For the past month or so, most of my reading time has been devoted to exploring the world of Hellboy. (And yes, my friends are worried.) I’m fascinated by much of what Mike Mignola has crafted with this badass demonic hero: he’s funny, powerful, and consistently overcomes his doomsday destiny. That last part especially gets me. Hellboy is destined for absolute terror, and yet he is not bound by this “destiny.” It’s the kind of story only possible in a Christian world (just imagine the outrage it would give Sophocles and other ancient tragedians!), and I love watching it play out.
I’ll write more about what’s struck me in the comic books later; for now, I wanted to offer a few comments on the offshoot novels that I’ve managed to read so far.
First, I don’t think the three novels I’ve picked up (two by Christopher Golden—The Lost Army and Bones of Giants—and then The God Machine by Thomas E. Sniegoski) add anything of value to the Hellboy story. As Mignola notes in the introduction to The Lost Army, Golden has given Hellboy something of sex/relationship life; that is in my opinion their biggest contribution. Instead of sticking to the recurring themes and characters of the comic books, the novels depict a world full of demonic and otherworldly bad guys eager to tap into Hellboy’s power; they are wholly unrelated to the grand story that connects Mignola’s stories. The result is that the Hellboy myth is battered, scattered, and thinned out. It robs both the reader and the character of purpose, replacing it with cheap, worn-out formulas.
The comic books are wonderful because they don’t try to tell us every moment of Hellboy’s lives. What they offer is a simple ongoing storyline communicated in a series of stories that develop Hellboy’s character by focusing on his destiny and his wrestling with that. Each short story teaches Hellboy something new about himself (or, if he won’t listen, at least the reader). The novels, on the other hand, are little more than displays of just how good Hellboy is at destroying spiritual powers. But we already knew that, so why bother?
Second (and I’ll keep this very brief), the novels are poorly written. Especially Golden’s first two. Way too much information about what people are feeling or thinking, which really defeats the purpose of action and dialogue. If somebody is speaking angrily, you shouldn’t have to tell it to me like that: the words coming out of his mouth can communicate that emotion. Same goes for actions.
Third, the novels make a weakness of the stories in general very explicit: God is far too silent. Take this passage from The God Machine:
Accursed humanity.
The more he saw, the more his anger grew. Here was a species that did not deserve the wonders their Lord had bestowed upon them. Murder, poverty and war, the befouling of the planet itself; these were not the faithful creatures that the Almighty believed them to be. They were a blight, a pestilence, defying His wishes at every turn.
The Creator was blind to this, smitten by humanity’s supposed charms. With every passing millennium the angel watched, anticipating the call. He expected to hear the voice of his God, ordering the Destroyers forth from their murky prison and unleashing them upon His failure. How Qemu’el longed to see their cities crumble, the tortured faces of the human race turned up to the heavens in desperate prayer as the skies were turned to fire, and they were expunged from the world—a horrible mistake erased, never to be heard from again. (page 163)
If you’re going to write something like this—that is, describe a character’s violent anger toward God, his complaint about the Creator—then it becomes something that must be resolved by the end of the book. And yet, when Hellboy shows up to kick butt and keep humanity alive, resolution to this is nowhere to be found.
I’m not suggesting that every novel needs to be an explicitly “Christian” novel. However, if a character’s prime motivation is anger against God’s “blindness,” and that character is obviously evil and wrong, then the resolution (in this case, the declaration that God is not blind) needs to be just as obvious. God, of course, uses physical means to deal with evil men and evil powers. But then, it’s the writer’s job to acknowledge Who is actually in charge. Instead, Sniegoski offers a world where God is silent, inactive, the picture of a blind watchmaker observing how things are working out. Oh, and thank goodness for Hellboy, since we can’t thank God for him: where would we be without his self-sufficient, self-saving power?