By Alissa Whitmore<\/em><\/p>\n McCrystal, Erica. 2021. Gotham City Living: The social dynamics in the Batman comics and media. <\/em>New York: Bloomsbury<\/a>. <\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/blockquote>\n Erica McCrystal\u2019s ambitious Gotham City Living: The Social Dynamics in the Batman Comics and Media <\/em>(2021) aims to trace the evolving representation of identity and criminality in the Batman universe, from the first comics in 1939 through 2019\u2019s Joker <\/em>film. The chapters range from documenting the challenges of growing up in Gotham to the ways in which the comics and films critique income inequality, but ultimately uphold capitalism by requiring a wealthy superhero to maintain order and fight crime. McCrystal\u2019s central argument is that Batman\u2019s home of Gotham City operates as a stand-in for any American city, with Gotham and its denizens \u2013 heroes and villains alike \u2013 being continually re-imagined in comics, tv, and film to tap into the cultural anxieties of the present day.<\/p>\n A Professor of Education and English at Centenary University, McCrystal is a media scholar whose research focuses on literature, comics, villains, and pop culture. While Gotham City Living<\/em> is <\/em>published by an academic press and targeted toward comic and literary scholars, McCrystal\u2019s book is easily accessible for fans as well.\u00a0Each chapter weaves academic theories with discussions of characters or comics, though a fuller introduction to some concepts would have been helpful for those with limited exposure to this scholarship.<\/p>\n Given the book\u2019s short length (just over 200 pages), it is impossible for McCrystal <\/em>to offer a complete analysis of social identity across 80 years of Batman media. The Batverse\u2019s cast of familiar villains and allies (as well as some lesser-known characters) appear, but fans will undoubtedly notice gaps in coverage. For example, Harley Quinn\u2019s abusive relationship with the Joker is briefly referenced in the text, but is absent from a section on \u201cProblematic Relationships.\u201d An analysis of Harley\u2019s queer coded relationship<\/a> with Poison Ivy \u2013 alluded to in Batman the Animated Series<\/em> (1992-1995) before Harley\u2019s bisexuality was more openly portrayed in DC Bombshells<\/em> (2015-2017), Harley Quinn <\/em>#25 (2016), Injustice 2 <\/em>#70 (2018), and the current Max series Harley Quinn <\/em>(2019- ) \u2013 would also have been a welcome addition to McCrystal\u2019s section on challenging heteronormativity, which primarily focuses on queer readings of Batman and Robin\u2019s close relationship in the early comics and Batwoman Kate Kane\u2019s lesbian identity.<\/p>\n Those interested in a deep dive might get more out of other Batman volumes devoted to a specific topic, like gender & sexuality (Richardson 2020) or psychology & criminology (Packer & Frederick 2019; Langley 2019, 2022), or books focused on specific characters, like Robin \/ Nightwing (Geaman 2015), Harley Quinn (Barba & Perrin 2017), or the Joker (Peaslee & Weiner 2015). What Gotham City Living <\/em>offers is an introduction to scholarship on the Dark Knight and a survey of Batman comics, tv episodes, and films that have something interesting to say about identity in American culture.\u00a0<\/p>\n Sex, Gender, and Violence in Gotham City<\/strong><\/p>\n McCrystal organizes her text into six chapters, each focused on a separate facet of social identity (age, gender, sexuality, race, and class) with a final chapter looking at criminality. This division of identity into separate chapters is sometimes strained and results in the same storylines being discussed multiple times, such as the Joker\u2019s assault on Barbara Gordon in The Killing Joke<\/em> (1988), which appears in the chapters on gender and sexuality. These repetitions and the challenges of analyzing discrete identity characteristics without reference to others highlights the intersectionality of identity (Dastagir 2017<\/a>; Steinmatz & Crenshaw 2020<\/a>). A different type of organization, like focusing each chapter on the portrayal of multiple aspects of identity in a specific comic or tv series, or examining how depictions of poverty and capitalism change over time, might have provided McCrystal with the opportunity for a more nuanced analysis.\u00a0<\/p>\n Given the vast significance of identity and the abundant scholarship on it, some chapters and sections are inevitably uneven. McCrystal\u2019s chapters on gender and sexuality primarily focus on female characters, particularly Batwoman, Batgirl, Catwoman, and Poison Ivy. She argues that Gotham\u2019s heroines and villainesses reflect changing and fluid perspectives on American femininity, but perhaps uncritically situates Batman as a largely unchanging embodiment of hypermasculinity. The chapter on sexuality likewise explores primarily how female characters have been sexualized, particularly Catwoman, who was deemed by the Comics Code (more on the Code below) to be too sexy for comics from the mid-1950s \u2013 1960s. McCrystal does argue, however, that the sexuality of Batman, Robin, and other male heroes and villains is partially policed in that few characters get to have healthy romantic relationships.<\/p>\n In several cases, McCrystal introduces ideas and interpretations from other academics and media critics without fully engaging with the issues they raise. In her discussion of the Joker\u2019s assault on Barbara Gordon, McCrystal begins by outlining the critique raised by comic writers and scholars that the storyline objectifies Barbara, making her into a plot device to advance Batman\u2019s and her father\u2019s character development (for more on this, see Backe 2016<\/a>). Then McCrystal presents media scholar William Proctor\u2019s argument that Barbara\u2019s assault draws attention to real-world sexual violence, empowers victims to speak out about their own assaults, and elicits sympathy for victimized women. While McCrystal characterizes Joker\u2019s attack as objectifying and hypersexualizing Barbara in a later chapter, here, she doesn\u2019t problematize Proctor\u2019s interpretation of The Killing Joke<\/em>, but instead moves on to discuss Barbara\u2019s evolution into the Oracle.\u00a0<\/p>\n Proctor\u2019s argument that there is value in Barbara\u2019s callous treatment, that depicting an assault is necessary to elicit sympathy for rape victims, and that this depiction would be empowering<\/em> for survivors \u2013 and McCrystal\u2019s immediate pivot away after presenting this idea \u2013 landed hard for me. More discussion of Proctor\u2019s supporting evidence for this interpretation, as well as presenting scholarship on media portrayals of victimization, would have helped readers contextualize and critically think through Proctor\u2019s analysis, and it is a missed opportunity that McCrystal didn\u2019t grapple with these two very contradictory interpretations of Barbara\u2019s assault.<\/p>\n In contrast, the author devotes twice as many pages to a Batwoman <\/em>(2014-2015) story arc in which the female vampire Nocturna poses as Kate Kane\u2019s ex-girlfriend, rapes her, and hypnotizes Kate into believing that they are in a consensual relationship. McCrystal cites critiques raised by journalist Mey Rude<\/a> that the comics visually portray Kate\u2019s rape as sexy and arousing for the audience, which romanticizes rape and perpetuates rape culture. After creating space for this critique, McCrystal details the harm caused to Kate by Nocturna\u2019s rape and how this storyline upends common myths about who can be a rapist, a survivor, and what rape and its aftermath can look like. As in the discussion of The Killing Joke<\/em>, McCrystal doesn\u2019t advocate for one interpretation or another, but the detailed discussion of rape in Batwoman<\/em> helps readers sit mired in the problematic complexity of American media portrayals and ideas about rape and consent.\u00a0<\/p>\n Gotham City Living <\/em>is strongest when McCrystal presents hard, conflicting truths about the Batverse and, by extension, ourselves. Batgirl<\/em>\u2019s (2013-2015) inclusion of the first trans character in DC Comics, Alysia Yeoh as Barbara\u2019s roommate, was revolutionary, but this doesn\u2019t preclude accusations that the comic was transphobic when Batgirl was later shocked to discover that a villain dressed as Batgirl was a man. And the book is the weakest when McCrystal seems unwilling to consider critiques or multiple perspectives about the Batman universe. After citing numerous examples of Batman and Robin belittling and stealing credit from female characters, McCrystal asserts that the heroes aren\u2019t misogynist, but are chivalrous protectors. They are both. Likewise, female villains can use their sexuality as a way to to gain power over men and <\/em>cope with sexism; Selina Kyle\u2019s role as a dominatrix in Batman: Year One <\/em>(1987) can be both empowering and<\/em> exploitative (see Weitzer 2010). Readers would have benefited from more fleshed-out examples of such conflicting interpretations, which illustrate the complexity of gender and sexuality in comics and real life.<\/p>\n Racism, Superheroes, and the Comics Code<\/strong><\/p>\n A central theme in Gotham City Living<\/em> is how the Comics Code (1954 \u2013 2011) shaped the portrayal of race, gender, sexuality, and violence in the Batverse. The code\u2019s origins date to the 1940s, when concerns about comic content from educators and the Catholic Church were further inflamed by psychologist Dr. Fredric Wertham, who argued that sexual and violent content in comics stunts child psychological development and morality (Nyberg 2011<\/a>). In 1954, a US Senate Subcommittee held hearings on the comic book industry and juvenile delinquency, and the Comics Magazine Association of America adopted the Comics Code as a way for the comics industry to moderate content themselves and attempt to stave off government regulation. Among other things<\/a>, the code prohibited the inclusion of excessive violence, profanity, sexually suggestive illustrations and language, ridicule of religious and racial groups, and most supernatural creatures (seriously). The code was revised numerous times, before it was abandoned in 2011 (Nyberg 2011<\/a>).<\/p>\n Undoubtedly, the Comics Code had a tremendous impact on comic writers and artists. At times, however, McCrystal likely gives the code too much credit, particularly when discussing race. The central thesis of her chapter on race and ethnicity is that Batman comics promoted equality and inclusion, with the strongest supporting evidence being the relatively rare occurrences of overt racism and a few storylines from the 2000s featuring Black characters (including Orpheus and Grotesk) and discussions of gentrification, police brutality, and racial disparities in the justice system. But McCrystal struggles in her defense against critiques that the Batverse is predominantly occupied by white characters. While she includes statistics to suggest that the lack of early comic diversity may reflect real-world demographics of Black and Brown people living in 1940\u2019s American metropolises, her primary defense is that \u201cthe Batman franchise\u2019s creative teams have not neglected race as an exclusionary practice\u201d but instead were 1) seeking to adhere to the Comics Code and 2) catering to their audience (McCrystal 10). <\/p>\n The language of the Comics Code<\/a> prohibited \u201cridicule or attack on any religious or racial group,\u201d and by extension, negative racial stereotypes. McCrystal argues that the <\/em>Batman creators\u2019 response to the Code was a progressive agenda for its time, whose \u201cintentions [we]re to eliminate prejudiced racial formation in the minds of the readers through omission\u201d (111-2). <\/p>\n But the Code only discouraged racist stereotypes \u2013 not the depiction of different racial groups themselves.<\/p>\n If comic creators and publishers, in seeking to adhere to a prohibition against negative <\/em>depictions of Black people, completely avoid depicting Black characters, this is strong evidence of the pervasiveness of systemic racism in the comics industry and the wider culture. It suggests that comic creators (or those enforcing the Code) couldn\u2019t conceive of portraying people of color without racist stereotypes, or as heroes or everyday folks living in Batman\u2019s world. So they left Black and Brown people out entirely. <\/p>\n The practice of omitting racially diverse characters as an \u201cacceptable\u201d way to lessen prejudice and racism is fundamentally exclusionary and an example of color-evasion. Color-evasive ideology argues that racism can be eliminated by avoiding discussions of race or racism. It is often used to assert a lack of racism (e.g. \u201cI don\u2019t see race\u201d, \u201cI don\u2019t think about race when I interact with people\u201d) and was once held up as a \u201cprogressive\u201d ideal, but it has been strongly critiqued for perpetuating racism by refusing to recognize its existence and denying the experiences of people of color (Bonilla-Silva 2013; Wingfield 2015<\/a>). An adherence to color-evasion is particularly evident in Batman comics during the Civil Rights era of the 1950s and 1960s, when the universe remained predominantly white and, in contrast to reality, Gotham was \u201can American city where racial tensions essentially did not exist\u201d (McCrystal 111).\u00a0<\/p>\n The Batman team\u2019s color-evasive response to the Code was exclusionary and prejudiced. Outside of the Batverse, there is evidence that the Code was used to stifle positive portrayals of Black protagonists and discussions of racism in other comics during the 1950s (Yezbick 2015), further illustrating racism within the industry and situating the Code as a tool for maintaining whiteness in comics.<\/p>\n McCrystal\u2019s also argues that the \u201chyper-white\u201d appearance of the Batverse reflects \u201can industry that must meet consumer demands\u201d with readers being a \u201cstrong determinant of content \u2013 whether for inclusion or not\u201d (103). Batman comics were created by a predominantly white industry which was targeting a predominantly white, young, male audience, who, it was assumed, only wanted to see reflections of themselves on the pages. <\/p>\n The whiteness of Batman\u2019s universe can be seen as an example of white centering. Layla E. Saad notes the pervasiveness of whiteness in American popular culture, which often centers white stories, characters, norms, and values. White centering is the assumption that a film with a predominantly white cast will appeal to all audiences, but that movies featuring primarily actors of color wouldn\u2019t be relevant to white people. Centering whiteness as the norm and marginalizing people of color is a form of white supremacy, and one which can be more difficult to detect than more overt examples of racism (Saad 2020).<\/p>\n But, like color-evasive ideology, white centering is<\/em> racism.<\/p>\n And this racism is often revealed when white fans lash out against re-imagined pop culture classics that de-center whiteness by casting actors of color (see also Backe 2022<\/a>). Writing about The Rings of Power <\/em>and the new live-action The Little Mermaid<\/em>, pop culture critic Eric Deggans<\/a> notes that most iconic science fiction, fantasy, and superhero stories have excluded people of color and that \u201censhrining beloved characters as forever white is the very definition of white privilege.\u201d<\/p>\n Sociologist Albert S. Fu analyzed online fan opposition to the suggestion that Black actor Donald Glover should be cast as Spiderman and the creation of Miles Morales as a Black, Puerto Rican Spiderman. Fu notes that white fans call upon the canon \u2013 the official or popularly recognized history of a character or fictional universe \u2013 to call for Peter Parker\u2019s whiteness in future pop culture iterations and to deny accusations of racism for not wanting a Black actor playing Spiderman. In making this argument, fans treat the canon as \u201ccolorless history,\u201d while ignoring the real-world history that largely excluded people of color from creating or playing central roles in these narratives (Fu 2015). In this way, the canon (which is constructed through white supremacy\u2019s racist ideas of who can be a hero) is weaponized to maintain<\/em> white supremacy through normalizing whiteness, further excluding people of color, and defending against accusations of racism. Marvel\u2019s new Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse <\/em>film offers excellent commentary on this by directly questioning whether the canon is good or necessary and situating it as an obstacle for Miles and other Spider-People.<\/a><\/p>\n McCrystal argues that in keeping the Batverse white, DC\u2019s intentions may not have been exclusionary \u2013 they were just sticking with a formula that proved profitable and presumed that stories featuring diverse casts wouldn\u2019t make as much money. This type of argument illustrates the connections between racism and capitalism, intertwined systems which perpetuate one another (see Wolff 2016<\/a>; Desmond 2019<\/a>). In this case, the racist decision to exclude people of color from Batman comics is justified by capitalism\u2019s emphasis on maximum profit, and this exclusionary media that then is sold to the public helps support the perception of a predominantly white world, devoid of good people of color.<\/p>\n McCrystal briefly acknowledges that excluding people of color from the Batverse creates a \u201cproduct that appears to be rooted in white hegemonic capitalistic practices\u201d (108), whose treatment of race may be \u201cmisguided\u201d (112). But she largely seems hesitant to call out the racist impacts (or intents) of creating and maintaining a predominantly white Gotham City, repeatedly stating that the Batman team was making a positive, progressive choice since they didn\u2019t portray people of color as villains and were following the Code.<\/p>\n Over time, representation of people of color in superhero stories has increased. McCrystal cites examples of a 1950s Batman PSA encouraging racial tolerance in sports, Eartha Kitt\u2019s portrayal of Catwoman in the 1960s Batman <\/em>tv show, and scattered comic story arcs starting in the 1990s that feature Black superheroes and villains and critiques of racism and xenophobia. But these feel like exceptions that prove the rule.<\/p>\n In a CodeSwitch<\/a> conversation about race and superheroes, Kendra Pettis notes that cartoons often feature racially diverse heroes, perhaps specifically to appeal to children of color, but heroes of color are still largely missing from comics and films geared toward adults. Bryan Cooper Owens<\/a> argues that this is because adults prefer the white superheroes that they grew up with, which helps maintain the revolving door of superheroes of color who are created and then canceled. Owens argues that the comics industry views racebending established characters (recasting them in a new race or ethnicity) as a way to more accurately reflect our multiracial society in a way that is deemed safer for sales, and one which doesn\u2019t genuinely challenge the overall whiteness of comics, despite disagreements from some vocal white fans.<\/p>\n Overall, however, it remains difficult to agree with McCrystal\u2019s analysis that Batman comics have largely and historically \u201cdiscouraged prejudiced thinking and promoted equality and inclusivity\u201d (104).<\/p>\n Conclusion: The End of the Knight<\/strong><\/p>\n McCrystal ends Gotham City Living<\/em> with a two paragraph Epilogue, referencing 2022\u2019s upcoming The Batman <\/em>movie and noting that just as Batman comics and media have reflected and shaped social mores in the past, they will continue to do so in the future.\u00a0<\/p>\n At the end of the book, I had hoped for a more robust conclusion that tied together the sometimes disparate chapters. Or one that answered the all-important question \u2013 so what? McCrystal\u2019s overarching and uncontroversial thesis is that Batman\u2019s universe has grown more socially progressive over time, influenced by broader changes in American culture. Anthropologists and social scientists have a keen interest in understanding cultural change, but Gotham City Living <\/em>stays close to the surface in documenting these changes and the ways in which Batman stories often reflect American cultural concerns, rather than delving into the broader meaning of social progress and the tensions that come with cultural change. I was also left wondering whether there is anything unique about the evolution of Gotham City and the identities of its inhabitants \u2013 or comics \u2013 in comparison to other long-running fictional universes. Because while I care (perhaps too much) about the Batverse, I\u2019m not certain that this book will convince others to do so.<\/p>\n Where McCrystal\u2019s text shines is by offering a history of Gotham City. I was struck by how large the Batverse is and how quickly new iterations emerge. Newer tv shows, like Titans <\/em>(2018-2023) and Batwoman <\/em>(2019-2022), likely came out after the book was written, which is a shame given Batwoman<\/em>\u2019s rich portrayals of gender, sexuality, race, and villainy. Tim Drake\u2019s Robin didn\u2019t come out as bisexual until 2021<\/a>. And an analysis of 2022\u2019s shelving of the completed Batgirl <\/em>movie<\/a> \u2013 which featured a Latina Batgirl played by Leslie Grace, trans actress Ivory Aquino playing Alysia Yeoh,<\/a> and Muslim, Belgian Moroccan filmmakers Adil El Arbi and Bilall Fallah \u2013 allegedly for DC to get a tax write-off<\/a>, would have been most welcome, as this saga surely says something interesting about identity and capitalism in modern American culture.<\/p>\n If readers are looking for an introduction to academic scholarship on comics and identity, Gotham City Living <\/em>provides a good entry point. But readers with a firm grounding in anthropology, sociology, or academic research on identity will likely be left wanting more.\u00a0<\/p>\n Works Cited<\/strong><\/p>\n Barba, Shelley E. & Joy M. Perrin. (eds.) 2017. The Ascendance of Harley Quinn: Essays on DC\u2019s Enigmatic Villain<\/em>. McFarland.\u00a0<\/p>\n Bonilla-Silva, Eduardo. 2013. Racism without Racists: Color-Blind Racism and the Persistence of Racial Inequality in America<\/em>. Rowman & Littlefield.<\/p>\n Fu, Albert S. 2015. Fear of a black Spider-Man: Racebending and the colour-line in superhero (re)casting. Journal of Graphic Novels and Comics<\/em> 6(3): 269-283. https:\/\/www.researchgate.net\/publication\/271212845_Fear_of_a_black_Spider-Man_Racebending_and_the_colour-line_in_superhero_recasting<\/a><\/p>\n Geaman, Kristen L. (ed.) 2015. Dick Grayson, Boy Wonder: Scholars and Creators on 75 Years of Robin, Nightwing, and Batman<\/em>. McFarland.<\/p>\n Langley, Travis (ed). 2019. The Joker Psychology: Evil clowns and the Women who Love Them. <\/em>New York: Sterling.<\/p>\n Langley, Travis (ed.). 2022. Batman and Psychology: a Dark and Stormy Knight<\/em>. 2nd<\/sup> ed. Wiley.\u00a0<\/p>\n Packer, Sharon & Daniel R. Frederick. (eds.) 2019. Welcome to Arkham Asylum: Essays on Psychiatry and the Gotham City Institution. <\/em>McFarland.\u00a0<\/p>\n Peaslee, Robert Moses & Robert G. Weiner (eds) 2015. The Joker: a Serious Study of the Clown Prince of Crime<\/em>. University Press of Mississippi.\u00a0<\/p>\n Richardson, Chris. 2020. Batman and the Joker: Contested Sexuality in Popular Culture<\/em>. Routledge.\u00a0<\/p>\n Saad, Layla. 2020. Me and White Supremacy: Combat Racism, Change the World, and Become a Good Ancestor<\/em>. Sourcebooks.\u00a0<\/p>\n Weitzer, Ronald. 2010. The Mythology of Prostitution: Advocacy Research and Public Policy. Sexuality Research and Social Policy <\/em>7(1): 15-29. https:\/\/www.researchgate.net\/publication\/227027069_The_Mythology_of_Prostitution_Advocacy_Research_and_Public_Policy<\/a>\u00a0<\/p>\n Yezbick, Daniel F. 2015. \u201cNo Sweat!\u201d EC Comics, Cold War Censorship, and the Troublesome Colors of \u201cJudgment Day!\u201d In The Blacker the Ink: Constructions of Black identity in comics and sequential art<\/em>, ed. Frances Gateward & John Jennings. Rutgers University Press. <\/p>\n \t\t\t<\/p>\n\n
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