The Semiotics of Alan Moore

Fashion Beast #6, Alan Moore, Malcom McLaren, & Antony Johnston

 
By: Gabriel Alejandro

      Alan Moore, one of the most recognizable names in comics, is known for taking the medium to a whole new plateau. Whether you love him for his work or hate him for his rants, everyone can agree that his stories differ from others in the way they incorporate elements of myth, sexuality, and mysticism, to name a few. At the bottom of each instant lies a constant variable which is Moore’s understanding of language. In his 2005 documentary, The Mindscape of Alan Moore, he tells an anecdote of a bard who writes a satire as revenge instead of placing a curse. The satire’s strength and longevity on the victim depended on how “skillful” the bard was, meaning how well he worded it. Here, we get a glimpse of Moore’s working philosophy: a story’s power (or message) relies on the mastery and use of language by its bard (or author). But mastering a language does not stop at having proper syntax and grammar. No. It also implies having a commanding knowledge of language’s structural role in “magic” and story-making throughout recorded history. Thus, new stories acquire past symbols and experiences that make it relevant to the human experience and, on a more personal level, memorable to the reader.

Semiotics

      Every tale, epic, and legend since the early civilizations has survived in contemporary cultures with modifications by the different language structures around the world. These adaptations are possible due to “equivalents” in each language, words that point to more or less the same meaning. For the sake of argument and keeping this article short, I will not dabble into the untranslatability of language or the precision (or lack of) with which symbols approach their semiotic objects. These arguments, although real and worthy of hearing, would divert the article from the main subject and could extend it to dissertation-like lengths. Now, without getting too much into translation or linguistic theory, language itself is a system of symbols (letters) that, when put together, form other symbols (words) that stand for a thing, idea or concept. For example, the word “pencil” does not look or smell like an actual pencil, but it points to the physical object. It bears no similarity to the word lápiz in Spanish, except for the fact that they both point to the same object. The same applies to a logo that stands for a religious, political, or general belief. The image has no real connection to the ideal besides the one that has been bestowed upon it by people, history, tradition; you choose. This is one of the basic principles of Semiotics, the study of symbols (something that stands in for something else) and the relationship with their meaning. 
 

   Promethea issue 17, page 22

      
Comics

      Comics are an art form that feature both images and words. A Semiotical analysis can be applied to the dialogue and to the scenario in the panels of a book. Like films, which start as a script full of text, comic books start as a script that often detail the colors, objects, and symbols to be drawn. This is where Alan Moore’s knowledge of past tales and rituals has been evident. The names, themes, and imagery in his work often range from Hebrew, Greek, modern, and even occult iconography. His League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (1999-present) series teams up science fiction characters from various renowned 19th-century authors such as Jules Verne, Bram Stoker, Robert Louis Stevenson, H. G. Wells, and more, to fight a common enemy. One of his most famous characters (if not THE most famous), simply named “V” from V for Vendetta (1982-1989), is a revolutionary hero who wears a Guy Fawkes’ mask, a member of the Gunpowder Plot attempt in 1605 London. The purpose behind never seeing V’s face is explained in a panel where he states that he (and his actions) is only meant to be taken as an idea of uprise and revolution. The meaning behind using a Guy Fawkes’ mask is also semiotical, since it points to another moment in British history when a group of people stood up for their beliefs. More recently, in our reality, the Guy Fawkes’ mask has become the official logo of hacktivist group Anonymous and the short-lived Occupy Wall Street movement.

More than Meets the Eye

      Beyond the visual realm, Alan Moore has also woven symbols of the past into the structure of his stories seamlessly. Although he often tells you what they mean or gives you a key to understand it, many do not follow because they see it as part of the fiction. These stories follow a path where the sequence of events emulate the structure of an ancient myth or ritual. Since it is better to show you than to just explain it, I will mention three scenarios that I consider most memorable where Moore applied this structural semiotic as I have come to call it.

I. Death of Baldur, Top Ten issue #7  

      Top Ten is a series about a police precinct in a world where everyone has a superpower. They answer the call of duty just as any regular police force would and in issue #7 of the first series, they receive a call from a bar named “Godz” about a homicide. Upon arrival, a man in white whose words are depicted in Nordic font explains the situation: moments before, a party had taken place at the bar, but was halted when the man’s son was murdered. Once inside they identify the body as Baldur Wodenson, the god of beauty, and an investigation ensues. Now, if you are not familiar with who Baldur is (or was), the events that follow will completely go over your head. But if you are familiar with this deity, then you would have figured out that the man, his father, is Woden (Odin), the all-father from the Norse mythology (which explains the font).

     The sequence of events that follow are just as if you were to insert yourself in the middle of an ancient story. Smax, the hot-headed member of the Top Ten crew, clashes with the egos of other deities before we see Baldur’s brother, who confesses to the murder and admits that the weapon, a mistletoe, was given to him by Lokk (Loki), the god of mischief. In the myth, Baldur and his mother, Frigg, had dreamt of the death and understood it as a prophecy. To avoid the prophecy from realization, Frigg persuades every object in the realm to vow not to harm Baldur. Every object makes the vow except, you got it, the mistletoe. The death of Baldur is also considered as the first step in a chain of events that lead to Ragnarök, the end and rebirth of mankind. In the comic, when Woden speaks of bringing about Ragnarok as a result of his son’s death, Smax is filled with rage and they both engage in an argument. Luckily, Peacock, another member of the Top Ten squad who is well versed in mythology, enters the scene and begins laughing after learning of the situation. When asked about the purpose of his laughter, he responds that gods, as semiotic symbols, are always present and that their stories are always happening. In that moment, Baldur wakes up and the party resumes only to end in his death over and over again. This circular time notion is common both in mythology and in Moore’s work
 

“Well, gods are eternally recurring symbols, Syn. They’re stories. The death of Baldur’s been going on since before time… and it will happen again tomorrow.”

II. Occult and Masonic Architecture of London, From Hell Chapter 4 

      In From Hell, Alan Moore gives a backstory to the legend of Jack the Ripper, a serial killer in 1888 London. By establishing that his alter ego was a physician and that the murders were linked to a royal conspiracy, Moore built a myth of his own over an already-existing one. William Gull (the Ripper) sees himself as doing a service to humanity. His acts serve to remind the populace of mankind’s fading knowledge of symbols and rituals. The fact that his victims were all women was attributed to the character’s misogynist beliefs and wish to destroy the symbol of the woman, which was acquiring power at the time (with women’s suffrage). By completing his work, his murders, he was certain that the symbol of the Ripper would be immortalized in the pages of history; and he succeeded. In reality, Jack the Ripper is known as the first “pop” serial killer. He wrote letters to the police which were published in local newspapers but was never apprehended. Many confessed to the crimes but were later released because of insufficient evidence. The legend inspired so many other copy-killings at the time that they blurred his trace and cops never found him.



      In Chapter 4 of From Hell, Gull asks his carman, John Netley, to drive him around the city of London. Netley did, in fact, exist, and is known for being accused of aiding the real Ripper by author Stephen Knight in a book titled Jack the Ripper: The Final Solution (1976). The purpose of the stroll is to show how the history of London reflects itself on the architecture of the city. Among the many, many historical facts, he pinpoints the location of events such as the death of Boudica, queen of the British Iceni who rebelled against the Romans, the pagan tribes that once lived in Hackney, and narrates the evolution of architecture from early Cretan and Mycenaean culture. Aside from the visual symbols of the building, the ride itself follows the path of a star which they draw upon a map after the ride. The star is the seventeenth card in a Tarot deck. It is interpreted as the integration of two opposite sides: the material and the subconscious worlds. The character of William Gull alludes to this during his dialogue with Netley: “All human brains, yours own included, Netley, have two sides: the left is Reason, Logic, Science […] The Right is Magic, Art and Madness.” Gull’s obsession with the ritual of symbols eventually leads him to madness after having a vision of the future and seeing what humanity becomes.

“… symbols have POWER, Netley… Power enough to turn even a stomach such as yours… or to deliver half this planet’s population into slavery.” (From Hell Chapter 4, page 23)

III. All 32 issues of Promethea  

Promethea is, without a doubt, the most semiotically-conscious book I have ever read. Everything from the characters, plots, events, and even the settings stand as a reference to something else. Promethea is an Egyptian deity that dwells in the realm of “Inmateria” (non-material): dreams, stories, fiction, art, etc. In order to summon her and to become her, one only needs to manifest her in some artistic form like writing a short poem or drawing a sketch. Moore basically made a story about his views on writing. The author as the magician who casts spells or stories in order to create magic; the worlds, inhabitants, and situations in his stories. The plot thickens when Sophie Bangs, the new Promethea, leaves the material world to look for Barbara, the previous Promethea. Before she sets on her journey, she meets up with a magician called Jack Faust who trains her in the art of magic so she does not get lost. As I mentioned at the beginning of the article, Moore’s perspective of magic is mostly in a linguistic sense. Training Sophie in magic meant that she learned of a great number of myths since the beginning of recorded history and their meanings.

      The journey through “Inmateria” follows the structure and symbology of the Tarot deck. Moore dedicated issue 12 of the series to explaining the Tarot card by card so the readers would know where to stand in the story. Since the realm of “Inmateria” is the same as imagination, we get to see visual representations of mythological, science-fiction, and religious figures. We also see concepts such as death, language, salvation, and spirituality, among many more. The art is also key in every issue. J .H. Williams III explored different esthetics in each issue, giving every level of “Inmateria” a different feel through visual means. After the journey through “Inmateria,” the references continue to pour in different ways. My most memorable moment was right after the journey, when Sophie’s friend Stacie takes her to court over custody of the Promethea role (Stacie had filled in for Sophie while she was away). The court’s judge is King Solomon from the bible and he references it often by suggesting they cut Promethea in half so each girl could have a share. This is a direct quote from 1 Kings 3:16-28, in which Solomon judges a situation between two women; two harlots. The problem was that the two women lived in the same house and each gave birth a couple of days apart. The baby of one of the women died and the other survived. The mother of the baby who died claimed the living baby from her mother and thus the latter took her to court. The King then suggests they cut the baby in half in order to smoke out the real mother, who would object to it and prefer the baby stayed alive even if it was not with her. And it is exactly what happens, both in the bible and in Promethea. After the judge suggests it for about the third time, Sophie’s friend agrees to it but Sophie does not, citing that she would rather not be Promethea if it would mean so much trouble. Solomon declares Sophie as the sole Promethea after uttering “Every time. it works like a charm!”

      There are so many things that I may have left out from the books, Semiotics, and even Alan Moore. But the real joy in this is to experience it for yourself. When you approach a book, do more than just read it. Research every nook and cranny that appears in it, all the way from the names to the backgrounds. That is one of the perks of comic books. Many are quick to judge Alan Moore for his beliefs and how he portrays them in his work, but they do not see that every author does this. The late literary critic Terrece Hawkes once said that “All writing takes place in the light of other writing, and represents a response to the ‘world’ of writing that pre-exists…” (Structuralism and Semiotics 101). In other words, every author’s influences are present in his work, whether they be political or philosophical. Moore’s “world” of writing is that which constantly and eternally points to the past, seeking equivalents in different cultures and languages. If you want to know how he and other authors do it, or would like to do some of your own, then all you need is to learn magic and all will become clear.

Language and Myth in Comic Books

By: Gabriel Alejandro

"And in spite of current evidence to the contrary, actions do not rule the world... words do."

-Jonathan Hickman, East of West issue 11

     Whenever we hear the word “myth” being used, it often conveys one of two things: a negative charge against another’s basis for an argument or belief; or as a reference to the Greek gods that once inhabited Mount Olympus. We often forget that at the core of every myth lies a reality which, after the process of “mythification,” acquires new dimensions for its target audience. What distinguishes myth from fiction is that its elements (characters, setting, events, etc.) often resonate with the audience’s life experience and thus can become a valid explanation for that which cannot be easily understood or explained. Myths began as oral traditions, with each narrator adding something from their own personal undergoing to the general mythos. This was and still is possible due to language (either oral or written) and its conventions, which allows for different versions to deviate from the standard and still be accepted as part of a whole. Today, the same language mechanisms that allowed for the dissemination of classical myths are alive and well in the comic book medium, thus granting them a special place in modern culture

Language theory

     In order to proceed, we must begin with the late literary critic Terrence Hawkes’ take on myth: “All myths, that is, have their grounding in the actual generalized experience of [ancient] peoples, and represent their attempts to impose a satisfactory, graspable, humanizing shape on it” (Structuralism and Semiotics 13). This refers to a tendency in human history to bricolage or, in other words, use a familiar word for something alien. Just try to remember those bad movies where a native from some jungle is taken to a city for the first time and refers to a car as a “metal horse.” The native, taken from his setting (and language), employs a defense mechanism of sorts, in which he tries to understand the new world by means of his own language. This mechanism, also used in myth-making, is a way of coping with unknown events through metaphorical language, or “... to deal with the world, that is, not directly but at a remove” (Hawkes 15). For a while it was also referred to as “the primitive mind” by language scholars and thus underestimated its historical value. It was not until the French anthropologist Claude Lévi‑Strauss’ study, which took myths beyond “child-like play” and into a more “sophisticated relationship with the world,” that scholars began to view myths as portals into the past.

Comic book mythos

     Lévi-Strauss study focused on how myths, and the language they are built upon, echo a particular point in time’s surroundings. His concern was “… ultimately with the extent to which the structures of myths prove actually formative as well as reflective of men’s minds...” (Hawkes 41). In this aspect, we can witness how the language –dialogue, names, and imagery– of myths reflect a particular social and/or historic context, depending on their moment of conception. Furthermore, we can also make the jump into comic books, where some of our most beloved characters were created out of historic events. In With Great Power: The Stan Lee Story documentary, Stan Lee explains the birth of many of Marvel’s superheroes. In all of these instances, the character’s raison d'être mirrored a particular language from the times: In the early sixties (1962), the Hulk was born amid nuclear fears and proliferation of words such as “atomic,” and “radiation,” elements with which Bruce Banner worked with and suffered from respectively. A year later (1963), Iron Man was first published among the hatred for the U.S. military industrial complex. The name itself, Iron, being a clear signifier of the struggle. A few more years down the road, The Silver Surfer (1966) was the answer to the flower power movement. A pacifist alien who mediates between a destroyer of worlds and its victims. The list goes on and on.

     It must be said that language is not limited to the written word. Images and symbols also figure into what is known as semiology, or the study of meaning-making. In one of the clearest examples, Captain America’s name stands for an infinite set of ideals of the North American nation. Moreover, his appearance in 1940, during the lead-up years to the U.S.’s involvement in World War II, made him a symbol for the inevitable. The first issue, which showed the Captain punching Adolf Hitler in the face, sold out immediately and was met with patriotic fervor. Beyond Hitler, the Captain battled enemies such as the “Red” Skull, shown with a swastika in the above picture. The Red Skull’s name is not only a literary reminder of the red scare that spanned almost four decades (from 1919 to 1954), but it is also a visual reminder of it.

Modern Times

      This language recourse is still very much present in comic books today. Recently, Rick Remender’s run of Captain America introduced a new villain called Dr. Mindbubbles, another post-Captain America super-soldier failed experiment with the particularity that the serum used on him was laced with the drug known as LSD. On this occasion, the semiology transports us to a time when drugs were not perceived as entirely evil and the U.S. government studied its benefits for personal gain. One may ask then: Is Remender fifty years too late with the character? The answer is no. Remender’s character comes at a time when the legality of some drugs is being contested in the U.S., and the language used in the arguments both for and against echoes the language of the past. The character is then validated by the previous and current historical contexts, or as Roland Barthes notes in his book Mythologies, “…the materials of mythical speech (the language itself, photography, painting, posters, rituals, objects, etc.), however different at the start, are reduced to a pure signifying function as soon as they are caught by myth” (113). This tool of language then allows for the myth to be accepted by contemporaries for its factual background and passed on to future generations for its historical value.

Popular acceptance

      The acceptance of these comic book myths also lies within the realm of language. Two basic concepts, the langue and parole, establish the glass through which these myths must be seen. In language, langue stands for language as-is, its rules and “correctness.” On the other hand, the parole stands for its everyday use, filled with mistakes, variations, and alterations. As with language, these myths stem out of a reality that can be seen as a langue. Thus, the variations, reinterpretations, and reimagining of past or current events lie within the parole. The public’s acceptance then comes of how close the myth can come to the reality without it actually being the reality. The more elements of reality the myth has, the better. If it has less, then it is just fantasy.

      Nowadays it is not even necessary to even purchase a comic book in order to know who Superman is, or how Captain America came to be. These characters have withstood the test of time, but they have not done it on their own. Every couple of years a new voice comes to carry the superhero myth in the form of writers. The “magicians” as Alan Moore would say, are tasked with the duty of breathing life into the characters and often take from personal experiences to shape their contributions. As with myths and their oral counterparts, comic book writers take from an established tradition to which they must answer to, but can also add to the story with some restrictions. The parameters are established by the language of each character at its moment of creation, which define its nature and myth. Writers then provide readers with a more updated language, one that reflects his or her contextual setting, and the public decides whether to accept it or not into the mythos. This, again, is possible due to language conventions and concepts such as langue and parole, which allow for an immovable canon to exist under unlimited variations of it. As time passes, the origins of our characters are questioned less and the focus shifts to where they are situated in the now. As long as there is a language to fill the pages with stories, comic book characters will continue to exist as an alternative to our reality.