THE GREAT MOCKERY, PART 4 AND SOME CHANGE: CANONICITY

Hello all!

Hope you’re doing well, all 14 of you. I’m impressed, I sometimes get like 30 or 40 new people, but they don’t stick. It was, previously, 12 consistent visitors—or so says my metrics—and now I got 14! Glad to have you around.

And, don’t worry. I’m proving myself to be a hypocrite. I’m thinking of setting up a Discord chatroom, when I build up the courage.

This is going to be a shorter post. Originally, this post of the 4th part was supposed to be titled ‘The Pernicious Lie’ (or, the deadly/harmful lie) but two things happened—it got really complicated because I got so damned angry, at a work of fiction, that I am criticizing as a work of literature (not entertainment!); and numero dos, I ran too far ahead of myself and left out important details. The very important is Canon.

What is Canon? Not just a camera brand. Not just the official law that applies to Catholic Priests in the Church. Not just the official, 3000-year-old art style of ancient Egypt. Canon, in regards to a work of fiction, are the definite, true, un-contradictory events and ‘rules’ that happen in a setting. Canon is (says Wikiped) ‘the facts of a fictional work that have been established through the narrative itself’. More than just style, Canon-in-Fiction is like the understood, physical laws of a given setting. I believe that the word, canon, is a Greek word that means ‘measuring rod/measuring stick’, and was used in architecture.

Canon, and cosmology, somewhat overlap, but going through all the details would be splitting hairs. For now, cosmology includes mysteries and the exploration of those mysteries. Canon is indisputable fact—perhaps the ‘science’ and ‘history’ of a fictional setting. A Christian analogy would be that, yes, Christians can understand in plain language that history is a series of events that happened in linear sequence, while going to a higher level of understanding that the mysterious God is influencing events, unseen.

Canon is, weird, because arguably canon is a self-contained truth applicable only to a given setting. Example, Superman and superheroes exist in the DC Comics universe. Superman is, at minimum, faster than a speeding bullet, though he can go faster depending on the story. The given, particular story has to show how fast Superman is, otherwise the Canon defaults to the most common example of the day. [For example, in the early 1930s Superman was faster than bullets, and post-Einstein, Superman is now assumed to reach light-speed or faster.]

Superman’s Canon is not one-for-one applicable to Star Trek, which also has light-speed and faster, speeds. Oops, hold on—the ultimate Canon-of-Canons in fiction is of course our own Real Life. …Hey, Superman would fit into Starfleet well enough! No, no, no fooling around. No fanboying! [But he would look great in the uniform—no!]

It’s a common sense assumption that unless directly shown or explained, things and objects in stories work like they’re supposed to in Real Life. Now, it is possible to have, like in children’s tales and Native American stories, the story act out like a Looney Toons comedy and all its silly physics…and all its slap-stick violence that may or may not be permanent. Anyway, you have to establish it, in the narrative, in a timely manner, or else it will be too jarring for the audience. The audience helps the narrator make the story come to life—a story needs either one performer and/or narrator, and at least one audience member. Just one of either is a sad person talking to himself.

Where was I…right, in general Fiction assumes ‘like reality but different in this way’. In Star Trek, the Progressive worldview of Gene Roddenberry managed to get off the ground without causing too many messy problems. In 1984, the nightmares of George Orwell come alive, and like a clinician, he tests all the nightmares on the main character, Winston. Star Wars has the Force. Short stories work by getting the reader’s immediate attention, by being quick and snappy. A fantastical setting needs to display its Canon in a similar brisk manner to a short story. ‘How is this thing different?!’ screams our brain. What’s the immediate, eye-popping, eye-catching ‘rule’ that tells our brain ‘this thing is distinct’? And like a measuring stick, it needs to be as clear as day.

Okay, now all this sounds common sense. You probably knew it, without words, in your head, but given this day and age I got to make sure.

Here’s where it all goes to hell. Canon gets complicated over time. …Hang on, quick tangent. Studying the Christian groups has been a help here—the Catholic vs. Protestant squabbles—because it helped me understand how people react to sacred canon. I don’t mean to give the wrong impression of either. Both groups believe that canon (church laws and books in the Bible) ought to reflect the truth, and both groups ‘change’ canon only in the sense that they think it better reflects the truth, as it has played out over time. It is an age-old pattern, not just in Christian societies, where a rule or understanding is laid down. Then something freaky, weird, and strange thing, that ‘doesn’t fit’, comes along and throws the whole order into chaos, for a time, until a new solution is made that answers the freaky-weird-confusing thing. Happens. All. The. Damn. Time. It is why less knowledgeable critics think that the Christians can change, but are bullheaded and cruel about it. Yes and no. They want to get the changes right! AND, too often, there are usually a lot of ugly fights, hurt feelings, and misunderstandings along the way. I get it. I’ve seen it.

That new solution is then incorporated into the canon—and for Christians, the new cannot contradict the old. Those cultures (Christian or not) that can’t answer the challenging chaos quickly turn to violence, because violence is always a crude answer to anything. Now, if the ‘snarl’ in the canon is not resolved, all that has been done is set up a cycle of generational confusion. You aren’t allowed to ask the hard questions, because there is no answer. If you push the issue too hard, you force open the confusion and chaos yet again. I will not say who, but in history it is all too common for cultures to remain in permanent, barbaric stasis, because they can’t do questions-and-answers right. Questions are forbidden because they make peoples’ heads explode into an uncontrollable mess.

In Fictionland? Canon? Pfft! Canon is way more flexible. Depending on the setting, Canon-in-fiction can be like the Protestant method—agreed to disagree and make new churches based on preferences—or more like the Catholic method, where there is an unchanging, definitive central authority.

Note, I’m using analogies here, I am not equating fictional settings to a given religion.

For example, Star Wars is the latter version. Was. It was the latter version, until Lucas’ coffee-maid took over the series and enacted her revenge by ruining the foundations. See, in-between the Original Trilogy (1977, ’80, and ’83) and the Prequel Trilogy (’99-2005), there were loads of novels and comic books in Star Wars that fleshed out the setting. There was more to Star Wars than just the films. Like many, Star Wars became a huge franchise. Its story became too big for George Lucas to handle. So, what’s the solution? Establish ‘layers’ or ‘levels’ of Canon.

For example, G-Canon is the highest canon. If George Lucas says it is so, it is the same as if God Himself declared something. The closer you get to G-Canon, the more unalterable it is. It is so fundamental, it cannot be changed. If it happened in the films by Lucas, it is G-Canon. Next is T-Canon (for television). This level is the ‘approved by Lucas’ level. A production team or show-runner, chosen or approved by Lucas, is allowed to make a story in Star Wars because they understand the setting and George’s mind well enough.

Next is C-Canon (continuity), which is the collected body of works—novels/comics/video games/etc.—that were released under the Star Wars ™ brand name, with oversight. Overlapping with, but inferior to C-Canon, is S-Canon (secondary). S-Canon was the stuff made in the ‘Wild West’ era of Star Wars, where George was licensing out Star Wars to other authors, and no one really knew what they were doing with the stories. But, stories had to be made—the early, ‘primitive’ stories—and over time the approved stories moved up to C-Canon or higher.

Below that is D-Canon (from a defunct Star Wars show), and then Non-Canon (i.e., ‘what-if stories’) and I presume at bottom is the worst dreck of all: fan fiction!

The higher the Canon level, the more the other, not-George authors have to stick to the rules. Lower on the canon layers, though, authors are allowed more flexibility. They’re allowed to have more ‘out there’ stories, the weird stuff, the more chaotic and risqué stories, but only as long as these lower- canon stories don’t change or alter the overall Star Wars story. You know, these are the stories or episodes in a TV show that can be interesting or weird, but everything that happened has to be scrubbed away so that business as usual can happen next episode. Stories that at best wind up as weird trivia in the overall life of the show.

Comics! Comic books are worse and weirder case for Canon. You’ve likely already seen in in the crazed Marvel Cinematic Universe: Multi-verses and ret-cons (or ‘retcons*’). The comic-book style of canon is an ugly reset button. A Bad Guy blows up the universe, and the Good Guys have to repair the damage! But, oh no! They reversed the damage, sure, but they couldn’t save everything. Some things are gone, some things are changed, and some things are entirely new.

[*Retroactive continuity, or retcons, is when a given narrative/long-running story flat out changes its own rules in order to make up a different story. Ex., Sherlock Holmes did die at one point in his books, but his author had to retcon the story later so that Holmes survived falling off a waterfall. How else could he write more Sherlock books if Holmes was dead?]

The reason for why comics have such a hard, reset-button-style canon is that comic books have a very short life cycle as a genre*. Batman, and Superman, are each almost 100 years old, and they’ve survived at least 4(?) retcons to their own stories. If we take comic books as like historical events, where they are linear and one event leads to the next, eventually, you run into something that prevents the story from continuing. Superman gets incurable super-cancer, for example. (Not entirely a joke.) If Superman dies of super-cancer, what’s next? I hope you know! Because too often, time-travel and sci-fi goofiness are applied like a hammer to fix a problem. Retcons are about as painful as undergoing a surgery, with a hammer.

[*The more detailed answer is that comics can become too complicated to keep track of, especially if each hero and villain, big and small, writes their own history. Comic book collecting becomes expensive and time-eating. Editors and upper management have to put their foot down to stop confusion, because confusion interrupts comic sales. Plus, the slate is wiped clean for a new generation of consumers—uh, new comic book readers, who would be overwhelmed if they had to learn everything about a given superhero. A retcon lets new blood in.]

It is when we get to the genres of Role-Playing Games, video games, and fan-fiction that Canon becomes the most…flexible, we’ll say. RPGs, video games, and fan-fiction aren’t interested in making grand narratives, they are more interested in micro-narratives. Except, not really, because for some RPGs and video games, they do have a grand narrative, but it is like a jigsaw puzzle with the outside frame completed, but the inner pieces are missing. You have a hole, and the outside is clearly defined, and it is up to you to fill in the holes.

And, okay, I’ll finish up and be frank here. I’m doubting myself. There is a part of me, right now, that is calling me very silly names for taking fiction too seriously. It says, ‘Why are you digging so far? Especially now that you’re at the edge of imagination. You’re at the part where people aren’t entertained by having a good story told to them, you’re at the part where people entertain themselves by making up a story from thin air. Why trample on their fun?’

This is the same doubting voice that criticized me for going after Joseph Campbell—'why go after a dead old man because he had a theory of stories, his Monomyth?’

[No I’m not, I’m a different voice!]

Shut up! I don’t care.

…Uh, I mean I don’t care about the different voices in my head. I care, because I see the effect that Joseph Campbell had on later fiction. And, I care because of the influence I see that entertainment has on people. How people entertain themselves does matter. What do you entertain? What happens after?

More to follow.