The Kerrigan Question

The Kerrigan Question — Blue Ink Alchemy

"Girls don't belong in games/movies!" This is the cry of "men's rights activists" who point to things like Rogue One and female gamers & game journalists (Susan Arendt, IRL Jasmine, etc). "What about Sarah Kerrigan?" I suspect I'd mostly get blank stares. Maybe a bit of drool. Here's the background: Sarah Kerrigan is a major character in StarCraft and its sequel. StarCraft is a massively popular real-time strategy game that is played professionally as a multi-player contest & sport. Its single-player campaigns, while maybe not having the best writing, is still full of affecting moments — the rise of Arcturus Mengsk, the sacrifice of Tassadar, etc — but I would argue that the growth and arc of Kerrigan's story is the beating heart of the narrative, though I admittedly haven't played the last chapter, Legacy of the Void, yet. It's a bit beyond my means at present. I'm going to run down Kerrigan's story for those of you who don't know, and proceed to my point after. [spoiler] StarCraft depicts a large-scale conflict between three races: the Terrans (that's us), the psionic and aloof Protoss, and the swarming, ever-evolving Zerg. Sarah Kerrigan is a Terran operative, a "Ghost" (read: psychic sniper assassin) who joins you early in the Terran campaign alongside rough'n'tumble backwater space cowboy Jim Raynor. They don't get along at first — Jimmy's initial thoughts are about how hot Kerrigan is, and she immediately reacts with revulsion and rightly scolds Raynor for a lack of professionalism. But, through the course of fighting for survival as the Protoss and Zerg clash with the Terrans in the middle, they grow to admire, respect, and appreciate one another. Their partnership, both professional and romantic, was short-lived. In a callous act of sacrificing his resources for convenience and advancement, master manipulator and all-around bastard Arcturus Mengsk left Kerrigan to die as her position was overrun by the Zerg forces Mengsk himself had attracted to a Terran world to better secure his political position. Disgusted, Raynor left Mengsk's service, and looked for Kerrigan, only for her to emerge some time later as a new weapon in the Zerg's arsenal, the fearsome and deadly 'Queen of Blades'. Empowered by Zerg evolutionary strains and determined to unlock her own full potential, Kerrigan proceeded to align both her former Terran comrades and several Protoss factions against the Zerg Overmind who'd had a hand (or, rather, tentacle) in creating her. Her plan succeeded, and she thanked her erstwhile allies by betraying them. Some of these allies were Protoss warriors Jim had come to trust as friends; when they were killed, he swore he'd avenge their deaths, and be the one to kill Sarah. Laughing off the threat, Kerrigan wiped the floor with what was left of the Terran forces and retreated to her own corner of the sector. After the so-called Brood War that'd seen Kerrigan triumphant, she began to hear whispers of impending doom. To arm herself and her Swarm to face it, she invaded Terran space to find more powerful weapons. Raynor set off to oppose the Zerg invasion, seemingly still driven by his vendetta and supported by an old friend from his previous life. Things got complicated when a Protoss warrior, one of the few Raynor knew from the Brood War who hadn't been killed, told him that Kerrigan needed to live to fight what was coming. The Terrans used the very weapon Kerrigan had sought to claim to rob her of her Zerg enhancements and leave her vulnerable. Conflicted, Raynor decided to save Kerrigan's life at this moment, choosing to give her a chance for redemption rather than letting his friend shoot her. Kerrigan was held for experimentation, with Raynor keeping an eye on her, and her memories as both Mengsk's assassin and the Queen of Blades haunted her and made her question her morals and sanity. While previously Kerrigan's ambitions had been aimed towards conquest and victory for her Swarm, her restored humanity narrowed her focus to revenge on Mengsk. The facility were she was being held was attacked by Mengsk's forces, and in their escape, Kerrigan and Raynor were separated. While Kerrigan was able to escape, Raynor was reported to be killed, much to Mengsk's delight. Consumed by her need for revenge, Kerrigan turns to the Zerg, returning to the Swarm to regain her former power. Kerrigan returns to the homeworld of the Zerg and seeks her own path to evolve along instead of having it imposed upon her. In doing so, she comes to understand the Zerg on a far more fundamental level, and in doing so, not only guides it to great success, but forges it into a far more powerful force than it was before. With a renewed Swarm and her powers and memory finally under her control, Kerrigan tears across the sector towards Mengsk. Along the way, she finds Raynor alive, but her rebirth as the new Queen of Blades puts an incredible chasm between them; Jim can't let go of everything she did as the Queen of Blades, and as much as she wants to repair that breach, since she was not the creature she was before, Jim can't bring himself to meet her halfway. He can't kill her, either, but joins her to kill Mengsk. Having joined forces, Mengsk's defenses folded under the assault of Raynor and Kerrigan. They work together to bring down the tyrant, Kerrigan saying Mengsk had "made [them] all into monsters" before blowing him up Scanners-style. With their nemesis dead, Kerrigan leaves to turn her attention back to the doom that had brought her back in the first place, leaving a conflicted and emotional Raynor in her wake, looking up at where the woman he loved (and perhaps still does) disappears. This isn't the end of the story, but it's all I know, since I'm avoiding spoilers for Legacy of the Void. [/spoiler] The essence of Kerrigan's story, to me, is that after getting betrayed and turned into something awful, she took control of her own destiny. She seized control of a massive, powerful alien force, just because she could. When she caught wind of something bigger coming to destroy everything, she set out to stand up to it, no matter what it cost. And after everything that happened to her, she decided to recreate her power on her own terms in order to either rescue a dude important to her or avenge herself on the bastard who'd betrayed her in the first place. To me, that speaks of self-actualization, independence, and empowerment. I can see some counterpoints to this perspective, but the fact remains that she is a major character who becomes a protagonist in a major sci-fi gaming franchise, and yet, insecure man-kids haven't brought her up as an example of something that doesn't belong in their games. So is it because she's not as prominent as the leads in Rogue One or The Force Awakens, or is it because they felt some sort of satisfaction in what happened to her when she was disempowered? I'm not sure; it's a headspace I have a lot of trouble getting into. I'm just going to toss this out for potential discussion. What do you think of Sarah Kerrigan, the Queen of Blades, as a character? Is she a positive or negative influence on female empowerment in science fiction? And does Legacy of the Void go on sale regularly, so I can finish the story and also get some awesome, shiny Protoss action? Let me know! Mondays are for making & talking about art.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

500 Words on Getting Better

500 Words on Getting Better — Blue Ink Alchemy

Getting to a point where I can post here on even a semi-regular basis has been a very long road. Even before my most recent traumas, just a few months ago, I was climbing my way back to a place of relative stability from the rock bottom I'd hit last year. My focus has been sporadic, my productivity inconsistent, my motivation coming and going along with the swings of my mood. I've questioned my actions, doubted my sanity, and struggled to hold onto things like joy and hope. But I'm getting better. "That's all everyone wants for you," someone told me a few months ago. "We want you to get better." I feel that they're one of the few people who meant it. A bunch of folks paid lip service to the idea of Josh getting better; in retrospect, more than a few of them saying "We want you to get better" really meant "we want you to get lost." Especially if the anonymous, threatening messages I got were any indication. For a while, I was incredibly concerned about how I was being perceived and, moreover, why individuals I continued to try and imagine complexly refused to extend me the same courtesy. Instead of holding space for me and trying to understand me, I was demonized and made out to be, if not as bad as, worse than Donald Trump. "A broken stair," said one individual. "A monster," said an anonymous message. These aren't people who want me to get better. These aren't people who care about me. This was a feeding frenzy of drama. This was a mob of perverts for failure. This was gaslighting, plain and simple. So I'm getting better. While it was unnecessary for me to get raked over the coals in this abusive manner, the aftermath of this brutal annihilation of my Persona, as well as my social life, meant I had all the more bandwidth and capacity to step up my game in what I have come to embrace as "the Work." Like all of us, I am a work in progress. In retrospect, a good portion of that work leading up to the gaslighting was half-done or, like the accusations of the mob, built on sand. So, I scrapped it. I started over, diving into new areas of research and growth, to get better. In doing so, I've realized three things. 1. The perception of others is secondary to my perception of my Self. 2. Representing my Self as authentically as possible is the best foundation for my Persona. 3. The more I try to unearth my honest Self, the more the insecure and false will rail against me. Even now, writing this out, part of me worries that it comes across as pretentious; you, reading this, may think I have my head up my ass. But I have worked very hard to be introspective without putting my head up my ass to look within. And I won't stop now. Because I am getting fucking better. On Fridays I write 500 words.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Return Of The Code

Return Of The Code — Blue Ink Alchemy

For years, I made a decent living in a dayjob writing code for an ad agency back east. Well, I say "writing code", but that was only part of my job. I also had to do some fine-tuning of visual design elements and animations, which unfortunately is not one of my strengths. It's a skill I'm interested in developing, to be sure, but at the moment, my focus is swatting up on programming skills. Between practicing meditation and mindfulness to combat bipolar symptoms, and investigating the neuroscience of plasticity to increase focus on and pleasure in writing, I'm teaching myself new languages and getting familiar with IDEs. It's been a busy time, despite any evidence to the contrary. The thing is, many of the fundamentals of programming extend beyond the constraints of a single language. This is especially evident when it comes to object-oriented languages. My work experience back east was dominated by my skills in ActionScript, a "kissing cousin" of JavaScript. In working on an example of use and understanding of such a language (based on this book), it's becoming more and more apparent that a good portion of my strengths in this area of productivity is in the fundamentals of good programming, with specifics able to be ironed out with practice and research. It can be easy to focus on getting a job done as quickly as possible, as completely as possible, and move quickly onto the next assignment, project, or client. That, however, is not long-term thinking. One of the strengths of object-oriented programming is the ability to build your code in such a way that it is easy to maintain, extend, and revise the resulting functionality. It's caused me no small amount of consternation to open a project and find a tangle of old code, clearly written in haste or before a new version of the language was available, and take precious time to sift through the lines to find where maintenance needs to take place. Often when bringing up these problems, the response has been "just fix it", instead of giving the code an overhaul to make future revisions and maintenance easier and faster, and thus more profitable. I still believe that it's possible to get a positive, long-term return on investment from taking time to make and keep code structures current, rather than ignoring obsolete and inefficient programming in the name of short-term expediency. I'm talking mostly about higher-level stuff, rather than the nitty-gritty of the languages I'm studying. I'm working on taking more time to learn the Unity IDE and the inherent C# language within, as well as preparing to teach myself Python. It's a lot to take in, but if I am to be an asset to a future employer, I want to ensure I have a good arsenal of tools to bring to the table. It's one of the many ways I'm rebuilding myself from the ground up. More on this as it develops, and as I develop. It works on multiple levels. Thursdays are for talking tech.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Bullied for Burying My Beak in a Book

Bullied for Burying My Beak in a Book — Blue Ink Alchemy

I grew up in the days before Harry Potter, but in retrospect, I've been a Ravenclaw pretty much from the get-go. I learned to read at a very young age, by all accounts, and was deep into the likes of Tom Swift and Choose Your Own Adventure by the time elementary school rolled around. I was also in a home where I was fortunate enough to get in early on the video game trend. We had an Atari 2600, followed closely by an NES, and even a Sega Genesis a couple of years later. Our house was a neutral territory in the console wars. Anyway, I was a pretty massive nerd. I attended an elementary school in an area and a district that was both fairly affluent and focused on the development and achievements of scholastic athletics — especially football. It didn't become apparent that this was the underlying motivation of most parenting until junior high, but the groundwork for the stratification of athletic kids above non-athletic kids was laid in elementary school. I had my beak in a book pretty often, I asked questions during class, and I got along with my teachers even when I wasn't getting straight-A grades (which I did more often than note in those early years). For this, I was bullied. I found it very difficult to stand up for myself. I didn't want to engage with my bullies; I just wanted to be left alone with my fantasy realms and my family. My sisters, more than once, had to intervene on my behalf. My little sister, on one occasion, ran off bullies pursuing me as I got off the bus. I was raised in a house with my mother, two sisters, and my grandmother. Incidents like that one taught me not only to respect women (as some would say now, 'those who identify as female'), but that I could turn to them for strength and safety. In particular, with my sisters at my back, I feel like I could handle just about anything. Which is why what happened next was so completely devastating. I don't feel I need to dwell on this particular subject — being bullied as a child — for very long, as it was so minor in the grand scheme of things. But it's entirely possible that these experiences echoed into my modern Personas. It could be that, when faced with peer pressure or a group of people putting me in an antagonistic light, I would disconnect and retreat rather than engage or insist upon my own point of view being considered, my experiences and feelings seen as valid. I don't want to be bullied again; when things approach the level of being bullied, I distance myself from the experience, from those people doing the bullying, or what I see as bullying. That, at least, is my perspective and experience. Take it for what you will.

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This is a series I'm doing on my upbringing, experiences, and how they might have influenced the person I am today. None of this is intended as making excuses for decisions I've made; I am trying to delve into my past to better define my future, and make better choices that do not lead to the disasters I've faced in recent years. Thanks for reading. Tuesdays are for telling my story.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Journalist of the Gods

Journalist of the Gods — Blue Ink Alchemy

They never bothered to name the city. They couldn't settle on one. If that wasn't a metaphor for the deity denizens, Thoth couldn't think of one. He stepped into the diner in the center of town, an eatery and tavern formed out of the hull of an overturned longship. Shields bearing sigils and depicting animal aspects of the gods decorated the capsized hull, but not one bore the True Name of any of them. Thoth had made sure of that when the city was built. True Names had power. Only Thoth knew them all. He never spoke them aloud. Someday, he'd take more action to make sure the power of the gods could never be abused. But right now, he just needed some fucking coffee. Hestia walked over to the booth where Thoth had sat, smiling her warm, welcoming smile. "It's good to see you again, hun," she said. "Your usual?" "Nah. Let's start with a black coffee and go from there." Hestia nodded. She returned almost immediately with the drink. Thoth sipped the hot, blessed liquid. "Which one of you suggested nectar instead of coffee? I forget." Hestia rolled her eyes. "Hera. She wouldn't hear otherwise, no matter how much I told her." "Figures." Thoth fished out his notebook. Hestia looked on. "The election?" "The election." Hestia nodded, and left Thoth to his jotting. Just notes; not writing anything into existence. That wasn't his role. He'd given it up. The last thing he wanted was taking blame him for the way the world had turned out. He certainly hadn't intended for everything to evolve the way it did, but that was the nature of the best stories, the truest stories. They took on lives of their own. They transcended their established narrative. Life, free will, decisions for good or ill — that was what defined mortal existence. Thoth hadn't written people to be how they were just to meddle with them. Leave that to the Sky-fathers. "Thoth! Good to see you, my boy." Looking up, Thoth saw the diner's owner, Njor. Despite the fact he was in fact Vanir, who tended to be less belligerent than their Aesir kin, he wanted the diner to be a neutral, warm place for all. Thoth respected that and, by extension, Njor. "Barkeep. Good to see you, too." "Are ye having the usual this morning?" "I think I'll skip the heavy stuff. Just some pancakes and syrup." The Vanir blinked. "Are ye on a diet?" "No, it's just hard to keep things down with everything going on." Another figure entered the diner. Both Thoth and Njor looked towards the door. For a moment, nobody moved. Then, the newcomer walked over to the table, all but ignoring Njor. "So." Her voice was quiet, not confrontational. "So," was Thoth's response. "Here we are." Another silent moment passed. Njor took a step back before returning silently to the bar. "I'd like to invite you to sit. Would that be okay?" She regarded him coolly, but her eyes were windows to a soul in torment and indecision. Finally, she nodded. He slid over; she sat next to him. A familiar tension settled like a blanket between them. "Where have you been?" Her question, again, wasn't accusatory or even all that emotional. She wanted information. Thoth resisted the urge to say something snarky about a goddess of the hunt being unable to find him. "Were you looking for me?" "Not all of the time. Just..." She looked down. Hestia arrived with a second black coffee, placing it in the younger goddess' eyeline and patting her on the shoulder. "How's Ma'at?" Another diplomatic question. Thoth finally looked at her; really looked at her. She was scared. As frightened as the deer she'd hunt in the days of old. "She's fine." He didn't match her relationship question with one of his own. "Have you been well?" She shrugged. "If things would just settle down around here, I'd be better." He nodded. "Same here. I've come out to try and make sense of everything." "Playing messenger again, Hermes?" "Okay, first of all, I'm done being an errand boy. Second, you know I'm not a fan of that name. Thirdly —" He stopped, taking a deep breath. "Sorry. I'm not used to being out here again." "I know. And I've never been good at this sort of thing." "Yeah." He paused. "I can talk a good game - because of course I can - but deep down..." "You don't owe me an explanation," she said. "Nobody here is mad at you." "Tell that to the sky-fathers." "Oh, fuck those old windbags," she snapped, bitterness finally unsheathing in her voice. "They think they are so entitled to run all of this, corral us like their pet project herd of little -" Thoth held up his hands. "Artemis, please. I didn't come out here for a fight." "I don't want to fight you," Artemis responded, still agitated but not completely losing her cool, at least not yet. "For fuck's sake, Thoth, did it ever occur to you that as bad as things got, some of us still gave a damn about you? That some of us still do?" "We're getting off-topic." Thoth bit his lip. Sometimes he wished he still had the ibis-head so his expressions were harder to read. "But... I appreciate it. I appreciate you. Always have. I just didn't know what to say. Still don't." He looked down at his mug. "Ironic, isn't it? Here I am, heavenly scribe, father of magic, the schmuck who wrote this entire mess into existence, and I had neither the words nor the spine to say anything when everything went to shit." Artemis said nothing. Very loudly. She stared at Thoth. Then, slowly, she turned back to her coffee, lifted it, took a drink, set it back down. "Yeah. We're off-topic." "Right." Thoth took a deep breath. They could hash out their personal shit later. "I'm not playing messenger. I'm playing journalist." Artemis' mouth twitched upward at the corner. Just a bit. It was so fast most would have missed it. But Thoth knew that face, and the person behind it, way too well to ignore that there was truth in what she said. She still cared. And she still found him interesting and great for a chat or a laugh. Right back at you, he thought. Even if neither of us is in a laughing mood. Artemis and Thoth drank their coffee in silence for a moment. "So where are you starting?" "Zeus," he replied. "Hmm. I thought you might go the other way." "Nah. It's time I faced some of this bullshit before it festers any longer." "Think he might go off-topic as well?" "Oh, he can bluster and blow about rumors and unsubstantiated accusations as much as he wants." It was Thoth's turn to get agitated. "I want facts. Facts are all that have really mattered. And he can't hide the facts behind what sounds good and fits his narrative and makes him look more bangable." Thoth scowled and turned away. He was aware of how closely Artemis was watching him. Hestia appeared, a fresh pot of coffee in her hand, pouring for the pair, smiling at them both before retreating again. Thoth took a deep breath. "Anyway. His latest hobby seems to be talking a lot of shit about Isis." "Oh, yeah." Artemis became a bit more animated, getting on to a safer subject. "He says that the older gods have always been the weaker gods, and that Sky-fathers should be in charge of a city in the sky. He also says he can do something about the climate change on Earth." Thoth shook his head. "We gave the world to mortalkind, it's up to them to fix it." "That's Isis' stance. But there's a lot of dirty laundry on that side. Marrying her brother. The whole thing with Set. Zeus has gone so far to say that these days, Isis and Set are in collusion to let the souls of more mortal prophets into the city the way they did —" Thoth held up his hand. "Yeah, yeah, that's something I need to talk to Isis about myself, especially if we're going to nail down proper names for those two. And you know how I feel about True Names getting uttered." Artemis stared, then slowly nodded. "Sorry. Forgot that was a sore spot." "No worries. It's been a long time." Thoth looked up as the pancakes arrived. He looked down at them, wondering if he had the appetite for them after all. "Anyway. I should talk to Odin, too. I can't believe he's stepping down." "He's had a great run. And he might be back after this next Odinsleep. It's been long enough since his last one, though, that it could put him out for several mortal decades, if not longer." "And then we'll have another election." Thoth shook his head. "Beats another war." "At least in a war, you know who's got your back." "Provided nobody shoves a dagger into it." Artemis blinked. "Oh. Oh, you don't —" "Not you. I don't mean you. You didn't... you never..." He looked down at his pancakes. "I'm sorry." There was a pause. Then, Artemis picked up the syrup and poured a bit on Thoth's stack. "It's okay. This is going to take some time." Thoth managed a smile. "With all of this renewed bickering over who should run things, I guess we can't afford to dwell overmuch on the mistakes of the past, or who did what to whom before." He watched as Artemis syruped her own pancakes. "I'm glad you came here today." "I'm glad I found you here." She picked up her fork. "Now, let's eat these pancakes." They did, in relative silence. Hestia came by one more time with coffee. After they ate, Artemis reached into a pocket. "Don't," Thoth said. "This one's on me." Artemis paused. "How...?" "I make his micro-brews. In exchange, I eat for free." "Damn. I'll have to try one." "Let me know what you think after?" "Sure." She stood, allowing Thoth to slide out. They headed for the door. Artemis kept pace. Thoth blinked. "I'm coming along," she said. Thoth said nothing, very loudly. She looked at him, smirking as they walked. "You're hunting. I'm joining you." The smirk blossomed. "After all, what prey is more elusive than the truth?" Thoth smiled back. "It's so good to see you again." "Likewise. Now, let's go question a sky-father."

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Written in response to the following prompt: "Every god ever worshiped by humanity exists. All of them live in a city in the sky and run everything that happens. However, many arguments arise over who gets to do what." I hope you enjoyed the story! Mondays are for making art.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Quick Update for Year Thirty-Eight

Quick Update for Year Thirty-Eight — Blue Ink Alchemy

Yesterday I began my thirty-eighth trip around this planet. I want to get it started right with some changes. I mean, a lot of changes have been happening in my life, and I could go into detail about them, but for various reasons, I'm keeping those details personal. Hell's bells, even writing that feels like some kind of ersatz sales pitch: "Explore the deepest recesses of guilt complexes and emotional disorders, Ask Me How!" Kind of like the prompts seen during Verhoeven's brilliant take on Starship Troopers: "Would you like to know more?" Anyway, one of the things I'm aiming to do is get this blog back on a regular weekday posting schedule. Writing is slowly getting easier, much like healing a broken limb or recovering from a nervous breakdown. As my future-facing ambition and search for a truly personally-fulfilling career slowly bear more fruit, I want to make sure I don't lose focus as I have in the past. Blogging is a part of that, believe it or don't. As long as I stay genuine, show up as the best Self I can muster, and make myself spend time away from screens to study and exercise neuroplasticity or mindfulness, or journal, or meditate, or just jog up and down some stairs, there's nothing frivolous or time-wasting about maintaining this blog. Or getting better at competitive video games. Or building a personal fantasy narrative in Skyrim. Or enjoying esoteric and/or engaging exercises in storytelling like Undertale or The Crown or The Magician's Land. Or watching Doctor Strange again. My thirty-eighth year's primary goal is to embrace and celebrate my ability to be a true polymath, an actual bard, an honest-to-goodness jack-of-quite-a-few-trades. I hope you'll come along. I, for one, can't wait to see who'll show up as this particular part of my story unfolds.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Doctor Strange Is My Hero

Doctor Strange Is My Hero — Blue Ink Alchemy

I'm going to take a break from pontificating on our current crisis and the implications of the resurrection of ultra-nationalism to talk about a comic book wizard. Because it's a form of self-care and it's something that tickles the cockles of my imagination. I used to do reviews on a fairly regular basis, and while there's definitely enough going on in Doctor Strange to warrant several paragraphs, I'd like to dwell more on why I feel like the character is one of the best transitions from page to screen Marvel has done yet. Let's keep it simple: Doctor Strange is the best Marvel origin movie to date. It has compelling and complex characters, downplays the humorous elements to rely more on well-woven world building and truly stunning visuals, and even gives us a villain with more depth than a soup spoon. Not lots of depth, but its there. It's well-cast, well-written, and Jack Kirby is smiling from the Great Beyond at the capture of his visions of the realms beyond our reality. The true strength of the piece, however, is Stephen Strange himself. Way back in 2010 I pontificated on Strange in the comics, given the decision to have him lose the title of Sorcerer Supreme due to an act of hubris that, while motivated by the best of intentions, cost him dearly. In the film, we can see both that hubris and that humility and self-sacrifice, which I'll get to. But what makes Strange stand out from the start is his baseline level of self-awareness. He knows how great he is, but he tempers that with taking opportunities to save lives as well as proving it. The opening scene's bullet extraction is a fantastic, pitch-perfect moment of character-building without too much exposition or too many bells and whistles. Okay, from here on, it's spoiler territory. Fairly be ye warned. When he loses the fine dexterity of his hands, Strange pushes himself to find a way to fix himself, improve himself. He isn't motivated by an outside force, nor is he willing to settle for a more mundane profession, like teaching or dictating his theories to another person. While he is ambitious, arrogant, and even antagonistic at times, to the degree he alienates friends & colleagues and burns up his life savings, he is still seeking a return to his former glory, a position where he can regain his cushy lifestyle and keep saving lives. That, by itself, makes for a good story. Then, when he arrives at Kamar-Taj, a very interesting thing happens. Once the Ancient One actually allows him to study, he throws himself into those studies. The haunted and hurt surgeon gives way to the astounding and curious student. A legitimate bookworm and very quick study, Stephen Strange gains a fundamental grasp on the essence of the Mystic Arts even as he struggles with the hand gestures that manifest even the most basic of spells. His focus on and struggles with his mangled hands do get in his way, but when he is studying, he gets out of his own way to a degree that is even more inspiring than his redemptive struggle itself. Then, after the obligatory Marvel cinematic fight and chase scenes (which are still Inception-levels of creative and compelling, no seriously, they are that good), we come to his confrontation with Dormammu, ruler of the timeless Dark Dimension and overall sadistic bastard. What does Doctor Strange do? He doesn't unleash any offensive spells, never throws a single punch. Instead, he uses his mind. Knowing that time is foreign to Dormammu, he locks himself and the godlike creature in a time loop, bewildering and frustrating his opponent rather than seeking to destroy or even cripple it. Haunted by the one murder he did commit (even if it was in self-defense), Strange pushes himself to redeem the act, refusing to do actual battle with Dormammu. He dies, over and over and over again, to fill Dormammu with such impotent rage that the entity has no recourse but to bargain with the sorcerer. His calm and somewhat whimsical admission that "pain is an old friend" perfectly encapsulates this strategy. And it works. At last, we have a Marvel movie that reaches its climax in a way that, while gruesome, ultimately resolves in a non-violent fashion. And after all of that, Strange is not Sorcerer Supreme. He has no predefined destiny, no obligatory position as an exemplar or pinnacle-occupying hero. Instead of promoting his own genius or prowess, he humbly becomes the mere guardian of one of the Sanctum Sanctorum locations that protect our world, and offers his assistance to those who share his goals, even if they present a possible threat. He shows intelligence, discretion, charisma, and an ongoing desire to continue improving, continue changing, continue to do and get and be better than the man he was at the start of his journey. This is why I hold him in higher regard than Captain America. I may get some backlash for this. But while Captain America basically was born as a paragon of the virtues United States citizens aspire to exemplify and wish their country would represent, Stephen Strange is truly a self-made and ever-improving vanguard of actions matching intention and morals defining actions. Relying on his wits and intellect rather than physical violence or even his powers, he shows us that what it takes to be a hero isn't what you are, but the choices you make, especially if you've made bad ones in the past. Steve Rogers has made mistakes, but not to the degree of Stephen Strange. Tony Stark has improved himself, but not to the degree of Stephen Strange. He is simply, in my opinion, head and shoulders above the rest. And not just because of the Cloak of Levitation. I'll be watching Doctor Strange quite a few more times. I suspect it will join other works in my yearly practice of revisiting narrative moments that inspire me on a foundational level. There are echoes of who I was, and goals for who I want to be, in the cinematic portrayal of Stephen Strange. This deeply personal connection, along with its production values, memorable portrayals, and mind-bending effects, is why Doctor Strange is, if not the best, one of the finest Marvel movies they have or will produced.

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Blue Ink Alchemy