Is Wonder Woman Really Queer?

When Greg Rucka revealed recently that he has been writing Wonder Woman as a queer character, the usual debate about canonicity and social agenda in popular culture ensued. As I have written again and again, I am fine with socially progressive iterations of characters, but the debates are still fascinating. What the Wonder Woman story got me to thinking about was the death of the author in post-structuralism.

The news about Wonder Woman reminded me of a couple older stories about the sexuality of fictional characters. In 2007, J.K. Rowling revealed that she conceived of Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the Harry Potter franchise, as gay. Around the same time, George Clooney said that in the film Batman & Robin he played Batman as gay. In both of these cases, the sexualities were reported as fact: Albus Dumbledore is gay. Batman is gay.

But does a fictional character have a certain trait just because the artist says so?

Post-structuralist theory says no, because works of art exist apart from the artists’ intentions. The languages that artworks speak — whether written, visual or otherwise — are part of a pre-existing cultural matrix and that is what gives rise to meaning when a subject interacts with a work of art. Once a work of art leaves the artist’s hands, it is open to interpretation by each person who encounters it, resulting in an infinity of interpretations that need not be bound by the author’s private intentions.

So if Batman & Robin is your favorite film and you’ve watched it dozens of times without ever considering the possibility that Batman may be gay — in some secret way underneath his costume — then he is not gay no matter what George Clooney, the director, or the spirits of Bob Kane and Bill Finger say. But to those viewers who for whatever reason think he’s gay, then he is gay. Fictional characters are only as experienced by a subject. Thus, when debates arise about whether a character does or does not have a certain characteristic, both sides are guilty of ignoring the nature of fictional characters.

But that doesn’t necessarily mean any interpretation goes. In Poststructuralism: A Very Short Introduction, Catherine Belsey writes that it is still possible to be flat-out wrong:

“In practice, some of us will see some of the possibilities, some others, and the text itself keeps its secret about which is ‘right’. Indeed, it becomes unclear just what ‘right’ would mean (though it’s still possible, if we don’t know the words, or we don’t pay sufficient attention to them, or we miss a citation or mistake the genre, to be wrong.”

According to that line of thought, it is possible to be wrong about Wonder Woman’s sexuality. The comments by Greg Rucka hit the Internet like news, but they shouldn’t have. Rucka said that her sexuality in the “Year One” story arc should be obvious by now. Reading the issues released to date, I saw that indeed it was. There are hints here and there, and Diana’s sister Amazons clearly refer to her past female lovers in dialogue. Unless they are wrong or lying — something the text doesn’t suggest — then to insist Wonder Woman is straight would be wrong, or at least ridiculously strained.

Rucka said that he hasn’t had Wonder Woman explicitly announce her sexuality — as in “Hey, everybody! I’m queer!” — because such a moment isn’t essential to the story he’s telling, but Rucka isn’t averse to being more direct when a character’s sexuality is part of the story, as with his revival of Batwoman in Detective Comics (#854–863). Kate Kane’s dismissal from the military under Don’t Ask Don’t Tell and her various love interests were important to her tale and led to romances that many fans found deeply moving.

In all this talk of embracing or avoiding explicitness, however, we shouldn’t forget the possibility of purposely subverting, avoiding or just contradicting what is explicit in a text. Traditionally, Batman is a playboy known for dating one beautiful woman after the next, from supermodels (played in the movies by actual supermodels) to rich heiresses to . . . well, anyone audiences are likely to consider “hot.” Prince is the voice of Bruce Wayne’s libido, when he says, about Vicki Vale in “Batdance,” “I wanna bust that body — ooh yeah, ooh yeah!” Batman’s sexuality couldn’t be any clearer, and yet . . .

. . . his colorful tights and fondness for partnering with other men in tights, most notably the various Robins over the years, have led many to identify homosexual themes in the Batverse. Notice also how Batman must remain “in the closet” — must keep his identity secret — or suffer social consequences. Some in the gay community have celebrated the Dynamic Duo for these reasons and self-styled moral crusaders, such as Fredric Wertham in the 1950s, have used them as evidence of how comic books corrupt the youth. Perhaps Poison Ivy could brew some hemlock tea for him to serve the offenders.

The reason so many approaches to a work are possible is because the author is, literally or figuratively, dead. A creator’s intentions, while interesting and appearing in the pages of a book as if through a glass darkly, are only one possible consideration in interpretation, but they certainly aren’t an overriding consideration, or even a necessary one.

The authors may spin in their graves (or at their laptops, if still living), but once their work sees the light of day, it’s fair game for a supply of interpretations as inexhaustible as the number of souls who encounter it. The author is dead, long live the readers!