49 pages • 1 hour read
Mike LupicaA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
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Zach’s predicament is often used in thrillers: An ordinary but capable person gets thrust into a dangerous situation that’s over their head and must learn fast or die. For example, a character witnesses a crime and must foil the criminals before they kill her; a person is falsely accused and must prove his innocence before he’s arrested or killed; someone discovers an enormous conspiracy, but no one believes them, and the perpetrators want to silence them. In Zach’s case, he learns of a conspiracy and develops superpowers, both of which put him in mortal danger.
Most people in these situations would likely fail and die; thrillers are littered with the bodies of innocents who can’t handle the sudden, lethal demands that they face. It becomes the protagonist’s task to meet the same challenges and live to tell about them. Part of the appeal of such thrillers is how the protagonist finds a way through the maze of threats. Readers get to wonder whether they would be up to the same challenge.
In his book Anatomy of Criticism, Northrop Frye describes fiction as having five basic types: “Mythic”—mythic battles involving gods (Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, for example); “Romantic”—sagas about heroes with superpowers (the epic poem Beowulf; the King Arthur tales); “High Mimetic”—adventures of people who possess superior character or ability (Sherlock Holmes, Jack Reacher); “Low Mimetic”—tales about ordinary people (Our Town, Lake Wobegon Days); and “Ironic”—stories, often humorous, about incompetent people (The Secret Life of Walter Mitty). (Frye, Northrop. Anatomy of Criticism. Princeton University Press, 2nd ed., 2020.)
Using Frye’s system, Hero falls somewhere between Romantic and High Mimetic. Zach possesses superpowers but must find his way out of a situation that would prove lethal to most ordinary people. Zach’s father relies entirely on his superpowers and gets killed; Zach must go a step further by using wisely the same abilities as ordinary people—intelligence, feelings, persistence—to survive. He manages to do so admirably.
The recent growth of sci-fi superhero stories in comics, books, and films shows that Romantic sagas persist as popular forms of fictional entertainment. Hero falls within that trend.
Typically, in superhero stories, protagonists first discover that they have powers; then they learn how to use them; finally, they apply them to do good in the world. The same pattern happens in Hero, which is not only a thriller but also a superhero-origin story.
Beowulf drinks a potion that gives him super strength; he must learn how to use it responsibly before taking on the giant Grendel. Kara Zor-El lands on Earth, where she discovers that the planet’s sun gives her enhanced powers, and she becomes Supergirl. Barry Allen suffers an accident in a chemistry lab that gives him super speed; he struggles to master his new ability and becomes The Flash.
Likewise, when Zach Harriman’s father dies, the man’s powers transfer to Zach, and Hero is the story of how the teen comes to terms with his new situation. Zach is as stunned as anyone might be to discover the sudden, disorienting changes, “like this was the movies, or TV, like he was in that show Heroes he used to watch. Or had climbed into an old Fantastic Four comic book” (121).
Origin stories have an evergreen appeal: Readers can ask themselves how they’d respond to the challenge of a sudden enhancement in their abilities. A well-told origin story effectively offers advice to its readers on dealing with new and daunting challenges. Hero is a middle-grade version of that story type; it addresses early teens, offering them guidance and inspiration as they confront the acceleration in the growth of their own minds and bodies. Thus, the origin of Zach’s powers symbolizes the appearance of new powers that occur in every person’s life during their middle-school years.
Typically, in superhero stories, protagonists first discover that they have powers; then they learn how to use them; finally, they apply them to do good in the world. The same pattern happens in Hero, which is not only a thriller but also a superhero-origin story.
Beowulf drinks a potion that gives him super strength; he must learn how to use it responsibly before taking on the giant Grendel. Kara Zor-El lands on Earth, where she discovers that the planet’s sun gives her enhanced powers, and she becomes Supergirl. Barry Allen suffers an accident in a chemistry lab that gives him super speed; he struggles to master his new ability and becomes The Flash.
Likewise, when Zach Harriman’s father dies, the man’s powers transfer to Zach, and Hero is the story of how the teen comes to terms with his new situation. Zach is as stunned as anyone might be to discover the sudden, disorienting changes, “like this was the movies, or TV, like he was in that show Heroes he used to watch. Or had climbed into an old Fantastic Four comic book” (121).
Origin stories have an evergreen appeal: Readers can ask themselves how they’d respond to the challenge of a sudden enhancement in their abilities. A well-told origin story effectively offers advice to its readers on dealing with new and daunting challenges. Hero is a middle-grade version of that story type; it addresses early teens, offering them guidance and inspiration as they confront the acceleration in the growth of their own minds and bodies. Thus, the origin of Zach’s powers symbolizes the appearance of new powers that occur in every person’s life during their middle-school years.
Origin stories suggest an ongoing series of adventures to come. Hero hasn’t been followed by any sequels, but the lesson he learns can apply to anyone, for use in their own personal “sequels” as their life moves forward.
By Mike Lupica