In putting a comic in context, it’s useful to know what the comic’s author himself has to say. So, in preparing to write this column on the final issue of Neil Gaiman’s 1602, I read Jason Pomerantz’s interview with Gaiman for the Comic World News website (forwarded to me by Mr. Gaiman himself). It was rewarding to find that, as I had concluded, Gaiman did indeed intend to try to recapture the spirit of the Marvel comics of the 1960s in 1602, and that he sees one of the series’ themes as “the good, precious things that make America and the American ideals so valuable,” as well as “the ways the American ideal can go wrong.”

Gaiman’s interview also held some major surprises for me, though they do not alter my analysis of the series’ themes. In fact, had I known that Jess Nevins, annotator of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen has done some work on his website annotating 1602 as well, I would have learned the truth about 1602‘s mysterious heroine, Virginia Dare, months ago.

DARE TO BE DIFFERENT

The Roanoke colony was not located at the site of the present day city of Roanoke, which I have visited, but on an island off the Virginia coast. This helps my analogy between 1602‘s Roanoke and Prospero’s island kingdom in Shakespeare’s The Tempest.

Many readers thought that Gaiman had created the character of Virginia Dare. She does have the kind of name one might expect from a comic book, as if she were to grow up into an action heroine. There’s Modesty Blaise, Emma Peel, Lara Croft: Virginia Dare seems like the same sort of name. It even goes farther, by combining the idea of appealing sexual innocence (“Virginia”) with the notion of daring, perhaps even derring-do.

And yet Gaiman did not invent her, after all. As I suspected, she is a figure of both history and legend.

Virginia Dare was indeed the first person of English descent to be born in the New World. It was during her infancy that the Roanoke colony mysteriously disappeared. Here the legends take over. It is speculated that the surviving Roanoke colonists lived among the Indians, adopting their ways. The legend is that Virginia grew into a young woman, but that an Indian whom she rejected as a lover cast a spell on her, transforming her into a white deer. (“Dare” does sound much like “deer.”)

In Gaiman’s 1602 Rojahz – the time-traveling Captain America – saved the Roanoke colonists from death by starvation and became Virginia Dare’s protector. In Gaiman’s version, Virginia was able to shapeshift from her childhood, and not just into a white deer, but into many different animals.

According to his interview, Gaiman had assumed that Virginia Dare was widely known in America. As it turns out, the vast majority of 1602‘s readers had never heard of her. Perhaps this should be no surprise. I had heard of the mysterious disappearance of the Roanoke colony, but Americans prefer always to look on the bright side of life, and of their history. The unsolved disappearance, and probable death, of the first person born in England’s American colonies, when she was still a baby, is too sad a story. The popular story of early 1600s Virginia that every American knows is the more optimistic saga of Pocahontas saving the life of Captain John Smith. (It’s even now part of the canon of Disney animated features.) A little later, in the 1620s, is another famous tale, that of the Pilgrims celebrating the first Thanksgiving with the Indians.

In each case, this is a story of Native Americans saving colonists from death (by beheading or starvation), of the English colonists living in harmony with the Indians (thereby foreshadowing the American ideal of a peaceful multiracial society), and of an early American colony overcoming hardships and flourishing. Americans believe in success stories; they dislike tragedies like the death of Virginia Dare. (Gaiman’s own story, with Rojahz leading the Indians in helping the people of Roanoke survive, fits into the same pattern as the Pocahontas and Thanksgiving tales.)

The fact that Virginia Dare is a character in actual history and in American folk mythology contradicts nothing I’ve written in past columns about the role she plays in 1602. One source I found on the Internet declares that “The name Virginia Dare came to symbolize wholesomeness and purity”; in 1602 she does as well. She is innocence, unspoiled nature, a young girl representing the fertility of a new land, and liberty and America symbolized by a woman. She is also an analogue to Shakespeare’s Miranda, the heroine of The Tempest, who represents all of these things as well (possibly even America, since it is speculated that The Tempest was inspired by reports of voyages to the New World). As an apparent mutant, she is also the first American-born superheroine. And she also looks like Peter Parker’s first true love, Gwen Stacy, an icon of 1960s comics.

THE PURPLE PREZ

As for the dystopian future America from which the 1602 Cap was banished, Gaiman has denied that the “President for Life” pictured on the posters in issue 8 was intended as a caricature of George W. Bush. In fact, Gaiman does not see the resemblance between them. Well, many readers, including myself, do: the short hair, the beady eyes, the bland smile bordering on a smirk, all familiar from political cartoons. Gaiman may not have intended the President to be George W. Bush, but I wonder if artist Andy Kubert did.

The true identity of the President for Life should have been obvious from what seemed the rather odd, stylized coloring of the posters: this is Daredevil’s longtime adversary Zebediah Killgrave, the Purple Man, whose skin remains purple, but whose purple hair has turned white with age. The Purple Man has the power to make people obey his verbal commands. It was eventually explained that Killgrave’s power works through pheromones, chemicals that his body gives off, so his victims have to be in his physical proximity to fall under his control. It would seem that in 1602‘s alternate future, which Gaiman specifies in the interview as 2061, Killgrave has found a way to extend his power over the entire country.

I’m grateful that Gaiman was not engaging in the kind of superficial political thinking that labels Bush as a potential tyrant. I am nonetheless disappointed that the President turns out to be the Purple Man. For one thing, Killgrave is too small-time a villain. Frank Miller even once did a story that made him into a semi-comedic figure, who did not need to conquer the world because he could have anything he wanted just by asking for it. In the graphic novel Emperor Doom, Killgrave was merely the pawn in the world conquest scheme of Doctor Doom, a genuine major league Marvel villain.

But even if we follow a more malevolent interpretation of Killgrave’s character, he still seems inappropriate in this context. For Captain America and the other super heroes, America’s transformation into a despotism is a tragedy. It doesn’t seem so serious if the nation has simply been mesmerized by the Purple Man. Why would a revolution even be necessary? Just capture or kill Killgrave, and everyone would revert to good democratic Americans. Hitler is not as frightening as the fact that millions of Germans willingly followed him. It has been said more than once that it might make little difference is Osama bin Laden is captured or killed; the real threat is the many terrorists who have been inspired by him and would carry on in his absence. Cap’s sorrow over losing “his” America only carries the proper emotional weight if America willingly embraced tyranny. If the Purple Man is to blame, why is Rojhaz so obsessed with making sure that the America of 1602 turns out differently? All he would have to do is find a way back to the 20th/21st century to keep Killgrave from undergoing the accident that mutated him.

Art works in mysterious ways. It is always important and interesting to know what the creator of a work of art intended. Yet critics and scholars know that the creator is not necessarily the best interpreter of his or her own work. For one thing, the artwork may express subconscious intents of which the creator himself is unaware.

For another, the artwork is a creation that has an existence independent of its creator. If the critic or member of the audience finds a pattern in the artwork that functions well in the context of the overall work, then even if the creator did not intend it, that pattern nonetheless exist. Gaiman and Kubert may not have meant for the President for life to look like President Bush, yet if their readers think he is Bush, and that notion works in the context of the 1602 story, then it’s still a reasonable, valid interpretation.

Here’s another example. In his interview, Jason Pomerantz asks Neil Gaiman if the 1602 characters’ crises of conscience had anything to do with his decision to set his story in the seventeenth century, “a time when notions of individual conscience and political liberty first began to dominate the world stage.” Gaiman replies, “I don’t honestly think so.”

But the story is indeed set in the early 17th century, and, whatever the author’s intentions, I think it is reasonable to see links between the moral and intellectual issues of 1602 and those of the actual period.

Only several days ago as I write this, I happened to see the 1975 film of Bertold Brecht’s play Galileo, and was struck by the unintended parallels between it and 1602. Like Gaiman’s Sir Reed Richards, Galileo Galilei was a scientific genius living in the early 17th century. Like Gaiman’s Reed, Brecht’s Galileo believed that man should use his intellectual abilities to study and learn about the universe. As in 1602, the Church is presented as an institution that maintains its power by suppressing knowledge. Donal in 1602 fears that if the world knew that Thor existed, the Catholic Church, which asserts there is only one God, would fall. In Brecht’s play, Galileo’s insistence that the Earth revolves around the sun contradicts the Church’s literal interpretation of the Bible. Believing that Galileo’s work undercuts the Church’s authority, the Inquisition (which plays a sinister role in 1602) forces him to recant his views.

Was Gaiman subconsciously remembering Galileo’s real life history? Has he ever read Brecht’s play? It could be totally coincidental that Brecht and Gaiman address similar themes in works set in the same time period. But that doesn’t mean a critic like myself isn’t justified in pointing out the parallels between the two works.

And here’s the biggest coincidental resemblance between Galileo and 1602: Galileo’s daughter is named (believe it or not) Virginia.

GETHSEMENE

Let’s return to the final issue of 1602 where we left off last time, at the halfway point. Peter Parquagh, the 1602 counterpart to Peter Parker, has arrived on Roanoke Island, having been compelled by King James I to join his aide, David Banner, in an expedition to find and assassinate England’s former spymaster Sir Nicholas Fury.

Peter enters singing the traditional English song “Greensleeves,” including lines about being wrongly “cast… off” by his beloved and how he was “delighting in your company.” Peter had not been “cast off” by Virginia, but this song suggests how he feels about her and cues the reader to hope they will be reunited.

Peter, shocked, discovers the corpses of the other members of his party (except for Banner), and then finds Fury cleaning his blade: he has killed them all. This is justifiable, since they were out to kill him. (It could be argued, though, that Fury’s super-powered allies could have captured the assassins without killing them.)

Fury bids Peter, “Come over here, lad. I’ll not harm you.” Peter cautiously keeps his distance: he will not trust Fury. Nor will he tell Fury where Banner is: it is not that Peter is loyal to Banner and James, but more likely that Peter abhors killing anyone.

This scene turns on the question of whether Fury can be trusted. He says he will not harm Peter, but he also notes that Peter “crossed the Atlantic to kill me.” Fury seems to hold no grudge against him for this: “it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Presumably Fury knows Peter well enough to realize that James must have pressured him into joining these assassins. In fact, Fury even appears to blame himself for what happened to Peter, saying it was “Too late the day I came and took you to London” from his uncle and aunt’s home.

Note too that Fury keeps his back to Peter in this scene. One might consider this a sign of trust. Peter is wielding a blade, but Fury believes Peter will not use it against him.

Then again, we soon see in another panel that in cleaning the blade Fury allows it to serve as a mirror, and he is indeed watching Peter. So is Fury simply being cautious or is he setting a trap?

One of 1602‘s themes is that of fathers and children, real or surrogate. Virginia has two fathers: her actual father Ananias, and her symbolic father protector Rojahz. Fury and Peter are figuratively father and son as well: Fury has been Peter’s mentor through the series.

As Peter realizes, Fury “heard me coming” and could easily have killed him, but didn’t. Now Peter asks why. Fury explains “I saw myself in you, I think” as looks into his blade, which reflects both Peter and the eyepatch covering his dead eye. This image links the two men together. It may further symbolize the idea that Fury is figuratively “dead,” in the sense that his life has reached a dead end, like his “dead” eye, while young, idealistic Peter represents life. (Fury even says “I’ll never forget the first day I clapped eyes on you, Peter,” which may suggest Fury still had sight in both eyes when they first met. If so, then perhaps this links Peter to happier times in Fury’s life.)

“I saw myself in you” means that Fury regards Peter as his other self, an alternate version of himself. Fury points out that they have similar backgrounds, both being orphans. Now, in Marvel continuity, the “real” Nick Fury was not an orphan: his father died when Nick was a child, but he was raised by his mother. Perhaps this is one reason why the 1602 Nicholas Fury seems a darker soul than his present day counterpart.

Of course, it’s no surprise that there is a similarity between Fury and Peter in that both of their present day counterparts were co-created by the same man, Stan Lee.

Fury found success through his skills as a soldier. He refers to fighting in “Open warfare, and secret wars.” That may refer to the present day Nick Fury’s two series, Sgt. Fury, set in World War II, and Nick Fury, Agent of SHIELD, which places him in the shadowy world of spies and subversive organizations. I suppose it could even be a reference to Marvel’s Secret Wars series, in which Fury did not actually take part.

Fury reminisces that he received “a fine house, and beautiful gardens” and was knighted by the Queen for his battlefield successes. He then notes simply, “James’ll have given my house to one of his favourites by now.” (You notice the British spellings throughout, a nice touch for this series that transposes modern American heroes to 17th century England.)

Here is a man who was rewarded by the previous regime, and given great status. And now, with a change of rulers, his wealth and position are both gone, and he is left with nothing. Surely anyone who prospered by loyally working for a company for years, only to be let go after a change in once the company fell into different hands can identify with Fury’s fate. Even the queen and the vision of government she represented are no more.

It is no wonder if, perhaps, the Fury of 1602 wonders if his life had any meaning or value at all.

Fury recalls that the Queen “laughed at me” because he had no interests beyond warfare. “What I did was what I was.” His life suffered from lack of balance; now that his career as a soldier and spymaster has ended, he has nothing to fall back on for work or for emotional sustenance. “And now. . .nothing I do matters. Everything I did. . .” and his voice trails off, as if it is too painful to continue voicing his despair.

Fury shifts to a related theme: “There’s blood on my hands, boy.”

Even his past achievements are morally tainted.

Fury then invokes the religious faith that he and Sir Richard Reed (counterpart to the Fantastic Four’s Reed Richards) share: “Reed says that God made a thousand, thousand worlds, each like this one, only different.” Reed has intuited the principle of Marvel’s alternate realities, in which an individual can make a fateful decision that results in divergent timelines: in one timeline he chose a particular path, but in the other he made a different choice. Fury continues, ” I hope there’s only one if them in which I choose to walk another path. But I fear that in any universe my path will be marked with blood.”

This reminds me of the debate in The Dark Knight Strikes Again over determinism vs. free will. Fury despairs that violence is so ingrained in his personality that he could never have led a different path.

Notice that Fury’s situation parallels Cap’s: each served a government that has in effect been supplanted by another. Cap says he lost “his” America; Fury has lost “his” England. But while Cap battles on by protecting Virginia (the girl and the colony), Fury is giving up the fight.

Fury makes this clear: “Reed seeks to save the world. I no longer care if it lives or dies.”

Nor does he care about his own life: he tells Peter to “slit my throat” if he so wishes, and “Take my head back to James.” This is not simply death but surrender to his political enemy.

Now one might ask why Fury killed James’s assassins if he doesn’t care if he lives or dies. But perhaps the point is that he will not save his own life at the price of killing Peter, his figurative son and better self. Or perhaps it was not until Fury opened up his emotions in this long soliloquy that he was overcome by this suicidal despair. “I’ll not fight. I’m done,” Fury says, lowering his head as if for the executioner’s axe. Saying “I’m done” is like pronouncing himself dead.

And then Fury looks about and, surprised, finds that Peter is gone.

Fury smiles triumphantly.

Now, what does that mean? A cynical interpretation would be that Fury was just putting on an act, trying to trick Peter into giving up the idea of killing him. Fury, as we see elsewhere in this issue, is fully capable of lying and manipulating others.

But, of course, Fury could have killed Peter at any time during this scene: this studious young boy, even armed, is no match for this old soldier.

I prefer a more positive, optimistic interpretation. Fury regards Peter as another version of himself. But whereas Fury worried that “in any universe my path will be marked with blood,” Peter has just demonstrated that he can make a different choice. Peter, representing a new generation, need not walk the same bloody path that his “father”/mentor did. (To put it another way, Peter is to Fury as Luke is to Darth Vader.) In fact, if Peter, Fury’s other self, can turn away from violence, then perhaps Fury now feels that he himself is capable of better things.

In short, Fury is smiling, perhaps even laughing, with new hope. To continue the religious theme, this scene was Fury’s Garden of Gethsemene, during which he underwent both spiritual “death” and spiritual rebirth.

And now Fury has a reason to try to save the world: to save it for his “son” Peter, and the new generation he represents, some of whom, this series shows, will form the new nation of America. Fury will fight to save Peter just as Rojahz fights to protect his “daughter” Virginia, who symbolizes America.

Returning to The Tempest analogy, in that play Prospero administers a test to young Ferdinand to determine if he will be a proper husband for his daughter Miranda. Fury, intentionally or not, just posed a test to Peter, who passed with the proverbial flying colors.

This scene could even be a comment on kid sidekicks in superhero comics. Batman sees himself in Robin – both were orphaned by criminals – just as Fury sees himself in Peter. Like Batman with Robin, Fury has drawn Peter into his own line of work. But Batman presumably does not really want Robin to be as driven and unhappy as he is (a theme that Frank Miller makes clear in the Dark Knight books), just as Fury does not wish Peter to suffer through the same kind of life he led.

THE BETRAYAL

The scene shifts back to London, where King James gets his comeuppance at the hands of Matthew, 1602‘s counterpart to Daredevil.

Here, Matthew acts very much in the mode of Frank Miller’s version of Daredevil, though he retains a wittiness reminiscent of Stan Lee’s dialogue for the character. Matthew calls himself “a devil in the dark,” evoking the idea of Daredevil as a symbolic “devil” or shadow figure who nonetheless serves the cause of good. Being a “devil” makes Matthew an outcast from the religious establishment (which, in England, is headed by James), but he paradoxically is a genuinely moral man. (He is blind justice, in fact.)

Matthew makes it clear that he will kill James if he harms Fury. Those who may doubt Fury’s moral importance in this issue should take note: three different heroic characters act to save Fury’s life. Peter is the first of these, and Matthew is the second. The fact that they think so highly of Fury may signal his moral value to the readers.

Matthew’s warning to James to leave Ireland alone is a good bit, referring not only to England’s subsequent oppression of Ireland (which perhaps will not happen in the 1602 timeline) and Matthew/Daredevil’s own Irish background.

Now, by 1602‘s end Fury will have mysteriously disappeared. I wonder if Matthew will presume that James is responsible and return to take vengeance. (Mind you, Matthew has basically threatened to assassinate James, so here 1602 borders dangerously on what I recently dubbed the Authoritarian School of superhero stories, in which superheroes impose their will on society and government. And killing James might well plunge Britain into civil war, which his accession had prevented. Still, in this story’s context it’s satisfying to see James get a good, deserved scare after the horror he has perpetrated.)

In the next scene Carlos Javier (1602‘s version of the X-Men’s Charles Xavier) and Enrico, the former Grand Inquisitor (1602‘s Magneto) hold a meeting that involves mistrust and misapprehension. Enrico realizes that Javier could easily have killed him by having Iceman imprison his ship in solid ice. (Similarly, Fury and Peter each could have killed the other but chose not to.) But Enrico interprets Javier’s act of mercy as merely a tactical maneuver: “You’ve come back. . .to parley. You need something.” Javier does indeed need Enrico’s help. But Enrico seems unwilling to accept that Javier’s real reason for sparing Enrico’s life, as we saw earlier, is that Javier simply believes killing is wrong.

Javier asks Enrico if he wishes to remove his helmet. The mistrustful Enrico refuses, since the helmet protects his mind from being psychically manipulated by Xavier’s. Javier asks, “Do you believe I could do that?” and Enrico changes the subject, unwilling to debate a question whose answer he finds obvious. Is it? The 1602 Javier does not seem the sort of person to alter a former friend’s thoughts, but Xavier has twice tampered with Magneto’s mind in modern X-Men continuity.

One might say that in those cases Xavier committed an evil act in the service of good. Here, in 1602, Javier agrees to Enrico’s unstated terms to save the world. Xavier must make a moral compromise with evil, thereby incorporating shadow forces onto the heroes’ side, to defeat a greater evil. As Enrico states, Javier must do this “Because the alternative is worse.”

Henry, the counterpart to the X-Men’s Beast, calls Enrico a “monster,” but Javier retorts, “There are no monsters, Henry. Surely you have learned that by now.” Thus Javier gently reminds Henry that they and other mutants are also unjustly labeled as monsters. Henry is talking not about the fact that Enrico is a mutant but about Enrico’s morality: he is a murderer many times over. But Javier is taking the noble position that no person is wholly evil. Javier is extending more trust to Enrico than Enrico does towards him.

Next the scene shifts to Donal, the aged monk who has used an enchanted walking stick to transform himself into the Norse god Thor. But Donal believes that the Church forbids recognizing the existence of other gods. Though Reed needs Thor’s powers to save the cosmos, Donal refuses to change again. (Oddly, no one seems to consider the question whether somebody else could change into Thor by using the walking stick.)

“Though God Himself demanded it, I will not,” Donal thunders. In phrasing his refusal that way Donal sets his own will above that of God. By the precepts of Donal’s own religion, that is a sin.

Like Fury and Rojahz, Donal has also seen his world figuratively collapse. He dedicated his life to his religious faith, and yet by transforming into Thor, he has gained proof that his worldview was incorrect, and that there are other gods. His earlier drunken ramblings about the collapse of his worldview is a more comedic counterpart to Fury’s soliloquy of despair.

Another theme of 1602 is its stand against moral absolutism. The series criticizes people who adhere so vehemently to a rigid system of moral precepts that they cannot adapt their views to changing circumstances and new information. The absolutists thereby violate genuine morality by clinging to their outmoded, even destructive systems of thinking. Other absolutists in the series include Magneto, who Javier observed is like a man who only knows one tune to play on his lute; the Inquisition and James, who destroy those who disagree with them.

So here Donal refuses to commit what he considers to be a mortal sin, even though it is necessary to save the entire universe. By saying he would not transform into Thor even if “God Himself demanded it,” Donal even indicates that part of him may recognize that true morality requires him to change his views, and to change into Thor as well.

It soon becomes clear that what really bothers Donal is not what God’s attitude towards Thor may be. “The price is I spend every waking moment remembering what it was like to be him,” Donal says. He asks, “do you think if I were to become him again, that I would ever let myself change back into this?”

Here Gaiman is examining one of the basic conventions of the superhero genre, the secret identity. In his book The Great Comic Book Heroes, Jules Feiffer asks why Superman would want to lead an everyday life as the powerless, human Clark Kent, and postulates that by doing so Superman may be masochistically punishing himself. Donal, a frail, elderly man, is torn between the lure of sharing in Thor’s power, youth and vitality and his ascetic sense that it is sinful to embrace such physical pleasures. To transform back into Thor would be to change his identity in more ways than one.

It is Susan, the Invisible Woman, who finds the key to Donal’s conundrum. Her ghostly presence stands to the side of Reed; if he represents a male form of intellect, then she, perhaps, represents its feminine counterpart. Susan asks Donal if Thor is “wiser” than he. This is a nice touch. For one thing, it indicates that superhuman status may lie in intellect as well as in physical power. (Reed, Strange, and Javier are primarily cerebral heroes.) Donal rejects physical pleasures, but wisdom is a more spiritual quality.

“You were listening to me, weren’t you?” asks Donal, and Susan replies, “I told you I was,” as they join hands in agreement. Susan’s role reminds me of that of a good psychotherapist, who provides a sounding board for her patient and makes perceptive observations. Donal transforms back into Thor, who tells her, “You are wiser than all of them, Susan Storm.” The idea of female wisdom was raised earlier by Clea, but here the theme has returned in a more serious context. Susan humbly denies Thor’s praise, saying, “No, I just listened when he spoke,” thus reiterating her psychiatrist role. Fury was the mentor of Peter, and Javier the mentor of the X-Men’s counterparts; Susan is a different kind of mentor and spiritual guide.

Earlier in this issue Fury had forced the villagers to join together with the superheroes under his leadership. Now, however, we see the villagers and superheroes joined together at a strategy meeting headed by Reed. This seems to be much more of a genuine community, people working together towards a common goal.

Fury is among them. Whereas earlier, in his despair, he said he did not care if the world survived, now he is working to save it, and doing so as a subordinate to Reed.

The problem that Reed and his allies face is that all of reality is about to be obliterated by a disruption of the timestream. That disruption was created when Captain America was sent back in time from a dystopian America of the mid-21st century. In 1602 Captain America has adopted the identity of the Indian Rojahz. The only way to prevent the oncoming apocalypse is to send Cap/Rojahz back to his own time through the temporal rift.

It is Fury who notices who is missing from the gathering: Rojhaz himself. Fury seeks out Virginia to see if she knows where Rojhaz is. Though Fury addresses her rudely (“Hey! Girl! You!”), he ends up kneeling before her. In part this is because Virginia is so short. But I wonder if it also signifies that Virginia is the figurative successor to the person whom Fury served before, Elizabeth, the Virgin Queen.

Fury tells Virginia that “Without him,” Rojahz, “your colony is dead. So is your father. And the world.” This is all true. Fury swears “in England’s name,” not to “hurt” him. “I give you my word, Virginia. The word of a gentleman.” And these will prove to be lies.

It is possible that Fury means what he says when he makes these promises to Virginia. But it is more likely that Fury is well aware that he will use violence if he deems it necessary.

Fury swears in England’s name. Yet Fury’s England, the England of Elizabeth I, no longer exists. Fury says “my word” is “the word of a gentleman.” But Fury was not born a gentleman, and James has apparently deprived him of the status that Elizabeth granted him. So Fury’s promises are not what they seem on the surface.

How does Fury’s “persuasion scene” with Virginia compare with his earlier “persuasion” scene with Peter? Was Fury playing the role of a trickster in both scenes? If Fury voiced his true feelings in the scene with Peter, is it possible that those sincere emotions lie beneath the surface deceits in this scene with Virginia?

Now Virginia serves as Fury’s guide, transforming into a white dog to track down Rojhaz. So, it seems, Virginia is not limited to transforming into animals native to America; otherwise, she would have become a wolf. Remember that in the early issues Fury refused to believe in Dr. Strange’s powers. Although this is not emphasized, Virginia’s transformation is yet more proof for Fury that the paranormal exists.

Fury finds Rojhaz, who, in another fine stroke, now wears warpaint that mimics the mask of Captain America. The fact that it is warpaint also signals that Cap is in a mood to confront, not to cooperate.

Cap refuses to return to the future, because he insists on remaining to protect the nascent America. “They need me,” he declares. “We don’t have to make the same mistakes again. we’re here at the birth of a nation. . .of a dream.” I suppose since Captain America does not seem to age, it is possible that Rojhaz could continue to watch over this new America for decades, perhaps even centuries to come.

Fury points out that “If you don’t return to your own time, there won’t be anything,” but Rojahz is not persuaded. This seems out of character for Captain America. After all, after coming out of suspended animation in Avengers #4, Cap has borne witness to the super-science of Marvel-Earth and joined with other heroes in saving the planet from cosmic perils. He should therefore recognize that the threat to the universe that Strange and Reed foresee is a genuine possibility. It’s true that Rojahz does not remember everything from the future, so perhaps he does not recall the cosmic threats he faced. Still, he knows that time travel is possible, so why can’t he believe that his journey through the timestream imperils the world?

Just as Fury was driven to despair by losing “his” version of England, so Cap is now obsessed having lost “his” version of America in his own time. So Cap/Rojahz is adamant about remaining in Roanoke to protect this new America. He has become yet another of 1602‘s moral absolutists, unwilling to adapt to a new reality.

It seems to me that Captain America would recognize the necessity of sacrificing himself to prevent his beloved America from being obliterated from existence throughout time. Indeed, one of the themes of the Captain America series from the Silver Age onward has been Cap’s steadfast loyalty to his American ideals while adapting to times very different from those of World War II America. Captain America does not become stuck in outmoded ways. I understand the role that Rojahz’s refusal to cooperate with Fury plays thematically in 1602; I am not persuaded that the character of Captain America would act this way.

There follows Fury’s third persuasion scene in this issue. Rojhaz has not agreed to go back. Fury asks him to come down and discuss the matter and says, “I won’t hurt you.” This is the same promise about Rojhaz that he made to Virginia, who is watching in dog form.

Fury asks Rojhaz if the Fury he knew in his own time “. . .would that other Nicholas Fury betray you? Would he lie to you?” Moved by the memory of his friendship with the other Fury, Captain America agrees to “come down,” presumably to talk; this is not a promise to go back.

Extending his hand, Fury calls Rojhaz “Good man,” as indeed Captain America is. Sir Nicholas Fury, though, has a somewhat different moral code. “You know,” he begins (with an anachronistic turn of phrase), “that other Nick Fury you knew,” and then Fury strikes Cap down with a rock: “I’m not him.”

Well, I’d commented in an earlier column that a Nicholas Fury who would condone the use of torture is not like the present-day Nick. The 1602 version grew up in a harsher time and place than Franklin Roosevelt’s New Deal America.

But I think it altogether possible that, with the fate of the world at stake, “our” Nick Fury would also lie and betray a friend to save the planet. Fury could have tried to persuade Rojhaz, but Fury presumably thought he could not take the chance Rojhaz could not be convinced. And, unless he took him by surprise, Fury could not overpower Cap.

This scene, in which Fury strikes Captain America down, is the most ambiguous in the entire series. Did Fury kill Rojahz?

Or merely render him unconscious? (Since this is the Captain America of an alternate future, his fate dies not affect the Captain America of the present day.) Rojahz never revives in the course of this issue, so there is no proof one way or the other.

Would sending Captain America back to the future work in preventing the disaster if Cap was dead? If Cap is dead, does this mean that another living person must to be sent forward in time with him?

Significantly, Virginia, in the form of the white hound, watches as Fury overcomes Rojhaz, her protector and father figure. She does not try to stop Fury, and she follows him as he carries Rojhaz towards the temporal rift.

Perhaps Virginia’s reaction (or lack of it, as in Sherlock Holmes’s case of the dog that did not bark) indicates that Rojahz is not dead.

Whether he is dead or not, Virginia apparently approves of what Fury has done. She adapts to the fact that it is more important to prevent the approaching catastrophe than to allow Rojahz to remain in 1602, despite her personal connection with him. (Virginia overheard at least part of Reed’s earlier discussion about closing the temporal rift.) Perhaps, in a way, Fury has even taken over as Virginia Dare’s – and Roanoke’s – new protector.
THE SACRIFICE

As Fury carries his weighty burden (like a cross?) towards the rift, as a small, silhouetted dinosaur watches from a tree (like a vulture?), Banner sights Fury in his telescope (a new invention at that time) and aims his crossbow. “It’s our time,” Banner grimly declares, as if he and the repressive forces he represents are about to take control of the course of destiny.

Remember that in the Hulk’s origin story, Bruce Banner, through creating the gamma bomb, also dealt in meting out death from afar.

Suddenly Virginia attacks Banner, preventing him from slaying Fury. Keep in mind that Virginia did not similarly attack Fury to prevent him from overcoming (even killing?) Rojhaz. Thus Virginia becomes the third person in this issue to protect Fury, following Peter and Matthew. Her willingness to save Fury’s life signals her acceptance of Fury’s actions.

In turn Peter, who seems to recognize Virginia in canine form, disobeys Banner’s command to kill the dog so that he can still “get a clean shot at Fury.” Peter will not harm Virginia, and once again he has spared Fury’s life. Since Matthew, Peter and even Virginia, a symbol of America, all seek to protect Fury, perhaps this is Gaiman’s way of signaling us that Fury is indeed a hero of this story. To prevent a far greater evil, Javier had to make a deal with the “devil,” Enrico, Donal had to “sin” by turning back into Thor, and Fury had to deceive and harm (even kill?) a “good man” who trusted him.

In the course of this last scene the colors grow pale and give way to shades of gray, as if 1602 had changed from a color movie into a black and white film. Banner observes that “The light is so strange. . .I think a storm is coming.” Or, if you prefer, a tempest. It is also the approaching end of the world.

As Fury carries Rojahz to the site of the rift, the other heroes wait behind a barrier of rocks, which suggests the protective trench for the gamma bomb test in the Hulk’s origin. Fury calls to them to “Make it – happen”: sending Rojahz back through time and sealing the rift.

Javier says “it would mean Fury’s death” were he to remain when Rojhaz is sent back through the “gate” in time. But Clea angrily retorts, “Were you not listening? This is what he wants.” It is she who gives the order to proceed. Is this another sign of women’s wisdom, or rather of the otherdimensional Clea’s disdain for human lives?

Does Fury know that the temporal rift might kill him? If it doesn’t, then it will send him to an alien future. Perhaps even though Fury again cares about saving the world, he no longer cares about his own life. Just like Strange, he is sacrificing himself for others; remember, the series began with the two of them in conversation. Perhaps Fury is even attempting to expiate his life of bloodshed through sacrificing himself.

The 1602 Fury fits the archetype of the flawed hero who ensures his people will achieve the Promised Land but cannot go there himself. Think of Moses, of course, or Sydney Carton in Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities. A fine, specifically American example is Ethan Edwards, the character whom John Wayne plays in John Ford’s epic Western,. The Searchers, a violent loner who aids a peaceful community of which he can never truly be a part. (In the famous concluding shot of The Searchers, Wayne stands in a portal whose door swings shut, and, by coincidence, the 1602 Fury is also last seen in a portal that opens and then closes. Chris Claremont cites The Searchers as an influence on his characterization of Wolverine in an interview I did with him for Back Issue #4.)

Fury carries Cap into the great glowing loop that signifies the temporal rift. The loop is part of the symbol of infinity, and hence a sign of the universe. It’s even as if Fury and Captain America are somehow achieving transcendence, entering into a higher realm. Fury holds Rojahz’s body up, as if offering him – and himself – as a sacrifice to the forces governing the universe.

But we are also to think of the glowing rift as an atomic explosion. Banner pushes Peter down to save his life from the unleashed energies, thereby reenacting the critical moment in the Hulk’s origin story, in which Bruce Banner pushes Rick Jones into the safety of the trench, only to be exposed himself to the radiation of the gamma bomb.

In the Hulk’s origin, Bruce Banner had aligned himself with the military to creating a weapon of mass destruction; he showed no moral qualms whatsoever about this. This is comparable to the 1602 Banner, who is the willing aide to the malevolent King James and has no qualms about assassinating Fury. What finally awakens Bruce Banner’s conscience is seeing the unwary Rick Jones on the gamma bomb test site; Banner then risks his life to save Jones, only to fall victim to his own evil creation, the gamma bomb’s radiation. Similarly, 1602‘s Banner suddenly turns hero to save Peter. (And hence Peter Parquagh is the 1602 counterpart to both Spider-Man and Rick Jones.)

There is “the sound of a universe screaming in pain, the sound of a world dying. And after that, silence” and a black panel: a universe has died. The “pain” and blinding flash of light echo Cap’s memories of his own transition to 1602, but now on a scale that the “noise” “fills the world.”

THE RESURRECTION

But the 1602 timeline died so that the “true” time-space continuum would be “reborn” and restored. The Watcher states that “I feel time reconfigure itself.” This is the Campbellian point of death and resurrection extended to cover an entire universe, indeed, all of creation.

He also singles out the fate of the Roanoke colonists. In the “true” timeline, without Rojhaz to aid them, most of them died of starvation.

The Watcher tells us that the ultimate fate of Virginia Dare is the same as in the legend: she was killed in the form of a white deer. And so the people of the Roanoke colony died that “everything else may exist.”

The Watcher too feels he has engaged in moral compromise to do what is right. “Everything I did, I did for good reason. And yet. . .If this is right, why do I feel so. . .empty?” Uatu and his fellow Watchers found they could not be absolutists, either. Had they failed to make an exception to their rule of noninterference, all of reality would have been obliterated.

Not until recently, reading the America’s Best Comics paperback’s Little Nemo parody with Promethea visiting worlds in the solar system, did I realize that the Watcher is Lee and Kirby’s version of the Man in the Moon! (This only took me decades to figure out.)

Uatu wonders if he had not interfered if the heroes could have mended time themselves, just as readers may wonder if Fury could have persuaded Cap to go back willingly.

A Watcher from his race’s High Tribunal appears as a godlike figure, looming over Uatu just as Uatu towers over human beings. Their High Tribunal’s Watcher says that Uatu feels “shame” for violating their race’s vow of nonintervention, and that the Tribunal feel both “shamed by you” and “proud of you.”

This suggests to me that to violate one moral law to serve a higher purpose does not entirely excuse the violation. It was necessary for Uatu to intervene to prevent reality’s destruction, but that does not mean that he does not regret violating his sacred oath. The High Tribunal Watcher instructs Uatu to feel both “shame” and “triumph.” So, similarly, we learn in a few pages that Donal is “screaming” within Thor. And Fury’s betrayal of Rojahz was still wrong, even if it was necessary to save the cosmos. These are all cases of necessary, but regrettable evils, undertaken to prevent greater evils.

Note that the Watcher from the High Tribunal addresses Uatu as “Ikor’s child.” So the theme of father and child turns up again. We might postulate that the High Tribunal Watcher is a member of Ikor’s generation, and so he is symbolically conveying the approval of the father’s generation to the son.

This is a version of what Joseph Campbell calls the scene of the recognition of the hero, wherein Uatu’s contribution to saving the cosmos is recognized and rewarded. Uatu is presented with a “gift.” The watcher from the High Tribunal tells him, “We have crafted it from the fringes of Alternity.” This reminds me of the late Mark Gruenwald’s fanzine “Omniverse” (on which I was a writer and assistant editor), which dealt primarily with alternate realities and timelines as they are depicted in comics. Mark published “Omniverse” through his own company, Alternity Enterprises. (Were “Omniverse” still being published, it would surely devote an article to 1602.)

Uatu’s gift turns out to be the 1602 cosmos, now in the form of a “pocket universe.” And so the 1602 universe, and its analogues to present day Marvel characters, has likewise undergone death and resurrection. In a sense, those characters and their world are thus also being recognized as heroes of this story. And they have gained a new, protective father figure: Uatu himself, who, in contrast with his usual emotionless demeanor, says he will carry this universe “in my heart.”

As Uatu watches his gift, we move from an all-black panel to one showing Earth, then the coast of Virginia, and finally focuses in on Banner and Peter, as if the 1602 world had returned to life from oblivion before our eyes.

The caption over the panel of Banner and Peter, “Nothing has changed. . . .” seemingly spoken by Banner, is ironic, for both of them will soon indeed change. I wonder if, by saving Peter’s life, Banner has become his new father figure.

Reed wonders aloud how they would ever know if their universe had ended and a new universe had taken its place, and Clea says philosophers may debate this till the end of time. It’s true. We are aware of existing in our own timeline. Is it possible that an event at some point in the future, or past, could somehow obliterate the entire time-space continuum, past, present, and future, including the moment we are now experiencing? How could that be possible. (“Omniverse” existed to unravel such conundrums. Now if only someone would make it possible for us to revive it.)

Clea reiterates about Strange, “He died that worlds might live,” and I once again think of Christ imagery, even if Strange was beheaded rather than crucified.

There is a wonderful bit with Clea going “home” through a portal into a recognizably Ditkoesque surreal universe. It’s enough to make me wonder if the mystical dimensions in Steve Ditko’s Marvel work helped inspire Gaiman’s creation of the Dreaming.

Before leaving, Thor again salutes Susan Storm’s wisdom, so this seems to be a point that Gaiman wants emphasized.

Perhaps because they worked together in saving the universe, Enrico’s attitude towards Javier has changed for the better. Enrico’s terms for cooperating with Javier prove to be as “reasonable” as he promised. More significantly, Enrico doffs his protective helmet, demonstrating his trust that Javier will not tamper with his thoughts. Indeed, Enrico goes farther and entrusts Javier with teaching his children, Wanda and Petros. Once again, the Neo-Silver theme of fathers and children thus reemerges. As in the 1960s, Wanda and Pietro/Petrus are unaware that Magneto is their father. Actually, neither Magneto nor anyone else knew this in the Silver Age; their relationship was first hinted at in 1979.

Next we are shown Reed and the (still invisible) Susan standing together, his hand on her shoulder, in an image of their love.

Reed worries, “But I fear the creation that has been restored is not the same as the one that would have been.” Susan says, “We gave Rojhaz back to the Future. . . .” and Reed responds, “We also gave them Fury.”

Now, what might this exchange imply? For one thing, it suggests that Rojhaz/Captain America is still alive. Moreover, despite Javier’s contention that Fury would die in the rift, Reed seems to believe that Fury survived and traveled to the future, as well.

But how would they know? They saw Rojahz’s unmoving body: was he alive or dead? They cannot see into the future to know if Fury survived, although since Captain America survived the original time trip, one may presume that the passage through the rift is not lethal. Perhaps Reed and Susan’s conversation is Gaiman’s means of signaling the reader that he intends that Cap and Fury are still alive.

One might wonder if the balance in the time-space continuum has truly been restored. One person, Captain America, was sent to 1602, but two people were sent forward in time. This is probably not worth worrying about: we ourselves have seen that the Marvel Universe has been restored, and the Watchers, who should know whether or not the balance is restored, seem satisfied there is no further danger.

Is Reed’s worrying meant to sound an ominous note? Perhaps it depends on how the reader regards Fury. Considering his capacity for treachery and violence, does he present a danger to the future? I regard his actions in this issue as ultimately heroic, though if he had killed Cap, they would earn shame as well as triumph, to use the Watchers’ terms. Or is Reed merely being the careful scientist, simply observing that things will be different now that Fury has been displaced from their time into another, without making a moral judgment. In fact, Reed might even be regretting the loss of a friend and ally: his own life will be different because Fury is gone.

Since the 1602 universe still exists at the series’ end, there could be more 1602 stories someday. It’s too bad that Strange, Jean and Doom were all killed off. Or were they? By the laws of story Gaiman has invoked, Doctor Doom’s many “deaths” never prove to be permanent. When we last saw Doom in 1602, he was in bad shape, but he was still alive and talking; for him, this is an easy “death” to survive. As we know, Strange can exist in astral form on the Earthly plane. (Perhaps Gaiman has read Steve Englehart’s never-finished Dr. Strange story arc about The Mystical History of America. And if Strange is a Christ figure, then his resurrection is assured.) Jean Grey’s body was incinerated, but the appearance of the Phoenix force suggested she had risen into a higher form. As we shall soon see, 1602‘s analogue to Prospero’s island has its own Caliban; wouldn’t Jean, as Phoenix, make an appropriate Ariel? 1602 also now lacks its own Cap and Fury, but Peter is Fury’s student and figurative “son,” and could carry on in his place, while Virginia, as Rojahz’s “daughter,” can take over as the embodiment of the American spirit. Maybe there could even finally be a place for the missing analogue of Tony Stark. (As a weapons maker whom James dispatches to the Roanoke colony with a party of soldiers?) Who else might have been mutated by the radiation from the temporal rift? What if there’s a resident of Roanoke named Henry Pym, who becomes the colony’s equivalent of Paul Bunyan? (And the Wasp, Janet Van Dyne, sounds like she could be the daughter of a Dutch tradesman to me.)

Gaiman says in the Comic World News interview that he may do more 1602 stories in the future. (I wonder if his contract with Marvel ensures that only he can write 1602, or whether, as so often happens, lesser writers will take it upon themselves to write sequels to someone else’s successful series.) But at last year’s San Diego Con Gaiman referred to “the mysterious second project I agreed to do” for Marvel, and mentioned that he had agreed with editor in chief Joe Quesada that “it could come right out of 1602.” (See Comics in Context #8.)

So my guess is that the real sequel to 1602 will concern the exploits of Rojahz/Captain America and the 1602 Fury in the alternate future with President Killgrave. Seeing Captain America leading a new American Revolution has a lot of potential. How would he get along with the 1602 Fury after Fury betrayed him in this issue? Would the more idealistic Cap and the more Machiavellian Fury disagree over the revolution’s methods? Would the 1602 Fury, who served a monarch and shows no interest in democracy, even side with the revolutionaries? And what about the modern-day Nick Fury, who, thanks to the Infinity Formula, ages slowly if at all? Is he still alive in this dystopian future, and, if so, has he fallen under Killgrave’s control? It may even be necessary to go on another time trip, to prevent this dystopian future from coming about in the first place.

THE BIRTH OF A NATION

On the final page of this current 1602 series, we see the Hulk, colored gray as he was in his first story, marauding through the forest. Here we have the laws of story that Reed invoked in issue 7 in action. The handsome Otto von Doom, in his final scene, ended up with a scarred face like his modern day counterpart. And now 1602‘s Banner, exposed to the cosmic energies of the temporal rift, has finally fallen victim to his inevitable destiny, and been transformed into the Hulk. (And hey, Banner’s purple robes turn out to be the counterpart to the traditional purple pants worn by the Hulk.) Since Gaiman has established that the American wilderness is 1602‘s Savage Land, complete with dinosaurs, this makes a good environment for the Hulk: he can roam about and fight monsters. Reviewers of the Hulk movie compared him to King Kong: now he has an island realm like Kong’s Skull Island. And the Hulk is the Caliban of 1602‘s analogue to Prospero’s isle.

The counterpart to Prospero himself may be Reed, who, though he is a scientist, is a “magician” as well, according to the late Dr. Strange.

Reed tells Javier, “My own suggestion would be to declare the colony independent of England.” Now, Fury had already suggested this to Ananias Dare. But for Fury, this was a tactical maneuver for protecting the colony, as well as a means of seizing power by asserting himself as the colony’s unelected ruler.

When Reed speaks of “My own suggestion,” Gaiman puts “own” in italics for emphasis, perhaps to distinguish Reed’s suggestion from Fury’s.

In contrast with Fury, Reed seems motivated by a more democratic vision of political society. Javier asks Reed if he will be the new colony’s king, but Reed, like George Washington, refuses to be a monarch: “I do not believe that there will be any more call for Kings or for Queens.” Elizabeth’s time has passed; James is irrelevant to the colony’s future.

Reed continues, “I shall propose to Master Dare that we make the colony a place where people-people of all shapes and talents – can prosper.” Note that Reed says he will “propose” this to Dare, the colony’s official leader; this sharply contrasts with Fury, who pressured and manipulated Dare into ceding authority to him. But it is clear that Reed is the visionary who will become the colony’s real leader once it becomes an independent nation.

Reed’s phrase, “people of all shapes” may literally refer to the fact that some of the superhumans in this new community do not look like “normal” human beings. But this may be Gaiman’s metaphor for people of all backgrounds. Reed’s new nation represents America as “melting pot,” a multiethnic, multiracial, multicultural society, a place where, ideally, people of different backgrounds live together in harmony and cooperation. No wonder that Reed is talking to, and even carrying Javier in this scene: Reed’s vision of America is the same as the modern day Charles Xavier’s “dream” of racial integration and tolerance.

When Reed says that this new nation will be a place where “people of all shapes and talents – can prosper,” he is describing the American dream, America as a place where people of any class or ethnicity can achieve success through their own efforts.

In 1602 as in the present, the Marvel heroes are founded on timeless mythic archetypes, but they are also exemplars of American ideals. The 1602 heroes, like we Americans’ forebears, are emigrants from the Old World to the New, seeking freedom and a fresh start. In this they should remind us that the creators of the American superhero genre were themselves the children of immigrants. The superheroes are outcasts from established society, different than other people, so they become part of a new community, as the emigrants to the New World did, which becomes America.

Sir Richard Reed has thus created a vision of an ideal America. In this alternate timeline, the United States of America begins in 1602, and Reed, Javier and their cohorts are its Founding Fathers. Rojahz worried that he had to stay with the Roanoke colonists to ensure that “his” America would come about. But the colony, with its new superheroic members, does not need him for this, after all. As far as 1602 America is concerned, Rojahz, like Fury, resembles the Moses and Ethan Edwards figures who cannot enter the Promised Land. Rojahz was necessary to save the people of Roanoke from death by starvation. But the colony, inspired by Reed and the rest, will evolve into America without Rojahz’s help.

In the final scene Peter and Virginia are reunited. Peter, and perhaps Virginia too, have awakened, as if from a dream. (Sandman fans take note.) Neither recalls anything about the opening of the temporal rift except seeing “the strange light,” as if they were recalling a near-death experience. (So they too have figuratively “died” and been “reborn.”)

This is the scene that Campbell would call “the sacred marriage.” There is no wedding, proposal, or even an explicit declaration of love. But the two young people have been united: Virginia asks Peter to stay with her and her father, and Peter places his hand on her shoulder, visually echoing Reed’s gesture towards Susan on the previous page. Peter and Virginia represent the new generation, the hope for the future, for whom members of the older generation – their “fathers” Fury and Rojahz, and Strange as well – made sacrifices. Peter also represents the immigrants from the Old World to the New, just as Virginia represents those Americans who will be born in this new nation. They remind me of Ferdinand and Miranda, the young couple united in love in The Tempest. Like Virginia, Miranda grew up in her new country. Ferdinand sailed to Miranda’s isle with Prospero’s enemies, just as Peter came to Roanoke with Fury’s foes, and both young men ended up switching sides. Peter and Virginia are the Adam and Eve of this new land, and there is as yet no serpent in sight.

For those of us waiting for the other shoe to drop, in the next to last panel a spider bites Peter on the hand. The yellow glow around the spider is no accident: it has presumably been irradiated by the energies of the temporal rift. And so the laws of story decree that Peter’s destiny be fulfilled: he will no doubt gain the powers of Spider-Man. (And notice that the spider bite happens after Peter is united with Virginia, as if his being endowed with super-powers indicates sexual potency.)

Hand in hand, this first couple of their New World walk towards what is either a romantic sunset or an optimistic sunrise (either one will do). And even Virginia’s final words have symbolic meaning.

“Well, it’s not the end of the world,” she says. No, it isn’t: the world ended and was recreated. This is a new beginning for their world.

“I’ll put a poultice on it.” It makes sense that Virginia, who is figuratively a nature goddess, can heal the wounded.

“Come on, Peter. Let’s go home.” Home is their newborn nation, America.

-Copyright 2004 Peter Sanderson

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