When I was four years old my father would read comics to me while I looked at the pictures. One day he noticed I was reading along with him. That’s how I learned to read. I knew the word “invulnerable” long before most of my friends.
I sent my first letter to a comic book letter column (probably Letters To The Batcave) when I was five. My dad helped. In those days you sent a question on a postcard, and, even if they didn’t print it, you got an answer back on an official DC postcard! My question was, “How do they use the Bat-signal during the day?” The answer came back: “They bounce it off of clouds.” I’m still not sure what that means.
I grew up on DC, but about the time I was 12 I mainly switched to Marvel. There were a number of reasons, but one sticks out in my memory. Someone had a letter published (possibly in Metropolis Mailbag) asking “How come the Atlanteans in Superman have fishtails, but the Atlanteans in Aquaman have legs?” Their answer (paraphrased): “It’s just a comic book. We keep some things the same, like Ma & Pa Kent’s names, but we don’t think we have to pay attention to details what the Atlanteans are like in different comics.” And this seemed… wrong to me. Worse than wrong - boring. It seemed to shut down the imagination I brought to my reading. I mean, Superman and Aquaman were friends - what if they went to Atlantis together? See, I had just read (and fallen deeply in love with) The Lord of the Rings, and, even if I didn’t know the word, world-building had become an interesting and important idea to me. (Of course, if you asked them 20 years later, they would explain that there was more than one city with the same name, Atlantis, and then write stories about the relationships between the cities. But at the time their official, stated policy was: we don’t care, and you shouldn’t either.)
Marvel seemed to be building a more interesting, more consistent world. (I realize now that a lot of that had to do with the fact that they were newer, with less accumulated baggage; smaller; and one man, Stan Lee, was writing most of the comics. But they did have some writers for whom world-building was a genuine interest.) Each month I bought every comic set in the Marvel Universe. But it wasn’t really sustained. I could write a lengthy essay on how Marvel Comics built and maintained a fascinating “shared universe” - and then, over time, neglected it and let it get sloppy and confusing. In fact, I did. And then pretty much drifted away from comics.
But during all this time I always kept an eye on what was happening over at DC, reading fanzines, glancing at comics in the store. Those characters - they were my people! (Fans get proprietary; territorial; tribal.) And I never went very long without buying a copy of The Legion of Super-Heroes. Really, how could I?
I came back in 1986 for Crisis on Infinite Earths. Loved it. The story was fascinating, unlike anything I had seen; the art was great. And now DC could start fresh, without all the accumulated baggage (inconsistencies, multiple conflicting versions, antiquated concepts) of the past. Thanks in part to Marvel, a lot of people (readers and writers) were interested in a shared universe that actually had some coherence. DC could design one and move forward from there, with fresh versions of the characters I was still interested in.
DC’s follow-through didn’t exactly have me jumping for joy. They couldn’t decide what they wanted - fresh start, or their entire publishing history mashed up together. Editorial planning and communication seemed weak. Very quickly characters and stories started tripping over each other; new baggage piled up fast. (I’m mixing my metaphors.) And, having had a great success with CoIE, they seemed to think they needed to have something just like it each year - if not a history-changing retcon, then at least a massive, all-heroes-on-deck, let’s-change-direction, everything-you-know-is-wrong maxi-series with infinite crossovers. Most of these seemed uninspired, obligatory, and not very good. CoIE worked in part because it was so novel. Its replicas weren’t. And they made it harder, instead of easier, to create a coherent shared universe, because of the constant churn, like ripping up your rose bushes before they can bloom.
But I was very curious to see what would happen next. And there were some writers who I thought were doing a good job. So I continued reading DC, buying a sizable number of their comics every week. I got invested, to some extent against my better judgement. This is a personal paradox I deal with - even when I’m not really enjoying a continuing story, part of me still keeps asking, “And then…?”
After that, the long, confusing, and numbing trek through Identity Crisis, Infinite Crisis, and Final Crisis. I read them all, and articles about them, and I still won’t pretend I can tell you what went on. The stories seemed at odds with each other and themselves every step of the way. (I saw more climactic moments and final fates for Jimmy Olsen and for the New Gods than I cared to keep track of.) I had a multitude of criticisms, believe me, and I was mainly around to see what would rise out of the wreckage. But Blackest Night and Brightest Day both had their charms, and made good use of some characters I enjoyed. Oh, forgive me, but I found myself intrigued by Jackson “Kaldur’ahm” Hyde, the new Aqualad. My paradox kicked in: “And then…?”
And then Flashpoint and the New 52. DC kicked over the table again. And if I was interested in the new Aqualad, or any of the other mysteries, developments, and ongoing plots of the DC Universe I’d been following, well, that was just my mistake, wasn’t it? I thought this broke the implicit agreement between readers and writers of ongoing sagas: you get interested in the situations we set you, you keep coming back (and buying) every week (even through the weeks and months that aren’t very good), and we’ll show you “what’s next.” But of course, DC is a corporation, and the writers are employees, and the promise is just a marketing tool, somewhat lacking in sincerity.
That makes it a little hard to get invested in the New 52, doesn’t it? I mean, fool me once, shame on you, but fool me twice - we won’t get fooled again. But, interesting writers, interesting artists - I decided to give the New 52 my best shot. I will admit, it’s pushed a lot of my buttons, particularly the big red ones that say DO NOT PUSH THIS BIG RED BUTTON. I will admit, I’m not buying as much of it as I started out with. But these are the characters I grew up with; this is what DC has decided to do with them; and, as you might expect, I have opinions. So I thought I’d write some pieces about them.
Read ‘em and weep!
I sent my first letter to a comic book letter column (probably Letters To The Batcave) when I was five. My dad helped. In those days you sent a question on a postcard, and, even if they didn’t print it, you got an answer back on an official DC postcard! My question was, “How do they use the Bat-signal during the day?” The answer came back: “They bounce it off of clouds.” I’m still not sure what that means.
I grew up on DC, but about the time I was 12 I mainly switched to Marvel. There were a number of reasons, but one sticks out in my memory. Someone had a letter published (possibly in Metropolis Mailbag) asking “How come the Atlanteans in Superman have fishtails, but the Atlanteans in Aquaman have legs?” Their answer (paraphrased): “It’s just a comic book. We keep some things the same, like Ma & Pa Kent’s names, but we don’t think we have to pay attention to details what the Atlanteans are like in different comics.” And this seemed… wrong to me. Worse than wrong - boring. It seemed to shut down the imagination I brought to my reading. I mean, Superman and Aquaman were friends - what if they went to Atlantis together? See, I had just read (and fallen deeply in love with) The Lord of the Rings, and, even if I didn’t know the word, world-building had become an interesting and important idea to me. (Of course, if you asked them 20 years later, they would explain that there was more than one city with the same name, Atlantis, and then write stories about the relationships between the cities. But at the time their official, stated policy was: we don’t care, and you shouldn’t either.)
Marvel seemed to be building a more interesting, more consistent world. (I realize now that a lot of that had to do with the fact that they were newer, with less accumulated baggage; smaller; and one man, Stan Lee, was writing most of the comics. But they did have some writers for whom world-building was a genuine interest.) Each month I bought every comic set in the Marvel Universe. But it wasn’t really sustained. I could write a lengthy essay on how Marvel Comics built and maintained a fascinating “shared universe” - and then, over time, neglected it and let it get sloppy and confusing. In fact, I did. And then pretty much drifted away from comics.
But during all this time I always kept an eye on what was happening over at DC, reading fanzines, glancing at comics in the store. Those characters - they were my people! (Fans get proprietary; territorial; tribal.) And I never went very long without buying a copy of The Legion of Super-Heroes. Really, how could I?
I came back in 1986 for Crisis on Infinite Earths. Loved it. The story was fascinating, unlike anything I had seen; the art was great. And now DC could start fresh, without all the accumulated baggage (inconsistencies, multiple conflicting versions, antiquated concepts) of the past. Thanks in part to Marvel, a lot of people (readers and writers) were interested in a shared universe that actually had some coherence. DC could design one and move forward from there, with fresh versions of the characters I was still interested in.
DC’s follow-through didn’t exactly have me jumping for joy. They couldn’t decide what they wanted - fresh start, or their entire publishing history mashed up together. Editorial planning and communication seemed weak. Very quickly characters and stories started tripping over each other; new baggage piled up fast. (I’m mixing my metaphors.) And, having had a great success with CoIE, they seemed to think they needed to have something just like it each year - if not a history-changing retcon, then at least a massive, all-heroes-on-deck, let’s-change-direction, everything-you-know-is-wrong maxi-series with infinite crossovers. Most of these seemed uninspired, obligatory, and not very good. CoIE worked in part because it was so novel. Its replicas weren’t. And they made it harder, instead of easier, to create a coherent shared universe, because of the constant churn, like ripping up your rose bushes before they can bloom.
But I was very curious to see what would happen next. And there were some writers who I thought were doing a good job. So I continued reading DC, buying a sizable number of their comics every week. I got invested, to some extent against my better judgement. This is a personal paradox I deal with - even when I’m not really enjoying a continuing story, part of me still keeps asking, “And then…?”
After that, the long, confusing, and numbing trek through Identity Crisis, Infinite Crisis, and Final Crisis. I read them all, and articles about them, and I still won’t pretend I can tell you what went on. The stories seemed at odds with each other and themselves every step of the way. (I saw more climactic moments and final fates for Jimmy Olsen and for the New Gods than I cared to keep track of.) I had a multitude of criticisms, believe me, and I was mainly around to see what would rise out of the wreckage. But Blackest Night and Brightest Day both had their charms, and made good use of some characters I enjoyed. Oh, forgive me, but I found myself intrigued by Jackson “Kaldur’ahm” Hyde, the new Aqualad. My paradox kicked in: “And then…?”
And then Flashpoint and the New 52. DC kicked over the table again. And if I was interested in the new Aqualad, or any of the other mysteries, developments, and ongoing plots of the DC Universe I’d been following, well, that was just my mistake, wasn’t it? I thought this broke the implicit agreement between readers and writers of ongoing sagas: you get interested in the situations we set you, you keep coming back (and buying) every week (even through the weeks and months that aren’t very good), and we’ll show you “what’s next.” But of course, DC is a corporation, and the writers are employees, and the promise is just a marketing tool, somewhat lacking in sincerity.
That makes it a little hard to get invested in the New 52, doesn’t it? I mean, fool me once, shame on you, but fool me twice - we won’t get fooled again. But, interesting writers, interesting artists - I decided to give the New 52 my best shot. I will admit, it’s pushed a lot of my buttons, particularly the big red ones that say DO NOT PUSH THIS BIG RED BUTTON. I will admit, I’m not buying as much of it as I started out with. But these are the characters I grew up with; this is what DC has decided to do with them; and, as you might expect, I have opinions. So I thought I’d write some pieces about them.
Read ‘em and weep!
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