Recently excised from the ‘What’s in a Name?’/’Identity Crisis’/??? subsection of Chapter 2. Clipped for being wordy, jargony, and too on-the-nose. The Derrida ref didn’t help, even though I’m a Derridean:
Superman is weird because he seems so cleanly iconic but has so many different names!
 Superman, in his mediated status as a current pop culture figure, is an example of psycho-socio-historical, imaginative, often explicitly narrativized discourse. But this is where naming becomes qualitatively distinct from categorization or even definition, for, despite all the complexity of that string of adjectives, what more contextualized material–such as feelings or prioritized memories that reinforce the trace of the character–do we call up for ourselves in the utterance of his name? ‘This looks like a job for Superman!’ Don’t you want to deepen your voice a bit as you say it?
“Some panels and pages [of some erotic comics, like the work of Molly Kiely and Colleen Coover] unfold like snapshots, gesturing at a larger hole that is unrepresented and perhaps unrepresentable.” -Lyndsay Brown, ‘Pornographic space-time and the potential of fantasy in comics and fan art’
My own question, then, isn’t whether unrepresentability is possible in the ways we communicate our narratives–especially our fictions–but how.
The real, in a Lacanian sense, is bigger than the sum total of human knowledge, if only by mass; we can at least know that what we don’t yet know is bigger than what we know, if only because we can see so many places, out in space, that we haven’t yet been able to visit. But language–human reality–gets the upper hand and becomes the predator, the master and quantifier of even the unknown, through that one little word, articulated whenever necessary: ‘yet’. Even if there is an infinitude that we don’t know, even that infinitude only ever gets smaller, since what we know generally only ever gets bigger.
Ce ne sont pas Mark Gruenwald
Mark Greunwald (1953-1996) was a writer and editor of numerous Marvel titles, including Captain America, What If?, and most relevantly here, a number of editions of The Official Handbook of the Marvel Universe.
Mark Greunwald is the [psychoanalytic figure of] The Father of the Marvel Universe.
Grueny: Keepin’ it firmly away from The Real since at least ’78.
What have we already named? What do we not yet have a ‘proper name’ for? In English, we tend to rely on ‘thing’ as a placeholder until we’ve come to consensus on a better term–or, at least, until various parties have submitted their respective names for the subject and one or a few have shaken out in regular discourse.
Here, then, maybe the start of that process. What do/should we call those media products that are made to appear within a narrative? Products that, at some level, are still made for us–the real-world audience–yet which don’t directly acknowledge any intended audience but that of the narrative in which they appear? Should we be calling them full-fledged ‘media products’ in the first place, or does their contingency on the larger narrative somehow negate the fact that they were yet produced and can be independently viewed, at least sometimes? For example, see the comic book that appears in the trailer for Logan, a page of which was released via Tumblr, as well as the newscast that serves as the trailer for Stranger Things‘ second season.
Are these ‘inward facing’? ‘Narrative-bound’? ‘Viewer-blind’? None seems entirely accurate for the unusual position of this type, though I’m not yet sure that the two examples cited above are even the same animal themselves. Specifically, the end of the Stranger Things newscast, in which we see only an empty chair, might be the point at which that product specifically stops being for its own narrative realm and starts being only for us.
Suggestions for tagging this phenomenon would be welcome.