Gaines decided he needed another expert. He turned to Lauretta Bender, an associate professor of psychiatry at New York University’s medical school and a senior psychiatrist at Bellevue Hospital, where she was director of the children’s ward, an expert on aggression. She’d long been interested in comics but her interest had grown in 1940, after her husband, Paul Schilder, was killed by a car while walking home from visiting Bender and their 8-day-old daughter in the hospital. Bender, left with three children under the age of 3, soon became painfully interested in studying how children cope with trauma. In 1940, she conducted a study with Reginald Lourie, a medical resident under her supervision, investigating the effect of comics on four children brought to Bellevue Hospital for behavioral problems. Tessie, 12, had witnessed her father, a convicted murderer, kill himself. She insisted on calling herself Shiera, after a comic-book girl who is always rescued at the last minute by the Flash. Kenneth, 11, had been raped. He was frantic unless medicated or “wearing a Superman cape.” He felt safe in it—he could fly away if he wanted to—and “he felt that the cape protected him from an assault.” Bender and Lourie concluded the comic books were “the folklore of this age,” and worked, culturally, the same way fables and fairy tales did.
During a training session observed by Hippolyta, Diana sparred against her fellow warriors, demonstrating her weapons expertise and defeating each of them swiftly. Her final opponent was Antiope herself. The two fought with all their might. Diana managed to disarm Antiope and looked toward her mother for approval. Antiope seized the opportunity to push Diana to the ground and pick up her sword, admonishing her for letting her her guard down. As Antiope slashed at her and forced her backwards, Diana instinctively brought her arms together to block the attack. She clashed her arm gauntlets together, resulting in her unleashing a powerful shock-wave that sent Antiope flying back and left all spectating Amazons there, including Diana herself, in complete shock.
Robinson's run has not been inspiring and, while I'd argue that this is better than his earlier two volumes - in that there's at least an attempt at some characterisation amidst the fighting - it's still not really enough. The main problem is the rather uninteresting villains, generic manifestations of war, chaos, and so on, whose powers don't even seem terribly consistent. Plus, Jason gets a bunch of new powers, that essentially allow him to do whatever the plot requires so long as he can think ...more
While not completely invulnerable, she is highly resistant to great amounts of concussive force and extreme temperatures and matches Superman in this regard. She is completely immune to his heat vision, virtually any damage, or even the core of the sun. However, edged weapons or projectiles applied with sufficient force are able to pierce her skin. Due to her divine origins, Diana can resist many forms of magical manipulation.
(For the record, Marston and Olive Byrne’s son, Byrne Marston, who is an 83-year-old retired obstetrician, thinks that when Marston talked about the importance of submission, he meant it only metaphorically. “I never saw anything like that in our house,” he told me. “He didn’t tie the ladies up to the bedpost. He’d never have gotten away with it.”)
During 1942 to 1947, images of bound and gagged women frequently graced the covers of both Sensation Comics and Wonder Woman. An early example includes a scene in Wonder Woman #3 (Feb.-March 1943), Wonder Woman herself ties up several women, dresses them in deer costumes and chases them through the forest. Later she rebinds them and displays them on a platter.
Although seemingly only a purely decorative aspect of her costume, in the golden and silver ages, her earrings were sometimes depicted as giving her the ability to breathe in outer space. Gelignite Grenade Earrings and Grappling Hook Bracelet - In her depowered mod girl phase, Diana on rare occasion employed these devices, which were concealed to look like regular parts of her costume. She acquired them from a demolitions expert and villain which she had helped reform. The grenades were strong enough to blast through a thick steel door and the grappling hook could support easily her body weight to aid in climbing.
In one episode, a newspaper editor named Brown, desperate to discover Wonder Woman’s past, assigns a team of reporters to chase her down; she easily escapes them. Brown, gone half mad, is committed to a hospital. Wonder Woman disguises herself as a nurse and brings him a scroll. “This parchment seems to be the history of that girl you call ‘Wonder Woman’!” she tells him. “A strange, veiled woman left it with me.” Brown leaps out of bed and races back to the city desk, where he cries out, parchment in hand, “Stop the presses! I’ve got the history of Wonder Woman!” But Wonder Woman’s secret history isn’t written on parchment. Instead, it lies buried in boxes and cabinets and drawers, in thousands of documents, housed in libraries, archives and collections spread all over the United States, including the private papers of creator Marston—papers that, before I saw them, had never before been seen by anyone outside of Marston’s family.