by Duane Spurlock
Gladiator, by Philip Wylie, 1930.
For a fan of pulp magazine and comic book heroes, reading Philip Wylie’s Gladiator is probably required as part of the Hero History 101 syllabus. I must admit that to this point, I hadn’t even faked it with Cliff Notes -- I only recently read this novel. And on completing it, I don’t see the strong connection often cited between it and all the strong heroes who followed in Hugo Danner’s trail.
Influence on Comics
Gladiator -- published in 1930 by Knopf -- is widely described as Jerry Siegel and Joe Schuster’s inspiration for creating Superman. I find that hard to imagine. Indeed, Gregory Feeley, in “When World-views Collide: Philip Wylie in the Twenty-First Century” -- which appeared in Science Fiction Studies #95 (volume 32, part 1), March 2005 -- states,
"In his brooding isolation and sense of unbridgeable disaffection from the rest of humanity, Wylie’s protagonist bears some resemblance to Mary Shelley’s monster, another creation of a shortsighted Prometheus. What he does not resemble is Superman . . ." (http://www.depauw.edu/sfs/review_essays/feeley95.htm)
The notion of Hugo Danner’s connection to Superman apparently came not from Siegel and Shuster, but from Sam Moskowitz in Explorers of the Infinite (1963). Evidently Moskowitz based his claim on info he received from Wylie during a telephone interview, according to Wylie biographer Truman Frederick Keefer, author of Philip Wylie (1977). As Feeley notes,
"I have concluded that Siegel and Shuster’s Superman is more likely indebted to such costumed and fancifully named crusaders as Zorro and the Scarlet Pimpernel than to Philip Wylie’s melancholy and aimless figure, and that Gladiator -- which, far from being the commercial success Moskowitz assumes, sold only 2,568 copies (Keefer 46) upon publication and was not widely read until an Avon paperback appeared in 1949 -- may not have been an influence at all. . . The belief that Gladiator represents the sole source, rather than one possible source, for Superman seems to derive from Sam Moskowitz’s uncritical acceptance of a claim about paraphrased dialogue."
True, Superman hides his powers from the world at large behind Clark Kent’s glasses and blue suit, just as Hugo attempts to hide his great strength. But hiding one's identity is nearly a requirement for this type of story: look at Zorro, The Grey Seal, the Scarlet Pimpernel, Edmond Dantes, and many others.
A more obvious influence Gladiator may have had is on the comic book The Watch Men, by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons, and the superhero Miracleman, as written by Grant Morrison. Miracleman’s history of influence is rather ragged, but here is the short version: A British publisher reprinted Fawcett’s Captain Marvel comics for a UK audience; when National Periodical Publications sued Fawcett because Captain Marvel was so similar to Superman, and Fawcett ceased publishing its Captain Marvel line of comics, the British publisher launched a similar (but slightly different, and definitely British) character named Marvel Man.
Many years later -- in the 1980s -- a British comic magazine (named Warrior) relaunched Marvel Man, brought up to date by scripter Alan Moore. A small comics publisher in the States (Pacific Comics? Eclipse? I can’t recall) began reprinting the UK series and -- once the reprints ran out, in a sort of reverse cycle of history -- began publishing new stories. Eventually Marvel Comics got miffed about alleged copyright and brand infringement, and Marvel Man’s name changed miraculously to Miracle Man. Alan Moore had left the series by the time Morrison was scripting the later stories, in which the hero had used his amazing powers to utterly dominate the world to bring about a peaceful utopia -- a dream not so different from Hugo Danner’s dream. As written by Morrison, Miracle Man’s narcissism and imagined, self-declared godhood suggest a possible ultimate dead end for Danner’s hopes.
Influence on Pulps
And I don’t know whether John Nanovic or Lester Dent read Gladiator, but one might say Doc Savage’s consciously restraining his emotions, his tendency to remain aloof from the opposite sex, and his seeking isolation at his Fortress of Solitude may all have a source in Hugo Danner’s great unhappiness in all his dealings with everyday human beings. But Wylie’s bildungsroman is less an influential portrait of a heroic character in the pulp mode than a collage of contrasts.
Bitter Contrasts
Doc Savage is noted to be a physical marvel by everyone who sees him -- his corded muscles and bronze skin and flake-gold eyes make a remarkable package. In contrast, Wylie describes Hugo as a man of mighty muscles and invulnerability, but this is not visibly apparent. Despite a sort of perfection in Hugo’s physical abilities, he looks utterly normal, far from heroic. The Coney Island barker who hires Hugo as a strong man at first dismisses him, for Hugo does not appear remarkable in any way; later, when the barker directs the sign painter to add lots of unrealistic muscles to the poster illustrating Hugo’s act, the artist responds that nobody looks like that (clearly this was long before today’s comic books hit the scene).
Doc Savage is hyper-competent; The Spider and The Shadow revel in their defeating the minions of crime and bringing villainous masterminds to their dooms; Hugo is by turns driven to put his ideas for improving the world into place and suffers melancholy over his continual disappointments. It may be fair to say he is a literary descendant of Hamlet, perhaps slightly manic-depressive. He is somewhat fickle, for when his plans are thwarted, he changes his goal. But just what that goal is, remains elusive to him. Earlier I called Gladiator a bildungsroman, or a coming-of-age novel -- typically in this type of story the primary character undergoes a baptism or fire or some defining experience to reach a point of understanding or maturity; in Hugo’s case, he continues to grapple with his destiny, questioning his raison d’etre, until his final destruction -- he never reaches an ultimate mature realization, but in a sense remains a callow, idealistic, and somewhat naïve youth his entire existence.
Perhaps Hugo’s frustrations are a literary manifestation of his author’s thwarted desires. As Feeley reports Keefer’s description,
"'Titan,' an early version of Gladiator, was his first book accepted by Knopf, and it was initially held back 'because the author wanted his first published novel to be a serious realistic work so that he could make a good impression on the critics' (36); but in the end Knopf declined to publish the book until Wylie thoroughly rewrote it. In his first years out of Princeton, Wylie considered himself a literary stylist in the manner of Swift and Sterne, and after leaving The New Yorker -- he was among its founding staff members, a fact (unmentioned in Moskowitz) that would raise the eyebrows of anyone familiar with his later career as a high-output producer of serials for the slicks -- he produced an allegorical fable of highly mannered artifice."
In Wylie’s words, quoted by Keefer, “I was having a little fun like that, playing with anagrams and things, but Knopf made me re-write it as a straight unobstructed narrative. That’s all, and I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to be an eighteenth-century kind of writer.” (46)
It’s surprising to learn of Wylie’s artistic desires after reading Gladiator, for in many ways the prose is graceless and blunt, like awkward reportage, with all the frisson of the local radio station’s noon hog futures’ report. The contrast between Hugo’s described perfection and Wylie’s pedestrian prose is remarkable. But then, out of the blue, Wylie can surprise the reader with a passage like this:
"The cold Atlantic winds were transformed overnight to the balm of the Gulf Stream. Presently they passed the West Indies, which lay on the water like marine jewels. Ages turned back through the days of buccaneering to the more remote times. In the port of Xantl a rickety wharf, a single white man, a zinc bar, and a storehouse filled with chicle blocks marked off the realm of the twentieth century. The ship anchored. During the next year it would make two voyages back to the homeland for supplies. But the explorers would not emerge from the jungle in that time." (Chapter XXIII)
Back to Hugo. For all his desire to use his power to help or improve mankind, he is continually thwarted by men’s fear of what he represents. Those human flaws and failures Hugo wants to overcome prove time and again powerful enough to halt his progress. Wylie is particularly bitter about human failings -- he belittles them in the ways they hinder humanity from reaching loftier heights of civilization and hinder Hugo from helping mankind; then he turns his scathing gaze on those who exploit those flaws for their own benefit. There is satire here, true, and Wylie’s frequently styleless, bitter prose recalls Nathaniel West’s hard-boiled, satiric skewerings in Miss Lonelyhearts and Day of the Locusts, but one wonders if more than satire is here -- perhaps we’re seeing evidence as well of misanthropy from the author of Gladiator? Perhaps this is why the only real comfort Hugo finds is with scientists: his father, who created him; and Professor Daniel Hardin, the explorer who leads the South American expedition that proves to be Hugo’s last adventure, and the only person other than Abednego Danner who recognizes in Hugo the power to change the world.
Hugo, a creation of science, is utterly alien to humankind, which is why he is continually rejected by the everyday people with whom he attempts to have normal relations; these repeated rejections result in Hugo experiencing “an immense loathing for the world.” (Chapter XXII) As Hugo rejects humanity, he embraces science:
"A thought that had been in the archives of his mind for many months came sharply into relief: of all human beings alive, the scientists were the only ones who retained imagination, ideals, and a sincere interest in the larger world. It was to them he should give his allegiance, not to the statesmen, not to industry or commerce or war." (Chapter XXIII)
This isn’t surprising, for at the time of Gladiator’s writing, science and technology were popularly viewed as the tools by which mankind would eventually reach an earthly utopia -- the dark clouds of doubt about technology’s saving graces raised by Hiroshima and Nagasaki were still more than a decade away. It is why the progressives of the time could read with hope the following words of Professor Hardin declaring Hugo’s destiny, because such notions had not yet been tainted by the headlines revealing the evils of Germany’s National Socialists:
“'Eugenic offspring. Cultivated and reared in secret by a society for the purpose. Not necessarily your children, but the children of the best parents. Perfect bodies, intellectual minds, your strength. Don’t you see it, Hugo? You are not the reformer of the old world. You are the beginning of the new. . . The New Titans! Then -- slowly -- you dominate the world. Conquer and stamp out all these things to which you and I and all men of intelligence object. In the end -- you are alone and supreme.'” [emphasis mine] (Chapter XXIII)
This hope in the saving power of science may lie behind the narrative’s damnation of religion. The reliance of Hugo’s mother on her religious beliefs is equated with her condemnation of Abednego’s experiments and her cold heart; Abednego’s funeral service is described as a “meaningless cadence of ritual”; and although Hugo is compared to an Old Testament hero, Samson, multiple times, religion is painted a poor portrait by Wylie, as this passage from Chapter XXII demonstrates:
"He looked at the Capitol in Washington and pondered the effect of issuing an ultimatum and thereafter bringing down the great dome like Samson. He thought of the churches and their bewildering, stupefying effect on masses who were mulcted by their own fellows, equally bewildered, equally stupefied."
Wylie’s choice to compare Hugo to Samson is interesting.* In the Book of Judges, Samson is a Nazirite -- a person set aside from birth to serve God. God endows Samson with great strength to serve his people as a hero. Yet Samson is prideful and breaks his covenant with God; his sin leads him to lose his might; he is blinded by his enemies and made a slave. Eventually Samson repents. God returns his strength so Samson may destroy his enemies. While destroying the Philistines, Samson also is killed.**
Just as Samson’s pride in his strength undermines his sense of service to God and leads to his being humbled, Hugo’s belief in his power as all that’s necessary for him to remake the world leads continually to his defeat. And at the end of the novel, a crack in Hugo’s disbelief in God (and his self-pride) finally appears. But even in his slight, trembling and hesitant belief, he sustains his rebellion and defiance: “Can I defy You? Can I defy Your world? Is this Your will? Or are You, like all mankind, impotent? Oh, God!” But Wylie maintains his ambivalence toward religious belief to the end, for Hugo’s final destruction is wrapped in ambiguity: it remains unclear whether God or dumb nature destroys Hugo. A reader who believes in God would say that God acts through nature, and so there is no difference in saying God killed Hugo or Nature killed Hugo. But for Wylie, who belittles religious belief throughout Gladiator, the difference in these statements -- one of many contrasts in this novel -- is quite real and very stark.
In the end, Gladiator is a bitter tale offering no hope and few heroics. If this novel is, indeed, an influence on Superman and Doc Savage and other heroes, then those who came after used Hugo’s example only as a germ to cultivate a far different sort of character for pulp and comic book fans to emulate.
NOTES:
* Likewise interesting is Wylie’s naming Hugo’s father Abednego, the Babylonian name by which we best know one of the young Jewish noblemen -- with Shadrach, Meshach, and Daniel -- taken from Judah and held captive by the Babylonians to serve their king. In Abednego’s story, related in the Old Testament Book of Daniel, he and Shadrach and Meshach are thrown into the fiery furnace for remaining faithful to God and not bowing down to an image of gold. By contrast, in Gladiator, Abednego Danner worships science and remains faithful until his death to his belief that his genetic experiments will bring a saving grace to mankind and civilization.
** Perhaps Wylie provides an unintended irony in comparing Hugo to Samson -- for Samson destroyed Philistines, yet Hugo is repeatedly thwarted by those Wylie would call philistines: using Wikipedia’s definition, “a person [who] despise[s] or undervalue[s] art, beauty, intellectual content, and/or spiritual values. Philistines are also said to be materialistic, to favor conventional social values unthinkingly, and to favor forms of art that have a cheap and easy appeal (e.g. kitsch).” [Maybe our love of pulp makes us philistines.]
LINKS
HugoDanner.com: A site dedicated to Philip Wylie's novel, Gladiator. Click here to visit it.
You can purchase the Bison Books edition of Gladiator at Amazon.com by clicking here.
Posted by ds at October 26, 2008 03:00 PM
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