One of the big “secrets” of literature and films is that they feature dramatic representations of what ordinary people experience every day. They thus seem relatable: on some level, we identify with the conflicts on display. For example, giant, Earth-adopted robots fighting invaders from another galaxy–well, that’s not so very different from defending one’s property against flood, decay, vandalism, and theft. The difference is one of degree, not kind.
Typically in western culture, these conflicts are represented in a male mode: quest for a missing father figure, or sacred object, or a rite of initiation, or a war in a foreign land that eventually comes home. In composing the alternate chapters of this novel, I asked myself: what sorts of conflicts do women endure, as opposed to men, that might yet be analogous? This naturally gave rise to the added complication of child-rearing. What if, in addition to protecting the City from the scourge of thieves, murderers, madmen, and thugs, all while maintaining a playboy alter ego, Batman instead had to nurse a baby–tending to its every need, come what may, whether battling super-villains or the measles?