Introduction Comics are great because they’re all things. Sometimes just plain fun, sometimes they have deadly intent. Anything goes. (Ann Nocenti, interviewed by Mithra 1998) Creativity in comics is not only represented by the skilful marriage of writing and art. The medium is often at its best when exploring grand theories and themes and translating these to what is often a largely younger audience. Comics can challenge power and raise social concerns, giving space for ambiguity thanks to how the combination of words and pictures can contrast, for example, inner thoughts with external actions (McAllister et al. 2001). Since the 1970s, as comics reflect social change, the medium has increasingly, though tentatively, embraced feminist thought and ideas (Gibson 2015). However, attempts to integrate second-wave feminist thought in Marvel comics in the 1970s has been criticised as being diluted by ‘good-faith attempts by sympathetic male authors’ (Heifer 2018: np) and missing the mark (Jorgensen and Lechan 2013). Whilst male writers took on female heroes as protagonists, their narratives have been criticised as being shaped according to men’s experiences and disregarding feminist hopes (Magoulick 2006). By contrast, a female writer taking on a male protagonist in a mainstream comic book was rare to spot. One individual bucking this trend in the 1980s was Ann Nocenti, writer on the long running Marvel comic book, Daredevil, in the late 1980s/early 1990s. This article will examine how Nocenti’s writing coincided with the twilight of second-wave feminism and how four female characters, Karen Page, Typhoid Mary, Brandy Ashe and Number Nine, challenge the constraints of archetypes. A note before proceeding. The author is conscious that he is viewing a woman’s writing through the lens of male privilege. This may result in a perception of male authority giving ‘authenticity’ to the female writer, and risk potentially undermining the ability of the original creator’s power and agency within the original material (Lange 2008). Whilst this is a valid limitation of the piece, the article argues for Nocenti’s agency in how she has developed her characters and narratives throughout and establishes that her authorial voice is not lost or diminished.

Superheroes and Jungian Archetypes Carl Jung defined archetypes as comprising the innate tendencies of dominant characters within myths and legends, and across a diversity of cultures. These were often male and typified in variables such as the god, the wise man, the father and the trickster. Jung saw archetype identities as unfathomable, emerging from an unknowable place (Jacobi 1959). Archetypal behaviour drives individuals at subconscious levels and so these characteristics were perceived as being innate and immutable. One of the most famous of Jung’s archetypes, present in comic books since its earliest days, was the hero, who embodied the hopes, dreams and fears of the culture he represents (Indick 2004). Perhaps the best example of this in Marvel comics, is Captain America, the Sentinel of Liberty. One of Marvel’s oldest superheroes, back when the company was called Timely Comics, Captain America is reminiscent of an idealised figure, a reliable and upright character (Rubin 2012; Robinson 2004), representing Good in the fight against malice, injustice and subversion in his home country. As such, he reflects Umberto Eco’s description of the comic book hero as being ‘immobilized in an emblematic and fixed nature which renders him easily recognizable’ (cited by Matsuuchi 2012, 121). These kinds of emblematic, idealised characters are redolent in ongoing comic books, where the hero is presented in not just one story, but a catalogue of tales that weave in and out of one another, often for years. Herein, multiple writers establish as continuity a mythology that revolves around a central heroic God of that comic’s universe. This hero may experience some change over times but he is at root immutable. A creator may tinker with certain aspects of the status quo but key aspects are largely maintained throughout each author’s run. For example, in Daredevil, who first appeared in 1964, characteristics such as his alias Matt Murdock’s sightlessness, his employment as a lawyer, his fractured psyche and troubled faith, and even his friendship with his legal partner, Foggy Nelson, may be considered non-negotiables in terms of what essentialises this hero. However, Marvel creators were already challenging archetypal roles from the 1960s onwards. At this point, Stan Lee’s diktat that heroes have feet of clay was an explicit clarion call reconfiguring the flawless Hero into a more mutable identity which mirrored relatable flawed aspects of readers’ lives, such as having self-doubt and dealing with the outcome of poor choices (Rubin 2012). Powers now were ‘mutations’ and could be troublesome as well as imbuements of heroism (Robinson 2004) and heroes were increasingly engaging with and troubled by the real world, challenging social mores and representations of characters (Rubin 2012; Robinson 2004).

Karen Page: Critiquing Domesticity In the old days, a lot of females [in comics] were like the secretaries, the wives, the girl that needed rescuing. (Nocenti, interviewed by Chapman 2018) Before Nocenti’s run, ongoing female characters in the book mainly fulfilled the role of potential love interest for Matt (Karen Page, Black Widow, Elektra, Heather Glenn, Candace Nelson) or, in one case, Foggy Nelson (Deborah Harris). When Nocenti became the lead writer on the book, she already had to address the return of one significant female character, Karen, to Matt Murdock’s life. Outside of this, she largely concentrated on developing her own range of new female subjects. Within the four characters explored below, she both critiques archetypal ideas of domesticity and transgression in female supporting characters, freeing her writing to then introduce subjects who achieve greater agency and freedom. Karen’s return to Daredevil occurs at a point where she is experiencing an ongoing recovery from heroin addiction, first introduced in Frank Miller’s ‘Born Again’ storyline. In Karen’s first appearance, Nocenti presents her as a fragile blonde princess, literally gathered up in Matt’s arms, whilst a bystander remarks, ‘I thought people only did that in the movies’ (Daredevil 239, see Figure 1). There is a deliberate artificiality to the softly lit scene, an echo of the ‘paperback romance’: the woman who is loved by the strong man, who will hold and protect her. Immediately Nocenti plays with the dynamic of Daredevil as the hero or knight in shining armour, with Karen the frail, rescued damsel. Karen’s need for recovery amplifies her reliance on Matt; she is locked into the dual roles of victim and girlfriend. In these initial episodes, Nocenti presents Karen, at least partially due to her overcoming narcotic addiction, as an archetypal trapped housewife, experiencing Betty Friedan’s problem that has no name (David 2016), relegated to essentialist gender roles centred around domestic duties (Romero 2018). Her life revolves around her apartment, too scared to go out and succumb to potential temptation. Oakley (1974) associated the housewife role as being one burdened by monotony, loneliness, compromised autonomy and dissatisfaction, and Karen’s experience infers this. In one remarkable scene, Nocenti shows Karen washing Matt’s costume and hanging it out to dry. Not only is Karen the housewife but fulfils the archetype of the ‘Good Mother’ (Berkowitz 2005: 608), where she is both nurturing and self-sacrificing. As Miller (1986) notes, ‘Heroines are not heroes…. If a woman loves a hero that is more likely to make her a wife or a mistress than a heroine’ (135). Given Karen’s status as a character who has been in the comic since 1964, it is perhaps appropriate that Nocenti presents her as someone who pre-dates second wave feminism’s battles for equality and locked into a position of victimhood (Budgeon 2011). As the storyline progresses, Nocenti explores the ambivalence in Karen’s relationship with a man who is also a violent vigilante. In the ‘Don’t Touch Me’/’Touch Me’ storylines in Daredevil 243/244, Karen not only expresses disgust at what Matt’s hands do but also is enthralled by their capacity to look after her. Karen: Get off me! I hate violence. You’re Daredevil. You hit people for real!… In those red gloves – your hands are just fists! (Daredevil 243: 13, panel 1) Karen: Touch me. Your violence saved us all tonight. You are what you are, and whatever that is – I love it…. Hold me. (Daredevil 244: 23, panel 3) Using violence to achieve justice is a trope of the male superhero, whilst heroines are more likely to desire to make the world a better place (Madrid 2016). In order to resolve this dissonance and build on the nurturing characteristics of the mother, Nocenti has Karen encourage Matt to develop a free law clinic in Hell’s Kitchen as an alternative to his vigilantism. This both gives Matt legitimacy but also gives Karen a role and purpose that allows her acceptance in society (Whitehead et al. 2013), albeit in a way that is always dependent upon her relationship with Matt. This vicarious dilemma experienced by women like Karen is echoed by Sheila Rowbotham: ‘If the housewife wants to “improve” herself, she has in fact to “improve” the situation of her husband’ (1972: 21). Karen’s need to be looked after by the strong man and achieve value only in relation to Matt’s own success and achievement is recognised by Demaris Wehr: [C]apturing a man is felt to compensate for women’s lack of recognition and worth in themselves. By association with a man who has status [and] recognition […] a woman may unconsciously be trying to acquire those qualities. (1988: 106–107) If Matt is not a ‘good man’, as Nocenti has been inferring through his casual use of violence, Karen is at great risk of becoming trapped and used. Nocenti then further exposes the fragility of this relationship through the introduction to Mary Walker, who instigates Matt into an affair. Karen may have been holding up her end of the functionalist bargain but Matt, who, by the very nature of male privilege, holds greater power in the relationship, does not. In Karen’s final scene of Nocenti’s run, she is dashing away from the hospital where Matt, who has been admitted following a supervillain pummelling, has called out for Mary and not her. Nocenti is making a tragic commentary on the domesticated oppression of women that may be experienced in these relationship structures.

Mary Walker/Typhoid Mary: Critiquing Transgression I was just sick of how females in comics were either goody girls or witches and wanted to shatter the female thing by making her all types rolled into one. (Nocenti, interviewed by Keller 2007) If Karen’s character resonates with the limitations experienced by female characters birthed in the 1960s, by contrast, Nocenti presents Typhoid Mary explicitly as a direct challenge to the woman locked into the functionalist roles that enchain Karen. With her new creation, Nocenti explores ideas of role reversal and subversion, conveyed deliberately through a dichotomy. This is literal as Mary is both the villainous Typhoid and her counterpoint, the seemingly innocent Mary Walker. Nocenti introduces Mary Walker as ‘fragile’ and a ‘sweet, compassionate girl… oblivious… to her other half [Typhoid]’. There is also ‘much known about her’ in contrast to Typhoid, of whom ‘nothing’ is known (all citations from Daredevil 254). Nocenti is highlighting Mary Walker’s familiarity as an archetypal fictional sweetheart, whilst Typhoid is something new, threatening and challenging. Later Matt, wavering between Karen and an infatuation with Mary, states: Matt: Oh, darling, you are like a child…. You are so vulnerable and sad… so fragile… it just breaks my heart. (Daredevil 259: 3, panel 5) Mary’s seduction of Matt appeals to archetypal notions, familiar in fairy tales and already demonstrated in an early scene with Karen, of the male hero as rescuer and protector (O’Connor 1989). By contrast, Daredevil’s engagement with Typhoid leads to very different thoughts: Daredevil: I hate her…. So sick, so hot, she’s disgusting. But I’ll get her. (Daredevil 255: 25, panel 3) Nocenti writes Mary as meeting idealised notions of submissive womanhood, but the ‘unknowable’ Typhoid threatens Matt’s gender identity and roles of hero and protector. Typhoid represents ‘the phallic girl’, assuming characteristics redolent of male power and being the instigator of aggressive and transgressive behaviour (McRobbie 2007: 732). She is an ‘alpha female’ (Ward et al. 2010: 309), exhibiting leadership qualities, drive, extroversion and a sense of superiority over others. In her earliest scene, Nocenti presents an accomplice, Rip, as confounded by Typhoid’s effortless role reversal: Rip: You treat me like you’re a man and I’m some girl. (Daredevil 254: 6, panel 2) Typhoid is strong, independent, fiery and unknown whilst Mary is compliant to males and the values of 20th century functionalism. Yet Nocenti makes clear that it is Typhoid who is the character’s true identity and Mary the mask, rather than the other way round. Mary Walker’s survival within this context is dependent upon her being able to successfully contain herself within the notion of needing rescued. As such, she adopts a functionalist role performance appropriate to her sex (Whitehead et al. 2013), whilst Typhoid’s imbuement of supposedly male characteristics allows her transcendence. Typhoid’s actions both appal her male antagonists and liberate her. As her storyline with Daredevil concludes in issue 260, she triumphantly conducts the hero’s emasculation, dropping Daredevil from a bridge to his supposed death.

Number Nine: Gaining Freedom When Nocenti first introduces Brandy Ash, her goal is to disrupt her father’s plans for genetically modified meat, unaware that her father is not only genetically modifying animals but also women. One woman being experimented upon is Number Nine. The character is never given a real name nor much of a back story; instead her namelessness reflects her role as a cipher for a hegemonic man’s idea of an idealised woman, one without her own identity and effectively ornamental (Whitehead et al. 2013). For reasons Nocenti never explains, Nine has become involved in a process where she has submitted herself – or been coerced – into being modified to be “perfect”, at least in the eyes of the man who is providing the resources to do so. Perhaps, prior to transformation, Nine was conscious of the value of a woman’s physical beauty in a male dominated contemporary society. Frost (2001) identified that beauty has a transactional quality that heightens a woman’s value: Wearing glasses, not being thin, not having the perfect arrangement or size of features, will all reduce the status, the ‘worth’ of bodies, particularly women’s bodies, on which their life-chances depend (43). Whilst Nine’s appearance may give her success in the world of powerful, moneyed men like Skip Ash, it is anathema to his daughter: Brandy: Your stupid perfect face and perfect Barbie Doll everything could use some scars…. Give you some desperately needed character. (Daredevil 274: 8, panels 3 and 4) By being white and blonde, Nocenti not only stereotypes Nine but makes her representative of middle-class American ideals. After all, to maintain beauty requires, time, effort and financial resources and therefore is limited to the privileged (Romero, 2018). Being located within this privilege, and in a self-healing body, allows Nine a greater chance of permanent success in early 90s America, where this kind of surface femininity is valued. Nocenti indicates that Nine’s beauty is complemented by a programming that makes her subservient. Olsson (2000) comments that feminine stereotypes ‘include beliefs that women are “born to serve” and so will make the tea’ (p 300). In her early appearances, Nocenti reveals in Nine functionalist housewife traits. The character is obsessed with cooking, especially for Daredevil and other male guests, who then reciprocate by fawning over her. As Nine says herself: Number Nine: I feel like cooking and cleaning and serving but Brandy won’t let me. She says that’s just sexist programming I must resist. (Daredevil 275: 11, panel 3) However, despite her initial appearances as the kind of character who might be window dressing, Nocenti from the outset makes her much more complex. As one of the scientists notes to Skip: Scientist: It is the perfect wife we’re designing for you. This model would only be trouble. She cooks, cleans, is obedient and of complete ethical character… yet is independent, reckless, fiery, impulsive. (Daredevil 271: 18, panel 2) Nocenti outlines a complexity to women that goes far beyond outward appearance and being able to fulfil functional roles. It is this that she begins to emphasise more and more as Number Nine gains enlightenment from Brandy and other characters as the story progresses. At one point, Hank Pym’s robot adversary, Ultron turns up and takes her literally up a hill in order to set her on a pedestal. In this situation, Nine rebels against Skip’s programming: Number Nine: What good is it to be a treasure if you must be guarded?… What is the point of being a perfect treasured jewel if it keeps you from freedom? I want the opposite, to be seen as just an average, flawed girl. I want to be liberated from talk of precious perfection. Accept me as flawed. (Daredevil 276: 13, panels 1 and 2; 14 panel 1, see Figure 3) Towards the end of Nine’s narrative, where she, like Brandy, ends up in Hell, she begins to find peace with herself through engagement with a bespectacled and scrawny male angel called Lucy, who tells us that he likes her because ‘she’s insecure and clumsy’ (Daredevil 281). Lucy is not just another male angel pursuing her for his own pleasure and, presented without genitalia, the threat of the male here is effectively neutralised. Nocenti shows that Lucy’s ability to recognise Nine’s inner traits and not her outward appearance both leads Nine to accept his friendship and to finally resolve to pursue her own aims and not those of the men surrounding her.