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Art and science

Art and science

Biff, bang, pow – science takes a knock

05 Feb 2003

The Science of Superheroes
Lois Gresh and Robert Weinberg
2002 Wiley 200pp £14.99/$24.95hb

Exploring in print the blurry line between science fact and science fiction has become something of a cottage industry since the publication in 1996 of Lawrence Krauss’s book The Physics of Star Trek. Books by other scientists soon followed, exploring the astronomy, physics, biology and chemistry that are liberally ­ although not always credibly – spattered across the storylines of Star Trek, Star Wars and other works of modern science fiction. Indeed, I was penning my own entry in the field when The Physics of Star Trek was published.

The literature of science fiction is often seen as a bridge between the humanities and the sciences – the “two cultures” that the scholar C P Snow once argued were growing ever further apart. Its sometimes embarrassing cousin – serialized comics – is alleged to be another. This book by the science-fiction writers Lois Gresh and Robert Weinberg purports to examine that peculiar bridge and scrutinize its support beams and girders. The not very surprising revelation is that the science in comics generally does not stand up to such scrutiny.

Each chapter begins with an engagingly written review of the origins of a particular superhero character. As the comic-publishing industry began to blossom in the 1930s and 1940s, the stories featured increasingly revolved around a human being who – through some terrible accident, often involving a strange form of radiation – has developed super-human abilities.

But since so little of what one reads in comic books is based on real science, the authors are frequently forced to admit that the characters or phenomena under discussion are scientifically inexplicable – in other words, impossible to conceive in terms of our current understanding of nature. As the authors note on page 107: “Reading comic books requires some suspension of disbelief.” This is surely one of the great understatements of the new century. The tenuous connection between real science and the literature under examination makes this book something of an odd read. Indeed, The Non-Science of Superheroes might have been a more appropriate title. Judging by the actual title, one would think that a credible if somewhat far-fetched biophysical rationale for Superman’s X-ray vision, for example, would be found somewhere between the covers. Unfortunately, none appears.

What The Science of Superheroes does instead is describe the fantastical power of a superhero and then tell an anecdote or two about some related piece of science that the comic-book author clearly ignored or misunderstood. But even this narrow bridge between science and fiction is all too often strained beyond breaking point.

Some of the “science” questions in the book are posed in ways that are, well, comical. For example, in the chapter on Peter Parker the Amazing Spider-Man, the authors ask: “Could a man ever possess the powers of a spider, and what would they be?” Yikes. In the pages that follow, Gresh and Weinberg tacitly admit that the question is absurd. Indeed, only one or two of the extraordinary powers that are attributed to the arachnid wanna-be Parker are even remotely connected to the biology of real spiders.

The question of whether a man could ever possess spider-like characteristics is never addressed in any way- scientific or otherwise. The authors note that spiders can, for example, crawl up walls and across ceilings thanks to bundles of hair called “scopula”. The moisture at the tips of these microscopic fibres enables the spider to stick to smooth surfaces. But could a human being endowed with scopula in his hands and feet actually crawl across a ceiling? Could the surface tension of water molecules in the tips of millions of microscopic fibres provide sufficient adhesion to support the weight of a man? These and other questions that immediately sprang to my mind are never answered. The discussion of Spider-Man is simply used as an excuse to relate a few interesting anecdotes about spiders.

Although most of the book cheerfully debunks any claims to scientific credibility that comic writers might make, the point is that comic writers rarely make such claims. They are fully aware that they work in the field of fantasy, not science fiction. Comic-book superheroes are fantastical in the literal sense of the word. They are embodiments of the common childhood desire to feel powerful, not logical extensions of science.

Another popular comic that has recently been turned into a major motion picture is X-Men. Through genetic mutations, these characters have developed various telekinetic and psychic abilities, such as the power to change the weather or radiate beams of energy through their eyes. After reviewing these traits, on page 144 the authors write: “The X-Men are more than possible; they’re quite probable in our future.” But how could this statement possibly be justified? Is it probable that humans will mutate to such an extent that they can shoot deadly beams from their eyes or conjure storms telekinetically? Presumably the authors mean to convey that genetic engineering of humans will someday be science fact and that favourable mutations will eventually be induced artificially. But surely they should be much more careful in their proclamations than the comic-book authors they rightly rebuke? A book that claims to distinguish science fact from science fiction must, in my view, make these distinctions as clearly and carefully as possible.

I was, however, pleasantly surprised to find that the most accurate representation of science and technology in comic books is to be found in the Donald Duck and Uncle Scrooge adventures. Carl Banks, the author of these works, routinely and quite accurately described the workings of sonar, nuclear submarines and other marvels of modern technology. His clever ducks also had quite a facility for scientific reasoning. In one story, they concocted a method for raising a sunken ship from the bottom of the sea by filling its hull with ping-pong balls, thereby displacing the water and providing enough buoyancy to float the wreck. A similar method was used 15 years later by a Danish scientist to raise a boat from the bottom of the Persian Gulf. He was reportedly inspired by the Donald Duck comic, which he had read as a boy.

The foregoing reservations aside, a book like The Science of Superheroes could be a useful tool for encouraging comic fans to delve into science. But I can’t say I would recommend it to a physicist interested in speculating on the scientific basis of X-ray vision.

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