Reviewed by Rachael A. Zubal-Ruggieri
When I learned a new anthology containing Disabled superheroes had been published, I knew I had to review the volume. I’ll admit that my eagerness was…mighty (pun intended). The description for Mighty: An Anthology of Disabled Superheroes tells the reader all they need to know, right? The description reads: “All too often, superhero media depicts disability as something to overcome on the journey to becoming a hero, or as a sign of villainy. It’s time to make heroism accessible for everyone” (emphasis added). This is true, mostly, but there are popular superheroes (the X-Men most prevalent among them) who are Disabled1; moreover, and more importantly, they are depicted as complex, intersectional characters that many people–including me–find relatable. Even if such heroes serve as allegories for any number of multiple, often marginalized identities (including but not solely Disability), almost none of the writers and creators are known to be Disabled. Mighty is distinct from these other illustrations because all of its stories about Disabled superheroes are written by Disabled writers.
Unsurprisingly, I was curious to find out how Mighty came to be. The anthology “…start[ed] with a joke. Specifically, [how] ‘differently abled’—a euphemism for ‘disabled’ that many disabled people consider ableist—is ‘a politically correct term for X-Men’” (Lee, p. 7). I must admit—I took offense to this joke and those words (I can’t even retype them without feeling awkward and uncomfortable), so I stopped reading for several minutes. But after rereading this short passage many more times, I finally realized what the editors meant and that I had completely misunderstood. Perhaps the “politically correct,” cringeworthy phrase wasn’t meant to be silly, but perhaps it was—either way, that the droll nature of this phrasing might become a catalyst. A quirky, problematic, and euphemistic joke had sparked a conversation which then mutated into a team, a collaboration–between the publishers, the editors, and the authors–of benefit to future team members, the readers and writers. Thus, we have Mighty.
Mighty also became “a way to bring disabled voices together to make a difference” (Lee, p. 7). The Mighty team forged on, heroically, but without the dreaded inspiration porn-ish thoughts and approaches that non-Disabled writers and creators might–and often do–conjure when writing and conceptualizing Disabled superheroes (and writing about Disabled lives). Still, the Mighty cohort, like many of us, admits there are real life challenges and stigma to be remediated before they could even get started:
We defy a lot of villainy in our everyday lives—oftentimes, in the form of ableism and lack of accessibility…[as well as] narratives about ‘overcoming disability’ in a way that is supposed to inspire everyone to be the same. There’s a real stigma against us choosing to accept and work with our disabilities, which often leads to many of us having to overcome internalized ableism in order to thrive (Gordon, p. 10).
The editorial team then negotiated the oft-traveled, trope-laden landscape of superheroes to build their own accessible passageways to create and feature unique, Disabled characters. They sought “…to make saving the world (or just one small part of it) accessible and inclusive for everyone” (From the Editors, p. 8).
Mighty consists of a foreword and 14 stories, one of several volumes published by Renaissance, a small Canadian press working to publish and market “stories which don’t always fit neatly in a genre, or a niche, or a demographic.” The press distributes novels and works written by distinct, diverse Canadian voices, and Renaissance is “…naturally drawn to the voices of those who are members of a marginalized group, and these are the voices we want to continue to uplift” (Renaissance website).
The foreword is written by one of the contributors, Cait Gordon—someone who has authored and edited other books published by Renaissance. While having an author write a foreword is perhaps unconventional, I like that it’s not the norm. How often do we as Disabled people have to work and live outside so-called societal norms just to get a place at the table? Gordon also has an important perspective, and she and I share many of the same sentiments about the stories within Mighty. While largely being affirming, this review will address some of my thoughts and interpretations, as a Disabled writer, reviewer, reader, and, most especially, a huge fan of superheroes and comic books.
There doesn’t seem to be a table of contents in the eBook version of Mighty, which I reviewed, but I certainly appreciate having this accessible and alternative format available. In reviewing the eBook version, I could easily highlight passages I wished to readily return to whenever I needed to reread them. Other forms of access have been considered as well, such as a modest selling price, and nearly every story has a content note (CN). I found myself highlighting passages in nearly every story, as they contain places, characters, and situations I could relate and connect with. For example, in Cait Gordon’s “Putting a Bee in their Bonnet,” the main character remarks, “Why is it that people who don’t share certain lived experiences can be so insistent on speaking over those who have?” (p. 18).
There are origin stories disclosing diverse ways in which superheroes gain their powers, from being struck by lightning or viruses and, of course, some superheroes are simply born that way. Even more interesting are those that emerge because of (or in spite of?) a Disability. In Melissa Yi’s “The Glauc Bitches,” “…people who get glaucoma early tend to develop superpowers” (p. 89) and depending on how their glaucoma progresses, it affects one’s power levels. The main character in Holly Schofield’s “Thinking Inside the Box” expresses how she gains her superpowers, and those powers end up “…enhancing what I was already good at” (p. 5, emphasis added).
There are fluctuating dynamics, with solo acts, Disabled duos, and varying team-ups. There are those who chose to be superheroes, age or Disability be damned. In Polly Orr’s “Granny Smith,” the main character “…already resolved to keep being a force for good no matter what accommodations it took” (p. 74)—and, I would add, despite how old she was when she first became a hero, since Granny Smith was 73 when she enrolled in The Academy.
Some stories feature schools (and academies) where superheroes might cultivate their powers,or train child soldiers, serving in the latter case as part of “paramilitary training cell[s] for vigilantes” (“Mutant Pride” by Shannon Barnsley, p. 135). This story’s “hero” school educates and trains mutants to fight innumerable battles, yet needs “good optics,” to make sure they look good in the public’s eye—“Mutant Pride” is their motto.
For a host of reasons, it is sometimes necessary or otherwise important to maintain a separation between everyday identities and superheroic alter egos. Simultaneously, these crip heroes demonstrate they’re just as ordinary as everyone else. The stories’ themes vary widely and include inter-team conflicts, moral dilemmas, the power of choice, and more. There are typical dichotomies wherein superheroes are depicted as strong and non-superheroes are assumed to be weak. However, many of the stories offer the perspective that all people (superheroes, non-superheroes, Disabled, nondisabled, etc.) experience vulnerability as an aspect of the human condition.
Some of the stories feature alternative takes on, criticisms of (and marketing of) superhero teams and (as described above) schools, à la the “Xavier Institute” model.2 However, the teams’ and schools’ leaders may have ulterior motives and secrets, and there are systems, sponsors, and collaborators who may or may not be the real enemies.3
Not only are superheroes dealing with tropes but labels (and other preferred designations) as well as non-Disabled people’s discomfort with difference. In the midst of a brief team discussion on what to call themselves, one character states plainly, “Just say mutant. It’s not gonna banish us back to the fifth dimension or summon some eldritch being if you speak it aloud” (Barnsley, p. 136). This is just one situation echoing real-life conversions within Disability communities, asserting or at times arguing about which labels and identities are preferred.
Other frequent controversies within Disability circles and communities appear as well, such as poster children and the objectification of Disabled people to elicit pity and sympathy. In Shannon Barnsley’s “Mutant Pride,” one spokesperson’s situation is certainly less than optimal: “Promotional materials loved Archie—and, yeah, everybody loved Archie, as they should—, but the kind of gaze media types always fixed on him got my hackles up” (emphasis added, p. 138).
Media representations have often been criticized for their role in perpetuating ableism. The autistic superhero in Dave Lerner’s “Death in The Rain” fights a supervillain who calls himself–ironically–Rain Main.4 Ableism is also encountered in ways that might seem incomprehensible, but they happen in real life as well: “Who the hell makes a medical facility inaccessible?” (Barnsley, p. 147). Plenty of people–plenty.
Designations of “good” vs. “bad” can become murky. Some characters are outright supervillains, sure, but some, instead, are anti-heroes. As happens with the X-Men and other popular heroic teams, some superheroes and plot lines in Mighty can be, and are, morally gray. Villains and heroes may even switch sides periodically. In “Mind Bender” by Rowan Marcik, the main character “may not have been a villain, but…wasn’t exactly good, either” (p. 125). These stories restate important questions. What are some strategies for dealing with people and organizations when their motives are unclear or questionable? Which is more distressing, exposing how systems and supports for Disabled people are (mis)appropriated, or how said systems and supports are at times inaccessible and oppressive?
Stories include situations that demonstrate how changing bodyminds can be a source of strength, or how sometimes we must fight ourselves—multiple, multiverse versions—to face and defeat internalized ableism and accept our vagaries and Disabilities. And heroes also acknowledge situations and circumstances beyond their control. In Jamieson Wolf’s “Captain Maven and the Ice Queen,” the main character shares how their life changed due to Disability: “Just because he [Captain Maven] was a superhero didn’t mean that he was all powerful” (p. 216). Vulnerability is something mediated by every human being,but Disabled people constantly struggle with balancing such vulnerability with expectations for and systems of so-called normalcy, the status quo, when really, there is a spectrum of functioning that is in turn affected by such expectations.
While I was reading, I stopped periodically and wondered about how these stories might be drawn or illustrated in a comic or graphic narrative form. Perhaps if more volumes are published, Renaissance might consider including submissions and stories created in this format.
Many of Mighty’s stories are clever. In some instances, the dialogue and plot lines seemed to personify tropes and metaphors, imagining them as literal actions or instituted in ways that were unexpected. Nearly all of these stories tease about the complexities of identity—Disabled, mutant, superpowered, etc.—and the roles that intersectionality and “Disability fatigue” play in our lives. Put differently, it is tiring and frustrating to have to constantly explain ourselves, the ways in which our Disabilities intersect with myriad other aspects of our lived experience and identities, and the complexities of our Disabilities (invisible, sensorial, physical, and so on). Other story themes include empathy, critiques of the military-industrial complex, climate change, animal activism, Disability solidarity, family conflict, queer relationships, cures vs. adaptations, accessibility, and a number of issues that might affect anyone.
Mighty’s editors and contributors provide an apt example of how “…disabled creatives can submit our work with the confidence it can be recognized and understood” (Gordon, p. 14). The book makes an important contribution to #CripLit. Mighty’s team also encourages others to “Publish your zines. Make audio books. Do spoken word or perform a poetry slam using sign language. Create anthologies of your own. We need more works out there that are by us and for us” (Gordon, p. 14, emphasis added). Representations matter.
Cait and all the other Mighty teammates: I’ve already heeded your call. In the Micro Mutant Postcard project, I’ve been exploring my own mutant superpowers via prose that has evolved (and mutated) into part poetry, part manifesto, part memoir. I hope more volumes like Mighty are published. We need more heroes of our own making.
Notes
- A word about language: I capitalize certain words and identities, as reclamation for the purposes of political and cultural identification. This does not mean the authors or editors of this volume do the same.
- Xavier Institute is one among many iterations in the fictional X-Men universe of a school where young mutants enroll to learn about and control their superhero powers and, ultimately, work together with (non-mutant and mutant) humanity for peaceful co-existence. The school often forms teams where those with differing mutant powers can bolster each other and collaborate otherwise. The school is also controversial as many have remarked how Charles Xavier has always had a “hidden agenda.”
- Some examples include the social media campaign #SayTheWord initiated by cultural activist Lawrence Carter-Long. There are also plenty of discussions and longstanding debates between the use of Identity-First language versus People-First language. For more context, read The Significance of Semantics: Person-First Language: Why It Matters by Lydia X. Z. Brown, an Autistic scholar and activist.
- Editor’s Note: The 1988 “buddy film” and “road movie,” Rain Man, starring Dustin Hoffman as the “Rain Man” and Tom Cruise as his younger, nondisabled brother (who as a child could not pronounce Raymond and called his brother “Rain Man” instead), was directed by Barry Levinson and written by Barry Morrow and Ronald Bass. Hoffman won an Academy Award for Best Actor for his eponymous portrayal of an “Autistic savant,” leading to widespread commentary by members of the Autistic community in specific and the Disability community writ large. Criticisms of the film have included the stereotyping of Autistic identity and representation as well as the pattern of nondisabled actors playing Disabled characters–and winning awards for doing so (which has distressed and frustrated an array of people since there is an abundance of Autistic actors who could be hired to play Autistic characters on-screen). I’m grateful to have the opportunity to talk about Rain Man in a renewed way due to Rachael’s excellent review of Mighty.
Title: Mighty: An Anthology of Disabled Superheroes
Editors: Emily Gillespie and Jennifer Lee Rossman
Publisher: Renaissance
Date: 2023
Back to Top of Page | Back to Volume 17, Issue 2s – Spring 2024
About the Reviewer
Rachael A. Zubal-Ruggieri is the Administrative Assistant of the Office of Interdisciplinary Programs and Outreach located in the Burton Blatt Institute at Syracuse University (SU). In 2021, she graduated cum laude from the Human Development & Family Science program at Falk College, with a Disability Studies Minor. Her current research interests include Self-Advocacy, Representations of Disability in Popular Culture, and Interdisciplinary Disability Studies. Throughout 35-plus years working at SU, Rachael has dedicated her career to improving the lives of people with disabilities, including broad-based support to multiple disability rights initiatives on campus, in the CNY area, and nationally, through many grant-funded projects and opportunities and via long-term relationships with community agencies and programs. Rachael is currently Co-Advisor of the Self-Advocacy Network (formerly Self-Advocates of CNY), and previously served as a Board Member of Disabled in Action of Greater Syracuse, Inc. Rachael is also co-creator (with Diane R. Wiener) of “Cripping” the Comic Con, the first of its kind interdisciplinary and international symposium on disability and popular culture, previously held at SU. At conferences and as a guest lecturer, she has for many years presented on the X-Men comic books, popular culture, and disability rights and identities. As a Neurodivergent parent to an Autistic son, Rachael writes and presents about neurodiversity and autism parenting, seeking to debunk and disrupt traditional representations of “the autism mom.” Her poetry has been published in Wordgathering and Stone of Madness Magazine.