No Quarter

You'd be hard pressed to name anyone who worked on Thor between Jack Kirby and Walt Simonson, I bet.

Thor #340 shares a cover date of February 1984 with Saga of the Swamp Thing #21.

It's difficult to thoroughly discuss the first four issues of Grant Morrison's Animal Man run without going back to the first four issues of Alan Moore's Saga of the Swamp Thing run.

"Worldengine" is an aberration rather than a beginning.

"FAR BEYOND THE FIELDS WE KNOW, THE CORE OF AN ANCIENT GALAXY EXPLODES! AND A MOLTEN INGOT OF STAR-STUFF IS LEFT BEHIND BUT NOT LEFT ALONE. MARK WELL THIS FIGURE AND LISTEN. LISTEN. CAN YOU HEAR IT? THE WIND IS RISING. THE SOUND OF THUNDER REVERBERATES THROUGHOUT A BILLION BILLION WORLDS. DOOM!"

"IT'S RAINING IN WASHINGTON TONIGHT. PLUMP, WARM SUMMER RAIN THAT COVERS THE SIDEWALKS WITH LEOPARD SPOTS. DOWNTOWN, ELDERLY LADIES CARRY THEIR HOUSEPLANTS OUT TO SET THEM ON THE FIRE-ESCAPES, AS IF THEY WERE INFIRM RELATIVES OR BOY KINGS. I LIKE THAT."

"TEN MILES OUTSIDE THE CITY, THE SCREAMING BEGINS IN EARNEST... QUIET AT FIRST, LIKE A COMMOTION HEARD IN ANOTHER ROOM, IT GROWS STEADILY LOUDER WITH EACH STEP..."

"Manhattan. I've always loved it best at night. Lit up like a million riverside campfires. Where I am, it's so dark it breaks my heart. A skyscraper, abandoned by its builders. I know how it feels. The heights of Manhattan are no place to die."

You'd be hard pressed to name anyone who worked on Thor between Jack Kirby and Walt Simonson, I bet. I can name some, like Stan Lee continuing to write the title after Kirby left, or Roy Thomas or Len Wein or one of the Buscemas... But, the chasm between Kirby and Simonson is both vast and nonexistent. The former because it was 158 issues and nearly 13 years between Kirby's last Thor issue and Simonson's first; the latter, because I imagine a lot of people go from issue 179 to issue 337 with few or no stops for the comics that make up that chasm. With Thor runs, there are twin giants: Kirby and Simonson. The creator and the improver (the reviser? the revitaliser?) with everyone working in their shadows since. For Kirby, that's nothing new exactly; as the (co-)creator of so many superhero comics, everyone involved since is working in his shadow (or one of his contemporaries') to one degree or another. To establish his own shadow, Simonson looked to Kirby, but not to his Thor, as he wrote in his introduction to The Ballad of Beta Ray Bill collection: "My model for such a beginning came from the work that Jack Kirby had done for DC Comics some thirteen years earlier. When Jack began his Fourth World tetralogy for DC, he took the comic, JIMMY OLSEN, and revamped it completely. His first issue of Superman's pal was as different from the preceding issues as chalk is from cheese! The issue was riveting. It exploded with new ideas, new characters, new situations. I didn't have as many ideas as Jack; no one does. But I definitely wanted to begin my run on Thor with as dramatic break from the preceding issues as I possibly could." And then, he went on to become the second giant of Thor and cast his own shadow. Now, there's two shadows to escape.

Thor #340 shares a cover date of February 1984 with Saga of the Swamp Thing #21. That's a coincidence that I rather like for my own purposes. Speaking of shadows, Alan Moore casts the only shadow worthwhile when it comes to Swamp Thing, eclipsing those that came before him, including the creators of the character. Their work, highly regarded by many, true, is mostly put into a box called 'pre-Moore' and left for those that are curious to see what came before or are big fans of Bernie Wrightson. But, let's not kid ourselves. I'm sure there are some hardcore Neal Adams fans that obsess over him following directly on Thor after Kirby left, but those issues are mostly left for the hardcore. Same with pre-Moore Swamp Thing. But, when all things are considered, Swamp Thing is a minor character, mostly still regarded in any way because of Moore's work on the character. It's still a DC character, so it would always continue to recur, but not nearly as much as it has were it not for the run began with Saga of the Swamp Thing #21 (yes, yes, yes, Moore wrote the previous issue, too, but I'm trusting you to have more sense than that). But, the shadow that Moore casts isn't really over Swamp Thing (though he does cast a shadow there, of course). Moore casts a shadow over British comic writer (you could argue over comic writing, but...). He was the one that made the '80s 'British Invasion' happen. Without him, there's no Neil Gaiman, Grant Morrison, Peter Milligan, Jamie Delano, Warren Ellis, Garth Ennis... (all huge talents who probably would have made it in one way or another, definitely in the UK, but hard to say in the US exactly). So, there's his shadow, lingering over all of the British/UK writers to follow. Many have escaped (the names I listed being the main ones), but it still lingers to a degree (though, fading every year).

It's difficult to thoroughly discuss the first four issues of Grant Morrison's Animal Man run without going back to the first four issues of Alan Moore's Saga of the Swamp Thing run. Or, as Morrison put it in the introduction to the first Animal Man collection: "In 1987, at the height of the critical acclaim for Alan Moore's work on SWAMP THING and WATCHMEN, DC Comics dispatched a band of troubleshooters on what is quaintly termed a 'headhunting mission' to the United Kingdom. The brief was to turn up the stones and see if there weren't any more cranky Brit authors who might be able to work wonder with some of the dusty old characters languishing in DC's back catalogue." The tension, both real world and creative, between Moore and Morrison is so notable and longstanding that Elizabeth Sandifer is still in the midst of a massive multi-book series called The Last War in Albion tracing the whole thing through (and beyond) both men's careers and bodies of work. So, if Morrison is willing to introduce their major US superhero comic breakthrough book by acknowledging that it was Moore's success that made it possible, then you know that it's true. But, beyond that fact, you can't read the first four issues of Animal Man without referencing Saga of the Swamp Thing #21-24, because Morrison's work is in response to and in debt to those four issues. Out of the green and into the red.

"Worldengine" is an aberration rather than a beginning. It could have been the beginning of the third giant Thor run. It was not. It could have been the beginning of Warren Ellis's Saga of the Swamp Thing. It was not. Per Ellis, from The Captured Ghosts Interviews: "When I was offered Thor, that was probably a mistake. I think I wrote it 'cause I was so shocked at having been offered it. I wasn't very pleased with it. I wasn't au fait enough with the particular genre. Mike Deodato, I thought, did a very strong job as the artist, but I wasn't happy with the way I wrote it. It was one of those things I took not because I was trying to make a mark at Marvel, but because I thought -- I mean, it was still early days for me. I thought, 'Shit, if I don't take this, they might not offer me anything else! And they've offered me this! I should take this!' No, it was a mistake. Errors of youth." "Worldengine" came about because Ellis was too afraid to say no and he stuck around just for four issues, but those four issues follow the path already walked by Simonson, breaking from what came before as dramatically as possible; it was a defiant change in tone and style akin to Moore. But, the break was so dramatic, so specific, so startling, that it would difficult for anyone else to follow through on. It was so different that it was basically scorching the earth. It wasn't the beginning of a run. It was a hit and run. Simonson stayed; Moore stayed; Morrison stayed; Ellis left.

Walt Simonson began his run by introducing a strange alien worthy enough to carry Mjolnir.

Alan Moore began his run by revealing Swamp Thing was never human, was never Alec Holland.

Grant Morrison began their run by making the human race the antagonist for its treatment of animals.

Warren Ellis wrote a Thor story where Thor becomes mortal, loses his shirt, and fucks the Enchantress.

While some of the characters created after Kirby left Thor have stuck, none have become a standard part of Thor's title (and the Marvel Universe) like Beta Ray Bill. A horse-like alien aboard a spaceship that seems to pose a threat to Earth, Thor engages him in battle. It's an evenly matched fight and, at one point, Thor loses Mjolnir, a minute passes, he turns back to Don Blake... and the alien picks up the cane, hits it against a wall without any intent, and is transformed. He wears a costume like Thor's (though modified) and is able to carry Mjolnir. He is worthy. Odin comes to call Thor home to Asgard to assist with a massive threat and he takes Beta Ray Bill, thinking it is his son, leaving Blake alone in the storm left by the All-Father's wake, screaming "FATHER!" That's how Walt Simonson introduced Beta Ray Bill and began his Thor run. Bad guys had been able to match Thor in combat before. The stories wouldn't have been interesting (or possible) otherwise. Thor getting knocked on his ass wasn't new. Someone else picking up that cane, striking it, and being given Thor's powers, being able to lift and carry and command Mjolnir... Someone else being worthy. Now, that was new. That was different. That was making a statement.

Maybe there had been an 'everything you knew was wrong' sort of reboot before (I guess Moore's own Marvelman a year and a half or so prior would count), but this was probably the most high profile one. Swamp Thing has been shot dead. Jason Woodrue, the Floronic Man, is hired to do the autopsy and figure out how Alec Holland was transformed into Swamp Thing. He discovers a plant composed of human-like organs that serve no purpose other than to look like human organs. He figures it out: Swamp Thing is not a mutated human. It's a plant. Alec Holland was never transformed, a plant was. And you can't kill a plant with a gun. So, Woodrue revives Swamp Thing, leaves out his report, and arranges it so his employee is killed by a very confused, very angry plant who has just learned that it's not a man after all. Swamp Thing was never Alec Holland, it just thought it was. Everything you -- and the star of the comic -- knew was wrong. That was new. That was different. That was making a statement.

In contrast, Grant Morrison did 'everything you knew was wrong' in a completely different way. You thought Animal Man was a superhero when really he's not. He has superpowers and a costume that he doesn't really wear, but he's not a proper superhero. He's a suburban layabout husband who thinks he'll give being a hero another go. And how does he go about it? By going on a late night talk show. So, he's the guy that STAR Labs calls when Superman is too busy and everyone thinks that he can turn into animals. You've seen superheroes with families and superheroes who aren't necessarily the best, but a name superhero who's one step above being a wannabe? Animal Man was never really a superhero, you just thought he was. That was new. That was different. That was making a statement.

Warren Ellis didn't introduce a new character to challenge our preconceptions about Thor. He didn't reveal a dark secret from Thor's past that changed everything (thank christ). He didn't use a reality-altering megaevent to rearrange the details of his life and present a different sort of hero. He just turned him mortal, had his dad be an asshole, and had him fight some cyborg zombie vikings. It's a variation on the approach that Morrison did for Animal Man, but altered from him as much as he altered it from Moore. A radical change in circumstances, albeit a new one that left everything before completely intact. Ellis's approach was rooted in the basic origin of Thor, similar to how Simonson went back to the origin as well. Where Simonson honed in on the inscription on Mjolnir, Ellis picked the idea of Thor being made mortal, banished to Earth by his father to be given a lesson in humility. No separate identity this time; no (supposedly) loving lesson from Odin. Just sickness and death, because someone is fucking with the World-Ash. Thor speaks and thinks like we do, he's withering away, he's dirty and greasy and dying, he fights through a host of zombies, he see what's being done to the thing that controls everything, and he's smacked on the head. He's probably dead. That was new. That was different. That was making a statement.

The key to Beta Ray Bill wasn't the initial shock that he could hold Mjolnir. If that was all there was to the character, he never would have lasted. That's a great moment of shock to kick off a run, get attention, and dare readers to not come back next month. That's a route for a quick one-and-done character, not someone who has become like a brother to Thor, a trusted ally of Asgard and some of Marvel's cosmic heroes. No, the key to Beta Ray Bill is the backstory. The member of an alien race who gave up his life to be altered into the perfect warrior and protector as his people fled their destroyed world, pursued by an unending supply of space demons. His only thoughts are of his people, but, when faced with Thor and Odin, he finds his own sense of honour -- his worthiness -- prevents him from taking Mjolnir, a weapon that could help him better save his people. He's so noble that he gave up everything for his people -- and is then so noble that he can't rob a man of his birthright to continue protecting them. He's been alone in the universe and, now, he's faced with a race of people who may not be his people, but are a match for who he's become. A warrior race of honour and nobility... One that sees his internal struggle and manages to give him both the weapon he needs and maintain his honour by not taking it from Thor. Beta Ray Bill is so worthy that Odin makes him his very own Mjolnir, a Stormbreaker. He's not just the first being we've seen lift Mjolnir aside from Thor and Odin, he's the first being we've seen welcomed into the inner circle of Odin's family like that. He's basically introduced, fights Thor twice, and is adopted as a member of the house of Odin. He's a shock, he's a tragic backstory, and he's a match for Thor...

At the end of "The Anatomy Lesson," (and, as a quick aside, you know how influential a single comic is when everyone knows its title like that... there aren't a lot of single issues in the history of American superhero comics where everyone knows its title; they're more likely to know the issue number than the story title) we've been given a piece of information that we didn't know: Swamp Thing was never Alec Holland, it just thought it was. However, that revelation wasn't the sort where everything falls into place and we all go "Of course! How was I so blind?" It just raises more questions. If Swamp Thing is a plant who thought he was human, was it a conscious being before the accident? Is it a mutated plant? Now that it's killed the old man, what will it do? Woodrue thinks it's going back to Louisiana. The next three issues don't necessarily answer these questions beyond what happens next. But, that works to Moore's advantage. Swamp Thing is supplanted by Woodrue who taps into the Green, amplifies his powers, and begins to slaughter people, threatening to kill all of the humans for what they've done to the vegetation of the world. All the while, Swamp Thing is rooted, deep in a barely conscious state as he slowly processes what he now knows. Woodrue's disruption is what shocks him awake and he confronts Woodrue, reminding him that plants need people to produce the carbon dioxide that they need. He confronts the man who wants to be a plant no longer the plant who thinks he's a man... We don't know yet exactly what Swamp Thing is, just that he is Swamp Thing and he is home and he is happy...

Morrison also gives Animal Man a double, a pre-existing character, B'wanna Beast. It's a similar idea to what Moore did with the vegetation, except it's people's treatment of animals at the core here. The experimentation on animals, the way that the scientist at STAR Labs lies to Animal Man about what they've been doing (no cure for AIDS here, just biological weapons), and the eventual confrontation between Animal Man and his twisted double, the Beast that ends with Animal Man healing him and punching out the scientist. A story that began with us seeing that Buddy Baker is not a superhero really ends with him doing a bunch of things that superheroes don't usually do: healing his enemy, hitting civilians, and generally switching sides to a degree. Swamp Thing protects the plants; Animal Man will protect animals. Like Swamp Thing, Animal Man protects by getting the 'bad guy' to back down. Except all the bad guy here wanted to do was rescue his primate friend from those that captured, experimented on tortured her, and was in the process of killing her in order to learn how to kill more. Animal Man learns that his perspective was wrong and that maybe he needs to learn a lot more. We don't know what he'll do next, just that he's home with his family and he doesn't seem exactly sure what he's going to do next...

What makes "Worldengine" so hard to follow for someone who isn't Ellis is exactly what would have made any of these other three hard to follow by anyone who wasn't the writer of those first four issues. He upends everything. (One of the notable changes, though, is that the last time we see Beta Ray Bill in the story, he's in a coma, possibly already dead.) Thor spends the second act of the story with the Enchantress, surrendering himself to her advances, and deciding that he needs to find out what is going on with the World-Ash, what's trying to kill him, and what he can do to help. They find a new character, a mad scientist so obsessed with the end of the world and what would come next that he has taken the World-Ash and used technology to advance it through Ragnarok in order to cause it to produce the new humans for that post-apocalyptic world. Except, the world hasn't died by fire and those new humans were designed for a much different environment and they all die. Thor forcibly repairs the damage to the World-Ash and he returns back with the Enchantress, seemingly his old self (at least with his powers). He decides that he'll remain on Earth, that he only managed to save everything today, because he thought things through. Where exactly he is at the end of "Worldengine" is ambiguous. He's with the Enchantress, he's still Thor, but he's quasi-mortal, he's Earthbound, and... "Worldengine" ends in a manner that is both a decided new break from what came before, but also ambiguous on where to go next with numerous unanswered questions.

When you read "The Ballad of Beta Ray Bill," it's not just the plot that stands out, it's the strong stylistic change. It's Simonson's bulky Thor, John Workman's lettering (the extra space in word balloons!), the way that Simonson gives little asides to other Asgardians, and the Surtur teases. These Thor comics don't read like previous Thor comics. They're nonstop, there's a mixing of new with hints of Norse legend... it feels like Simonson is pulling the book in two directions to an extent. And that dual pulling would be a trademark of his run; he teases Surtur, Loki, the Enchantress's sister, Balder in Hel... he gives us Beta Ray Bill, ends Donald Blake, has Thor working (briefly) for SHIELD... Odin takes Thor and Bill up to Hlidskialf to talk over their problem! He mixes it all together in a way you've never seen before. Even now, there's something alien and shocking about these pages -- they don't look like what I know Thor comics to look like, because they're so rooted in Simonson's specific style.

Alan Moore's prose in "The Anatomy Lesson" is what stands out and is what really fucked over those that followed him, eh? Purple prose -- but with the purpose of slowly unveiling his big reveal. Purpose prose to create a certain ambiance, a certain tone. It wasn't just that Swamp Thing was a superhero book, Moore was positioning it as a horror book, and that required a bit of a heavier mood to hover in those pages. His prose sucks you in more, makes you get a little bit more invested in what you're reading, because it takes a little longer, is a little more descriptive... Later, when the Justice League shows up, they're treated like something a little alien, a little... off. Like they don't fit. And they don't save the day at all, because superheroes aren't exactly effective in horror stories. The 'everything you thought you knew was wrong' approach wasn't just about Swamp Thing's character -- it was about the genre of the comic. Sure, it had horror roots (Bernie Wrightston co-created it!), but it was still a powerful hero figure from DC Comics... Swamp Thing was a superhero of the monster subsection. After "The Anatomy Lesson" and the three issues that followed it, it was clear that it was a horror comic and had always been a horror comic.

The tone is Animal Man's first four issues is... a little muddled, I find. But, that's good. It suits the book. It has a message and it's strong in presenting that message about humans being garbage about how they treat other humans and animals. It's a bit over the top and lacking nuance, but... it's a superhero comic. It's got a lot of Moore's purple prose for the Beast's parts, but he represents the horror side of the book. He makes horrible blends of animals/humans, and is waging a war not unlike Woodrue, except one that's a little more justified because it's a specific instance of some humans doing wrong -- not a broad "humans kill plants, so I kill all humans" sort of take. It's meant to be the inverse of Woodrue and Swamp Thing  where Swamp Thing stops Woodrue by pointing out that he's wrong; here, Animal Man learns that he's wrong. The tone and style of the book isn't exactly clear yet, because Animal Man himself isn't clear yet. He doesn't know who he is and what kind of superhero he's going to be yet. By the end, there's a sense of the message of the book and points to its eventual direction...

It's hard to miss the stylistic influences upon Ellis in "Worldengine." There's the Mooresean captions. There's the calling back to Norse myths (Odin arrives on Hlidskialf when he appears to Thor in the sky, very similarly to the way he appears at the end of issue 337) while pushing the new like Simonson did. Ellis's contribution as far as new characters go is Curzon, a British cop in New York. He's how we get a lot of the Norse myth stuff as he investigates a bunch of weird shit surrounding the World-Ash. He's a shouty British man who hates American coffee, likes to smoke, and is forced to do lots of reading about Thor for his job. While Ellis would deny that he's a stand-in for himself, all he really does is show up, be shouty Brit, smoke, read about Thor, and get disappeared at the end of the story, much like Ellis. With Mike Deodato and Marie Javins's art and Jonathan Babcock's letters, much like Simonson's issues, this doesn't look like any Thor before or after. Odin is bathed in Norse myth visual, his dialogue a quais-Rune script... Thor's narrative captions are casual, the opposite of Moore's purple prose, but that's only because Thor is known for that faux-Shakespearan speech pattern. So, Ellis uses the technique, but changes the actual style. Because Ellis doesn't stick around, his stylistic flourishes don't either. He wasn't there long enough to really make a mark. He seems poised to turn Thor into a urban superhero of sorts, shifting from one superhero subgenre to another, but...

Simonson teases the end of the world both with the demons and the slow build coming of Surtur (DOOM!).

Moore teases the end of the world both with Woodrue killing everyone and humanity ending it due to their killing too many plants.

Morrison teases the end of the world both with the biological weapon escaping from STAR Labs and humanity ending it due to killing too many animals.

Ellis shows what it will be like after the world has ended, because a human uses technology to trick the World-Ash into thinking it happened.

"THOR, HUMILITY IS A LESSON EVEN GODS CAN LEARN. SUCH WAS THE MEANING OF MJOLNIR'S SPELL WROUGHT LONG AGO. THOUGH THY HAMMER STILL RETAINS SOME LITTLE ENCHANTMENT, YOU WILL CARRY THE MEMORY OF YOUR COMBAT WITH BILL FOREVER. WE MAY ALL PROFIT FROM THAT, NO? AS FOR ANOTHER FIGHT WITH BILL... NOT EVEN THE ALL-WISE KNOWS EVERYTHING, MY SON."

"ALMOST DAWN... A BIRD SPEAKS... BARELY AWAKE... ANOTHER ANSWERS... SOON... ALL THE BIRDS... ARE TALKING, TELLING... EACH OTHER... THEIR DREAMS... WHY? WHY DID... I EVER... LEAVE THIS PLACE? I WANT... TO WALK HERE... FOREVER. I WANT... TO STRUGGLE... WITH THE ALLIGATORS... TURNING OVER... AND OVER... IN THE MUD... I WANT TO... BE ALIVE... AND GROW... AND RISE UP..."

"SOMEWHERE, THE MONKEYS ARE SCREAMING. AND SCREAMING. AND SCREAMING."

"I required a safe haven from which to decide my future -- our future. I have gotten close to death for the very first time, and it has chilled me. It has forced me to think, to reason through crises rather than hitting them. Inside, a woman I am perhaps coming to love waits for me: something I have never truly known. Above, my Family has rejected me in an ultimate way. The rain grows stronger. Dark stormfronts swirl above. There is a shout amid the thunder."

I have done a poor job of pulling these four works together the way that I wanted. But, I believe you can see what I was going for. Maybe Ellis was right and he wasn't a good fit for Thor. I still think that's wrong, but I don't know how much struggle or discomfort he had when writing "Worldengine." He wears his influences in an obvious fashion, standing firmly in the shadows of Simonson and Moore, never escaping either in these four issues. (That all four of these runs began as four-issue stories is fun, isn't it? Four issues is the easiest way to to hit that three-act structure with the second act twice as long as the first and third...) Instead, it wouldn't be for another three, four years that Ellis would stumble upon a four-issue story that would begin a run that would help him create his own shadow for others to toil in after him.

"They think there's no one left to save the world."

EXCLUSIVE! Chad Nevett's Comic Book Mini-Reviews and Star Ratings for the Week of June 27, 2012

If you didn't notice, Random Thoughts! return this week after five weeks off (only four of which were planned). I've also decided that, going forward, comments will be turned off for that post every week. They're not something I'm interested in when it comes to that weekly column anymore.

Batman, Incorporated #2: An issue that basically gives us the life of Talia and shows how she got to where she is. Part existing material, part new -- what impresses me most about an issue like this is how good Morrison is at crafting a narrative out of, most, one-off panels that sum up an experience or moment so well. Being paired with Chris Burnham doesn't hurt in that regard. Excellent use of communication. [****]

Fatale #6: I already like this arc more than the first one. The tone is more to my liking and works better with the setting. It builds on the first arc, obviously, but also feels more comfortable and more confident in the way it comes across. That Brubaker mentions that this arc has been informed about research he's had for a while no doubt plays a big part in that. This story seems like it's been a long time coming with him. I still can't get enough of the way Phillips draws Josephine. [****]

Hell Yeah #4: Each issue grows a little more confident in style and technique. I still find the pacing a little too brisk in places, but it's falling into a nice rhythm and adding on little mysteries as it goes. The opening was pretty damn good. [***1/2]

The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Century: 2009: I really loved the exploration of how living forever (or damn near it) can fuck you up. That's, by far, the most interesting thing about this to me. The fictional games are fun, but there's not much to them. Nor is the nostalgia/dislike of the modernity that seems to crop up a lot. The journey of these characters, even just across the three books that make up Century, though, is really engaging and where I connect. The Malcolm Tucker and Bond gags where the only ones that really made an impact on me. Kevin O'Neill remains amazing. I have all of the other books out and think I should reread the whole thing now. [****1/4]

The Manhattan Projects #4: Well, there's a twist that left me completely underwhelmed. Three issues after revealing Oppenheimer to be an evil twin, we get Mirror Mirror Einstein. That's... disappointing. [***]

The Mighty Thor #16: It's difficult to express how underwhelmed and apathetic I am towards this story. Are you sure there isn't a Mare on me? [Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz]

Prophet #26: I can't wait to see what all of this is building to. We've had a few issues of dancing around what's happening, preparing for something, and Brandon Graham drawing this issue himself was a nice treat. It was surprising to see that the focus wasn't a John Prophet and that choice played into Graham's strength well. He draws rather cool looking robots. The Emma Rios back-up was another surprise in that it played into Graham's ongoing narrative a bit. I never know what to expect with this series and that's really great. [****]

Scalped #59: It all builds to that final page... [****1/4]

Spaceman #7: The cuts between Earth and Mars worked better in this issue than any before because, in both locations/times, the focus was on Orson and Carter, and showing that not much has changed necessarily. I've always enjoyed both times/locations, but this is the first issue where they really connected and made the whole issue seem very cohesive. [****]

Spider-Men #2: I wish this was the first issue. This is a much better place to start the story. Take the final few pages of the first issue and put them in front of this and, yeah, you have a much stronger beginning to this story. I enjoyed this issue. Peter freaking out a bit at the different world around him was good -- as was the way that he eventually calmed down and used his brain. I'd like to think that, with all that he's experienced, it would have happened a little quicker, but, still... [***1/2]

The Ultimates #12: Look, let's not kid ourselves: we always knew that Reed Richards was going down. He was the 'villain' of this comic and he was always going to lose. He was. And we knew that. But, that doesn't make it any better to see, especially when it's at the hands of a tumor. In someone else's head. Yeah. That's the second big swing and miss from Hickman for me this week. Hell of a way to say goodbye. [sigh]

X-Men #30: Hey, my shop finally had some copies of this. I didn't see any copies of issue 31, though. Weird. It was okay. This reminded me a little of Warren Ellis's work on Astonishing X-Men and has potential. It didn't really engage me, though. I read it, understood it, put it down, and kind of forgot it. Not a good sign. [**3/4]

Later

Sketch Reviews (February 9 2012)

Fuck it...

Some Brief Thoughts on Before Watchmen (which aren't meant to be nuanced or deep, but quick summations of where I'm coming from after reading 28,000 arguments for why this is the worst, most evil thing to happen in comics since forever... but, please, present those arguments again in the comments and see how much I care)

I honestly have no problems with Before Watchmen. None. I don't see the moral problem. I don't see scabs or traitors or anything wrong. It's not because I'm cynical or apathetic or unsympathetic... it's because Alan Moore signed a contract. Did something unexpected happen? Yeah. Watchmen stayed in print. You know what that makes DC? Lucky. You know what that makes Moore? Wrong. It's not a moral issue, it's a matter of someone signing a bad deal and it biting them in the ass. Let's not all pretend like DC stole anything from the poor victim Alan Moore. Especially if you've gotten a copy of Watchmen after its initial print run, you hypocritical fucks. You kept the book in print.

There's much more to it, of course. I guess it comes down to how much you expected DC to rework a deal that wound up benefitting them greatly. Or how much you blame them for exploiting a deal that benefitted them greatly.

One thing I keep wondering about is what exactly people are fighting over. I mean, literally, what is there about Watchmen and its characters that's worth fighting over? What made Watchmen so special, such a great work? Was it the Charlton analogues? (And, make no mistake, 'analogue' is just another word for 'rip-off.' Don't pretend like it's not. Don't pretend like these characters are everso original and sprang fully formed from the mind of Moore. They're different enough, but come on... if you're going to start arguing bullshit technicalities to bolster that side of your argument, then I'll have to direct you back to the 'Moore signed the contract' part of what happened...) If it was just the characters, then, yeah, I guess it's all wrong. I was always under the impression that Watchmen was more than a bunch of analogues... more than anything in the plot... it was style, technique, and innovation -- a bunch of things that Moore doesn't (and can never) own. DC is publishing a bunch of books featuring analogues of characters they already own... it's like they own the empty shell that looks like a crab and are trying to make everyone think it's a crab. All I see are a bunch of people arguing over an empty shell.

And, just to add one more point to make people hate me: I did laugh at Moore's arguments against the idea of Watchmen prequels considering he's been pretty close to doing more work with the characters and the world in the past. I understand that the real argument is over whether or not it should be his say no matter what he thought in the past (and people can change their mind), but it really came off as a convenient shift in position. It's not so much that Watchmen doesn't need (or shouldn't have) prequels, it's fuck DC for doing them without him. Which, fair enough. I get his perspective... Everyone else? Keep arguing over your empty shell that he gave away willingly and you helped keep away from him. Me, I'm going to read (and hopefully enjoy) some comics by creators I think are talented.

(Also, go buy Minutes to Midnight: Twelve Essays on Watchmen featuring "The Smartest Man in the Morgue," an essay where I apply Raymond Chandler's "Twelve Notes on the Mystery Story" to Watchmen!)

Now, onto brief words on this week's comics (like anyone will care now...):

Batwoman #6: What do you do with a comic you were buying for the art when the artist isn't drawing it anymore? I like Amy Reeder's art... or, I have in the past. Here, it's got the added 'benefit' of two inkers who I'm not a fan of (Rob Hunter particularly has been an inker whose work I've loathed since seeing the job he did on Jim Starlin's pencils). The mediocre writing was a lot easier to stomach when it had JH Williams and Dave Stewart dressing up into something amazing. Somehow, the 'new 52' has started falling apart on me lately... This may have to be a book I buy every other arc. [**]

Captain America #8: Conceptually, an issue that didn't add much to the first two parts of this story. There are a couple of plot points worth seeing happen, but, for the most part, it's more of Cap dealing with his problem. I did really like the way he overcompensates and how that winds up biting him in the ass. And Alan Davis art! That opening fight scene is absolutely gorgeous. [***1/4]

Haunt #21: When I wondered a few weeks back if this issue had come out, I know now that it had not. Always nice when Diamond's own list is wrong, right? Anyway... Bickering and fighting dudes on motorcycles while a guy reads from his evil Bible? Joe Casey's brain is a fun place -- made even better by Nathan Fox's art. [****]

Journey into Mystery #634: Richard Elson's art looks different in this issue. Slicker, faker... maybe the colouring changed? I don't like it as much. Otherwise, an entertaining issue. The banter between Loki and Leah was funny -- and the way that Loki figured out Nightmare was trying to trick him was clever. [***1/2]

Secret Avengers #22: I really like Gabriel Hardman's art and I'm digging on Rick Remender's take on Captain Britain. The rest? Not as much. This story here didn't keep my interest at all. The villains come off as tedious -- there's nothing there for me to hate and nothing there for me to like... they just are. Unsure if I'll give this another issue or not. [**1/2]

The Unwritten #34: Goddamn, that's a great issue! The reversal of Tom's fortunes was genuinely surprising and the way he took down the members of the Cabal was shocking in its execution -- mostly because this was more organised and capable than we've seen these characters act yet. It's the perfect time for them to get their act together, of course. And, the cliffhanger has me genuinely excited to see what happens next. Tom and Pullman. Goddamn. [****]

Wolverin and the X-Men #5: A charming comic if there ever was one. There's a bit more plot to this issue than the fourth, but the things I liked best about last issue continue: namely, wonderful little character bits. Pieces of dialogue that just pop. Jason Aaron has zoned in on these characters to such an extent that I don't care about the plot. There doesn't need to be a plot as far as I'm concerned. I could read a comic about lunch in the cafeteria every month, I think, and find it wildly entertaining. Hell, the thing I liked least about this issue was the plot. A rare thing in comics. Nick Bradshaw's art is a bit hit or miss for me: it depends on the characters and, sometimes, the individual panel. His style tends to make characters look like children, which I find annoying -- at least for the adult characters in the book. There needs to be a better distinction between the students and teachers visually, I think. But, he absolutely nails stuff like Kid Gladiator sulking and Toad's surly annoyance. [****1/4]

Wolverine and the X-Men: Alpha & Omega #2: Poor Quentin... girls aren't impressed by the way he's taken down Wolverine and made him run through his Construct. That's a shame. [***3/4]

Later

CBR Review: The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Century: 1969

I recently reviewed The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Century: 1969 for CBR and, in the process, wrote the following sentences: "After a two-year wait, the third League of Extraordinary Gentlemen series Century continues with its second book, 1969. Jumping to two years after the Summer of Love, it features Mina, Allan, and Orlando in London after rumors of Oliver Haddo’s ‘Moonchild’ project was back in effect despite Haddo’s death years previous. Like every League of Extraordinary Gentlemen book before it, 1969 is filled with references and allusions, fictional stand-ins for real life people, and a plot that’s actually fairly straight forward."

You can read the rest HERE!

I Bought Comics: May 13, 2009

[Normal reviews may buy my comics these days, but they're kind of boring sometimes, you know? A little too 'you must write this way all of the time' for my tastes. Sometimes. I'm not complaining. It's just that there are a lot of rules and people get annoyed if you stray too far. Examine an issue solely on its own merits and they get pissed. Examine an issue within the context of the whole and they get pissed. Call a writer a "stupid motherfucking retard who obviously learned English thirdhand two hours before shitting out a turd that some inbred editor decided to call a script" and your editor makes you rewrite. Not here, my friends. Not here where I don't do proper reviews. Calling them reviews would be wrong, oh yes. They are simply whatever I feel like saying about a particular comic. Blessed freedom.]

Captain Britain and MI:13 #13

Um... what? This arc is only half over and it looks like the bad guys have won. I mean, the team's all dead. They're all dead! Where do you go from there? Paul Cornell knows and I trust him. I'm a cynical fella and don't buy that all of those characters are dead, but it's still shocking to see them all slaughtered with such ease.

Final Crisis Aftermatch: Escape #1

I read this twice on Wednesday. I wasn't sure if I was going to pick this up or not, but the preview pages convinced me to give it a shot. Out of these four Final Crisis Aftermath titles, I knew I would be getting Dance for certain, while Ink and Run looked like shit -- Escape was the only one that had me debating. It was Dan DiDio's pet project with him editing it directly, which was a strike against it, honestly (I tend to take a dismal view of ANY project where an editor is heavily involved -- and the more power said editor has, the less I want it -- Mark Waid over at BOOM! is an exception, of course). But, promises of it being similar to The Prisoner had me intrigued. Marco Rudy on art was also a plus since I dug his Final Crisis stuff when it wasn't too rushed. I have no idea who Nemesis is, but this was one damn good comic. A real mindfuck that doesn't even attempt to explain anything. Number Six himself even shows up. Reminds me a bit of The Filth (the Mr. Green/Mr. Yellow issue in particular). Rudy pulls in all sorts of influences from Williams to Weston to Mandrake, and it's a visual joy. The writing isn't quite at that Morrison level, the narration a bit too heavyhanded at times, but there's promise -- and it's better than a lot of the other shit out there. Not the sort of comic you'd expect DC to publish, at least not in its regular Universe. Hard to believe that this is the same company that gave out Blackest Night #0 for free, permanently damaging lords knows how many minds. Good show, Ivan Brandon.

Gravel #11

If this story is going where it looks like it will be going, I am very pleased. That direction, for the record, is Gravel just killing off the Major Seven entirely. Why bother solving the mystery when you can carbetbomb the whole lot? Lateral thinking. Solider thinking. He's not a detective and he doesn't like trumped up idiots who sit around and do nothing except admire how brilliant they are. Wolfer fucking draws the shit out of those final pages. Some very good work.

Secret Warriors #4

Jonathan Hickman continues to improve with each issue, juggling all of these characters and situations. Nick Fury is a bastard, but that good kind. The Hydra stuff is interesting. I don't know what to say beyond this is a good fucking comic. Christ.

The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen -- Century: 1910

I read a black and white .pdf of this a while back. Enjoyed it then. Haven't reread it yet, but do like the colours. Thinking I may do a Reread Review of The Black Dossier if only to show how dumb I really am. But, yeah, a really nice read that takes a different form from previous League stories -- which Moore says is a result of not having to pander as much to DC and readers. It works.

notes on teaching V for Vendetta

In my discussion of V for Vendetta with my students over the past week that I've been teaching it, a few interesting thoughts came up that I thought I'd share with you.

+In comparing V to Rorschach, we talked about how Rorschach is defined very much by his sense of right and wrong. However, it's established very early on that V is a sociopath. Now that diagnosis comes from agents of the all-powerful government (such as Delia Surridge) but it is apt nonetheless. Beyond simply taking life with no qualms, he manipulates individuals (Rose, Evey) in horrific ways to meet his own ends and sees no value in them as individuals, only as organisms that are a part of the society as a whole.

Thus as a sociopath, V doesn't really have a sense of right and wrong. However he does have a sense of good or bad, I think, and he sees that the government as led by Susan is BAD because of how it impinges on its citizens' freedoms. Valerie is one of the only people he shows genuine feeling for, but I suspect that is more due to what she represents (what society has lost) than her own personal struggle.

(Meanwhile Evey IS touched by Valerie's story on a personal level, and one main reason behind V's torture of her (be it to educate or to indoctrinate her, depending on your POV) is to test her reaction to Valerie's letter, to measure her humanity. Evey learning what lesson V wanted her to learn, that her integrity and personal beliefs are more valuable than anything else, when she had been driven by the state of the world to the brink of betraying those beliefs (and killing someone) proved to him that she would be a worthy successor, the creator to follow him in the role of destroyer.)

Anyway, this led to me arguing that V's vendetta against those in power was not personal in any way and in fact, had the end result of his own torture and pain in Larkhill actually bettered society in some way, I would argue that he might have stopped at the end of book one, only revenging himself upon those who directly harmed him and leaving the society intact. But because the government is corrupt, he plays a different role. He sees the flaws in the way the world is run and he must point them out. He must fight to save the world from itself. It is here that V shares a commonality in his personality with Rorschach (and Ozymandias, but we'll get back to him in a moment).

Also, I find he is similar to Rorschach in his self-knowledge. Both characters, in my opinion, know that in order to clean up the cesspool of the society in which they live they must cross over a line. By crossing that line into "wrong" or "bad" behavior, they also recognize that any better world that might come to pass cannot have a place for them in it.

+Meanwhile, V as compared to Ozymandias is very similar in overall methodology. Both recognize that the ends justify the means, and both are willing to deal a little death in order to bring about a better society for all. Again, what V does to Rose, how he sets her up to get dragged through the mud so much that she will assassinate Susan, despite what it means to her own well-being, is perhaps his most reprehensible action in the book, very much akin in my mind to Ozymandias poisoning his faithful servants (and then later claiming no responsibility for that act).

However, I believe one key difference is that V does NOT harm unnecessarily. He could kill the train conductor when he kidnaps Prothero or the guard who finds Prothero, but he doesn't. Nor does he harm Finch, beyond a flesh wound to the leg, when Finch attacks him in the subway in the end. He only kills when he must, and never to hide his actions in a cowardly way. In fact, he wants it to be known what he's doing from the get-go. Meanwhile Ozymandias kills many people for the sole reason of covering his own tracks, when their deaths are completely unnecessary in bringing about his better world.

And I think this difference is essential in the end result of the book for both characters. V knows that he should not be a part of the new world order, that he has merely been an agent of destruction and that the rebuilding process should not involve him in any way. He was up front from the beginning about his role in the destruction of the old way of doing things, because he knew he would not survive and he wanted the new world to be chosen by the people themselves (thus why Eve as V lets the people riot on their own, thus why it's so important that ROSE kills Susan and FINCH kills V, since they are agents of the people and not individuals, thus why Eve/V abducts Dominic to educate him (the new senior authority) in the right way to create a new society).

Yet Ozymandias wants to rebuild the world in his own image, and his desire to change things for the better is all about HIS will (as established in the Veidt Method pamphlet), his selfish desire to outshine Alexander the Great and conquer the world (as established in his origin story outlined in issue eleven.

So it was our belief in the class that V would be at odds with Ozymandias for the harm he did and for his egotistical desires to be in power afterward, whereas Rorschach he would have no problem with, as long as Rorschach didn't get in his way. On the other hand, Rorschach would probably diametrically oppose V's actions, while Ozymandias would look at the end results of what he had plotted out and view him as a kindred spirit.

+One interesting contrast we found in the book is how in the beginning of the book the voice of Fate changes after Prothero's mental break, and everyone takes notice. The voice of Fate is the symbol of security in the government; it is everpresent and thusly taken for granted by those who hear it day in and day out, until the moment it changes. The change rocks the world of the people, casts doubt on security, shows the system is fallible.

On the other hand the voice of V changes in the end of the film. Whenever Eve takes over the role of V, and delivers the final address to the people of London, her voice must sound different than the original V's did. BUT no one takes note of that fact, because despite the nature of V as a symbol of what they've lost, they're actually listening to what V has to say. They don't care about the delivery, only the content, and thus take no note of a difference.

I just find that an interesting contrast.

+Of course we talked a great deal about how Evey can be viewed as the real protagonist of the series (since V himself is not a man but an idea, a symbol) and her growth from youth to adolescent to adult, from Evey to Eve to V, is what the book is really about.

And that naturally led to a detailed discussion of the changes made to the story in the film, for which I owe Kate McClancy much thanks for providing me with a copy of her essay which she presented at Wondercon this past February. We talked about how V in the film IS a man, how his humanity is emphasized repeatedly and how his love for Evey diminishes her character to mere love interest rather than disciple. V in the film tortures her, which she judges monstrous, showing him the error of his ways. The government must still be brought down because of how they have wronged him, but he realizes his methods are wrong now even though it is too late to turn back.

Rereading that essay by Kate solidified several issues in my mind, which I highlighted as we spent an entire class period looking at individual scenes from the film (the Larkhill scene, the TV hijacking, Valerie's letter, and the last twenty or so minutes of the film, from Sutler's death to V's to the march on Parliament), pausing between bits to discuss how the changes affected the characters and theme.

In all, the past two days of analysis of this great graphic novel have been very insightful, not just for my students but for me as well. It was a true delight how I could still find new and intriguing things in this book, even after having read it what must be somewhere between 25 and 50 times.

Watchmen and Philosophy

I started reading the book Watchmen and Philosophy while I was teaching the book, and now that I've finished I thought I would go ahead and post a quick review here. Like any anthology of criticism, some essays are better than others, having a bit more to say or plunging a bit deeper into the themes and characters of the book, but overall the quality of insight these critics offer is very valuable to a deeper understanding of the graphic novel. There are only a few essays that I didn't like, but more on those later.

The best section of the book is the section which deals with Doctor Manhattan, which has a trio of essays that each explore a different aspect of his character in a very thought-provoking way. The first of these, "Dr. Manhattan, I Presume?", explores the philosophical question of if Dr. Manhattan is still Jon Osterman if Osterman's body has been destroyed, through the Cartesian concept of the mind existing on a nonmaterial plane. It also analyzes the idea of which of the different versions of Dr. Manhattan retain his identity and can be viewed as "really" him when he splits into three, as well as what happens to the mind when a person is teleported long distances. In the second essay, "A Timely Encounter: Dr. Manhattan and Henri Bergson," the author analyzes how Jon perceived the past, present, and future simultaneously, in a non-linear fashion. It shows how perception and memory are different and how Dr. Manhattan's perceptions of his past experiences intermingle with the present. And finally the third of the Dr. Manhattan essays of note is entitled "Free Will and Foreknowledge: Does Jon really Know what Laurie Will Do Next, and Can She Do Otherwise?" It talks about the concept of fatalism (how everything is preordained) and how it jives with the issue of Jon's perception of time as discussed in the previous essay. All of these essays are very insightful, both to the philosophical concepts they discuss and to the graphic novel itself. (There's also a fourth Doc Manhattan essay too, but it's not quite as good as these others.)

There are also several rather good essays that explore the philosophical motivations of Rorschach and Ozymandias. "Can We Steer this Rudderless World?: Kant, Rorschach, Retributivism, and Honor" is about Rorschach's views on right and wrong from a retributivist point of view, that wrongdoing must be punished not to teach the person a lesson but simply because wrong is wrong and deserves punishment. Similarly the essay "Rorschach: When Telling the Truth is Wrong" also invokes Kant in its look at Rorschach's character, how telling the truth is a categorical imperative and must be done simply because lying is wrong, no matter what its result may be.

Meanwhile Adrian is the focus of "Means, Ends, and The Critique of Pure Superheroes" and how his particular brand of utilitarianism is that of a consequentialist, that the ends are the most important thing, whereas Rorschach is more of a deontologist, believing that the morality of the actions themselves is the most important. It also adds in the concepts of egalitarianism, how Adrian weighs the happiness of everyone worldwide against the death of the population of New York and judges them accordingly. Finally "Superheroes and Supermen: Finding the Ubermensch in Watchmen" explores what Nietzsche meant by the term and how it fits in with various characters in the graphic novel, specifically Adrian.

Probably the weak links of the collection are two essays that come towards the end, and they are weak simply because they are the most obvious. The first of these is called "'Why Don't You Go Read a Book or Something?': Watchmen as Literature." As its name implies it tries to define what literature is and whether Watchmen fits the definition. And the end conclusion is that... the authors remain undecided, that most likely comics are a new hybrid art form, not quite art and not quite literature. In all it's a bit elementary and a bit inconsequential.

The second essay which I found uninteresting, "Hooded Justice and Captain Metropolis: The Ambiguously Gay Duo," felt out-of-place because of how little it had to do with Watchmen. It mentioned the characters from the book briefly in the intro and conclusion, but it's mostly just a patronizing piece on why homosexuals are people too. It's full of antiquated notions that the author thinks are progressive but only induced eye-rolling in me. Some interesting quotes:

"Regardless of the way someone acts, looks, or sounds on the outside, he may still be an HM [the author's abbreviation of homosexual] on the inside in terms of his basic orientation. After all, if it's true that Captain Metropolis and Hooded Justice are gay, they sure as heck don't act and look like they're gay" (187).

"Plenty of HMs I know are very kind, generous, and gifted; the world would definitely suffer for their loss" (188).

"HMs are, however, quite distinct from pedophiles. The actions of pedophiles in molesting children are, by their very nature, harmful to others, but not so the actions of HMs. ... There is no such thing as a good, right, or moral act of child molestation. We can't say this, necessarily, for the HM, because there are such things as good, right, or moral HM acts; not every HM act need be evil" (191).

so yeah, lines like those made me a bit squeamish while reading it. It's very well-meaning but it comes across as just as judgmental as those it argues against. But those are again the two weak points out of the entire book. Overall it is a very worthwhile read that I would recommend to anyone who is a fan of the GN.

more Watchmen comments from my comic class

Steve here again, posting a wide variety of comments the students in my comic class had about Watchmen as we read it.

When we read chapter four, the Dr. Manhattan chapter, I had my students write about the character. I broke them into groups and had each group look at a different aspect of the character.

One group analyzed Jon Osterman's behavior before he became Dr. Manhattan to see how he was already displaying some of the detachment and belief in predestination that Dr. Manhattan is famous for. This group focused on how Jon was a bit of a pushover, planning to be a watchmaker because it's what his father wanted and then abandoning that career for physics when his father ordered him to. He only ever dated Janey Slater at her insistence, so it's no wonder that, after the fact, he claims that the universe was always his guide. He takes no responsibility for his actions because he never has, and his new unique perspective on time simply provides him an excuse for only intervening when he HAS to.

A second group focused on just that, Dr. Manhattan's view of the passage of time, which led to a pretty straightforward discussion of predeterminism v. free will. A third group looked at how Jon's abilities have shaped the world, in regards to society, politics, and pop culture.

Finally the fourth group discussed Jon's detachment from humanity in chapter four. I asked them whether or not there were any signs that he might care about people a bit more than he claims to. Some of the students argued that his claims of detachment were just sour grapes, the act of an outcast. Because the world treats him as different, he withdraws emotionally from the world as if to say "I never wanted to be in your stupid club anyway." He's not as completely emotionless as he claims, since he does react in anger when confronted about possibly giving cancer to those he loves and he runs away to Mars like a teenager hiding in his room when Laurie leaves him. (You could even make a case that while on Mars Jon is a stereotypical emo kid, making "profound" statements about the nature of the universe while lamenting over lost love.)

Other students then pointed out that these emotional responses were interesting when considered through the lens of his foreknowledge. Why would he get angry at the interview with Nova Express, they wondered, if he knew it was going to happen? My response was that foreknowledge of an event doesn't mean you're totally prepared for the emotional ramifications of it. I said to them, "I could warn you that I was going to punch you in the face, but it wouldn't make it hurt any less when I did so."

I also had my students write about symbolism when we got up to the seventh chapter, which is rife with symbols like reflections in glass representing the nostalgic remembrances of various characters or the embracing silhouettes/shadows/skeletons which could illustrate the emotional cost armageddon has on those at its heart. They also mentioned the recurring motif of the slashed circle (representing both impending doom and tainted innocence, depending on the scene) and of course the pirate comic. But one symbol a couple of students mentioned that I liked was Nite Owl's goggles. In issue seven, Dan makes mention of how he could always see more clearly when he wore them, and Laurie also wipes the dust from their lenses at one point, clearing the obstruction of her view (she does this also on the fogged-up window and on Archie's dust-covered eye). Each of these actions, my students argued, showed the characters of Laurie and Dan recognizing just how dependent they were on their costumed identities, how they need them to fully express themselves and how they are finally able to be honest about who they are when they're in costume.

Finally, when we got to the end of the book, one student pointed out that it was interesting how in one issue we see Adrian murder his three servants with poison, yet later he claims to Dan and Rorschach that they opened the dome themselves in a drunken stupor and died accidentally. We came to the conclusion that this disparity goes to show that Adrian is incapable of taking responsibility for his actions. He won't admit to personally getting his hands dirty killing these three men, even though he has just killed millions in New York. It also reveals his true nature, for if lying about the death of these three men is so easy for him, might he not be lying about his motivations for killing the population of New York? He claims to have altruistic reasons for his heinous crime, his desire for world peace, but he has also been maneuvering his companies in such a way to set it up that he will be the one to usher in this new age. He doesn't want world peace; he wants to shape the world in his image (as illustrated in his flier for the Veidt method) so his legacy will be remembered forever.

Watchmen day 1

I'm teaching my comic class again, and I thought that as I go through each class period, I would post here some of the interesting little observations made by myself and the students. Today was chapter 1 of Watchmen, and here were a few of our insights:

+page 1's slow pull back from the smiley face button is reciprocated in the last page as well, the first page symbolizing death with its blood and the last symbolizing life with Dan and Laurie laughing over drinks

+page 1 also contains hints at two incredibly significant presences in the book: Kovacs walking through the blood (while Rorschach's journal narrates) and a purple Pyramid Deliveries truck goes by (singled out by its purple color, tying it to Adrian)

+panel 5 of page 4 is filled with clues: the newsstand, gunga diner, a knottop, electric cars, Kovacs. it is all important. it's all part of the narrative puzzle. everything is connected and nothing ever ends.

+page 4's last panel and page 5's first are the same two buildings in the day and at night, with one other change: Kovacs is in the former, and Rorschach in the latter

+our introduction to Rorschach sums up his character well. we've gotten insight into his world view in his journal excerpts that run parallel to the action, but in his first actual scene he says little. he slowly and methodically puts pieces together, looking down on them from above

+our intro to Dan: a dork who hangs out with old guys reminiscing about the good old days. he walks home to where he lives alone and has locked all his toys in the basement, in denial about how much happier he would be if he let himself play with them

+the middle panel of page 10, one of my students pointed out, has Dan in silhouette from a distance, and the shape of his coat and his glasses mimic Nite Owl's costume perfectly

+the Dan/Rorschach scenes are essentially the two different sides of Batman (gadget-loving wealthy thrillseeker vs. obsessive grim detective) having an argument

+intro to Adrian: first panel of page 17. skyscraper with his name on it, dialogue coming out of the side like the building itself is speaking. He IS the ivory tower. Lots of purple and yellow too throughout this scene, in his costume and in his present day business suit, the colors of opulence.

+intro to Jon: he's 25 feet tall. he looms large over everything and his presence and uniqueness is undeniable. demonstrations of his powers and his detachment to human concerns (the bit about the number of particles in a corpse) throughout these pages.

+intro to Laurie: in Jon's shadow, arms crossed in confrontational pose. demonstrations of her boredom throughout these pages. (is Jon smiling on the bottom of page 23 because he knows where she and Dan will end up?)

John Constantine as Byronic Hero

Last semester I taught British Literature II (which begins at 1800 and goes to the present day). Very early on in the year, we were talking about Byron and how he ushered in a new type of hero. It was a character type based in part on his own persona (he "debuted" this new kind of hero in his semi-autobiographical work Childe Harold's Pilgrimage), but it was one that rang true for a great number of people. Audiences of the time really responded to Childe Harold because the main character felt a bit more real than the heroes of yore. And because it resonated so much with readers, it is an archetype that has been repeated in several varying forms ever since, as it is seen by many as a precursor to the anti-hero, perhaps a slightly more altruistic version of such.

As I was reading the textbook's definition of this character type, a thought struck me. I read the following passage (which comes from page 608 of the most recent edition of The Norton Anthology of British Literature, vol. 2):

"In his developed form ... [the Byronic hero] is an alien, mysterious, and gloomy spirit, superior in his passions and powers to the common run of humanity, whom he regards with disdain. He harbors the torturing memory of an enormous, nameless guilt that drives him toward an inevitable doom. And he exerts an attraction on other characters that is the more compelling because it invokes their terror at his obliviousness to ordinary human concerns and values."

We then started discussing more modern examples of this archetype as seen in British literature, and a perfect example from comics came to me: John Constantine. This might not come as a surprise to some people but it was a revelation to me in that moment, and I had to reign myself in so as to not steer the discussion off-topic too much. But in my mind Constantine, especially as written by Garth Ennis, seemed to tick all the boxes.

Mysterious? Definitely. Few people really know his character deep down because he doesn't really have friends beyond Chas. Superior to the common run of humanity? Yes. He knows more about the secrets of the world than most people and in fact is more than a little arrogant about his superiority. and guilt? Man, he has it in spades. He is haunted by the ghosts of those whose deaths he was indirectly responsible for, and he blames himself for many of those incidents (even when they weren't completely his fault).

If you look at the checklist on Wikipedia of what it takes to be a Byronic Hero, there are even more characteristics that stand out: cunning and able to adapt, disrespect of rank and privilege, a troubled past.

It's unfortunately been too long since I've reread my run of Hellblazer, so I can't think of any particular examples off the top of my head of his exhibiting any of these behaviors. Obviously his guilt can be traced back to the Newcastle incident (detailed in Hellblazer #11), and in Ennis's run his self-criticism is at its highest when Kit leaves him. If anyone would like to chime in with a few more examples, I'm all ears.

Raymond Chandler's Twelve Notes on the Mystery Story: Watchmen

[Continuing my series of posts where I take Raymond Chandler's "Twelve Notes on the Mystery Story" and apply said notes to a comic book mystery story. New posts on Sundays.]

I reread Watchmen this week for the Splash Page, so why not use it here, too? I'm going to guess right off that I won't find that many problems with Chandler and Moore matching up, because while I can probably find a few loopholes in the mystery plot, Moore more than makes up for that with style and personality, which Chandler is all about. That, and it's Watchmen. You know how most things that are universally loved don't deserve it, but a few things do? Yeah, this is one of them. It's not perfect, but it's damn good. Do people say that enough? "Watchmen is damn good." Because it is and they should.

But, for the two of you who read this blog and haven't read Watchmen yet (and I hope I'm overestimating there), let me clue you in on the mystery: Edward Blake aka the Comedian has been killed. Someone broke into his apartment, beat him up and threw him through a, I'm guessing, plexi-glass window. Our detective is Rorschach, an urgan vigilante. He thinks it could be someone targetting "superheroes." This theory seems confirmed when Dr. Manhattan is driven off-world, someone tries to kill Adrian Veidt (formerly known as Ozymandias), and Rorschach himself is framed for murder. Ultimately, Rorschach and Nite Owl discover that Veidt is actually behind the whole thing. Blake discovered Veidt's plot to save the world by ending the Cold War, so Veidt killed him before he could tell someone. Dr. Manhattan was taken out of the equation as part of the plan, while framing Rorschach was a means of preventing his snooping, while Veidt's own assassination attempt was to make Rorschach's theory make more sense and make sure he wasn't a suspect.

Now, let's introduce Mr. Moore to Mr. Chandler...

Twelve Notes on the Mystery Story (Revised April 18, 1948)

1. It must be credibly motivated, both as to the original situation and the denouement; it must consist of the plausible actions of plausible people in plausible circumstances, it being remembered that plausibility is largely a matter of style. This requirement rules out most trick endings and a great many "closed circle" stories in which the least likely character is forcibly made over into the criminal, without convincing anybody. It also rules out such elaborate mises-en-scene as Christie's Murder in a Calais Coach, where the whole setup for the crime requires such a fluky set of happenings that it could never seem real.

Veidt wants to save the world and is afraid that Blake will expose his plot. He has good reason to fear this as Blake got drunk, broke into an old enemy, Moloch's house and blathered on like an insane man. While Blake may not have taken it further, he was an unknown and Veidt hates unknowns. Veidt's plot was years... a decade in the making and would save the world from nuclear war--I'd say the motivation works.

2. It must be technically sound as to the methods of murder and detection. No fantastic poisons or improper effects from poison such as death from nonfatal doses, etc. No use of silencers on revolvers (they won't work) or snakes climbing bellropes ("The Speckled Band"). Such things at once destroy the foundation of the story. If the detective is a trained policeman, he must act like one, and have the mental and physical equipment that go with the job. If he is a private investigator or amateur, he must at least know enough about police methods not to make an ass of himself. When a policeman is made out to be a fool, as he always was on the Sherlock Holmes stories, this not only depreciates the accomplishment of the detective but it makes the reader doubt the author's knowledge of his own field. Conan Doyle and Poe were primitives in this art and stand in relation to the best modern writers as Giotto does to da Vinci. They did things which are no longer permissible and exposed ignorances that are no longer tolerated. Also, police art, itself, was rudimentary in their time. "The Purloined Letter" would not fool a modern cop for four minutes. Conan Doyle showed no knowledge whatever of the organization of Scotland Yard's men. Christie commits the same stupidities in our time, but that doesn't make them right. Contrast Austin Freeman, who wrote a story about a forged fingerprint ten years before police method realized such things could be done.

Veidt breaks into Blake's apartment and beats him with his bare hands, which he knows how to do through his training and a previous encounter with Blake years previous. The method of Blake's murder is very simple.

The detective here is Rorschach and his methods are somewhat sound. They've been honed over the years as an urban vigilante. At first, he doesn't know that Blake is the Comedian, but discovers that quickly thanks to a keen eye. After that, he thinks of the most likely suspects--but he's paranoid and overthinks the possibilities a little and settles on a "mask killer" plot. Since he warns other vigilantes of the possibility, it actually allows Veidt to nurture it and avoid suspicion. Rorschach's flaws make solving the case not only more difficult because he's on the wrong track, but also prompts Veidt to have him imprisoned. The framing of Rorschach is partly because he visited Moloch, and Moloch informed him about Blake's visit. However, when there are more instances of supposed "mask killer" activities, Rorschach's old ally, Nite Owl breaks him out of prison with the help of the Silk Spectre. And, together, Rorschach and Nite Owl deduce that Veidt is behind the whole thing after going to his office to warn him. By interrogating various "criminals" at bars, they discover that Pyramid Deliveries is behind many of the activities of late and Nite Owl finds out that Veidt owns Pyramid Deliveries by hacking his computers. When they confront Veidt, he tells them of his entire plot.

3. It must be honest with the reader. This is always said, but the implications are not realized. Important facts not only must not be concealed, they must not be distorted by false emphasis. Unimportant facts must not be projected in such a way as to make them portentous. (This creation of red herrings and false menace out of trick camera work and mood shots if the typical Hollywood mystery picture cheat.) Inferences from the facts are the detective's stock in trade; but he should disclose enough to keep the reader's mind working. It is arguable, although not certain, that inferences arising from special knowledge (e.g., Dr. Thorndyke) are a bit of a cheat, because the basic theory of all good mystery writing is that at some stage not too late in the story the reader did have the materials to solve the problem. If specal scientific knowledge was necessary to interpret the facts, the reader did not have the solution unless he had the special knowledge. It may have been Austin Freeman's feeling about this that led him to the invention of the inverted detective story, in which the reader knows the solution from the beginning and takes his pleasure from watching the detective trace it out a step at a time.

Specific knowledge isn't necessary here. If the reader is thrown off, it is because of Rorschach's focus on a "mask killer" and Veidt's purposeful misdirection.

4. It must be realistic as to character, setting, and atmosphere. It must be about real people in the real world. Very few mystery writers have any talent for character work, but that doesn't mean it is not necessary. It makes the difference between the story you reread and remember and the one you skim through and almost instantly forget. Those like Valentine Williams who say the problem overrides everything are merely trying to cover up their own inability to create character.

While it does involve many fantastic elements, Watchmen is realistic in character, setting and atmosphere. The character work is fantastic and definitely makes you want to read it several times.

5. It must have a sound story value apart from the mystery element; i.e., the investigation itself must be an adventure worth reading.

The mystery element is what begins the story, but it becomes much more than that. It's a reflection on the Cold War, superheroes, morality... and many, many other things. The structure of alternating issues at first between plot and character really helps this as does the focus on non-vigilante characters like Bernie the newsvendor or Rorschach's psychiatrist in prison.

6. To achieve this it must have some form of suspense, even if only intellectual. This does not mean menace and especially it does not mean that the detective must be menaced by grave personal danger. This last is a trend and like all trends will exhaust itself by overimitation. Nor need the reader be kept hanging on the edge of his chair. The overplotted story can be dull too; too much shock may result in numbness to shock. But there must be conflict, physical, ethical or emotional, and there must be some element of danger in the broadest sense of the word.

There is a constant feel of uneasiness, mostly because of the Cold War standoff between the US and Russia. It's not just the main characters threatened, but the entire world. As well, relationships begin and die, characters are killed or imprisoned or attacked. It's not a constant onslaught of terror, but there is a continual feeling of suspense throughout the story. It does feel a little overplotted at times, but that is a trademark of Moore's work. In that regard, this is one of the most energetic pieces Moore has ever done. It was written early enough in his career that it lacks energy because he's trying too hard.

7. It must have color, lift, and a reasonable amount of dash. It takes an awful lot of technical adroitness to compensate for a dull style, although it has been done, especially in England.

Oh, it has these, both in the writing and art.

8. It must have enough essential simplicity to be explained easily when the time comes. (This is possibly the most often violated of all the rules). The ideal denouement is one in which everything is revealed in a flash of action. This is rare because ideas that good are always rare. The explanation need not be very short (except on the screen), and often it cannot be short; but it must be interesting in itself, it must be something the reader is anxious to hear, and not a new story with a new set of characters, dragged in to justify an overcomplicated plot. Above all the explanation must not be merely a long-winded assembling of minute circumstances which no ordinary reader could possibly be expected to remember. To make the solution dependent on this is a kind of unfairness, since here again the reader did not have the solution within his grasp, in any practical sense. To expect him to remember a thousand trivialities and from them to select that three that are decisive is as unfair as to expect him to have a profound knowledge of chemistry, metallurgy, or the mating habits of the Patagonian anteater.

I think it has that simplicity: Veidt pushes the US and Russia to the brink before unifying them under the threat of something bigger--and, in doing so, must kill Edward Blake after he discovers the plot. It's more complicated than that, really, but it's also very simple.

9. It must baffle a reasonably intelligent reader. This opens up a very difficult question. Some of the best detective stories ever written (those of Austin Freeman, for example) seldom baffle an intelligent reader to the end. But the reader does not guess the complete solution and could not himself have made a logical demonstration of it. Since readers are of many minds, some will guess a cleverly hidden murder and some will be fooled by the most transparent plot. (Could the "Red-Headed League" ever really fool a modern reader?) It is not necessary or even possible to fool to the hilt the real aficionado of mystery fiction. A mystery story that consistently did that and was honest would be unintelligible to the average fan; he simply would not know what the story was all about. But there must be some important elements of the story that elude the most penetrating reader.

I can't say if this baffles an intelligent reader, but I'd guess it would. Edward Blake was killed so Adrian Veidt could save the world? The clues are all there, but until the solution is revealed, there's little chance a reader could assemble them correctly.

10. The solution must seem inevitable once revealed. This is the least often emphasized element of a good mystery, but it is one of the important elements of all fiction. It is not enough merely to fool or elude or sidestep the reader; you must make him feel that he ought not to have been fooled and that the fooling was honorable.

This is one of the hardest parts of a mystery and I'm not sure it happens here. The mystery makes sense and scenes that happened one way now suddenly happened another. But... inevitable... that's a tall order. A former enemy trying to eliminate the heroes as in Rorschach's "mask killer" plot would seem inevitable. Veidt's plot is necessary and logical, but not quite inevitable. Others may disagree, but that's how I see it.

11. It must not try to do everything at once. If it is a puzzle story operating in a rather cool, reasonable atmosphere, it cannot also be a violent adventure or a passionate romance. An atmosphere of terror destroys logical thinking; if the story is about the intricate psychological pressures that lead apparently ordinary people to commit murder, it cannot then switch to the cool analysis of the police investigator. The detective cannot be hero and menace at the same time; the murderer cannot be a tormented victim of circumstance and also a heavy.

Now, this is an element I'm torn on as I could see it going either way. This is a big story and it does a lot, but does it try to do too much? Is it too busy? I think it does a great job of combining types of stories by firmly attaching those types to specific characters. For Rorschach, it's a mystery; for Nite Owl, it's an adventure; for Veidt, it's a quest... and so on. But, is it too much, too unfocused? I'm honestly not sure. I think it works, but this could be interpretted by others differently. So, I'll leave this one up to others to decide.

12. It must punish the criminal in one way or another, not necessarily by operation of the law. Contrary to popular (and Johnston Office) belief, this requirement has nothing much to do with morality. It is a part of the logic of detection. If the detective fails to resolve the consequences of the crime, the story is an unresolved chord and leaves irritation behind it.

Veidt is punished at the end--by his own conscience and doubt. He's not sure if he did the right thing. He wants to believe that he did, but, as Dr. Manhattan points out, it never ends, so while Veidt may have stopped this one crisis, another will soon arise and his work will begin again. He's punished by the knowledge that he will never save the world no matter how crises he prevents.



Addenda

1. The perfect detective story cannot be written. The type of mind which can evolve the perfect problem is not the type of mind that can produce the artistic job of writing. It would be nice to have Dashiell Hammett and Austin Freeman in the same book, but it just isn't possible. Hammett couldn't have the plodding patience and Freeman couldn't have the verve for narrative. They don't go together. Even a fair compromise such as Dorothy Sayers is less satisfying than the two types taken separately.

This isn't the perfect detective story, really, because the motivation for the murder is logical, but is also so obtuse and outside of normal circumstances that it blindsides the reader and the detective. As a result, it's something different from a detective story, while still acting as one (if that makes sense).

2. The most effective way to conceal a simple mystery is behind another mystery. This is litrary legerdemain. You do not fool the reader by hiding clues or faking character [ala] Christie but by making him solve the wrong problem.

Veidt creates another mystery after Rorschach himself creates it. Veidt encourages and adds to the "mask killer" plot to distract from the truth, particularly by making himself the target of an assassination.

3. It has been said that "nobody cares about the corpse." This is bunk. It is throwing away a valuable element. It is like saying the murder of your aunt means no more to you than the murder of an unknown man in an unknown part of a city you never visited.

Do we care about Edward Blake? We learn a lot about him as the story progresses. At first, we know he's a costumed hero of some sort and that may get our sympathies quickly--but, then we learned he attempted to rape another hero, which makes him repulsive. By the end of the story, we've received a lot of information about him and his life from a lot of perspectives, so I think it's hard not to care about him on some level--even if it's just a level of familiarity. We know him well enough that we can't help but care a little.

4. Flip dialogue is not wit.

Amen, brother. Moore writes some good dialogue here.

5. A mystery serial does not make a good mystery novel. The "curtains" depend for their effect on your not having the next chapter to read at once. In book form these curtains give the effect of a false suspense and tend to be merely irritating. The magazines have begun to find that out.

While serialised, Watchmen was designed as a complete story told in twelve parts and, as a result, reads very well. As well, many issues have their own unique focus and narrative voice, which is both a positive and negative. It works as a serial in some spots, while giving a richer feel to the whole in others. Rarely are there obvious curtains of any kind, though.

6. Love interest nearly always weakens a mystery story because it creates a type of suspense that is antagonistic and not complementary to the detective's struggle to solve the problem. The kind of love interest that works is the one that complicates the problem by adding to the detective's troubles but which at the same time you instinctively feel will not survive the story. A really good detective never gets married. He would lose his detachment, and this detachment is part of his charm.

Rorschach loves no woman.

Nite Owl is essential to solving the mystery, but is not really a detective and his love interest helps, in a way, but also leads to his retirement.

7. The fact that love interest is played up in the big magazines and on the screen doesn't make it artistic. Women are supposed to be the target of magazine fiction and movies. The magazines are not interested in mystery writing as an art. They are not interested in any kind of writing as an art.

Um...

8. The hero of the mystery story is the detective. Everything hangs on his personality. If he hasn't one, you have very little. And you have very few really good mystery stories. Naturally.

Rorschach has personality. Find me someone who disagrees. I dare you.

9. The criminal cannot be the detective. This is an old rule and has once in a while been violated successfully, but it is sound as it ever was. For this reason: the detective by tradition and definition is the seeker of truth. He can't be that if he already knows the truth. There is an implied guarantee to the reader that the detective is on the level.

The criminal here is an ally of the detective, but isn't the detective.

10. The same remark applies to the story where the first-person narrator is the criminal. I should personally have to qualify this by saying that for me the first-person narration can always be accused of subtle dishonesty because of its appearance of candor and its ability to suppress the detective's ratiocination while giving a clear account of his words and acts. Which opens up the much larger question of what honesty really is in this context; is it not a matter of degree rather an absolute? I think it is and always will be. Regardless of the candor of the first-person narrative there comes a time when the detective has made up his mind and yet does not communicate this to the reader. He holds some of his thinking for the denouement or explanation. He tells the facts but not the reaction in his mind to those facts. Is this a permissible convention of deceit? It must be; otherwise the detective telling his own story could not have solved the problem in advance of the technical denouement. Once in a lifetime a story such as The Big Sleep holds almost nothing back; the denouement is an action which the reader meets as soon as the detective. The theorizing from that action follows immediately. There is only a momentary concealment of the fact that Marlowe loaded the gun with blanks when he gave it to Carmen down by the oil sump. But even this is tipped off to the reader when he says, "If she missed the can, which she was certain to do, she would probably hit the wheel. That would stop a small slug completely. However she wasn't going to hit even that." He doesn't say why, but the action follows so quickly that you don't feel any real concealment.

Veidt doesn't narrate anything through narrative captions. Rorschach does through his journal, we get Dr. Manhattan's thoughts, the narration of the pirate comic book and... Rorschach's psychiatrist's notes along with some backmatter material. All are very unique in their voices and all are truthful. Some contribute to the story more than others, but none mislead the reader really.

11. The murderer must not be a loony. The murderer is not a murderer unless he commits murder in the legal sense.

Adrian Veidt is very, very sane.

12. There is, as has been said, no real possibility of absolute perfection [in writing a mystery story]. Why? For two main reasons, of which has been stated aboved in Addenda Note 1. The second is the attitude of the reader himself. Readers are of too many kinds and too many levels of culture. The puzzle addict, for instance, regards the story as a contest of wits between himself and the writer; if he guesses the solution, he has won, even though he could not document his guess or justify it by solid reasoning. There is something of this competitive spirit in all readers, but the reader in whom it predominates sees no value beyond the game of guessing the solution. There is the reader, again, whose whole interest is in sensation, sadism, cruelty, blood, and the element of death. Again there is some in all of us, but the reader in whom it predominates will care nothing for the so-called deductive story, however meticulous. A third class of reader is the worrier-about-the-characters; this reader doesn't care so much about the solution; what really gets her upset is the chance that the silly little heroine will get her neck twisted on the spiral staircase. Fourth, and most important, there is the intellectual literate reader who reads mysteries because they are almost the only kind of fiction that does not get too big for its boots. This reader savors style, characterization, plot twists, all the virtuosities of the writing much more than he bothers about the solution. You cannot satisfy all these readers completely. To do so involves contradictory elements. I, in the role of reader, almost never try to guess the solution to a mystery. I simply don't regard the contest between the writer and myself as important. To be frank I regard it as the amusement of an inferior type of mind.

The fourth type of reader is the main audience here, but every other type has its moments, too. This is one of the rare stories that manages to have elements that target all four types, which is partly how it primarily targets the fourth. There's Rorschach's puzzle, a few bits of action, a connection with the characters... something for everyone, really.

13. As has been suggested above, all fiction depends on some form of suspense. But the study of the mechanics of that extreme type called menace reveals the curious psychological duality of the mind of a reader or audience which makes it possible on the one hand to be terrified about what is hiding behind the door and at the same time to know that the heroine or leading lady is not going to be murdered once she is established as the heroine or leading lady. If the character played by Claudette Colbert is in awful danger, we also know absolutely that Miss Colbert is not going to be hurt for the simple reason that she is Miss Colbert. How does the audience's mind get upset by menace in view of this clear knowledge? Of the many possible reasons I suggest two. The reaction to visual images and sounds, or their evocation in descriptive writing, is independent of reasonableness. The primitive element of fear is never far from the surface of our thoughts; anything that calls to it can defeat reason for the time being. Hence menace makes its appeal to a very ancient and very irrational emotion. Few men are beyond its influence. The other reason I suggest is that in any intense kind of literary or other projection the part is greater than the whole. The scene before the eyes dominates the thought of the audience; the normal individual makes no attempt to reconcile it with the pattern of the story. He is swayed by what is in the actual scene. When you have finished the book, it may, not necessarily will, fall into focus as a whole and be remembered by its merit so considered; but for the time of reading, the chapter is the dominating factor. The vision of the emotional imagination is very short but also very intense.

Since these are all original characters, any of them could die at any moment and some do die. In comics, particularly with superheroes, readers are conditioned to reject death or, when death occurs, not take it seriously. This wasn't the case as much when Watchmen came out and since the story begins with the death of a "superhero," the reader cannot assume that it will be the last. The tone of the writing and the art suggests that the rules here are different. The ensemble cast also suggests that any character is expendible (in theory). Those small clues create a heightened level of suspense for the average superhero comic book reader that Moore and Gibbons obviously play with a little bit.

And that does it. Next week, I have no idea what I'll look at (I do have several options, though).