Superman has a day job and a bogus byline to boot. In his current iteration, he’s a stringer for the Daily Planet and thus a shoe-in to be the patron saint of journalists. Well, perhaps not all journalists – maybe just the ones in comics and those, like me, whose columns are quarantined to the funny pages to sidestep libel suits. This is fine with me, given my “truth vs. fact” credo, which has long leaned me in the direction of being a writer rather than a journalist despite the fact that most of my professional paychecks have come from newspapers.
When my yen to be pseudo-scholarly is at full rev, one might even say I’m into “fiction vs. fictionalism,” that latter of which, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy will have you know, is “the view that claims made within that discourse are not best seen as aiming at literal truth but are better regarded as a sort of ‘fiction.’” These are conversational conveniences, cultural assumptions like the fact we all know a pair of eyeglasses is sufficient to disguise one’s identity as a superhero.
It stands for reason then that my reporter-hero would not be a Woodward or Bernstein, say, but a 75-year-old figment of fiction. Sure, Watergate was a great story but the saga of a space alien with a Christ-complex and red underwear invented by a couple of outsider Jewish kids in Cleveland? You had me at Christ-complex. Continue reading “Superman Has a Day Job. And That’s Why I Love Him”