consisted  of  a  Pan-­‐Asian   contingent.   Anti-­‐Japanese  sentiment  during  this  period  can  also  be  read  through  the  lens   of  the  Yellow  Peril.  Erika  Lee  notes  that  the  racist  attitudes  aimed  at  the  Chinese,   and  later  the  Japanese,  were  “grounded  in  an  American  Orientalist  ideology  that   homogenized  Asia  as  one  indistinguishable  entity  and  positioned  and  defined  the   West  and  the  East  in  diametrically  opposite  terms.”218  Indeed,  the  notion  the  Yellow   Peril  constructed  Asia  as  a  singular,  undefined  entity,  and  evolved  as  a  political  tool   to  single  out  specific  racial  populations  at  various  points  in  time.  As  Richard   Thompson  observes,     These  fears  of  the  economic  competition  of  an  industrialized  Orient   fluctuated  rather  curiously  between  the  Chinese  and  the  Japanese.  In  times  of   relative  quiet  on  the  international  scene,  economic  yellow  perilists  warned   mainly  against  Chinese  industrial  development.  Moments  of  crisis  such  as  the   Sino-­‐Japanese  War,  the  Russo-­‐Japanese  War  and  the  outbreak  of  World  War  I,   however,  caused  the  yellow  perilists  to  shift  their  emphasis  to  the   industrialization  of  Japan.  Following  the  outbreak  of  World  War  I  fear  of   China’s  economic  potential  gave  way  almost  entirely  to  fears  of  Japanese   industrial  development.219                                                                                                                     216  R.  Daniels  9.   217  Ibid.  19.   218  E.  Lee  25.   219  Thompson  33.   95             Having  established  a  foothold  in  areas  throughout  the  western  United  States,   Japanese  immigrants  were  seen  by  many  as  an  invasive  force  that  threatened  to   pollute  the  gene  pool  and  undermine  the  sovereignty  of  the  American  government.   As  a  result  of  these  prejudices,  Japanese  immigrants,  like  other  Asian  ethnic  groups,   were  effectively  barred  from  obtaining  citizenship  by  the  American  legal  system.   Denied  the  basic  rights  afforded  to  their  white  counterparts,  they  lacked  the   protections  that  would  have  allowed  them  to  advance  within  American  society,   effectively  rendering  them  powerless  against  institutional  discrimination,  economic   exploitation,  and  localized  racial  hostility.     In  writing  after  writing,  the  same  themes  were  utilized  as  a  justification  for   the  mistreatment  of  the  Japanese,  all  of  which  label  them  as  an  economic,  sexual,   and  racial  threat.  For  example,  Montaville  Flowers,  writing  in  The  Japanese  Conquest   of  American  Opinion,  noted  that  equal  standing  under  the  law  would  give  the   Japanese  “the  right  to  mix  his  blood  with  any  blood  he  chooses  to  mix  it  with.  And   that  is  a  race  problem,  the  impact  of  which  may  stagger  if  it  does  not  at  last   prostrate  the  white  race  of  our  land.”220  At  its  core,  this  fear  of  miscegenation  was   founded  on  anxieties  about  the  purity  of  both  culture  and  race,  and  the  belief  that   hybridity  through  interracial  mixing  with  “aliens”  would  result  in  the  creation  of   monstrous  half-­‐breeds,  which  Flowers  notes  is  “a  fatal  condition  in  race  mixture,  for   in  the  case  of  human  beings  it  is  utterly  impossible  to  destroy  the  one  hundred   thousand  abnormal,  degenerate,  and  wretched  beings  that  result  from  race  crosses,                                                                                                                   220  Flowers  52.   96           but  each  must  be  permitted  to  live  and  to  reproduce  his  stock  until  its  own   degeneracy  obliterates  it  from  the  earth.”221   Ozawa,  then,  is  important  to  consider  precisely  because  the  argument  he   presented  before  the  court—that  he  should  literally  be  classified  as  white  because   he  was  a  fully  assimilated  American  whose  racial  ancestry  was  closer  to  Caucasians   than  others  like  the  Italian,  Spanish,  and  Portuguese—illustrates  the  arbitrary   construction  of  race  within  the  United  States,  and  how  it  has  been  used  to  purposely   use  to  exclude  those  that  fall  outside  the  privileged  category  of  whiteness.222  As  an   individual  situated  squarely  in  the  middle  of  racial  extremes,  Ozawa  was  truly   monstrous—an  individual  who  embodied  the  seemingly  impossible  condition  of  a   fully  assimilated  Japanese  immigrant—and  as  a  result,  his  case  challenged  the   placement  of  racial  boundaries.  It  forced  the  court  to  resort  to  strict  biological   arguments  about  the  criteria  used  to  determine  race,  and  in  doing  so  revealed  its   institutional  reliance  on  culturally  constructed  understandings  rooted  in  the  early   modern  era.   Further,  the  case  highlights  the  degree  to  which  the  liminality  of  Asians   problematized  the  relationship  between  science  and  established  notions  of  race.  The   subversivity  of  Ozawa’s  argument  centered  on  the  fact  that  it  relied  on  the  same   scientific  taxonomies  of  race  used  to  exclude  Asians  from  citizenship  rights  to   undercut  the  idea  that  whiteness  was  a  concrete,  well-­‐defined  category.  Through  his   challenge,  he  demonstrated  that  citizenship  was  being  selectively  provided  to   persons  of  a  certain  race,  and  that  no  matter  how  much  an  Asian  individual                                                                                                                   221  Ibid.  213-­‐214.   222  F.  Wu  94.   97           assimilated  to  American  society,  they  would  forever  be  excluded  simply  because  of   their  national  origin.  By  all  accounts,  Ozawa  was  as  “white”  as  any  American  citizen.   It  was  not  enough  that  he  had  met  all  non-­‐racial  qualifications  for  citizenship,  like   attending  American  schools,  speaking  fluent  English,  being  a  practicing  Christian,   and  residing  in  the  United  States  for  twenty-­‐eight  years.223  His  challenge  was  seen  as   the  exploitation  of  an  existing  loophole  in  federal  law,  created  by  ambiguity   surrounding  the  term  “free  white,”  and  his  status  was  determined  simply  by  the  fact   that  he  was  “clearly  of  a  race  which  is  not  Caucasian.”  In  doing  so,  the  justices   essentially  rejected  the  idea  that  assimilation  was  possible  for  Asian  immigrants,   playing  into  existing  narratives  that  characterized  the  Japanese  and  Chinese  as   perpetual  foreigners  who  were  tied  to  their  native  countries  through  acculturation,   socialization,  and  most  importantly,  biology.   Additionally,  the  weight  that  ancestry  was  given  in  the  court’s  decision   gestures  toward  how  it  was  seen  as  a  reliable  method  of  assessing  race.  In  this  way,   it  functions  like  the  legal  concept  of  blood  quantum,  designating  the  degree  to  which   one  is  classified  under  a  particular  racial  or  ethnic  identity.  Both  notions  are   grounded  in  the  assumption  that  there  is  a  universal,  quantifiable  measurement  that   can  be  found  in  an  individual’s  body,  whether  in  the  form  of  blood,  appearance,  or   physicality.  Much  of  this  logic  was  predicated  on  the  basis  of  pseudo  sciences,  like   phrenology  and  eugenics,  which  promoted  the  idea  that  physical  differences  among   those  of  different  races  could  be  used  to  determine  an  evolutionary  hierarchy.   Naturally,  we  recognize  today  that  race  itself  is  socially  constructed,  but  by                                                                                                                   223  Ibid.  94.   98           examining  Ozawa  in  this  way  we  see  the  obvious  ideological  assumptions  that   informed  how  the  justices  viewed  the  world.  Their  belief  that  physical,  scientifically   supported  evidence  justified  the  denial  of  basic  rights  to  the  Japanese  can  be  traced   back  to  the  ethnological  notions  established  by  institutions  like  the  freak  show.   The  Supreme  Court’s  ruling  effectively  paved  the  way  for  the  passage  of  the   Immigration  Act  in  1924,  which  virtually  eliminated  all  Asian  immigration  to  the   United  States  until  well  into  the  Second  World  War.  While  there  were  other   challenges  made  by  Asian  immigrants  to  this  racialized  logic  of  citizenship,  most   notably  in  United  States  v.  Bhagat  Singh  Thind,  they  were  largely  unsuccessful.   Nevertheless,  these  cases  highlight  the  degree  to  which  defining  Asian  identity   became  a  difficult  enterprise,  precisely  because  they  did  not  fall  into  established   categories  of  black  or  white.  As  individuals  whose  bodies  exemplified  the  liminality   and  contradiction  at  the  core  of  monstrosity,  Japanese  immigrants  challenged   existing  notions  of  race  and  forced  the  legal  system  and  society  at  large  to  adapt  to   their  presence,  often  resulting  in  hostile  responses  and  acts  of  repression.     This  threat,  coupled  with  the  social  anxieties  surrounding  their  immigration   to  the  United  States,  grew  to  an  unprecedented  level  as  military  tensions  with  Japan   increased.  Seen  from  the  American  perspective  as  agents  of  an  aggressive  empire,   these  Japanese  were  effectively  caught  “between  two  empires,”  to  use  the  words  of   Eiichiro  Azuma,  defined  by  their  race  and  country  of  origin,  despite  being   assimilated,  Americanized  immigrants,  forced  to  articulate  alternate  modes  of   belonging  is  response  to  their  institutional  marginalization.224  As  we  shall  see  in  the                                                                                                                   224  Azuma  14.   99           following  chapter,  the  core  of  Japanese  identity  in  the  American  imaginary  is  also   intimately  connected  to  World  War  II,  where  the  Japanese  were  introduced  to  the   United  States  on  a  national  scale  within  visual  culture,  particularly  the  medium  of   comic  books,  as  fearsome,  inhuman,  monstrous  enemies  from  the  East  whose  very   existence  threatened  American  freedom  and  democracy.       100                   CHAPTER  THREE:  ENEMIES  REAL  AND  IMAGINED:  THE  MONSTROUS  JAPANESE   IN  GOLDEN  AGE  COMIC  BOOKS     “A  Jap’s  a  Jap  whether  he’s  an  American  citizen  or  not.  I  don’t  want  any  of  them.”   ~Gen.  John  DeWitt     “Somebody  asked  me  if  we  should  have  bombed  Japan,  a  simple,  ‘Yes,  by  all  means,   sir.  Drop  that  fucker.  Twice.’”  ~  Captain  Frank  Ramsey,  Crimson  Tide     I.  Introduction     “Wow—Look  at  all  the  funny  men!”  Rusty,  the  sidekick  of  the  World  War  II   superhero,  the  Defender,  remarks.     “Not  funny,”  his  partner  replies.  “Just  small  and  brown.  In  the  East,  they  refer   to  them  as  Japs!”225     This  story,  appearing  in  the  first  issue  of  U.S.A.  Comics,  a  series  produced  by   Timely  Publications  in  August  1941,  features  the  heroic  Defender  invading  the   pirate  ship  of  the  villainous  Dame  Kackle,  who  he  believes  is  responsible  for   transporting  illegal  Japanese  immigrants  into  the  United  States,  with  the  implication   being  that  these  individuals  are  spies  who  pose  a  threat  to  national  security.                                                                                                                     225  Shores,  et  al,  U.S.A.  Comics  Masterworks  1:  9.   101             Such  nationalistic  fare  was  commonplace  in  comic  books  produced  during   the  Golden  Age  (1938-­‐1955),  particularly  during  World  War  II.  While  the  medium   had  existed  for  a  number  of  years  prior  to  America’s  entrance  into  the  war,  the   attack  on  Pearl  Harbor  by  Japanese  forces  fundamentally  altered  the  social,  cultural,   and  political  function  of  comic  books,  largely  transforming  them  from  materials  that   promoted  escapism  with  tales  of  larger-­‐than-­‐life  heroes  and  themes  of  social  justice   into  jingoistic  propaganda  that  not  only  reinforced  the  larger  political  impetus  for   the  war,  but  also  defined  the  enemy  for  young  readers,  often  through  the  use  of   vicious,  and  often  racist,  visual  representations.  The  comic  book  industry,  driven  by   a  series  of  different  factors,  introduced  the  Japanese  enemy  to  the  American  people   as  they  saw  them:  monsters.   This  chapter  explores  the  roots  of  the  contemporary  association  of   monstrosity  with  Japanese  identity,  locating  it  specifically  in  the  visual  culture  of   World  War  II.  It  argues  that  the  monstrous  depictions  of  the  Japanese  found  in  the   comics  of  this  period  are  part  of  a  much  larger  representational  process,  through   which  this  group  was  essentially  created  and  defined  during  the  war  as  a  distinct   racial  category  in  the  American  social  and  cultural  imagination.  Prior  to  the  attack   on  Pearl  Harbor,  the  Japanese  had  been  a  constituent  part  of  a  pan-­‐Asian  ethnic   identity,  which  had  largely  been  constructed  around  the  Chinese,  a  group  that  had  a   much  longer  historical  presence  in  the  United  States.  However,  with  the  onset  of  the   Pacific  War  and  as  a  matter  of  political  necessity,  specifically  the  need  to  distinguish   the  “good”  Chinese  from  the  “bad”  Japanese,  we  see  the  emergence  of  Japan  as  a   102           separate  and  distinct  entity  in  American  culture,  and  subsequently  within  the  larger   national  consciousness.     Additionally,  World  War  II  functions  as  the  inception  point  for  this  discussion   because  it  marks  the  moment  at  which  the  Japanese  rose  to  the  forefront  of  the   American  consciousness,  along  with  the  simultaneous  development  of  the  comic   book  into  the  dominant  form  of  working  class  visual  culture  in  the  United  States.   Here,  we  are  concerned  with  how  the  core  of  Japanese  identity  within  the  American   imagination  is  intimately  linked  to  the  onset  of  the  war  and  the  bombing  of  Pearl   Harbor.  More  than  anything  else,  these  events  produced  the  image  of  the  Japanese   as  monstrous,  subhuman  creatures  from  a  distant  far  eastern  land  within  visual   culture  that  not  only  threatened  the  physical  wellbeing  of  ordinary  Americans,  but   our  very  way  of  life  with  their  militaristic  and  backward  nature.   Furthermore,  it  speaks  to  the  alignment  of  the  industry’s  interests  with  those   of  the  government  throughout  the  length  of  the  war,  specifically  touching  on  how   monstrosity  was  used  as  a  representational  force  in  service  of  the  state  to  define  the   Japanese  as  vile,  hate-­‐filled,  immoral,  inhuman  creatures  whose  very  existence   threatened  the  core  of  American  society.  By  tracking  this  development  within  the   working  class  visual  culture  of  the  late  1930s  and  1940s,  I  show  that  it  is  due  in   large  part  to  these  materials  that  the  events  of  World  War  II  continue  to  define   Japanese  identity  in  American  society.  From  their  inception  as  enemies  of  the  state   to  the  present,  the  use  of  monstrosity  has  played  a  primary  role  in  shaping  this   discourse  surrounding  the  Japanese.     103           To  support  this  argument,  I  examine  the  origins  of  the  comic  book  industry  to   show  not  only  how  these  materials  are  central  to  my  thesis,  but  also  to  illustrate  the   factors  that  led  to  their  rise  as  one  of  the  dominant  cultural  mediums  of  the  1930s   and  1940s.  Furthermore,  I  interrogate  the  representations  of  the  Japanese  found  in   comic  books  and  investigate  their  source,  namely  the  relationship  between   individual  creators,  publishers,  and  departments  within  the  United  States   Government.   The  analysis  in  this  chapter  primarily  focuses  on  the  comic  books  produced   by  the  most  popular  publishers  of  the  era,  including  D.C.  Comics,  Timely   Publications,  Fawcett  Publications,  Quality  Comics,  and  Lev  Gleason  Publications.226   For  the  most  part,  the  content  of  these  materials  is  representative  of  the  majority  of   comic  books  produced  during  this  era.  Further,  as  successful  publishers  who  sold   millions  of  issues  throughout  World  War  II,  these  entities  represent  the  largest   publishers  in  the  industry,  and  also  the  most  influential.  Lastly,  many  of  the  most   recognizable  characters  that  still  exist  today  originated  as  icons  for  these  companies,   and  while  many  have  changed  considerably  since  their  inception  in  the  1930s  and   1940s,  it  is  important  to  highlight  their  origins  and  the  role  they  played  throughout   the  Great  Depression  and  the  Second  World  War.                                                                                                                       226  D.C.  Comics  and  Timely  Publications  are  sometimes  referred  to  by  other  names   throughout  this  study.  D.C.,  short  for  Detective  Comics  Inc.,  was  also  known  as   National  Publications  in  the  years  leading  up  to  the  start  of  the  Golden  Age.   Conversely,  Timely  Publications  changed  its  name  twice  throughout  its  history,  first   to  Atlas  Publications  in  the  early  1950s,  then  to  Marvel  Comics  in  1961.   104           II.  The  Golden  Age  of  American  Comic  Books      For  many,  comic  books  are  synonymous  with  superheroes  clad  in  brightly   colored  costumes  fighting  villains—aliens,  monsters,  and  other  menaces.  These   narratives  are  thought  to  be  simplistic  and  straightforward,  supported  by  cliché   dialogue  and  crude,  unrefined  drawings.  Printed  on  cheap  paper  using  only  the  most   basic  techniques,  these  materials  are  ephemera,  to  be  read  once,  then  thrown  away   and  forgotten.  In  large  part,  these  perceptions  about  the  medium  and  its  readers   were  established  early  on,  during  the  Golden  Age  of  American  comic  books—the   primary  focus  of  this  chapter  and  the  next—a  time  when  millions  of  individuals   across  the  country  flocked  to  newsstands  every  month  to  purchase  the  newest   issues  featuring  superheroes,  like  Superman,  Batman,  and  Wonder  Woman.  For  the   most  part,  comic  books  produced  during  this  period  were  crude,  simplistic,  and   cheap,  designed  particularly  for  the  enjoyment  of  Depression-­‐era  youth.  However,   there  are  also  many  deviations  from  this  stereotype,  additional  layers  of  complexity,   and  historical  context  that  need  to  be  understood  in  order  to  fully  highlight  the   importance  and  larger  impact  of  comic  books  on  American  popular  culture.   Comic  books  were  one  of  the  dominant  forms  of  popular  entertainment  from   the  1930s  to  the  1950s.  In  many  respects,  they  were  positioned  between  the   mediums  of  radio  and  film,  playing  to  the  imagination  of  readers,  while  still   presenting  the  narrative  action  through  cartoon  depictions.  Printed  and  sold  in  the   millions,  they  were  consumed  by  individuals  of  all  ages,  races,  genders,  religions,   and  socioeconomic  backgrounds.  The  idea  that  comic  books  are  predominantly  a   child’s  medium  is  largely  a  myth  created  and  perpetuated  by  critics  of  mass  culture   105           in  the  postwar  era.  In  fact,  for  most  of  the  Golden  Age,  especially  during  World  War   II  and  the  Korean  War,  a  significant  number  of  comic  books,  perhaps  even  the   majority,  were  sold  to  enlisted  personnel  at  military  Post  Exchanges,  or  PXs.227   Many  of  these  soldiers  were  young  men,  and  hardly  the  children  that  we  typically   envision  when  considering  the  primary  audience  for  the  medium.  Indeed,  one  of  the   reasons  for  the  wide  variety  of  genres  within  comic  books  has  to  do  with  the  diverse   audience  they  were  designed  to  appeal  to.228  In  a  time  before  television,  printed   ephemera  like  comics  offered  something  for  everyone,  which  explains  their  wide-­‐ ranging  mass  appeal.   The  modern  iteration  of  the  form  first  emerged  in  1934  with  the  publication   of  Famous  Funnies  by  the  Eastern  Color  Printing  Company.229  The  book,  which   featured  reprints  of  popular  newspaper  strips  in  collected  form,  sold  for  ten  cents   and  was  sixty-­‐eight  pages  in  length.  It  wasn’t  until  the  following  year,  in  1935,  that   new  material  began  to  be  incorporated  into  these  publications.  This  change  was   caused  by  a  number  of  factors,  including  a  lack  of  readily  available  material  for   publication  and  the  high  demand  by  audiences  for  a  greater  number  of  comic  books.   The  first  of  these  series,  New  Fun  Comics,  was  published  by  National  Publications  or   D.C.,  and  firmly  established  the  anthology  format  that  would  dominate  the  era,   offering  readers  a  printed,  64-­‐page  package  that  contained  multiple  stories  for  an                                                                                                                   227  Savage  11.   228  William  Savage  argues  that  the  readership  of  comic  books,  particularly   servicemen,  contributed  to  their  changing  composition  throughout  the  World  War  II   years.  He  notes  that  by  1945,  their  stories  and  drawings  developed  a  greater  sexual   orientation,  often  involving  scantily  clad  women  being  held  hostage  by  foreign   villains  who  exemplified  the  threat  of  rape  and  other  forms  of  sexual  violence.  12.     229  B.  Wright  3-­‐4,   106           affordable  price.  During  the  earliest  years  of  the  industry,  many  publishers  did  not   have  access  to  staff  writers  or  artists,  and  instead  relied  on  newspaper  syndicates,   and  later,  specialized  “shops”  for  their  material.230     The  comic  book  medium  itself  and  the  genres  it  featured  originated  from  a   variety  of  popular  sources.  Many  scholars  link  comics  to  a  long  history  of  printed   ephemera  in  American  and  European  culture,  particularly  to  nineteenth  century   “Penny  Dreadfuls”  in  Britain,  and  later,  dime  novels  published  around  the  turn  of  the   century.231  However,  a  more  direct  evolutionary  line  can  be  traced  from  comic   books  to  the  pulps,  popular  magazines  featuring  works  of  short  fiction  that  were   sold  in  large  numbers  primarily  throughout  the  1920s  and  30s.  Jim  Steranko,  in  his   seminal  History  of  Comics,  contends  that  many  of  the  kinds  of  characters  and  generic   tropes  that  later  appeared  in  comic  originated  in  the  pages  of  pulp  fiction.232  He   argues  that  masked  detectives  like  The  Shadow  and  adventurers  like  Doc  Savage   were  prototypes  for  many  of  the  earliest  comic  book  superheroes.  Other  characters   that  appeared  in  popular  newspaper  strips,  like  Dick  Tracy,  Flash  Gordon,  Tarzan,   and  The  Phantom,  also  influenced  the  tone  and  content  of  early  comics,  as  many   illustrators  strove  to  emulate  not  only  the  style  of  the  artists  they  admired,  but  also   to  replicate  their  success  as  well.233       Superman,  the  original  superhero,  was  introduced  in  the  first  issue  of  Action   Comics,  published  in  June  of  1938  by  D.C.  Comics  (see  fig.  8).  While  the  character   was  firmly  grounded  in  the  literary  tradition  of  adventure  stories  and  science  fiction,                                                                                                                   230  B.  Wright  4-­‐6.   231  Beck,  “The  Great  Heroes  Were  All  Losers”  88.   232  Steranko,  History  of  Comics  1:  14,  33-­‐35.     233  B.  Wright  3.   107           his  success  was  far  from  certain  early  on.  In  fact,  the  creators  of  the  hero,  Jerry   Siegel  and  Joe  Shuster,  a  young  writer  and  artist  team  from  Cleveland,  Ohio,  had   struggled  to  sell  the  strip  for  months  before,  having  been  rejected  by  multiple   publishers  until  the  feature  was  finally  sold  to  Harry  Donenfeld  and  Jack  Liebowitz’s   Detective  Comics,  Inc.  for  $130.234  Originally,  the  publishers  were  cautious,  only   printing  200,000  copies  of  each  issue.235  But  soon,  as  the  sales  numbers  rolled  in,   they  realized  that  they  had  an  instant  hit  on  their  hands,  and  increased  the  run   significantly.  By  the  seventh  issue,  Action  Comics  was  selling  more  than  500,000   copies  a  month,  and  after  the  eleventh,  Superman  was  always  featured  on  the  cover   as  the  series’  primary  attraction.236  By  that  time,  issues  of  Action,  which  featured   one  Superman  story,  were  selling  900,000  copies  per  month,  while  the  character’s   solo  book,  which  debuted  in  1939,  sold  1.3  million  copies  per  issue.237  The  success   of  the  character  spawned  a  host  of  imitators,  both  at  D.C.  and  competing  publishers,   and  established  superheroes  as  the  dominant  genre  of  the  comic  book  medium.  For   its  part,  D.C.  Comics  became  the  industry  leader  throughout  much  of  the  Golden  Age,   due  in  no  small  part  to  its  ownership  of  the  Superman  property.     It  is  impossible  to  overstate  the  enormity  of  the  comic  book  readership   throughout  this  period.  Today,  we  live  in  an  era  where  newspapers  struggle  for   survival,  print  is  considered  a  dying  medium,  and  when  even  the  bestselling  comic                                                                                                                   234  Daniels,  Superman  30-­‐31;  Simon  and  Simon  13.   235  B.  Wright  9.   236  B.  Wright  9;  Daniels  Superman  35.   237  B.  Wright  13.   108           book  series  rarely  surpass  the  175,000  mark.238  However,  at  the  time  of  Superman’s   debut,  the  average  comic  book  sold  between  200,000  and  400,000  copies  per   issue.239  In  1941,  there  were  30  different  publishers,  printing  150  different  titles,   which  sold  approximately  15  million  copies  a  year.240  Only  two  years  later,  in  1943,   the  number  of  published  titles  had  jumped  to  500,  with  each  selling  an  average  of   400,000  copies.241  In  total,  more  than  25  million  comic  books  were  sold  that  year,   with  an  estimated  readership  of  60  million.  Considering  that  these  numbers  were   being  generated  in  the  face  of  various  production  limitations,  like  paper  shortages   and  the  continual  loss  of  writers  and  artists  to  the  military  draft,  the  sales  of  comic   books  during  this  period  were  nothing  short  of  astounding.  As  one  might  imagine,   from  the  late  1930s  to  the  early  1950s  D.C.  Comics  was  the  top  publisher  in  the   industry,  largely  due  to  the  success  of  Superman,  Batman,  and  Wonder  Woman,  with   Fawcett  Publications,  who  printed  the  popular  Captain  Marvel  books,  as  their   largest  competitor.242  Even  as  early  as  1941,  D.C.  Comics’  series  comprised  11   percent  of  titles  on  the  shelves,  and  35  percent  of  all  comics  sold.243  Companies  like   Timely  Publications,  Quality  Comics,  MLJ  Magazines,  the  American  Comics  Group,   and  a  variety  of  others,  which  sold  comic  books  in  the  millions  per  year,  were  still   considered  smaller,  lower-­‐tier  operations.                                                                                                                   238  Diamond  Comic  Distributors’  monthly  sales  data  dating  back  to  Jan.  1995  is   available  at  The  Comic  Chronicles  website:  .   239  B.  Wright  13.   240  Vance  4.   241  Disbrow  6.   242  Klein  42.   243  Murray,  “Lost  Comics  Lore”  38.   109           At  the  same  time,  however,  we  should  also  keep  in  mind  that  accurate  sales   figures  from  this  period  are  notoriously  difficult  to  come  by.  As  noted  by  the  Market   Research  Company  of  America,  readers  frequently  shared  their  comics  with  one   another.  According  to  their  findings,  only  eight  percent  of  adults  and  two  percent  of   children  threw  away  their  comics,  while  everyone  else  passed  their  copies  on  to   others  to  read.  They  note  that,  “If  one  considers  that  this  applies  also  to  copies  that   have  been  acquired  from  others,  as  well  as  those  they  themselves  have  purchased,   one  gets  the  impression  of  an  endless  chain  of  a  constantly  augmented  stock  of   comics  magazines  in  circulation.”244  Thus,  the  number  of  copies  sold  did  not   accurately  reflect  how  many  people  were  actually  consuming  the  material.  Knowing   this  to  be  the  case,  many  companies,  like  Fawcett,  when  composing  their  internal   reviews,  chose  to  inflate  their  figures  to  account  for  this  phantom  readership.  Still,   even  when  we  take  these  factors  into  consideration,  they  do  not  discount  the  sheer   quantity  of  comic  books  that  were  sold  during  the  war,  particularly  if  you  consider   the  wide  array  of  titles  being  produced  by  the  numerous  publishers  of  the  era.     There  are  several  reasons  why  audiences,  particularly  working  class  youth,   were  strongly  attracted  to  comics.  The  first  and  most  important  reason  is   accessibility.  As  mentioned  in  the  first  chapter,  comic  books  were  written  with  a   strict  formula  in  mind,  one  that  was  often  built  on  existing  genres  in  other  mediums,   thereby  providing  readers  with  tales  that  were  essentially  “new  takes”  on  familiar   material.  Further,  the  presentation  of  stories  in  comics  catered  to  the  least  common   denominator.  During  the  mid-­‐to-­‐late  1930s  when  comic  books  first  emerged,  there                                                                                                                   244  Hammerlink  79.   110           was  still  a  sizable  percentage  of  the  American  population  that  was  functionally   illiterate.245  By  featuring  stories  with  pictures  supplemented  by  text,  comic  books   presented  narratives  that  could  be  understood  and  enjoyed  by  everyone,  regardless   of  their  economic  status  and  education.  Even  the  cost  of  these  publications,  initially   set  at  ten  cents,  a  price  that  would  last  into  the  early  1960s,  was  established  with   this  market  in  mind.     In  part,  these  narratives  relied  heavily  on  one’s  familiarity  with  a  common   language  and  knowledge  of  the  established  tropes  in  American  culture.  The  visual   cues  and  symbols  in  stories  were  often  intertextual  in  nature,  referencing  current   events  and  popular  culture,  like  films  and  cartoons  that  the  audience  would  have   been  familiar  with.  As  a  result  of  the  limited  space  available  to  tell  a  complete  story,   one  technique  that  was  frequently  utilized  in  early  comic  books  was  that  of   caricature,  particularly  of  the  racial  variety.  While  highly  distasteful  today,  such   artistic  approaches  were  seen  as  a  standardized  method  to  quickly  communicate   complex  ideas  to  readers.246  The  representation  of  various  people,  settings,  and   objects  were  conveyed  through  their  dominant  visual  form,  which  assisted  in  the   process  of  narrative  immersion.  Echoing  this  sentiment,  artist  C.C.  Beck  noted,     I  cheerfully  admit  that  I  used  stereotyped  figures,  just  as  I  used  standard   letter  forms  when  I  transcribed  [Bill]  Parker’s  words  to  fit  within  cartoon   balloons  and  captions.  Parker  wrote  in  Standard  English,  not  in  slang  or   street  talk;  neither  of  us  wanted  to  impress  readers  with  our  ability  to  create   new  word  forms  and  distorted  hard-­‐to-­‐read  alphabets.  We  both  felt  that   readers,  especially  young  readers,  had  no  interest  whatsoever  in  Literature   and  Art  but  wanted  to  be  told  stories  instead.  The  less  attention  we  drew  to                                                                                                                   245  Bossert  40.   246  Fiore,  503.   111           our  words  and  pictures,  the  more  readers  could  devote  their  attentions  to  the   characters  and  plots  and  settings  of  the  stories,  we  believed.247     Comic  books  were  written  with  a  general  audience  in  mind.  While  different  titles   may  have  catered  to  specific  demographics,  particularly  in  the  postwar  era,  with   romance  comics  being  marketed  to  young  women,  for  example,  by  and  large,  they   were  designed  to  generate  mass  appeal  and  produced  by  individuals  who   understood  that  accessibility  was  a  key  component  of  their  marketing.       Portability  was  also  an  important  factor  when  considering  the  popularity  of   comics.  Designed  as  quick,  disposable  entertainment,  comic  books  were  meant  for   “on-­‐the-­‐go,”  reading,  and  could  be  transported  and  distributed  anywhere  that  an   individual  could  travel.  This  allowed  them  to  be  consumed  at  the  consumer’s  leisure,   whenever  they  were  free  to  enjoy  a  story,  whether  they  had  a  minute  or  an  hour  to   do  so.  This  is  especially  important  when  considering  the  high  circulation  of  comic   books  among  American  G.Is  during  foreign  conflicts,  like  World  War  II  and  the   Korean  War.  As  artist  Leonard  Starr  noted,  “The  big  thing  was  to  get  as  many  books   out  as  possible,  and  if  you  looked  like  you  spent  a  lot  of  time  on  it,  or  were  late,  [the   people  in  charge]  were  actually  annoyed  because  the  guys  didn’t  care  what  the  hell   they  were  reading.  It  was  quick  read,  and  they  were  just  relaxing  in  their  bunks  or   the  foxholes,  or  wherever.”248  In  fact,  the  presence  of  drawings  in  comic  books  gave   them  an  edge  over  other  printed  publications,  like  newspapers,  particularly  among                                                                                                                   247  Beck,  “The  Real  Captain  Marvel”  37.   248  Starr  9.   112           soldiers.249  In  their  leisure  time,  the  last  thing  readers  wanted  was  serious  material   that  required  significant  effort  to  consume.       Lastly,  comic  books  were  popular  because  they  provided  escapist   entertainment  when  it  was  desperately  needed  in  all  corners  of  American  society.  It   should  come  as  no  surprise  that  Superman  became  as  popular  as  he  did  during  the   latter  years  of  the  Great  Depression.  While  the  character  was  primarily  designed  as   an  act  of  wish  fulfillment  on  the  part  of  his  creators,  many  of  the  earliest  stories  also   labeled  him  as  the  “Champion  of  the  Oppressed”  and  positioned  him  as  a  solid   advocate  of  liberal  policies  promoted  by  Franklin  Roosevelt’s  New  Deal.250  In  the   first  few  stories  alone,  Superman  went  after  greedy  mine  owners,  corrupt  politicians,   and  the  aristocratic  elite,  in  addition  to  the  usual  gangsters  and  mad  scientists.   These  narratives  positioned  the  character  as  what  Bradford  Wright  dubs,  a   “progressive  super  reformer,”  who  also  “championed  social  reform  and  government   assistance  to  the  poor.”251  In  later  years,  his  co-­‐creator,  Jerry  Siegel  emphasized  this   quality  about  the  character,  noting,     We  had  this  feeling  that  we  were  right  there  at  the  bottom,  and  we  could   sympathize  with  people  who  were  in  trouble  and  that  had  something  to  do   with  the  creation  of  Superman,  who  would  help  people  in  trouble.  […]   “Superman”  grew  out  of  our  personal  feelings  about  life.  That’s  why  quite   often,  when  we  saw  so  many  other  similar  strips  coming  out,  we  felt  that  they,   perhaps,  were  imitating  the  form  and  format  of  “Superman.”  But  there  was   something  that  wasn’t  there,  and  that  was  this  tremendous  feeling  of   compassion  that  Joe  and  I  have  for  the  downtrodden  and  the  people  in   trouble.  And  it  is  something  that’s  in  your  heart  and  not  in  your   pocketbook.252                                                                                                                     249  Wells  164.   250  Daniels  Superman  35.   251  B.  Wright  12.   252  Siegel,  Jerry  and  Joanne  15.   113           During  difficult  times,  early  superheroes  gave  readers  hope,  empowered  them  to  act   locally  in  their  communities  through  a  combination  of  public  service   announcements  and  fan  clubs  like  the  “Supermen  of  America,”  and  offered  an   optimistic  view  of  the  future,  which  said  that  everything  would  be  okay  because   heroes  like  Superman  were  on  their  side.       Lastly,  one  must  also  consider  the  cultural  position  of  comic  books  at  the   time  of  their  inception  into  American  society.  Simply  put,  the  medium  was  seen  by   many  as  trashy  popular  entertainment  that  appealed  to  the  basest  of  emotions.   Many  publishers  were  not  concerned  with  producing  quality  entertainment,  but   instead  wanted  to  produce  material  cheaply,  sell  as  much  of  it  as  they  could,  and   extract  a  profit  from  it.253  Further,  the  stories  of  heroes  and  villains  found  in  comics   were  seen  as  the  lowest  form  of  art,  and  it  was  assumed  that  they  held  no  redeeming   value  whatsoever.  This  view  was  not  just  held  by  the  general  public,  but  also  by   insiders  within  the  publishing  industry,  and  even  comic  book  creators  themselves.   The  stigma  attached  to  comics  was  so  strong,  that  some  of  those  who  labored  in  the   medium  were  often  ashamed  of  their  work.  Artist  Sheldon  Moldoff  recalled  the   attitude  many  held  toward  comics,  noting,     The  comic  books  were  not  looked  at  as  a  great  field,  you  know.  They  took  a   lot  of  abuse.  A  lot  of  parents  didn’t  want  their  kids  reading  comics  because   they  were  a  “bad  influence.”  A  lot  of  teachers  were  against  comic  books.  I   found  that  even  with  my  children.  When  I  went  to  school,  neighbors  would   say,  “Oh,  I  wouldn’t  let  my  children  read  comic  books.”  And  I  would  say,   “What  is  wrong  with  comic  books?”254                                                                                                                     253  Bell  and  Vassalo  8.   254  Moldoff  18.   114           The  vast  majority  of  the  writers  and  artists  who  worked  in  the  comic  book  industry   viewed  their  work  in  the  medium  as  a  “stepping  stone”  to  bigger  and  brighter  things.   Almost  none  of  them  harbored  ambitions  of  being  a  lifelong  comic  book  creator.   According  to  many  accounts,  work  in  comics  was  an  entry  point  for  starving  artists   who  could  not  find  employment  in  any  other  field.  Affirming  this  point,  artist  Vic   Dowd  noted,  “I  thought,  wrongly,  that  comic  books  would  never  last.  I  aimed  higher   than  comics  because  I  wanted  to  be  an  illustrator.  A  lot  of  guys  I  knew  felt  that   way.”255     Indeed,  the  highest  aspiration  for  many  of  the  early  creators  in  the  comic   book  industry  was  to  one  day  “graduate”  to  a  syndicated  newspaper  strip  they  could   call  their  own,  or  to  enter  into  the  field  of  animation,  particularly  at  Walt  Disney   Studios.256  Leonard  Starr  summed  up  the  feeling,  stating,  “Comic  books  at  that  time   were  the  junk  of  the  industry,  and  newspaper  strips  were  the  pinnacle  of  that   art.”257  Others,  like  Fawcett’s  Mac  Raboy,  struggled  with  the  fact  that  they  were  fine   artists  trapped  within  a  popular  medium,  churning  out  detailed,  but  time-­‐ consuming  drawings  that  were  not  appreciated  by  editors  obsessed  with  meeting   constant  deadlines.258  Even  rarer  were  artists  like  Will  Eisner,  who  not  only  engaged   their  work  with  a  sense  of  artistry,  but  who  also  viewed  comic  books  as  an   expressive  narrative  art  form  that  had  the  potential  and  mass  appeal  of  cinema,  but   which  also  could  do  things  that  would  be  impossible  in  other  mediums,  ideas  he                                                                                                                   255  Dowd  30.   256  Many  of  the  artists  forced  out  of  the  industry  during  the  postwar  era  eventually   found  careers  in  commercial  art,  producing  images  for  marketing  and  advertising.     257  Schelley  “The  ‘50  Years  of  Comic  Book  Fandom’  Panel”  67.   258  Artist  Jay  Disbrow  states  that  Mac  Raboy  was  criticized  by  his  editor  on  Master   Comics  and  Captain  Marvel  Jr.,  C.C.  Beck,  for  his  “high  art  style.”     115           later  outlined  in  his  theoretical  work,  Comics  and  Sequential  Art.    However,  even   Eisner  understood  the  realities  of  the  industry  at  the  time,  for  he  remarked,  “For   those  of  us  who  were  in  the  Golden  Age,  [we]  didn’t  know  it  was  the  Golden  Age!  It   was  the  Leaden  Age  as  far  as  we  were  concerned  […]  Aside  from  earning  little   money,  the  work  you  were  doing  was  not  regarded  by  the  social,  cultural  arbiters  as   being  worth  anything!  So  we  hardly  thought  of  it  as  an  era  of  great  cultural   prominence.”259     It  should  also  be  noted  that  during  the  Golden  Age  of  American  comic  books,   no  one  really  knew  what  they  were  doing,  or  had  any  surefire  plan  for  success.  The   closest  thing  many  publishers  had  to  a  business  strategy  was  to  pick  up  on  a  “hot”   trend  and  thoroughly  exploit  it  until  the  “next  big  thing”  came  along.  Artist  Jack   Binder,  who  ran  his  own  “shop”  during  the  period,  recalled  that,  “Our  instance  in  the   so-­‐called  ‘Golden  Age’  of  comics  was  a  period  of  time  similar  to  the  early  movies.  No   one  knew  what  they  were  doing.  We  just  had  to  take  the  bull  by  the  horns  and  make   this  thing  go!  There  were  no  guidelines  set  for  us  to  go  by.  Fortunately,  because  of   the  thrill  of  just  doing  it  and  being  involved  in  it,  the  comics  worked.”260  Echoing  this   sentiment,  Marvin  Levy  noted  that,  “A  lot  of  comic  book  companies  were  fly-­‐by-­‐ night  operations.”261  The  uncertainty  of  the  economic  climate,  with  many  publishers   literally  springing  up  and  disappearing  overnight,  and  the  constant  turnover  in   writers  and  artists,  particularly  after  the  start  of  the  military  draft,  often  made  such   ventures  impossible  to  manage.  However,  this  also  meant  that  talented  creators                                                                                                                   259  Kaplan  6.   260  Binder  7.   261  Levy  31.   116           could  do  almost  anything  in  comics,  so  long  as  it  proved  to  be  commercially   successful,  and  this  was  especially  true  throughout  much  of  the  Golden  Age.   III.  World  War  II  and  Representations  of  the  Japanese  in  Comic  Books     Throughout  World  War  II,  monstrosity  was  the  dominant  frame  for   representing  the  Japanese  in  American  comic  books.  In  constructing  this  wartime   foe,  the  writers  and  artists  in  the  industry  saw  their  job  as  one  of  national   responsibility,  in  which  they  were  tasked  with  reinforcing  dominant  narratives   about  the  conflict,  and  in  many  cases,  echoing  the  messages  of  the  state  to  their   readers.  Within  the  medium,  the  war  was  justified  as  a  battle  against  a  monstrous   and  inhuman  aggressor,  who  threatened  a  full-­‐scale  invasion  from  across  the  Pacific,   aided  by  agents,  namely  first  and  second  generation  immigrants,  who  were   embedded  within  American  society,  ready  to  sabotage  and  undermine  the  country’s   military  efforts.  Throughout  the  hundreds,  if  not  thousands,  of  stories,  cover  images,   and  depictions,  the  Japanese,  who  had  previously  existed  as  part  of  a  pan-­‐Asian   contingent,  were  made  a  separate  and  distinct  population,  marked  and  targeted  as  a   monstrous  enemy  against  which  Americans  fought  for  their  very  survival.     While  there  was  often  significant  variation  in  the  way  that  the  Japanese  were   depicted,  two  primary  ethnic  archetypes  prominently  appeared  in  these  stories,   echoing  sentiments  within  the  larger  American  society:  that  of  the  Japanese   “Superman,”  an  unstoppable  juggernaut  that  had  deal  a  significant  blow  to   America’s  military  power,  which  threatened  the  core  of  Western  Civilization,  and,  on   the  opposite  side  of  the  spectrum,  the  inferior,  sniveling,  effete  copycat  whose   victories  only  came  by  way  of  underhanded,  cowardly  tactics,  like  espionage  and   117           sabotage.262  These  figures  help  to  illustrate  the  conflicting  and  often  contradictory   nature  of  Japanese  identity  within  comic  books  of  the  period,  and  illuminate  the   ways  in  which  these  stories  shaped  and  defined  the  enemy  for  the  general  public.  As   Bradford  Wright  notes,  “Comic  books  rendered  the  Japanese  using  the  most  vicious   caricatures  that  artists  could  imagine.  Ghastly  yellow  demons  with  fangs  and  claws   or  bucktoothed  little  monkeys  with  oversized  spectacles,  comic  book  Japanese   appeared  subhuman,  inhuman,  or  even  superhuman,  but  never  simply  human.”263     Indeed,  many  of  the  most  famous  images  of  this  era,  particularly  cover  art,   cast  the  Japanese  as  fanged,  inhuman  monsters  who  viciously  attacked  the   superheroes  that  defended,  and  even  embodied,  the  United  States.  Such   representations  affirm  John  Dower’s  postulation  that  World  War  II  was  effectively  a   “race  war”  fought  between  imperialist  powers.264    It  should  be  noted  that  while  the   images  on  covers  rarely  reflected  the  actual  stories  in  each  issue,  the  visual  flair  they   radiated  was  often  used  for  marketing  purposes,  provocatively  designed  to  catch  the   reader’s  eye  and  differentiate  it  from  other  titles  on  the  racks.  In  many  respects,   these  covers  became  lasting  symbols  for  their  iconic  nature,  and  may  actually  have   been  more  effective  war  propaganda  than  the  actual  stories  that  were  presented   inside.  For  example,  the  thirteenth  issue  of  Captain  America  Comics,  the  first  to  be   produced  following  the  attack  on  Pearl  Harbor,  features  the  hero  punching  a   monstrous,  fang-­‐toothed  Japanese  soldier  in  the  face,  declaring,  “You  started  it!   Now—we’ll  finish  it!”  (see  fig.  9).  At  the  corners  of  the  image  are  banners,  which                                                                                                                   262  Dower,  “Race,  Language,  and  War  in  Two  Cultures”  173.   263  B.  Wright  45.   264  Dower,  War  Without  Mercy  4.   118           read,  “All  Out  For  America  Issue!”  and  “Remember  Pearl  Harbor.”  Similarly,  the   eighteenth  issue  of  the  series  depicts  the  character  struggling  against  a  group  of   even  more  monstrous  Japanese,  who  are  depicted  as  yellow  skinned,  fang  toothed,   mustached  creatures,  dressed  in  green  “Oriental”  garb,  and  wielding  a  long,  pointed,   scimitar-­‐like  sword.  To  signify  their  connection  to  Japan,  a  ship  bearing  a  sail  that   resembles  the  Japanese  flag  hovers  in  the  background  (see  fig.  10).  Looking  more   like  an  alien  than  a  human  being,  it  is  clear  that  villain,  possesses  a  certain  level  of   power  and  skill,  perhaps  enough  to  rival  the  hero,  but  also  that  this  strength  is   rooted  in  their  monstrous  origin.       Further,  the  idea  of  Japanese  military  strength  is  also  grounded  visually  in   sheer  numbers,  and  conveyed  through  the  imagery  of  a  horde  of  invading  troops   from  the  East  overrunning  the  continent,  echoing  aspects  of  the  Yellow  Peril.  Yet,  as   propaganda,  these  covers  suggest  that  America’s  superiority  will  allow  the  nation  to   fend  off  this  threat.  We  see  this  in  many  of  the  Timely  covers  by  Alex  Schomburg,   particularly  with  titles  like  All-­Winners  Comics  and  All-­Select  Comics,  where  a  small   group  of  heroes,  usually  consisting  of  Captain  America,  the  Sub-­‐Mariner,  and  the   Human  Torch,  do  battle  against  a  veritable  legion  of  Japanese  troops  (see  fig.  11).   One  aspect  of  these  images  that  stands  out  to  the  viewer  is  the  proportionality  of  the   characters,  with  the  heroes  standing  large,  like  giants,  while  the  enemy  soldiers  are   often  much  smaller,  almost  like  Liliputians,  who  the  “good  guys”  casually  dispatch   without  much  difficulty.       The  other  face  of  the  Japanese  enemy  appeared  in  the  form  of  saboteurs  and   spies.  Here,  it  was  implied  that  the  superior  military  technology  of  the  West   119           necessitated  the  use  of  nationalist  agents,  who  infiltrated  the  United  States  under   various  guises,  and  proceeded  to  undermine  the  war  effort  through  acts  of  sabotage,   or  by  smuggling  sensitive  information  and  technology  back  to  the  homeland.  It  was   typically  assumed  that  the  Japanese,  as  a  “backward”  and  “uncivilized”  people,  could   only  win  the  war  through  emulation  and  by  using  “our”  technology  against  “us.”  As  a   result,  these  agents  posed  an  even  greater  danger  than  those  who  attacked  the   nation  outright,  and  in  some  cases,  readers  were  enlisted  to  counter  such  efforts   through  acts  of  constant  vigilance.265  While  there  had  certainly  been  stories  about   saboteurs  in  the  years  preceding  World  War  II,  particularly  featuring  Nazis,  after  the   attack  on  Pearl  Harbor,  such  tactics  became  racially  defined,  often  casting  Japanese   agents  as  fanatic  individuals  who  were  bound  by  their  ethnic  identity  to  commit  the   most  egregious  acts  for  the  sake  of  the  emperor  and  the  preservation  of  the  nation.   The  prevailing  idea  within  these  stories  was  that  Americans  needed  to  detect   vulnerabilities  and  remedy  them  before  the  Japanese  had  the  chance  to  exploit  them   and  strike  again.     For  example,  the  twelfth  issue  of  D.C.’s  All-­Star  Comics  from  August-­‐ September  of  1942,  features  a  story  entitled,  “The  Black  Dragon  Menace,”  in  which   the  head  of  the  Black  Dragon  Society,  the  ultranationalist  Japanese  political  group,   declares,  “My  countrymen  are  great  imitators,  but  they  cannot  invent!  Therefore,   they  shall  steal  the  secret  weapons  the  master-­‐minds  of  America  are  building!”  (see   fig.  12).266  From  there,  the  army  calls  on  the  Justice  Society  of  America,  the  first   superhero  team  in  comics,  to  help  deter  such  efforts.  Throughout  the  adventure,                                                                                                                   265  Ibid.  36-­‐37.   266  Fox,  et  al.,  All-­Star  Archives  3:  69.   120           Japanese  agents  attempt  to  steal  everything  from  experimental  bombs  and   explosives  to  a  dirigible.  As  the  heroes  thwart  their  attempts,  the  villains  incessantly   speak  of  “saving  face”  in  light  of  their  failures  and  profess  their  devotion  to  the   emperor,  illustrating  their  racially  derived  fanaticism.     Another  good  example  can  be  found  in  an  episode  of  the  Famous  Studios’   Superman  cartoon  series  entitled,  “Japoteurs”  (see  fig.  13).  Produced  in  1942,  the   short  animated  feature  presents  a  story  in  which  Japanese  spies  attempt  to  hijack  a   new  military  bomber.  Depicting  the  treacherous  and  duplicitous  nature  of  the   enemy,  the  opening  scene  features  a  Japanese  man  reading  a  newspaper,  with  a   headlines  that  reads,  “World’s  Largest  Bomber  Plane  Finally  Completed.”  He  puts   down  the  paper,  and  pushes  a  button  on  his  desk,  which  transforms  the  picture  of   the  Statue  of  Liberty  on  his  wall  into  an  image  of  the  Japanese  flag.  Without  saying  a   word,  he  smokes  a  cigarette  and  puts  it  out  using  the  newspaper,  setting  it  aflame.     Within  these  narratives,  the  Japanese  were  incessantly  dehumanized,  not  just   in  terms  of  representation,  but  also  in  description.  In  comics,  they  were  called   everything  from  “Japs”  to  “Nips”  to  “Japanazis,”  a  term  popularized  by  D.C.  Comics   that  was  designed  to  highlight  the  link  between  the  Japanese  forces  and  Nazi   Germany.267  Also,  while  they  frequently  appeared  as  spectacled,  lemon  olive-­‐colored,   rat-­‐like  creatures,  their  appearance  was  supplemented  by  any  number  of  animalistic   terms.  Within  these  stories,  the  Japanese  were  referred  to  as  “rats,”  “shrimps,”   “yellow  doggies,”  “monkeys,”  “jellyfish,”  and  “inhuman  beasts“  (see  fig.  14).268  These                                                                                                                   267  Sprang  7.   268  Some  examples  can  be  found  in  the  fifth  issue  of  Military  Comics,  the  eleventh   issue  of  All-­Star  Comics,  and  the  twenty-­‐fourth  issue  of  Sensation  Comics.   121           descriptions  were  often  linked  to  the  size  and  stature  of  the  Japanese,  in  which  they   were  defined  as  both  “small”  and  “short,”  which  was  yet  another  way  to  diminish   them  in  the  eyes  of  readers.  For  instance,  in  the  twenty-­‐fourth  issue  of  Sensation   Comics  from  December  of  1943,  while  fighting  the  enemy,  Wonder  Woman  remarks,   “I  hate  to  hit  such  a  little  fellow  but  even  flies  can  be  dangerous  when  they  come  in   such  big  droves!”269  This  method  of  dehumanization  was  certainly  not  limited  to   American  culture,  as  Japanese  propaganda  popularly  depicted  the  United  States  as   an  oni,  or  ogre,  in  the  tradition  of  the  folk  tale  Momotaro,  but  it  is  notable  for  both  its   variety  and  consistency  of  usage  throughout  the  war.270     Additionally,  the  Japanese  were  also  defined  by  their  lack  of  humanity,  which   manifested  in  the  form  of  their  disregard  for  human  life.  In  these  stories,  not  only   did  they  seek  to  kill  American  soldiers  in  the  most  painful  way  possible  and  launch   attacks  on  civilian  targets,  but  they  also  had  no  regard  for  their  own  lives,  utilizing   Kamikaze  pilots  as  weapons,  morally  reprehensible  tactics  that  contributed  to  the   impression  that  they  were  criminally  insane.271  In  many  cases,  Japanese  soldiers   sought  to  torture  and  mutilate  the  heroes  they  encountered,  and  came  across  like   sadists  who  enjoyed  inflicting  pain  on  others.  For  example,  the  eleventh  issue  of  All-­ Star  Comics  depicts  Japanese  planes  bombing  an  army  hospital  in  the  Pacific,  to   which  an  orderly  cries,  “Bombing  hospitals!  Inhuman  beasts!”272  This  impression   was  reinforced  in  the  following  issue,  where  a  Japanese  soldier  forces  Native   Americans  to  steal  a  tank  from  the  military  by  threatening  the  lives  of  their  family                                                                                                                   269  Marston,  et  al.,  Wonder  Woman  Archives  Vol.  3  192.   270  Reider  110.   271  Dower,  War  Without  Mercy  53.   272  Fox,  et  al.,  All  Star  Archives  3:  48   122           members.  With  an  evil  grimace,  he  declares,  “You  serve  me  only  because  I  hold  your   wives  and  children  as  hostages!  And  unless  you  obey  me—they  die!”  (see  fig.  15).273   As  Edward  Ingebretsen  notes,  this  kind  of  moral  monstrosity  is  applied  to   individuals  who  commit  inhuman  acts,  in  order  to  transform  the  familiar  into  the   other  by  situating  such  behavior  outside  the  realm  of  normality  and  positioning  it  as   deviant  and  dangerous.274     Very  rarely  did  “good”  Japanese  appear  within  comic  books,  and  even  then,   they  were  either  subject  to  intense  suspicion  or  treated  as  less  than  human,  due  to   their  racial  identity.  Historians  have  noted  the  extent  to  which,  for  the  Japanese,   there  was  no  equivalent  to  the  “good”  German  or  Italian  within  American  culture,   and  for  the  most  part,  comic  books  reaffirm  that  observation.275  However,  there  are   a  few  exceptions  that  exist  which  reveal  much  about  the  attitude  toward  the   Japanese  at  this  time.  For  example,  in  the  aforementioned  story,  “The  Black  Dragon   Menace,”  the  Atom  receives  help  from  a  “Yankee  Jap”  as  he  searches  for  a  stolen   experimental  explosive.  Upon  meeting  the  hero,  the  Japanese  man  exclaims,  “I’m   Japanese  all  right,  but  I  was  born  in  America  and  I  love  this  country  as  much  as  you   do!  There  are  many  more  Japanese  like  me—unfortunately,  Imperial  Japan  has  put   the  pressure  on  us  and  we’ve  been  forced  to  work  against  Uncle  Sam!”276  To  which,   the  Atom  condescendingly  replies,  “Good  boy!”  as  if  speaking  to  a  pet.  This  story   reaffirms  the  extent  to  which  Americans  believed  that  Japanese  Americans  were   suspect,  due  to  their  race,  which  inextricably  linked  them  to  Japan  itself.                                                                                                                   273  Ibid.  3:  99.   274  Ingebretsen  16.   275  Dower,  War  Without  Mercy  78-­‐79;  Westbrook  15.   276  Fox,  et  al.,  All-­Star  Archives  3:  86.   123             Within  comics,  the  idea  of  loyalty  was  so  strongly  connected  to  conceptions   of  race,  that  characters  who  dared  to  help  the  American  military  in  their  fight   against  Japan  declared  themselves  to  be  “race  traitors.”  In  a  story  entitled  “The  Men   Who  Never  Came  Back,”  in  the  fifteenth  issue  of  Quality’s  Military  Comics  from   January  of  1943,  the  Blackhawk  squadron  travels  to  South  Asia  to  put  down  a   colonial  riot  in  India,  and  assist  Scottish  Highlanders  in  their  fight  against  Japanese   forces  at  the  Burmese  border.  While  there,  the  men  continually  fall  into  a  series  of   traps,  but  miraculously  escape  each  time,  due  to  the  assistance  of  a  veiled  figure   dressed  in  a  witch’s  costume.  After  they  defeat  the  enemy,  their  mysterious   benefactor  reveals  herself  to  be  a  Japanese  woman,  who  declares,  “He’ll  never  know!   Never  know  that  a  Nipponese  girl,  her  country’s  Mata  Hari  betrayed  her  race!  All   because…all  because…East  is  East—West  is  West.  Oh,  Blackhawk…”277  This   statement  not  only  reinforces  the  racial  divide  which  separates  the  Japanese  from   America,  but  also  plays  into  the  sexual  allure  of  the  Asian  female,  marking  her  as  an   exotic  object  for  the  pleasure  and  consumption  of  the  white  male.     It  is  important  to  note  that  these  representations  did  not  appear  in  a  vacuum.   They  were  not  something  that  a  lone  individual  produced  in  isolation.  Rather,  they   were  representative  of  a  specific  moment  in  a  long  historical  relationship  between   Asia,  Europe,  and  the  United  States.  As  touched  on  in  the  first  chapter,  the  centuries-­‐ old  association  between  the  East  and  monsters  in  the  Western  cultural  tradition   facilitated  the  adoption  of  a  discourse  of  monstrosity  as  a  tool  to  define,  demonize,   and  dehumanize  the  enemy  for  a  receptive  public  in  the  wake  of  Pearl  Harbor.                                                                                                                   277  Eisner,  et  al.,  Blackhawk  Archives  204.   124           However,  other  historical  factors  also  played  a  role  in  shaping  the  form  of  these   depictions.  The  presence  of  these  elements  within  American  culture  enhanced  the   effectiveness  of  the  representational  tactics  deployed  in  comic  books,  and  provided   the  groundwork  that  enabled  the  Japanese  to  be  constructed  as  monsters   throughout  the  course  of  the  war.   Perhaps  the  most  important  factor  in  shaping  the  image  of  the  Japanese   during  World  War  II  was  the  incorporation  of  Pan-­‐Asian  stereotypes  that  had   previously  been  applied  to  the  Chinese  within  mass  culture.  For  decades  in  the   pages  of  popular  publications  like  dime  novels  and  pulp  fiction,  the  Chinese  had   been  depicted  through  dominant  representational  tropes,  which  cast  them,  as   “Orientals”  who  were  threatening,  unassimilable  foreigners  who  occupied  the   American  homeland  and  built  crime-­‐ridden  ethnic  enclaves.278  Almost  every   Chinese  character  that  appeared  in  comic  books  was  crafted  according  to   established  archetypes,  like  the  coolie,  the  Tong,  the  smuggler,  the  wizened  sage,  the   “Dragon  Lady,”  and  the  embodiment  of  the  Yellow  Peril,  Fu  Manchu.  Indeed,  many  of   these  representations  were  very  familiar  to  readers  of  the  era,  who  took  note  when   the  evil  “Oriental”  suddenly  became  Japanese.  Artist  Jules  Feiffer,  recalled  this   transformation  in  his  memoir  of  the  medium,  writing,     The  unwritten  success  story  of  the  war  was  the  smash  comeback  of  the   Oriental  villain.  He  had  faded  badly  for  a  few  years,  losing  face  to  mad   scientists—but  now  he  was  at  the  height  of  his  glory.  Until  the  war  we  always                                                                                                                   278  An  exhibition  featuring  the  comic  book  collection  of  William  Wu  entitled,   “Marvels  and  Monsters:  Unmasking  Asian  Images  in  U.S.  Comics,  1942-­‐1986”  was   publicly  displayed  at  both  the  Museum  of  Chinese  America  in  New  York  City  and   NYU’s  Fales  Library  from  late  2012  to  early  2014.  The  exhibit  identified  eight   existing  Asian  archetypes  that  appear  in  comic  books,  including  the  Guru,  Brain,   Temptress,  Manipulator,  Alien,  Kamikaze,  Brute,  and  Lotus  Blossom.     125           assumed  he  was  Chinese.  But  now  we  knew  what  he  was!  A  Jap:  a  Yellow-­‐ Belly  Jap;  a  Jap-­‐a-­‐Nazi-­‐Rat:  these  being  the  three  major  classifications.  He   was  younger  than  his  wily  forebear  and  far  less  subtle  in  his  torture   techniques  (this  was  war!).  He  often  sported  fanged  bicuspids  and  drooled  a   lot  more  than  seemed  necessary.279     Indeed,  stereotypical  characters  and  archetypes  had  been  mainstays  of  popular   culture  well  before  World  War  II,  and  their  use  in  demonizing  the  Japanese  is   representative  of  the  link  between  Asian  populations  and  this  historical  method  of   depiction  that  existed  in  the  minds  of  comic  book  creators.  In  large  part,  these   materials  tapped  into  a  common  language  of  race  that  was  already  present  within   American  culture.  Linda  Frost  notes  that  this  tendency  to  demonize  the  other  is  a   longstanding  practice  within  popular  culture,  and  is  frequently  utilized  to  deny  the   humanity  of  others.  Commenting  on  the  strategy  of  such  representations,  she  writes,   “Depicting  primitives  as  either  inhuman  monsters,  bestial  and  cannibalistic,  or   children,  naïve  and  ignorant,  conveniently  positioned  them  at  the  beginning  of  the   story  of  Western  civilization.”280  The  writers  and  artists  who  worked  in  the  comic   book  industry  were  not  only  utilizing  a  common  body  of  tropes,  but  were  also   tapping  into  a  representational  tradition  that  operated  on  these  principles.     Interestingly,  due  to  the  nature  of  many  of  these  early  narratives,  which  were   largely  fictive  pieces  in  the  mold  of  the  detective  and  adventure  genres,  Chinese   villains  were  featured  everywhere,  although  none  were  more  prominent  than  Fu   Manchu  and  his  various  imitators.  Indeed,  Sax  Rohmer’s  “devil  doctor”  was  the   archetypal  model  for  many  of  the  Japanese  villains  that  appear  later  throughout  the   war.  So  popular  was  this  symbol  of  the  Yellow  Peril  that  the  first  issue  of  D.C.’s                                                                                                                   279  Feiffer  59-­‐60.   280  Frost  3.   126           Detective  Comics  features  the  visage  of  a  Fu  Manchu-­‐like  character  on  its  cover,  the   crime  lord  Sen  Yoi,  who  faces  off  against  hero  Bruce  Nelson  in  the  issue’s  story,  “The   Claws  of  the  Red  Dragon”  (see  fig.  16).  In  fact,  such  Chinese  villains  were  so  popular   that  the  series  actually  featured  adaptations  of  Sax  Rohmer’s  novel  The  Insidious   Doctor  Fu  Manchu  and  the  film  The  Mysterious  Doctor  Fu  Manchu,  which  were   serialized  from  the  seventeenth  to  the  twenty-­‐eighth  issues.  The  Chinese  villains  in   comic  books  who  ruled  over  crime-­‐ridden  ethnic  enclaves  also  appeared  in  other   popular  monthly  features,  like  Slam  Bradley,  which  featured  a  strong-­‐arm  detective   who  often  ventured  into  Chinatown  to  solve  murders  and  an  assortment  of  other   crimes,  engaging  in  fisticuffs  with  Tongs  in  the  process  (see  fig.  17).281  Fu  Manchu’s   influence  can  also  be  seen  in  other  villains,  like  Captain  Marvel’s  nemesis  the  mad   scientist  Dr.  Sivana,  who  was  also  patterned  after  the  character,  despite  not  being  of   Asian  descent.282     Perhaps  no  character  was  more  monstrous  than  The  Claw,  a  prominent   villain  throughout  the  Golden  Age  that  was  introduced  in  the  first  issue  of  Silver   Streak  Comics,  published  by  Lev  Gleason  in  1939  (see  fig.  18).  The  character  was   initially  presented  as  a  demonic,  Asian  figure,  whose  mystical  origin,  as  an  immortal,   spirit-­‐like  creature  worshipped  by  cult  followers,  allowed  him  to  wield  supernatural   powers,  like  the  ability  to  shoot  lightning  bolts  from  his  fingers  and  grow  his  body  to   gigantic  proportions.  The  Claw  was  clearly  patterned  after  Fu  Manchu,  dressed  in  a                                                                                                                   281  Slam  Bradley  was  one  of  the  early  creations  by  Jerry  Siegel  and  Joe  Shuster,  the   team  that  created  Superman.  Les  Daniels  and  Jim  Steranko  recognize  the  character   as  an  early  Superman  prototype,  through  which  the  creators  were  refining  what   would  eventually  result  in  the  creation  of  the  first  superhero.   282  Thomas,  “One  Man’s  Family”  105.   127           long,  flowing  robe,  and  often  voicing  ambitions  of  world  domination.  Most  striking,   however,  was  his  physical  appearance.  Aside  from  being  colored  pure  yellow,  he   was  aesthetically  monstrous,  with  slanted  eyes,  pointed  ears,  a  hollow  hole  where   his  nose  should  be,  fanged  teeth,  and  of  course,  giant  clawed  hands  (see  fig.  19).  The   initial  story,  which  employed  lettering  featuring  an  Asian  aesthetic,  clearly   established  him  as  an  oriental  villain,  whose  ethnicity  was  almost  certainly  Chinese.   In  later  stories,  he  was  be  dubbed,  the  “world’s  worst  villain”  and  the  “high  lord  of   evil,”  with  an  introduction  which  exclaimed,  “From  every  corner  of  the  earth  have   come  weird  tales  of  a  monster—a  terrifying  giant—that  tramples  human  rights  and   brings  violent  death  to  those  who  defy  him.  […]  This  monstrosity  of  existence—said   to  be  half-­‐man—half-­‐animal—is  feared  by  all  who  know  of  him—as  The  Claw— dwelling  in  the  wilds  of  Tibet.”283     There  were  also  a  series  of  stories  that  attempted  to  connect  the  aggressive,   militaristic  nature  of  the  Japanese  directly  to  the  Mongolian  hordes  that  invaded   Eastern  Europe  in  the  thirteenth  century.  Numerous  comic  books  stories  focused  on   the  Japanese  military’s  search  for  the  artifacts  of  Genghis  Khan,  which  would  enable   them  to  subdue  all  of  Asia,  and  unite  its  people  against  the  West.  For  example,  the   seventh  issue  of  Quality’s  Military  Comics  features  a  Blackhawk  story  entitled,  “The   Return  of  Genghis  Khan.”  Published  in  February  of  1942,  the  narrative  is  driven  by   the  discovery  of  the  sword  of  Genghis  Khan,  which  is  used  to  summon  and  control  a   Mongol  army,  one  so  furious  that  “Even  Hitler  is  trembling  before  their  savage                                                                                                                   283  Biro,  et  al.,  Daredevil  Archives  136.   128           fury!”284  Similarly,  the  fifty-­‐second  issue  of  D.C.’s  Detective  Comics  features  a  Batman   story  in  which  the  caped  crusader  discovers  the  ring  of  Genghis  Khan,  which  Loo   Chung,  the  mayor  of  Gotham  City’s  Chinatown,  uses  to  gain  complete  control  over   the  local  Chinese,  forcing  them  to  pay  him  a  tribute  and  swear  their  loyalty.285   Further,  an  unpublished  Wonder  Woman  story  entitled,  “The  Sword  of  Genghis   Khan,”  features  a  plot  in  which  the  Japanese  agents  embark  on  a  search  for  the  blade,   as  the  wielder  of  the  artifact  will  be  recognized  as  “the  lord  of  all  Asia,”  giving  Japan,   its  “rightful  owners,”  the  ability  to  control  native  people  and  create  social  unrest  in   places  like  India.286  Building  on  stereotypes  about  the  Japanese,  these  artifacts   allowed  one  to  control  entire  populations  based  purely  on  their  shared  ethnic   identities,  reinforcing  the  degree  to  which  ideas  about  loyalty  were  embedded  in   logics  of  race  and  ethnicity.     Given  the  outlandish  nature  of  many  of  these  stories,  it  may  be  prudent  to   consider  why  comic  books  were  so  effective  in  conveying  this  image  of  the  Japanese   to  readers.  One  reason  why  they  were  such  an  effective  vehicle  for  wartime   propaganda  is  that  the  medium,  with  its  combination  of  images  and  text,  enabled   writer  and  artists  to  imaginatively  craft  monstrous  depictions  of  the  Japanese,   reinforcing  such  representations  with  narratives  of  cruelty,  dishonesty,  and  violence   that  highlighted  their  inhuman  nature.  While  other  mediums  like  film  and  radio   were  equally  widespread,  comic  books  had  an  edge  in  demonizing  the  Japanese,   because  while  cinema  was  forced  to  work  within  the  confines  of  realism—as  the                                                                                                                   284  Eisner,  et  al.,  Blackhawk  Archives  83.   285  Kane,  et  al.,  Batman  Archives  2:  30.   286  Thomas,  “Queen  Hepizibah,  Genghis  Khan,  and  the  ‘Nuclear’  Wars!  The  Lost   Wonder  Woman  Adventures”  10.   129           enemy  could  only  be  as  inhuman  as  makeup  would  allow—in  comics,  writers  and   artists  were  limited  only  by  the  scope  of  their  imaginations  and  their  level  of  artistic   skill.287  Comic  books  did  not  present  an  image  of  the  Japanese  as  they  actually  were,   but  rather  as  these  creators  saw  them.     However,  it  should  be  noted  that  while  using  monstrosity  to  depict  the   Japanese  was  the  dominant  mode  of  representation  throughout  the  war,  not  all   creators  were  comfortable  with  it.  Some  recognized  it  as  overt  display  of  racism.  For   example,  artist  Don  Rico  recalls,       What  bothered  me  was  the  showing  of  a  black  person  in  the  old  days  with   huge  liver  lips.  I  was  bothered  by  the  showing  of  the  Chinese  as  villains,   Japanese  as  villains.  I  was  bothered  by  the  injustice  toward  people,  […]   toward  minorities,  toward  any  group  as  a  stereotype.  […]  What  was  exploited   was  the  blacks,  the  orientals,  and  that  kind  of  thing.  They  were  the  villains.   This  was  World  War  II,  and  the  tradition  of  Fu  Manchu  carried  on  as  a  super-­‐ villain,  you  know.  And  that  more  than  anything  else  disturbed  me.288     Unfortunately,  such  objections  were  few  and  far  between,  as  many  writers  and   artists  were  happy  to  engage  in  such  acts  of  dehumanization  to  further  promote  the   war  effort.     These  representations  also  owe  much  to  the  medium’s  ability  to  function  as  a   vehicle  for  propaganda.  Even  before  the  Japanese  attack  on  Pearl  Harbor,  there  were   efforts  by  writers  and  artists  working  in  the  comic  book  industry  to  advocate  for   American  intervention  and  to  label  countries  like  Nazi  Germany,  and  to  a  lesser   extent  Japan,  as  enemies.  In  part,  this  was  because  many  producers  of  comics  felt   that  America’s  entrance  into  the  war  was  inevitable,  and  realized  that  the  medium                                                                                                                   287  Savage  10.   288  Rico  8-­‐10.   130           could  be  an  effective  platform  for  espousing  nationalistic  ideas.289  Perhaps  the  best-­‐ known  example  of  this  is  Timely’s  patriotic  superhero,  Captain  America.  First   introduced  in  March  of  1941,  nine  months  before  the  United  States’  official  entry   into  World  War  II,  the  character  was  designed  by  his  co-­‐creators,  Joe  Simon  and  Jack   Kirby,  to  make  a  political  statement  and  argue  for  America’s  entrance  into  the  war  in   Europe.  As  Simon  notes,  at  that  time   This  country  was  not  at  war.  Yes,  there  was  a  war  in  Europe,  but  there  was  a   lot  of  controversy  in  this  country  about  whether  we  should  get  involved.   There  was  a  lot  of  opposition.  […]  The  opponents  to  the  war  were  all  quite   well  organized.  We  wanted  to  have  our  say,  too.  We  didn’t  want  to  go  to  war,   but  we  felt  very  intense  about  what  was  going  on  over  in  Europe.  So,  we  had   this  new  character,  Captain  America,  reflect  our  attitudes  about  the  war.  He   didn’t  want  to  fight,  but  he  knew  that  the  Nazis  had  to  be  stopped  and  he  was   prepared  to  do  his  best  to  stop  them.290     The  cover  of  the  first  issue  of  Captain  America  Comics  famously  featured  the  lead   character  punching  Adolf  Hitler  across  the  face,  and  introduced  readers  to  Steve   Rogers,  a  weak  but  patriotic  young  man  who  became  the  superhero  Captain  America   after  being  injected  with  an  experimental  super  soldier  serum  by  scientist  Josef   Reinstein  (see  fig.  20).291  Throughout  the  life  of  the  series,  he  fought  a  series  of   battles  against  the  Nazis,  and  after  1941,  against  the  Japanese  as  well.  While  the   hero  sometimes  battled  against  traditional  enemies  in  comic  books,  like  monsters   and  mad  scientists,  almost  every  story  featuring  the  character  had  a  strong  political   message  embedded  within  it.  After  all,  as  Simon  remarked,  “We  saw  him  as  a   political  statement  fleshed  out  to  be  an  active  force.  We  would  have  him  go  through                                                                                                                   289  Savage  8-­‐9.   290  Simon,  “The  American  Dream  Come  True”  8.   291  In  subsequent  revisions  of  the  character’s  origin,  particularly  after  his  re-­‐ introduction  in  the  1960s,  the  name  of  the  scientist  was  changed  to  Abraham   Erskine.   131           an  exaggerated  adventure  and  his  actions,  and  the  story  would  be  making  a  political   statement.”292  Even  Timely’s  other  superheroes,  like  the  Human  Torch  and  Namor,   the  Sub-­‐Mariner,  who  had  previously  been  presented  as  a  somewhat  villainous  anti-­‐ hero,  soon  entered  the  nationalistic  fray,  as  they,  too,  became  “Nazi  Fighters.”  Bill   Everett,  the  creator  of  the  aquatic  character  explained  this  shift  among  characters   that  previously  had  nothing  to  do  with  nationalism  or  the  war,  stating   This  was  a  natural  formula.  You  could  wave  the  flag  like  crazy.  Most  of  us   were  flag-­‐wavers,  and  I  was  one  of  the  biggest.  I  wanted  to  do  some  of  that   red-­‐white-­‐and-­‐blue  stuff  as  much  as  anyone  did—and  this  was  a  beautiful   outlet  and  a  change  of  scenery,  a  geographical  cure,  what-­‐have-­‐you.  I  was   tired  of  dreaming  up  situations  for  him,  and  here  was  a  built-­‐in,  ready-­‐made   situation;  it  was  a  patriotic  thing,  and  it  was  the  thing  to  do.293     While  other  patriotic  heroes  had  also  been  created  around  this  time,  like  Will   Eisner’s  Uncle  Sam,  Harry  Shorten  and  Irv  Novick’s  The  Shield  and  Bill  Parker  and   C.C.  Beck’s  Spy  Smasher,  the  overwhelming  success  of  Captain  America  and  the   Timely  superhero  line  helped  usher  in  a  new  wave  of  nationalistic  characters   throughout  the  latter  part  of  1941  and  into  1942,  like  Richard  Hughes  and  Jon   Blummer’s  Fighting  Yank,  Eisner  and  Chuck  Cuidera’s  Blackhawk,  and  Jerry   Robinson’s  London,  just  to  name  a  few.     Only  a  few  months  later  in  July  of  1941,  Lev  Gleason  Publications  released   Daredevil  Battles  Hitler,  the  first  issue  of  a  series  exclusively  devoted  to  the  popular   superhero,  who  had  previously  debuted  in  Silver  Streak  Comics.294  Designed  to  build                                                                                                                   292  Simon,  “The  American  Dream  Come  True”  8   293  Everett  19.   294  There  have  been  two  popular  characters  that  have  had  the  name  “Daredevil”  at   different  periods  in  comic  book  history.  The  first,  referenced  here,  is  the   boomerang-­‐wielding  hero,  Bart  Hill,  who  premiered  in  the  sixth  issue  of  Silver   Streak  Comics  in  1940,  and  is  prominently  featured  in  a  red  and  blue  uniform,  colors   132           on  the  rising  popularity  of  patriotic  comics,  the  book  was  notable  not  only  for  its   content,  but  also  its  iconic  cover,  which  featured  a  photographic  likeness  of  the   German  leader  under  siege  by  an  assault  of  costumed  superheroes,  rather  than  a   simple  cartoon  caricature  (see  fig.  21).  Like  Captain  America  Comics,  the  issue   featured  stories  that  put  Hitler  through  a  series  of  humiliating  situations,  such  as   having  his  moustache  shot  off,  being  betrayed  by  his  own  allies,  and  having  his   underlings,  like  Joseph  Goebbels,  defeated  and  returned  to  him  wrapped  up  like  a   mummy  in  bandages  and  ropes.  The  last  story  in  the  book,  entitled,  “The  Man  of   Hate,”  is  a  propagandistic  cartoon  biography  of  Hitler  by  R.B.S.  Davis  that  charts  his   rise  to  power  and  declares,  “Mars.  The  greedy  god  of  war  again  stalked  the  land— with  Adolf  Hitler  at  his  elbow!  France  and  England  jumped  into  the  fray…’This   madman  must  be  stopped!’  But  Hitler  had  the  advantage,  and  one  by  one,  countries   began  to  fall!”  Short  of  calling  for  direct  intervention  in  the  war,  the  story   rhetorically  asks,  “How  will  this  bloody  era  end?  How  will  Hitler  end  up?  Exiled?   Sick?  Hated?  Imprisoned?  That’s  what  happened  to  Napoleon,  Caesar,  the  Kaiser!   His  time  will  come!  The  fate  of  all  dictators!”295     It  is  also  worth  noting  that  the  writers  and  artists  in  comic  books  were  not   the  only  ones  advocating  for  the  country’s  entrance  into  World  War  II.  Other   mainstream  cartoonists,  like  Theodor  Geisel,  better  known  by  his  pen  name,  Dr.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             that  divide  his  body  in  half  like  the  Roman  god  Janus.  This  Daredevil  disappeared   from  the  industry  in  the  mid-­‐1950s  when  the  introduction  of  the  Comics  Code   Authority  resulted  in  the  closure  of  Lev  Gleason  Publications.  The  second  is  the   Marvel  Comics  superhero,  Matt  Murdock,  created  in  1964  by  Stan  Lee  and  Bill   Everett,  who  is  a  blind  character  with  heightened  senses  who  fights  crime  in  a  red   devil-­‐like  costume.  Other  than  a  shared  name,  the  two  characters  are  unrelated.   295  Biro,  et  al.,  Daredevil  Archives  75-­‐76.   133           Seuss,  took  a  similar  position  in  their  work.  As  noted  by  Richard  Minear,  the  artist’s   editorial  cartoons,  which  appeared  in  the  daily  newspaper  PM,  mocked  isolationists   throughout  1941,  taking  a  particularly  critical  stand  against  not  only  Hitler  but  also   Charles  Lindbergh.296  Similarly,  Milton  Caniff,  whose  newspaper  strip  Terry  and  the   Pirates  was  one  of  the  most  popular  of  the  period,  also  engaged  in  the  dissemination   of  pro-­‐war  sentiments  in  his  work.  Toward  the  end  of  the  war,  the  characters  in  his   series,  like  Connie,  the  lead  protagonist’s  Chinese  sidekick,  were  assisting  in  the   fight  against  the  Japanese  in  Mainland  China.  Commenting  on  the  incorporation  of   propagandistic  themes  into  the  series,  Caniff  said,  “The  overtone  of  propaganda  was   there  and  had  to  be  there  and  should  have  been  there.  But  propaganda  can  be   handled  in  so  many  different  ways.  It  can  be  cheap  and  shoddy  and  off-­‐hand  and   Jerry-­‐come-­‐lately,  or  it  can  be  most  persuasive  in  times  of  emergency.”297   These  comic  books,  published  only  months  before  Pearl  Harbor,  were  far   from  the  only  titles  to  foreshadow  America’s  involvement  in  World  War  II  and   allude  to  rising  tensions  with  Germany  and  Japan.  As  early  as  July  of  1938,   Superman,  in  his  second  appearance,  sought  to  prevent  a  war  in  the  South  American   republic  of  San  Monte,  where  a  munitions  manufacturer  was  fomenting  conflict  and   enriching  himself  by  selling  arms  to  forces  on  both  sides.298  Smaller  publishers,  like   Fiction  House  and  Quality  Comics,  were  also  engaging  in  the  production  of  these   kinds  of  stories.  Often  questionable  in  tone  and  accuracy,  some  of  these  narratives   sought  to  highlight  the  threat  of  Nazi  Germany  by  linking  the  war  in  Europe  with                                                                                                                   296  Minear  17.   297  Eisner,  Shop  Talk  80.   298  Siegel,  et  al.,  Action  Comics  Archives  1:  24.   134           anticolonial  uprisings,  suggesting  that  the  conflict  threatened  to  spill  over  into  other   countries,  and  that  intervention  was  needed  in  order  to  restore  the  status  quo  and   secure  American  national  interests  abroad.299  In  part,  the  production  of  these   materials  illustrates  the  extent  to  which  these  creators  helped  to  construct  a   national  narrative  that  justified  America’s  role  in  a  war  against  the  Axis  powers.     Within  many  of  these  early  stories,  comics  often  alluded  to  Japan  under  a   variety  of  aliases.  Publishers  knew  that  many  Americans  were  weary  about  the   prospect  of  intervening  in  World  War  II,  and  were  careful  not  to  alienate  any   readers  with  their  narratives.  For  example,  in  the  first  issue  of  D.C.’s  All-­Star  Comics,   published  in  the  summer  of  1940,  the  police  trio,  Red,  White,  and  Blue,  foil  a  plot  by   “Kavinese”  spies  to  build  a  secret  underground  fort  in  Alaska,  which  they  intend  to   use  as  a  base  of  operations  for  an  attack  on  America.300  Similarly,  the  heroine   Phantom  Lady,  in  the  second  issue  of  Quality’s  Police  Comics,  rescues  an  ambassador   from  “Herma”  (China)  who  has  been  kidnapped  by  agents  of  “Kioland”  (Japan)  in  an   attempt  to  manipulate  the  country  into  starting  a  war  against  the  United  States.301   Clearly,  this  story  was  intended  to  address  American  fears  over  a  potential  conflict   with  a  Pan-­‐Asian  force,  consisting  of  a  united  China  and  Japan,  which  was  largely   interpreted  as  a  foreboding  symbol  of  the  Yellow  Peril.  Coincidentally,  a  number  of   stories  even  predicted  the  attack  on  Pearl  Harbor  before  it  took  place.  For  instance,   a  story  by  Harry  Stein  in  the  eighteenth  issue  of  National  Comics,  published  a  month   before  the  attack,  depicted  the  destruction  of  the  Pacific  battleships  by  “oriental”                                                                                                                   299  B.  Wright  37-­‐39.   300  Fox,  et  al.,  All-­Star  Archives  0:  67-­‐74.   301  Eisner,  et  al.,  Phantom  Lady  Archives  1:  24.   135           forces.  The  story  was  so  prescient  that  the  FBI  later  questioned  Quality’s  publisher,   Everett  M.  “Busy”  Arnold  about  it.302  This  is  only  a  small  sampling  of  the  many   published  stories  that  hinted  at  the  looming  Asian  threat.   Early  on,  there  was  significant  confusion  over  the  cultural  and  ethnic   differences  between  the  Japanese  and  the  Chinese.  For  the  most  part,  American   comic  book  creators  had  little  familiarity  with  either  group  before  the  war  outside  of   established  stereotypes,  and  subscribed  to  the  idea  of  a  Pan-­‐Asian  ethnicity,  under   which  both  the  Chinese  and  Japanese  were  frequently  lumped  together.  The  political   realities  of  World  War  II,  particularly  the  need  to  combat  imperial  Japanese  rhetoric   about  the  Greater  East  Asia  Co-­‐Prosperity  Sphere,  which  had  been  used  as  a  rallying   cry  to  unite  all  Asian  populations  against  the  forces  of  the  West,  quickly  forced  them   to  distinguish  between  the  two  groups  and  utilize  a  discourse  of  incorporation  and   anti-­‐racism.303  However,  the  lack  of  precise  and  accurate  knowledge  about  Asians   resulted  in  the  production  of  stories  that  frequently  utilized  stereotypes  for  the   purposes  of  visual  and  cultural  representation,  and  which  had  the  unintended  effect   of  mistakenly  conflating  aspects  of  Chinese  and  Japanese  culture,  creating  confusion   among  readers.  In  part,  it  was  this  urgent  drive  to  distinguish  between  the  two   groups,  not  just  in  comics,  but  in  society  and  culture  more  generally,  that   established  the  image  of  the  Japanese  as  a  wholly  distinct  and  separate  group  from   the  Chinese,  effectively  introducing  them  to  the  larger  American  public.     To  further  that  goal,  governmental  agencies,  particularly  the  U.S.  War   Department,  produced  propaganda  utilizing  comic  artists  and  other  creative                                                                                                                   302  Gil  Fox,  16-­‐17.   303  Fujitani  7-­‐8.   136           professionals  in  the  film  and  radio  industries,  to  not  only  demonize  Japan,  but  to   also  explain  how  the  Japanese  were  different  from  the  Chinese.  For  example,  in  1942,   it  published  a  manual  for  soldiers,  entitled,  A  Pocket  Guide  to  China.  Included  in  this   document  was  an  educational  comic  by  Milton  Caniff,  called,  “How  to  Spot  a  Jap”   (see  fig.  22).  This  short  section  purportedly  detailed  the  physical  differences   between  the  Japanese  and  Chinese  that  would  assist  soldiers  in  telling  them  apart.   For  example,  the  manual  claimed  that  the  Japanese  could  be  identified  by  three   criteria:  their  appearance,  feet,  and  their  pronunciation  of  words.304  Detailing  the   first  in  language  similar  to  eugenics,  Caniff  claimed  that  the  Japanese  are  “shorter— and  looks  as  if  his  legs  are  joined  to  his  chest,”  that  their  skin  color  “is  lighter—more   on  the  yellow  lemon  side,”  their  eyes  “have  a  marked  squint”  and  are  “slanted   toward  his  nose,”  and  lastly,  the  Japanese  have  “buck  teeth…the  Chinese  smiles   easily—the  Jap  usually  expects  to  be  shot…and  is  very  unhappy  about  the  whole   thing.”305  The  pamphlet  ends  with  a  warning  to  soldiers,  with  the  narrator  stating,   “Remember  that  Jap  spies  have  fooled  even  the  Chinese…They’ll  use  any  trick—even   after  pretending  to  surrender…And  they’ll  try  to  pose  as  natives  of  whatever   country  they’re  in!”306  Aside  from  the  preposterously  stereotypical  and  inaccurate   nature  of  these  descriptions,  the  manual  reinforces  the  urgency  with  which  the   American  government  sought  to  differentiate  between  the  Japanese  and  Chinese.     Before  the  attack  on  Pearl  Harbor,  comic  books  regularly  conflated  the  two   groups,  construing  them  as  one  in  the  same,  or  at  least  presenting  them  both  as  a                                                                                                                   304  Caniff  74.   305  Ibid.  66-­‐68.   306  Ibid.  75.   137           negative  presence  within  the  United  States.  For  example  an  early  Starman  story   entitled,  “The  Adventure  of  the  Singapore  Stranglers,”  which  appeared  in  the  sixty-­‐ ninth  issue  of  DC’s  Adventure  Comics  in  December  of  1941,  told  of  the  Singapore   Strangers,  a  group  sabotaging  American  ships,  who  were  inexplicably  commanded   by  the  Japanese  Captain  Fujiyama.  As  the  hero  attempts  to  thwart  their  suicide   mission  to  blow  up  a  munitions  factory,  he  faces  their  leader,  who  “sits  in  front  of  a   huge  mask  of  Genghis  Khan,  ancient  Oriental  warlord!”  (see  fig.  23).  Another   example  can  be  found  in  the  second  issue  of  Lev  Gleason’s  Daredevil  Comics,   published  in  August  of  1941.  In  a  story  featuring  the  superhero  Nightro,  Chinese   agents  led  by  Fu  Tong  sabotage  Navy  fliers,  with  the  intent  of  recovering  the  planes   and  pilots  after  they  crash,  drugging  them,  and  using  them  to  attack  the  United   States  en  masse.  While  the  mastermind  behind  the  plot  is  never  revealed  within  the   narrative,  it  is  similar  to  other  tales  of  the  period  that  implicate  Japanese  sabotage.   However,  it  is  still  curious  that  the  creators  of  the  story  chose  to  utilize  Chinese   agents  as  antagonists,  illustrating  a  general  ignorance  of  events  in  Mainland  China   and  a  sense  of  confusion  over  which  Asian  country  was  positioned  as  the  enemy.     In  addition  to  differentiating  between  the  “good”  and  “bad”  Asians  after  Pearl   Harbor,  comic  books  also  sought  to  combat  the  Pan-­‐Asian  rhetoric  of  the  Japanese,   which  threatened  to  stir  anti-­‐colonial  sentiment  and  unite  people  of  color  against   the  imperialist  powers  of  the  West.  To  do  so,  comic  books  portrayed  the  Chinese  as   victims  of  Japanese  imperialism  and  brutality.  While  other  cultural  works,  like  Pearl   Buck’s  The  Good  Earth,  had  humanized  China  for  American  audiences,  comics   138           furthered  this  mission  by  suggesting  that  the  Chinese  were  helpless  subjects   desperately  in  need  of  humanitarian  and  military  assistance.307     For  example,  in  the  fourth  issue  of  Wonder  Woman  from  April-­‐May  of  1943,   the  superheroine  meets  a  Chinese  woman  named  Mei  Wu,  who  is  touring  the  United   States  to  raise  money  for  China  relief  efforts  after  escaping  the  torture  chambers  of   the  Japanese.  Speaking  to  Diana  Prince,  Wonder  Woman’s  civilian  alter  ego,  she  says,   “You  have  seen  scars  where  Japanese  who  take  my  native  village  beat  me?”  She   bears  her  back,  and  remarks,  “I  have  shown  Americans  all  over  country  how  Japs   treat  Chinese  women—America  will  now  destroy  Japan!”308  Similarly,  the  first  issue   of  Timely’  All-­Winner’s  Comics  featured  a  Human  Torch  story  entitled,  “Carnival  of   Fiends”  in  which,  “Matsu,  a  Japanese  secret  agent  acting  on  his  superior’s   orders…menaces  the  peaceful  Chinese  section  of  New  York  City!”309  The  spy   sabotages  a  festival  designed  to  raise  money  to  help  the  Chinese  fight  off  the   invading  Japanese  forces.  Unable  to  stop  him  from  destroying  the  fireworks  that   highlight  the  event,  the  Human  Torch  and  his  sidekick  Toro  light  up  the  sky  with   their  flames,  drawing  an  image  of  a  Japanese  soldier,  armed  with  a  bayonet,   viciously  stabbing  a  Chinese  woman  and  her  baby,  with  a  caption  that  reads,  “Help   China”  (see  fig.  24).310  Even  Lev  Gleason  Publications’  monstrous  Oriental  villain,   The  Claw,  was  suddenly  aligned  with  Imperial  Japan  and  Nazi  Germany  after                                                                                                                   307  Kennedy  401.   308  Marston,  et  al.,  Wonder  Woman  Archives  2:  175.   309  Simon,  et  al.,  All-­Winners  Masterworks  1:  3.   310  Ibid.  7.   139           forming  an  alliance  with  Hitler  in  exchange  for  “all  of  upper  Mongolia  with  its   millions  of  natives  as  slaves.”311     Comic  books,  like  other  cultural  media  during  World  War  II,  utilized  the   rhetoric  of  anti-­‐racism  to  depict  a  fraternal  brotherhood  of  Americans,  consisting  of   individuals  of  all  races,  who  stood  against  the  threat  posed  by  the  Axis  forces.312  For   example,  the  sixteenth  issue  of  All  Star  Comics  from  April-­‐May  of  1943  presents  a   story  entitled,  “The  Justice  Society  Fights  for  a  United  America,”  in  which  the   superhero  team  fights  against  hatred  and  intolerance  on  the  domestic  front  in  order   to  figuratively  unite  the  country  against  a  common  enemy.  Reinforcing  this  point,   the  end  of  the  issue  features  a  tribute  to  American  workers  and  all  those   contributing  to  the  war  effort.  Hawkman  declares,  “As  Americans,  we  must  face  the   foe  united!  Hitler  fears  nothing  more  than  a  nation  strong  in  its  collective  unified   strength!  No  more  racial,  religious,  or  class  hatreds  or  intolerance.”  Echoing  this   sentiment,  the  Sandman  remarks,  “Polish,  Irish,  or  Italian!  Catholic,  Protestant,  or   Jew!  Black  or  white!  Rich  or  poor!  An  American  is  still  an  American!”  The  scene   transitions  to  Americans  declaring  their  loyalty  to  the  country,  and  even  features  a   panel  with  an  African  American  steelworker  who  declares,  “I  represent  fifteen   million  colored  Americans  who  are  working  to  get  rid  of  those  rascals  Hitler,   Hirohito,  an’  Mussolini!”  (see  figs.  25-­‐26).313  Likewise,  the  twenty-­‐second  issue  of   the  series  published  in  the  fall  of  1944  features  a  similar  story  entitled,  “A  Cure  for   the  World,”  in  which  the  Justice  Society  devotes  themselves  to  combating  prejudice                                                                                                                   311  Cole,  et  al.,  Silver  Streak  Archives  2:  29.   312  Fujitani  118.   313  Fox,  et  al.,  All-­Star  Archives  4:  120-­‐121.   140           and  discrimination  after  helping  a  boy  who  is  picked  on  for  his  religion.  Traveling   back  through  time,  the  team  members  fight  against  those  who  persecute  others,  and   at  the  very  end  of  the  story,  attend  a  rally  at  a  local  school,  at  which  they  salute  and   declare,  “I  pledge  allegiance  to  the  flag  of  the  United  States  of  America,  and  to  the   republic  for  which  it  stands;  one  nation  indivisible  with  liberty  and  justice  for  ALL!   You  know  what  that  means—‘liberty  and  justice  for  all’—all  regardless  of  race,  color,   or  religion!”  (see  fig.  27)314     This  sentiment  within  comic  books  coincides  with  the  coalescing  of  white   identity  that  occurred  throughout  World  War  II,  in  which  ethnic  groups  that  had   previously  been  excluded  from  the  body  politic  were  assimilated  and  accepted  as   full-­‐fledged  members  of  American  society  as  a  result  of  the  “crucible”  of  war.  In  part,   it  was  through  their  participation  in  the  “assimilatory  regiments”  of  the  military,   that  they  gained  a  recognized  form  of  citizenship,  after  they  had  proven  that  they   were  willing  to  risk  their  lives  for  not  only  one  another,  but  more  importantly,  for   their  country.315  Naturally,  this  process  of  incorporation  and  inclusion  did  not   extend  to  various  minority  groups,  like  African  Americans,  Asian  Americans,  and   Latino  Americans,  among  others,  and  is  a  sentiment  that  is  largely  echoed  in  comics,   as  many  multinational  military  squadrons  from  the  period,  like  the  Blackhawks,  Boy   Commandos,  and  Young  Allies,  either  exclude  minorities  entirely  or  relegate  them  to                                                                                                                   314  Fox,  et  al.,  All-­Star  Archives  5:  184.   315  Gerstle  42,  205-­‐206.   141           secondary  positions,  in  which  they  fill  the  role  of  a  racial  stereotype,  rather  than   serve  as  legitimate  members  of  the  team.316   This  rhetoric  of  anti-­‐racism  also  resulted  in  the  creation  of  Chinese   superheroes,  or  more  accurately  sidekicks  and  partners.317  A  small  number  of  these   Asian  heroes  appeared  throughout  the  1940s,  albeit  in  positions  subordinate  to  the   lead  white  character  in  these  stories  and  represented  through  racial  caricature.   Often,  these  figures  took  on  the  role  of  comedy  relief,  much  like  the  other  minorities   that  appeared  in  comics,  like  the  African  American  characters  Ebony  White  in  Will   Eisner’s  The  Spirit  comic  strip,  Steamboat  in  Fawcett’s  Captain  Marvel  titles,  and   Whitewash  Jones  in  Timely’s  Young  Allies.318  Asian  and  African  Americans  were   certainly  not  the  only  ones  cast  in  the  manner,  however,  for  there  were  also   characters  from  ethnic  groups  like  the  Irish  and  Italians  that  were  portrayed  in  a   similar  fashion.  A  good  example  of  this  is  the  stereotypical  Doiby  Dickles,  a  working-­‐                                                                                                                 316  The  perpetuation  of  such  racially  exclusive  regimes  was  not  the  result  of  a  lack  of   activism  on  the  part  of  people  of  color  throughout  World  War  II,  who  championed   the  idea  of  Double  Victory,  against  both  the  Axis  powers  and  the  violently  repressive   systems  of  racism.     317  Chinese  sidekicks  were  also  prominently  featured  in  other  related  formats,  like   comic  strips.  For  example,  in  Milton  Caniff’s  popular  series  Terry  and  the  Pirates,  the   main  characters  were  accompanied  by  Connie,  a  Chinese  guide,  who  eventually   becomes  part  of  the  resistance  against  the  Japanese  in  World  War  II.   318  It  should  be  noted  that  these  characters  were  not  consciously  designed  with   malicious  intent,  but  were  attempts  by  creators  to  be  more  inclusive  and  appeal  to   different  audiences  who  were  not  equally  represented  in  comics.  It  was  commonly   and  naively  believed  that  readers  of  color  would  relate  to  such  characters,  despite   their  representation  as  caricatures,  and  would  proceed  to  purchase  the  book.  Over   time,  however,  feedback  from  readers,  particularly  African  Americans,  showed  that   not  to  be  the  case,  and  these  characters  were  either  quickly  and  deliberately   removed  by  creators,  forgotten  when  the  titles  they  were  featured  in  were  cancelled,   or  vanished  outright  by  the  mid-­‐1950s  due  to  restrictions  set  forth  by  the  Comics   Code  Authority.     142           class  cab  driver  clad  in  suspenders  and  a  bowler  hat,  who  frequently  appeared  in   the  Green  Lantern  stories  featured  in  All-­American  Comics.   Perhaps  the  most  prominent  Chinese  sidekick  of  the  World  War  II  era  was   Chop-­‐Chop,  the  honorary  Asian  member  of  the  multiracial  military  platoon  known   as  the  Blackhawks,  featured  in  Quality’s  Military  Comics.  First  appearing  in  the  third   issue  of  the  series,  the  character  was  short  and  pudgy  with  a  ponytail,  appearing   much  like  a  “pinhead”  from  freak  shows  of  the  early  twentieth  century,  and  dressed   in  traditional  Chinese  garb  of  green,  yellow,  and  red,  which  frequently  set  him  apart   from  the  rest  of  the  team  who  were  tall,  slender,  and  wore  blue  uniforms.  He  spoke   only  broken  English,  with  his  speech  often  communicated  more  with  symbols  of   frustration,  like  stars,  lightning  bolts,  and  exclamation  points,  rather  than  actual   words.  Although  he  sometimes  spoke  in  Chinese,  this  was  conveyed  through   random  crosses  and  lines  that  presented  an  Asian  aesthetic,  rather  than  the  use  of   actual  language,  as  the  co-­‐creators  of  the  character,  Will  Eisner  and  Chuck  Cuidera,   likely  did  not  know  how  to  speak  or  write  any  Chinese.  Also,  unlike  the  other   members  of  the  squadron,  he  rarely  used  firearms,  for  it  frequently  ended  in   disastrous  comedy  relief,  and  instead  relied  on  an  assortment  of  swords,  wooden   bats,  and  by  issue  eight,  began  appearing  with  his  trademark  meat  cleaver,  declaring   to  the  enemy,  “Me  make  hamburger!”319     Still,  it  was  made  clear  early  on  that  Chop-­‐Chop  was  meant  to  be  heroic.  The   Blackhawks  first  encounter  him  after  he  crash  lands  on  their  island  base  in  an   attempt  to  fly  to  Yugoslavia  to  save  a  Red  Cross  nurse  from  a  turncoat  war  profiteer                                                                                                                   319  Eisner,  et  al.,  Blackhawk  Archives  99.   143           named  Markov  who  is  making  money  by  selling  much  needed  food  to  starving   peasants.320  They  quickly  leave  him  behind  and  handle  the  situation.  In  the   meantime,  Chop-­‐Chop  gets  himself  tangled  in  a  pile  of  ropes,  and  only  manages  to   get  free  at  the  end  of  the  story,  confronting  the  team  once  they’ve  returned,   screaming,  “Just  when  me  ready  to  begin  adventure  you  finish  same…Me  double-­‐ clossed!!  Me  slittee  throatee!”321  Without  any  official  notice,  they  accept  Chop-­‐Chop   into  their  team,  and  he  serves  as  the  cook  and  bumbling  sidekick  on  many  of  their   adventures  throughout  World  War  II.     While  the  character  was  technically  a  member  of  the  team,  it  was  repeatedly   made  clear  that  he  was  different  from  the  rest,  through  both  text  and  images.  This   was  particularly  noticeable  in  depictions  where  the  group  appeared  together,  often   charging  into  battle.  The  cover  of  the  thirty-­‐third  issue  of  Military  Comics,  for   example,  depicts  the  members  of  the  Blackhawks  rushing  into  battle  in  a  tight  group   formation,  while  to  the  left,  Chop-­‐Chop  hops  down  a  dirt  path  with  his  cleaver  in  tow   (see  fig.  28).  His  brightly  colored  foreign  clothing  is  in  stark  contrast  to  their  dark   blue  uniforms,  as  is  his  short  diminutive  stature,  reinforcing  the  perception  that  he   is  not  only  separate,  but  also  unequal.  It  is  worth  noting  that  by  the  mid-­‐1950s  and   the  onset  of  the  Comics  Code  Authority,  the  entire  look  of  the  character  had  changed   to  make  him  appear  less  stereotypical—although  in  a  series  of  stories,  Chop-­‐Chop   does  “pretend”  to  betray  the  Blackhawks  to  their  enemies,  a  narrative  device  that   may  have  been  deployed  to  test  the  character’s  trustworthiness  due  to  rising                                                                                                                   320  Ibid.  38.   321  Ibid.  45.   144           political  tensions  with  communist  China  during  the  Postwar  Era.322  Looking  back  on   his  tenure  with  the  company,  former  Quality  editor  Al  Grenet  couldn’t  explain  the   sudden  physical  transformation  of  the  character,  but  noted,  “It  may  have  just  been   the  temper  of  the  times.  Maybe  there  was  a  protest  or  something.  I  don’t  know.  We   did  make  him  more  human.”323     Less  well  known,  but  equally  prominent  was  the  character  Wing  How,  the   partner  of  the  Crimson  Avenger  and  junior  member  of  the  World  War  II  superhero   team,  the  Seven  Soldiers  of  Victory,  featured  in  D.C.  Comics’  series  Detective  Comics   and  Leading  Comics.  Clad  in  a  bright  yellow  uniform,  opposite  his  red-­‐adorned   partner,  Wing,  like  Chop-­‐Chop,  was  also  represented  through  stereotypes.324  In   addition  to  his  name,  the  character,  still  retained  the  stereotypes  associated  with   other  Chinese  sidekicks:  he  spoke  broken  English,  inconsistently  pronounced  words   with  “R”s  as  “L”s,  and  was  almost  always  depicted  with  a  smile  on  his  face  that   accentuated  his  pronounced  bucked-­‐teeth.  Also,  rather  than  calling  his  partner  by   name,  he  referred  to  him  as  “Mist’  Climson,”  signifying  his  deferential  status.  Further,   Wing’s  costume  featured  an  “Asian”  symbol  prominently  displayed  on  his  chest,                                                                                                                   322  Nolan  32.  When  Quality  Comics  went  out  of  business  in  the  1950s,  D.C.  Comics   purchased  a  few  of  their  properties,  including  Blackhawk.  Since  then,  there  have   been  a  number  of  attempted  re-­‐launches  of  the  title,  perhaps  most  prominently  in   the  1970s,  when  Chop-­‐Chop  was  again  rehabilitated  and  recast  as  a  kung-­‐fu  fighter   and  presented  as  the  model  minority  member  of  the  team.   323  Ibid.  30.   324  While  it  is  easy  to  interpret  Wing  How’s  yellow  costume  as  a  representation  of   his  Chinese  ethnic  heritage,  it  is  far  more  likely  that  it  was  adopted  in  order  to   compliment  the  color  scheme  that  already  existed  for  the  Crimson  Avenger.  For   example,  Wing’s  costume  is  bright  yellow  with  a  red-­‐finned  crest  on  his  head  and   matching  underpants.  The  Crimson  Avenger,  on  the  other  hand,  wears  a  deep  red   costume  with  a  yellow  head  fin  and  underpants.   145           conveying  that  his  ethnicity  was  central  to  his  identity  as  a  superhero  sidekick  (see   fig.  29).     Unlike  other  Asian  sidekicks,  however,  Wing’s  origin  is  specifically  linked  to   Japanese  actions  during  World  War  II.  While  the  character  premiered  alongside  his   partner  in  the  twentieth  issue  of  Detective  Comics  in  October  of  1938,  he  was   initially  just  the  hero’s  Chinese  chauffer,  rather  than  his  partner.  It  wasn’t  until  the   series’  forty-­‐fourth  issue  two  years  later  that  he  officially  became  the  Crimson   Avenger’s  costumed  sidekick.  At  that  time,  Wing’s  origin  was  fleshed  out,  and  it  was   explained  that  he  had  fled  to  America  as  a  result  of  Japanese  aggression  in  China.   Naturally,  this  revamping  of  the  character’s  backstory  was  largely  shaped  by   geopolitical  events  and  the  increasingly  tenuous  relationship  between  the  United   States  and  Japan  after  the  Mukden  Incident.  Interestingly,  in  a  story  from  the  eighth   issue  of  Leading  Comics,  entitled,  “Courage  in  Canton”  the  Crimson  Avenger  and   Wing  are  sent  back  to  Ancient  China  by  a  criminal  they  are  pursuing,  and  witness   the  “barbarian”  Japanese  attack  the  city.  Upon  seeing  the  carnage,  the  Crimson   Avenger  remarks,  “Japanese!  We  might  have  known  it!”  Wing  responds,  “Hah!   Ancient  enemy  of  Wing’s  people!  We  teach  lesson!”  (see  fig.  30).  Aside  from  the   historical  inaccuracies  of  the  story,  which  suggest  that  the  Great  Wall  of  China  was   built  to  repel  the  Japanese,  this  narrative  reinforces  Wing’s  antagonistic  relationship   with  Japan  and  proposes  that  it  is  not  just  grounded  in  contemporary  conflicts,  but   rather  is  rooted  in  the  ancient  past.     Several  factors  contributed  to  the  presence  of  these  monstrous   representations  of  the  Japanese  in  comic  books.  For  many  creators  within  the   146           industry,  the  production  of  pro-­‐war  narratives  was  not  just  an  exercise  in   nationalism,  but  also  a  matter  of  ethnic  expression  and  civic  necessity.  It  is  well   established  that  during  the  earliest  years  of  the  comic  book  industry,  a  large  number   of  writers  and  artists  were  of  Jewish  descent,  and  had  good  reason  to  champion   American  intervention  in  World  War  II.  Today,  many  of  the  most  famous  names  in   comics  proudly  recognize  their  ethnic  roots,  although  that  was  not  always  the  case.   A  significant  number  of  creators  often  used  pen  names,  or  changed  them  entirely  in   order  to  hide  their  ethnicities  and  their  involvement  with  comics.325  For  example,   Marvel  Comics’  writer  and  editor-­‐in-­‐chief,  Stan  Lee,  famously  withheld  his  real  name,   Stanley  Lieber,  because  he  felt  that  the  material  he  produced  was  lowbrow,  and  that   he  would  save  his  legal  name  for  when  he  wrote  the  “Great  American  Novel.”326   Similarly,  artist  Jack  Kirby  changed  his  name  from  Jacob  Kurtzberg  early  in  his   career,  preferring  an  Americanized  alias  for  publication.327  Even  the  creator  of   Batman,  Bob  Kane,  legally  changed  his  name  from  Robert  Kahn  before  entering  the   industry.  Artist  Gil  Kane,  who  co-­‐created  the  Silver  Age  Green  Lantern  and  Atom  for   D.C.  Comics,  was  born  Eli  Katz.  Kane  had  so  many  pen  names  that  artist  Joe  Edwards   remarked,  “Eli  Katz,  Al  Stack.  He’d  change  his  name  like  you’d  change  your   underwear.”328   Naturally,  one  might  be  inclined  to  ask  why  these  individuals  felt  the  need  to   hide  their  ethnicities  as  a  matter  of  professionalism.  Much  of  this  had  to  do  with  an                                                                                                                   325  Raphael  and  Spurgeon  17.   326  Fingeroth  and  Thomas  40.   327  Jack  Kirby’s  spouse,  Roz,  notes  that  his  name  was  legally  changed  immediately   after  they  got  married  in  1942.  R.  Kirby  41.   328  Edwards  68.   147           environment  of  anti-­‐Semitism  that  existed  at  the  time,  particularly  within  the  art,   advertising,  and  publishing  industries.  In  fact,  one  of  the  main  reasons  why  many   artists  entered  comics  in  the  first  place,  rather  than  taking  more  respectable  jobs,  is   because  their  ethnicity  made  it  impossible  to  secure  employment  anywhere  else.329   As  Will  Eisner  bluntly  stated,  “There  were  Jews  in  this  medium  because  it  was  a  crap   medium.  And  in  a  marketplace  that  still  had  racial  overtones,  it  was  an  easy  medium   to  get  into.”330  Timely  artist  Al  Jaffe  similarly  recalled,   I  came  into  the  comic  business  in  1940,  prior  to  World  War  II,  as  far  as   America  was  concerned,  and  the  United  States  still  lived  under  terrible   discrimination  rules  against  Jews.  Of  course,  against  black  people  it  was  ten   times  worse.  But  my  friends  and  I  who  were  artists,  we  sat  around  trying  to   figure  out  if  we  could  get  into  an  advertising  agency,  and  the  discussion   would  be  something  like,  “Forget  about  it,  forget  about  it,  you  can’t  go  to   Benton  and  Bowles,  they’ll  never  hire  a  Jew.”  That  kind  of  thing.  Then,   suddenly,  this  miracle  happened:  the  comic  book  business,  which  was  in   large  part  developed  by  Jewish  people  opened  up  to  us.331     Other  artists,  like  Lee  Ames,  originally  named  Abramowitz,  found  that  using  a  nom   de  plume  was  necessary  because  publishers  feared  that  readers  would  refuse  to  buy   books  that  were  produced  by  Jews.  He  noted,     I  was  conflicted  because  I  did  not  want  to  hide  my  Jewish  identity.  Then  I   went  to  work  for  Jerry  Iger,  who  you  know  was  Jewish.  The  first  time  I  was   allowed  to  use  a  byline,  I  decided  to  use  my  real  name.  Iger  said,  “Nope.  We   can’t  do  that.”  That  was  the  nature  of  the  times;  the  prevailing  fear  that  anti-­‐ Semitism  created  a  commercial  hazard.  You  simply  didn’t  expose  that  kind  of   condition.332     Artist  Lew  Schwartz  had  a  similar  experience  in  the  industry,  recalling,  “That  S.O.B.   [cartoonist  Rube]  Goldberg  looked  at  my  work  and  said,  ‘You’ve  got  a  lot  of  talent,                                                                                                                   329  Weinstein  22.   330  Eisner  and  Miller  211.   331  Jaffe  28.   332  Ames  12-­‐13.   148           kid.  But  change  your  name.’”333  That  said,  many  others  like  Will  Eisner,  Joe  Simon,   Bill  Finger,  Joe  Kubert,  Jerry  Siegel,  and  Joe  Shuster  retained  their  birth  names  while   working  within  the  industry.  There  are  countless  other  stories  about  the  anti-­‐ Semitism  that  Jewish  writers  and  artists  faced  at  the  beginning  of  their  careers.     It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  environment  that  comic  books  emerged  as  a  mass   medium,  and  for  the  first  time,  gave  voice  to  many  creators  who  had  never  had  such   a  wide  reaching  platform  before  in  their  lives.  While  these  individuals  certainly   could  not  say  or  do  anything  they  wanted  in  the  medium,  as  they  were  still   restricted  by  editors  and  publishers,  they  did  have  the  ability  to  test  new  characters,   concepts,  and  narratives,  which  could  be  used  as  a  pulpit  for  their  personal  politics.     Many  of  these  creators  were  liberal  Democrats  who  held  an  interventionist   stance  toward  the  war.  Colorist  Jack  Adler  remarked  that  during  the  Golden  Age,  “All   the  people  at  D.C.  were  Democrats.  I’m  a  Roosevelt  Democrat.  I  voted  for  him  three   times  and  have  voted  that  way  ever  since.”334    Thus,  given  their  ethnic  backgrounds   and  status  as  rising  young  professionals,  it  is  understandable  that  many  writers  and   artists  felt  passionately  about  American  involvement  in  World  War  II.  After  all,   while  the  scope  of  the  Nazis’  atrocities  was  not  fully  known  at  the  time,  there  were   certainly  murmurings  about  the  targeting,  mistreatment,  and  internment  of  Jews  in   Europe.  However,  this  drive  also  led  many  of  them  to  engage  in  the  production  of   the  most  reprehensible,  dehumanizing,  and  racist  imagery  of  the  era.  While  they  are   not  entirely  to  blame,  as  the  stories  in  comic  books  frequently  reasserted  and   reproduced  common  narratives  that  already  circulated  within  American  culture,                                                                                                                   333  Schwartz  22.   334  Adler  25.   149           they  nevertheless  contributed  to  and  greatly  advanced  the  overall  image  of  the   Japanese  as  monsters  that  emerged  throughout  the  war.     Additionally,  like  the  rest  of  their  generation,  World  War  II  profoundly   affected  the  lives  of  the  majority  of  comic  book  creators,  and  almost  all  of  them  were   actively  involved  in  the  war  effort  at  some  point  during  the  conflict.  While  we  have   seen  the  advocacy  role  that  these  individuals  played,  many  of  them  were  also   combatants,  serving  on  the  front  lines  as  soldiers  after  being  drafted  by  various   branches  of  the  military.  While  in  the  service,  their  superiors  often  caught  wind  of   their  talents,  and  as  a  result,  these  writers  and  artists  utilized  their  abilities  to  create   war  propaganda  and  assist  with  tactical  planning  in  the  European  and  Pacific   theaters.  While  it  is  impossible  to  provide  a  comprehensive  list  of  creators  who   served  in  World  War  II  here,  it  is  worth  mentioning  some  of  the  work  that   prominent  creators  did  for  the  military.  Artist  Jack  Kirby  famously  served  as  a  scout   while  in  the  Army  with  Company  F  of  the  Eleventh  Infantry,  conducting   reconnaissance  missions  and  drawing  maps  of  the  enemy  territory  in  occupied   France.335  Kirby’s  fellow  artist,  Jack  Katz,  recalled  the  impact  the  war  had  on  his   friend,  noting,  “When  he  was  in  World  War  II,  Jack  was  involved  in  some  pretty   horrific  situations  in  which  he  had  to  do  the  ultimate  thing.  […]  Sometimes,  I  noticed   he  was  staring  out  the  window,  and  from  the  look  in  his  eyes,  it  was  apparent  to  me   that  he  was  reliving  the  War.  He  talked  to  me  about  these  things;  his  eyes  were  very   deep  in  the  past.  It  was  extraordinary.”336  It  was  also  not  uncommon  for  creators  to   be  killed  in  action.  For  example,  artist  Bert  Christman,  the  co-­‐creator  of  the  D.C.                                                                                                                   335  Eisner,  Shop  Talk  215;  Morrison  38-­‐39.   336  Katz  40.   150           superhero,  The  Sandman,  lost  his  life  when  Japanese  forces  shot  down  his  plane  in   Burma.       Not  all  creators  were  placed  in  such  dangerous  positions  during  the  war.   Many  others,  like  Will  Eisner,  Richard  Deane  Taylor,  Harry  Lampert,  Dave  Gantz,  Al   Plastino,  George  Tuska,  and  Kurt  Shaffenburger  produced  posters,  films,  training   charts,  and  illustrated  manuals  for  their  fellow  soldiers  on  topics  ranging  from   vehicle  maintenance  to  venereal  disease.  337  Some  like  Gil  Fox,  Russ  Heath,  and   Harvey  Kurtzman  worked  as  editors  and  cartoonists  for  various  camp   newspapers.338  Still  other  big  names  within  the  industry,  like  Stan  Lee,  Jerry  Siegel,   Sheldon  Moldoff,  Carl  Burgos,  Al  Feldstein,  Chuck  Cuidera,  Bob  Kanigher,  Gil  Kane,   Gene  Colan,  and  Mickey  Spillane  served  in  various  branches  of  the  military  during   the  war.  Some  comic  book  creators  also  retained  their  jobs  and  positions  at  their   respective  companies  while  they  were  stationed  domestically  at  camps  preparing  to   be  shipped  out.  They  trained  and  drew  throughout  the  week,  traveling  to  New  York   City  on  the  weekends  to  submit  their  finished  materials.  Two  artists,  Vic  Dowd  and   Bob  Boyajian  were  even  part  of  the  “Ghost  Army,”  a  tactical  division  that  engaged  in   deceptive  operations  against  the  Nazis  after  D-­‐Day.339       These  connections  are  worth  noting,  because  they  highlight  the  degree  to   which  World  War  II  was  a  personal  event  for  many  of  the  creators  in  the  industry.   Even  for  those  who  were  not  of  Jewish  descent,  their  lives  as  young  men  and   working  professionals  was  largely  shaped  by  the  course  of  the  war.  They  were  not                                                                                                                   337  Taylor  183;  Lampert  18;  Gantz  21;  Plastino  28;  Tuska  12;  Hammerlink,  “Salute”   45.   338  Gil  Fox  27-­‐28;  Heath  3;  Gilbert  75.       339  Dowd  27;  Boyajian  40.   151           simply  bystanders;  they  were  active  participants  in  the  war  effort.  Nazi  Germany   and  Japan  were  not  just  America’s  enemies.  They  were  the  real-­‐life  enemies  of  many   of  the  people  who  produced  comic  books.  As  with  the  stories  tackling  issues  of  social   justice  and  wealth  disparity  during  the  Great  Depression,  the  narratives  that  these   writers  and  artists  produced  during  World  War  II  were  advocatory  primarily   because  they  reflected  these  individuals’  personal  experiences  and  beliefs,  which  in   turn,  were  supported  by  the  economics  of  the  larger  industry  and  the  ideological   disposition  of  the  readership.  In  many  respects,  these  factors  led  to  a  blurring  of  the   lines  that  separated  the  beliefs  of  the  individual,  the  financial  goals  of  the  industry,   and  the  mission  of  the  state.       Further,  as  previously  noted,  a  large  segment  of  the  readership  consisted  of   enlisted  military  personnel.  Comic  books  were  extremely  popular  with  individuals   serving  during  World  War  II,  as  the  stories  within  them  provided  entertaining,   accessible  tales  that  boosted  morale  by  reminding  soldiers  what  they  were  fighting   for.  Given  that  these  publications  echoed  dominant  narratives  about  the  war,  they   were  widely  available  and  sold  in  large  quantities  at  PXs.  Many  publishers   recognized  the  military  as  a  key  source  of  sales  during  and  after  the  war.  For   example,  Harvey  Comics’  managing  editor  Sid  Couchey  remarked,     During  wartime,  sales  would  go  up,  because  servicemen  would  only  read   comics  when  they  were  always  from  home.  They  didn’t  want  to  read   newspapers,  so  they  read  comics.  So,  during  World  War  II,  sales  went  up,  and   after  the  war  they  dropped.  During  the  Korean  War,  sales  went  up,  and   afterwards,  it  dropped!  During  the  Vietnam  War,  it  went  up,  afterwards  it   dropped!  A  lot  of  that  had  to  do  with  the  fact  that  PXs  were  big  sellers  of   comics.340                                                                                                                     340  Wells  164.   152           Indeed,  by  1943,  sales  figures  showed  that  comic  books  outsold  popular  magazines   like  Life  and  Reader’s  Digest  by  a  ratio  of  ten  to  one  on  army  bases.341  Reinforcing   this  perception,  artist  Creig  Flessel  noted,  “No  one  was  buying  the  magazines.  Until   the  war  came  and  you  could  sell  the  to  the  GIs  overseas.  At  a  nickel  or  ten  cents   apiece,  you  couldn’t  go  wrong.  And  the  GIs  loved  them.”342  Similarly,  D.C.  assistant   editor  George  Kashdan  observed  a  drastic  change  in  the  readership  before  and   during  the  war,  stating,  “When  I  was  a  kid  during  the  Depression,  the  marketplace   consisted  of  corner  candy  stores.  Kids  would  be  hanging  around,  and  in  the  event  of   a  rainstorm  or  a  snowstorm,  they  would  buy  comics  for  10  cents  a  piece,  and  the   War  changed  that  picture  altogether.  Many  of  the  comic  books  went  out  to  the  PXs,   and  they  sold  very  well  there.  Soldiers  and  sailors  liked  comic  books.”343     In  short,  publishers  were  largely  dependent  on  the  military  for  a  significant   portion  of  their  sales  during  World  War  II.  Therefore,  it  is  not  unreasonable  to   suggest  that  the  content  within  comics  was  designed,  at  least  to  some  degree,  to   appeal  to  enlisted  personnel.  Alongside  working  class  children  and  adolescents,   these  individuals  were  the  prime  audience  for  comic  books,  as  each  soldier  was   estimated  to  read  approximately  7.6  comics  every  month.344  Indeed,  with  such   financial  incentives  in  place,  the  threat  posed  by  ignoring  the  needs  of  the  military   readership  was  significant.     Furthermore,  a  body  of  evidence  gestures  toward  a  series  of  formal  and   informal  alliances  between  professionals  in  the  comic  book  industry  and  public                                                                                                                   341  Bongco  97.   342  Flessel  57.   343  Kashdan  55.   344  Hammerlink  77.   153           officials  at  the  state  and  federal  levels,  particularly  in  agencies  like  the  Office  of  War   Information,  whose  purpose  was  to  manage  propaganda  and  shape  public  opinion.   Much  like  with  Hollywood,  these  bodies  had  no  official  authority  to  censor  or  alter   publications,  but  instead  worked  in  tandem  with  the  industry  to  produce  material  in   support  of  the  war  effort.345  As  some  scholars  have  noted,  it  is  no  coincidence  that   the  public  criticism  of  comic  books,  which  actually  started  in  1940,  was  tempered   throughout  World  War  II,  as  superheroes  led  a  nationalist  campaign  against   America’s  Axis  enemies.346  Indeed,  various  writers,  artists,  and  editors  have  spoken   out  about  how  the  stories  they  produced  during  the  war  not  only  echoed  their  own   points  of  view,  but  also  reinforced  the  propaganda  distributed  through  official   channels.     In  many  instances,  public  figures  did  not  officially  endorse  what  was  being   presented  in  comic  books,  but  instead  worked  behind  the  scenes  to  ensure  that  the   messages  being  published  that  were  helpful  to  the  war  effort  could  be  heard   unimpeded.  One  of  the  best-­‐known  examples  of  this  is  New  York  City  Mayor  Fiorello   LaGuardia’s  assurance  of  safety  to  Joe  Simon  and  Jack  Kirby,  the  creators  of  Captain   America.  Simon  recalled  that  the  publication  of  the  first  issue  of  Captain  America   Comics  resulted  in  a  huge  backlash  from  anti-­‐war  groups  like  “American  Firsters”   and  the  German  American  Bund.  In  addition  to  sending  hate  mail  and  making   threatening  phone  calls,  these  individuals  organized  multiple  protests  around   Timely’s  offices  on  42nd  Street  in  Manhattan.  The  feeling,  Simon  noted,  was  that                                                                                                                     345  Roeder  49.   346  Raphael  and  Spurgeon  41-­‐42.   154           We  were  all  under  siege.  They  were  all  around  us.  They’re  lining  up  at  the   building,  raging  and  maybe  waving  signs,  too.  I  couldn’t  see  them  well   enough  to  be  sure  of  what  they  were  waving.  Anyway,  they  must  have  gotten   our  address  out  of  the  comic  books.  They  were  outside,  and  the  police  were   there,  and  I  did  get  a  call  from  Mayor  Fiorello  LaGuardia.  He  was  a  big  comics   fan,  you  know.347     According  to  his  account,  the  mayor  called  him  immediately  after  law  enforcement   arrived  at  the  building,  and  said  over  the  phone,  “You  boys  over  there  are  doing  a   good  job.  The  City  of  New  York  will  see  that  no  harm  will  come  to  you.”348     Other  accounts  suggest  that  federal  agencies  were  actively  approaching   publishers  requesting  that  pro-­‐war  propaganda  and  negative  representations  of  the   Japanese  be  incorporated  into  the  content  of  comic  books.  George  Kashdan,  an   assistant  editor  for  D.C.  Comics  during  the  1940s,  recalled,  “I  know  while  World  War   II  was  on,  [Superman  editor  Whitney  Ellsworth]  went  along  with  requests  of   government  agencies  to  show  the  Japanese  as  ugly,  evil  monsters,  and  showing  them   like  bug-­‐eyed  monsters.”349  While  details  about  this  policy  are  scarce,  Kashdan’s   statement  regarding  the  close  relationship  between  D.C.  Comics  and  the  government   is  corroborated  by  a  postwar  editorial  in  Coronet  Magazine  by  editor  Mort   Weisinger,  in  which  he  defends  the  Superman  character  against  critics.  While  he   doesn’t  explicitly  address  the  charge  about  anti-­‐Japanese  propaganda  in  comics,  he   does  reaffirm  the  close  linkage  between  the  editors  of  Superman  and  various   governmental  entities  during  the  course  of  the  war.  He  writes,       Recognizing  Superman  as  a  wartime  public  relations  expert,  the  War   Department  drafted  him  to  spur  drives  to  salvage  fats,  scrap  iron,  and   wastepaper.  […]  When  Maj.  Gen.  Walter  R.  Weaver  of  the  Air  Forces  Training                                                                                                                   347  Simon,  Interview  16.   348  Simon  and  Simon  45.   349  Kashdan  43.   155           Command  found  that  thousands  of  enlisted  men  were  contemptuous  of   grease-­‐monkey  type  jobs,  he  appealed  to  Superman.  The  next  issue  of   Superman  on  the  PX  counters  proved  that  the  job  of  keeping  ‘em  flying  was   just  as  glamorous  as  the  duties  of  the  glamorous  pilot  with  wings.  When  the   Navy  initiated  a  special  training  program,  designed  to  convert  illiterates  into   useful  personnel,  they  turned  to  the  visual  appeal  of  Superman’s  books.  […]   Throughout  the  war,  hundreds  of  jeeps,  trucks,  tanks,  landing  vehicles,  and   planes  bore  the  Superman  insignia.350     Furthermore,  D.C.  artist  Fred  Ray  produced  various  anti-­‐Japanese  covers  for  the   Superman  titles.  The  most  infamous  of  these  features  the  character  operating  a   printing  press,  turning  out  broadsheets  which  tell  readers  to  “Slap  a  Jap”  by  buying   war  bonds  and  stamps  (see  fig.  31).  Other,  less  incendiary  layouts  featured  the   character  hoisting  Hitler  and  an  alien-­‐like  Hirohito  by  their  shirt  collars,  knocking   around  Japanese  soldiers  on  a  motorbike,  and  literally  riding  a  falling  bomb  onto  the   battlefield  with  a  tagline  that  reads,  “War  Savings  Bonds  and  Stamps  Do  The  Job  on   the  Japanazis!”  (see  figs.  32-­‐34).   Similarly,  Fawcett  Publications  maintained  a  standing  editorial  policy   throughout  the  war  that  was  established  in  1942,  which  encouraged  that  Nazis  and   war-­‐related  enemies  be  incorporated  into  comic  book  narratives  as  often  as   possible.351  Naturally,  this  was  done  at  least  in  part  for  monetary  reasons,  but  one   cannot  discount  the  fact  that  it  was  also  driven  by  nationalistic  fervor  and  a  desire  to   reinforce  the  interests  of  the  state.  Lamenting  this  policy  decades  later,  artist  C.C.   Beck  remarked,     Our  publisher,  correctly  figuring  that  the  hysteria  of  the  second  World  War   would  make  Nazi,  Fascist,  and  Nipponese  villains  popular,  made  us  introduce   not  only  the  villains  Captain  Nazi  and  Nippo  and  other  such  fantastic   creatures  as  opponents  for  Captain  Marvel  but  was  actually  happy  when  we                                                                                                                   350  Weisinger  46.   351  Ensign  48.   156           showed  Hitler,  Mussolini,  and  Hirohito—living  people—in  our  comic   pages.352     Fawcett  artist  Marc  Swayze  also  noticed  the  swift  change  in  focus  following  the   attack  on  Pearl  Harbor.  He  mused,  “I  wonder  how  many  finished  peace-­‐time  stories   were  yanked  out  of  typewriters  on  the  morning  of  Pearl  Harbor  and  fresh  paper   inserted.  Fawcett,  like  most  other  publishers,  jumped  onto  the  war  stories  without   delay.”353   Indeed,  the  propaganda  function  that  many  comic  book  creators  served  may   be  the  primary  reason  why  they  were  quietly  classified  as  “semi-­‐essential”  during   the  war.  Artist  Rudy  Palais,  for  instance,  recalled  that  he  used  his  status  to  obtain  a   deferment.  He  stated,  “In  those  war  years,  we  didn’t  realize  that  anyone  involved  in   doing  comics  was  considered  ‘semi-­‐essential.’  That  wasn’t  common  knowledge.  I   only  found  it  out  when  I  went  to  my  draft  board  and  a  chap  named  Bailey,  who  ran  a   syndicate  for  newspaper  strips,  said,  ‘Mention  the  fact  that  you  do  comic  books,  and   you’ll  get  an  extension.’  So  that’s  exactly  what  happened.”354  Similarly,  artist  Tony   DiPreta,  recalled  that  his  occupation  was  defined  as  “war  work”  by  the  government,   stating,   I  was  working,  working,  working,  and  one  day,  there  was  an  article  in  the   paper  stating  that  anyone  not  doing  war  work  was  going  to  be  drafted,  no   matter  what  their  physical  condition  was.  […]  The  paper  listed  different  jobs   that  qualified  as  “war  work.”  One  of  them  was  “Dissemination  of  Public   Information.”  I  chewed  down  those  big  words  and  came  up  with   “propaganda.”  I  thought,  “We’re  doing  propaganda.”355                                                                                                                       352  Beck,  “The  Birth,  Life,  and  Death  of  Fawcett’s  Captain  Marvel”  51-­‐52   353  Swayze  75.   354  Palais  47.   355  DiPreta  54.   157           Likewise,  Vin  Sullivan,  the  publisher  of  Magazine  Enterprises,  who  had  previously   been  an  early  editor  for  D.C.,  stated  that  his  company’s  efforts  with  military-­‐themed   comics  had  kept  artist  Creig  Flessel,  the  co-­‐creator  of  the  superhero  The  Sandman,   out  of  the  war.  He  noted,  “[The  armed  services]  would  give  out  a  citation  to  certain   publications  that  were  helping  the  war  effort.  And  so  I  had  The  Marine  Corps.  This   was  like  an  unofficial  magazine  of  the  Marine  Corps!  […]  As  a  result  of  that,  I  was   able  to  have  Creig  Flessel  not  drafted  because  he  was  doing  work  on  a  publication   that  was  helping  the  war  effort!”356  Other  publishers,  like  Timely,  that  produced   nationalistic  series  like  U.S.A.  Comics,  were  allowed  to  do  so  unimpeded,  despite   fears  by  Martin  Goodman,  the  company’s  publisher,  that  the  title  violated  an  existing   governmental  copyright.357  While  it  is  unlikely  that  the  American  government  would   have  pursued  litigation  in  any  case,  it  certainly  did  not  hurt  that  the  series  featured   patriotic  stories  that  contributed  to  the  dominant  narrative  of  the  war.     In  return  for  this  preferential  status,  comic  books  never  questioned  or   discussed  certain  aspects  of  the  war  in  their  pages,  particularly  the  internment  of   Japanese  Americans.  In  fact,  the  camps  themselves  almost  never  appear  within   comic  books,  with  a  few  exceptions.  One  of  the  most  famous  is  a  story  that  appeared   in  the  Superman  newspaper  strip  that  ran  from  June  to  August  of  1943,  entitled  “The   Sneer  Strikes,”  in  which  Clark  Kent  reports  on  conditions  in  an  internment  camp  and   discovers  a  group  of  Japanese  Americans  involved  in  a  plot  to  escape  by  holding  an   army  officer  hostage.  Interestingly  enough,  the  story  was  actually  reviewed  by  the   Office  of  War  Information,  which  advised  the  McClure  Syndicate,  the  body                                                                                                                   356  Sullivan  8-­‐9.   357  Simon,  Interview  10.   158           responsible  for  the  comic  strip,  to  include  a  mention  of  loyal  Japanese  Americans.   Regrettably,  the  request  was  never  granted.358  So  incendiary  was  the  material  that   D.C.  refused  to  grant  an  Asian  American  anthology  on  World  War  II  the  rights  to   reprint  the  strip,  out  of  fear  that  it  would  tarnish  the  image  of  the  Superman   character.359     There  are  also  a  few  other  depictions  of  the  internment  camps  that  appear  in   the  background  of  comic  book  covers.  For  example,  the  twenty-­‐third  issue  of   Fawcett’s  Captain  Midnight,  published  in  1944,  depicts  the  hero  flying  down  from   the  sky,  pouncing  on  a  group  of  armed  camp  escapees,  with  a  sign  reading  “Japanese   Prison  Camp,”  displayed  prominently  behind  them  (see  fig.  35).  Additionally,  the   cover  of  the  nineteenth  issue  of  Green  Hornet  Comics,  from  that  same  year,  by  Alex   Schomburg  depicts  the  hero  fighting  off  a  group  of  “Rampaging  Japs”  who  are   attempting  to  blow  up  a  railroad  track  as  an  oncoming  train  nears,  with  a  sign   reading,  “Tule  Lake  Camp”  in  the  foreground  of  the  image  (see  fig.  36).  These  images   are  in  stark  contrast  to  the  official  photographs  of  Japanese  American  internment  by   Ansel  Adams,  Dorothea  Lange,  and  others—some  of  which  show  internees  happily   reading  comics  purchased  from  camp  newsstands—which  were  carefully  crafted  to   convey  an  image  of  a  potentially  treacherous  population  that  was  well-­‐treated  and   provided  for,  a  narrative  that  masked  a  much  darker  reality  (see  fig.  37).360     More  than  anything  else,  what  we  see  in  this  era,  is  that  three  factors:  the   ethnic  identities  of  comic  book  creators,  the  use  of  their  artistic  abilities  throughout                                                                                                                   358  Darowski  8-­‐9.   359  F.  Wu  14.   360  Creef  46.   159           their  military  service,  and  the  tacit  support  of  the  medium  by  governmental  officials   and  agencies,  effectively  fostered  a  link  between  the  interests  of  the  state  and  that  of   individuals  working  within  the  industry,  and  as  a  result,  the  stories  produced  within   comics  often  served  a  propaganda  function,  reinforcing  dominant  narratives  about   the  war  and  America’s  enemies,  particularly  the  Japanese.  Readers,  particularly   enlisted  personnel,  played  a  large  role  as  well,  providing  a  financial  incentive  to   publishers  who  churned  out  such  material,  thereby  giving  them  license  to  continue   producing  stories  that  promoted  the  dominant  narrative  of  the  war.     The  representation  of  the  Japanese  in  these  materials,  along  with  those  found   in  other  popular  mediums  like  films,  newsreels,  and  radio,  contributed  to  the   dehumanizing  logic  that  justified  the  extermination  of  the  enemy,  which  was   realized  through  the  use  of  the  atomic  bombs  that  were  dropped  on  Hiroshima  and   Nagasaki  in  August  of  1945.  In  many  respects,  World  War  II  represented  a  perfect   storm  of  events,  in  which  multiple  elements,  from  the  rise  of  comic  books  to  the   established  tradition  of  associating  monsters  with  Asia,  coalesced  in  such  a  way  to   enable  the  demonization  of  an  Asian  enemy.  In  no  uncertain  terms,  the  Japanese   were  products  of  war  and  introduced  to  America  as  monsters;  they  were  vile,   hateful,  inhuman  creatures  that  had  no  respect  for  human  life,  representing   everything  that  was  antithetical  to  our  cherished  social  norms,  while  simultaneously   embodying  the  invasive  and  destructive  threat  of  the  Yellow  Peril.  Interestingly,   within  the  next  decade  the  representational  strategy  of  deploying  monstrosity   would  be  challenged  by  the  very  authorities  that  sanctioned  its  use  during  wartime,   as  such  depictions  came  to  be  seen  as  corruptive  agents  that  promoted  deviant  and   160           abnormal  behavior  among  youth,  contributing  to  rates  of  juvenile  delinquency  in  the   United  States.     161                   CHAPTER  FOUR:  WELCOME  TO  THE  NEW  AGE:  DEVIANT  AND  SUBVERSIVE   MONSTROSITY  IN  THE  POSTWAR  ERA     “Our  American  children  are,  for  the  most  part,  normal  children.  They  are  bright   children,  but  those  who  want  to  prohibit  comic  magazines  seem  to  see  dirty,  sneaky,   perverted  monsters  who  use  the  comics  as  a  blueprint  for  action.  Perverted  little   monsters  are  few  and  far  between.  […]  What  are  we  so  afraid  of?  Are  we  afraid  of   our  own  children?  […]  We  think  our  children  are  so  evil,  simple-­‐minded,  that  it  takes   a  story  of  murder  to  set  them  to  murder,  a  story  of  robbery  to  set  them  to  robbery?”   ~  William  Gaines     “This  is  awful.  Atomic  tuna,  radioactive  fallout,  and  now  this  Godzilla  to  top  it  off!   What  if  it  shows  up  in  Tokyo  Bay?  […]  I  barely  escaped  the  atomic  bomb  in   Nagasaki—and  now  this!”  ~  Yamane  Emiko,  Gojira     I.  Introduction     On  the  afternoon  of  April  21,  1954,  Bill  Gaines,  publisher  of  the  Entertaining   Comics  Group,  presented  his  testimony  before  the  United  States  Senate   Subcommittee  Hearing  on  Juvenile  Delinquency  headed  by  Tennessee  Senator  Estes   Kefauver.  Within  the  span  of  a  few  hours,  key  industry  figures,  social  scientists,  and   clinical  specialists  were  called  to  testify  about  the  effect  of  comic  books  on  the   development  and  behavior  of  children.  Earlier  that  day,  Fredric  Wertham,  a   respected  psychologist  whose  popular  study,  Seduction  of  the  Innocent,  claimed  that   comic  books,  as  a  result  of  their  extreme  violent  and  sexual  content,  were  a   162           contributing  factor  to  juvenile  delinquency  in  the  United  States,  had  presented  his   case  to  the  committee,  detailing  the  inappropriate  material  found  within  the   medium.   Dressed  in  a  suit  and  wearing  his  trademark  black  horn-­‐rimmed  glasses,   Gaines  delivered  his  rebuttal  to  charges  that  singled  out  his  company  as  one  of  the   worst  offenders  within  the  industry.  When  he  was  finished,  Senator  Kefauver  held   up  a  comic  book  published  by  E.C.  Comics,  the  twenty-­‐second  issue  of  Crime   Suspenstories,  and  said,  “Here  is  your  May  22nd  issue.  This  seems  to  be  a  man  with  a   bloody  ax,  holding  up  a  woman’s  head,  which  has  been  severed  from  her  body.  Do   you  think  that  is  in  good  taste?”  (see  fig.  38).   Gaines  leaned  forward  and  spoke  into  the  microphone  before  him,  “Yes,  sir.  I   do,  for  the  cover  of  a  horror  comic.  A  cover  in  bad  taste,  for  example,  might  be   defined  as  holding  the  head  a  little  higher  so  that  the  neck  could  be  seen  dripping   blood  from  it  and  moving  the  body  over  a  little  further  so  that  the  neck  of  the  body   could  be  seen  to  be  bloody.”     “You  have  blood  coming  out  of  her  mouth,”  Kefauver  skeptically  replied.       “A  little,”  said  Gaines.     “Here  is  blood  on  the  ax.  I  think  most  adults  are  shocked  by  that.”361     By  all  accounts,  Gaines’  testimony  was  a  disaster.362  For  months,  he  had  been  cast  in   the  popular  press  as  the  defender  of  the  industry’s  most  controversial  content,                                                                                                                   361  United  States,  Hearings  Before  the  Subcommittee  to  Investigate  Juvenile   Delinquency  103.   362  According  to  Gaines,  two  factors  adversely  impacted  his  performance.  The  first   was  the  fact  that  other  witnesses  appearing  before  the  committee  earlier  that  day   had  taken  longer  than  expected,  forcing  him  to  delay  his  testimony  until  after  lunch.   163           claiming  that  comic  books  had  been  unfairly  singled  out  for  criticism  by  the  media,   special  interest  groups,  and  politicians.  While  a  series  of  respected  specialists  and   cultural  critics,  like  sociologist  Fredric  Thrasher  and  psychiatrist  Lauretta  Bender,   had  written  on  behalf  of  the  comic  book  industry,  their  work  was  effectively   undermined  and  undone  in  the  span  of  a  day,  as  critics  seized  on  Gaines’  statements   to  paint  him  as  a  detached  and  perverse  individual  whose  business  purposely   exposed  children  to  content  that  violated  the  most  cherished  social  norms  of  the   1950s.363  In  later  years,  artist  Carmine  Infantino  described  the  effect  that  Gaines’   testimony  had  on  the  entire  industry,  stating,  “He  did  very  badly  at  the  meeting,  and   all  comics  took  a  hit.  The  whole  field  fell  apart.  Comic  book  sales  were  dying.  Being  a   cartoonist  in  those  days  was  like  a  dirty  word.  Fear  reigned  supreme.”364   With  the  onslaught  of  criticism  and  the  threat  of  government  action  looming   overhead,  the  industry’s  largest  publishers  took  the  drastic  step  of  self-­‐censorship,   and  established  the  Comics  Code  Authority,  a  regulatory  body  tasked  with   approving  the  content  of  all  comic  books  published  in  the  United  States.    This  action   resulted  in  the  closure  of  more  than  forty  publishers,  and  effectively  banned  mature   content  from  appearing  within  the  medium.365  Interestingly,  one  of  the  main  targets   of  the  Comics  Code  were  monsters,  which  were  frequently  featured  in  the  popular   genre  of  horror  comics.  For  nearly  two  decades,  vampires,  zombies,  werewolves,   and  ghouls  were  forbidden  from  appearing  in  the  medium,  for  they  were  perceived                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             Additionally,  Gaines  had  purportedly  been  on  diet  pills  during  this  period,  which   affected  his  concentration,  particularly  as  their  effects  began  to  wear  off  throughout   the  questioning.  Nyberg  60;  Raphael  and  Spurgeon   363  Nyberg  16.   364  Infantino  8.   365  Schelly,  “The  Forgotten  50s”  69.   164           to  be  symbols  of  abnormality  that  threatened  to  upend  proper  socialization  and   impede  the  transmission  of  moral  values  to  young  people.     It  is  with  considerable  irony  then,  that  only  a  few  months  later  on  the  other     side  of  the  Pacific,  Japanese  cultural  producers  utilized  monsters  to  explore  and   interrogate  the  lingering  psychological  trauma  from  the  events  of  World  War  II,   specifically  the  dropping  of  the  atomic  bombs  on  Hiroshima  and  Nagasaki.  In  late   October  1954,  Director  Honda  Ishiro’s  Gojira  premiered  in  Japan  to  much  fanfare.366   Released  by  Toho  Company  Ltd.,  the  movie  featured  a  reptilian  monster,  the  first  in   what  became  the  kaiju,  or  “giant  monster”  genre,  rampaging  through  Tokyo  after   being  awoken  and  mutated  into  a  radioactive  abomination  by  American  atomic   testing  in  the  Pacific.  Recognized  by  scholars  as  work  that  utilized  the  fantasy   setting  of  science  fiction  to  interrogate  and  critique  the  use  of  the  atomic  bombs   against  Japan,  the  film  placed  monstrosity  at  the  forefront  of  its  approach,   illustrating  the  destructive  potential  of  American  nuclear  power  and  the  unintended   consequences  associated  with  unfettered  technological  advancement.367  The   resounding  financial  and  critical  success  of  the  film  resulted  in  the  creation  of  a   veritable  franchise  of  monster  movies  for  Toho  and  an  English  adaptation  in  the   United  States,  released  in  1956  as  the  severely  edited,  Godzilla:  King  of  the  Monsters!     This  chapter  explores  this  differing  use  of  monstrosity  in  the  United  States   and  Japan  during  the  postwar  era.  It  examines  the  profound  shift  that  occurred   throughout  American  society,  in  which  comic  books,  having  previously  functioned   as  a  vehicle  for  promoting  monstrous  depictions  of  the  Japanese,  were  effectively                                                                                                                   366  Ryfle  33.   367  Noriega  56;  Sontag  216.   165           marginalized  and  assailed  by  social  and  cultural  critics  as  the  leading  cause  of   juvenile  delinquency.  It  documents  how  the  working  relationship  between  the   United  States  government  and  the  comic  book  industry  eroded  altogether  in  the   decade  following  World  War  II,  as  the  foreign  and  domestic  policy  interests  of  the   former  came  into  direct  conflict  with  the  financial  and  business  interests  of  the   latter.  No  longer  able  to  sustain  themselves  financially  by  producing  stories  that   echoed  dominant  social  narratives,  publishers  instead  turned  to  new  genres,  like   crime  and  horror,  which  utilized  both  figurative  and  literal  monsters  that   threatened  the  status  quo  and  normalcy  of  the  1950s.     Further,  it  considers  the  ideas  at  the  core  of  the  anti-­‐comics  movement  in   relation  to  the  sudden  emergence  of  Godzilla  in  Japanese  culture,  and  its  subsequent   importation  to  the  United  States.  Having  primarily  focused  on  the  American   perspective  throughout  the  previous  chapters,  this  section  delves  into  the  Japanese   historical  understanding  of  monsters,  specifically  the  cultural  tradition  of  yokai,  in   order  to  explore  the  reasons  for  their  filmic  deployment  in  the  postwar  era.  Here,   we  are  concerned  with  two  different  but  related  issues.  First,  and  perhaps  most   importantly,  we  focus  on  how  Godzilla  serves  as  a  vehicle  for  critiquing  American   foreign  policy  in  the  immediate  aftermath  of  the  occupation  of  Japan.  We  consider   why  monsters  were  such  potent  signifiers  for  understanding  and  coping  with  the   aftermath  of  World  War  II,  tying  their  use  directly  to  the  historical  understanding  of   monstrosity.  Secondly,  it  interrogates  the  reasons  for  strong  and  lasting  association   between  Godzilla  and  Japan  in  the  American  imagination,  exploring  how  the  English   adaptation  reinscribes  the  text,  transforming  the  monster  into  a  symbol  of  Japan   166           rather  than  the  embodiment  of  the  threat  posed  by  nuclear  weapons.  Here,  we  ask   why  Godzilla  is  so  frequently  representative  of  Japanese  identity  in  the  culture  of   the  United  States,  suggesting  that  it  is  because  the  monster  itself  resonates  with   foundational  ideas  about  Japan  that  were  introduced  to  the  American  public   throughout  the  war.     In  broader  terms,  this  chapter  adopts  a  comparative  transnational   perspective  to  detail  how  the  postwar  era  serves  as  another  key  moment  that   connects  monstrosity  to  Japanese  identity  in  the  American  imagination.  It  describes   the  profound  and  lasting  consequences  of  the  negative  depictions  of  the  Japanese   presented  throughout  World  War  II,  and  how  they  continue  to  shape  the  way  that   we  understand  Japan  today.  By  exploring  the  stigma  against  monsters  in  comic   books  and  the  use  of  kaiju  as  a  means  of  international  critique,  this  chapter  lays  the   groundwork  for  the  final  part  of  this  study,  which  brings  us  into  the  1960s  where   the  legacy  of  the  anti-­‐comics  movement  and  the  proliferation  of  monster  movies   results  in  the  rebirth  of  superheroes  in  American  comic  books  and  their  inception   into  Japanese  manga.   II.  The  Rise  of  Crime  and  Horror  Comics  in  Postwar  America   The  end  of  World  War  II  marked  the  beginning  of  drastic  changes  within  the   American  comic  book  industry.  Most  importantly,  the  return  of  servicemen  from  the   European  and  Pacific  theaters  ended  the  labor  shortages  that  many  publishers  had   dealt  with  throughout  the  conflict,  which  had  forced  them  to  rely  on  young,  untested   talent  and  women.  Lee  Elias,  the  co-­‐creator  of  The  Flash,  noted  that  the  war  enabled   many  artists  to  secure  work,  recalling,  “It  made  it  a  little  easier  because  it  removed   167           some  of  the  manpower,  and  there  weren’t  many  good  artists  around  to  begin  with.   Soon,  even  poor  ones  were  hard  to  find.”368  As  a  result,  many  of  the  individuals  who   went  on  to  become  the  best  talent  in  the  field,  like  Joe  Kubert  and  Alex  Toth,  got   their  start  during  this  era.369  Comics  also  served  as  an  occupational  entry  point  for   many  women,  like  novelist  Patricia  Highsmith,  who  authored  a  number  of  stories  for   Timely  throughout  the  war,  including  Jap-­Buster  Johnson,  which  appeared  in  All-­ Select  Comics.370  As  artist  Lily  Renee  succinctly  put  it,  “They  only  [hired  women]   because  of  the  war.  They  didn’t  have  enough  men.”371  Fawcett  artist  C.C.  Beck   described  the  situation  posed  by  continual  drafting  of  creators,  noting  that  many   were  called  into  service  “before  they  could  even  finish  a  story  and  got  hauled  away   to  serve  in  the  armed  forces  as  musicians,  cooks,  guards,  even  as  fighting  men  in   foxholes  and  in  invading  forces.  […]  Our  artwork  got  worse  and  worse.  ”372     Further,  the  postwar  era  also  saw  the  end  of  paper  shortages  that  had   drastically  affected  the  output  of  many  publishers  throughout  the  war.  At  one  point,   the  lack  of  paper  was  so  severe  that  publishers  like  Fox  and  Ace  cut  back  their  line  of   titles  or  ceased  publication  entirely.373  Even  the  larger  companies,  including  D.C.   Comics,  Timely  Publications,  Quality  Comics,  and  Fiction  House  were  affected  by   shortages  after  1942,  although  to  a  much  lesser  extent.  Artist  Marvin  Levy  described   the  effect  it  had  on  the  business,  noting,  “One  of  the  key  issues  was  the  matter  of   who  got  paper.  Paper  was  rationed,  and  if  you  were  a  bigger  publisher  like  D.C.  and                                                                                                                   368  Elias  45.   369  Theakson  6.   370  Schenkar  126-­‐130,  162-­‐163;  Howe  25.   371  Renee  13.   372  Beck,  “The  Birth,  Life,  and  Death  of  Fawcett’s  Captain  Marvel”  48.   373  Miller  84.   168           Timely,  then  you  got  your  paper  quota.  If  you  wanted  to  come  out  with  something   and  you  were  not  in  the  publishing  business,  then  you  had  a  problem.”374  The  end  of   rationing  and  shortages  in  the  postwar  era  resulted  in  the  emergence  of  many  new   publishers  and  a  gigantic  wave  of  new  titles  and  genres  that  flooded  the  market.     These  changes  were  not  limited  to  the  production  side  of  the  industry.  The   content  of  comic  books  was  changing  as  well.  The  many  superhero  titles  that  had   been  so  popular  throughout  the  war,  suddenly  struggled  on  the  newsstands  as   readers  abandoned  the  genre.  One  problem  that  plagued  many  of  these  characters   was  their  intimate  connection  to  World  War  II.  Once  it  ended,  they  became   irrelevant  and  struggled  to  find  a  proper  peacetime  role.  Even  worse,  their  presence   was  a  continual  reminder  of  the  cartoonish  stories  where  costumed  heroes  fought   the  Nazis  and  Japanese,  which  retrospectively  trivialized  global  tragedies  like  the   Holocaust.  Timely  artist  Allen  Bellman  reinforced  this  idea,  stating,  “I’m  sure  the   public  was  sick  of  heroes  fighting  Nazi  and  Axis  villains.  When  the  true  horror  of  the   Nazi  regime  was  exposed  to  the  world,  it  likely  made  super-­‐heroes  seem  silly  in   comparison.”375  As  a  result,  by  the  late  1940s  many  superhero  comic  books  had  all   but  petered  out.     In  the  cultural  climate  of  the  postwar  era  superheroes  were  interpreted   symbolically  as  either  representative  of  the  very  fascist  regimes  that  the  Allied   forces  had  fought  against  during  the  war,  or  as  propagandistic  icons  for  imperialist   conflicts  for  which  the  American  public  had  neither  appetite  nor  interest.   Particularly  hard-­‐hit  by  these  changes  in  attitudes  were  characters  like  Superman.                                                                                                                   374  Levy  31.   375  Bellman  and  Burlockoff  18.   169           While  he  had  been  introduced  as  a  champion  of  the  downtrodden  during  the  Great   Depression,  the  war  transformed  Superman  into  an  agent  of  the  state—an  identity   that  he  retains  to  this  day—and  positioned  him  as  a  larger  than  life  authority  figure.     At  home  and  abroad,  he  was  viewed  as  being  akin  to  a  “benevolent  fascist,”  an   identity  that  for  many  was  too  closely  aligned  to  the  image  of  the  Nazis.376   Subsequently,  throughout  the  1950s  the  character  underwent  a  series  of  changes,  as   editors  took  to  softening  his  image  in  response  to  social  criticism,  shifting  the   narrative  focus  of  the  series  to  outrageous  science  fiction  tales  and  placing  the   character  at  the  center  of  a  “Superman  Family,”  which  included  stories  about  his   childhood  and  upbringing  as  Superboy,  his  relationship  with  his  newly  discovered   cousin,  Kara  Zor-­‐El,  popularly  known  as  Supergirl,  and  even  giving  him  a  series  of   super-­‐powered  pets,  like  Krypto  the  Superdog.377  Other  titles,  like  Superman’s   Girlfriend,  Lois  Lane  and  Superman’s  Pal,  Jimmy  Olsen  were  launched  to  highlight  his   personal  relationships  and  introduce  the  human  element  of  the  franchise’s   supporting  characters.   Others,  like  Captain  America,  however,  did  not  fare  as  well.  While  the   character  had  been  one  of  the  leading  comic  book  symbols  of  American  victory   throughout  World  War  II,  the  end  of  the  conflict  resulted  in  a  steep  decline  in  sales,   which  was  largely  attributed  to  his  newfound  irrelevance  and  the  public’s  distaste   for  what  he  represented.  This  was  due  to  the  hero’s  patriotic  baggage,  as  the  focus  of                                                                                                                   376  Skeates  29.   377  The  first  appearance  of  Superboy  is  in  the  one  hundred  and  first  issue  of  More   Fun  Comics,  Supergirl  first  appears  in  the  two  hundred  fifty  second  issue  of  Action   Comics,  and  Krypto  the  Superdog  is  introduced  in  the  two  hundred  and  tenth  issue   of  Adventure  Comics.     170           the  series  quickly  shifted,  pitting  him  against  gangsters,  communist  agents  at  home,   Russian  saboteurs,  and  Chinese  soldiers  with  the  onset  of  the  Korean  War  (see  fig.   39).  As  sales  declined,  the  series  became  increasingly  stranger,  as  it  attempted  to   piggyback  on  the  popularity  of  new  trends.  By  the  seventy-­‐fifth  and  final  issue,  it   had  been  re-­‐titled,  Captain  America’s  Weird  Tales,  and  the  main  character  was  no   longer  even  featured  on  the  cover  (see  fig.  40).  As  artist  John  Romita  explained,  the   character’s  political  symbolism  played  an  important  role  in  the  series  cancellation,   stating,   Stan  [Lee]  told  me  Captain  America  was  cancelled  [in  1954]  because  of  its   politics.  Timely  got  a  lot  of  mail  complaining  about  chauvinism.  The   American  flag  was  a  dirty  word  in  those  days,  because  of  the  backlash  of  the   Korean  War.  We  had  gone  to  war  seemingly  unnecessarily.  It  was  a  “police   action”  and  people  died.  People  were  saying  that  America  was  putting  the   American  flag  over  human  safety,  and  that  they  weren’t  going  to  buy  Captain   America,  because  it’s  an  excuse  for  people  to  kill  other  people  in  the  world  for   America’s  sake.  […]  For  a  while,  Captain  America  was  a  dirty  name!378     When  Timely  Publications,  renamed  Atlas,  attempted  a  superhero  revival  in  the   1950s,  the  character  was  briefly  brought  back,  but  the  effort  quickly  failed,  and   Captain  America  was  forgotten  until  1964  when  Stan  Lee  re-­‐introduced  him  in  the   fourth  issue  of  The  Avengers  (see  fig.  41).  The  hero’s  exploits  as  a  “Commie  Smasher”   in  the  1950s  were  retroactively  dismissed  as  an  embarrassing  mistake,  and  the   character’s  history  was  rewritten  to  suggest  that  he  had  been  frozen  in  ice  since  the   end  of  World  War  II  after  disappearing  during  a  final  mission  in  Berlin  (see  fig.   42).379                                                                                                                   378  Romita,  interview  by  Jim  Amash  24.   379  B.  Wright  122-­‐123.   171             The  decline  in  the  popularity  of  superheroes  led  to  significant   experimentation  among  publishers  in  an  attempt  to  find  the  next  big  trend.  Further,   the  rise  of  new  communication  and  entertainment  technologies,  like  television,   forced  creators  to  be  edgier  in  order  to  compete  for  the  attention  of  their  readers.380   As  a  result,  many  new  genres  of  comics  emerged  and  found  an  audience  during  the   postwar  era,  including  romance,  Westerns,  and  high-­‐minded  science  fiction.381  More   often  than  not,  successful  titles  inspired  a  horde  of  imitators,  as  publishers  sought  to   exploit  the  profitability  of  series  that  proved  to  be  a  hit  with  readers.  Of  all  the   genres  that  rose  to  prominence  during  this  period,  two  were  the  most  commercially   successful:  crime  and  horror  comics.  These  books  were  not  necessarily  the  product   of  new  ideas,  but  instead  built  on  a  foundation  of  established  templates,  as  writers,   artists,  and  editors  continued  to  borrow  ideas  from  the  pulps.382       The  first  comic  book  series  in  the  former  was  Crime  Does  Not  Pay,  a  title   produced  by  Lev  Gleason  Publications  (see  fig.  43).  The  brainchild  of  creators   Charles  Biro  and  Bob  Wood,  each  issue  featured  multiple  stories  that  purportedly   related  tales  of  “true  crime”  to  its  readers,  with  content  taken  directly  from   newspaper  headlines.  Gruesome  in  its  aesthetic,  these  stories  were  surprisingly   conservative  in  nature,  as  criminals  and  lawbreakers  almost  always  met  with  a   violent  end  as  punishment  for  their  misdeeds,  hence  the  title  of  the  series.  While   Crime  Does  Not  Pay  actually  debuted  to  much  success  in  1942,  it  did  not  reach  the                                                                                                                   380  Jones  237.   381  Joe  Simon  and  Jack  Kirby  are  widely  recognized  as  the  creators  of  the  romance   genre  of  comic  books  in  the  postwar  era.  Their  title,  Young  Romance,  published  by   Crestwood  Publications  in  1947,  was  specifically  aimed  at  young  girls,  a  segment  of   the  market  that  had  been  ignored  up  until  that  point.     382  Vance  96.   172           peak  of  its  popularity  until  the  end  of  World  War  II,  when  sales  consistently  topped   a  million  copies  per  issue.383  Remarking  on  the  breakout  potential  of  the  title,  Biro   himself  exclaimed,  “I  think  the  first  issue  made  money,  which  was  fantastic  in  those   days.  […]  The  second  book  zoomed  up  more  than  23%,  which  was  unheard-­‐of.  And   in  two  or  three  issues,  the  book  was  just  right  at  the  top.  And  the  sales  were  so   phenomenal  consistently  […]  that  every  publisher  in  town,  without  exception,  had   an  [imitation  of  Crime  Does  Not  Pay].”384     Horror  comics  also  debuted  to  great  success  shortly  after  World  War  II  with   the  publication  of  editor  Richard  Hughes’  Adventures  Into  the  Unknown  by  the   American  Comics  Group,  or  ACG,  in  1948  (see  fig.  44).385  Like  the  crime  genre  that   preceded  it,  these  comics  frequently  featured  stories  that  were  conservatively   didactic  in  nature,  ending  with  criminals,  lawbreakers,  and  wholly  immoral   characters  punished  for  their  misdeeds  or  trespassing  into  forbidden  zones.   However,  authority  figures  and  the  legal  establishment  were  often  not  responsible   for  administering  punishment  in  these  stories.  Rather  supernatural  forces,  like                                                                                                                   383  N.  Wright  26.   384  Cox  21.   385  Vance  49;  Jones  237.  Adventures  Into  the  Unknown  was  not  the  first  horror  comic   ever  published,  but  it  is  recognized  as  the  series  that  largely  started  the  trend  in  the   postwar  era.  The  first  series  devoted  exclusively  to  horror  was  Eerie  Comics   published  by  Avon  in  1947,  which  lasted  only  a  single  issue.  Further,  it’s  important   to  note  that  many  histories  of  the  medium  mistakenly  imply  that  EC  Comics  “created”   the  horror  genre  and  that  all  the  other  titles  produced  during  the  1950s  were   imitations  of  the  company’s  style.  Rather,  it’s  more  accurate  to  say  that  EC  was  an   imitator  that  outdid  their  competition  and  their  predecessors  in  the  industry  to   become  known  as  the  premier  publisher  of  horror  comics  throughout  the  era.  For  a   comprehensive  review  of  all  non-­‐EC  horror  series  published  throughout  the  1950s,   see  Lawrence  Watt-­‐Evans’  article  “The  Other  Guys:  A  Gargoyle’s-­‐Eye  View  of  the   Non-­‐EC  Horror  Comics  of  the  1950s”  in  the  ninety-­‐seventh  issue  of  Alter-­‐Ego   magazine.   173           monsters,  were  cast  as  the  agents  of  justice,  tasked  with  the  job  of  condemning   those  who  were  beyond  the  reach  of  the  law.  As  with  other  genres,  the  success  of   horror  comics  resulted  in  a  wave  of  imitators  from  a  variety  of  publishers,   particularly  Atlas,  who  sought  to  capitalize  on  their  popularity.  ACG  itself  followed   up  on  their  own  success  with  the  debut  of  other  horror  titles,  like  Forbidden  Worlds   in  1951,  and  Out  of  the  Night  and  Skeleton  Hand  in  1952.386  All  told,  between  1950   and  1954,  a  total  of  twenty-­‐eight  companies  produced  more  than  a  hundred   different  horror  titles.387     Of  all  the  companies  actively  producing  crime  and  horror  comics  during  this   period,  perhaps  the  most  popular  and  well  known  was  E.C.,  or  Entertaining  Comics,   which  first  rose  to  prominence  in  1950,  when  publisher  Bill  Gaines  introduced  their   “New  Trend”  line,  consisting  of  crime,  horror,  science-­‐fiction,  and  war  titles,  which   were  purposely  written  and  illustrated  with  an  exceedingly  high  degree  of  artistry   which  had  been  all  but  absent  from  the  industry  prior  to  that  point.388  Further,  while   E.C.  had  not  been  the  first  to  produce  crime  and  horror  comics,  they  perfected  the   formula  of  these  genres  by  introducing  a  discussion  of  mature  topics  and  an  element   of  chance  into  their  stories,  which  created  suspense  by  leaving  readers  to  wonder   whether  or  not  the  featured  characters  would  survive  or  perish  by  the  end  of  each                                                                                                                   386  Watt-­‐Evans  8.   387  B.  Wright  156.   388  Gaines  had  only  been  the  head  of  E.C.  Comics  for  two  years  when  he  introduced   the  company’s  “New  Trend”  line.  He  had  inherited  the  business  from  his  father,   industry  pioneer  Max  Gaines,  who  died  in  a  boating  accident  in  1947,  who  had   originally  started  the  label  three  years  before  as  “Educational  Comics,”  publishing   titles  like  Picture  Stories  From  the  Bible,  a  supreme  irony  considering  the  criticism   the  company  later  received  for  publishing  “indecent”  and  “immoral”  material.  For  a   comprehensive  look  at  E.C.  Comics,  see  Grant  Geismann’s  Foul  Play!  The  Art  and   Artists  of  the  Notorious  1950s  E.C.  Comics  and  Tales  of  Terror!  The  EC  Companion.   174           tale.389  All  told,  E.C.  was  responsible  for  some  of  the  most  well  known,  perhaps   infamous,  titles  of  the  era,  including  Tales  From  the  Crypt,  Shock  Suspenstories,  Weird   Science,  and  MAD,  which  was  published  in  comic  book  format  until  it  transitioned   into  a  magazine  with  its  twenty-­‐fourth  issue  in  1955  (see  figs.  45-­‐49).  While  a   comprehensive  discussion  of  the  importance  and  legacy  of  E.C.  Comics  is  beyond  the   scope  of  this  study,  it  is  important  to  note  the  company’s  contributions  to  the   industry,  as  it  became  the  leading  scapegoat  for  attacks  by  social  critics.     The  visual  aesthetic  of  crime  and  horror  comics  contributed  significantly  to   the  public  outrage  that  centered  on  the  medium  in  the  postwar  era.  While  comic   books  had  come  under  fire  for  their  content  as  early  as  May  of  1940,  with  the   publication  of  Sterling  North’s  editorial  “A  National  Disgrace”  in  the  Chicago  Daily   News,  the  onset  of  World  War  II  had  tempered  such  attacks,  as  the  content  often   reflected  national  policy  interests  throughout  the  duration  of  the  conflict.390   However,  the  drastically  altered  social  and  cultural  environment  following  the  war,   structured  in  part  by  the  postwar  liberal  consensus,  reinforced  the  value  and   importance  of  normality  and  its  relationship  to  capitalism.391  The  content  of  crime   and  horror  comics,  with  its  representations  of  violence  and  deviant  behavior  largely   defined  the  medium  as  a  disruptive  cultural  force  to  those  outside  the  industry,   which  threatened  to  undermine  the  core  values  of  American  society.     Furthermore,  the  rising  tide  of  youth  culture,  famously  depicted  in  the  form   of  rebellious,  “out-­‐of-­‐control”  teens  in  films  like  Nicholas  Ray’s  Rebel  Without  A                                                                                                                   389  Daniels,  Comix  63;  B.  Wright  136.   390  Beaty  113;  Raphael  and  Spurgeon  41-­‐42;  Nyberg  3-­‐5.   391  Gilbert  14-­‐15.   175           Cause,  heightened  fears  that  the  breakdown  of  the  family  unit  and  social  institutions,   coupled  with  the  enhanced  purchasing  power  of  young  people  resulted  in  the   consumption  of  products  that  promoted,  glorified,  and  even  caused  juvenile   delinquency.392  As  a  medium  that  stereotypically  catered  to  the  youth  market,  the   use  of  supernatural  creatures  and  “moral”  monsters,  like  criminals,  was  defined  as   the  source  of  the  comic  books’  power  as  a  corruptive  force,  for  they  often  painted   abnormality  in  a  positive  light,  encouraging  children  to  act  out  in  socially   destructive  ways.393  Summarizing  the  common  fear  at  the  time,  Mary  Louise  Adams   writes,  “More  than  anything  else,  it  was  normality  that  was  deemed  to  be  under   threat  from  the  pulp  publications.  They  were  accused  of  making  immorality  seem   normal,  of  shifting  the  boundaries  of  what  was  seen  to  be  acceptable.  […]  Arguments   against  the  dangers  of  indecency  suggested  that  a  whole  process  of  moral   degeneration  would  be  put  into  effect  if  ‘immature’  teenagers  read  pulps,  absorbed   their  sordid  values,  and  carried  them  into  the  1960s.”394     More  importantly,  the  rise  of  these  genres  marked  the  divergence  of  the   business  interests  of  the  comic  book  industry  and  the  domestic  and  foreign  policy   goals  of  the  United  States  government.  While  comic  book  narratives  had  largely   echoed  the  views  of  the  state  during  World  War  II,  particularly  with  regard  to   defining  the  Japanese  enemy,  the  changing  tastes  of  readers  forced  publishers  to   adapt  their  content  and  cater  directly  to  their  audience,  which  resulted  in  the   production  of  more  violent,  sexually  mature,  and  realistic  stories  that  were  often                                                                                                                   392  Gilbert  71,  214.   393  Barker  69.   394  M.  Adams  140.   176           deemed  inappropriate  for  children.395  This  shift  in  the  economics  of  the  industry   was  largely  responsible  for  creating  the  rift  between  producers  of  comic  books  and   the  federal  government,  which,  after  significant  public  pressure,  resulted  in  the   Senate  Subcommittee  Hearings  on  Juvenile  Delinquency  in  1954,  painting  comic   books  as  tools  of  disorder  that  threatened  to  upset  the  delicate  balance  of  civil   society.   In  addition  to  selling  material  that  knowingly  violated  social  and  cultural   norms,  comic  book  publishers  were  also  engaging  in  the  production  of  narratives   that  questioned  the  nature  of  American  foreign  policy,  particularly  after  the  start  of   the  Korean  War.  Titles  like  EC’s  Frontline  Combat  and  Two-­Fisted  Tales  featured   anti-­‐war  stories  by  writer-­‐editor  Harvey  Kurtzman,  which  attempted  to  realistically   depict  the  horror  of  war,  relate  a  moral  lesson  to  readers,  and  implicitly  challenge   the  official  rationale  for  military  conflict.396  While  the  earliest  issues  of  Two-­Fisted   Tales  had  been  devoted  almost  exclusively  to  adventure  stories,  within  half  a  year   the  success  of  Kurtzman’s  approach  resulted  in  their  takeover  of  the  entire  book.     For  example,  in  a  story  entitled  “Corpse  on  the  Imjin,”  which  appeared  in  the   twenty-­‐fifth  issue  of  title  in  1952,  an  American  G.I.  is  forced  to  kill  a  lone  enemy   soldier  in  hand-­‐to-­‐hand  combat  after  being  ambushed  on  the  banks  of  the  Imjin   River.  At  first,  the  G.I.,  holding  his  knife  in-­‐hand,  is  reluctant  to  fight,  but  after  the   Korean  soldier  lashes  out  with  a  club,  breaking  the  man’s  fingers,  he  reacts,  charging   the  enemy  and  knocking  him  into  the  river.  Using  his  body’s  weight,  he  holds  the   Korean  soldier  under  and  drowns  him.  The  American  G.I.  steps  out  from  the  water                                                                                                                   395  Savage  12.   396  Kitchen  and  Buhle  61-­‐62.   177           and  the  narrator  declares,  “Suddenly,  your  mind  is  quiet,  and  your  rage  collapses!   The  water  is  very  cold!  You’re  tired…Your  body  is  gasping  and  shaking  weak…And   you’re  ashamed!”  The  Korean  soldier’s  body  drifts  downriver,  and  the  story  ends   with  the  words,  “And  now  the  current,  weak  near  the  shore,  slowly  turns  the  body   around  and  around…and  it  is  as  if  nature  is  taking  back  what  it  has  given!  Have  pity!   Have  pity  for  a  dead  man!  For  he  is  now  not  rich  or  poor,  right  or  wrong,  bad  or   good!  Don’t  hate  him!  Have  pity…for  he  has  lost  that  most  precious  possession  that   we  all  treasure  above  everything…He  has  lost  his  life!”397     Further,  Kurtzman  regularly  explored  the  human  cost  of  conflicts  like  the   Korean  War,  not  only  from  the  American  perspective  but  from  the  other  side  as  well.   In  a  story  entitled,  “Dying  City”  in  the  twenty-­‐second  issue  of  Two-­Fisted  Tales  from   July  to  August  of  1951,  he  describes  a  young  man  named  Kim  who  leaves  his  family   and  his  home  to  enlist  with  the  North  Koreans.  Soon,  the  man’s  town  becomes  the   site  of  a  giant  battle  between  the  nationalist  forces  and  the  armies  of  America,  its   European  allies,  and  the  Chinese.  The  grandfather,  the  family’s  remaining  patriarch,   describes  the  scene,  stating,  “Airplanes,  tanks,  cannons,  guns,  guns,  guns!   Everywhere  there  were  guns!”398  Soon,  the  conflict  spreads  to  their  home,  and  the   explosion  from  a  stray  grenade  kills  the  entire  family,  except  the  grandfather.  Kim   returns  home  with  the  North  Korean  army  to  find  his  family  gone  and  his  home   destroyed,  and  in  a  panic  is  caught  in  the  middle  of  a  bombing  raid.  In  the  aftermath,   the  grandfather  cries,  “Did  you  see  our  city,  broken  and  ruined?  Did  you  see  the                                                                                                                   397  Kurtzman,  et  al.,  Two-­Fisted  Tales  Archives  2:  67-­‐68.   398  Ibid.  158.   178           destroyed  homes  and  factories?  What  does  the  future  mean  when  everything  you   love  is  dead,  my  son?  What  is  left?  What  good  is  your  revolution?  What  good?”399     These  are  but  a  few  examples  of  the  many  anti-­‐war  stories  that  appeared  in   these  titles  throughout  the  early  1950s.  These  books  were  pushing  boundaries  in  an   attempt  to  explore  the  limits  of  the  medium  as  a  vehicle  for  exploring  issues  of   morality,  and  as  a  result,  they  generated  considerable  anxiety  within  both  the   military  establishment  and  the  federal  government.  Kurtzman  later  explained  his   rationale  for  writing  these  stories,  stating,     When  the  Korean  War  broke  out,  I  naturally  turned  to  the  war  for  material.   But  when  I  thought  of  doing  a  war  book,  the  business  of  what  to  say  about   war  was  very  important  to  me  and  was  uppermost  in  my  mind,  because  I  did   then  feel  very  strongly  about  not  wanting  to  say  anything  glamorous  about   war,  and  everything  that  went  before  Two-­Fisted  Tales  had  glamorized  war.   Nobody  had  done  anything  on  the  depressing  aspects  of  war,  and  this,  to  me,   was  a  terrible  disservice  to  children.  In  the  business  of  children’s  literature   you  have  a  responsibility,  and  these  guys  feeding  this  crap  to  the  children   that  soldiers  spend  their  time  merrily  killing  little  buck-­‐toothed  yellow  men   with  the  butt  of  a  rifle  is  terrible.400     Other  publishers  like  Atlas  were  also  adversely  affected  by  their  production  of  titles   that  imitated  the  E.C.  formula.  Stan  Lee  noted  that  the  company’s  books  were  pulled   from  PXs  by  the  military  establishment  during  the  1950s,  resulting  in  a  significant   loss  of  revenue,  because  of  the  overt  anti-­‐war  tone  of  the  material,  which  painted   the  conflict  in  a  negative  light.401  In  fact,  records  indicate  that  comics  had  been   banned  for  their  content  at  some  army  bases  as  early  as  1949.402                                                                                                                     399  Ibid.  160.   400  Ibid.  1:  76.   401  Romita,  interview  by  Roy  Thomas  11;  Howe  94.   402  Beaty  203;  B.  Wright  99.   179           However,  that  is  not  to  say  that  all  comic  books  were  critical  of  America’s   military  conflicts  in  Asia.  On  the  contrary,  many  comic  book  series  were  still  focused   on  depicting  America’s  enemies  as  villains.  While  the  Japanese  became  U.S.  allies   following  the  end  of  World  War  II,  the  tropes  that  were  used  to  identify  them  as  the   enemy  lived  on,  both  as  caricature  and  stereotype,  which  were  then  applied  with   equal  measure  to  the  Chinese  and  Koreans,  particularly  in  war  comics  like  Quality’s   G.I  Combat,  DC’s  All-­American  Men  of  War,  Our  Army  At  War,  Star  Spangled  War   Stories,  and  Atlas’  Battle,  Battlefield,  and  War  Comics,  to  name  a  few  (see  figs.  50-­‐51).   The  stories  featured  in  these  titles  depicted  Asian  soldiers  who  were  often  just  as   inhumanly  cruel  as  the  Japanese  had  been—although  much  less  physically   monstrous—with  the  main  difference  being  that  they  espoused  communism  as  the   philosophy  that  drove  their  actions  rather  than  devotion  to  the  emperor.403  As   Bradford  Wright  observes,  “Sometimes  the  similarities  between  America’s  Asian   foes  were  a  little  improbable,  as  when  the  Red  Chinese  charged  in  human  waves   shouting  the  Japanese  battle  cry  ‘Banzai!’”404  However,  the  attitudes  of  the  public   toward  the  Korean  War  quickly  forced  comic  book  creators  to  be  much  more  subtle   in  their  approach  to  telling  these  stories,  and  even  then,  many  of  these  books  did  not   last  for  very  long  on  the  market.  However,  this  did  not  stop  the  continual  use  of   these  visual  tropes  to  define  the  Asian  enemy,  as  the  use  of  stereotypes  continued   with  regularity  throughout  the  subsequent  decades.     It  is  important  to  stress  that  comic  books  were  not  singled  out  for  criticism   until  their  content  began  to  challenge  the  dominant  social  and  cultural  narratives  of                                                                                                                   403  Savage  54.   404  B.  Wright  114.   180           the  postwar  era.  Horror  titles  in  particular  were  the  subject  of  intense  scrutiny.  The   monsters  featured  in  these  books  quickly  went  from  being  tools  of  the  state,  used  to   demonize  the  Japanese  enemy  and  advance  wartime  policy  goals,  to  symbols  of   corruption  and  social  disorder  that  threatened  to  undermine  stability  and   consensus  throughout  the  late  1940s  and  early  1950s.     III.  Seduction  of  the  Innocent  and  the  Comics  Code  Authority     All  told,  by  1954  many  Americans  believed  that  comic  books  were  turning   their  children  into  monsters,  and  that  their  ubiquitous  influence  was  a  primary   source  of  juvenile  delinquency,  due  largely  to  the  deviant  content  that  was  featured   in  their  pages.  When  one  considers  the  staggering  number  of  comic  books  being   consumed  in  the  postwar  era  it  becomes  understandable  why  many  believed  that   they  had  such  a  pervasive  influence  on  young  people.  By  1950,  there  were  forty   publishers  producing  a  total  of  more  than  three  hundred  titles,  which  sold   approximately  fifty  million  copies  per  month.405  D.C.  Comics  alone  accounted  for  a   huge  portion  of  this  figure,  selling  roughly  twelve  million  comic  books  each   month.406  In  1952,  circulation  had  jumped  to  between  fifty-­‐five  and  sixty-­‐five   million  copies.407  In  1953,  sales  rose  even  higher  topping  seventy  million  copies  per   month.408  To  critics,  the  ever-­‐increasing  sales  of  comic  books  indicated  that  the   problem  of  juvenile  delinquency  that  they  were  associated  with  was  only  getting   worse.                                                                                                                   405  Jones  237.   406  M.  Adams  143.   407  Klein  41.   408  B.  Wright  155.   181           While  many  organizations  were  involved  in  the  anti-­‐comics  movement,   including  various  librarian,  parent-­‐teacher,  law  enforcement,  and  religious  groups   like  the  American  Legion,  Fraternal  Order  of  Police,  and  the  Catholic  National   Organization  for  Decent  Literature,  the  individual  most  associated  with   spearheading  the  campaign  against  the  industry  was  psychologist  Frederic   Wertham,  who  presented  his  initial  critique  in  the  March  1948  issue  of  Collier’s   magazine,  in  an  interview  entitled,  “Horror  in  the  Nursery.”409  After  writing  a  series   of  other  editorials,  which  were  published  in  the  Saturday  Review  of  Literature,  he   became  known  as  an  expert  on  the  effect  of  comic  books  on  the  behavior  and   development  of  children.  Perhaps  his  most  influential  article,  entitled,  “What   Parents  Don’t  Know  About  Comic  Books,”  appeared  in  the  November  1953  issue  of   Ladies  Home  Journal,  in  which  he  examined  a  series  of  comics  and  alleged  that  there   was  a  direct  correlation  between  the  cultural  materials  that  children  consumed  and   their  negative  behavior.410  More  than  anything  else,  what  made  him  credible  was   the  fact  that  he  had  statistical  data  and  personal  accounts  that  purportedly   established  a  connection  between  the  act  of  reading  comic  books  and  juvenile   delinquency,  which  neither  public  intellectuals  nor  social  scientists  had  been  able  to   prove  before.411     In  1954,  Wertham  compiled  and  advanced  his  findings,  publishing  them  in   Seduction  of  the  Innocent.  His  book  made  a  series  of  claims  against  the  medium,   charging  that  it  was  a  lowbrow  cultural  form  that  promoted  illiteracy,  caused  bad                                                                                                                   409  Ibid.  89.   410  Wertham,  “What  Parents  Don’t  Know  About  Comic  Books”  50-­‐53.   411  Jones  238;  Beaty  8.   182           taste  and  social  “maladjustment,”  fostered  unwholesome  fantasies,  and  that  it   resulted  in  criminal  and  sexually  deviant  behavior  in  young  people.412  Further,  he   famously  made  a  case  against  superheroes,  alleging  that  Superman  inspired  power   fantasies  and  dreams  of  flight  in  children  through  identification  and  imitation,  that   Wonder  Woman  promoted  bondage  and  sadomasochism,  as  she  was  often  tied  up   with  her  magic  lasso  in  stories,  and  that  Batman  and  Robin  were  emblematic  of  a   gay  relationship,  “like  a  wish  dream  of  two  homosexuals  living  together.”413  Much  of   the  evidence  for  these  claims  consisted  of  testimony  from  his  young  patients,  clinical   observation,  and  his  own  reading  of  the  medium,  which  has  since  been  debunked  as   deeply  flawed.414  In  many  respects,  Wertham’s  critique  fed  into  an  existing  cultural   narrative  about  the  relationship  between  youth  culture  and  a  disintegrating  social   order.  Above  all  else,  adults  feared  that  the  breakdown  of  the  family  and  existing   core  institutions,  like  the  school  and  church,  had  resulted  in  the  socialization  of   improper  behavior,  which  amounted  to  young  people  being  educated  through   cultural  transmission.415   While  Wertham  has  long  been  vilified  as  an  egotistical  zealot  by  those  who   study  the  history  of  comic  books,  recent  scholarship,  particularly  by  Bart  Beaty,   places  the  psychologist’s  critique  of  comic  books  as  part  of  a  well-­‐intentioned,  but   ultimately  misguided  movement  against  mass  culture,  considering  it  in  the  full   context  of  the  postwar  liberalism.  According  to  this  view,  Wertham  sought  to   present  a  wide-­‐ranging  critique  about  the  detrimental  effects  that  these  cultural                                                                                                                   412  Beaty  139.   413  Wertham,  Seduction  of  the  Innocent  116-­‐117,  190-­‐191,  193.   414  Thrasher,  200;  Tilley  386.   415  Gilbert  92.   183           products  had  on  society  as  a  whole,  and  merely  used  comic  books  as  a  means  of   articulating  that  argument,  because  of  their  popularity  and  ubiquity  at  the  time.416   The  fact  that  comic  books  were  also  the  least  regulated  of  all  mass  cultural  mediums   at  the  time  also  influenced  his  decision  to  make  them  his  target.417  Furthermore,  it   should  be  noted  that  Wertham  did  not  single  out  the  entire  medium  for  criticism,   but  rather,  the  largest  segments  of  it  that  were  the  most  popular.418   The  widespread  national  concern  over  comic  books  came  to  a  head  that  same   year,  when  the  aforementioned  United  States  Senate  Subcommittee  on  Juvenile   Delinquency  held  investigative  hearings  on  the  medium.  Senator  Estes  Kefauver,   head  of  the  subcommittee,  even  took  steps  toward  seeking  a  ban  on  crime  comics,   consulting  with  the  Postmaster  and  Federal  Communications  Commission  to  inquire   if  the  distribution  of  such  materials  could  be  legally  suppressed.419  Similar  pressure   was  applied  at  the  state  level,  as  New  York  and  other  local  governments  held   hearings  and  passed  laws  restricting  the  consumption  of  comic  books.  The  furor   resulted  in  the  public  burning  of  comics  in  cities  and  small  towns  across  the  country.   While  the  extent  and  impact  of  these  events  has  been  overstated  in  some  studies,                                                                                                                   416  Beaty  56.   417  Nyberg,  “Comic  Book  Censorship  In  the  United  States”  43;  Gilbert  97.   418  In  Seduction  of  the  Innocent,  Wertham  occasionally  mentions  that  there  are   wholesome  comic  books  in  publication,  although  he  never  explicitly  notes  the  titles   he  has  in  mind.  In  his  later  years,  he  also  wrote  a  manuscript  praising  an  offshoot  of   the  comic  book  industry,  fanzines.  Foreshadowing  many  of  the  arguments  later   articulated  by  Henry  Jenkins  in  his  reading  of  fan  culture,  Wertham’s  book  The   World  of  Fanzines:  A  Special  Form  of  Communication  (1973)  favorably  described   fandom-­‐based  science  fiction  publications,  arguing  that  they  acted  as  a  nexus  for   community  formation  through  the  communicative  process.  These  facts  call  into   question  the  common  depiction  of  Wertham  as  a  moral  crusader  who  sought  to   destroy  the  entire  comic  book  industry.   419  Gilbert  146.   184           newspaper  reports  and  magazine  articles  substantiate  them  occurring  as  early  as   1948  in  West  Virginia,  New  York,  New  Jersey,  Missouri,  and  Illinois.420   Rather  than  wait  for  the  almost-­‐certain  implementation  of  restrictions  from   the  federal  government,  comic  book  publishers  instead  sought  to  self-­‐regulate,  and   banded  together  to  form  the  Comics  Magazine  Association  of  America.421  The   organization,  founded  on  August  17,  1954  and  incorporated  less  than  a  month  later   on  September  7,  consisted  of  thirty-­‐eight  publishers  and  distributors.422  Together,   they  established  the  Comics  Code  Authority  (CCA),  an  independent  body  designed  to   regulate  the  content  of  publications  produced  by  the  industry.  The  Comics  Code,  the   CCA’s  guidelines  for  approving  the  content  of  comic  books,  was  largely  developed  in   response  to  public  criticism,  and  patterned  after  the  Motion  Picture  Production   Code,  or  the  Hays  Code,  that  governed  the  content  of  Hollywood  films.423  Consisting   of  three  parts,  the  code  heavily  restricted  sex  and  violence  in  the  medium,  imposing   a  series  of  rules  on  writers  and  artists.     The  most  important  aspects  of  the  code  pertained  to  the  treatment  of   authority  figures,  monsters,  and  sexuality  within  comic  book  narratives.  In  fact,  the   first  section  is  specifically  aimed  at  crime  comics,  mandating  that  criminal  acts  could   never  be  depicted  in  a  positive  light  and  instead  only  shown  as  a  “sordid  and   unpleasant  activity,”  that  violence  should  be  minimized,  and  most  importantly,  that                                                                                                                   420  Hajdu  116-­‐119;  Jones  240-­‐241;  Sergi;  B.  Wright  58.   421  The  CMAA  was  the  second  organization  formed  by  publishers  to  control  the   content  of  comic  books.  A  similar  effort  had  been  undertaken  in  1948  with  the   Association  of  Comics  and  Magazine  Publishers  when  criticism  of  the  industry  first   became  widespread.  The  association  was  largely  an  ineffectual  body,  as  many   publishers  disregarded  its  regulatory  code.   422  Nyberg  109-­‐110.   423  Ibid.  112,  156.   185           “policemen,  judges,  government  officials  and  respected  institution  shall  never  be   presented  in  such  a  way  as  to  create  disrespect  for  established  authority.”424  Similar   restrictions  were  applied  to  horror  comics,  as  the  code  states,  “All  scenes  of  horror,   excessive  bloodshed,  gory  or  gruesome  crimes,  depravity,  lust,  sadism,  masochism   shall  not  be  permitted.”  Further,  the  words  “horror”  and  “terror”  were  banned   outright  from  all  titles,  and  monsters  like  zombies,  vampires,  ghouls,  and   werewolves  were  completely  forbidden  from  appearing  in  comic  books.425  Finally,   with  regard  to  sexual  material,  the  code  prohibited  nudity  or  “indecent  or  undue   exposure,”  outlawed  “suggestive  or  salacious  illustration,”  and  reinforced  the  value   of  normative  interpersonal  relationships,  by  forbidding  “illicit  sex  relations,”  “sex   perversion,”  lighthearted  discussions  of  divorce,  and  disrespect  of  the  “sanctity  of   marriage.”426     The  debate  that  emerged  over  the  content  of  comics  and  the  subsequent   political  pressure  placed  on  the  medium  is  important  for  a  variety  of  reasons.  First,   it  illustrates  the  degree  to  which  monsters  were  seen  as  agents  of  disorder  and   immorality  that  threatened  to  upend  the  established  values  of  the  1950s.  Young   children  could  not  be  allowed  to  read  stories  that  glorified  violence  and  abnormality,   for  they  overtly  highlighted  the  social  and  cultural  anxieties  at  the  core  of  postwar   American  identity.  That  so  many  individuals  throughout  all  levels  of  society  were   ready  to  wage  a  figurative  war  against  the  medium  reveals  much  about  the   perceived  power  and  influence  of  these  materials.  Furthermore,  while  monsters  in                                                                                                                   424  Ibid.  166.   425  Ibid.  167.   426  Ibid.  167-­‐168.   186           general  were  not  banned  outright  from  comic  books,  in  that  the  Comics  Code  only   prohibited  the  most  popular  creatures  from  being  used  in  stories,  these  restrictions   effectively  neutralized  the  subversive  potential  of  the  horror  genre  and  strongly   limited  its  appeal.  Unable  to  print  stories  aimed  at  mature  readers  that  featured   vampires,  werewolves,  zombies,  and  ghosts,  the  publishers  that  continued  to   produce  these  books  were  forced  to  invent  their  own  monsters,  often  on  a  monthly   basis,  which,  more  often  than  not,  resulted  in  the  kinds  of  campy,  derivative   narratives  that  were  found  in  “giant  monster”  movies.      Also,  while  the  Comics  Code  applied  only  to  materials  published  in  the   United  States,  it’s  important  to  note  that  it  was  merely  one  part  of  a  larger   transnational  movement  to  globally  censor  and  restrict  the  content  of  graphic   narratives.  As  Roland  Kelts  notes,  between  1940  and  1960  anti-­‐comics  movements   took  place  in  more  than  twenty  countries  on  four  different  continents.427  While  a   complete  discussion  of  this  aspect  of  the  medium’s  history  is  outside  the  purview  of   this  study,  it  should  be  noted  that  similar  campaigns  occurred  in  places  like  Canada,   Britain,  Germany,  France,  Australia,  and  even  Japan  due  to  concerns  over  juvenile   delinquency  and  the  pervasive  influence  of  American  culture.428       Finally,  the  Comics  Code  also  had  a  significant  impact  on  representations  of   race  within  the  medium,  particularly  with  regard  to  Asians.  For  all  the  flaws  in  his   study,  even  Wertham  recognized  the  extent  to  which  the  depiction  of  wartime   enemies  and  villainous  others  was  representative  of  racist  tendencies  in  American                                                                                                                   427  Kelts  162.   428  See  John  Lent’s  Pulp  Demons  for  an  examination  of  the  international  dimensions   of  the  anti-­‐comics  movement  and  Martin  Barker’s  Haunt  of  Fears  for  the  campaign   against  horror  comics  in  the  UK.   187           visual  culture.  In  Seduction  of  the  Innocent,  he  tackled  the  subject  outright,  arguing   that  crime  comics  had  made  implicit  connections  between  criminality  and  race,   writing   If  I  were  to  make  the  briefest  summary  of  what  children  have  told  us  about   how  different  people  are  represented  to  them  in  the  lore  of  crime  comics,  it   would  be  that  there  are  two  kinds  of  people:  on  the  one  hand  is  the  tall,   blonde,  regular-­‐featured  man  sometimes  disguised  as  a  superman.  […]  On  the   other  hand  are  the  inferior  people:  natives,  primitives,  savages,  ape-­‐men,   Negroes,  Jews,  Indians,  Italians,  Slavs,  Chinese  and  Japanese,  immigrants  of   every  description,  people  with  irregular  features,  swarthy  skins,  physical   deformities,  Oriental  features.  […]  The  brunt  of  this  implied  inferiority  in   whole  groups  of  people  is  directed  against  colored  people  and  “foreign   born.”429     He  continued  his  critique  by  specifically  describing  representations  of  the   monstrous  Asians  enemy  featured  in  war  comics,  writing,   War  comics,  in  which  war  is  just  another  setting  for  comic  book  violence,  are   widely  read  by  soldiers  at  the  front  and  by  children  at  home.  It  seems   dubious  whether  this  is  good  for  the  morale  of  soldiers;  it  is  certainly  not   good  for  the  morality  of  children.  Against  the  background  of  regular-­‐featured   blonde  Americans,  the  people  of  Asia  are  depicted  in  comic  books  as  cruelly   grimacing  and  toothy  creatures,  often  of  unnatural  yellow  color.430     Wertham  suggested  that  such  depictions  planted  the  seeds  of  “race  prejudice”  in  the   minds  of  children.431  While  we  now  recognize  that  the  influence  of  such  materials  is   far  more  complex  than  he  believed,  the  fact  that  the  blatant  use  of  racist  imagery  in   comic  books  of  the  era  was  enough  to  prompt  such  a  critique  is  quite  remarkable.     Due  in  part  to  such  criticism,  one  of  the  Comic  Code’s  provisions  regulated   the  representation  of  race  in  comic  books.  Falling  under  the  category  of  religion,  the   1954  guidelines  stated,  “Ridicule  or  attack  on  any  religious  or  racial  group  is  never                                                                                                                   429  Wertham,  Seduction  of  the  Innocent  101.   430  Ibid.  105.   431  Beaty  157.   188           permissible.”432  While  this  rule  proved  to  be  minimally  effective  for  the   representation  of  people  of  color,  in  that  it  did  not  outlaw  racial  stereotypes  from   the  medium—only  overt  displays  of  racism  against  minorities—it  can  be  seen  as  a   positive  step  toward  more  equitable  depictions  throughout  the  industry,  as  only  a   few  years  later  in  1956,  the  first  non-­‐stereotypical  Chinese  American  hero,  Jimmy   Woo,  was  introduced  in  the  pages  of  Atlas’  short-­‐lived  series,  Yellow  Claw  (see  fig.   52).  However,  that  certainly  does  not  excuse  the  heavy-­‐handed  imposition  of  these   regulatory  regimes  onto  comic  books,  which  effectively  stifled  creative  production   within  the  medium’s  mainstream  for  more  than  two  decades.   IV.  Gojira  v.  Godzilla:  From  Subversive  Monsters  to  Subversion  of  the  Monster   Since  its  debut  in  1954,  Godzilla  has  become  emblematic  of  Japan  within   American  culture.    The  image  of  a  giant,  radioactive,  fire-­‐breathing,  dragon-­‐like   monster  attacking  the  urban  landscape  immediately  recalls  the  cultural  memory  of   the  films,  Gojira  and  its  English  adaptation  Godzilla,  King  of  the  Monsters!,  starring   Raymond  Burr.  In  this  respect,  it  is  impossible  to  discuss  the  role  that  monstrosity   plays  in  the  construction  of  Japanese  identity  in  American  culture  without   considering  both  the  character  and  its  filmic  texts,  despite  the  fact  that  they  fall   somewhat  outside  the  purview  of  this  study’s  focus  on  comic  books.  However,  that   is  not  to  say  that  the  monster  is  irrelevant  to  the  developmental  history  of  the   medium  in  the  United  States  and  Japan.  On  the  contrary,  Godzilla  and  the  kaiju  genre   it  introduced  had  a  significant  impact  on  the  evolution  of  comic  books  and  manga,  a   point  that  will  be  explicated  throughout  the  remainder  of  this  chapter  and  the  next.                                                                                                                     432  Nyberg  167.   189           Godzilla  emerged  in  Japan  at  a  curious  moment,  precisely  when  American   society  was  attacking  monsters  as  an  inherently  destructive  cultural  force  that   threatened  to  destabilize  established  notions  of  normality  within  society.  It  is   interesting  then,  that  only  months  after  the  implementation  of  the  restrictive  Comics   Code  in  the  United  States,  that  Honda  Ishiro’s  Gojira  premiered  in  Japan,  inspired  by   true  events  about  American  nuclear  testing  in  the  Pacific.  This  section  attempts  to   make  sense  of  this  fascinating  timing  and  analyzes  how  both  Japanese  and  American   audiences  interpreted  the  messages  presented  within  the  film.  Here,  we  consider   how  this  moment  and  the  cultural  response  to  the  text  not  only  speaks  to  postwar   anxieties,  but  also  why,  along  with  World  War  II,  it  has  significantly  shaped  the   image  of  Japan  within  American  culture.   While  scholars  have  largely  interpreted  Godzilla  as  the  expression  of   Japanese  anti-­‐nuclear  sentiment,  I  contend  that  within  the  American  imagination   the  filmic  monster  has  been  reinscribed,  largely  through  the  processes  of  adaptation   and  localization,  so  as  to  become  representative  of  Japan  itself  rather  than  the   byproduct  of  America’s  military  presence  in  the  Pacific,  as  it  was  originally  designed.   Through  the  careful  and  deliberate  editing  of  Gojira  into  its  English  variant,  Godzilla,   King  of  the  Monsters!,  Hollywood  effectively  nullified  the  subversive  and  critical   overtones  within  the  film,  transforming  it  into  a  campy,  low-­‐budget  monster  movie   that  highlighted  the  inferior  nature  of  the  Japanese  film  industry.  With  its  message   altered,  Godzilla  was  no  longer  about  the  nuclear  testing  which  led  to  the  creation  of   the  monster,  but  rather  the  creature  itself,  which  was  distinctly  Japanese  in  nature,   both  in  its  origin  and  locale,  which  for  American  audiences  tied  it  directly  to   190           Japanese  identity.  Indeed,  it  is  arguable  that  one  reason  why  Godzilla  became  so   popular  in  the  United  States  is  because  it  resonated  with  existing  narratives  about   the  Japanese  that  were  deployed  during  World  War  II,  and  because  it  seemingly   made  monsters  into  comical  figures  that  posed  no  overt  threat  to  the  status  quo.     V.  The  Development  and  Function  of  Yokai  in  Japanese  Culture  and  Society       In  order  to  fully  comprehend  the  significance  of  Godzilla  and  how  it  has  been   interpreted  in  America,  one  must  first  understand  the  inspiration  for  the  creature   and  its  origins,  which  are  rooted  firmly  within  the  traditional  Japanese  cultural   understanding  of  yokai.  Defined  in  the  most  basic  sense  as  “strange  beings”  or  the   uncanny,  they  can  be  found  throughout  many  of  the  most  popular  of  Japan’s  folk   tales,  and  take  a  variety  of  forms,  which  can  be  humanoid,  spiritual,  or  animalistic  in   nature.  One  of  the  defining  characteristics  of  these  creatures  is  their  transmutability   and  ability  to  transition  from  one  state  to  the  next,  defying  boundaries  or  limitations,   as  evidenced  by  terms  like  bakemono,  literally  translated  as  “changing  things.”433   Connected  to  a  larger  understanding  of  the  natural  world,  particularly  in  a  religious   context,  the  existence  of  yokai  was  an  unquestioned  reality  throughout  much  of   Japanese  history,  which  in  turn,  shaped  the  form  of  everyday  life.  While  it  is   impossible  to  detail  the  multiplicity  of  yokai  here  due  to  their  sheer  numbers,  some   of  the  most  recognizable  and  iconic  creatures  include  the  kappa,  a  water  sprite   which  wears  the  shell  of  a  turtle  on  its  back  and  is  said  to  lurk  in  ponds  waiting  to   ambush  small  children,  tengu,  long-­‐nosed,  bird-­‐like  creatures  that  reside  in  forests,                                                                                                                   433  Papp  10.   191           and  oni,  demonic  ogres  of  enormous  size  that  live  deep  in  the  mountains  (see  figs.   53-­‐54).   While  yokai  have  long  been  a  constitutive  part  of  Japanese  culture,  perhaps   as  early  as  the  Jomon  Period  (12,000-­‐300  BC)  interest  in  them  and  the  supernatural   in  general,  surged  throughout  the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth  centuries  as  scholars   and  humanists  sought  to  catalogue  and  evaluate  the  reality  of  Japan’s  folk  beliefs.434   The  first  of  these  individuals  was  Toriyama  Sekien,  an  artist  whose  Gazu  Hyakki   Yagyo  was  the  first  work  to  identify  yokai  individually  and  organize  them  in  an   encyclopedic  format,  moving  them  from  the  realm  of  the  abstract  to  the  concrete.435   First  published  in  1776  and  consisting  of  four  volumes,  it  explored  the  various   entities  associated  with  the  Muromachi  era’s  popular  artistic  theme,  the  Hyakki   Yagyo,  or  the  Night  Parade  of  One  Hundred  Demons,  assigning  names  and  narratives   to  each  being  in  the  montage-­‐like  aesthetic  (see  fig.  55).436  While  most  of  the  more   than  two  hundred  yokai  presented  within  the  codex  were  recognized  entities  from   Japanese  literature,  Sekien  also  incorporated  a  dozen  other  creatures  from  Chinese   sources  and  invented  nearly  eighty-­‐five  more,  an  important  point  to  note,  for  he  was   the  first  to  compile  the  fractured  accounts  of  mysterious  beings  that  were  spread   across  the  various  facets  of  folk  culture,  defining  them  concretely  for  a  larger                                                                                                                   434  Ibid.  21.   435  Papp  33;  Foster  62.   436  Foster  55-­‐56.  Interestingly,  some  scholars  have  made  a  connection  between   these  manuscripts  and  the  comic  book  form.  Much  like  early  European  texts  about   monsters,  like  The  Wonders  of  the  East,  Toriyama  Sekien’s  codex  is  consists  of  a   mixture  of  illustrations  and  text,  which  are  used  to  construct  descriptive  narratives   about  each  individual  being.  Foster  70.   192           readership.437  The  images  and  descriptions  in  his  work  were  used  as  a  referential   touchstone  by  his  successors  and  the  producers  of  Edo-­‐era  woodblock  prints,   known  as  ukiyo-­e,  or  “Images  of  the  Floating  World.”   Throughout  the  following  century,  yokai  were  employed  for  a  variety  of   contradictory  purposes,  particularly  after  the  Meiji  Restoration  in  1868,  as  folk   beliefs  were  simultaneously  assailed  for  being  emblematic  of  backward  superstition,   but  also  enshrined  as  evidence  in  favor  of  arguments  about  Japanese  exceptionalism   forwarded  by  nativists  and  devotees  of  the  imperial  state.  One  example  of  this  can   be  found  in  the  work  of  Hirata  Atsutane,  specifically  the  Senkyo  Ibun,  or  Strange   Tidings  From  the  Realm  of  Immortals,  published  in  1822.  In  it,  Hirata,  a  religious   scholar,  presented  stories  that  he  claimed  identified  the  “true  nature  of  Japan,”   including  a  long  exploration  of  Torakichi,  a  boy  who  had  supposedly  been  raised  by   a  tengu  deep  in  the  mountains  of  Japan.438  Such  remote  environments  have  long   been  of  great  fascination  in  Japanese  culture,  for  as  Iwasaka  Michiko  notes,   “Mountains  represent  a  liminal  area  where  almost  anyone  is  likely  to  intersect  with   other  dimensions.”439  Using  him  as  an  informant  and  employing  a  pseudo  scientific   approach,  the  manuscript  constructs  an  ethnography  of  a  supernatural  “other  world”   in  service  of  ethnocentric  ideas,  justifying  Japanese  superiority  through  the  nation’s   privileged  and  uncorrupted  access  to  the  realm  of  spirits  via  indigenous  folk   culture.440  Further,  this  text  is  particularly  important  because  it  explicitly   established  the  link  between  Japanese  national  identity  and  the  exotic  spirituality                                                                                                                   437  Foster  71-­‐72.   438  Hansen,  5.   439  Iwasaka  88.   440  Hansen  103.   193           constructed  around  mysterious  beings  that  was  later  projected  to  the  western  world   in  the  works  of  Lafcadio  Hearn.  As  Wilburn  Hansen  writes,  “The  only  lasting  effect  of   Atsutane’s  discourse  on  Japanese  superiority  and  unique  Japanese  cultural  identity   exists  in  lingering  present-­‐day  ideas  of  a  Japanese  spirituality  shrouded  in  mystery.   Atsutane  was  not  the  only  thinker  who  tried  to  place  the  essence  of  Japan  in  a   spiritual  dimension,  but  he  was  among  the  first.”441   Another  major  figure  in  the  study  of  yokai  was  Inoue  Enryo,  a  religious   scholar  and  philosopher  who  was  an  outspoken  critic  of  the  belief  in  the   supernatural  and  the  unknown.  Throughout  the  Meiji  era,  he  interrogated  folk   culture  through  his  discipline  of  yokai-­gaku,  or  monster  studies,  by  grounding  the   analysis  of  such  discourses  in  a  foundation  of  science,  medicine,  and  rational   thought,  claiming  that  stories  of  yokai  were  nothing  more  than  fantasy,  which  were   either  the  result  of  misrecognizing  ordinary  phenomenon  or  symptoms  of  mental   illness.442  At  the  core  of  Inoue’s  project  was  the  idea  that  Japan  and  its  people  had  to   dispense  with  superstitious  beliefs  in  order  to  become  modern  and  compete  with   Western  nations.443  Despite  this  approach,  however,  his  work  did  allow  for  true   cases  of  the  supernatural.  While  he  claimed  that  nearly  ninety  percent  of  reported   yokai  were  fabricated,  he  asserted  that  a  small  number  of  events  could  be  classified   as  fushigi,  or  mysterious,  and  that  they  could  not  be  explained  even  after  rigorous   scientific  examination.444                                                                                                                   441  Ibid.  196.   442  Figal  51.   443  Ibid.  87.   444  Figal  41-­‐42;  Papp  42.   194             Also  of  note  is  the  work  of  Yanagita  Kunio,  one  of  Japan’s  earliest  folklorists,   who,  like  Atsutane,  approached  yokai  through  the  prism  of  nativism,  suggesting  that   Japanese  tradition,  particularly  the  retention  of  folk  belief,  made  it  unique  among   other  nations  in  the  world,  for  it  possessed  an  indigenous  culture  that  had  not  been   corrupted  by  foreign  influences.445  He  posited  that  the  heart  of  Japanese  identity   could  be  found  in  those  that  had  not  been  touched  by  modernity,  particularly   populations  who  lived  in  remote  regions  of  the  country,  like  the  sanka,  or  mountain   people.446  As  Marilyn  Ivy  writes,  the  discipline  of  folklore  “was  concerned  with   preserving  the  traces  of  a  folkic  world  not  only  as  a  representation  of  the  unwritten   essence  of  ethnic  Japaneseness,  but  also  as  an  indication  of  a  non-­‐West  that  could   never  be  subsumed  under  the  dominant  signs  of  western  modernity.”447  As  such,   Yanagita,  through  his  compiled  works  like  the  Tono  Monogatari,  sought  to  capture   the  fading  essence  of  Japan  by  gathering  traditional  materials,  like  oral  histories   about  yokai,  and  preserving  them  in  writing  for  future  generations.     The  cumulative  effect  of  this  work,  particularly  the  approaches  of  Inoue  and   Yanagita,  was  to  enshrine  yokai  under  the  management  of  the  state  during  the  Meiji   Era  (1868-­‐1912).  By  simultaneously  linking  these  creatures  to  both  antiquated  folk   belief  and  a  Japanese  essence,  these  scholars  effectively  invented  a  modern,  uniform   national  tradition  linked  to  ethnic  identity.  Prior  to  that  point,  there  had  been  a   series  of  disparate  populations  scattered  throughout  the  country  that  held  their  own   belief  system,  including  their  own  specific  varieties  of  yokai.  Fueled  by  a  sense  of                                                                                                                   445  Vlastos  12.   446  Hashimoto  135.   447  Ivy  73.   195           nostalgia  and  a  desire  for  authenticity,  “true”  Japanese  identity  manifested  in  the   form  of  shared  cultural  practices  like  religious  rituals—State  Shinto  around  1900— and  widespread  knowledge  of  folkloric  figures  and  narratives.448  In  large  part,  this   process  was  undertaken  for  the  sake  of  advancing  the  project  of  modernization,  as  a   balance  between  the  past  and  the  rapidly  changing  present  became  essential  for  the   development  of  the  imperial  state  and  controlling  the  larger  population.449     Throughout  the  nineteenth  century,  Meiji  officials  utilized  yokai  by   repositioning  and  redeploying  folk  belief,  so  as  to  imbue  its  leaders  and  institutions   with  a  greater  sense  of  legitimacy.  Gerald  Figal  argues  that  the  uncanny  is  a  key   element  in  the  production  of  Japanese  modernity,  in  that  yokai  were  central  to  the   project  of  constructing  a  shared  ethnic  identity  and  a  sense  of  nationalism  through   newly  developed  traditions  articulated  during  modernization.450  Further,  he   contends  that  this  sentiment  resided  at  the  core  of  the  tenno,  or  emperor  system,   noting,   Japan’s  modern  discourse  on  the  fantastic  entailed  both  a  negative   repression  and  management  of  beliefs  in  monsters  and  spirits  and  a  positive   identification  of  “Japanese”  mentality  with  their  production.  […]  The  drive  to   forge  a  homogenous  national  citizenry  from  disparate  regional  populations   throughout  the  archipelago  was  accompanied  by  an  effort  to  displace  or   identify  diverse  spirits  within  a  Japanese  spirit.  In  the  case  of  efforts  by   government  authorities  and  leading  intellectuals,  this  Japanese  spirit  was                                                                                                                   448  Ivy  13,  58;  Hardacre  5.   449  Kunio  Ito  38.   450  Figal  15.  An  alternative  reading  of  yokai  during  this  period  can  be  found  in  the   aesthetic  of  Erotic  Grotesque  Nonsense,  or  Ero-­Guro,  a  popular  artistic  movement   within  Japanese  culture  throughout  the  early  twentieth  century  that  frequently   depicted  scenes  featuring  monsters,  graphic  violence,  and  sexuality.  Miriam   Silverberg  frames  Ero-­Guro  as  an  attempt  to  challenge  state  ideology  and  produce   an  alternative  to  modernization  by  drawing  on  exaggerated  images  that  invoke  the   traditional  past,  similar  to  Edo  era  ukiyo-­e  and  shunga.       196           ultimately  embodied  by  the  newly  constituted  emperor,  a  modernized   supernatural  being.  […]  The  Meiji  emperor,  who  as  a  manifest  deity  was   perhaps  the  most  fantastic  creature  in  all  Japan,  became  a  kind  of  ideological   lightning  rod  to  rechannel,  focus,  galvanize,  and  control  the  outlet  of  worldly   thoughts  and  sentiments  as  well  as  otherworldly  fantasies  and  desires  that   coursed  through  Japanese  bodies.451     Enshrined  within  this  comprehensive  worldview  was  the  idea  that  Japan  had  to   modernize  in  order  to  regain  its  independence  and  repel  invading  Western  forces,  a   process  that  required  not  only  individual  sacrifice,  but  also  a  fundamental   realignment  in  how  the  Japanese  perceived  the  world.452     The  result  of  reinforcing  the  emperor’s  divinity  in  this  manner  was  that  yokai   became  agents  of  the  government,  and  were  symbolically  deployed  to  advance  the   policies  of  the  state,  particularly  with  regard  to  military  action.  For  example,  as  early   as  the  first  Sino-­‐Japanese  War,  ukiyo-­e  artist  Utagawa  Yoshiiku  utilized  the  theme  of   the  Hyakki  Yagyo  to  depict  Chinese  soldiers  as  monsters  during  the  Japanese   military  campaign  to  take  Korea  at  the  turn  of  the  twentieth  century.453  More   prominently,  the  story  of  Momotaro,  or  the  “Peach  Boy,”  was  frequently  used  as  an   allegory  to  depict  Japan’s  foreign  enemies  as  oni  during  World  War  II.  It  effectively   reinscribed  the  original  folk  tale,  in  which  the  young  protagonist  travels  to   Onigashima,  or  “Demon  Island,”  and  with  the  help  of  his  animal  companions,   infiltrates  the  fortress  of  the  oni  and  defeats  them.  As  Noriko  Reider  notes,     The  cartoons,  magazines,  and  animated  films  for  the  Momotaro  story  were   made  to  help  support  the  Japanese  cause  and  encourage  nationalism.  The   concept  of  an  oni  Allied  force  was  spoon  fed  to  Japanese  youth  quickly   disseminating  into  the  larger  populace.  […]  Far  from  an  image  that  evolved                                                                                                                   451  Figal  15.   452  Daikichi  61.   453  Papp  44.   197           over  time,  this  use  of  oni  was  a  ploy  that  exploited  fearful  associations  and   thus  advanced  the  Japanese  wartime  ultra-­‐nationalist  agenda.454     This,  then,  is  largely  the  culture  of  yokai  in  which  Godzilla  was  produced.  Situated  at   the  crux  of  a  series  of  conflicted  binaries,  wherein  monsters  were  understood  as   both  real  but  also  figments  of  the  imagination,  representative  of  the  emperor  (self)   but  also  the  enemy  (other),  and  functioning  as  symbols  of  a  traditional  past  but  also   drivers  of  the  future,  Godzilla  encapsulates  many  of  these  contradictions  that  have   defined  Japan  for  America  and  the  world  since  the  postwar  era.     VI.  Godzilla:  Nuclear  Critique  and  the  Containment  of  Subversive  Monstrosity     “I  can’t  believe  that  Godzilla  was  the  last  of  its  species.  If  nuclear  testing   continues,  then  someday,  somewhere  in  the  world,  another  Godzilla  may  appear,”   Professor  Yamane  Kyohei  warns  at  the  end  of  Gojira,  immediately  after  the  deadly   Oxygen  Destroyer,  a  weapon  developed  by  Dr.  Daisuke  Serizawa,  vanquishes  the   monster.  This  statement  by  one  of  the  main  characters  in  the  film  affirms  the   widespread  interpretation  of  Gojira  as  a  veiled  critique  of  nuclear  weapons  through   the  genre  of  science  fiction.455  In  this  sense,  then,  the  movie  is  grounded  in  the   narrative  tradition  of  moralizing  parables  designed  to  warn  against  the   consequences  of  uncontrolled  scientific  and  technological  development,  and   highlight  its  potential  to  create  monsters.       This  kind  of  warning  is  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  common  themes  found  in   the  genre,  and  can  be  seen  throughout  literature,  film,  and  other  forms  of  popular   culture.  Many  scholars  directly  link  this  narrative  to  the  archetype  of  the  mad                                                                                                                   454  Reider  110.   455  Biskind  159.   198           scientist  and  argue  that  Mary  Shelley’s  Frankenstein  was  the  among  the  first  to   utilize  this  formula,  illustrating  the  disastrous  consequences  that  occur  when  human   beings  attempt  to  play  God  and  violate  the  order  of  the  nature.456  This  particular   thematic  spoke  strongly  to  audiences  of  Victorian  literature,  whose  understanding   of  the  world  was  regularly  upended  by  scientific  discoveries  that  called  established   knowledge  into  question.  Likewise,  we  see  this  idea  routinely  emerge  within  science   fiction  films  of  the  postwar  era,  as  American  audiences  and  cultural  producers   considered  the  implications  of  the  nuclear  age  and  the  proliferation  of  weapons  of   mass  destruction.     While  this  generic  tradition  certainly  informed  the  creation  of  Gojira,  there   were  other  influences  on  the  film  as  well.  For  example,  the  storyline  about  an   aquatic,  dinosaur-­‐like  monster  destroying  an  urban  metropolis  was  largely   patterned  after  the  1953  American  production,  The  Beast  From  20,000  Fathoms.457   Honda  Ishiro,  the  director  of  Gojira,  also  noted  that  King  Kong  was  extremely   influential  in  his  vision  for  the  film.458  In  fact,  Toho  had  initially  considered  using   stop-­‐motion  animation,  the  technology  pioneered  by  special  effects  guru  Willis  O’   Brien  to  bring  the  giant  ape  to  life  in  the  1930s,  but  instead  opted  for  a  man  in  a   rubberized  suit,  primarily  due  to  scheduling  and  budgetary  issues.459  However,   while  Gojira  was  largely  patterned  after  these  American  films,  its  narrative  message,   particularly  the  ending,  varied  significantly  from  other  works  in  the  genre.  As   Donald  Richie  observes  about  kaiju  films,  “The  moral  of  all  these  films  was  the  same:                                                                                                                   456  Schelde  45;  Bloom  12;  Savage  22;  Beal  161.   457  Kalat  14.   458  Shapiro  44.   459  Ryfle  27.   199           Japan  is  ravaged  by  monsters  who  are  defeated,  not  by  warlike  methods,  but  by   technological  know-­‐how.  The  hero  is  the  Japanese  scientist  who  ‘to  make  the  world   safe’  gladly  gives  up  his  life.”460  In  this  way,  the  film  enshrines  the  values  of  self-­‐ sacrifice  and  pacifism  over  egocentrism,  hyper  masculinity,  and  militarism.     Furthermore,  Gojira  was  inspired  by  real  events  in  the  Pacific,  specifically   American  nuclear  testing  in  the  Bikini  Atoll  in  March  of  1954.  There,  the  United   States  military  detonated  a  fifteen  megaton  H-­‐bomb,  and  the  fallout  from  that   incident  affected  a  nearby  Japanese  fishing  boat,  the  Daigo  Fukuryu  Maru,  or  Lucky   Dragon  No.  Five,  which  resulted  in  the  entire  crew  developing  radiation  sickness,   and  the  death  of  its  communications  specialist.461  The  Japanese  media  quickly   publicized  the  event,  going  so  far  as  to  call  it  the  “third  atomic  bombing  of  Japan.”462   Coupled  with  this,  Honda  drew  from  his  own  wartime  experiences  in  the  creation  of   the  film.  During  his  time  in  the  military,  he  had  not  only  survived  the  firebombings   of  Tokyo,  but  was  also  a  prisoner  of  war  in  China  when  he  heard  about  the  atomic   bombing  of  Hiroshima  and  Nagasaki.  According  to  David  Kalat,  “Visiting  Hiroshima   in  1946,  he  became  fascinated  with  the  nuclear  holocaust,  particularly  the   destructive  power  of  an  invisible  substance  (radiation).  Honda  felt  compelled  to   translate  the  horrors  of  modern  war  into  a  film.”463   As  such,  Gojira  has  commonly  been  interpreted  as  a  representation  of  the   Japanese  apocalyptic  imagination.  Produced  only  a  few  years  after  the  official  end  of   the  American  Occupation  of  Japan  in  1952,  the  film  is  one  of  the  best-­‐known                                                                                                                   460  Richie  29.   461  Noriega  57.   462  Perrine  80.   463  Kalat  15.   200           attempts  to  interrogate  the  end  of  World  War  II  by  utilizing  the  genre  of  fantasy.464   For  Honda,  it  was  about  exploring  a  serious  topic  in  a  playful  manner.465  While  the   premise  for  the  film  may  be  laughable  on  its  face,  when  coupled  with  the  director’s   incisive  style,  where  each  shot  is  presented  almost  like  a  war  documentary,  it  has   the  effect  of  invoking  vivid  memories  and  images  that  were  fresh  in  the  minds  of   individuals  during  the  postwar  era.466  Indeed,  as  Toni  Perrine  posits,  “For  Japanese   audiences,  and  Americans,  too,  the  shots  of  a  smoldering  Tokyo  connect  to  the   experience  of  World  War  II,  the  firebombing  of  Japanese  cities  as  well  as  aerial  shots   of  Hiroshima  and  Nagasaki  after  the  atomic  bombings.”467  These  observations  lead   some  scholars  to  posit  that  Japan  is  the  world’s  first  post-­‐apocalyptic  society.468   Along  with  the  film’s  striking  imagery,  Gojira  also  operates  on  the  level  of   metaphor.    While  the  monster  itself  is  a  destructive  force,  it  clearly  stands  in  for   other,  real  life  equivalents.  As  Susan  Sontag  notes,     One  gets  the  feeling,  particularly  in  the  Japanese  films  but  not  only  there,  that   a  mass  trauma  exists  over  the  use  of  nuclear  weapons  and  the  possibility  of   future  nuclear  wars.  Most  of  the  science  fiction  films  bear  witness  to  this   trauma,  and,  in  a  way,  attempt  to  exorcise  it.  The  accidental  awakening  of  the   super-­‐destructive  monster  who  has  slept  in  the  earth  since  prehistory  is,   often,  an  obvious  metaphor  for  the  Bomb.469       David  Kalat  affirms  this  analysis,  asserting,  “In  the  Japanese  context,  the  monster  is   less  a  reaction  to  the  bomb  than  a  symbol  of  the  bomb.”470  Therefore,  as  Sontag   states,  we  can  view  Gojira  as  an  attempt  by  Honda  to  come  to  terms  with  the  atomic                                                                                                                   464  Shapiro  5.   465  Ibid.  288-­‐289.   466  Ryfle  43.   467  Perrine  91.   468  Kelts  26.   469  Sontag  218.   470  Kalat  14.   201           bombing  through  film,  and  to  manage  the  anxieties  produced  by  living  in  the  nuclear   age.  Further,  Adam  Lowenstein  contends  that  films  like  Gojira  are  used  to   interrogate  these  memories  of  collective  trauma  by  forcing  the  audience  to   recognize  their  connection  to  such  events  through  axises  of  text,  context,  and   spectatorship,  and  using  the  allegorical  moment  provided  by  film,  in  which  an  event   is  visually  reproduced,  to  simultaneously  combine  the  past  and  present,  thereby   reconnecting  with  history.471  Susan  Napier  even  suggests  that  the  film  allows   Japanese  audiences  to  not  only  engage  in  a  form  of  cultural  therapy,  but  to   effectively  rewrite  the  war’s  ending,  by  providing  them  with  an  opportunity  to   attain  a  sense  of  closure  through  the  monster’s  demise.472     While  Gojira  was  not  the  first  film  to  explore  the  effects  of  the  dropping  of  the   atomic  bombs  on  Japan,  it  was  easily  one  of  the  most  popular  and  influential.  Almost   immediately  after  the  end  of  the  American  occupation,  Shindo  Kaneto  directed   Genbaku  no  Ko,  officially  titled  Children  of  Hiroshima,  a  film  that  depicts  the  effect  of   radioactive  exposure  on  the  Japanese  survivors  of  the  bomb.  This  production  was  in   stark  contrast  to  the  policies  that  American  censors  had  instituted  during  the   occupation,  which  effectively  painted  the  use  of  the  bomb  as  a  strategic  measure   necessitated  by  the  radicalism  of  imperial  militarists.473  Further,  as  Kyoko  Hirano   notes,                                                                                                                     471  Lowenstein  9.   472  Napier,  “When  Godzilla  Speaks”  10.   473  Hirano  104.  Jay  McRoy  also  notes  that  censors  operating  during  the  American   Occupation  of  Japan  prohibited  the  production  of  kaidan,  or  horror  films,  set  in   historical  periods,  as  officials  viewed  them  as  cultural  vehicles  that  reinforced   nationalist  ideology  and  could  potentially  be  used  to  inspire  anti-­‐American   sentiments.  McRoy  7.   202           The  visual  impact  of  the  effects  of  the  bombing  and  its  aftermath  was  of  great   concern  to  the  censors.  They  tried  to  minimize  on  the  screen  the  devastating   physical  effects  of  the  bombing  on  people  and  the  environment.  […]  The   censors  worked  to  maintain  an  image  of  the  Americans  as  humanitarian  and   civilized,  and  they  knew  that  the  bombing  would  render  Americans  as  cruel   and  barbaric  in  the  Japanese  mind.474     Thus,  films  like  Children  of  Hiroshima,  while  not  directly  depicting  the  dropping  of   the  bombs,  were  aimed  at  exploring  a  subject  that  had  been  prohibited  for  almost   seven  years  after  the  war’s  end.  While  the  film  was  commercially  successful  in  Japan,   it  was  criticized  for  its  elegiac  tone,  which  cast  the  devastation  of  Hiroshima  and   Nagasaki  as  a  national  tragedy,  rather  than  a  rallying  point  for  anti-­‐Americanism.475   Gojira,  on  the  other  hand,  due  in  part  to  its  foundation  in  science  fiction,  allowed  for   a  combination  of  visual  spectacle  and  scathing  critique,  which  would  have  been   difficult  to  depict  in  traditional  drama.     Additionally,  it’s  important  to  remember  that  Godzilla  itself  embodies  the   essence  of  a  yokai,  for  it  is  an  ancient  creature  worshipped  by  the  natives  of  Odo   Island,  and  is  tied  directly  to  both  nature  and  the  “other  world,”  exemplifying  within   its  being  a  transitional  state  represented  through  the  process  of  transmutation—via   nuclear  radiation—and  the  breakdown  of  established  categories.476  Even  the   depiction  of  the  monster  itself  is  reminiscent  of  creatures  of  legend,  like  a  dinosaur,   or  perhaps  more  accurately,  the  dragon,  for  it  not  only  features  the  characteristic   spines  that  run  down  its  back,  but  also  possesses  atomic  breath,  which  it  uses  in  the   film  to  melt  electrical  towers,  burn  houses,  and  destroy  the  industrial  centers  of   Tokyo.                                                                                                                     474  Hirano  115.   475  Richie  22.   476  Foster  161.   203           As  a  creature  infused  with  the  power  of  the  atomic  bomb,  Godzilla  mirrors   the  construction  of  Japanese  yokai  as  entities  trapped  between  the  competing  forces   of  the  past  and  future,  but  unlike  traditional  monsters,  the  creature  owes  its   existence  to  outside  forces,  namely  the  American  military.  Thus,  as  a  being   representative  of  a  Japanese  essence  and  empowered  by  the  nuclear  might—and   filmic  influence—of  the  United  States,  Godzilla  can  be  interpreted  as  a  kind  of   transnational,  postmodern  construction,  which  attempts  to  simultaneously  create  a   vision  within  Japanese  culture  that  utilizes  the  recent  and  pre-­‐modern  past  to   convey  a  message  about  the  future.  The  film’s  enduring  legacy  is  that  it  helped   establish  this  mode  of  narrative  and  thematic  presentation  within  Japanese  society.   Indeed,  as  William  Tsutsui  notes,  the  influence  of  Godzilla  is  ubiquitous  throughout   the  Japanese  postwar  era.  He  writes,  “One  finds  genetic  traces  of  Godzilla  […]   throughout  the  subculture  creations  of  postwar  Japan:  the  foregrounded  nuclear   menace,  the  fascination  with  mutation,  the  proximity  of  apocalypse,  a  perverse   sense  of  alienation  intertwined  with  an  enduring  sentimentality,  a  honest  conviction   of  pacifism  combined  with  an  ‘obsessive  fondness  for  military  weaponry.’”477     Thus  far,  this  discussion  has  centered  on  the  Japanese  perspective  and  the   cultural  logic  behind  the  creation  of  Gojira.  Here,  our  focus  shifts,  as  we  turn  to  the   interpretation  of  the  character  within  the  American  imagination.  Having  seen  how   the  film  operates  within  the  Japanese  context,  it  is  remarkable  how  radically   different  Godzilla  has  been  perceived  in  the  West.  This  is  due  to  the  fact  that  in  its   transition  to  the  United  States,  the  film  underwent  a  series  of  changes.  First  and                                                                                                                   477  Tsutsui  ,  Introduction  4.   204           foremost,  the  title  was  changed  to  Godzilla:  King  of  the  Monsters!,  effectively   romanizing  the  name  of  the  creature.  Additionally,  an  entire  plot  involving  an   American  journalist  named  Steve  Martin,  played  by  Raymond  Burr,  was  added  to  the   film,  which  resulted  in  the  re-­‐editing  of  much  of  the  existing  footage.  In  the  English   version,  Martin  serves  as  the  narrative  perspective  for  the  action,  interpreting  the   story  for  the  viewer  in  flashback,  whereas  in  the  original  film,  events  occur   chronologically  and  are  not  filtered  through  a  particular  perspective.     Most  importantly,  however,  the  anti-­‐nuclear  overtones,  which  were  present   throughout  the  original  version  of  the  film,  were  completely  edited  out,  effectively   transforming  it  from  a  technological  parable  into  an  unadulterated  monster   movie.478  While  the  American  version  retained  the  idea  that  Godzilla  had  been   awakened  by  H-­‐bomb  testing,  it  lacked  the  condemnatory  warnings  and  language   found  in  the  original,  making  it  more  about  the  dangers  of  scientific  hubris  than   nuclear  weapons.479  In  short,  Godzilla’s  subversive  function  as  a  vehicle  for   critiquing  the  dropping  of  the  atomic  bombs  and  ongoing  nuclear  tests  in  the  Pacific   was  completely  neutralized,  as  the  focus  of  the  film  shifted  from  the  cause  of  the   monster’s  awakening  to  the  monster  itself.  It  is  no  coincidence  that  upon  its  release   in  the  United  States  critics  focused  primarily  on  the  film’s  production  values  and   special  effects,  as  the  various  edits  redefined  these  aspects  as  central  to   understanding  the  movie.480                                                                                                                     478  Gutherie-­‐Shimizu  57.   479  Kalat  157.   480  Noriega  70.   205           As  a  result  of  these  changes,  the  overall  quality  of  the  film  suffered   considerably.  In  the  few  scenes  where  Martin  interacts  with  the  main  characters,   like  Emiko  and  her  father  Professor  Yamane,  they  are  always  shown  from  behind  in   profile,  as  new  scenes  were  shot  to  accommodate  the  change  in  narrative   perspective,  and  did  not  include  the  original  Japanese  actors.  Additionally,  the   English  version  suffered  from  various  lip  synch  issues,  where  newly  written   dialogue  did  not  match  the  words  spoken  by  the  actors.481  These  factors  accentuated   the  general  silliness  associated  with  1950s  monster  movies,  marking  the  production   as  particularly  foreign  in  nature.  As  Anne  Allison  observes,  “In  the  United  States,   Godzilla  took  off  in  large  part  for  the  differences  it  posed  from  Hollywood   productions:  differences—an  actor  dressed  up  in  a  monster  suit  instead  of  high-­‐tech   animation,  a  foreign  language  dubbed  into  English,  Tokyo  and  its  Japanese   population  getting  creamed—whose  effect  was  viscerally  exciting  yet  judged  (too   often)  to  be  technically  unconvincing  and  cheap.”482   Indeed,  the  cumulative  effect  of  localization  was  that  the  film  reinforced   existing  narratives  about  Japan  that  had  been  established  during  World  War  II.   While  the  postwar  era  had  effectively  ushered  in  an  age  of  partnership  between  the   United  States  and  its  former  enemy,  the  Japanese  were  still  viewed  as  a  completely   foreign,  practically  monstrous  people,  whose  identities  were  inextricably  linked  to   the  events  of  the  war  in  the  American  cultural  imagination,  specifically  the  attack  on   Pearl  Harbor  and  the  dropping  of  the  atomic  bombs.  It  is  likely  that  audiences   viewing  Godzilla  would  associate  the  film  with  the  hibakusha,  or  survivors  of  the                                                                                                                   481  Kalat  25.   482  Allison  49-­‐50.   206           bomb,  whose  damaged  bodies  represented  the  destructive  force  of  the  weapons   used  in  Hiroshima  and  Nagasaki.  Enduring  the  stigma  associated  with  exposure  to   radiation,  they  were  ostracized  by  the  larger  Japanese  community,  but  banded   together  and  engaged  in  anti-­‐nuclear  activism,  drawing  national  media  attention  in   the  United  States.  This  included  coverage  of  the  Hiroshima  Maidens,  a  group  of   twenty-­‐five  women  disfigured  by  the  bomb,  who  traveled  to  the  United  States  for   corrective  surgery  in  1955,  a  year  before  the  film’s  release  in  America.483  This   physical  manifestation  of  monstrosity,  in  which  exposure  to  nuclear  fallout  is   interpreted  as  bodily  pollution,  coupled  with  the  metaphorical  variant  so  frequently   espoused  throughout  the  war,  almost  certainly  had  an  impact  in  reinforcing  the   view  that  the  Japanese,  although  now  allies,  were  still  the  monstrous  race  that  had   once  been  our  enemy.     From  this  perspective,  then,  Godzilla  stands  in  for  Japan  itself  serving  as  a   signifier  for  a  country  whose  legacy  and  identity,  even  today,  remain  shrouded  in   the  events  of  World  War  II  for  many  Americans.  This  reading  of  the  monster  ties   into  established  modes  of  representation  within  fantasy  cinema,  where  giant   creatures  have  functioned  as  racial  allegories  in  American  culture.484  The  prime   example  of  this  is  King  Kong,  a  film  that  has  been  interpreted  in  many  ways,  but   most  strikingly  functions  as  an  articulation  of  racist  ideology,  which  strongly   suggests  that  whiteness  must  be  defended  against  the  threat  of  black  male   sexuality—embodied  by  the  giant  ape—through  acts  of  bodily  violence.485  Further,                                                                                                                   483  Poole  115.   484  Bellin  2.   485  Bellin  24,  31.   207           it  is  arguable  that  the  genre  itself  is  built  on  themes  established  by  anthropological   and  ethnographic  film,  in  which  both  science  and  fantasy  are  deployed  to  make  a   racial  argument  to  audiences.486  As  Fatimah  Tobing  Rony  writes,  “King  Kong,  labeled   a  fantasy  horror  film,  was  successfully  modeled  on  a  narrative  of  an  expedition  film.   The  fantasy  of  the  movie  draws  its  sustenance  from  the  science  of  the  museum   expedition.”487  After  all,  Kong  is  found  on  Skull  Island,  a  region  of  the  East,  located   near  Indonesia,  which  is  separated  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  populated  by  all   manner  of  dinosaurs  and  “lost”  creatures.  It  is  no  coincidence  that  when  taken   outside  the  Japanese  anti-­‐nuclear  context,  Godzilla  is  strikingly  similar  to  the   archetype  of  the  dragon,  a  symbol  associated  with  a  monstrous  Asia  throughout   much  of  European  history,  practically  lending  itself  to  allegories  that  classify  the   country  as  inherently  pre-­‐modern,  mysterious,  and  possessing  an  alluring  and   undefinable  spirituality.     Finally,  I  would  like  to  turn  the  focus  back  to  Japan  and  note  that  this  chapter   would  be  remiss  without  a  discussion  of  Gojira’s  role  in  promoting  the  idea  of  World   War  II  as  a  “victim’s  narrative”  within  Japanese  culture.  Throughout  the  Asian   mainland,  much  has  been  made  of  Japan’s  consistent  refusal  to  acknowledge  its  role   as  an  imperialist  power  throughout  the  conflict,  particularly  when  it  comes  to   accepting  responsibility  for  its  actions  in  China  and  Korea.  Perhaps  most   emblematic  of  this  tendency  is  the  textbook  controversy  of  the  1980s,  in  which  the   Ministry  of  Education  requested  that  the  wording  describing  the  events  of  the  Sino-­‐ Japanese  War  be  modified,  casting  Japan’s  “invasion”  of  China  into  an  “advance  into”                                                                                                                   486  Tobing  Rony  159-­‐160.   487  Ibid.  164.   208           the  country.488  Indeed,  the  construction  of  this  narrative  extends  to  the  earliest   postwar  cultural  products,  as  Donald  Richie  notes,  “From  the  first  films  on,   Hiroshima  was  not  an  ‘atrocity,’  but  a  ‘tragedy.’”489  By  focusing  purely  on  the  bomb   and  not  the  events  that  preceded  it,  Japan  has  effectively  rewritten  the  narrative  of   the  war  and  disavowed  any  responsibility  for  its  actions.   Films  like  Gojira,  while  subversive  and  inherently  critical  of  American   military  policy,  have  the  effect  of  glossing  over  Japan’s  own  wartime  atrocities,  and   reaffirming  this  narrative  of  Japanese  victimization  at  the  hands  of  foreign  powers.   As  Anne  Allison  notes,  “For  Japanese  audiences,  then,  Gojira  provided  a  vehicle  for   reliving  the  terrors  of  war  relieved  of  any  guilt  or  responsibility—solely,  that  is,   from  the  perspective  of  the  victim.”490  Some  scholars  have  viewed  Godzilla  as  a   creature  that  metaphorically  stands  in  for  Japan  itself  in  the  context  of  the  film,   interpreting  the  monster  as  an  unfortunate  casualty  brought  on  by  American   imperialism.  Perhaps  this  is  because,  as  some  have  argued,  Japan’s  inability  to  come   to  terms  with  its  past  is  intertwined  with  America’s  refusal  to  apologize  for  the   dropping  of  the  atomic  bombs.491  Further,  this  sense  of  victimization  is  reinforced   by  the  official  narrative  established  at  the  Tokyo  War  Crimes  Trials,  where  the   Japanese  people  and  the  emperor  were  cast  as  innocent  victims  of  fanatical   militarists  who  had  taken  over  the  government.492  These  factors,  which  were  largely   compromises  made  to  secure  Japanese  cooperation  and  partnership  in  the  Cold  War,                                                                                                                   488  Seaton  51;  Itoh  77.   489  Richie  22.   490  Allison  45.   491  Seaton  73.   492  Ibid.  40.   209           have  complicated  efforts  to  officially  recognize  the  country’s  culpability  in  atrocities   that  occurred  throughout  World  War  II.   The  success  of  Gojira,  both  in  Japan  and  the  United  States,  resulted  in  the   proliferation  of  monster  movies  at  the  box  office.493  In  the  latter,  the  creature   became  iconic,  achieving  mass  popularity  through  public  access  programming,   facilitated,  in  part,  by  inexpensive  licensing  fees.494  Cast  in  America  as  a  goofy  B-­‐ monster  with  a  strong  appeal  to  younger  audiences,  Godzilla’s  image  was  solidified   into  a  symbol  for  a  tame  and  culturally  inferior  Japan.  Throughout  the  decades,  the   monster’s  image  in  both  countries  evolved,  as  it  effectively  became  something  akin   to  a  superhero  within  its  home  country,  protecting  the  Earth  from  other,  worse   creatures  in  later  films,  and  in  the  United  States,  where  Godzilla  still  oscillates   between  the  movie  monster  it  once  was—as  evidenced  by  the  recent  American   remakes  in  1998  and  2014—and  an  icon  for  both  the  country’s  strategic  alliance   and  economic  competition  with  Japan,  perhaps  best  exemplified  by  the  playful  1992   Nike  ad  campaign,  Godzilla  vs.  Charles  Barkley  (see  fig.  56).  Still,  one  only  needs  to   examine  the  IMAX  promotional  poster  from  the  most  recent  filmic  release,  which   positions  Godzilla  in  front  of  a  giant  red  circle  and  stark  white  background,  closely   resembling  the  Japanese  flag,  along  with  the  inclusion  of  katakana  symbols  behind   the  English  title,  in  order  to  see  how  intimate  this  connection  between  Japan  and   Godzilla  still  remains  within  the  United  States  (see  fig.  57).  Gojira  is  continually   associated  with  Japanese  identity,  and  serves  as  a  touchstone  for  the  relationship   between  monstrosity  and  Japan  in  the  American  imagination,  grounding  the  country                                                                                                                   493  Ryfle  65.   494  Pike  3.   210           as  an  entity  trapped  between  the  competing  forces  of  tradition  and  modernity,   defined,  in  large  part,  by  the  events  of  World  War  II.   211                   CHAPTER  FIVE:  MONSTROUS  MARVELS  AND  ATOMIC  HUMANOIDS:  A   COMPARATIVE  ANALYSIS  OF  AMERICAN  AND  JAPANESE  SUPERHEROES  OF   THE  1950S  AND  1960S     “I  never  really  got  the  whole  superhero  thing,  but  lately  it  does  seem  like  we  have  a   lot  in  common.  Tragic  beginnings,  secret  identities,  part-­‐human,  part-­‐mutant,   archenemies…”  ~  Dexter  Morgan,  Dexter     “Well,  I  just  can’t  understand  any  of  this.  Everybody  in  Japan  is  either  a  ten-­‐year-­‐old   girl  or  a  monster!”  ~  Peter  Griffin,  Family  Guy     I.  Introduction     “I  am  Iron  Man,”  Tony  Stark  declares  before  a  shocked  group  of  reporters,   who  rush  toward  the  stage  with  a  barrage  of  questions,  cameras  flashing  in  the   background.  As  he  abandons  all  pretenses  at  a  secret  identity  and  the  complications   that  accompany  it,  the  music  plays  and  the  credits  roll,  establishing  Stark  as  an   unconventional,  yet  compelling  superhero.  That  scene  from  the  2008  film,  Iron  Man,   which  raised  the  character’s  profile  from  B-­‐lister  to  cultural  icon,  marked  the   inception  of  the  larger  Marvel  Cinematic  Universe,  an  entertainment  franchise  based   on  comic  books  that  has  grossed  billions  of  dollars  worldwide.  As  familiar  as  Stark’s   origin  has  become  to  us—an  industrialist  taken  prisoner  while  overseeing  military   212           projects  abroad,  forced  to  build  a  suit  of  weaponized  armor  to  escape  his  captors— there  are  others  that  resonate  just  as  strongly  in  our  cultural  memory.     There  is  the  group  of  four,  given  fantastic  powers—bodily  elasticity,   invisibility,  spontaneous  combustion,  and  superhuman  strength—after  being   exposed  to  cosmic  radiation  during  an  experimental  test  flight.  There  is  the  scientist   whose  uncontrollable  anger  transforms  him  into  a  hulking  beast  with  incredible   strength,  having  been  bombarded  by  the  nuclear  fallout  of  a  gamma  bomb.  There  is   the  teenager  bitten  by  a  radioactive  spider,  given  the  proportionate  strength  and   amazing  abilities  of  the  arachnid,  who  learns  the  hard  way  that  with  great  power   comes  great  responsibility.  There  is  the  lawyer—blinded  by  radioactive  waste  as  a   young  man,  but  gifted  with  heightened  senses  and  athletic  ability—who  dedicates   himself  to  cleaning  up  Hell’s  Kitchen,  becoming  the  man  without  fear.  There  are  the   “strangest  heroes  of  all,”  a  new,  uncanny  species  of  human  beings—homo   superior—who  arise  at  the  dawn  of  the  nuclear  age  and  are  sworn  to  protect  a   world  that  hates  and  fears  them.  There  is  a  super  soldier,  the  living  legacy  of  World   War  II,  awakened  after  spending  decades  frozen  in  a  block  of  ice  drifting  in  the   Atlantic,  a  veritable  man  out  of  time.     These  stories,  the  foundational  narrative  cornerstones  of  the  Marvel   Universe,  have  taken  on  the  status  of  mythology  within  contemporary  American— and  even  global—culture,  due  in  no  small  part  to  the  popularity  of  the  filmic   productions  that  have  reintroduced  new  audiences  to  these  decades-­‐old   characters.495  Indeed,  at  this  moment  in  the  early  twenty-­‐first  century,  superheroes                                                                                                                   495  Reynolds  7.   213           have  never  been  more  popular,  appearing  in  everything  from  comic  books  to   television  shows  to  movies  to  cartoons  to  video  games  and  everything  else  in-­‐ between.  Yet,  despite  this  increased  exposure,  relatively  few  fans  today  have  an   intimate  understanding  of  these  popular  characters,  and  even  more  importantly,  the   genesis  of  their  creation.    Further,  there  is  a  tendency  to  view  these  characters  apart   from  the  rest  of  global  culture,  and  to  treat  them  as  part  of  a  unique,  quintessentially   American  genre,  one  that  symbolizes  the  country’s  highest  principles  and   aspirations,  often  echoed  in  catch  phrases  like,  “Truth,  Justice,  and  the  American   Way.”  However,  within  the  world  of  comic  books,  most  insiders  recognize  that   although  America  may  have  refined  the  modern  superhero,  by  no  means  did  it   create  the  archetype,  nor  has  it  stopped  evolving  after  being  popularized  in  the   United  States.  Rather,  the  development  of  the  superhero  is  historically  something  of   a  transnational  product,  shaped  and  molded  by  a  series  of  influences  and  cultural   exchanges  within  the  United  States,  but  just  as  importantly,  abroad.     This  chapter  explores  monstrosity  as  a  foundational  trope  of  the   contemporary  superhero  in  the  United  States  and  Japan,  detailing  the  origin  of   Marvel  Comics  and  the  impact  of  films  featuring  “giant  monsters”  on  cultural   production  within  the  comic  book  and  manga  industries.  Specifically,  it  focuses  on   the  Silver  Age  (1956-­‐1970)  as  an  outgrowth  of  both  science  fiction  and  the  kaiju   genre,  examining  superheroes  in  relation  to  their  counterparts  in  Japan.  Here,  I   argue  that  protagonists  in  both  American  comic  books  and  Japanese  manga,   particularly  those  created  in  the  1950s  and  1960s,  share  many  of  the  same  origins,   respond  to  similar  anxieties,  and  utilize  their  identities  as  metaphorical  and  literal   214           monsters  to  engage  with  important  social,  political,  and  cultural  issues  through  the   comic  form.       As  Jeffrey  Jerome  Cohen  reminds  us,  monstrosity  is  inherently  transgressive,   and,  in  the  case  of  both  the  American  comic  book  and  Japanese  manga  industries,  its   incorporation  as  a  central  thematic  allowed  for  the  production  of  subversive   narratives  that  leveled  social,  cultural,  and  political  critiques  through  the  use  of   fantasy.496  Indeed,  we  find  that  many  of  the  stories  produced  by  the  top  Japanese   creators  of  the  postwar  era,  like  Tezuka  Osamu,  strongly  criticized  America’s   imperialist  foreign  policy  throughout  the  Cold  War,  as  well  as  the  Japanese  wartime   regime  in  visually  powerful  ways  that  resonated  with  readers.  The  use  of  monstrous   heroes,  many  featuring  characteristics  and  themes  taken  directly  from  Godzilla  and   other  giant  movie  monsters,  laid  much  of  the  groundwork  for  these  narratives.   Further,  while  American  superheroes  were  initially  slow  to  engage  this  function   throughout  the  Silver  Age—largely  due  to  the  regulatory  regimes  established  by  the   Comics  Code  Authority  in  the  1950s—by  the  middle  of  the  following  decade,  their   stories  were  nearly  as  activist  in  tone  as  their  Japanese  brethren,  using  heroic   monsters  as  symbols  and  allegories  to  interrogate  important  political  issues  within   the  context  of  a  didactic  medium.  What  we  effectively  witness  in  this  period  is  the   subtle  reemergence  of  subversive  narratives  within  American  comic  books,  due   largely  to  this  generic  modification.   However,  the  use  of  monstrosity  in  these  forms,  particularly  manga,  has  not   been  without  ill  effects,  for  despite  the  similarities  between  both  American  and                                                                                                                   496  Cohen  Monster  Theory  7,  16.   215           Japanese  characters,  those  in  manga  have  largely  been  viewed  apart  from  this   narrative  tradition  in  the  United  States,  and  have  instead  been  used  to  reinforce  the   existing  cultural  discourse  that  defines  Japan  as  a  strange,  weird,  and  bizarre  fantasy   landscape,  defined  by  its  status  as  a  wartime  enemy  and  association  with  both   traditional  and  futuristic  monsters.  In  large  part,  the  characters  featured  in  manga— and  more  recently  anime—function  as  signifiers  of  Japan  within  the  United  States,   with  their  subversive  and  critical  tone  tempered  down  or  nullified  altogether  by   both  the  act  of  localization  and  consumption  by  readers  who  lack  the  proper   cultural  context  to  understand  the  full  meaning  of  these  narratives.  Rather  than   transmitting  moral  lessons  as  Japanese  creators  had  intended,  the  output  within  the   medium  has  instead  been  used  to  define  Japan  itself  within  American  society.     As  such,  this  chapter  delves  into  the  origins  of  manga  as  a  mass  medium  and   the  rise  of  anime  in  Japan,  describing  the  function  of  these  mediums  in  their  native   country  and  why  they  have  effectively  been  labeled  as  “exotic”  and  seen  as   fundamentally  different  from  comics  and  cartoons  produced  in  the  United  States.  By   exploring  a  few  of  the  series  created  during  the  1950s  and  1960s,  like  Tezuka   Osamu’s  Tetsuwan  Atomu  and  Mizuki  Shigeru’s  GeGeGe  no  Kitaro,  we  see  how  the   meanings  associated  with  these  popular  icons  were  transformed  by  their   importation,  adaptation,  and  incorporation  into  American  culture.  Most  importantly,   by  examining  the  history  of  comic  books  and  manga  in  this  way,  we  see  them  as   products  of  transnational  cultural  exchanges  between  the  United  States  and  Japan,   showing  how  American  print  and  animated  products  influenced  the  form  and   216           aesthetic  of  manga  and  anime,  and  how  Japanese  cultural  texts  like  Gojira  shaped   the  modern  comic  book  industry.     In  broader  terms,  this  chapter  is  fundamentally  a  comparative  analysis  of  the   most  popular  characters  and  series  from  American  comic  books  and  Japanese   manga.  It  demonstrates  how  monstrosity  informs  the  reception  of  Japanese  culture   within  the  United  States,  and  ties  this  critique  into  older  historical  associations  that   define  Japan  within  the  American  mind,  like  the  events  of  World  War  II.  Here,  we  are   concerned  with  how  American  and  Japanese  superheroes  emerged  as  distinct,  but   related  entities,  and  how  the  creation  of  each  group  was  informed  not  only  by   historical  factors,  but  also  the  cultural  products  of  the  other.  Additionally,  we  see   how  creators  in  both  the  United  States  and  Japan  utilized  and  transformed  existing   ideas  about  monstrosity  through  their  cultural  interactions,  building  on  the   information  presented  throughout  the  previous  chapters.   II.  The  Dawn  of  the  Silver  Age  and  the  Origins  of  Marvel  Comics     When  it  comes  to  Marvel  Comics,  one  is  likely  to  associate  the  latest  comic   book-­‐inspired  superhero  films  with  the  publisher,  like  The  X-­Men  (2000),  Iron  Man   (2008),  Thor  (2011),  Captain  America  (2011),  The  Amazing  Spider-­Man  (2012),  and   the  $1.5  billion  grossing,  blockbuster,  The  Avengers  (2012).  This  makes  perfect   sense  given  that  the  company  and  its  foundational  creators,  like  Stan  Lee,  Jack  Kirby,   and  Steve  Ditko,  among  others,  were  responsible  for  introducing  some  of  the  most   well-­‐known  and  successful  characters  in  the  history  of  American  comic  books.   However,  there  is  another  side  to  this  story  that  is  far  more  obscure.  In  many   respects,  the  origins  of  what  we  know  today  as  Marvel  Comics  are  firmly  grounded   217           in  the  “giant  monster”  narratives  from  the  1950s.  While  Marvel  had  existed  for   decades  prior  to  the  1960s,  both  during  World  War  II  as  Timely  Publications  and  the   postwar  era  as  Atlas  Comics,  the  publisher,  like  others  following  the  implementation   of  the  restrictive  Comics  Code,  struggled  to  maintain  their  readership  and  gain   traction  in  the  rapidly  dwindling  market.  The  incorporation  of  giant  monsters  into   their  line  of  titles  was  the  key  element  that  enabled  and  facilitated  the  company’s   success,  both  then  and  now,  and  serves  as  the  foundation  for  the  contemporary   superhero.   Before  delving  into  the  specific  monster-­‐oriented  titles  produced  by  Marvel   Comics  throughout  late  1950s  and  early  1960s,  it’s  important  to  understand  and   highlight  the  post-­‐Wertham  context  of  the  industry,  and  to  specifically  recognize  the   conditions  that  allowed  for  the  resurgence  of  superheroes.  For  all  intents  and   purposes,  the  American  comic  book  industry  was  left  in  shambles  in  the  aftermath   of  the  Senate  Subcommittee  Hearings  on  Juvenile  Delinquency  in  1954.  The  largest   problem  that  many  publishers  faced  was  not  lagging  sales,  but  concerns  from   distributors  who  had  become  weary  about  associating  their  companies’  reputations   with  the  stigmatized  comic  books.  Some  entities  associated  with  the  medium   collapsed  entirely.  As  a  result,  publishers  lost  the  means  of  distributing  their   product  and  space  on  the  newsstand,  as  a  series  of  mainstream  outlets  refused  to   display  controversial  titles  at  their  establishments.  As  Ted  White  notes,  “The  real   and  absolute  reason  E.C.  stopped  publishing  comics  was  that  their  distributor  folded   from  under  them  and  left  them  with  a  great  number  of  unpaid  bills.  But  they  could   have  weathered  this  if  it  had  been  at  all  profitable  for  them.  It  was  not  profitable,   218           due  to  pressures  that  were  brought  to  bear  against  them.”497  In  fact,  the  mainstream   perception  of  comics  was  so  bad  that  D.C.  Comics’  well-­‐known  “public  service”   pages—short  informational  segments  about  various  issues  and  causes  in  American   society  developed  by  the  company’s  well-­‐known  leftist  editor  Jack  Schiff  and   produced  in  conjunction  with  government  agencies  and  nonprofit  organizations— were  largely  born  out  of  a  need  to  improve  the  company’s  public  image  following   the  anti-­‐comics  movement  (see  fig.  58).498   Additionally,  the  guidelines  established  by  the  Comics  Code  intensely   restricted  the  content  of  these  materials,  sometimes  to  an  absurd  degree,  making   any  kind  of  artistic  expression  nearly  impossible.  Such  strict  constraints  had  the   effect  of  sanitizing  many  narratives,  removing  even  the  slightest  bit  of  questionable   content,  which  often  infuriated  frustrated  writers  and  artists.  As  mentioned  in  the   previous  chapter,  particularly  concerning  to  the  Comics  Code  Authority  were   depictions  of  anything  that  could  be  construed  as  sexuality  or  violence.  As  D.C.   Comics  editor  Al  Grenet  recalled,     I  was  interviewed  by  the  Kefauver  Committee;  one  of  his  aides  talked  to  me.   He  asked  me  why  we  were  trying  to  corrupt  kids…like  maybe  we  were  a  plot   from  Russia  or  something.  It  was  stupid,  because  we  didn’t  have  any  real   violence  in  our  stories.  If  we  had  a  girl  wearing  a  shirt  without  sleeves,  we   were  forced  to  add  sleeves.  They  went  overboard.499     His  account  is  supported  by  Harvey  Comics  inker  and  art  director  Ken  Selig,  who   stated,  “When  I  signed  on  at  Harvey,  I  was  given  a  very  difficult  assignment:  to   adjust  bust  lines  of  the  female  characters  in  our  comics.  […]  The  Harveys  had  to  toe                                                                                                                   497  Schelly,  “The  Forgotten  50s”  68.   498  Donenfeld  22.   499  Grenet  32.   219           the  line,  and  the  unnecessary  cleavage  had  to  be  eliminated.”500  The  producers  of   comic  books  struggled  in  the  face  of  these  new  restrictions,  after  having  relied  on  a   combination  of  mature  storylines  and  sensationalistic  fare  to  sell  their  publications   for  nearly  a  decade,  unable  to  find  a  genre  or  trend  that  could  pass  the  Code’s   standards  and  also  connect  with  readers.   As  in  the  postwar  era,  publishers  experimented  with  new  genres  and   different  kinds  of  books,  but  it  wasn’t  until  the  fall  of  1956  that  anything  found   lasting  success.  It  was  then,  with  the  publication  of  the  fourth  issue  of  Showcase,  a   D.C.  Comics  title  designed  to  introduce  new  characters,  that  editor  Julius  Schwartz,   along  with  writer  Robert  Kanigher  and  artist  Carmine  Infantino,  resurrected  the   superhero  genre  by  introducing  a  new  version  of  The  Flash  (see  fig.  59).  While  Atlas   had  attempted  an  ill-­‐fated  superhero  revival  a  few  years  earlier,  and  other  D.C.  titles   like  Superman,  Batman,  and  Wonder  Woman  had  never  actually  been  cancelled,   superheroes  were  far  from  prominent  within  the  industry,  having  fallen  out  of   popularity  with  the  end  of  World  War  II.501  However,  Schwartz’s  approach  to  these   characters  was  different.  Inspired,  in  part,  by  his  background  in  science  fiction,   having  served  as  a  high-­‐profile  literary  agent  for  a  number  of  years,  he  proposed   infusing  a  strong  sci-­‐fi  element  into  the  new  characters  he  co-­‐created,  and  it  proved   to  be  a  hit  with  readers,  beginning  what  we  recognize  today  as  the  Silver  Age  of                                                                                                                   500  Selig  57.   501  Aquaman  and  Green  Arrow  were  also  continuously  featured  in  backup  stories   found  in  the  anthology  series,  More  Fun  Comics  and  Adventure  Comics  throughout   the  1940s  and  1950s,  but  neither  hero  had  titles  specifically  devoted  to  them  until   the  former  in  1962  and  latter  in  1983.   220           American  comic  books.502  Recalling  his  role  in  the  creation  of  the  Flash,  Infantino   noted,     We  kept  experimenting:  romance,  science-­‐fiction,  westerns…anything.  We   were  desperately  trying  to  find  a  field  that  would  connect.  Nothing  really  sold   that  well.  One  day  I  went  in  to  the  office  to  pick  up  some  work.  We  never   knew  what  we  were  going  to  get,  and  Julie  Schwartz  said  to  me,  “We’re  going   to  try  a  super-­‐hero  again.  We  are  going  to  bring  the  Flash  back  and  I  want   you  to  design  a  costume  for  him.”  I  said,  “OK.”  Kanigher  had  written  the  first   script  and  designed  the  first  cover.  So  I  went  home  and  designed  the  costume,   and  if  you  notice,  I  kept  it  very  simple.  Because,  anybody  who  was  a   speedster  wouldn’t  be  encumbered  with  too  many  things.  I  brought  it  in,  and   it  was  approved.  And  that  was  the  beginning  of  the  new  age  of  super-­‐ heroes.503     One  of  the  main  reasons  why  Schwartz  opted  to  return  to  the  superhero  genre  was   the  prevailing  logic  within  the  industry  that  readers  were  only  active  consumers  of   comic  books  for  a  short  time—approximately  five  years—before  they  got  older  and   moved  on.  Therefore,  for  a  new  batch  of  readers  characters  like  the  Flash  would  be   seen  as  something  novel  and  different.504     Indeed,  the  Silver  Age  Flash,  Barry  Allen,  was  unique  by  many  standards  of   the  time.  Designed  as  a  new  version  of  an  older  character—the  original  Flash,  Jay   Garrick,  was  created  in  1940  by  Gardner  Fox  and  Harry  Lampert—this  updated   speedster  was  a  police  scientist  who  received  his  powers  by  being  struck  by   lightning  in  his  laboratory  and  doused  with  a  variety  of  chemicals  that  changed  his   molecular  makeup,  giving  him  super  speed.  Rather  than  his  predecessor,  whose   powers  were  gained  by  inhaling  “hard  water,”  the  basis  for  the  new  Flash’s  abilities   was  grounded  firmly  in  the  tradition  of  science  fiction,  with  his  origin  tied  directly  to                                                                                                                   502  Broome  30.   503  Infantino  10.   504  Thomas,  “Who  Created  the  Silver  Age  Flash?”  41;  Drake  22;  Wells  22.   221           the  power  of  lightning,  as  Schwartz  felt  it  made  logical  sense  since  it  was  the  fastest   thing  in  the  world.505  The  success  of  the  Flash  inspired  a  host  of  superhero  revivals   and  new  titles,  as  D.C.  steadily  introduced  updated  versions  of  Green  Lantern,   Hawkman,  and  by  1959,  the  superhero  team,  the  Justice  League  of  America,   patterned  after  the  older  WWII  version,  the  Justice  Society  of  America  (see  figs.  60-­‐ 62).  Like  the  Flash,  many  of  these  characters  had  new  origins,  which  used  either   science  or—in  the  case  of  Green  Lantern—extraterrestrial  forces—as  the  basis  for   their  powers.     It  was  in  this  environment  of  experimentation  and  uncertainty  that  Marvel   Comics  was  born.  Having  failed  with  their  own  superhero  revival  and  suffering  from   weak  sales,  Atlas  Comics,  the  entity  that  had  previously  been  known  as  Timely   Publications—best  known  for  their  characters  Captain  America,  the  Human  Torch,   and  the  Sub-­‐Mariner—desperately  tried  to  find  something  that  would  catch  on  with   readers.  Going  back  to  World  War  II,  the  company’s  publisher,  Martin  Goodman,  had   operated  via  a  business  model  designed  around  the  practice  of  “jumping  and   pumping,”  which  involved  identifying  a  new  trend,  jumping  on  it,  and  pumping  out   as  many  titles  as  possible  before  it  died  out,  but  in  the  climate  of  the  late  1950s,   nothing  seemed  to  be  sticking.506  In  fact,  the  company  was  so  well  known  for  this   within  the  industry  that  artist  Gil  Kane  remarked,  “In  my  view,  [Timely]  never  had   creative  leadership  until  the  1960s.  They  were  simply  an  imitation  company  that   managed  to  take  advantage  of  a  going  situation,  catch  the  momentum,  ride  it  for  a   number  of  years;  and  then,  when  the  momentum  ran  out,  they  fell  out.  […]  Timely                                                                                                                   505  Thomas,  “Who  Created  the  Silver  Age  Flash?”  41.   506  Bell  and  Vassallo  26.   222           simply  milked  each  situation  for  as  much  money  as  they  could.”507  As  a  result,   following  the  implementation  of  the  Comics  Code,  the  company  produced  sanitized   horror  books,  like  Strange  Tales,  and  Westerns  featuring  characters  like  the  Two-­‐ Gun  Kid,  Outlaw  and  Kid  Colt  in  the  hopes  of  squeezing  out  a  profit.508     However,  beginning  in  1959,  the  publisher,  led  by  editor-­‐in-­‐chief  Stan  Lee,   introduced  a  new  genre  of  comic  books  inspired  by  the  “giant  monster”  movies  that   were  popular  during  the  1950s.509  Scattered  throughout  various  titles  in  the   company’s  line,  like  Tales  To  Astonish,  Tales  of  Suspense,  Journey  Into  Mystery,  and   Strange  Tales,  these  narratives  featured  a  series  of  giant  monsters,  often  with  goofy   names,  like  “Gorgilla,”  “Goom,”  “Spragg,”  and  “Orrgo,”  that  appeared  from  unknown   areas  of  the  world  to  wreak  havoc  on  mankind  (see  fig.  63).  Like  the  films  of  the   genre,  these  stories  often  imparted  the  simple  lesson  that  tampering  with  the  forces   of  nature  and  venturing  into  areas  where  humans  don’t  belong  leads  to  dangerous   and  destructive  encounters  with  monsters.510  Further,  it  is  clear  that  many  of  them   were  built  upon  the  archetypal  narrative  frame  of  adventure  stories,  placing  these   creatures  in  distant  uncharted  areas  of  the  world,  particularly  remote  areas  of  the   East.  Whereas  the  comic  books  of  the  early  1950s  utilized  classic  monsters  like   vampires,  werewolves,  and  ghouls  to  sell  their  stories,  the  prohibition  of  such   creatures  by  the  Comics  Code  resulted  in  the  appropriation  of  more  recent  cultural   archetypes  like  Godzilla  and  the  Blob.511  Additionally,  unlike  the  horror  comics                                                                                                                   507  G.  Kane  42.   508  Wells  31.   509  Fingeroth  and  Thomas  22.   510  B.  Wright  202.   511  Nyberg  158.   223           produced  throughout  the  previous  era,  the  campy  nature  of  these  stories  allowed   them  to  operate  with  little  censorship,  as  many  of  these  narratives  were  designed   more  for  entertaining  spectacle  than  any  concrete  didactic  value.   While  some  critics  and  historians  of  the  medium  have  dismissed  this   particular  line  of  comics,  suggesting  that  the  stories  were  so  “tossed-­‐off  and   formulaic”  that  they  “might  as  well  have  been  a  single  series,”  others  have  discussed   the  important  foundational  role  that  they  played  in  establishing  the  themes  and   aesthetic  style  that  would  later  be  incorporated  into  Marvel  Comics.512  Indeed,  Jack   Kirby,  the  artist  who,  along  with  Steve  Ditko,  drew  many  of  these  stories  and  went   on  to  become  one  of  the  company’s  premier  talents,  saw  these  tales  as  part  of  a   much  larger  literary  and  oral  tradition.  As  Jordan  Raphael  and  Tom  Spurgeon   observe,  “Kirby  was  enamored  of  monster  stories  as  a  kind  of  universal  campfire   fodder  for  the  ages,  a  way  for  humankind  to  show  its  mastery  of  the  world  around  it   by  defeating  a  rampaging  enemy,  often  of  its  own  creation.”513  Further,  Charles   Hatfield  describes  how  these  monster  comics  allowed  the  artist  to  develop  the  fluid,   energetic  style  that  he  would  later  bring  to  Marvel’s  superheroes,  writing,     Offsetting  the  formulaic  nature  of  these  stories  was  a  dash  of  invigorating   absurdity:  the  tales  had  Kirby’s  energy  and,  courtesy  of  Lee,  confessional,   first-­‐person  titles  typical  of  sensation-­‐mongering  tabloids  and  comics  […]   What  Kirby’s  monster  stories  offered  was  a  chance  for  him  to  draw  myriad   weird  creatures  in  violent  action.  As  science  fiction,  they  weren’t  much,  being   brief  and  obsessively  narrow  in  concept,  but  they  paved  the  way  for  The   Fantastic  Four.514                                                                                                                     512  B.  Wright  202;  Wells  32.   513  Spurgeon  and  Raphael  62.   514  Hatfield  100-­‐101.   224           In  fact,  Marvel’s  superhero  line  grew  directly  out  of  these  books,  with  characters  like   Ant-­‐Man,  Iron  Man,  Thor,  the  Hulk,  and  Dr.  Strange  literally  taking  over  titles  that   had  previously  featured  giant  monsters.515  As  inker  Joe  Sinnot  recalled,  “That  period   from  ’58  to  1961  was  a  pretty  interesting  time,  because  we  were  doing  all  those   monster  books.  Stan  was  trying  to  find  a  new  trend,  and  the  monsters  were  selling   pretty  well,  and  they  might  have  even  gotten  more  popular  if  the  super-­‐heroes   hadn’t  taken  off.  They  killed  the  monster  books.”516     It  is  impossible  to  overstate  the  impact  and  influence  that  “Saturday  matinee   monster  movies,”  like  the  American  version  of  Godzilla,  had  on  the  production  of   these  narratives.  Aside  from  the  obvious  aesthetic  similarities,  they  shared  many   thematic  qualities  as  well.  Bradford  Wright  notes,  “Often,  they  were  awakened  by   reckless  scientists  or  atomic  testing.  […]  Even  though  humanity  inevitably  overcame   the  destructive  consequences  of  its  own  actions,  the  lesson  was  always  the  same:   tampering  with  unknown  forces  beyond  man’s  control  invited  trouble.”517  By   engaging  with  narratives  in  this  genre,  the  creators  of  these  books  inadvertently   tapped  into  a  subversive  tradition  that  slowly  undermined  the  principles  at  the  core   of  the  Comics  Code,  providing  them  with  an  effective  model  to  produce  more   dramatic  and  compelling  narratives.                                                                                                                   515  This  was  largely  due  to  a  distribution  issue  with  International  News  that  limited   the  number  of  titles  that  Atlas/Marvel  could  produce.  When  Marvel’s  superheroes   became  popular  in  the  1960s,  they  took  over  books  like  Tales  to  Astonish,  Tales  of   Suspense,  Journey  Into  Mystery,  and  Strange  Tales,  rather  than  getting  their  own   series  due  to  this  restriction.  This  stems  from  the  collapse  of  Atlas’  distributor  in  the   1950s,  which  forced  the  company  to  rely  on  the  same  distribution  channels  as  D.C.   Comics.  See  Howe’s  Marvel  Comics:  The  Untold  Story  and  Bell  and  Vassallo’s  The   Secret  History  of  Marvel  Comics.       516  Sinnot  12.   517  B.  Wright  202.   225             One  of  the  most  fascinating  and  enduring  monsters  produced  in  this  era  was   Fin  Fang  Foom,  a  giant,  super  intelligent,  alien  dragon—often  depicted  wearing   purple  underpants  as  a  result  of  the  Comics  Code—discovered  hibernating  in  a   remote  section  of  Communist  China  (see  fig  64).  When  awakened,  the  creature   proceeds  to  wreak  havoc  across  the  country,  including  one  instance  in  which  he  rips   a  section  of  the  Great  Wall  out  of  the  ground  and  uses  it  like  a  “bull-­‐whip”  against   the  soldiers  who  attempt  to  subdue  him.518  In  recent  interviews,  Stan  Lee  has  noted   that  the  monster  is  the  “best”  one  he  ever  came  up  with,  and  explained  the  origin  of   his  name,  stating,   When  I  was  a  kid,  I  loved  going  to  the  movies…And  there  was  this  one  movie   I’d  seen,  I  remember  nothing  about  it  except  the  name.  It  took  place  in  China,   I  believe,  and  the  name  of  the  movie  was  Chu  Chin  Chow.  Now  I  have  no  idea   what  it  meant—I  don’t  know  if  it  was  somebody’s  name  of  a  country  or  a  city,   but  I  never  forgot  that  name.  Those  three  words  just  stuck  in  my  memory:   Chu  Chin  Chow.  So  when  I  was  looking  for  the  name  of  a  monster,  I   remembered  Chu  Chin  Chow…And  that’s  how  Fin  Fang  Foom  was  born.519     Aside  from  the  association  between  dragons  and  China  in  Lee’s  story,  the  origin  of   the  monster’s  name  highlights  the  extent  to  which  these  characters  were  labeled   and  identified  using  words  or  terms  that  were  chosen  specifically  because  they   sounded  unusual,  foreign,  or  different.  Often,  Lee  did  not  know  what  the  names  of   these  monsters  meant—if  they  had  any  meaning  at  all—but  was  just  looking  for   labels  that  resonated  with  the  cultural  associations  embodied  by  a  particular   creature.  It  didn’t  matter  whether  the  name  was  Chinese;  it  sounded  like  it  was  to   American  readers.  Further,  it’s  also  worth  noting  that  as  a  character,  Fin  Fang  Foom   is  one  of  the  few  from  this  era  to  survive  into  the  present,  and  since  the  1950s  has                                                                                                                   518  Lee,  et  al.,  “Fin  Fang  Foom”  7.   519  Lee,  Interview  21.   226           become  largely  associated  with  the  Mandarin,  a  Chinese  villain  patterned  after  Fu   Manchu,  particularly  in  The  Dragon  Seed  Saga,  a  storyline  that  ran  throughout  the   Iron  Man  series  in  the  early  1990s  (see  fig.  65).     In  many  respects,  the  “giant  monsters”  featured  in  these  books  were  the   prototypes  for  the  superheroes  produced  by  the  company  only  a  few  years  later  in   the  early  1960s.  Not  only  were  there  striking  parallels  between  the  different  kinds   of  characters  created  in  the  two  eras,  but  many  also  shared  the  exact  same  names.   Jack  Kirby  recalled,  “We  had  Grottu  and  Kurgo  and  It…it  was  a  challenge  to  try  to  do   something—anything  with  such  ridiculous  characters.  But  these  were,  in  a  way,  the   forefathers  of  the  Marvel  super-­‐heroes.  We  had  a  Thing,  we  had  a  Hulk…we  tried  to   do  them  in  a  more  exciting  way.”520  While  the  earlier  incarnations  of  the  Thing  and   the  Hulk  were  certainly  very  different  from  the  characters  we  know  today—the   Hulk,  for  example,  was  a  giant  beast  with  orange  fur,  looking  incredibly  similar  to   Gossamer  from  Looney  Tunes—they  both  retained  the  sense  of  physical  strength   they  had  possessed  in  their  earlier  incarnations  (see  fig.  66).  Indeed,  prototypes  for   other  well-­‐known  characters,  like  Dr.  Doom,  Magneto,  Dr.  Strange,  Electro,  Diablo,   the  Sandman,  Cyclops,  the  Thing,  and  even  Spider-­‐Man  can  be  found  throughout   many  of  these  titles  (see  figs.  67-­‐74).521       There  were  even  some  characters  created  during  the  transition  from   monsters  to  superheroes  that  were  incorporated  into  the  Marvel  Universe.  For   example,  the  twenty-­‐seventh  issue  of  Tales  to  Astonish  introduced  readers  to  Hank   Pym  in  a  story  entitled,  “The  Man  in  the  Ant  Hill,”  a  character  who  would  later  take                                                                                                                   520  J.  Kirby  181.   521  Saffel  14.   227           on  a  variety  of  superhero  alter-­‐egos  like  Ant-­‐Man,  Giant-­‐Man,  and  Yellowjacket  (see   fig.  75).  Initially  presented  as  a  mad  scientist  spurned  by  his  colleagues,  he  creates  a   serum  that  allows  him  to  shrink  to  the  size  of  an  insect,  and  later  becomes  a   foundational  member  of  the  superhero  team,  the  Avengers,  directly  linking  these   monster  stories  with  the  Marvel  Universe.  In  this  respect,  we  can  see  the  transition   from  one  genre  to  the  next  as  a  kind  of  natural  evolution  within  the  comic  book  form,   where  the  giant  monster  movies  of  the  1950s  inspired  the  creation  of  the  science   fiction-­‐based  superheroes  that  were  introduced  throughout  the  following  decade.522     Indeed,  many  scholars  have  largely  ignored  the  link  between  these  “giant   monster”  stories  and  Marvel’s  superheroes,  although  it  has  gained  significant   attention  and  traction  within  the  fan  community.  For  years,  the  Overstreet  Price   Guide,  viewed  by  many  to  be  a  definitive  reference  for  information  about  the   medium,  has  noted  the  presence  of  “prototype”  characters  in  these  books.  Further,   fan-­‐based  publications  like  the  Jack  Kirby  Collector,  which  are  dedicated  to  analyzing   and  appreciating  the  work  of  the  singular  artist,  have  regularly  featured  articles   about  this  connection  in  their  pages,  often  interrogating  the  legitimacy  of  this   argument.523  Charles  Hatfield,  author  of  the  first  scholarly  work  devoted  to  Kirby,   uses  this  as  the  base  of  his  argument,  suggesting,  “Marvel’s  superhero  comics  during   this  period  remained  close  to  the  monster  comics  in  style  and  tone;  the  debt  was   obvious.  Villains  and  storylines  blatantly  echoed  Kirby’s  many  monster  and  alien-­‐                                                                                                                 522  In  addition  to  Fin  Fang  Foom  and  Hank  Pym,  the  character  Groot,  one  of  the  most   prominent  members  of  the  Guardians  of  the  Galaxy,  was  also  introduced  in  the   thirteenth  issue  of  Tales  To  Astonish,  presented  as  an  alien  with  the  appearance  of  a   tree  that  sought  to  conduct  experiments  on  human  beings.     523  Seybert  37;  Gartland  41.   228           invader  tales.  […]  More  importantly,  the  superhero  strips  shared  the  monster   comics’  penchant  for  the  chunky  and  grotesque,  and  conjured  the  same  drive-­‐in   movie  atmosphere  of  general  dread.”524  Even  the  “Marvel  Method,”  a  term  for  the   production  technique  in  which  multiple  individuals  worked  on  a  single  story  in   assembly  line  fashion,  was  developed  during  the  “giant  monster”  era,  and  marked   the  point  at  which  Lee  began  trusting  his  artists  to  incorporate  their  ideas  into   stories  without  his  direct  prior  approval.525         Many  of  Marvel’s  superheroes  originate  from  the  same  source:  the   uncontrollable  power  unleashed  by  meddling  with  the  forces  of  nature,  specifically   nuclear  technology,  and  the  influence  of  the  military  industrial  complex  on   American  society.  Often  in  these  stories,  as  with  the  science  fiction  films  of  the   1950s,  humans  gained  monstrous,  inhuman  powers  as  a  result  of  either  committing   some  kind  of  taboo—taking  the  form  of  traversing  into  forbidden  territory—or   attempting  to  violate  the  natural  order  and  play  God  in  the  pursuit  of  technologically   advanced  weaponry.  For  example,  the  Fantastic  Four  gain  their  powers  as  a  result  of   exposure  to  cosmic  radiation,  which  occurs  during  a  test  flight  undertaken  in  their   rush  to  beat  the  Russians  into  space.  Bruce  Banner  transforms  into  the  Hulk  after   being  bombarded  by  the  fallout  from  a  gamma  bomb  that  he  helped  to  create.  Peter   Parker  becomes  Spider-­‐Man  when  a  radioactive  arachnid  bites  him  after  an   experiment  at  a  high  school  science  fair.  Industrialist  Tony  Stark  builds  his  Iron  Man   armor  after  being  taken  captive  by  the  Viet  Kong,  while  delivering  sophisticated   weaponry  to  the  American  military  in  Vietnam.  Matt  Murdock  becomes  Daredevil                                                                                                                   524  Hatfield  102.   525  Raphael  and  Spurgeon  63;  Lopes  64;  McLaughlin  123.   229           after  he  is  blinded  by  radioactive  waste  while  saving  an  elderly  man  on  the  streets  of   New  York.  Captain  America,  created  decades  earlier,  is  rooted  in  this  narrative  as   well,  for  he  gets  his  powers  from  the  “Super  Soldier”  serum,  which  was  designed  to   help  the  American  military  triumph  over  the  Nazis.  The  X-­‐Men,  who  are  born  as   mutants,  derive  their  powers  from  their  parents’  exposure  to  the  atomic  bomb,   while  working  in  or  around  nuclear  facilities.526  Even  Marvel’s  version  of  the  Norse   god  Thor  was  originally  designed  to  be  a  Cold  War  hero  defending  the  United  States   from  Russian  spies.527     Like  Godzilla,  many  of  these  characters  were  transformed  and  empowered  by   radiation.  They  were  no  longer  simply  human,  but  they  weren’t  entirely  different   either.  As  Grant  Morrison  notes,  “In  the  Marvel  U,  radiation  was  a  kind  of  pixie  dust:   sprinkle  it  on  a  scientist,  and  voila!  A  superhero  was  born.  Radiation  was   responsible  for  the  origins  of  the  Fantastic  Four,  Spider-­‐Man,  the  Hulk,  the  X-­‐Men,   Daredevil,  and  several  other  early  Marvel  superheroes,  transforming  the  isotopes  of   fear  into  fuel  rods  of  wonder  and  possibility.”528  Echoing  this  perspective  is  Jeffrey   Kripal,  who  writes,  “The  radiation,  then,  was  not  simply  radiation.  It  was  also  a  kind   of  spiritual  power  or  mystical  energy.  In  the  end,  these  guys  didn’t  get  cancer.  They   got  superpowers.”529  Indeed,  the  cumulative  effect  of  Marvel’s  success  was  to   transform  the  kinds  of  protagonists  that  could  be  introduced  in  comic  books.  No   longer  were  heroes  required  to  be  handsome,  upstanding,  flawless  individuals,  but   instead  they  could  be  well  intentioned  but  imperfect  citizens,  “down-­‐on-­‐their-­‐luck”                                                                                                                   526  Fingeroth  116.   527  DiPaolo  27.   528  Morrison  96-­‐97.   529  Kripal  125.   230           nobodies,  social  outcasts,  or  even  misunderstood  monsters.  The  use  of  radiation  to   explain  the  presence  of  superheroes  made  for  a  convincing,  science  fiction-­‐based   rationale  that  helped  readers  to  identify  with  these  characters  that  had  all  started   out  as  ordinary  people.     This  is  particularly  true  for  the  X-­‐Men,  individuals  born  with  special  powers   who  are  hated  and  feared  by  those  they  were  sworn  to  protect.  Interestingly,  the   concept  of  a  mutant  was  derived  from  classic  works  of  science  fiction,  including   Wilmar  Shiras’  novel  Children  of  the  Atom,  which  focused  on  psychologist  Peter   Welles  and  his  school  for  super-­‐intelligent  children.  Out  of  the  many  X-­‐Men  that   have  been  created  since  the  early  1960s,  perhaps  the  one  most  relevant  to  this  study   is  Yoshida  Shiro,  more  popularly  known  as  Sunfire  (see  fig.  76).  First  introduced  in   1970,  the  character  was  created  by  Roy  Thomas,  and  inspired  by  the  idea  of   incorporating  a  Japanese  mutant  into  the  team  whose  parents  had  been  exposed  to   radiation  at  Hiroshima.  As  Thomas  noted,  “I  had  tried  to  persuade  [Stan  Lee]  to  let   me  introduce  a  sixth  X-­‐Man,  a  young  Japanese  or  Japanese-­‐American  whose  mother   had  been  affected  by  A-­‐bomb  blasts  in  1945;  to  me,  this  complimented  the  notion   that  The  X-­‐Men’s  parents  had  worked  on  the  Manhattan  Project.”530  In  many  of  the   early  stories,  Sunfire  was  stereotypically  Japanese—honor-­‐bound  and  frequently   expressing  his  disdain  for  the  United  States—as  his  mother  had  died  from  exposure   to  the  radiation  released  by  the  atomic  bomb,  a  point  that  obviously  resonated  with   the  plight  of  the  hibakusha.  However,  when  the  series  was  revived  in  1975,  the   character  was  brought  back  as  part  of  an  “international”  team,  consisting  of  many  of                                                                                                                   530  Thomas,  “I’m  Proud  of  Both  My  Runs  On  the  X-­‐Men”  8.   231           the  most  popular  X-­‐men  today,  including  Storm,  Colossus,  Nightcrawler,  and   Wolverine.531  While  he  was  quickly  dropped  from  the  roster  soon  thereafter,  Sunfire   is  important  because  his  creation  speaks  to  the  link  that  exists  between  the  atomic   bomb  and  the  idea  of  transformative  radioactivity  that  is  central  to  the   understanding  of  the  Japanese  in  American  popular  culture.     Further,  it  is  worth  recognizing  that  Stan  Lee,  Jack  Kirby,  Steve  Ditko,  and   their  collaborators  saw  comic  books  as  a  way  to  engage  important  political  issues   through  the  genres  of  science  fiction  and  fantasy.  This  is  one  of  the  main  reasons   why  Marvel  adopted  a  “torn  from  the  headlines”  approach  to  storytelling,  and  unlike   D.C.  Comics,  firmly  grounded  their  heroes  in  the  real  world,  setting  many  of  their   stories  in  New  York  City.532  In  a  1970  radio  interview,  Lee  stated,  “The  thing  I’ve   learned  is  that  you  got  to  make  your  comic  magazines  or  your  television  shows  or   your  movies  relate  to  the  real  world  because  unless  they  do,  you  have  meaningless   cardboard  characters,  and  that’s  not  really  what  people  are  into  today.  They  want   stories  that  tell  them  something  about  the  world  they  are  living  in  now.”533  It  not   only  increased  sales  by  making  the  subject  matter  relevant  to  readers,  but  also  had   the  effect  of  allowing  these  creators  to  comment  on  many  of  the  most  important   social  issues  of  the  1960s.  While  he  publicly  denied  taking  on  a  role  of  advocate,  Lee,   as  quoted  by  Sean  Howe,  recognized  the  didactic  nature  of  comic  books,  even  going   so  far  as  to  remark,     You  fellas  think  of  comics  in  terms  of  comic  books,  but  you’re  wrong.  I  think   you  fellas  should  think  of  comics  in  terms  of  drugs,  in  terms  of  journalism,  in                                                                                                                   531  Claremont,  et  al.  1:  9.   532  McLaughlin  29;  B.  Wright  184,  204-­‐205.   533  McLaughlin  29.   232           terms  of  selling,  in  terms  of  business.  And  if  you  have  a  viewpoint  on  drugs,   or  if  you  have  a  viewpoint  on  war,  or  if  you  have  a  viewpoint  on  the  economy,   I  think  you  can  tell  it  more  effectively  in  comics  than  you  can  in  words.  I  think   nobody  is  doing  it.  Comics  is  journalism.534     This  penchant  for  realism  and  relevance  dates  back  to  the  earliest  issues  of  The   Fantastic  Four,  and  by  extension  the  era  of  “giant  monster”  comics,  as  the  superhero   team  was  originally  introduced  as  “plainclothes”  individuals,  “normal”  people  who   happened  to  have  to  have  powers  but  looked  just  like  anyone  else  on  the  street,  an   approach  designed  to  make  the  heroes  as  relatable  as  possible.535     Throughout  the  decade,  Marvel’s  titles  were  decidedly  activist  in  nature,   presenting  positions  on  issues  ranging  from  the  Civil  Rights  and  feminist   movements  to  drug  abuse  and  the  Vietnam  War.  While  they  were  rarely  as  preachy   or  propagandistic  as  earlier  titles  had  been,  they  often  incorporated  didactic   elements  into  their  narratives  to  comment  on  contemporary  social  debates.  For   instance,  the  X-­‐Men  have  frequently  been  interpreted  as  a  commentary  on  racial   equality  and  the  Civil  Rights  Movement,  with  mutants  allegorically  functioning  as   people  of  color  and  their  leaders,  the  pacifist  Charles  Xavier  and  the  militant   Magneto,  cast  in  the  mold  of  Martin  Luther  King  Jr.  and  Malcolm  X.536  Further,   Marvel  was  among  the  first  to  incorporate  African  American  superheroes  into  their   universe,  beginning  with  T’Challa,  the  Black  Panther,  in  the  fifty-­‐second  issue  of  The   Fantastic  Four  in  1966  (see  fig.  77).  Three  years  earlier,  Lee  and  Kirby  also   introduced  an  African  American  G.I.  named  Gabe  Jones  into  the  multiracial  platoon                                                                                                                   534  Howe  103.   535  Lopes  64.   536  Howe  48.   233           commanded  by  Sgt.  Nick  Fury,  The  Howling  Commandos,  which  still  exists  today   and  was  featured  in  the  film,  Captain  America:  The  First  Avenger  (see  fig.  78).537   This  move  toward  diversity,  albeit  an  essentialized  and  somewhat   stereotypical  version  of  it,  was  reinforced  within  other  narratives  and  titles  as  well.   For  example,  the  twenty-­‐first  issue  of  The  Fantastic  Four  introduced  the  Hate-­‐ Monger,  a  supervillain  dressed  in  a  purple  Klu  Klux  Klan  robe,  who  used  his  “hate   ray”  to  create  division  among  likeminded  people  (see  fig.  79).  At  the  end  of  the  story,   the  character  was  revealed  to  be  a  clone  of  Adolf  Hitler,  operating  in  secret  in  the   United  States,  an  obvious  throwback  to  the  superhero  stories  featured  throughout   World  War  II.  Recalling  the  issue,  Lee  noted,     Every  so  often  I  would  try  to  get  some  important  moral  point  in  our  stories.  I   remember  I  did  one  story  called  “The  Hate  Monger.”  It  was  really  a  take-­‐off   on,  I  guess,  the  KKK.  […]  I  sort  of  hope  that  it  would  give  our  readers  the  idea   that  it  just  isn’t  right  to  hate  any  other  group  because  they’re  of  a  different   religion  or  a  different  race  or  a  different  nationality,  because  all  people   should  be  treated  the  same.  We  tried  to  get  that  point  across  in  all  of  the   Marvel  books.538     This  drive  toward  producing  politically  oriented  stories  is  a  major  factor  that   separated  the  company  from  its  competitors.  While  publishers  like  D.C.  Comics  still   largely  designed  their  books  around  fantastic  conflicts  between  heroes  and  villains   in  imaginary  locales,  like  Gotham  City  and  Metropolis,  Marvel  explored  the   implications  of  superheroes  in  the  real  world.   The  success  of  Marvel,  then,  was  built  on  an  unconventional  combination  of   fantasy  and  realism  that  evolved  from  the  “giant  monster”  comics  of  the  1950s.  It  is   largely  due  to  the  influence  of  those  series  that  the  publisher’s  artistic  style,                                                                                                                   537  Wells  137.   538  Lee,  Interview  15.   234           narrative  themes,  and  methods  of  production  grew  more  sophisticated,  helping   them  to  introduce  a  new  kind  of  superhero  to  readers.  Further,  this  approach  was   built  upon  a  foundation  of  science  fiction,  influenced  by  both  literature  and  film.   From  warnings  about  uncontrolled  technological  development  to  the  inclusion  of   commentary  about  hot-­‐button  social  issues,  Marvel  utilized  the  tropes  of  the  genre   to  much  success,  creating  a  line  of  modern  superheroes—many  of  them  literal   children  of  the  atom—that  were  essentially  heroic  monsters.  Like  the  way  that   Japanese  filmmakers  used  Gojira  and  monster  movies  to  level  a  critique  of  American   military  policy,  the  writers  and  artists  of  Marvel  Comics  used  these  characters  to   interrogate  the  anxieties  of  the  1960s,  from  a  changing  social  and  cultural  landscape   to  fears  about  nuclear  proliferation.   In  many  respects,  however,  the  idea  of  the  superhero  as  a  kind  of  monster   was  not  a  new  invention,  nor  was  it  unique  to  Marvel  Comics.  After  all,  since  the   inception  of  the  medium,  such  protagonists  had  come  in  any  and  all  forms   imaginable,  from  aliens  to  robots  to  biological  science  experiments,  all  of  which   were  cast  in  the  mold  of  heroic  characters,  regardless  of  their  origin.  Additionally,   their  identities  were  always  firmly  situated  between  the  diametrically  opposed   poles  of  self  and  other,  as  they  were  often  strange  beings  that  were  able  to  fit  in  or   assimilate  into  civil  society  through  the  use  of  a  civilian  alter-­‐ego  or  secret  identity.   Perhaps  one  of  the  best  early  examples  of  this  is  Superman.  By  all  accounts,  the   character  is  monstrous,  from  his  unparalleled  strength  to  his  birth  on  the  alien   planet  of  Krypton,  he  clearly  exists  beyond  the  limits  of  humanity,  and  yet  is  a  figure   that  readers  not  only  relate  to  but  also  admire  as  a  champion  of  the  people.  Framing   235           it  in  terms  of  science  and  the  classification  of  the  natural  and  the  unnatural,  Noel   Carroll  reaches  a  similar  conclusion,  stating,     If  monsters  are  beings  whose  existence  is  denied  by  contemporary  science,   then  isn’t  the  comic  book  character  Superman  a  monster?  This  seems  not   only  ungrateful,  given  everything  that  Superman  has  done  for  us,  but  also   wrong  if  we  think  of  monster  as  beings  so  ugly  as  to  frighten  us,  i.e.,  as  beings   somehow  grotesque.  […]  But,  of  course,  the  sense  of  “monster”  that  I  am   using  does  not  necessarily  involve  notions  of  ugliness  but  rather  the  notion   that  the  monster  is  a  being  in  violation  of  the  natural  order,  where  the   perimeter  of  the  natural  order  is  determined  by  contemporary  science.   Superman  is  not  compatible  with  what  is  known  of  the  natural  order  by   science.539     Early  narratives  featuring  Superman  reinforce  this  idea  of  the  character  as  a  heroic   monster,  as  he  was  initially  presented  as  a  vigilante,  who  worked  outside  the  law,   often  fighting  against  a  corrupt  system  and  fleeing  from  the  authorities.  In  fact,  an   early  prototype  of  the  hero  from  the  1930s  introduced  him  as  an  evil,  monstrous   villain,  similar  in  appearance  to  a  mad  scientist,  who  gained  his  powers  from   exposure  to  a  meteorite.540  This  argument  could  functionally  be  extended  to  other   Golden  Age  heroes  as  well.     Finally,  it  is  worth  noting  that  skeptics  may  contend  that  the  argument   presented  in  this  section  is  a  blatant  misreading  of  the  history  of  Marvel  Comics,  and   that  the  company’s  titles  as  a  whole  were  not  inherently  subversive,  but  rather   intensely  conservative  and  reinforced  many  of  the  dominant  social  norms  of  the   1960s.  It  is  certainly  true,  that  many  comics  produced  during  the  decade  contained   strong  anti-­‐communist  overtones.  One  only  needs  to  look  at  Iron  Man’s  rogues   gallery  to  see  a  veritable  pantheon  of  negative  Communist  stereotypes,  from  the                                                                                                                   539  Carroll  40.   540  Daniels,  Superman  14-­‐15.   236           Chinese  Mandarin  to  the  Soviet  Crimson  Dynamo,  Titanium  Man,  and  Black  Widow   (see  fig.  80).  Further,  Marvel  was  home  to  a  small  contingent  of  intensely   conservative  creators,  most  notably  Steve  Ditko,  whose  strong  objectivist  beliefs   and  adherence  to  Ayn  Rand,  led  to  a  number  of  disputes,  particularly  over  narrative   differences  and  royalties,  that  ended  his  creative  partnership  with  Stan  Lee.541     However,  I  would  argue  that  there  are  equally  compelling  factors  that  work   in  favor  of  my  interpretation,  many  of  which  have  already  been  presented   throughout  this  chapter.  Additionally,  we  should  note  that  one  of  Marvel  Comics’   strongest  markets  throughout  the  1960s  consisted  of  college-­‐aged  readers,  and  that   Stan  Lee  gave  many  radio  and  print  interviews  promoting  the  company  to  various   campus  media  outlets  in  New  York  and  other  states.542  This  considerable  interest  in   the  company’s  line  among  young  adults  resulted  in  the  production  of  stories  that   catered  to  their  interests,  which  were  solicited  through  the  use  of  fan  mail  and  the   publication  of  letters  pages  at  the  end  of  each  issue.543  Through  these,  writers  and   artists  were  able  to  craft  narratives  that  fit  the  mood  of  their  readers,  and  as  the   decade  progressed,  this  business  model  allowed  for  the  production  of  increasingly   activist,  liberal  narratives,  that  strongly  critiqued  the  status  quo  in  the  United   States.544  By  the  early  1970s,  many  writers,  like  Roy  Thomas,  Steve  Englehart,  and                                                                                                                   541  Bell  86-­‐89.   542  McLaughlin  207-­‐208.   543  Ibid.  72.   544  Stan  Lee  was  one  of  the  first  editors  to  challenge  the  guidelines  of  the  Comics   Code  Authority,  after  he  defied  the  organization  and  published  a  “drug  awareness”   story  in  the  ninety-­‐sixth  issue  of  The  Amazing  Spider-­Man,  in  which  the  hero’s  friend,   Harry  Osborn,  becomes  addicted  to  pills.  This  move,  along  with  subsequent   challenges  by  Marvel  and  D.C.  resulted  in  the  Code’s  first  revision  in  1971,  relaxing   restrictions  on  depictions  of  drug  use,  and  also  the  use  of  monsters.     237           others,  were  explicitly  criticizing  the  Vietnam  War,  promoting  countercultural  ideals,   and  challenging  the  establishment  by  using  nationalistic  icons  like  Captain  America,   essentially  fulfilling  the  initial  promise  of  Marvel’s  subversive  potential.545   At  the  core  of  every  superhero  is  a  character  that  is  like  us,  but  different.   While  they  may  be  humanoid,  they  are  not  human.  In  some  ways  they  are  better   than  us,  in  others,  not.  They  can  often  do  things  that  we  are  unable  to,  and  yet   frequently  yearn  for  a  normal  existence.  For  all  their  powers  and  abilities,  they  do   not  stand  above  us,  but  among  us,  serving  as  symbols  and  metaphors  that  reveal   something  about  the  human  condition.  These  kinds  of  characters  are  not  distinctly   American  in  their  constitution,  for  they  also  appear  in  other  formats,  like  Japanese   manga.  In  the  next  section,  we  examine  the  parallels  between  the  protagonists  found   in  these  two  mediums  in  order  to  better  understand  the  origins  and  meanings   behind  the  contemporary  superheroes  that  are  prevalent  in  popular  culture.  For   their  existence  is  largely  due  to  a  series  of  dynamic  transnational  exchanges,  where   both  American  and  Japanese  print  culture  have  been  influenced  by  one  another.     III.  The  “Superheroes”  of  Postwar  Japanese  Manga  and  Anime       For  many  Americans,  the  popularity  of  manga  is  a  recent  phenomenon,   emerging  from  Japan  within  the  last  two  decades,  having  been  imported  into  the   United  States  after  the  success  of  a  series  of  animated  television  shows  in  the  late   1990s,  like  Pokémon,  Dragon  Ball  Z,  Gundam  Wing,  and  Sailor  Moon.  In  this  context,   the  medium  has  largely  been  defined  by  its  differences  from  Western  comic  books                                                                                                                   545  Steve  Englehart  is  well  known  for  his  run  on  Captain  America,  in  which  the  hero   becomes  disillusioned  by  the  corruption  of  American  ideals,  including  the  country’s   involvement  in  Vietnam  and  the  crimes  of  the  Nixon  Administration,  and  abandons   his  identity  to  temporarily  become  the  superhero,  Nomad.   238           and  animation.546  Observers  often  point  to  the  aesthetics  of  manga,  citing  the  fact   that  many  characters,  particularly  women  or  young  girls,  have  large  eyes,  or   highlighting  the  different  approaches  to  serialized  storytelling,  as  narratives  within   the  medium  are  constructed  around  multiple  complex  storylines.  While  this   particular  section  will  touch  on  these  points  to  an  extent,  as  they  are  reflective  of   how  manga  and  anime  culture  have  shaped  the  image  of  Japan  in  the  United  States,   here,  we  are  more  concerned  with  the  kinds  of  characters  that  appear  within  the   earliest  years  of  the  manga  industry,  particularly  from  1952  to  1963,  and  their   relationship  not  only  to  texts  produced  by  the  American  comic  book  industry,  but   also  to  other  Japanese  cultural  materials,  like  Gojira,  that  utilize  ideas  about   monstrosity  to  interrogate  contentious  social  and  cultural  issues.  Specifically,  we   focus  on  popular  shonen,  or  boy’s  series,  including  Tezuka  Osamu’s  Tetsuwan  Atomu,   or  Astro  Boy,  and  Mizuki  Shigeru’s  GeGeGe  no  Kitaro,  primarily  because  of  the   genre’s  strong  influence  in  the  American  cultural  marketplace.547   Before  we  begin  this  discussion,  it  is  important  to  define  what  exactly  manga   is,  especially  since  this  has  long  been  a  point  of  contention  among  scholars  of  the   medium.  Put  into  the  simplest  of  terms,  manga  can  be  understood  as  Japanese   comics,  which  utilize  the  interplay  of  text  and  images  to  present  a  narrative  to  the   reader.  The  term  itself  was  coined  by  the  artist  Hokusai  in  1814,  and  literally  means                                                                                                                   546  Allison  158.   547  While  other  genres  of  manga  have  a  significant  fan  base  within  the  United  States,   particularly  shojo,  or  girl’s  comics,  with  the  popular  series  Sailor  Moon,  Ranma  ½   and  Urusei  Yatsura,  in  America,  shonen  accounts  for  the  majority  of  manga  and   anime  available  for  consumption  by  consumers,  either  through  purchase  or   broadcast  on  television.   239           “whimsical”  or  “playful  sketches.”548  Similarly,  anime  refers  to  the  animated   television  series  that  are  derived  and  directly  adapted  from  the  narratives  found  in   manga,  often  presented  in  weekly  thirty-­‐minute  episodes.  Unlike  American  comic   books,  which  read  from  left  to  right,  manga  is  designed  to  be  consumed  from  right  to   left,  following  with  the  conventions  of  other  Japanese  printed  publications,  like   newspapers  and  novels.  They  are  primarily  serialized  in  chapter  form,  with  new   installments  available  in  anthologies,  like  the  popular  Weekly  Shonen  Jump,  a   magazine  that  features  multiple  series  and  is  geared  toward  adolescent  boys.  The   published  material  from  successful  properties  is  often  reprinted  in  digest-­‐sized   collected  editions,  which  are  sold  at  bookstores  and  newsstands  throughout  the   country.     While  many  scholars  view  manga  as  an  ancient  form,  dating  back  centuries  to   some  of  the  first  written  and  artistic  Japanese  works,  others  contend  that  it  is  a   much  more  contemporary  phenomenon  that  has  little  to  do  with  Japan’s  artistic   tradition.  For  example,  Natsu  Onoda  Power  asserts  that  the  Choju  Giga,  or  Animal   Scrolls,  produced  around  the  twelfth  century,  are  some  of  the  oldest  surviving   examples  of  comic  art,  and  argues  that  manga  itself  has  a  long  developmental   history,  as  its  presentation  is  informed  by  the  aesthetics  of  classical  Japanese  art   (see  fig.  81).549  This  is  affirmed  by  Susan  Napier,  one  of  the  leading  American   scholars  of  anime  and  manga,  who  notes,     Although  it  would  be  impossible  to  say  for  certain  how  much  today’s   animators  are  consciously  influenced  by  the  visual  trove  of  their  traditional   culture,  it  seems  safe  to  say  that  their  culture’s  tradition  of  pictocentrism  is                                                                                                                   548  Schodt,  Manga,  Manga!  18.   549  Power  19;  Ito  26.   240           definitely  an  influence  behind  the  ubiquitousness  of  anime  and  manga.   Certainly  some  images  from  earlier  periods  would  not  seem  out  of  place  in   contemporary  anime  or  manga.550     Likewise,  Frederik  Schodt  maintains  that  early  works  of  classical  artistry,  defined  in   part  by  their  playfulness  and  incorporation  of  strong  religious  themes,  are   reminiscent  of  the  presentational  style  of  contemporary  manga.551  Zilla  Papp  points   directly  to  the  aesthetics  of  the  Hyakki  Yakko,  mentioned  briefly  in  the  previous   chapter,  as  an  artistic  and  cultural  influence  for  some  of  today’s  most  popular   series.552  Similarly,  Antonia  Levy  notes  that  many  anime  rely  heavily  on  Japanese   literary  traditions  in  the  construction  of  their  narratives.553   However,  Sharon  Kinsella  contends  that  the  form  is  a  “strikingly   contemporary  cultural  phenomenon,”  noting  that  the  term  “manga”  was  not   incorporated  into  the  everyday  Japanese  lexicon  until  the  1930s.554  Similarly,   Jaqueline  Berndt  rejects  the  idea  that  there  is  a  direct  relationship  between  works   like  the  Choju  Giga  and  today’s  manga,  noting  that  the  dissimilarities  between  the   two  are  far  more  pronounced  and  significant  than  any  resemblances  or  overlapping   qualities.555  Further,  she  maintains  that  while  arguments  about  traditional  artistic   influences  in  manga  are  popular  among  foreign  scholars,  Japanese  experts  like   Miyamoto  Hirohito  and  Natsume  Fusanosuke  point  to  three  qualities  that   distinguish  the  two  from  one  another:  the  concept  of  the  “panel”  or  “frame”  which   was  imported  from  European  comics,  the  way  that  manga  functions  as  a  modern                                                                                                                   550  Napier,  Anime:  From  Akira  to  Howl’s  Moving  Castle  21.   551  Schodt  29.   552  Papp  66.   553  Levy  27.   554  Kinsella  19-­‐20.   555  Berndt  306.   241           mass  media  similar  to  newspapers  and  magazines  rather  than  art,  and  finally,  the   fact  that  the  medium  is  reflective  of  Westernized  culture,  adopted  through  the   process  of  modernization.556       Additionally,  there  are  a  number  of  aesthetic  and  presentational  differences   between  Japanese  manga  and  American  comic  books  that  affect  the  form  of   storytelling.  It  has  often  been  remarked  that  there  is  a  greater  sense  of  flow  in   manga  than  in  comic  books,  as  in  the  former  the  reader’s  attention  is  meant  to   quickly  shift  from  panel-­‐to-­‐panel,  following  the  narrative  action.  In  some  respects,   this  is  due  to  the  extended  length  of  stories  in  the  medium,  as  it  provides  the   opportunity  to  establish  the  environment  and  setting.557  However,  this  difference   also  allows  manga  to  be  highly  cinematic,  replicating  the  flow  of  film  on  the  printed   page  by  doing  away  with  captions  and  by  extending  narrative-­‐based  sequences  with   dialogue  over  multiple  panels,  resulting  in  a  presentation  that  is  more  akin  to   storyboards  for  a  film  rather  than  a  traditional  comic  book.  Commenting  on  this   difference,  writer  and  artist  Frank  Miller  notes,  “Manga’s  too  quick  for  me,  but   American  comics  are  so  constipated,  so  slow.  There  are  too  many  word  balloons  and   so  many  panels.”558  He  continued,  stressing  the  point  that,  “Manga  really  do  try  to  be   movies  on  paper.”559  Further,  Scott  McCloud  theorizes  that  the  dynamism  of  manga   has  the  effect  of  enhancing  the  process  of  immersion,  and  that  the  medium   effectively  allows  the  reader  to  participate  in  the  construction  of  the  narrative.560                                                                                                                   556  Ibid.  308   557  McCloud,  Understanding  Comics  78-­‐82.   558  Eisner  and  Miller  49.   559  Ibid.  87.   560  McCloud,  Making  Comics  217-­‐223   242           These  differences  may  be  some  of  the  reasons  why  the  form  has  caught  on  with   American  audiences,  despite  the  long  cultural  relationship  with  comic  books  in  the   United  States.     While  determining  the  exact  nature  of  manga  is  outside  the  parameters  of   this  study,  I  would  like  to  highlight  the  recent  developmental  history  of  the  medium,   as  it  reflects  on  the  kinds  of  characters  and  narratives  that  emerged  throughout  the   earliest  years  of  the  industry.  The  introduction  of  comics  to  Japan  dates  back  to   1863,  when  Charles  Wirgman,  a  correspondent  and  cartoonist  with  the  Illustrated   London  News,  founded  the  country’s  first  magazine,  Japan  Punch.561  His  work,  which   utilized  traditional  Western  conventions  like  word  balloons  and  multi-­‐panel   sequential  art,  is  credited  along  with  French  artist  George  Bigot  for  leading  to  the   development  of  contemporary  manga  in  Japan.562  Kitazawa  Rakuten,  a  manga  artist   for  the  American  magazine,  A  Box  of  Curios,  is  considered  to  be  one  of  the  first   Japanese  cartoonists.563  Along  with  his  contemporary,  Okamoto  Ippei,  who  is   notable  for  incorporating  a  cinematic  style  into  comics,  the  two  are  attributed  with   promoting  the  idea  of  a  “cartoon  journalist.”564  From  there,  manga  was  popularized   as  a  children’s  medium  throughout  the  early  part  of  the  twentieth  century,   particularly  around  1914  with  the  inception  of  Kodansha’s  Shonen  Club,  a  monthly   magazine  for  boys,  and  it’s  counterpart  for  girls,  Shojo  Club,  in  1923.565  Despite  the                                                                                                                   561  Kelts  126;  Kinko  Ito  29.   562  Kinko  Ito  30;  Power  25.   563  Power  25.   564  Schodt  43.   565  Power  27.   243           popularity  of  these  publications,  however,  these  early  magazines  never  reached  the   astronomical  sales  of  their  postwar  equivalents.     Indeed,  much  of  this  can  be  attributed  to  the  constraints  placed  on  those   within  the  industry  following  the  start  of  World  War  II.  In  fact,  between  1937  and   1942,  the  number  of  printed  publications  in  Japan  fell  dramatically  from  16,788  to   942.566  By  1942,  paper  shortages  and  the  breakdown  of  distribution  channels  forced   publishers  to  cut  back  on  the  size  of  their  magazines,  and  in  the  following  year,  all   paper  distribution  was  placed  under  government  control.567  Further,  by  the  middle   of  1944,  comic  strips  were  banned  entirely  from  appearing  in  newspapers  and   magazines,  as  media  outlets  were  ordered  to  use  their  platforms  for  the  reporting  of   “essential”  news.568  These  policies  not  only  had  the  effect  of  limiting  the  availability   of  printed  materials,  but  they  also  resulted  in  the  near-­‐collapse  of  the  entire  manga   industry,  as  writers  and  artists  found  themselves  creating  family  dramas,  war   cartoons,  or  more  often,  state  propaganda.569  As  Fredrik  Schodt  notes,  “Many   cartoonists  were  drafted  and  sent  to  war  zones  where  they  created  reports  for  the   public  back  home,  propaganda  leaflets  for  the  local  populace,  and  leaflets  to  be   dropped  over  enemy  lines.”570  Still,  manga  created  during  the  war  featured   interesting  series,  particularly  those  in  Shonen  Club,  like  Norakuro,  about  a  stray                                                                                                                   566  Kelts  131.   567  Kinsella  23.   568  Kelts  131.   569  Schodt,  Manga,  Manga!  56.   570  Ibid.  57-­‐58.   244           black  dog  that  joins  the  imperial  army,  and  Boken  Dankichi,  which  featured  a  young   boy  who  becomes  the  king  of  a  Pacific  island.571   It  is  important  to  note  that  while  there  were  many  manga  produced   domestically  in  Japan  throughout  the  early  twentieth  century,  the  presence  of   American  comics  was  also  prevalent  before  and  after  World  War  II.  In  fact,  many   Western  comic  strips  like  Mutt  and  Jeff,  Happy  Hooligan,  and  Felix  the  Cat  were   reprinted  in  Japanese  newspapers  during  the  1920s.572  The  importation  of   American  print  and  animated  culture  had  a  tremendous  impact  in  Japan,  as  many  of   the  nation’s  top  artists,  including  Tezuka  Osamu,  were  strongly  influenced  by  Walt   Disney  and  his  contemporaries.573  This  changed  in  the  years  leading  up  to  the  war,   as  the  Japanese  government  grew  concerned  over  the  influence  that  imported   American  culture  was  having  on  its  citizens,  at  which  point,  it  was  banned  entirely,   along  with  akahon,  literally  translated  as  “red  books”  that  frequently  featured   manga  and  were  considered  to  be  vehicles  for  “poor  quality”  or  “harmful”  culture.574   It  was  not  until  the  postwar  era  that  American  comics  re-­‐entered  Japan,  due  in  part   to  their  importation  by  military  G.I.s  and  their  incorporation  into  newly  created   Japanese  magazines,  like  VAN.575  As  Ito  Kinko  notes,  “Popular  American  cartoons   like  Blondie,  Crazy  Cat,  Popeye,  Mickey  Mouse  and  Donald  Duck,  and  Superman   were  translated  and  introduced  to  Japanese  audiences.  The  people  longed  for  the                                                                                                                   571  Kinko  Ito  31-­‐32.   572  Kinsella  20;  Schodt,  Manga  Manga!  45.   573  Schodt,  Manga,  Manga!  63;  Kelts  176;  Holmberg;  Schodt,  Astro  Boy  Essays  43   574  McCarthy  20.   575  Power  34.   245           rich  American  lifestyle  that  was  blessed  with  material  goods  and  electronic   appliances.”576       However,  as  alluded  to  earlier,  the  roots  of  the  modern  manga  industry  are   firmly  grounded  in  the  postwar  era,  particularly  the  Allied  Occupation  of  Japan,   which  lasted  from  the  end  of  the  war  until  April  of  1952.577  While  the  Occupational   Authority  was  not  nearly  as  restrictive  as  the  Imperial  Government  had  been,  in  that   it  allowed  controlled,  sanctioned  forms  of  artistic  expression  and  primarily  forbid   anything  that  could  be  interpreted  as  nationalistic,  the  publishing  industry  still  faced   many  of  the  same  obstacles  that  stymied  production  throughout  the  war,  like   shortages  of  paper  and  labor.  Still,  Jennifer  Prough  notes  that     The  print  industry  was  one  of  the  first  commercial  sectors  to  recover  after   the  war.  Because  books  and  magazines  could  be  started  with  minimal  labor   power  and  materials  and  could  be  purchased  or  rented  cheaply,  providing   light  entertainment  in  the  harsh  conditions  of  the  early  postwar  era,   publishing  companies  proliferated.578   Indeed,  some  of  the  most  popular  and  long-­‐running  manga  series,  like  Sazae-­San,   created  by  Hasegawa  Machiko  in  1946,  began  as  newspaper  strips  during  this  era.579   More  specifically,  however,  the  resurgence  of  the  manga  industry  was  due  in  part  to                                                                                                                   576  Kinko  Ito  36.   577  Manga  scholars  and  professionals  within  the  industry  point  to  different  works   that  signaled  the  start  of  the  postwar  boom.  For  the  purposes  of  this  study,  I  have   chosen  to  cite  American  scholarship  and  utilize  the  creation  of  Astro  Boy  in  1952  as   the  entry  point  for  this  discussion.  However,  I  would  like  to  point  out  that  others,   like  Nakazawa  Keiji,  the  creator  of  Hadashi  no  Gen,  trace  it  back  even  further  to  1947   and  the  publication  of  Tezuka  Osamu’s  debut  work,  Shin  Takarajima,  or  New   Treasure  Island.  Nakazawa  108.   578  Prough  30.   579  Schodt,  Manga,  Manga!  61.   246           the  popularity  of  kashi  honya,  or  lending  libraries,  that  flourished  in  the  postwar  era,   since  many  people  lacked  the  ability  to  buy  their  own  copies,  and  kamishibai,   literally  translated  as  “paper  theater,”  a  public  form  of  entertainment  that  utilized  a   series  of  illustrations  to  tell  a  story.  For  many  young  people,  particularly  in  Osaka   and  later  Tokyo,  kamishibai  represented  a  kind  of  cheap  and  accessible   entertainment,  with  estimates  suggesting  that  from  1945  to  1953  more  than  ten   thousand  artists  throughout  Japan  made  a  living  as  paper  theater  narrators,   entertaining  approximately  five  million  people  every  single  day.580  Additionally,  the   onset  of  the  Korean  War  in  1950  generated  tremendous  demand  for  Japanese  goods   and  infused  the  economy  with  capital,  resulting  in  the  resurgence  of  many   industries,  including  the  publishing  sector.581  These  four  factors:  the  end  of  the   occupation  and  official  censorship,  the  proliferation  of  lending  libraries,  the   popularity  of  kamishibai,  and  economic  growth  brought  about  by  the  Korean  War,   account  for  the  tremendous  spike  in  manga  production  that  began  in  the  early   1950s  and  continued  well  into  the  1960s.     It  is  here,  then,  that  our  analysis  of  manga’s  “superheroes”  begins,  coinciding   with  the  creation  of  Tesuwan  Atomu  in  1952,  extending  until  1963  with  the  debut  of   the  character’s  anime  series,  which  marks  the  beginning  of  the  “media-­‐mix”   economy  within  the  industry,  as  we  shall  discuss  shortly.582  Before  we  start,   however,  it’s  important  to  note  that  the  term  “superhero”  is  a  bit  of  a  misnomer,  as   we  are  not  talking  about  genre  characters  in  the  traditional  sense,  like  the  larger-­‐                                                                                                                 580  Ibid.  62.   581  Kinko  Ito  35.   582  A  prototype  for  Tetsuwan  Atomu  appeared  in  the  April  1951  series,  Atomu  Taishi.   247           than-­‐life  figures  dressed  in  costumes  and  spandex  that  appear  in  comic  books.   Rather,  when  speaking  of  Japanese  superheroes,  I’m  referring  to  the  heroic   protagonists,  who  are  often  depicted  as  somewhat  ordinary  individuals  in  manga.   While  they  share  certain  qualities  with  their  American  counterparts,  particularly  in   their  role  as  outsiders  and  their  easy  relatability  with  readers,  there  are  many   differences  between  the  two.    The  earliest  critics  of  manga,  like  Fredric  Schodt,   recognized  this,  writing,     In  America,  almost  every  comic  book  hero  is  a  “superhero”—with  bulging   biceps  (or  breasts,  as  the  case  may  be),  a  face  and  physique  that  rigidly   adhere  to  classical  traditions,  invincibility  accompanied  by  superpowers,  and   a  cloying,  moralistic  personality.  In  Japan,  heroes  of  many  genres  of  comics   are  rather  ordinary  in  appearance  and  self-­‐effacing  in  manner.  Even  the   supahiro  is  very  down  to  earth.  He  may  be  handsome,  but  he  is  not  likely  to   fly  (unless  he  is  a  jet  powered  android  robot),  nor  is  he  likely  to  preach.  And   he  is  almost  always  mortal.583     In  this  sense,  then,  the  protagonists  found  in  manga  have  much  more  in  common   with  the  heroes  created  by  Marvel  Comics  in  the  1960s  than  those  produced  before   and  during  World  War  II,  like  Superman.  Japanese  characters  speak  to  some  of  the   same  cultural  anxieties  as  those  in  the  United  States,  and  help  to  illuminate  the  role   that  the  production  and  reception  of  manga  has  played  in  shaping  the  image  of   Japan  within  the  Western  consciousness.  Additionally,  like  their  American  brethren,   the  identities  of  these  characters  are  rooted  in  monstrosity,  for  they,  too,  deviate   from  the  “normal”  and  fail  to  adhere  to  established  categories.  As  Anne  Alison   explains,  “Whether  they  are  cyborgs,  droids,  robots,  or  host  spirits  […]  superheroes                                                                                                                   583  Schodt,  Manga,  Manga!  77-­‐78   248           are  as  strange  a  species  as  the  kaiju—mixtures  of  machinery,  electricity,  and   bestiality.”584   IV.  Science,  Technology,  and  Post-­Humanism  in  Tezuka  Osamu’s  Tetsuwan   Atomu       Characters  like  Tetsuwan  Atomu  are  some  of  the  most  familiar  and   recognizable  in  all  of  manga  (see  fig.  82).  Despite  being  one  of  the  earliest  creations   of  the  post-­‐WWII  boom  and  being  featured  in  a  finite  series  that  ended  in  1968,  the   character  has  taken  on  an  iconic  dimension,  as  his  stories  have  been  interpreted,   adapted,  and  re-­‐inscribed  in  other  mediums,  like  animated  shows,  video  games,  and   computer-­‐animated  feature  films,  produced  both  in  Japan  and  the  United  States.   Further,  a  wide-­‐ranging  array  of  merchandise,  from  apparel  to  toys  to  stationery,   bear  his  visage,  making  him  a  familiar  sight  for  many  young  people  who  were  born   decades  after  his  creation,  who  only  know  of  him  from  reprinted  collections.  In  fact,   the  Atomu  brand  was  so  ubiquitous  following  the  debut  of  his  anime  series  in  1963   that  he  became  the  official  mascot  of  the  Japanese  baseball  team  the  Sankei  Atoms,   whose  uniforms  proudly  display  his  image  on  their  sleeve.585  While  some  of  the   character’s  resonant  popularity  can  be  attributed  to  the  aforementioned  media-­‐mix   economy  that  has  given  him  an  infinite  shelf  life,  the  core  of  his  appeal  lies  in  his   origin  as  a  creation  of  the  1950s.     Much  like  Godzilla,  Tetsuwan  Atomu  was  created  to  interrogate  the  lingering   social,  cultural,  and  political  issues  following  the  end  of  World  War  II.586  His  creator,   Tezuka  Osamu  frequently  mentioned  that  his  experiences  during  the  war  were  the                                                                                                                   584  Alison  96.   585  Schodt,  Astro  Boy  Essays  75.   586  Palmer  185   249           primary  inspiration  for  his  work.587  It  is  well  known  that  he  had  a  very  contentious   and  conflicted  relationship  with  the  United  States,  for  while  he  often  admired   America  for  its  popular  culture  and  as  a  symbol  of  modernity  and  progress,  he  was   unsure  whether  or  not  the  scientific  advances  made  by  Western  nations,   particularly  the  development  of  nuclear  weapons,  were  in  the  best  interests  of  the   entire  world,  especially  after  the  atomic  bombings  of  Hiroshima  and  Nagasaki.588   Further,  many  of  the  main  themes  in  Tetsuwan  Atomu  are  clearly  drawn  from   policies  instituted  throughout  the  Allied  Occupation,  particularly  gijutsu  rikkoku,  or   “building  the  state  through  technology,”  a  national  imperative  that  identified   technological  progress  as  the  means  of  regaining  industrial  might.589     Tezuka  was  also  a  vocal  critic  of  America’s  aggressive  foreign  policy   throughout  much  of  Asia.  For  example,  in  an  introduction  to  a  story  serialized  in   Shonen  Magazine  from  September  to  December  of  1960,  entitled,  “His  Highness   Deadcross,”  Tezuka  directly  commented  on  the  hypocritical  attitude  toward   violence  within  American  culture.  To  do  so,  he  utilized  the  cartoon  avatar  of  himself   that  frequently  served  as  his  narrative  voice  within  the  series  (see  fig.  83).  In  this   particular  episode,  he  recounts  American  criticism  of  the  violence  within  the  series,   writing,     Actually,  when  we  sold  the  Astro  Boy  series  in  America,  one  American  saw   Astro  destroying  an  evil  robot  and  declared  he  was  a  ‘murderer.’  In  other   words,  to  him  both  Astro  and  the  robot  seemed  too  human-­‐like  and  having  a   robot  destroy  another  robot  was  just  like  having  a  human  kill  another  human.   Americans  were  so  sensitive  about  scenes  of  violence  in  fantasy  then,  but  at                                                                                                                   587  Power  36.   588  Phillips  74.   589  Allison  55-­‐56.   250           the  same  time  they  didn’t  have  much  trouble  going  over  to  Southeast  Asia   and  killing  people.590     This  critical  sensibility  appears  in  his  later  works  as  well,  like  Black  Jack,  a  series   that  depicts  the  adventures  of  the  world’s  best  surgeon.  In  one  story,  the  character  is   called  on  to  extend  the  life  of  a  painter  dying  of  radiation  sickness  after  being  caught   in  the  fallout  of  atomic  testing  in  the  Pacific  conducted  by  the  militant  “Nation  K.”591   While  much  of  the  criticism  within  Tetsuwan  Atomu  may  come  off  as  being   somewhat  subdued,  it  is  important  to  remember  that  Tezuka  was  producing  many   of  these  stories  immediately  following  the  end  of  the  Allied  Occupation,  so  while  it  is   clear  that  the  desire  to  strongly  critique  such  policies  exists  in  the  material,  his   approach  was  still  somewhat  veiled  and  measured.   More  than  anything  else,  what  comes  across  in  Tetsuwan  Atomu  and  Tezuka’s   other  manga  is  a  strong  moral  concern  about  the  relationship  between  technology   and  militarism.  As  Fredric  Schodt  notes,  Tezuka  was  a  devoted  pacifist  who  took  an   unequivocally  anti-­‐war  stance  in  his  work.  Commenting  on  the  creator’s  experiences,   he  writes,  “As  a  teenager  during  World  War  II  he  was  heavily  indoctrinated  in   nationalist  propaganda.  Too  young  to  be  drafted,  he  was  mobilized  in  factories  to   support  the  war  effort.  […]  From  this  Tezuka  developed  a  permanent  loathing  of   militarism.”592  Likewise,  Helen  McCarthy  notes  that  the  artist’s  anti-­‐war  convictions   were  hardened  after  he  witnessed  the  firebombing  of  Osaka  while  working  in  an   asbestos  slate  factory  in  1945.593  This  sensibility  shines  through  in  the  character  of                                                                                                                   590  Tezuka,  Astro  Boy  2:  9.   591  Tezuka,  Black  Jack  1:  138-­‐142.   592  Schodt,  Dreamland  Japan  251.   593  McCarthy  24;  Schodt,  Astro  Boy  Essays  28-­‐29.   251           Atomu,  who  uses  his  power  not  for  his  own  ends  or  to  achieve  a  grander  sense  of   justice,  but  rather  to  defend  the  peace  of  his  futuristic  society  from  those  who  would   disrupt  it  to  forward  their  own  corrupt  ends.594  Further,  while  the  hero  always   defeated  the  threat  posed  by  villains,  stories  often  echoed  the  idea  that  scientific   development  would  continue,  potentially  placing  the  world  into  great  peril,  should   the  wrong  person  gain  possession  of  the  next  dangerous  technology.595       Atomu  himself  stands  in  for  humanity  itself  at  times,  struggling  with  his  own   powers  in  the  same  way  that  human  beings  have  difficulty  making  the  right  choices   about  emergent  technologies.  As  stronger  enemies  appear  to  challenge  him,  he  gains   new  abilities  and  upgrades  that  enhance  his  fighting  prowess,  but  he  sometimes   loses  control  when  the  power  he  wields  becomes  too  great  for  his  body  to  handle.   Consider  that  in  addition  to  a  computerized  brain  and  being  powered  by  nuclear   technology,  the  android  also  has  the  ability  to  fly,  possesses  super  strength,  has   enhanced  hearing,  and  is  equipped  with  robotic  abilities  like  built-­‐in  lights  and   sensors.596    As  Alicia  Gibson  notes,  “Atomu’s  control  over  his  capacities  is  not   complete:  he  has  the  strength  of  a  superhuman,  but  only  a  boy’s  control  of  his   awesome  powers.  […]  The  boy’s  overwhelming  strength  becomes  a  liability  and   exposes  his  imperfection.  Behind  the  comedy  lies  a  serious  message:  we  must  learn   to  control  the  atomic  power  we  have  awakened.”597     The  dangerous  potential  of  an  uncontrolled  Atomu  is  embodied  by  a  series  of   antagonistic  robots  the  hero  faces  in  battle,  like  Pluto,  a  giant  android  created  by  the                                                                                                                   594  Schodt,  Dreamland  Japan  245.   595  Phillips  72.   596  Schodt,  Astro  Boy  Essays  37.   597  Steiff  and  Tamplin  183.   252           war-­‐like  Sultan  to  destroy  all  others  and  become  “King  of  the  World”  (see  fig.  84).   Throughout  his  encounters  with  Atomu  in  one  of  the  most  popular  storylines  in  the   series,  the  reader  discovers  that  Pluto  is  not  without  conscience,  but  must  fulfill  the   purpose  for  which  he  was  created,  forcing  him  to  fight  the  world’s  most  powerful   robots  to  the  death.598  Eventually,  he  breaks  free  from  his  programming,  but  is  killed   protecting  Atomu  and  innocent  civilians  from  an  even  more  powerful  robot.  Perhaps   an  even  more  interesting  figure  is  Atlas,  a  robot  created  by  the  Incan  Dr.  Ram  for  the   purpose  of  exacting  revenge  against  whites  for  the  oppression  of  his  people  in  Latin   America  (see  fig.  85).599  The  android  is  equipped  with  the  Omega  Factor,  a  circuit   that  inspires  evil  actions  within  him,  and  allows  him  to  bypass  the  normal  limits  that   prevent  robots  from  hurting  humans.600  In  the  end,  Atlas  rebels  against  his  creator,   and  is  only  defeated  when  Atomu  hurls  him  into  a  powerful  electromagnet,   destroying  his  body.   Tetsuwan  Atomu  is  also  an  attempt  to  interrogate  what  it  means  to  be  human   in  a  post-­‐industrial  world,  while  examining  the  line  that  divides  us  from   posthumanity,  a  condition  that  challenges  boundaries  and  redefines  existence,   usually  through  the  integration  of  the  organic  and  artificial,  functioning  much  like   Donna  Harraway’s  notion  of  the  “cyborg.”601  In  the  original  manga,  Atomu  is  an   artificial  humanoid  created  by  Dr.  Temna,  the  head  of  the  Ministry  of  Science,  who                                                                                                                   598  Tezuka,  Astro  Boy  3:  11.   599  Dr.  Ram  is  an  example  of  a  racial  caricature  in  Tezuka’s  work.  The  character  is   stereotypically  represented  through  the  use  of  blackface,  and  despite  the  story’s   anti-­‐colonial  tone  and  critical  perspective  toward  the  act  of  revenge,  Tezuka  has   long  come  under  fire  for  the  use  of  such  artistic  techniques.     600  Tezuka,  Astro  Boy  18:  175.   601  Poitras  50;  Harraway  149-­‐150.   253           utilizes  advances  in  technology,  including  a  nuclear-­‐powered  mini  computer  and   artificial  skin,  to  create  a  replicate  of  his  son,  Tobio,  who  is  killed  in  a  car  accident.   While  he  is  initially  accepted  by  his  new  “father,”  his  robotic  inability  to  grow  and   age  results  in  his  being  cast  out  as  an  abomination,  and  he  works  as  a  performer  at   the  “robot  circus”  until  he  is  discovered  and  taken  in  by  the  kindly  Dr.  Ochanomizu.   Interestingly,  one  of  the  primary  influences  for  the  character  of  Atomu  was  the  story   of  Pinocchio,  both  in  literary  and  animated  form,  as  Tezuka  was  enthralled  by  the   possibility  of  technology  enabling  the  creation  of  sentient  life  from  inorganic   material.602  The  first  story,  which  features  the  origin  of  the  character,  depicts  his   creation  by  utilizing  imagery  reminiscent  of  the  birth  of  Frankenstein,  as  the   android  lays  on  an  operating  table,  is  assembled  from  various  parts,  then  given  life   through  electrical  wires  connected  to  his  body  (see  fig.  86).603   Further,  there  is  a  constant  tension  between  humanity  and  robot-­‐kind   throughout  the  series.  As  Helen  McCarthy  observes,  “Atom  was  born  as  a  mediator   between  warring  factions,  but  Tezuka  also  used  him  as  a  means  of  exploring  darker   issues.  Astro  Boy  is  not  a  hymn  to  technology,  but  a  warning  that  science  alone   cannot  solve  the  problems  humanity  creates.”604  While  much  of  Tezuka’s  manga   output  presented  futuristic  urban  cityscapes  to  readers,  his  stories  focus  on  the   human  drama  created  by  the  large-­‐scale  social  changes  produced  by  technology.   Atomu  is  at  the  center  of  this  tension,  being  a  robotic  humanoid  that  looks  much   more  like  a  normal  boy  than  many  of  the  other  androids  who  appear  throughout  the                                                                                                                   602  McCarthy  114.   603  Tezuka,  Astro  Boy  1:  22-­‐25.   604  McCarthy  123.   254           series.  He  even  attends  school  and  is  socialized  by  Dr.  Ochanomizu  to  understand   proper  etiquette  and  behavior.  Thus,  Atomu  is  the  one  character  that  traverses   between  these  two  worlds  and  even  belongs  to  each  of  them  to  an  extent.  Much  like   the  superheroes  in  American  comics,  this  categorical  ambiguity  and  liminality   defines  him  as  fundamentally  monstrous,  for  he  is  both  normal  and  different  at  the   same  time.     One  of  the  main  reasons  why  Tetsuwan  Atomu  is  important  is  because  the   series  established  the  framework  for  the  science  fiction  storytelling  that  is  found  in   many  popular  shonen  anime  and  manga  series  today.  It  is  no  coincidence  that  in  the   1980s  and  early  1990s,  one  of  the  first  genres  to  gain  traction  in  the  United  States   was  the  technohumanistic  science  fiction  that  had  been  inspired  by  Tetsuwan  Atomu,   including  films  like  Otomo  Katsuhiro’s  Akira  (1988)  and  later  Shirow  Masamune’s   Kokaku  Kidotai  (1995),  more  popularly  known  as  Ghost  In  The  Shell.  While  Japanese   culture,  particularly  anime,  had  been  imported  to  the  United  States  and  adapted  for   American  audiences  since  the  early  1960s,  it  was  not  until  this  period  that  these   works  were  presented  unedited  in  their  original  language.  For  many  who  grew  up   during  these  years,  both  anime  and  manga  were  closely  associated  with  futuristic   visions  of  extreme  technological  advancement,  giant  robots,  and  cybernetic  beings.   Indeed,  we  have  seen  how  this  overwhelming  concern  about  the  future  of   humanity  and  the  ethical  dilemmas  attendant  with  advances  in  technology  in   Japanese  society  was  largely  an  outgrowth  of  World  War  II,  and  it  continues  to   shape  the  production  of  contemporary  anime  and  manga  culture  to  a  significant   degree.  Susan  Napier  affirms  this  postulation,  observing  that  the  apocalyptic,  rather   255           than  merely  dystopian—along  with  the  elegiac  and  the  festive—is  a  primary   representational  mode  of  these  mediums.  She  writes,   The  end  of  the  world  is  an  important  element  in  postwar  Japanese  visual  and   print  culture.  […]  While  some  of  these  apocalyptic  anime,  such  as  the  films  of   Miyazaki,  contain  visions  of  hope  and  rebirth,  most  of  anime’s  apocalyptic   fare  is  much  darker,  centering  on  the  destruction  of  society  and  the  planet   itself.  Clearly,  the  most  obvious  reason  behind  the  high  incidence  of   apocalyptic  scenarios  is  the  atomic  bomb  and  its  horrific  aftereffects.605       In  this  sense,  then,  Tetsuwan  Atomu  and  the  issues  that  inspired  its  creation  live  on   as  a  central  thematic  within  anime  and  manga.  Some  of  the  most  popular  and   influential  series  to  date,  including  Tetsujin  28  Go  (1956),  Cyborg  009  (1964),   Mazinger  Z  (1972),  Space  Battleship  Yamato  (1974),  Mobile  Suit  Gundam  (1979),   Macross  (1982),  Neon  Genesis  Evangelion  (1994),  and  Attack  on  Titan  (2009),  just  to   name  a  few,  all  bear  the  genetic  traces  of  Atomu’s  legacy.  Additionally,  many  of  the   most  prominent  individuals  in  the  Japanese  anime  and  manga  industries,  like   Miyazaki  Hayao,  the  co-­‐founder  of  Studio  Ghibli  and  the  director  of  the  Academy   Award-­‐winning  feature  Spirited  Away  (2001),  cite  Tezuka  as  a  significant  inspiration   for  their  work.606   V.  Using  “Traditional”  Monstrosity  to  Understand  the  Present  in  GeGeGe  no   Kitaro       Another  major  influence  on  contemporary  anime  and  manga  production,   albeit  on  the  other  side  of  the  thematic  spectrum,  is  Mizuki  Shigeru’s  GeGeGe  no   Kitaro  (see  fig.  87).  While  Tetsuwan  Atomu  is  incredibly  modern  and  futuristic  in  its   tone  and  content,  GeGeGe  no  Kitaro  is  deeply  “traditional,”  utilizing  the  subject   matter  of  yokai  as  the  focus  of  its  storytelling.  Dating  back  to  1959,  the  series                                                                                                                   605  Napier,  Anime:  From  Akira  to  Howl’s  Moving  Castle  29.   606  Miyazaki  193.   256           maintains  the  dubious  distinction  of  being  the  most  popular  franchise  that  most   American  readers  have  never  heard  of.  Long  considered  “too  Japanese”  to  be   imported  to  the  United  States,  the  manga  began  as  a  revival  of  a  once-­‐popular   horror  kamishibai  series,  Hakaba  Kitaro,  or  Kitaro  of  the  Graveyard.607  However,  due   to  the  fact  that  it  featured  supernatural  elements,  it  initially  struggled  to  find  an   audience,  cycling  through  multiple  publishers.  It  wasn’t  until  the  mid-­‐1960s  that  it   caught  on  with  readers,  after  being  featured  in  Weekly  Shonen  Magazine,  and  re-­‐ titled  GeGeGe  no  Kitaro,  mimicking  a  sound  frequently  associated  with  the   uncanny.608  Further,  while  Tetsuwan  Atomu  subtly  incorporates  the  idea  of   monstrosity  and  difference  into  its  stories,  Kitaro  explicitly  utilizes  yokai  and   elements  of  early  modern  Japanese  culture  to  ground  the  protagonist’s   extraordinary  abilities  in  a  folkloric  tradition  in  order  to  interrogate  postwar   anxieties  about  Japanese  national  and  cultural  identity.     As  with  American  characters  from  this  era,  Kitaro  himself  is  literally  a  heroic   monster.  Although  he  appears  to  be  an  ordinary  young  boy  at  first  glance,  usually   dressed  in  a  striped  vest,  collared  shirt,  shorts,  and  wearing  geta,  or  wooden  sandals,   in  actuality,  he  is  the  last  surviving  member  of  the  yurei  zoku,  or  ghost  clan,  and   possesses  an  intimate  connection  to  the  supernatural  world,  which  grants  him  his   extraordinary  spiritual  powers.  Although  his  outward  appearance  allows  him  to   blend  in  with  humans,  much  like  an  alter-­‐ego,  allowing  him  to  traverse  between   worlds,  he  is  always  treated  like  an  outsider,  more  comfortable  around  other  yokai,   for  they  are  his  own  kind.  Throughout  the  series,  he  is  accompanied,  advised,  and                                                                                                                   607  Alt  6.   608  Ibid.  6-­‐7.   257           assisted  by  Medama  Oyaji,  the  reanimated  eyeball  of  his  late  father,  and  befriended   by  Nezumi  Otoko,  or  Rat  Man,  a  yokai  with  questionable  motives  that  acts  as  both   his  friend  and  sometimes  rival  (see  fig.  88).  These  stories  have  didactic  elements   similar  to  American  horror  comics  published  in  the  1950s,  in  that  villains  are   punished  for  their  misdeeds  by  supernatural  forces.     As  a  character,  Kitaro  often  uses  his  abilities  to  defend  the  weak  and  punish   the  wicked,  acting  as  a  champion  for  oppressed  yokai  and  humans  alike.  At  times,  he   is  cast  as  a  kind  of  “ghost  buster”  dealing  with  supernatural  problems  faced  by   humans,  while  in  other  stories  he  confronts  criminals  and  the  wicked  that  abuse  the   weak.  Indeed,  in  many  cases,  conflicts  arise  when  elements  of  the  spiritual  world   come  into  contact  with  those  of  the  modern  world.  For  example,  in  a  story  entitled,   “Ghost  Train,”  Kitaro  teaches  two  drunken  men  who  bully  him  at  a  restaurant  a   lesson  by  luring  them  onto  a  haunted  drain  bound  for  the  afterlife.  At  the  end  of  the   story,  they  are  forced  to  jump  from  the  moving  vehicle  to  save  their  own  lives  and   are  injured  as  they  roll  down  the  steep  hill  nearby.  As  they  come  to  a  stop,  Kitaro  is   there  to  meet  them,  and  states,  “You’ve  just  been  shown  a  sample  of  my  spirit  power.   Feel  the  bumps  on  your  heads!  They’re  the  same  size  as  the  one  you  gave  me,  aren’t   they?”609  Terrified,  they  run  off,  as  the  narration  reads,  “All  violence  is  powerless  in   the  face  of  Kitaro’s  spirit  power.”     Despite  his  function  as  a  super  powered  hero,  much  of  GeGeGe  no  Kitaro  can   be  interpreted  as  a  critique  of  violence,  particularly  war,  with  yokai  largely  being   cast  as  victims  of  human  oppression.  As  Zilla  Papp  observes,  “While  until  1945  yokai                                                                                                                   609  Mizuki  154.   258           were  equated  with  the  foreign  enemy  in  popular  visual  representation,  Mizuki,  for   the  first  time,  equates  yokai  with  the  horrors  of  war  itself,  from  the  standpoint  of  the   victims  and  the  fallen  soldiers.  In  this  sense,  Mizuki  uses  yokai  to  help  process  the   trauma  that  soldiers  lived  through  at  the  front  lines  to  propagate  a  pacifist  message   through  yokai  characters.”610  Indeed,  within  the  pages  of  GeGeGe  no  Kitaro,  yokai  are   frequently  misunderstood,  mistreated,  and  abused  creatures,  characterized  more   like  victims  of  humanity  than  inherently  evil  entities.  While  truly  monstrous  beings   exist  in  the  series,  there  are  just  as  many  villainous  human  antagonists.  The  back   story  for  the  title  also  supports  this  thematic,  stating  that  for  centuries  before  the   dawn  of  mankind,  yokai  lived  in  a  state  of  peace  and  tranquility,  even  developing   their  own  society,  until  humans  appeared  and  forced  them  to  hide  in  secluded  areas   like  forests  and  mountains.611  In  this  way,  GeGeGe  no  Kitaro  essentially  casts  yokai   as  diasporic  or  displaced  beings,  forced  from  their  homeland  by  the  territorial   expansion  of  humanity.   Additionally,  there  are  times  when  war  itself  is  utilized  by  the  narrative  for   the  purpose  for  political  critique.  For  example,  in  a  story  entitled,  “The  Great  Yokai   War,”  Kitaro  comes  to  the  rescue  of  the  residents  of  the  island  of  Kikai,  which  has   been  taken  over  by  an  invasion  of  Western  monsters.  Presented  in  terms  of  a   nationalist  struggle,  in  which  the  monsters  of  Europe  have  come  to  Asia  to  conquer   human  lands  and  create  a  “yokai  nation,”  the  battle  is  squarely  framed  in  terms  of   East  versus  West,  with  Kitaro  and  a  small  group  of  yokai  fighting  off  monsters  like   Dracula,  Frankenstein,  and  the  Wolfman.  However,  the  dialogue  used  by  the                                                                                                                   610  Papp  122.   611  Mizuki  30-­‐32.   259           European  monsters  is  designed  to  echo  sentiments  about  ethnic  and  racial   superiority  that  had  circulated  in  Japanese  culture  throughout  World  War  II.  As  the   conflict  begins,  Dracula  questions  Kitaro’s  identity  as  a  monster,  claiming  that  he  is   more  concerned  about  humans  than  his  own  kind.  Then  the  Wolfman  exclaims,  “If   all  of  us  yokai  joined  forces,  we  could  rule  the  world!”612  Interestingly,  by  casting   European  monsters  as  an  invasive  force,  the  sequence  preserves  the  Japanese   cultural  ideal  of  World  War  II  as  a  victim’s  narrative,  while  simultaneously   critiquing  much  of  the  logic  behind  the  Greater  East  Asia  Co-­‐Prosperity  Sphere,   which  advocated  that  Asian  nations  unite  under  Japan  in  order  to  fend  off   colonization  by  Western  powers.  In  doing  so,  it  manages  to  subtly  promote  a   critique  of  Japan’s  own  wartime  policies,  while  not  explicitly  condemning  the  nation   itself.  Throughout  the  narrative,  there  are  also  sequences  that  utilize  imagery  from   World  War  II,  particularly  the  mushroom  cloud  created  by  the  atomic  bomb,  as  the   story  ends  with  Kitaro  setting  the  island  on  fire,  creating  a  “Brigadoon  effect,”  which   results  in  the  containment  of  the  evil  monsters’  spirits.     In  another  story,  Mizuki  directly  appropriates  the  kaiju  genre,  critiquing  the   idea  of  progress  through  technology  and  highlighting  the  importance  of  tradition  in   Japanese  cultural  identity.  In  “Creature  From  the  Deep,”  a  jealous  scientist,  Yamada,   injects  Kitaro  with  zeuglodon  blood,  transforming  the  boy  into  a  giant,  hairy  whale   monster  that  wreaks  havoc  on  Tokyo  (see  fig.  89).  Throughout  the  story,  Kitaro,   representing  the  traditional,  and  the  scientist,  symbolizing  the  modern,  repeatedly   come  into  conflict  with  one  another,  as  the  latter  tries  to  gain  sole  credit  for  what                                                                                                                   612  Ibid.  172.   260           they  discover  about  the  extinct  whale  in  New  Guinea.  Interestingly,  by  having  Kitaro   transform  into  a  giant  monster,  Mizuki  humanizes  the  beast  that  audiences  have   come  to  recognize  as  a  threat,  showing  that  the  destruction  Kitaro  causes  only   occurs  out  of  frustration,  as  he  is  attacked  by  the  Japanese  Self-­‐Defense  Force,   presumably  a  military  contingent,  while  trying  to  communicate  and  explain  his   situation  to  them.  In  this  way,  the  alien  is  made  familiar,  prompting  audiences  to   identify  with  the  misunderstood  creature.613  When  that  is  unsuccessful,  the  scientist   builds  a  giant  robot—the  Zeuglodon  Exterminator-­‐Bot—to  defeat  Kitaro,  pitting  the   power  of  science  against  the  spiritual,  but  when  even  that  fails,  the  Self-­‐Defense   Force  drops  an  atomic  bomb  on  the  kaiju  in  an  attempt  to  kill  him.  Yet,  all  modern   weapons  fail  to  destroy  it.  In  the  end,  the  scientist  develops  a  cure,  and  Kitaro  is   restored  to  his  normal  form.  Learning  his  lesson,  Yamada  states,  “I  should  never   have  tried  to  use  science  for  my  own  personal  gain,”  echoing  larger  themes  from  the   filmic  genre  and  earlier  works  like  Tetsuwan  Atomu.614  As  Susan  Napier  notes,  the   process  of  transformation  or  metamorphosis  seen  within  this  narrative  is  one  of   they  key  elements  of  contemporary  manga  and  anime,  literally  destabilizing  and   deconstructing  established  ways  of  understanding  the  world,  thematically  aligning   the  medium  with  a  major  theoretical  tenet  of  monstrosity.615     We  see  that  many  stories  featured  in  GeGeGe  no  Kitaro  are  an  attempt  to   come  to  terms  with  the  recent  past  by  utilizing  “traditional”  forms  of  Japanese   culture.  By  incorporating  the  subject  matter  of  yokai  into  his  work,  Mizuki  is  able  to                                                                                                                   613  Papp  127.   614  Mizuki  309.   615  Napier,  Anime:  From  Akira  to  Howl’s  Moving  Castle  36.   261           delicately  explore  issues  that  are  otherwise  untouchable  within  Japanese  society,   particularly  those  surrounding  the  nation’s  culpability  for  wartime  atrocities.  While   much  of  this  discussion  is  buried  under  layers  of  plot  and  fictional  conflicts  between   yokai  and  humans,  the  fantastic  nature  of  the  narrative,  much  like  Gojira,  allows  for   the  presentation  of  critiques  in  subversive,  yet  non-­‐threatening  ways.  These  stories   represent  an  attempt  to  mediate  both  trauma  and  guilt  in  the  Japanese  cultural   consciousness,  laying  the  groundwork  for  a  larger,  open  discussion  about  the  future   of  the  nation  and  what  it  means  to  be  Japanese.  Although  the  content  matter  of   GeGeGe  no  Kitaro  appears  deeply  “traditional,”  its  narratives  are  firmly  grounded  in   the  climate  of  the  postwar  era  and  represent  an  attempt  to  not  only  come  to  terms   with  the  past,  but  to  also  define  Japan’s  place  in  the  world  and  its  future.     VI.  The  Rise  of  Anime  and  the  Construction  of  Japan  Within  the  American   Consciousness     This  function,  in  which  manga—and  Japanese  postwar  cultural  production  in   general—were  largely  founded  to  interrogate  the  lasting  effects  and  lingering   trauma  of  World  War  II,  also  extends  to  the  medium  of  anime,  which  first  debuted  in   1963.  While  Japanese  media  producers  had  dabbled  in  animation  prior  to  this   period,  most  notably  with  filmic  adaptations  of  traditional  legends,  like  Momotaro   Umi  no  Shinpei,  or  Momotaro’s  Divine  Sea  Warriors,  a  classic  propaganda  film  from   1945,  by  and  large,  the  Japanese  animation  industry  did  not  come  into  being  until   the  early  1960s  when  Tezuka  Osamu  founded  Mushi  Productions  and  first  adapted   Tetsuwan  Atomu  for  television.616  Unlike  American  cartoons  however,  which  are   largely  produced  as  original  material  based  on  a  pre-­‐existing  source,  most  anime                                                                                                                   616  Steinberg  ix.   262           series  in  Japan  are  direct  adaptations  of  popular  manga,  and  very  rarely  depart  from   the  published  material.  Thus,  many  of  the  themes  present  in  manga  find  their  way   into  their  accompanying  anime,  and  across  different  forms  of  media,  from  print  to   television  to  film,  and  more  recently,  video  games.     This  is  largely  due  to  the  media-­‐mix  economy  around  which  the  anime   industry  was  created.  This  business  model,  conceived  of  and  introduced  by  Tezuka,   places  royalties  from  licensing  and  merchandising  at  the  center  of  the  creative   economy,  using  the  profits  generated  from  such  sales  to  subsidize  the  production  of   manga  and  anime,  both  of  which  are  largely  unprofitable.617  Rather,  within  this   economic  model,  the  two  exist  in  order  to  generate  publicity  and  exposure  for   popular  characters  and  series,  which  in  turn  drives  up  demand  within  youth  culture   for  everything  from  toys  to  apparel  to  video  games  and  consumable  goods  like   candy  and  food  products.  Thus,  the  more  penetration  a  particular  property  has  in   various  forms  of  media,  the  more  profitable  it  becomes  overall.  As  Marc  Steinberg   writes,     Character  merchandising  works  through  two  complimentary  tendencies:  the   attractive  force  of  the  character  as  immaterial  entity  that  transforms  its   surrounding  ecology  of  things  and  media  into  character-­‐products  […]  and  the   tendency  toward  the  diffusion  of  the  character  in  material  form  (as  sticker,   chocolate,  etc.)  that  enables  the  material  expansion  of  this  character  image   throughout  the  consumer’s  environment.  The  character’s  material  expansion   intensifies  its  attractive  force,  multiplying  the  number  of  media  and   commodities  offering  the  Atomu  image.  The  intensity  of  the  character’s   attraction  as  a  kind  of  immaterial  force  is  thus  indexed  to,  and  amplified  by,   the  degree  of  material  circulation  of  the  character  image.618                                                                                                                       617  Steinberg  40;  Prough  13.   618  Steinberg  82.   263           Through  this  media-­‐mix  economy,  the  character  itself  gains  value  as  intellectual   property,  and  generates  far  more  money  than  either  the  manga  or  anime  it  is   featured  in.  The  inception  of  this  system  in  1963  largely  transformed  the  way  that   such  culture  was  produced,  as  others  adopted  Tezuka’s  formula  and  turned  their   eye  toward  profits  from  licensing  and  royalties  rather  than  sales  of  manga  or   television  advertising.  Additionally,  it  resulted  in  the  uniformity  of  a  particular   character  and  series  across  media,  so  as  to  maintain  its  integrity  as  part  of  a  single   franchise.     This  is  important  because  within  the  United  States,  anime  has  become  the   primary  gateway  through  which  many  young  people  are  exposed  to  Japanese   culture.  As  such,  we  find  that  familiarity  with  the  adventures  of  a  particular  can   come  in  a  variety  of  forms,  whether  one  reads  the  manga  or  watches  the  anime   when  it  is  broadcast  on  television.  Interestingly,  the  recent  critical  acclaim  of  manga   and  anime  in  the  West  has  bestowed  these  materials  with  an  air  of  legitimacy  among   Japanese  officials,  who  now  view  the  successful  exportation  of  the  medium  as  a  form   of  soft  power.619  As  Michael  Auslin  notes,     Tokyo’s  public  diplomacy  organs,  primarily  within  the  Ministry  of  Foreign   Affairs,  saw  the  resurgent  global  interest  in  Japan’s  popular  culture  as  a  new   tool  for  promoting  Japan’s  image  abroad.  […]  Fascination  with  anime  and   manga  could  be  used  not  only  to  strengthen  American  involvement  with   Japan,  so  the  argument  went  but  also  to  strengthen  Japan’s  role  around  the   globe,  particularly  Europe  and  Asia,  where  a  large  consumer  class  was   snapping  up  pop  culture-­‐related  goods.620     As  a  result,  the  Ministry  of  Foreign  Affairs  has  classified  manga  and  anime  as  part  of   a  “creative  industry,”  even  going  so  far  as  to  print  a  promotional  pamphlet  in  2007                                                                                                                   619  Alison  10;  Kinsella  97;  Prough  145.   620  Auslin  270.   264           entitled,  Creative  Japan,  which  cites  these  mediums  as  “part  of  a  creative  tradition   with  unbroken  links  to  the  past.”621  Further,  this  document  details  the  history  and   global  reach  of  everything  from  Japanese  games,  fashion,  food,  art,  literature,   technology,  and  even  architecture  as  a  way  of  legitimizing  Japanese  cultural   production  in  the  larger  global  context.   However,  it  is  likely  that  American  audiences  have  misinterpreted  the   intended  meaning  of  manga  and  anime,  primarily  because  these  materials  have   historically  been  produced  with  only  Japanese  readers  in  mind.622  Rather  than  being   understood  on  their  own  terms,  American  consumers  interpret  and  evaluate  these   cultural  products  through  established  discourses  about  Japan  within  the  United   States,  particularly  that  of  monstrosity.  When  taken  outside  of  their  specific  cultural   context,  series  like  Tetsuwan  Atomu,  featuring  futuristic  androids  and  giant  robots,   suddenly  paint  a  picture  of  a  technologically-­‐obsessed  society,  concerned  with   scientific  progress  and  the  spectacle  of  physics-­‐defying  combat.  Likewise,  without  a   functional  understanding  of  yokai  or  the  role  that  they  have  played  in  Japanese   culture  and  history,  GeGeGe  no  Kitaro  is  seen  as  a  depiction  of  an  intensely  spiritual   and  mysterious  society,  along  the  lines  of  what  Lafcadio  Hearn  presents  in  Kwaidan,   whose  true  identity  lies  beneath  the  surface,  rather  than  a  critical  piece  aimed  at   interrogating  postwar  anxieties.  As  with  Gojira,  when  exported  and  adapted  for   other  markets,  the  meaning  of  these  texts  is  essentially  rewritten  and  reconfigured   to  adhere  to  existing  European  and  American  conceptions  of  what  Japan  should  be,   rather  than  what  it  actually  is.                                                                                                                   621  Creative  Japan  3.   622  Levy  16;  Prough  142.   265           Here,  we  see  that  although  the  characters  in  both  comic  books  and  manga  are   grounded  in  the  same  origins,  echo  familiar  themes,  address  overlapping  anxieties,   and  even  share  similar  modes  of  presentation  through  the  comic  form,  the  reception   of  domestic  superheroes  by  American  audiences  is  very  different  from  those  found   in  manga  and  anime.  For  consumers,  these  mediums  are  not  reflective  of  the   cultural  production  of  the  Japanese,  but  of  Japan  itself,  constructing  it  as  a  kind  of   fantasy  space  to  be  desired.  As  Anne  Alison  notes,   “Japan”  signifies  something  here,  but  the  signifier  is  shifting:  it  is  a  marker  of   phantasm  and  difference,  yet  one  that  is  anchored  in  a  reality  of  sorts—a   country  Americans  can  study  and  visit.  […]  Numerous  fans  of  Japanese  anime,   manga,  card  games,  and  toys  I  have  talked  with  in  the  States  voice  their   attraction  in  similar  terms:  their  imaginations  are  piqued  by  the  complexity   and  strangeness  of  an  alternate  fantasy  world  that  they  also  strive  to  become   fluent  in  and  at  home  with.623     Ethnographic  surveys  of  these  fan  cultures  provide  similar  results,  as  individuals   frequently  explain  their  attraction  to  anime  and  manga  through  the  appeal  of   difference,  comparing  these  materials  to  their  American  equivalents.624     Without  the  localization  and  adaptation  that  significantly  alters  names  and   narrative  details,  manga  and  anime  appear  exceedingly  foreign  to  many  Americans,   with  characters  and  stories  that  are  characterized  as  “weird”  and  “strange.”  Antonia   Levy  elaborates  on  how  this  process  of  misrecognition  occurs,  writing,  “[The   Japanese]  are  retelling  their  ancient  myths  and  legends  in  modern  form,  retailoring   their  old  religious  and  heroic  traditions  to  conform  to  modern  ideas  about  who  and   what  they  are.  The  reason  their  creations  seem  so  bizarre  to  Americans  is  because                                                                                                                   623  Alison  275.   624  Cooper-­‐Chen  80.   266           they  are  drawing  their  material  from  an  entirely  different  cultural  tradition.”625   Rather  than  making  the  effort  to  understand  more  about  Japanese  culture,  many   consumers  have  instead  made  the  mistake  of  assuming  that  the  content  of  these   mediums  is  reflective  of  Japan  itself,  providing  an  “authentic”  anthropological  lens   into  the  “true”  nature  of  Japanese  culture  and  society.  For  them,  these  materials  are   not  just  about  entertainment,  but  they  also  serve  a  pedagogical  function.  In  short,   the  tropes  of  anime  have  become  signifiers  of  Japanese  identity.     Furthermore,  these  fans  are  not  mere  observers,  but  instead  are  active   participants  whose  agency  is  manifested  through  the  exercise  of  their  purchasing   power,  largely  as  a  result  of  the  media-­‐mix  economic  model  that  has  dominated  the   industry  since  1963.  As  Marc  Steinberg  notes,  “Consumption  was  not  merely  the   passive  spectating  of  the  fashionably  new—it  was  also  a  form  of  participating  in   networks  of  communicating  media-­‐things.”626  Thus,  consumerism  is  a  method  of   displaying  affiliation  with  a  particular  property  or  character,  but  even  more   importantly,  it  allows  individuals  to  become  active  agents  within  that  series’  real   world  economy.  Essentially,  toys,  cards,  video  games,  stationary,  apparel,  and   consumables  were—and  still  are—  “the  medium  of  participation”  within  the   industry,  as  Steinberg  calls  it.627  When  American  fans  appreciate  manga  and  anime   with  little  to  no  knowledge  of  their  intended  cultural  context,  they  not  only   misinterpret  what  they  consume,  but  as  agents  within  this  process,  they  also  alter   the  intended  meaning  of  these  texts.  They  are  literally  consuming  an  image  of  Japan                                                                                                                   625  Levy  34.   626  Steinberg  114.   627  Ibid.  200.   267           that  has  been  marketed  to  them,  while  simultaneously  shaping  the  way  that  the   country  is  viewed  within  American  culture.     This  image  of  Japan  within  the  United  States,  developed  in  part  by  the  contact   and  consumption  of  manga  and  anime,  is  defined  by  duality  and  extremes.  On  the   one  hand,  the  nation  is  constructed  as  an  industrialized  modern  state,  even   futuristic,  shaped  by  these  mediums’  embrace  of  androids  and  giant  robots.  On  the   other  hand,  Japan  is  also  seen  as  ancient,  traditional,  and  mysterious,  steeped  in  a   culture  that  privileges  pre-­‐modern,  almost  medieval  beliefs  and  practices,  making  it   foreign,  yet  alluring,  to  Western  audiences.  In  this  respect,  both  manga  and  anime   play  into  this  idea  of  Japan  as  deeply  conflicted,  constructed  through  fantasy,  and   defined  by  its  historical  relationship  with  the  United  States,  particularly  key   moments  like  World  War  II  and  the  dropping  of  the  atomic  bombs.  While  the   content  of  these  mediums  is  not  solely  responsible  for  creating  these  beliefs,  it  is   obvious  that  Americans’  contact  with  it  has  contributed  immensely  in  affirming  its   accuracy  for  those  individuals  whose  knowledge  of  Japan  is  derived  solely  from   popular  culture.       As  we  have  seen,  there  are  many  important  similarities  between  the   superheroes  that  appear  in  American  comic  books  and  those  within  Japanese  manga.   Interestingly,  these  characters  share  many  of  the  same  origins,  as  literal  children  of   the  atom,  whose  creation  and  abilities  were  linked  specifically  to  the  dawn  of  the   nuclear  age.  They  are  also  directly  connected  to  monsters,  particularly  Godzilla,   whose  role  as  part  of  the  kaiju,  or  giant  monster  genre,  influenced  the  creation  of   both  Marvel  Comics  and  many  early  characters  in  manga.  Further,  these  series  often   268           commented  on  similar  issues,  including  nuclear  proliferation,  concerns  about  the   development  of  technology,  militarism,  and  basic  human  rights.  They  did  all  of  this   through  the  comic  medium,  utilizing  text  and  images  to  reach  the  broadest,  most   diverse  audience  possible,  and  as  a  result,  many  of  these  characters  still  exist  today   as  icons  of  both  American  and  Japanese  popular  culture.       Yet,  despite  these  similarities,  the  protagonists  of  manga  and  anime  are   continually  cast  as  radically  different  from  their  American  brethren,  a  classification   based  almost  entirely  on  their  country  of  origin.  Superheroes  in  general  are  heroic   monsters,  individuals  with  abilities  that  exceed  the  limits  of  normal  individuals,  who   defy  established  classificatory  schemas  and  extend  the  boundaries  of  the  possible.   American  comic  book  heroes,  like  those  created  by  Marvel  Comics  have   understandably  been  accepted  as  familiar  icons,  whose  exploits  as  superheroes  are   balanced  by  the  daily  struggles  faced  by  their  civilian  alter-­‐egos.  Many  Japanese   characters  share  this  duality,  existing  as  outsiders  who  possess  the  ability  to  blend   into  civil  society,  yet  these  creations  have  still  been  labeled  as  foreign,  strange,  and   different.  They  do  not  appear  overtly  Japanese,  which  is  one  of  the  key  elements  of   their  successful  incorporation  into  American  culture,  but  at  the  same  time,  readers   of  manga  and  viewers  of  anime  still  recognize  their  aesthetic  as  distinctly  Japanese   products.  Despite  the  complex  network  of  transnational  cultural  influences  and   exchanges  between  the  creators  of  comic  books  and  manga,  the  continued   association  of  monstrosity  with  Japan  shapes  the  way  we  understand  familiar   archetypal  characters.  Despite  the  fact  that  all  superheroes  are  monsters  to  some   extent,  we  easily  associate  and  connect  with  characters  like  Iron  Man,  while   269           distancing  ourselves  from  others,  like  Tetsuwan  Atomu,  produced  by  a  foreign   culture  that  Americans  still  deem  to  be  monstrous.     270                   CONCLUSION       As  we  have  seen,  the  discourse  of  monstrosity  plays  a  significant  role  in   shaping  the  image  of  the  Japanese  in  the  American  cultural  imagination.  From  the   introduction  of  Asia  as  a  land  of  monstrous  races  and  treasure  to  the  wartime   construction  of  the  Japanese  as  enemies  of  the  state,  our  understanding  of  Japan  and   its  people  is  founded  on  a  constellation  of  established  theoretical,  literary,  and   historical  knowledge,  which  defines  them  as  liminal  beings  with  contradictory   attributes  that  challenge  the  established  norms  of  American  society.  Understood  as   a  complex  mixture  of  self  and  other,  being  simultaneously  threatening  and  desirable,   the  Japanese  have  historically  problematized  notions  of  race  and  gender  in  the   United  States,  showing  us  alternate  modes  of  understanding  and  existence  that  go   beyond  simple  cultural  binaries.   This  dissertation  has  demonstrated  how  comic  books  play  into  this  discourse,   both  in  reflecting  dominant  narratives  and  subverting  them  entirely  through  the  use   of  monsters  and  monstrosity.  As  one  of  the  most  popular  forms  of  visual  culture   throughout  the  twentieth  century,  they  have  consistently  and  explicitly  engaged  in   this  narrative  tradition,  incorporating  elements  like  the  archetypal  Oriental  villain   patterned  after  Fu  Manchu,  the  practice  of  defining  foreign  locations  outside  the   271           familiar  as  exotic  and  dangerous,  utilizing  monstrosity  as  a  metaphor  to  identify   deviance,  and  building  on  established  genres  in  fantasy  and  science  fiction,  among   many  others.  As  a  cultural  medium  that  often  reflects  dominant  tastes,  the   ubiquitous  presence  of  monsters  demonstrates  the  centrality  of  these  figures  to   both  the  medium  and  society-­‐at-­‐large.  Indeed,  monstrosity  is  a  key  constituent   element  of  the  comic  book  form,  and  the  two  are  so  closely  aligned  that  mainstream   archetypes  like  the  superhero  are  constructed  around  it.  As  such,  it  is  impossible  to   truly  understand  the  history  of  comic  books  without  understanding  and  examining   monstrosity,  and  the  role  that  it  has  played  in  the  development  of  characters,   narratives,  and  genres  within  the  medium.     Further,  the  Japanese  have  not  only  been  shaped  by  this  discourse  of   monstrosity,  but  they  have  also  been  active  agents  within  it.  Through  the  exercise  of   cultural  agency  and  the  use  of  dynamic  transpacific  flows,  they  have  both  subverted   and  reinforced  the  dominant  frames  that  are  used  to  define  them  in  the  United   States,  particularly  through  filmic  and  manga  production.  Films  like  Gojira   effectively  challenged  American  foreign  policy  and  exorcised  lingering  anxieties   from  World  War  II,  and  despite  the  fact  that  the  meaning  of  the  film  was  largely   altered  upon  its  importation  to  the  United  States,  it  played  a  significant  role  in   influencing  the  creation  of  new  kinds  of  superheroes  throughout  the  Silver  Age.   Similarly,  many  of  the  famous  characters  in  manga,  like  Tetsuwan  Atomu  and   GeGeGe  no  Kitaro,  have  come  to  define  Japan  in  the  contemporary  American   imagination,  as  an  intensely  futuristic,  technologically-­‐obsessed  society  that  is   simultaneously  traditional  and  steeped  in  mystery.  The  impact  that  these  cultural   272           products  have  had  on  American  perceptions  should  not  be  understated,  as  these   series  were  incredibly  influential  within  the  Japanese  manga  industry  and  spawned   a  host  of  imitators,  a  pattern  that  extends  into  the  present  with  more  contemporary   fan  favorite  manga  and  anime,  like  Attack  on  Titan,  Appleseed,  Psycho-­Pass,  Ghost  In   the  Shell:  Stand  Alone  Complex,  and  others  that  bear  the  generic  traces  of  earlier   series.  This  is  particularly  important  to  note  at  this  moment  when  American   consumers  have  almost  universal  access  to  manga  and  anime  through  the  Internet   and  publishers  like  VIZ  that  regularly  translate  and  reprint  content.  Older  series  are   also  being  revived  for  modern  audiences,  but  absent  their  historical  and  cultural   context  they  inadvertently  reinforce  the  stereotypes  and  misperceptions  that   current  consumers  of  manga  have  about  Japan.   As  such,  this  project  effectively  serves  as  the  first  transpacific  history  of   comic  books  ever  written,  illustrating  how  dynamic  cultural  flows  and  exchanges   have  affected  production  within  the  medium.  By  taking  the  study  of  this  material   beyond  the  American  context,  we  see  how  the  form  is  emblematic  of  a  kind  of  global   culture.  While  comic  books  and  manga  both  retain  culturally  specific  elements   derived  from  their  countries  of  origin,  they  also  draw  inspiration  for  character   archetypes,  narratives,  and  genres  from  one  another,  often  adapting,  localizing,  and   synthesizing  existing  elements  for  the  tastes  of  their  respective  audiences.  Within   the  last  few  decades,  this  process  has  extended  far  beyond  the  medium  itself,  as   comics  have  become  one  part  of  a  global  multimedia  economy,  particularly  in  the   present  where  American  superhero  films  are  marketed  to  an  international  audience   273           and  the  classic  stories  from  comic  books  are  rewritten  and  amalgamated,   transmitted  to  new  audiences  in  fresh  and  more  accessible  ways.     There  are  still  many  avenues  of  inquiry  and  cultural  analysis  relating  to  this   subject  that  have  yet  to  be  fully  explored.  For  example,  the  endpoint  of  this  study   prohibited  the  examination  of  comic  book  material  from  the  1970s,  where   traditional  monsters  re-­‐emerge  within  comics—in  the  form  of  characters  like   Morbius,  the  Living  Vampire,  Frankenstein,  the  Zombie,  Werewolf  By  Night,  Man-­‐ Thing,  and  others—alongside  mature  themes—exploring  death  and  drug  abuse— and  racialized  genres,  like  blaxploitation  and  kung-­‐fu  comics.  Interrogating  what   relationship,  if  any,  exists  between  these  three  elements  would  make  for  a   fascinating  extension  to  this  project.     On  the  Japanese  side,  much  work  still  has  to  be  done  on  the  use  of   monstrosity  in  manga,  anime,  film,  and  video  games.  Of  particular  interest  is  the   evolution  of  Godzilla  from  a  movie  monster  into  a  superhero,  particularly  as  other,   more  dangerous  threats  emerge,  like  Rhodan,  King  Ghidora,  and  Mechagodzilla.  Like   Superman  in  the  1950s,  the  character  is  effectively  domesticated  with  the   introduction  of  family  elements  into  the  franchise,  particularly  the  presence  of   Godzilla’s  infant  son,  Manilla.  Additionally,  very  few  works  have  adequately  studied   the  relationship  between  monstrosity  in  manga  and  anime  and  the  culture  of   “kawaii,”  or  feminine  cute,  typically  associated  with  characters  like  Sanrio’s  Hello   Kitty.  As  some  scholars  have  noted,  there  is  a  fine  line  that  separates  the  two,  and  if   adapted  into  real-­‐life,  even  a  character  like  Hello  Kitty—a  cat  with  no  mouth,  beady   274           eyes,  and  human-­‐like  mannerisms—would  be  considered  monstrous  by  any  neutral   observer.628     Monstrosity  is  also  notoriously  present  in  Japanese  print  and  animated   pornography,  particularly  the  genre  of  “tentacle  porn”  pioneered  by  artist  Maeda   Toshio.  While  typically  centering  around  narratives  of  conquest  and  invasion— usually  in  the  form  of  medieval  fantasy  or  science  fiction—this  genre  purposely   utilizes  monstrosity  as  a  subversive  tool  to  circumvent  censorship  in  the  Japanese   media,  substituting  tentacles  as  a  replacement  for  the  phallus,  the  depiction  of   which  is  designated  as  obscene  in  Japanese  culture.  This  practice  is  complicated  by   traditional  Japanese  art  forms,  like  shunga—viewed  by  many  as  the  precursor  to   today’s  genre—woodblock  prints  that  depicted  exaggerated  pornographic  scenarios,   including  the  presence  of  octopi,  famously  seen  in  Hokusai’s  The  Dream  of  the   Fisherman’s  Wife.  What  makes  this  form  so  important  is  that  it  is  one  of  the  primary   cultural  products  that  defines  Japan  within  the  American  imagination,  frequently   referenced  in  everything  from  television  shows  to  Internet  memes.  By  and  large,  it   has  been  a  significant  factor  in  shaping  the  contemporary  image  of  the  Japanese  as   bizarre  fetishists  with  strange  sexual  proclivities,  whose  culture  has  produced   artifacts  whose  allure  cannot  be  comprehended  by  the  Western  mind.  Taken  wholly   out  of  the  context  of  media  censorship,  this  genre  of  pornography  has  instead  been   used  to  designate  Japanese  sexuality  as  monstrous  in  both  taste  and  appetite—so   much  in  fact  that  conservative  Japanese  politicians  have  cracked  down  on  the  genre   out  of  the  fear  that  it  is  negatively  affecting  the  country’s  global  reputation.                                                                                                                   628  Brzozwska  216-­‐217.   275             Perhaps  most  importantly,  significant  work  still  needs  to  be  done  to   interrogate  the  role  of  monstrosity  in  the  multimedia  franchise  known  as  Pokémon,   or  Pocket  Monsters.  No  other  series  so  perfectly  embodies  the  media-­‐mix  economy   of  the  Japanese  anime  industry  as  this  one,  producing  everything  from  manga,   anime,  video  games,  and  toys  to  apparel,  consumables,  stuffed  animals,  and   stationary.  It  has  inspired  a  host  of  imitators—including  series  like  Digimon—but  at   the  heart  of  the  franchise  are  two  things:  monsters  and  capitalist  principles.  No   matter  what  medium  one  chooses  as  an  inception  point  to  the  series,  they  are   exposed  to  the  same  narrative.  Young  children,  designated  as  trainers,  tame,  capture,   and  raise  monsters  known  as  Pokémon,  and  embark  on  a  journey,  engaging  in   battles  and  trading  the  creatures  to  become  stronger  in  the  hopes  of  one  day   competing  for  the  title  of  Pokémon  League  Champion.  Famously  marketing  the   phrase  “Gotta  Catch  Em’  All”  in  the  United  States,  the  series  now  boasts  more  than   seven  hundred  different  monsters  for  users  to  catch  and  trade  with  one  another,   either  through  digital  exchanges  in  games  or  the  physical  trading  of  collectible  cards.   The  video  games  are  known  for  introducing  “trading”  as  a  mandatory  social  element   in  the  experience,  as  no  one  player  is  able  to  capture  every  Pokémon  on  their  own   with  a  single  copy  of  the  game,  because  each  version  is  purposely  coded  to  only   include  certain  types  of  monsters  and  not  others.  The  entire  world  of  Pokémon  has   its  own  economy—including  everything  from  in-­‐game  stores  that  operate  via  virtual   currency  to  rarity  tiers  for  different  types  of  Pokémon—which  seductively   introduce  children  to  the  core  principles  of  free  market  capitalism.     276             Further,  it  is  arguable  that  the  Pokémon  model,  with  its  focus  on  controllable   monsters  and  individualized  play  is  at  the  heart  of  the  billion  dollar  “toys-­‐to-­‐life”   phenomenon  that  currently  dominates  the  American  video  game  industry.  No   longer  about  simply  managing  a  virtual  economy  between  games,  players  now   purchase  a  series  of  toys—for  games  ranging  from  Activision’s  Skylanders  series  to   Disney  Interactive’s  Infinity—for  use  in-­‐game.  Placing  these  physical  figures  onto  an   interface  known  as  a  “portal”  brings  them  to  “life”  within  the  game  itself,  allowing   the  player  to  utilize  these  characters  and  access  previously  locked  content.  Each  toy   retains  its  own  stats  and  specialized  moveset  through  the  use  of  a  built-­‐in  NFC   chipset,  allowing  for  multiplatform  use  at  any  location,  so  long  as  there  is  an   accessible  interface  and  a  copy  of  the  software.  It  is  no  coincidence  that  the  first  of   these  games,  Spyro’s  Adventure:  Skylanders,  featured  controllable,  heroic  monsters,   much  like  Pokémon,  that  the  player  uses  to  navigate  through  the  various  stages  of   the  in-­‐game  world.  Since  then,  the  focus  on  monsters  has  given  way  to  more   recognizable  characters,  most  recently  with  the  introduction  of  Nintendo’s  Amiibo   series  of  toys,  which  feature  classic  characters  like  Super  Mario,  Link,  Zelda,  and   Donkey  Kong,  but  much  of  the  business  model  from  these  ever  successive  product   lines  in  the  “toys-­‐to-­‐life”  fad  have  been  derived  from  the  model  pioneered  in   Pokémon.     There  are  many  facets  of  monstrosity  in  visual  culture  left  to  explore  on  both   the  American  and  Japanese  sides.  While  much  of  this  work  is  currently  focused  on   interactive  media  like  video  games,  there  is  an  untapped  wealth  of  potential   scholarship  that  exists  in  print  media  that  I  was  unable  to  include  in  this  project,   277           primarily  due  to  space  constraints.  My  hope  is  that  future  researchers  recognize  the   promise  of  this  material  and  give  it  the  attention  that  it  so  richly  deserves.       278               Fig  1.  The  World  Map.  Psalter  Mappamundi.  c.1265.  British  Library,  London.       279               Fig.  2.  Frontispiece  of  a  Dracula  pamphlet.  Huber,  Ambrosius.  c.1499.  Library  of  the   Academy  of  the  Romanian  Socialist  Republic,  Bucharest.     280               Fig.  3.  Monstrous  races,  including  the  blemmyae,  sciopod,  and  cyclops.  Polo,  Marco.   c.14th  century.  Bibliotheque  Nationale  de  France,  Paris.     281               Fig.  4.  First  issue  of  Yellow  Claw.  Yellow  Claw  1  (New  York:  Atlas,  1956).     282               Fig.  5.  Knackfuss,  Herman.  “The  Yellow  Peril.”  Harper’s  Weekly  22  January  1898:  74.         283               Fig.  6.  Keller,  George  Frederick.  “What  Shall  We  Do  With  Our  Boys?”  The  Wasp  3   March  1882.       284               Fig.  7.  Rogers,  W.A.  “Open  Door.”  Harper’s  Weekly  5  August  1899.         285               Fig.  8.  First  appearance  of  Superman.  Action  Comics  1  (New  York:  D.C.  Comics,  1938).       286               Fig.  9.  Captain  America  punches  a  demonic  Japanese  soldier  on  the  cover  of  the  first   post-­‐Pearl  Harbor  issue  of  the  series.  Captain  America  Comics  13  (New  York:  Timely,   1942).       287               Fig.  10.  Captain  America  battles  Japanese  soldiers.  Captain  America  Comics  18  (New   York:  Timely,  1942).     288               Fig.  11.  Timely  superheroes  battle  the  Japanese  navy.  All-­Winners  Comics  13  (New   York:  Timely,  1944).     289               Fig.  12.  The  leader  of  the  Black  Dragon  Society  declares  that  the  Japanese  cannot   invent,  so  they  must  resort  to  theft  and  sabotage  instead.  Rpt.  in  Fox,  Garder,  et  al.   All-­Star  Comics  Archives.  New  York:  D.C.  Comics,  1997.  3:  69.     290               Fig.  13.  Superman  stops  a  Japanese  saboteur.  Japoteurs.  Dir.  Seymour  Kneitel.   Paramount,  1942.     291               Fig.  14.  Wonder  Woman  uses  animalistic  terms  while  fighting  Japanese  soldiers.  Rpt.   in  Fox,  Garder,  et.  al.  All-­Star  Comics  Archives.  New  York:  D.C.  Comics,  1997.  3:  25.     292               Fig.  15.  Japanese  soldier  threatens  Native  American.  Rpt.  in  Fox,  Garder,  et  al.  All-­ Star  Comics  Archives.  New  York:  D.C.  Comics,  1997.  3:  69.         293               Fig.  16.  Chinese  villain.  Detective  Comics  1  (New  York:  D.C.  Comics,  1937).     294               Fig.  17.  Superman  prototype  Slam  Bradley  battles  Chinese  criminals.  Rpt.  in  Siegel,   Jerry,  et  al.  Millennium  Edition:  Detective  Comics.  New  York:  D.C.  Comics,  2000.     295               Fig.  18.  The  Claw  appears  as  a  green  demon,  commanding  Chinese  to  attack  his   enemy.  Silver  Streak  Comics  1  (New  York:  Lev  Gleason,  1939).     296               Fig.  19.  Cover  appearance  of  The  Claw  and  Daredevil.  Silver  Streak  Comics  7  (New   York:  Lev  Gleason,  1941).     297               Fig.  20.  Captain  America  punches  Hitler.  Captain  America  Comics  1  (New  York:   Timely,  1941).   298               Fig.  21.  Daredevil  Battles  Hitler.  Daredevil  Comics  1  (New  York:  Lev  Gleason,  1941).   299               Fig.  22.  Caniff.  Milton.  “How  to  Spot  a  Jap.”  Rpt.  in  Inada,  Lawson  Fusao.  Only  What   We  Could  Carry  (Berkeley:  Heyday  Books,  2000)  21.   300               Fig.  23.  Capt.  Fujiyama  gives  orders  to  the  Singapore  Stranglers  while  sitting  in  front   of  a  bust  of  Genghis  Khan.  Rpt  in  Fox,  Garder,  et  al.  The  Golden  Age  Starman  Archives.   New  York:  D.C.  Comics,  2000.  1:  123.   301               Fig.  24.  The  Human  Torch  and  Toro  create  a  propagandistic  fireworks  display   during  a  fundraiser  for  Chinese  aid.    Rpt.  in  Simon,  Joe,  et  al.  All-­Winners   Masterworks.  New  York:  Marvel,  2006.  1:  7.         302               Figs.  25-­‐26.  African  Americans,  women,  the  elderly,  children,  and  working  class   Americans  call  for  unity  and  cooperation  during  World  War  II.  Rpt.  in  Fox,  Garder,  et   al.  All-­Star  Comics  Archives.  New  York:  D.C.  Comics,  1998.  4:  121-­‐122.   303             304               Fig.  27.  Superheroes  and  youths  pledge  allegiance  to  the  American  flag  and  reaffirms   notions  about  equality.  Rpt.  in  Fox,  Garder,  et  al.  All-­Star  Comics  Archives.  New  York:   D.C.  Comics,  1999.  5:  184.               305               Fig.  28.  The  Blackhawks  and  Chop-­‐Chop.  Military  Comics  33  (New  York:  Quality,   1944).   306               Fig.  29.  Page  featuring  Wing  How’s  uniform.  Rpt.  in  Meskin,  Mort,  at  al.  Seven   Soldiers  of  Victory  Archives.  New  York:  D.C.  Comics,  2007.  2:  38.     307               Fig.  30.  Wing  declares  that  the  Japanese  are  ancient  enemies  of  China.  Rpt.  in  Meskin,   Mort.  Seven  Solders  of  Victory  Archives.  New  York:  D.C.  Comics,  2007.  2:  192.     308               Fig.  31.    Superman  operates  wartime  printing  press.  Action  Comics  58  (New  York:   D.C.  Comics,  1943).     309               Fig.  32.  Superman  hoists  Hitler  and  Hirohito.  Superman  17  (New  York:  D.C.  Comics,   1942).     310               Fig.  33.  Superman  attacks  Japanese  soldiers  on  motorbike.  Action  Comics  76  (New   York:  D.C.  Comics,  1944).     311               Fig.  34.  Superman  rides  a  bomb  into  battle.  Superman  18  (New  York:  D.C.  Comics,   1942).   312               Fig.  35.  Captain  Midnight  foils  a  breakout  at  a  Japanese  internment  camp.  Captain   Midnight  23  (New  York:  Fawcett,  1944).       313               Fig.  36.  The  Green  Hornet  battles  Japanese  saboteurs  near  Tule  Lake.  Green  Hornet   Comics  19  (New  York:  Harvey,  1944).     314               Fig.  37.  Stewart,  Francis.  Four  young  evacuees  from  Sacramento,  California,  read   comic  books  at  the  newsstand  in  the  Tule  Lake  Relocation  Center,  in  Newell,   California.  1942.  Photograph.  National  Archives  and  Records  Administration.     315               Fig.  38.  Cover  of  beheaded  woman  used  as  an  example  of  indecency  during  the   Senate  Subcommittee  Hearing  on  Juvenile  Delinquency.  Crime  Suspenstories  22   (New  York:  E.C.  Comics,  1954).       316               Fig.  39.  Captain  America,  Commie  Smasher.  Captain  America  78  (New  York:  Atlas,   1954).         317               Fig.  40.  Captain  America  transitions  into  a  horror  comic.  Captain  America’s  Weird   Tales  75  (New  York:  Timely,  1950).     318               Fig.  41.  The  return  of  Captain  America  during  the  Silver  Age.  Avengers  4  (New  York:   Marvel,  1964).     319               Fig.  42.  Captain  America  discovered  floating  in  the  ocean.  Avengers  4  (New  York:   Marvel,  1964)  4.   320               Fig.  43.  Cover  of  the  first  issue  of  Crime  Does  Not  Pay.  Crime  Does  Not  Pay  22  (New   York:  Lev  Gleason,  1942).     321               Fig.  44.  Cover  of  Adventures  Into  the  Unknown.  Adventures  Into  the  Unknown  1  (New   York:  American  Comics  Group,  1948).       322               Fig.  45.  Horror  comic  featuring  a  werewolf  cover  by  Jack  Davis.  Tales  From  the  Crypt   35  (New  York:  E.C.  Comics,  1953).         323                 Fig.  46.  Science  fiction  cover  by  Wally  Wood.  Weird  Science  14  (New  York:  E.C.   Comics,  1952).     324                   Fig.  47.    Suspense  comic  featuring  KKK-­‐like  villains  on  the  cover.  Shock   Suspenstories  6  (New  York:  E.C.  Comics,  1952).   325                     Fig.  48.  War  comic  cover.  Frontline  Combat  10  (New  York:  E.C.  Comics,  1953).   326                     Fig.  49.  Early  issue  of  E.C.’s  MAD  comic  book.  MAD  6  (New  York:  E.C.  Comics,  1953).   327               Fig.  50.  Korean  War  cover.  Our  Army  At  War  8  (New  York:  D.C.  Comics,  1953).     328               Fig.  51.  Korean  War  cover.  All  American  Men  of  War  2  (New  York:  D.C.  Comics,   1953).   329               Fig.  52.  Recent  depiction  of  Chinese  American  secret  agent  Jimmy  Woo.  Agents  of   Atlas  1  (New  York:  Marvel,  2006).     330               Fig.  53.  Toriyama,  Sekien.  Kappa.  c.  1780.  Gazu  Hyakki  Yagyo.  Kawasaki  City   Museum.   331               Fig.  54.  Toriyama,  Sekien.  Tengu.  c.  1780.  Gazu  Hyakki  Yagyo.  Kawasaki  City  Museum.   332               Fig.  55.  Artistic  interpretation  of  the  Night  Parade  of  100  Demons.  Kawanabe,  Kyosai.   Hyakkiyagyo-­zu.  c.  1879.  The  British  Museum.       333               Fig.  56.  Nike.  Godzilla  vs.  Charles  Barkley.  Advertisement.  1992.     334               Fig.  57.  Godzilla  (2014).  Advertisement.  2014.     335             Fig.  58.  “People  Are  People,”  a  D.C.  Public  Service  announcement  by  Jack  Schiff  and   Win  Mortimer  advocating  against  racial  prejudice.  Adventure  Comics  187  (New  York:   D.C.  Comics,  1953).     336               Fig.  59.  The  introduction  of  Barry  Allen,  the  second  Flash,  marks  the  beginning  of  the   Silver  Age  of  American  comic  books.  Showcase  4  (New  York:  D.C.  Comics,  1956).     337               Fig.  60.  The  success  of  the  Flash  resulted  in  the  revival  of  other  superheroes,  like   Green  Lantern.  Showcase  22  (New  York:  D.C.  Comics,  1959).     338               Fig.  61.  First  appearance  of  Hawkman  in  the  Silver  Age.  Brave  and  the  Bold  34  (New   York:  D.C.  Comics,  1961).       339               Fig.  62.  First  appearance  of  the  Justice  League  of  America,  a  superhero  team   patterned  after  the  Justice  Society  of  America.  Brave  and  the  Bold  28  (New  York:  D.C.   Comics,  1960).     340               Fig.  63.  An  example  of  an  Atlas-­‐era  monster  comic.  Tales  To  Astonish  12  (New  York:   Atlas,  1960).     341               Fig.  64.  First  appearance  of  Fin  Fang  Foom.  Strange  Tales  89  (New  York:  Atlas,  1961).     342               Fig.  65.  Final  chapter  of  the  Dragon  Seed  Saga.  Iron  Man  275  (New  York:  Marvel,   1991).     343               Fig.  66.  Hulk  prototype.  Journey  Into  Mystery  62  (New  York:  Atlas,  1960).     344               Fig.  67.  Dr.  Doom  prototype.  Tales  of  Suspense  31  (New  York:  Marvel,  1962).     345               Fig.  68.  Magneto  prototype.  Strange  Tales  84  (New  York:  Atlas,  1961).   346               Fig.  69.  Electro  prototype.  Tales  of  Suspense  13  (New  York:  Atlas,  1961).     347               Fig.  70.  Diablo  prototype.  Tales  of  Suspense  9  (New  York:  Atlas,  1960).     348               Fig.  71.  Sandman  prototype.  Journey  Into  Mystery  70  (New  York:  Atlas,  1961).     349               Fig.  72.  Cyclops  prototype.  Tales  of  Suspense  10  (New  York:  Atlas,  1960).   350                 Fig.  73.  The  Thing  prototype.  Strange  Tales  79  (New  York:  Atlas,  1960).   351               Fig.  74.  Spider-­‐Man  prototype.  Journey  Into  Mystery  73  (New  York:  Atlas,  1961).   352               Fig.  75.  First  appearance  of  Ant-­‐Man.  Tales  To  Astonish  27  (New  York:  Atlas,  1962).     353               Fig.  76.  First  appearance  of  Sunfire.  X-­Men  64  (New  York:  Marvel,  1970).     354               Fig.  77.  First  appearance  of  the  Black  Panther.  The  Fantastic  Four  52  (New  York:   Marvel,  1966).     355               Fig.  78.  Marvel’s  multiracial  military  platoon,  the  Howling  Commandos,  including   African  American  Gabe  Jones.  Sgt.  Fury  and  His  Howling  Commandos  18  (New  York:   Marvel,  1965).   356               Fig.  79.  First  appearance  of  the  Hate  Monger.  The  Fantastic  Four  21  (New  York:   Marvel,  1963).   357               Fig.  80.  First  appearance  of  the  Mandarin.  Tales  of  Suspense  50  (New  York:  Marvel,   1964).   358               Fig.  81.  Sojo,  Toba.  Choju-­Giga.  c.12th-­‐13th  century.  Kyoto  National  Museum,  Kyoto.   359               Fig.  82.  Portrait  of  Tetsuwan  Atomu.  Rpt.  in  Tezuka,  Osamu.  Astro  Boy.  Trans.   Fredrik  Schodt.  Milwaukie:  Dark  Horse,  2002.  1:32.       360               Fig.  83.  Tezuka’s  avatar  in  the  Tesuwan  Atomu  manga.  Rpt.  in  Tezuka,  Osamu.  Astro   Boy.  Trans.  Fredrik  Schodt.  Milwaukie:  Dark  Horse,  2002.  1:  34.     361                   Fig.  84.  Pluto  the  Robot.  Rpt.  in  Tezuka,  Osamu.  Astro  Boy.  Trans.  Fredrik  Schodt.   Milwaukie:  Dark  Horse,  2002.  3:  11.     362               Fig.  85.  Atlas  and  Dr.  Ram.  Rpt.  in  Tezuka,  Osamu.  Astro  Boy.  Trans.  Fredrik  Schodt.   Milwaukie:  Dark  Horse,  2003.  18:  162.       363               Fig.  86.  The  birth  of  Tetsuwan  Atomu  sequence.  Rpt.  in  Tezuka,  Osamu.  Astro  Boy.   Trans.  Fredrik  Schodt.  Milwaukie:  Dark  Horse,  2002.  1:  24.         364               Fig.  87.  Kitaro  prepares  to  battle  evil  yokai.  Rpt.  in  Mizuki,  Shigeru.  Kitaro.  Trans.   Jocelyne  Allen.  Montreal:  Drawn  and  Quarterly,  2013.  162.           365               Fig.  88.  Sequence  featuring  Kitaro’s  friend,  Nezumi  Otoko.  Rpt.  in  Mizuki,  Shigeru.   Kitaro.  Trans.  Jocelyne  Allen.  Montreal:  Drawn  and  Quarterly,  2013.  360.       366               Fig.  89.  Kitaro  wrecks  the  city  as  a  misunderstood  whale  monster.  Rpt.  in  Mizuki,   Shigeru.  Kitaro. 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