From Vulture
by Abraham Riesman
Superhero comics are built on amazing feats: flying, climbing walls, transforming into a giant green monster while somehow keeping your purple shorts on. But G. Willow Wilson has done something even Superman never bothered to do: create a female Muslim superhero and turn her into an overnight marketing sensation.
Wilson writes Ms. Marvel, a monthly Marvel Comics series that debuted in February. It stars Kamala Khan, a 16-year-old child of Pakistani immigrants living in Jersey City (well, the Marvel universe’s version of Jersey City, where Iron Man, Captain America, and the like battle bad guys just across the Hudson). Kamala is a hero in the Peter Parker tradition: dweeby, self-doubting, unpopular. Like so many of today’s teen geeks, she spends her nights resenting her parents and writing fan fiction for online forums. A bizarre incident leaves Kamala with shapeshifting powers, and even though we’re only on issue No. 2 (both issues are on sale now), the character has caused a remarkable uproar of support: Kamala already has a devoted online following, has coverage in major media outlets, and is selling in droves.
And yet, lost in all that clamor is the remarkable story of Wilson, the writer behind Kamala. Born in New Jersey herself, Wilson was a white kid with no religious upbringing, but converted to Islam during the height of the War on Terror. She’s lived in Egypt, done foreign correspondence for the New York Times, penned a memoir, written an acclaimed novel, and labored in relative obscurity within the mainstream comics industry for years. But now that she has a bona fide hit on her hands, we reached out to her to talk about her unusual life, the struggle to make comics more inclusive, and why Islam and geekdom make a perfect pairing.
What’s surprised you most about the media and reader response to Ms. Marvel?
Well, I have never, ever before written any comic book where there was fan art before the book was even released. That has never happened to me. That really — that really floored me. As soon as we started releasing character designs, there was stuff on Twitter, Tumblr, T-shirts … it was amazing. Despite all the criticisms that have been leveled at the comics community, both in terms of fans and creators, I have always felt more comfortable and accepted in the comics community than I have in any other medium of publishing that I’ve had the pleasure of working in. And it’s because it’s a fringe medium! We’re used to, on some level, grappling with ideas that the mainstream doesn’t wanna grapple with. I mean, you look back at Sandman [which began publication in 1989], for example: There were positive portrayals of gay relationships in Sandman years before they occurred in mainstream television. In comics, we’re all weird together. I can go to a comics convention and not stand out, even though I’m the only woman in a headscarf there, because the guy next to me has a beard and a Sailor Moon costume.
What’s unique about writing a female Muslim superhero in 2014, as opposed to 10 or 20 years ago?
Well, I think if we had written Ms. Marvel ten years ago, Kamala’s religion would probably have to be an even bigger part of the conversation than it is today, because closer to 9/11, there was a lot more scrutiny placed on the actions of everyday American Muslims. But today, now that there’s a bit of distance — particularly for the younger generation, for whom 9/11 happened when they were small children — there’s a greater desire to see more well-rounded stories. Being a Muslim is really only one part of her overall arc, her overall journey.
