6 in the 6160 01 – Ultimate Invasion #1-4 and Ultimate Universe #1

The new Ultimate line fascinates me. Something about it captured me from the very first issue of Ultimate Invasion. In this series of writings, I will discuss the Ultimate line in six-month increments for each title across six broad ideas each time. I begin with the five issues released across six months that set the stage for this new world and line of titles.

1 – “Good Artists Copy”

Were it not for a car accident, this project would have looked very different.

The entire rebirth of the Ultimate Universe was meant to be different. How different, we don’t know currently and may never know. What we do know is that, originally, Donny Cates was meant to write this series (under the existing title or another) and it was an unfortunate car accident that has had horrible long-lasting effects on Cates that resulted in the need for another writer to step in. Again, details are short on how this all happened, so there could have been numerous false starts or discussions involving other writers before Jonathan Hickman took over the project. I’ll be the callous prick who points out how fitting that this project, recreating an alternate version of the Marvel Universe was sent on a different path by a single, violent event. It’s the sort of thematic connection that’s so on the nose that a reader would roll their eyes. Truth is stranger and all that...

It also meant that the man tapped with bringing the idea back to life is the same that killed it originally. The first Ultimate line of comics ran from 2000-2015, coming to an end in Secret Wars #1 by Hickman and Esad Ribić, where the regular Marvel 616 universe also perished. By the end of the event, the 616 was back, while the Ultimate Universe was nowhere to be found. There were some holdovers: Miles Morales and his family, the Maker (an alternate version of Reed Richards), Ultimate Mjolnir showed up, and maybe a few others. But, the idea of a new reader friendly version of all of Marvel’s characters was no longer a going concern, not with movies filling that gap, to an extent. So, it was a bit of a surprise when Ultimate Invasion was announced as bringing the Ultimate Universe back.

It was an even larger surprise when the issues began coming out and it became apparent exactly what sort of Ultimate Universe was being created. This was not a return to the old 1610; instead, this new universe, created by the Maker, is designated 6160. After escaping confinement in the regular Marvel Universe, he gathers the necessary materials to escape that world and recreate his old one, albeit with changes. Over the course of the series, we see that he carefully managed this world through time travel to eliminate most of the superpowered people of both the Marvel and Ultimate Universes, setting up a world basically ruled by himself along with a hand-picked council that each oversees a geographic portion of the world. When an attack from the future decimates one of their gatherings, one of their number, Howard Stark, is brought into the conspiracy, having distanced himself from ‘politics’ previously, leaving that element to his partner, Obadiah Stane. To make matters more interesting, the superpowered attackers from the future looked to be an army of clones resembling the Ultimate versions of Captain America, Thor, Giant-Man, Wasp, and Vision, sent by Kang back in time to kill the Maker and his council.

After, Howard Stark is brought into the conspiracy and put to work building the Maker another time machine, an Immortus Engine, alongside a masked prisoner identified as Reed Richards. While they succeed, they also make plans to work against the Maker, resulting in another invasion of Kang and his army into the Maker’s City where they battled with his own genetically created army, eventually leading the seeming death of most of those involved and the City being sealed off for two years (with an unknown amount of time passing in the City). Outside, the council makes plans for what to do with the world for the two years without the Maker and Howard’s son, Tony, adopts similar armour to his father, calling himself Iron Lad and allying himself with Doom (Reed Richards) to free the world from the control of the Maker and his allies.

It’s a very different sort of Ultimate Universe, one not designed as a back to basics entry point. It is an entry point, of sorts, albeit one filled with allusions and mysteries and ‘Easter eggs’ for those in the know. It’s a world of systems of power hidden from most who live inside them, but shown clearly to the reader. While the original Ultimate line featured modern updates of familiar concepts, distilling and simplifying them of decades of stories, taking advantage of the ability to pick and choose different elements to create something, hopefully, better, this is something else entirely. This is a world equally curated, though both in and outside of the comics, albeit one that twists and bends the Marvel Universe as we know it. It is a world just as designed by its real world creators as any other; it is also one designed by the Maker, which sets it apart in a dramatic manner.

That doesn’t mean it’s completely unfamiliar, though...

2 – “Great Artists Steal”

The idea of a version of Reed Richards curating his world, picking and choosing what wondrous elements make it to the public, which ones are purloined for his personal use, and which are similar smothered in the crib is not a new one. In Ultimate Invasion, Hickman recasts his Maker, in part, as Randall Dowling of the Four. Planetary by Warren Ellis, John Cassaday, and Laura Martin, published by the Wildstorm imprint of DC Comics, ran for 27 issues and three specials from 1999 to 2009, and it followed an organisation that sought out the hidden history of the world, investigating weird happenings and, over the course of the series, was revealed to be working directly against a group called the Four, which had spent the latter half of the 20th century covering up all the strange and wondrous things that could have made the world so much greater. Throughout the series, we’re given numerous examples of the Four’s efforts to suppress superhumans and the advancements that they could bring, mostly at the behest of their leader, Dowling. Ellis modeled Dowling and the Four after Reed Richards and the Fantastic Four, ostensibly as a metaphor for the superhero genre’s dominance of comics in the latter half of the 20th century, a process that began, one could say, with the release of Fantastic Four #1. While it was eventually revealed that Dowling was also attempting to save the world from an alien threat in addition to controlling it, the Maker has no such lofty goals. Hickman even throws a subtle clue to this line of thinking near the end of the first issue of Ultimate Invasion when the Maker asks Reed Richards, “If you could do it all against – if you could truly change things – if you had the chance... / ...would you erase me from existence?” When Richards answers, “... / ... / YES.” the Maker responds, “I’ll keep that in mind.” Which, of course, is his entire plan in this new universe: erase all threats from existence.

His methods match those of Dowling, but his attitude (and look) is reminiscent of another Wildstorm character that Ellis wrote: Henry Bendix, the Weatherman of Stormwatch when Ellis’s run on that title began. Up through the final issue of that volume, Ellis painted a picture of a man obsessed with controlling the world to make it fit his vision of what it should be, primarily through his control of superhumans. By being in charge of the United Nations’ superhuman response team, he was able to influence and shift things and is only revealed when another group of superhumans makes their presence known – and their intentions for how they wish to change the world. It’s that group that threatened Bendix’s burgeoning world, Stormwatch, and Stormwatch’s superteam descendent, the Authority, that shows in the Maker’s council. There are a few easy comparisons (Ra and Khonshu to Apollo and Midnighter, for instance), but it’s more of a general concept of a group of roughly seven superhumans (or superhuman ruling groups) being the true power of the world, all under the thumb of a single man.

Ultimate Invasion’s plot recalls, after a fashion, the opening story of The Authority, “The Circle,” where the formerly-deposed-and-impersonated ruler of an island nation, Kaizen Gamorra, sends superpowered clone armies out into the world to decimate cities, creating his mark (a circle with three dots on it) across the entire planet. Kang’s army of clones sent into the past to destroy the Maker (the epilogue in issue 3 with Kang rallying the troops recalls Gamorra’s similar speech to his army) and all he’s built is a variation on the idea, one taken even further in the fourth issue when the Maker’s own army, a different sort of cloned superhuman force, engages with it. It’s a battle of Gamorras to an extent, highlighted by Howard Stark in the middle, attempting to somehow destroy both sides. And, when all is said and done, what’s left is the next version of the armoured hero (Iron Man to Iron Lad ala Engineer to Engineer) creating his own version of the Authority/Planetary to take down the remaining rulers of the planet, the corrupted Authority/Four/Bendix’s Stormwatch.

There are no easy one to one comparisons, as I said earlier, it’s more like Hickman is operating in a sub-genre of superhero comics called “Ellis’s Wildstorm.” While the original Ultimate line took many cues from that period of Wildstorm (and Ellis was one of the more prolific voices in the initial Ultimate line after Brian Michael Bendis and Mark Millar), it was more influenced by Millar’s following Ellis on The Authority. Hickman, in creating this new version, takes a few steps back to what came before.

3 – Broken Boy Soldier

But, Hickman is also playing with his own toys and exploring his own interests, of course. In some ways, Ultimate Invasion is unfinished business. In 2011, Hickman and Esad Ribić launched Ultimate Comics: The Ultimates, part of the second line wide relaunch of the Ultimate books, and this series pitted the Ultimates against the Maker as he created his time-advanced city, and looked to change the world. From a personal standpoint, it was definitely an exciting highlight of the time and it lasted less than a year before Hickman left the title to take over the main line version, the Avengers and New Avengers, on a run that would culminate with Secret Wars in 2015. While Hickman had used the Maker since his time on Ultimate Comics: The Ultimates, there was still a sense that whatever plans he’d had for the character and that world were left unfulfilled, perhaps not for him, but for some readers (like me). Ultimate Invasion presents a version of that unfulfilled promise by having the Maker not pick up where he left off, but go even further and completely succeed. It’s like the time between Ultimate Comics: The Ultimates and Ultimate Invasion actually happened and we’re jumping back into that story with the Maker having won and remade the world as he wished, in a way.

Beyond that, Ultimate Invasion is a story of global systems and politics, of the seen and unseen powers that control everything, a frequent topic of Hickman’s work. He’s particularly interested in power and systems controlled by a small group of people. While Ellis’s Wildstorm work is an obvious and inescapable influence over Ultimate Invasion, and it’s also a continuation of Hickman’s earlier Ultimate work, he gives a big clue of another influence on how he approaches the Maker and his plans in the first issue: the Illuminati. A staple of Hickman’s New Avengers, the Illuminati is a group created by Brian Michael Bendis and Alex Maleev, a council of superhumans in the Marvel Universe, that would meet and work together to quietly shape things behind the scenes. Bendis had them form as a response to the Kree-Skrull War under the guise that, if Earth was entering into a larger universe, it needed a more unified approach to survive. Hickman pushed the group into much greyer moral areas as it was the primary defence against the multiversal collapse that resulted in incursion events where two alternate Earths would occupy a shared space with a limited time to destroy one in order to save the other, or both would die. Hickman’s Illuminati killed Earths. In Ultimate Invasion #1, the Maker steals something from each of the seven members of the current Illuminati (as a variation of Reed Richards, he is the stolen item for Richards) to create his gateway to his new universe. He does so purposefully and clearly, sending a message to them that not only is he leaving and they cannot stop him, he’s taking the lessons he learned from them with him. You may as well call the Maker’s council that world’s Illuminati.

Howard Stark’s betrayal is the lone man standing up and refusing to participate that recalls the original Ultimate Tony Stark doing something similar at Davos under Hickman in the Ultimate Fallout series that preceded Ultimate Comics: The Ultimates, or Reed Richards’s disillusionment/break with the Council of Reeds. That singular conscience that cannot abide the group think status quo that looks down on everything, willing to treat lives as mere currency in the service of their own ideals. This idealism is shared by his son and, to an unknown degree, by this world’s native Reed Richards/Doom. It recalls the original break from the world by the Maker. He too looked at the status quo and decided to make things right. It’s all cycles and different perspectives, systems that breed systems that breed systems...

4 – The Architect

Visually, there is no better candidate to draw the rebirth of the Ultimate line of books than Bryan Hitch. He is the bridge between the Ellis Wildstorm period and the original Ultimate line, having drawn parts of the second Stormwatch volume, the entire first year of The Authority, and, then, the first two Ultimates series. No artist better embodies the visual look of the late 1990s/early 2000s and the concept of ‘widescreen’ superhero comics than Bryan Hitch, here back with his Ultimates inker Andrew Currie. To see Hitch draw this new world, a synthesis of Wildstorm and the original Ultimate line, is to see both simultaneously. Perhaps, no visual better demonstrates that idea than the initial invasion of Kang’s future clone army, coming out of the sky like Gammora’s clones, but looking like the Ultimates. That visual resonance is key to this book. More than any artist, he hammers home just how much the look of the Maker recalls Henry Bendix’s all black spandex suit with metal headband implant crossed with the mark of Gamorra that his army wore on similarly all black spandex suits. By the final issue, when the Maker and Kang’s forces have their final battle, it looks like elements of The Authority at war with elements of The Ultimates.

Beyond his ‘usefulness’ as the visual connector between the two major antecedents of this new Ultimate Universe, Hitch is really fucking good. A stylist who is immediately recognisable but able to adapt to anything. He does big ‘widescreen’ action better than anyone, becoming the dominant influence for all that came after him, but also able to do visually arresting ‘quiet’ scenes. Some of the best moments in the series are the discussion scenes where Hitch shows body language and facial reactions to carry as much weight in rooms where what’s unsaid is just as important as what’s said. Those council scenes are so good at establishing characters who literally say nothing, like the casualness of Omega Red who lounges with his hands behind his head or comes up behind Colossus, flinging his hand over the other’s shoulder. Hitch is wonderful at little details that allow you to go back and stare endlessly at pages.

In the final issue, Alex Sinclair does some very interesting things with colour, seemingly eschewing realism for effects throughout the battle between the Maker and Kang. Mid-battle, the colour shifts from ‘realistic’ to overly saturated by a blue light for the Maker’s immediate surroundings, while Kang has a more green lighting effect surrounding him, resulting in something like a rainbow when they clash on this magnificent double-page spread. So powerful are these two beings that their very essences radiate their energy, in a way. It heightens the conflict and gives these two monsters, each thinking themself right, an almost heroic effect when they clash.

And, later, after Howard Stark decimates both groups and the City counts down to its closure, all colour is stripped away for a grey, desolate effect. Sinclair, while adhering to realism throughout most of the series abandons it to great effect here, emphasising the emotion of scenes. Even the followup with a orange tone to the council’s meeting suggests a sunset/autumn feel that is on the world before the coming night/winter.

5 – No One Left to Save the World

Up until this point, I’ve mostly focused on Ultimate Invasion, leaving the one-shot followup Ultimate Universe #1 out of things. But, going forward with the Ultimate line of comics, Ultimate Universe #1 is much more important. Ultimate Invasion is the back story, the set up, the looming threat hanging over the entire thing, but it’s not the actual story. Ultimate Universe #1 provides the actual story of the line, the one picked up by the four series that have (so far) followed it.

In an inversion to the concept of the original Ultimates, who acted on behalf of the US government to enforce a specific political agenda rooted in the status quo, this group, as led by Tony Stark (Iron Lad), is a terrorist one set on overthrowing the status quo. Imagine if the Authority made up Planetary, after a manner. This issue establishes part of their mission to free the Maker’s locked away secret knowledge of the world and begin to re-establish the World That Should Have Been, putting them in direct opposition to the Maker’s council. In his absence, they have taken more control of the world, including dividing up North America with the loss of Stane and Stark. The issue ends with a direct confrontation with the council and them using Stark’s own weaponry against this new resistance, blasting New York City from space and blaming Tony for the attack. That leaves him and his allies not just as terrorists to the true powers of the world, but to the public as well. While their war remains secret to a degree, they also exist in the minds of the world in a very public manner. Less superhumans as weapons of mass destruction and more as IEDs.

Even in the regular Marvel Universe, the superheroes are very much agents of the status quo, reacting to crime and other threats. In Ellis’s Wildstorm books, there was a sense of a larger responsibility for superheroes, to not abide a corrupt status quo, but to change it. First glimpsed in the group of superhumans in the “Change or Die” arc that concluded the first Stormwatch volume and, then, continued with the Authority (who, by their actions, Ellis described as villains within the traditional definitions of superheroes), and, then, in Planetary where the mission of the organisation was explicitly to eliminate a ruling power that had purposefully suppressed information and held the world back. To destroy the world as it is is an act of terrorism and villainy, a remarkably bold direction to set the heroes of this world. Tony Stark’s mission isn’t simply to fight the council directly, but to create an army of superhumans with the Maker’s hidden knowledge, to subtly affect the world around him. Until the launch of The Ultimates monthly series, the line of books followed this understated element of his mission, painting fairly disparate portraits of this world, almost at complete disconnect.

An underrated idea established in this issue is that Stark’s group, while having lofty goals, is fairly inexperienced and may not be good at this. They bumble around this issue, barely survive a confrontation with Captain Britain, ruler of Europe, and, then, are almost killed from space in attack that they are blamed for. These are idealists flailing about, making mistakes, and surviving by the skin of their teeth. It’s smart to introduce them as somewhat incompetent, giving the 24 month deadline weight. As is hinted at in Ultimate Invasion #4, time moves at an unknown rate in the City and they don’t know what they’ll face when it opens again. That this group of ‘Ultimates’ bear that name with irony more than anything makes the need for progress urgent, almost frantic. If they could only squeak by Captain Britain by himself, how will they survive the full council, or the Maker and his forces?

Appropriately, to continue the idea of the past influencing the present, the artist on this issue is Stefano Caselli, the initial/primary artist on Hickman’s first ongoing series for Marvel, Secret Warriors. That book was, basically, the big break at Marvel for both men and, here, they reunite to set into motion the next two years of the new Ultimate Universe. His involvement also breaks the visual spell of Hitch’s Authority/Ultimates look, bringing things back more towards Marvel’s general visual aesthetic, while also setting up his own involvement as artist on Ultimate Black Panther. Caselli is an adept superhero artist and draws a wonderfully thick Thor, giving the imprisoned Thunder God an appropriate heft and power.

6 – 24 Months

We return, then, to Wildstorm and the broader influence of that company upon the shaping of this new Ultimate Universe. It has gone through different periods of attempting a larger, overriding story. Periods where there was a central theme to the line, up to and including the most recent attempt to begin a Wildstorm line under Warren Ellis, beginning with The Wild Storm series, continuing in the Deathblow series that spun out from it, and... nothing. The line never materialised, notably as a result of the accusations against Ellis. I can’t remember if Hickman was one of the rumoured writers recruited to do one of the series to spin out of The Wild Storm (though, Deathblow writer Bryan Hill is the writer of Ultimate Black Panther for this line). Before that, there was the reboot of the line featuring the likes of Grant Morrison, Garth Ennis, Brian Azzarello, and Gail Simone. And, in between, there was an apocalyptic version of the Wildstorm Universe, I believe. While not completely unified under Ellis in the late ‘90s, there was a sense of a unified creative vision with books sharing a sensibility. The new Ultimate line takes that idea forward in spirit more than anything...

The big innovation (as Marvel is apt to point out at every opportunity) is that the ticking time bomb of the Maker’s City being closed for two years following the events of Ultimate Invasion #4 results in a line of comics that progresses in real time. Each month of comics corresponds with a month passing in both our world and theirs. If this world can’t look like ours, it can age at the same time as ours. It’s a clever variation on the original idea of Marvel Comics as superhero stories that reflect the world outside your window. Hickman sees through the lie that you could have a world full of superpowered people and have it remain anything remotely like ours. By their very existence, superhumans would dramatically change the world. So, if the space is incompatible, why not make the time identical?

And, so, the new Ultimate line operates on a deadline that will end January 2026. While not exclusive to Wildstorm, when that company was part of Image Comics, Image once did a month where every comic skipped ahead a year and delivered that issue, a flash forward. A promise of what’s to come. A ticking clock. As the line is beyond Hickman and his plans, inviting in a variety of voices and perspectives, he’s crafted a variation on that idea. The same clock without the specifics of what would happen. A story that was rooted in time travel being defined by time as it moves forward... It also brings to mind the end of the first year of The Authority, which ran across the course of 1999, even approaching the year 2000 when the Spirit of the 20th Century would no longer be needed or relevant.

Influence on influence on influence.

Next: Ultimate Spider-Man #1-6

Jim Starlin Versus the Inevitable: Thoughts on Dreadstar vs. the Inevitable

[This is not a review. I will be discussing Dreadstar vs. the Inevitable in ways that will ‘spoil’ it so, if you haven’t gotten your copy yet and don’t want to learn anything too detailed about what happens, maybe bookmark this piece to return to at a later date. If you don’t particularly care, read on.]

What is a Dreadstar comic?

I’ve been pondering that since reading Dreadstar vs. the Inevitable, the newest Dreadstar graphic novel. It’s the second Dreadstar graphic novel of the 2020s, both published through Kickstarter campaigns, after Jim Starlin departed the book in 1989 with issue 40. He had stopped drawing it a year previously and, after it was continued by writer Peter David with, mostly, artist Angel Medina, Starlin’s only contributions were the odd cover and chapters of a serialised novel that ran in the back. Even when the title returned for a six-issue mini-series under Malibu’s Bravura imprint, Starlin just did covers, focused instead on his ‘Breed series. The last time he had done anything with the character was actually in the third ‘Breed series where Vanth Dreadstar and Oedi from the title joined alongside Starlin’s other creator-owned characters to team up with the protagonist of ‘Breed. While fans always hoped Starlin would return to the character, that appearance seemed likely to be the last time Starlin would draw the character after an injury to his hand seemed to end his drawing career. Instead, after many years of work and recuperation, Starlin managed to regain the use of his drawing hand and the first comic he drew was Dreadstar Returns, which was published in 2021, not only acting as the first Dreadstar comic since the early ‘90s, but also with the promise of several more graphic novels planned. Dreadstar vs. the Inevitable finally had its Kickstarter campaign in 2023 with the property jumping to yet another publisher (if you include the ‘Breed III appearance, Dreadstar has been published by nine different publishers over its 42-year span).

Dreadstar began as a serialised story called The Metamorphosis Odyssey in the pages of Epic Illustrated in 1982 with Starlin writing and painting it. Partly a chance to work on his own characters, partly a chance to try painting a comic, it told the story of a war between two ancient, god-like alien races. With one side realising that that they will eventually lose the war, a plan is put into action to destroy the Milky Way Galaxy – it’s an allegorical story rooted in the Vietnam War. The idea being that the other side is so terrible that, to save the galaxy from the terrible fate of being conquered by this race, it would be better to be destroyed altogether. Vanth Dreadstar is one of four beings gathered to fulfill that plan. Armed with a mystical power sword, Dreadstar is stronger and tougher than the average mortal – the galaxy’s most formidable warrior. He and Aknaton, the alien who destroys the Milky Way Galaxy, are the sole survivors of the explosion that destroys it – and, immediately after reaching safety in a neighbouring galaxy, Vanth kills Aknaton and settles into a quiet life.

The Epic Illustrated story was followed by two graphic novels, also painted, and a short story that led into the ongoing monthly from Epic Comics. The basic set-up was that, in this galaxy, there is also a war between two powerful groups, the Monarchy and the theocratic Instrumentality, and Vanth is drawn into the conflict when the planet he lives on is attacked, killing his wife and the nearby village of cat people. Joining the Monarchy’s army with the goal of getting revenge against the Instrumentality, he learns that neither side is interested in winning the war as both societies are now dependent on the war machine. Basically, it’s too profitable to end the war. Pulling together a group of like-minded individuals, Vanth sets about finding a way to end the war. The monthly title followed Dreadstar and Company in these efforts and, once the Instrumentality won the war, finding a way to overthrow their religious rule, settling into a conflict with the Lord High Papal, leader of the church and government, and his minions.

Starlin stopped drawing the title after the Instrumentality was defeated and the ensuing year where he only wrote the book was a meditation on what happens next with Vanth awaking from a two-year coma, trying to find a place in this new world. Vanth’s efforts to find a direction for his life mirrored Starlin’s efforts to find a direction for the comic. Due to various reasons, Starlin never did find that direction and departed the title, giving it over to Peter David and Angel Medina to continue. This resulted in another change of galaxies and various adventures until the series ended abruptly with plans indicated by First Comics that it would return in a new form. Instead, First Comics didn’t last much longer and it was resurrected as a six-issue mini-series by David with artist Ernie Colon that focused on Vanth’s daughter, the new wielder of the power sword. That story both wrapped up the previous series and told a new story, seemingly bringing the story of Dreadstar to an end.

Until Vanth and Oedi appeared in ‘Breed III alongside Starlin’s other creator-owned characters. It wasn’t completely apparent when these characters were from given that both were back in their most well-known clothes from the beginning of the Epic Comics Dreadstar monthly. Rather than an addition to the broader Dreadstar story, it seemed like a fun crossover of Starlin’s various characters as a bit of a treat for his longtime fans. Soon thereafter, Starlin was back at Marvel, writing and drawing new Thanos stories in a series of graphic novels – until his accident that seemed to end his drawing career. He continued working on Thanos stories with the art team of Alan Davis and Mark Farmer and seemed to bring his version of those characters to a conclusion. If I recall, there were some musings about doing more Dreadstar with another artist (and even one or two aborted efforts previously at a new Dreadstar comic by Starlin himself – one of which is included in the Dreadstar Guidebook that was published as part of the Kickstarter for Dreadstar Returns), but, instead, he discovered that he could, in fact, still draw.

Dreadstar Returns was both a return to familiar grounds with the characters looking like their most classic versions but it not only taking place after Starlin’s run but all of the Peter David-written material as well. Vanth and company are back in the galaxy that they had departed, which is run by the telepath Willow, whose consciousness has been merged with a giant computer. Vanth seems content working for this government to help free worlds from tyrants and bring them into Willow Consortium. The story opens with him slaughtering a tyrant king modeled after Donald Trump before being drawn into the real story: a dimensional void is slowly consuming the capital planet of the Consortium and, from within, can be heard a voice calling Willow’s name. Vanth, Oedi, a newly resurrected Willow, and Teuton go into the void to figure out what’s going on. After battling through constructs of old enemies, which gives Starlin an excuse to draw every old bad guy from the title, it’s revealed that the cause is Doctor Delphi, a thought-dead member of the group who was in love with Willow. His death actually resulted in him becoming the god of a pocket dimension and, with his newfound omnipotence (in that dimension), he has been watching over Willow and the rest of his old universe. He’s discovered a new threat, an incredibly power being he calls the Nameless that is dedicated to killing all other life in the universe and will kill Willow and the rest in the future. Delphi sacrifices himself (again) to warn them and give them the barest chance at survival.

Dreadstar vs. the Inevitable picks up there as plans are made to confront the Nameless and, hopefully, stop his path of destruction. This quest eventually involves teaming up with the Lord High Papal, once the primary antagonist of the title, and ends with a lengthy rumination on the necessity of COVID lockdowns. It’s an odd comic, one that never really delivers what you’d expect, but also fits into the larger body of Starlin’s work. I wouldn’t say that it’s good necessarily... definitely interesting. It’s left me, as I said at the beginning of this piece, pondering a question:

What is a Dreadstar comic?

I’ve long had the definition/running joke of DREADSTAR IS POWER! taken from the short story that ran in Epic Illustrated #15. From The Metamorphosis Odyssey on, the stories revolved around the idea of power in its various forms, from raw strength to the influence and control one may exert over an entire populace. Vanth Dreadstar has access to an energy he dubs The Power and always seeks to use it in the service of some idea of ‘good,’ usually against those that would use their power in ‘bad’ ways. The Nameless is presented as such a foe, using advanced technology and military skill to travel across the universe, destroying every inhabited planet that it encounters. In Dreadstar Returns, Delphi tells Willow the origin of the Nameless, the mightiest warrior on a planet that was born into a war that had lasted generations and, eventually, helped end it, but found himself the sole survivor. Having seen the destruction nature of people, his desire to live grew into an all-encompassing paranoia that meant that all other living beings must die to ensure his survival. It’s a bombastic overreaction that fits into a long line of Starlin threats, including the Lord High Papal. But, it also makes for a mirror version of Vanth.

Vanth grew up on an icy planet, constantly fighting, becoming a fantastic warrior until he discovered The Power in the form of a sword. Much like the Nameless, was the greatest warrior on his planet and desires an end to conflict. His experiences with massive genocide left him with a similar wish to be alone, away from everyone. Unlike the Nameless, that desire for solitude and survival only eventually gave way to love and, then, a desire to provide that state of peace to everyone. The Nameless’s path reflects the one taken by Aknaton where it’s better to destroy everything for the idea of peace, completely antithetical to everything Vanth stands for, a twisted mirror image of himself and the authority figure he hates the most. Surprisingly, Starlin doesn’t make these connections explicit, treating the Nameless merely as an incredibly powerful threat to be dealt with, leaving the Nameless almost as an abstract cosmic being rather than a fully fleshed out character like past enemies, like the Lord High Papal, who the Nameless recalls visually somewhat.

The Lord High Papal was the victim of prejudice as a child, the mixed-race son of a human and an unknown alien. An outsider, he grew up weak and abused by those around him, finding a path to power in the Instrumentality’s church. Eventually, he became the leader of the church, the most powerful being in the galaxy and tool of the Twelve Gods – their living weapon against the universe. His hatred of others led to a great power that he used to subjugate and oppress. His death at the hands of Vanth, eventual resurrection and, then, mentorship of Kalla, Vanth’s daughter, makes for a different version of the character in Dreadstar vs. the Inevitable. His inclusion in the comic is one of the early moments where I questioned Starlin’s approach. While Dreadstar has featured numerous characters changing alliances, the ease with which Vanth and Papal settle into a partnership feels off... and familiar.

Rather than the next step in these characters’ journeys, it reminded me of the relationship of Adam Warlock and Thanos. Papal’s characterisation was never far off from that of Thanos (nor his design) with the Twelve Gods of the Instrumentality replacing Mistress Death to an extent, but there were differences. The thirst for power as a means to rule rather than its own end was the largest one. Thanos’s goals were always smaller and more deeply personal, it seemed to me; Papal wanted safety and control. While both grew up as outsiders, set apart by physical appearances, Papal seemed more defined by those formative experiences than Thanos, particularly as Starlin kept writing the Titan. Post-Infinity Gauntlet, Thanos became a different sort of character and that existence continued when Starlin wrote him, up through the series of graphic novels from the past decade. He and Warlock entered into a unique relationship of respect, sometimes working together, sometimes against, but always with the sense that whatever personal animus may have existed was behind them. That’s the relationship of Vanth and Papal here, and it’s unsettling. There’s a little more bite to their interactions, a little more distrust, but it’s largely the same.

One moment, in particular, stood out that seemed to firmly place them into the pseudo-roles of Warlock and Thanos. As the two prepared to board the Nameless’s vessel, Papal addresses their past regarding Kalla and Dreadstar’s current relationship with Willow: “WE ARE BETTER SUITED TO A SOLITARY EXISTENCE. / OUR KING WERE NEVER MEANT TO SIRE OFFSPRING... / ...NOR PARTAKE IN ANY OTHER KIND OF PERSONAL RELATIONSHIP. [...] AS POWERFUL AS SHE IS, THE WOMAN IS NOT OF THE SAME COSMIC STOCK AS YOU AND I.” That last phrase, in particular, is very reminiscent of the language used for Warlock and Thanos in the recent graphic novels where their status as unique cosmic beings was emphasised heavily. Starlin using the same language for Vanth and Papal is a hard to miss allusion. That isn’t necessarily a problem. I tend to appreciate the way that similar ideas turn up across the body of work by a writer. The original Dreadstar run contained many similarities to Starlin’s work before and after, both in the writing and the art. That was part of the fun when his various creator-owned characters all got together in ‘Breed III, seeing the similarities and differences. It’s always been the case. This feels different than that.

When the two eventually confront the Nameless, they find that he is a giant compared to them and is impervious to their most destructive, powerful attack. If their portrayal recalls Warlock and Thanos, the Nameless becomes something of a Galactus figure. It’s at this point that the story really feels less like a Dreadstar story and like an unwritten Thanos graphic novel repurposed. Everything that follows, from destroying the Nameless’s records of inhabited planets (depriving him of his Herald) to avoiding destruction by appearing uninhabited feels like a very Marvel/Galactus sort of story. Most Warlock/Thanos stories by Starlin are not resolved through direct conflict or physical violence – there’s reason and cleverness. Not that Dreadstar and Company were brainless dolts; Vanth Dreadstar tends to win through power. Dreadstar is power. It’s a running joke for me, yes – one rooted in an essential truth. Vanth Dreadstar is an anachronism, a warrior that thinks that enough violence will bring peace. The sad joke of the character is that he subscribes to the destroy the village to save it mindset of Aknaton while thinking that he doesn’t. That is part of this story, as well. When Papal prompts them to leave the Nameless’s ship after their failure to do even the minimum amount of harm, Vanth argues that they need to stay and fight. It’s the moment in the story that felt the most right, because that’s what he’s done so many times (and barely survived many times). It’s also a moment that renders Vanth Dreadstar unnecessary.

The rest of the story has them seem to survive the Nameless in a somewhat anticlimactic manner where a plan is put into place to have all of the worlds of the Willow Consortium use as little power as possible and do everything that they can to make it seem like the worlds are uninhabited, hoping that the Nameless, no longer in possession of his information on inhabited planets, will pass them by. It becomes a thin allegory for COVID lockdowns and the sorts that wouldn’t abide them. Starlin mocks the likes of Mitch McConnell and has one guy arrested for trying to turn on a giant electric sign to announce the gender of his unborn baby. Dreadstar and Company merely enforce the lockdown and it appears that it works. It leaves the two graphic novels in a place where it’s hard to tell what the point was entirely. They were stories that exist with no real drive, no real triumph for its seeming protagonist. While Dreadstar has always been an ensemble piece, to an extent, Vanth Dreadstar was always central (aside from the graphic novel The Price that preceded the ongoing series). Here, he no longer fits.

Two books in with two Kickstarter campaigns and it seems like a good place to ask if this return to Dreadstar makes sense. From the beginning, the conceit seemed a little contrived. Part a return to the familiar, while not ignoring anything that happened before. It reminds me, again, of Starlin’s Thanos graphic novels where, for the first time, he seemed to make an effort to incorporate and acknowledge the work of others on the characters. In his previous return to the characters, a decade earlier, he made a very explicit point of dismissing other Thanos stories as featuring clones, not the real character. In the graphic novels, a central plot point was giving us two versions of both Thanos and Warlock, one his and one the in-continuity Marvel, and finding a way to reconcile the differences. There’s no such effort here. Instead, things are much like you remember but everything that happened did, in fact, happen. Just because. Which is Starlin’s right. What’s lacking is a strong purpose.

What is a Dreadstar comic?

As I said, it’s about power. More than that, it’s about large powers in conflict, ones beyond the control of regular people. Governments, advanced civilisations, authority. It’s about noticing the power structures of the world, saying that things that people take for granted are wrong, and doing something to fix them. The Peter David run was rooted in subverting that idea where Dreadstar and Company think that they’re overthrowing a corrupt leader in favour of a wrongfully deposed, genial king. Instead, they were wrong and reinstall a brutal tyrant. The story that takes up these two volumes – and it is a single story, seemingly – isn’t about anything like that. It’s a cosmic godlike being warning them of impending doom and, then, trying to confront that external doom. Yes, that cosmic doom is powerful, so powerful that the combined might of Vanth Dreadstar and the Lord High Papal can’t even hurt it, let along destroy it. The Nameless is something beyond typical power structures – something from outside the system.

And I want to say that is another form of subverting the Dreadstar model. The COVID analogy that practically leaps off the page it’s so blatant is what it’s about. Something so big and unavoidable that it overwhelms existing power structures. Vanth Dreadstar is useless, because he’s useless. We all were. All we could do is submit to power structures and hope that their plans worked. And it feels wrong somehow, because it’s doing something by doing nothing. I’m not sure how much I believe in this argument. Or, better yet, how much that redeems these two books, particularly the newest one. Does it make them more enjoyable? No. More interesting? Perhaps. Does it answer the question of why Dreadstar? No.

I said it when Dreadstar Returns came out, but I find a joy in these comics that goes beyond the plot or characters. I’m still bowled over by how one of my favourite artists thought that his ability to draw was gone forever and, then, it wasn’t. These comics shouldn’t exist. In a large way, they’re about that. About pushing through and finding a way, where maybe the process is more important than the results. I like to imagine the joy that Starlin feels drawing these comics. I hope there is joy. Where maybe he returned to Vanth Dreadstar because, for a time, he thought he would never be able to, even if he never really planned to. Throw these characters back into mostly familiar roles and looks and just run with things. Maybe he doesn’t have anything to say about these characters and is just hoping he will. I think there is something there even if this one didn’t quite seem it.

There will be more Dreadstar graphic novels. The next one is titled Dreadstar vs. Dreadstar and deals with his daughter. Will that one make these two suddenly fall into place and make more sense? Maybe. I’m there, though.

The Last Thorsday: Rambling Thoughts on King Thor #1-4

Jason Aaron began his run on the Thor titles in November of 2012. He ended it in December of 2019. Seven years. It began with Thor: God of Thunder with Esad Ribić drawing the book and Dean White colouring it. It ended with King Thor with Esad Ribić drawing the book and Ive Svorcina colouring it. It’s been just over four years since the run ended and it feels so much longer. A lot has happened between then and now, to say the least. And, now, I find myself at an end, struggling to find a way to pull it off, hoping that latching onto this wonderful finale may carry me through this last Thorsday.

As I end Thorsday Thoughts, I find it hard not to see myself in Shadrak, the god of bombs and things forgotten and imbeciles and imbecility, in Omnipotence City, fretting over the section of the library containing the books of Thor. Knocking the books to the ground and stopping to read them. For over seven years, I’ve been Shadrak in my office, compiling and completing my collection of the books of Thor, dusting them off, seeing what’s in them and trying to share some of the joy and wonder with you. Trying to find meaning in them. “Why Thor?” Why not. Even though this newsletter is ending, Shadrak’s words remain as true for me now and they’ve ever been:

“Oh well. Maybe I’ll...

“...I’ll have time to read another one. Tomorrow.

“The books aren’t going anywhere, right?

“There will always be more Thor stories.”

Even as I find solace in that idea, it’s hard not to read it as a threat. Only a few short weeks after King Thor #4 came out, a new Thor #1 hit the stands and, while I did not come to relitigate the Donny Cates run, let me just get in one last jab: it wasn’t good. The greatest Thor run that I’d been old enough to read in real time as it came out (a run great enough to enter the debate of all time great Thor runs) ended with a finale devoted to trying to define what makes this character so great – four final issues that sum up Thor as well as any other comics I’ve read – and it’s followed with no break by just some more Thor comics. Of course. Of course. That idea is buried right in the middle of the final issue when Shadrak picks up a book titled “Thor Cop” and the issue veers off on a tangent of three glimpses of Thor’s future, all horrendous and dumb. At the time, I called it “Jason Aaron doing Jason Aaron things,” and, now it seems like a recognition that part of the joy of Thor is the ups and downs. Part of that is because, as part of mainstream superhero comics, the character is nothing more than a piece of a franchise, something to continue pushing out forever to provide fodder for other, more lucrative media. Part of that is because, as part of mainstream superhero comics, these things keep coming out and, sometimes they’re good, sometimes they’re not, sometimes they’re awful, and sometimes they’re great. And you never really know what you’re going to get. And, as clichéd as it is to say it, the downs are important for the ups to happen. You don’t get “Worldengine” without the crater of that Roy Thomas run. You don’t get Walt Simonson without a sense of blasé hanging over the title. You don’t get Al Ewing without Cates. No matter how low things sink, eventually, Thor is back being Thor doing Thor things.

That’s one lesson given in King Thor, a comic that easily could have been called Thor: The End or Thor Forever or Immortal Thor or any other title that fits into a pre-established pattern of Marvel titles. But, it’s not. It’s called King Thor, picking up right after Thor #16, the aftermath of War of the Realms, which ended with Odin abdicating the throne and kneeling before his son. Finally, Thor would be king of Asgard. Except, Jason Aaron wouldn’t write that story. King Thor picks up at the very end of his reign by returning to the beginning of the Aaron run: with the Necrosword and Gorr the God Butcher. It’s a story about the endless struggle of living, made painfully obvious in the final issue with a page of narration about Thor’s lifetime struggle against self-doubt and his failures and his efforts to be worthy. A struggle that never ends because it’s not about an end. Living is a process and so is the idea of being worthy.

It’s tempting to point to the Aaron run and the central struggle of the Odinson to be ‘worthy’ as the reason why I like Thor so much, but that would be a lie. I liked Thor long before Jason Aaron began writing his stories and not too many people before Aaron seemed to give the idea much thought. It had cropped up when Beta Ray Bill reached out and took hold of Mjolnir at the beginning of Simonson’s run or when Eric Masterson took up the mantle or when Odin tried to replace his son however many times. The idea was there from the beginning, in Journey into Mystery #83, with the inscription upon Mjolnir. Being Thor means being worthy every single day. And what does that even mean?

It’s a question that lingered over a large part of the Aaron run as we followed the adventures of Jane Foster as Thor, able to lift Mjolnir with ease while the Odinson couldn’t budge it an inch. He was suddenly made unworthy with a single sentence: “Gorr was right.” Right about the worthlessness of gods, their selfishness, their arrogance, their demands, and their failures. Thor had seen enough gods to know that Gorr’s criticisms were rooted in truth and the self-doubt lingered... was he, the Odinson, like those other gods? Thor’s period of unworthiness is about self-doubt overwhelming him and his struggle to regain his confidence. The lesson winds up being simple: being worthy isn’t a static state, it’s a process. It’s something you do rather than something you are. Jane proved it in her time as Thor by putting the needs of those who rely on Thor above her own. Being Thor was literally killing her, and she couldn’t deny the cries for help that she had the power to answer.

King Thor is about Thor, having sunk into another low state and regained himself, proven himself worthy, remade Midgard, and brought peace to what little remained of the universe... realising that he hasn’t beaten anything. Gorr is the darkness inside that always comes back even when you think you’ve defeated it for good. With his hatred of the very idea of gods – the very idea of what Thor is – he is the embodiment of every self-doubt, every negative thought, every bit of hatred Thor has for himself. Aaron is a bit too on the nose, of course, with Gorr’s resurrection coming at the hands of Loki. Loki wields the Necrosword in one last attempt to kill his brother and brings back Gorr to kill him once that task is accomplished. It’s so fitting that Loki thinks himself able to kill Thor with the assistance of Thor’s own self-hatred and, then, will need the embodiment of everything negative inside his brother – that Thor has spent his entire life overcoming and beating back – to kill him, because he’s too weak to do it himself. The sheer absurdity of it all!

In the end, Thor overcomes. He is worthy. But not by himself. Gorr is only defeated because of the help Thor receives from his family and friends, because you can’t beat your inner darkness by yourself every time. Sometimes, you need help. In an absolute fitting touch, Gorr is defeated in, part, because of Thor’s humility. Of his willingness to accept the help of others – to ask for the help of others. And Aaron takes that idea of humility further in the Odinson’s final actions: to go to the centre of the universe and spend the rest of his life holding up the universe, to ensure it does not descend into entropy. It’s a moment of servitude and humbling himself before every living being. An act of proving himself worthy every moment forever.

But, there was also another idea that became the undercurrent of the Aaron run: that Thor is a title rather than a person. Like being worthy, this was inherent in the first Thor story. While it was eventually revealed that there was no Donald Blake (maybe), the idea originally presented by Stan and Jack was that an ordinary person, worthy enough to lift Mjolnir, is granted the power of Thor. Blake is transformed into Thor, like it was a role that he could step in and out of. And this idea recurred several times, with the aforementioned Beta Ray Bill and Eric Masterson stories. With Red Norvell, he picked up a few of Thor’s belongings, grabbed a big hammer, and declared himself Thor. Later, Odin literally bestowed the name upon him and acted as if he were his actual son. Odin collected Thors for a period, so paranoid about Ragnarok and the need for Asgard’s champion to defend it, maybe even somehow avert it. No wonder Thor, on page seven of issue four of King Thor, still struggles with what his father thought of him. In many ways, Thor was never a person. Thor was an idea. Thor was a title. Thor was a position. And, during Aaron’s run, the Odinson lost his title and Jane Foster took it.

That’s such a fascinating thing to have happen as it means that, when the Odinson was trying to regain his status as worthy, he was actively trying to regain his identity, his name. When Odin sent Thor to Earth to teach him humility and added the enchantment to Mjolnir, he separated his son from himself. Not just in burying him in Donald Blake but forever. Some part of Thor always remained inside of Mjolnir, separate from the person. By the time we hit the end of the universe and Thor departs to hold entropy at bay, he drops Mjolnir, leaving it for his granddaughters. Does he leave a piece of himself? For whatever reason, I like to think so. That may sound strange given that it seems like that idea of ‘Thor’ is an integral part of the character. There’s a joyful triumph when he regains it, first in spirit leading into the Thor series with Mike Del Mundo and, then, in actuality during War of the Realms when he retrieves Mjolnir to battle Malekith. That’s Thor.

But, I like what he became without that part of him.

While so much of the period of Aaron’s run with Russell Dauterman was focused on Jane Foster, the Odinson’s journey from the depths of despair and unworthiness to building himself back up is so integral to what makes that period so great. I love Jane’s time as Thor and still stand by my assertion that she may, in fact, be the best Thor. The most pure. The most heroic. The most focused and steadfast. Oddly, she provided a sort of ideal, an example of what the Odinson could strive towards as he regained himself. She was a reminder of those initial lessons in humility, in being aware of the tremendous power in being Thor – in the idea of Thor. But, that, again, makes Thor a role for the Odinson to play, even if he defined it. His awareness of the artifice of ‘Thor’ and that being worthy of it is something to continually work on is so important to the character, at this point, for me. And, when he drops Mjolnir at the feet of his granddaughters, he’s letting go of that struggle. He no longer has to be Thor. He no longer has to try to be that ideal. Oh, he failed at it for such a long time. He stopped trying for such a long time. But, we saw him regain the drive and the dedication to being Thor again – King Thor, the All-Father of the universe, dedicated to nurturing and preserving all life. And, in the end, he lays down that burden for one akin to Atlas. Destined to hold up the universe forever, to keep destruction at bay. It’s a different sort of struggle. An easier one, in many ways, because the purpose is so clear. There are no hard choices or self-doubts like when he stands in front of Gorr and Gorr points out the hypocrisy and arrogance of gods, and the death and pain and suffering that they leave in their wake, and Thor can’t help but agree, to an extent. King Thor is about the Odinson finally being able to let go of the idea of Thor and just be what the universe needs: a big strong god who saves everyone. Ironically, in leaving behind the idea of Thor, he averts a Ragnarok, of sorts.

I can’t help but focus on that final moment because the work of Esad Ribić and Ive Svorcina on that page haunts me. It’s not the final page of the story – there are two more – but it may as well be. Aaron’s narration is a story of Thor as a baby and the way he’d cry during a storm, ending with the obvious revelation that the storm was his crying and shows Thor punching at the darkness. Enveloped in darkness with the only light coming from his fist as he punches the darkness away. You can barely see Thor. He’s lit just enough to make out the shape of his body and some details and it’s perfect. The amount of details in Ribić’s line work make it ambiguous what version of Thor we’re looking at. We know that it’s old man Thor, the former king of Asgard. But, the details hint at the younger Thor that we know from the monthly comics. Is that his long hair or his beard? Which helmet is that? Instead of it being the literal image of what comes next following the previous page, Ribić and Svorcina give us the Platonic ideal of a Thor drawing. It’s less the literal representation of what’s happening in the story and more the visual depiction of who Thor is: the god who fights at the darkness, who lights the way with his fists and the power that comes from within. It’s such a beautiful page to cap the phenomenal work that Ribić and Svorcina did throughout the mini-series. I really loved the way that the darkness looked drawn with pencil sketches, often with the lines moving in different directions. It’s the sort of line work that you don’t see in mainstream superhero comics. It looks that way in the edges of Thor’s light, pushing against the darkness. Those little pencil lines that remind us that the darkness is never obliterated; just keep punching back at it.

This is the final Thor story. Jason Aaron continued the story of the granddaughters in the pages of Avengers and Avengers Forever. He told stories about different sorts of Thors. But, this was the final Thor story. And it’s perfect. Even with its flaws. Maybe because of them. In four issues, you get a full summation of Thor, his relationships with his family, his inner struggles, the duality of the man and the idea, and you see what makes him so special.

And you get Shadrak saying the words that speak to me – and for me – more than any others in a Thor comic, particularly as I bring Thorsday Thoughts to a close:

“I don’t want it to end. I don’t want it to ever end.”

From God to Superhero: Alan Zelenetz’s Asgardian Work (Thor #329-336, annual #10-11, Bizarre Adventures #32, Marvel Fanfare #13, 34-37, and The Raven Banner: A Tale of Asgard)

Note: There are three additional comics that I had hoped to include in my discussion of Alan Zelenetz’s Asgardian work: Thor annual #12-13 and What If? #39, which is about Thor meeting Conan. They were ordered and are currently in Chicago, unfortunately. I wish I had them to present a complete picture of Zelenetz’s body of work. I sure hope that they fit into the assertions I make below. If they don’t... ah well.

“Alan Zelenetz? Never heard of him!” This reaction isn’t unexpected nor is it unusual. As I was preparing for the final eight Thorsday Thoughts, I looked through what was available and had settled on Doug Moench’s run on the title as a topic, noticing that it spanned two Epic Collections (The Lost Kingdom and Runequest), but not in their entirety. The early part of the former had work by Mark Gruenwald and Ralph Macchio, while the end part of the latter was written by Alan Zelenetz. I knew the first two writers, not the third. Looking into it, Zelenetz’s time as a comics writer was relatively brief and only featured a small body of work. Working almost exclusively for Marvel, he mostly wrote Thor, Moon Knight, Conan the Barbarian, and Kull the Conqueror comics along with co-creating/writing Alien Legion for Epic Comics. His time in comics spanned the early to mid/late ‘80s and, then, he was gone, leaving behind, what, four dozen or so comics? Judging from what I could find online, he focused more on his career as a rabbi and educator, dipping into movie producing, and acting as a consultant on the movie Pi. I didn’t see what drew him to comics nor what drove him away. I basically went into his work knowing that he had a brief career and that’s it.

His Thor/Asgardian work reminds me, conceptually, of Robert Rodi’s small body of work on the character/world. While Rodi never wrote the monthly title proper like Zelenetz did, he also produced a small but solid body of work with a few standout pieces like the Loki and For Asgard minis. Both are a bit of ‘hidden gem’ writers in the history of Thor comics. I started off thinking of Zelenetz as the ‘guy before Simonson’ since that was his place as writer of the monthly title. Except, his work continued past that point. He did two more annuals that came out during Simonson’s run along with the comics with Charles Vess that he’s probably most fondly remembered for: The Raven Banner graphic novel and the five issues of Marvel Fanfare focusing on the Warriors Three. I imagine most people who hunt down those issues do so for Vess’s art and the writer is treated as a bit of an afterthought, which is understandable. Vess’s stature has grown over the years and decades, while Zelenetz disappeared. Forgive me if I reverse the roles a bit too much, placing a larger emphasis on Zelenetz’s contributions while minimising Vess...

Unsurprisingly, Zelenetz’s writing on the monthly Thor title and his work outside of those eight issues divide easily into two separate camps, for the most part. Picking up where Moench left off and keeping things warm for Simonson, Zelenetz’s writing on the monthly title is mostly continuity service. He deals with the after effects of Tyr’s attempted coup, chips in on Marvel’s line wide use of Dracula, and, then, with the lingering mystery of what happened to Jane Foster. In the middle, he scripts one of the most interesting Thor stories over artist Bob Hall’s plot. Ironically, those two issues that he’s credited as only a scripter seem much more like the rest of his Thor/Asgard work than the monthly issues he’s fully credited as writer on. The continuity-service issues, as I call them, are good. They’re solid. The story of a giant left behind on Earth is a fun one, while the Dracula issues have their moments even if the threat is mostly resolved through a hand wave.

The “Runequest” story that the Epic Collection takes its name from is heavily steeped in settling a longstanding continuity issue, answering, finally, what happened to Jane Foster after he soul was merged with Sif’s long ago to save the human’s life. The question simmered towards the end of Moench’s time on the title when Sif joined Thor on Earth. While he continued to switch between his Asgardian self and Donald Blake, Sif remained Sif. The issue is brought to a head when Donald Blake is questioned as the probable suspect in Jane’s murder. Looking to clear Blake’s name, Thor searches for the Runestaff that merged the two souls, sending him, Sif, and Keith Kincaid across the galaxy to retrieve it. In the grand scheme of things, it returns Jane Foster to the Marvel Universe, an important detail decades later, and mostly resolves any outstanding issues for the Donald Blake persona. The run ends on an awkward note, indicating that the question of Sif on Earth would be resolved in an upcoming graphic novel (which turned out to be I, Whom the Gods Would Destroy, which wasn’t released for another four years and did not have any involvement from Zelenetz) and also shows Sif already back in Asgard. Basically, issue 336 ends with everything in place for Simonson to take over the following month.

During his time on Thor, Zelenetz did script issues 330-331, one of the few stories that delves deeply into the question of Thor’s impact on the world as a supposed god. Artist Bob Hall is credited as the plotter for both issues with Zelenetz only scripting, but that doesn’t matter. The two work so well together that you’d think it was written by a single person. A small group of worshipers of Thor make their presence in Chicago known after one of them fake a suicide attempt to get Thor to save her. Arthur Blackwood, a Christian fundamentalist coming from a long line of them, is so incensed that he’s expelled from the seminary his family founded and, somehow, is visited by his father’s spirit and given superpowers by God, dressing up as a knight called the Crusader. He initially defeats Thor in battle, nearly killing him, until Thor returns and wins the day. The idea of Thor as a religious figure is addressed head on along with concepts of religious zealotry. Zelenetz’s dialogue is heavily critical of Blackwood’s fanaticism while emphasising how out of step it is with the teachings of the New Testament. Blackwood’s secondary conflict after Thor is with Father William, the priest that expels him and, then, recognises him as the Crusader. William continually preaches tolerance and love, siding with Thor and not seeing any conflict between the Thunder God and his Christian faith.

The unease Thor expresses at the first sign of worship is interesting and would carry over into one of the annuals Zelenetz wrote. The phrasing of Thor’s reluctance to be an object of worship is interesting as Zelenetz never discounts the idea that Thor is a god: “I DO NOT SEEK WORSHIP, THAT IS LONG IN THE PAST... WHEN THE WAY OF THE WARRIOR WAS ONCE ACCEPTED.” He continually shrugs off worship of him as no longer being suitable for modern humanity. Even Odin instructs him that “THOU CANNOT ACCEPT WORSHIP IN RETURN. FOR THE DAY OF OUR KING HAS LONG PASSED.” Instead, Thor has settled into, as many others have pointed out, the modern mythology: a superhero. The form of worship that he and the Asgardians (usually known as Norse) had was one based around a specific lifestyle that suited a specific time. Now, Thor’s role has evolved and changed, shifting from one of worship to servitude. With superheroes, there isn’t an expectation of payment, whether through behaviour or sacrifice, to gain the favour of a god; there is simply the need for help. In the end, Thor’s faith in ‘goodness,’ as he emphasises, overcomes the Crusader’s zealotry. Thor’s initial loss is explained away as his doubt over his place on Earth. It’s only when he fully rejects his former role as an object of worship and embraces the humble role of servant that he’s able to win. It’s a rather clever way to weave in the progression from ‘god’ to ‘superhero’ with the story of Thor and his lesson in humility.

But, Zelenetz addresses the idea of Thor as an object of worship in annual #11 as well. That annual  is basically a series of short stories telling the highlights of Thor’s life. The fifth chapter is titled “The Worship of Midgard” and has Thor going to Earth to show his favour to some of his worshippers. However, when these Vikings slaughter a Christian monastery, Thor reacts is shocked and looks to retreat from Earth forever, not wanting to have a role in the killing of innocents. It’s a glossing over of the Norse gods from mythology and seeks to portray Thor as always being the same as the superhero version. Zelenetz makes Thor remaining on Earth as a superhero explicitly an act of atonement to humanity. But, placing the gods of mythology within the context of superhero fiction seems to be a concern of Zelenetz as he does something similar in annual #10 where, when faced with the Demigorge (the god eater), he has Thor assemble a group of gods from various pantheons, basically making their own superhero team of gods. This approach aligns with the work of Alan Moore and Grant Morrison among others. Morrison is particularly associated with the idea of superhero as modern mythology in mainstream superhero comics and this is clearly Zelenetz’s approach. More than that, like Morrison, it seems rooted in the idea of stories possessing tremendous power.

When you go beyond the monthly Thor issues that Zelenetz wrote, there’s an artifice to his work. A winking knowledge that he’s telling you a story. He leans on the Norns in a few stories to provide narration and framing, but, as he dealing with characters from mythology, he very much treats them within their original purpose: to tell stories and provide morals. Thor annual #11 is so rigid in its adherence to retelling Thor stories from mythology that it barely seems to resemble superhero comics. That issue is more a series of fables than anything else, which works quite well in the context of an annual. While annual #10 has him and Mark Gruenwald establish a sort of unified order of the gods in the Marvel Universe that Al Ewing is currently drawing upon, in a fashion, in Immortal Thor.

The Charles Vess stories all have the same level of artifice, very self-conscious of their nature as stories. Characters lack a certain amount of agency in the face of fate. In The Raven Banner, Greyval tries to circumvent his fate and finds that he must work very hard to regain it, righting his wrong of breaking the set story. The four-issue Warriors Three story is all about Loki trying to doom Asgard by ensuring that a prophesised marriage doesn’t occur while the heroes work to ensure that fate is fulfilled – and, in the process, each of the heroes confronts some flaw in themself, overcome it, and that triumph is key to the eventual righting of fate. But, that’s his writing in the macro. At that larger level, he seems very concerned with these stories as self-consciously constructed narratives that exist within a specific storytelling tradition.

In the micro, Zelenetz is acutely aware that, for these stories to have any true power, they must keep the attention of the reader. His work with Vess, in particular, is full of different types of comedy. Puns and visual, physical comedy are the main ones. With the Warriors Three, he takes each of their main personality traits and blows them up to encompass entire situations, becoming the focal point of their adventures. Volstagg’s bluster covering his cowardice coupled with his size; Hogun’s incredible seriousness and devotion to duty; and Fandral’s womanising conflicting with his chivalry. I mean, pairing Hogun with a doofus who won’t stop running his mouth is a basic comedy idea, but adding on tiny fairies as another level of foil, all while Hogun must carry a goat? Hilarious. And it’s a bit of a revelation to see how adept Vess is at that sort of visual comedy. At this point, his work is associated with a certain type of fantasy comic art that, while not as serious as, say, P. Craig Russell, is still a sort of respected and beloved serious that obscures how much humour in these stories comes from his art. Of nailing these perfect panels where a look carries everything.

Due to its lack of reprints, The Raven Banner is somewhat overshadowed by the Warriors Three stories – that and the familiarity of those characters. Part of Marvel’s graphic novel line of the ‘80s, the Raven Banner features appearances by some known Asgardians, but mostly focuses on Greyval, the latest in a lineage of Asgardians who carry the Raven Banner into battle for Asgard. Like many great mythological objects, the Raven Banner comes with a boon and a price: the side that carries it into battle is fated to win that battle, but the specific person who carries the banner is fated to die in the battle. When Greyval’s father, carrying on the family’s tradition as banner bearer, carries it into battle with giants, he dies and... Greyval is nowhere to be found. Instead, a scheme by the giants and trolls is revealed as they steal the Raven Banner, and we see that they worked to keep Greyval from the battle under the auspices that he could avoid his fate to die as the banner’s bearer and another god would take up that burden. After his marriage to a Valkyrie, it’s revealed that the banner was stolen (his excuse was that he was too busy killing giants to claim it) and he must overcome his fear of his fate to recover it. With assistance from Balder, he undergoes a quest to Valhalla, Hel, and other Realms, eventually confronting his boastful cousin who succumbed to the seduction of the trolls to reclaim the Raven Banner – and, in the end, he brings the banner into battle, giving Asgard the edge in its battle and, of course, he dies. But, fear not, because he died with honour and glory and, when the son he sired on his wedding night is able, he will take up the mantle as well. It’s an incredibly captivating story, watching Greyval struggle to avoid his fate but also hide that he’s working to do so. It’s very much a story of redemption as Balder takes up his cause, learning the full story of what happened, and pledging to help Greyval make right his mistake, arguing that no one should be judged only by one moment. That idea of an inescapable fate butting up against having to win back your fate works so well in the Asgardian context. It’s a shame that it’s yet to be reprinted, that I know of.

The idea that these characters’ lives are ruled by fate comes up in many of the stories, as they both fight against fate (and lose) or must fight for fate (and win). But, never within the context of the superhero stories. Fate only plays a role within the realm of mythology and legend. In ‘tales of Asgard.’ Whether it’s Thor trying to save a sole remaining sailor from his fated death or the Warriors Three trying to ensure a marriage happens or Greyval first avoid and then embracing his fated death... Even Thor’s eventual claim to Mjolnir is treated an inescapable fate. It’s only when he moves into the modern world and Asgard’s time has ‘passed’ that the idea of fate ruling them has as well. Zelenetz never tackles that idea head on, but it’s such an interesting one that you can see only when looking at his various works from a distance. What about modern humanity makes the idea of fate irrelevant and lacking in power? Why are Asgardian rules by fate while Thor the superhero is not? What has changed? We never get an answer. We never even get the question. Yet, it hangs and is part of what makes these comics so fascinating to read.

It’s understandable that Zelenetz’s name isn’t mentioned too often. He was one of those writers who passed briefly through the industry and, if you didn’t look at the specific areas he touched, you wouldn’t have even noticed him. Reading his Thor and Asgardian work, though, makes me want to track down the rest of his writing. He shows such a keen, clever mind. His approach to Thor takes some of what Roy Thomas, Mark Gruenwald, and Ralph Macchio did and take it further. Numerous writers that followed him, including Walt Simonson, Robert Rodi, Matt Fraction, and Al Ewing, are all working within a similar tradition. Without knowing it, I had been missing on some crucial Thor comics. I’m glad that I’ve finally rectified that oversight.

Ultimate Thor: Thor the Mighty Avenger #1-8 and Free Comic Book Day 2011 (Thor the Mighty Avenger)

From summer 2010 through summer 2011, Marvel published a lot of Thor comics from one-shots to mini-series starring both Thor and his usual supporting cast. The reason was simple: April 2011 was when the first Thor movie came out and, in preparation, Marvel started to get the periodical releases of comics that would, then, be collected for a more mass market appeal and filling up book and comic book stores when, theoretically, regular folks would pour out of theatres and want more Thunder God media to absorb. As we all know, the film-to-comics pipeline has never really worked too well, but that wasn’t yet proven in those nascent days of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Thor was really the test case of pumping out a ton of comics in the hopes of transitioning moviegoers into comics readers. Marvel’s failure was our gain, I suppose, as we got the likes of the Loki mini-series, Thor: For Asgard, the Ages of Thunder one-shots, a bunch of other random Thor-related stuff, and, of course, the most fondly remembered comic of the bunch: Thor the Mighty Avenger. Brought to you by the team of Roger Langridge, Chris Samnee, Matt Wilson, Rus Wooton, and editors Michael Horwitz and Nathan Cosby, the series is one of those beloved critical classics.

So beloved that I had actively avoided rereading it and writing about it throughout the entire duration of Thorsday Thoughts... until now. In fact, I had not reread a single issue of this series since it finished in early 2011. I remembered it so fondly that I was terrified that revisiting it would reveal previously unnoticed flaws, that it would fail to live up to my rose-tinged memories. I preferred the half-forgotten version that existed in my head to confronting the reality of ink on paper. In short: I was a coward. But no more. I have now sat down and reread these comics and, more than that, am putting fingers to keyboard to put down some Thoughts on these comics.

Regardless of the quality, the choices that Langridge makes interest me quite a bit. This is a ground up reworking/retelling of the Thor story, able to draw upon anything in the character’s past, and what Langridge chooses to use and what he chooses to ignore are both insightful into what he’s trying to accomplish. This is meant to be an entry level Thor comic where you require no familiarity with the character, though some familiarity definitely helps to catch various references and the way that Langridge plays off previous stories and versions of characters. Given that the series launched nearly a year before the movie hit theatres, while it may have taken some inspiration from the early concepts known, it wasn’t directly influenced by the film, at least not in too many ways that readers would know at the time.

The premise is simple: Jane Foster works at a museum in Bergen, Oklahoma, and comes into contact with a strange, seemingly homeless man that turns out to be Thor. He is virtuous and defends her (and others) from the terrifying threat of Mr. Hyde, and she offers her couch to him with the two eventually becoming romantically involved. Thor is on Earth for reasons he does not know, eventually learning that he did something to cause his father to send him away to learn humility. By the end of the eighth issue, we discover the reason for Thor’s memory gap, but don’t know any specifics about the how or why of his banishment.

From that little bit, the choices that Langridge makes all manage to reflect the Thor story that we know, while putting his own spin on them. There’s no Donald Blake or any other human alter ego. Jane Foster isn’t a nurse or a medical doctor. Nor is she the physicist that Natalie Portman would portray in the movie. Even the setting moves away from New York, while maintaining Oklahoma from the J. Michael Straczynski run and movie, but in a different fictional town, one that takes its name from Norway. As the issues progress, we learn more and more about this world, which seems like a version of the early Marvel Universe with Ant-Man, Wasp, Namor, Captain Britain, Iron Man, and Captain America all making appearances. Thor’s supporting cast in Asgard is all familiar faces: Odin, Loki, the Warriors Three, and Heimdall (while she doesn’t make an appearance, it looks like Sif is on the cover of the first issue as well). Within that larger context, the focus on the series is very much on the interactions (and relationship) between Thor and Jane. This series easily could have aped the title of Mary Jane Loves Spider-Man and called this book Jane Loves Thor. Instead, it takes its title from an early version of the movie’s title when it was to follow Captain America: The First Avenger as Thor: The Mighty Avenger. We don’t actually see the Avengers in any coherent form in the series.

Excising Blake (or any human alter ego) simplifies Thor’s story immensely, while recognising that his exile on Earth is already enough to hang his character on. The complexity of being both an exiled Norse god and juggling a human life would be too much for this series, which focuses on coherent single issue stories. I’m sure Langridge and Samnee would have loved to play around with the idea at some point, particularly the comedic elements, but, in these nine issues, there’s clearly no room. Instead, the focus is on the contrast between Thor and Jane, the immortal god and the regular human as the former tries to learn about this new world he finds himself on and the latter tries to adjust with this alien being suddenly up-ending her life. Once Blake is removed, Jane being a nurse or doctor doesn’t make a lot of sense. Having her work at a museum gives her an overlap with Thor, particularly when she’s given oversight into the Viking exhibit at the beginning of the first issue. She has familiarity with Thor conceptually and is receptive to the idea that he’s telling the truth before any evidence is given. In fact, the subtle implication is that this is the sort of thing she always hoped would happen to her. It’s basically her job come to life and sleeping on her couch!

The structure of the series isn’t as simple as a series of self-contained issues, mostly because none of the issues are self-contained. The first two and final two issues are two-parters, while the rest of the issues are complete stories that link up and flow to and from the other issues. I was actually surprised how many plot threads carried over from issue to issue and impressed at how well each issue manages to tell a complete story, while picking up a detail or two from a previous issue. The third issue, for example, is a direct sequel to the first two issues where, in the course of his rampage, Mr. Hyde kills the scientist that invented the serum that transforms him – a scientist that, it turns out, helped mentor Hank Pym, prompting him to, then, investigate the murder. While the third issue tells its own story, mostly about a trick Loki plays on Thor, causing him to perceive Giant-Man as a Frost Giant, it very much flows out of the second issue. That flow from issue to issue exists throughout the run, but almost every issue works on its own.

That progression is central to the series. There is a constant feeling that things are moving forward: Thor and Jane’s relationship; Thor’s uncovering the reason for his exile; Thor’s growth as he works to return to Asgard; and Jane introducing Thor to the wonders of Earth. Each issue advances those four things in one way or another and, while the series ended before any of them could resolve, that sense of forward momentum is an exciting element of the series. The combination of self-contained issue with constant progression seems like a contradiction – and it was definitely at odds with the storytelling in most superhero comics at the time where trade paperback-sized stories driven by decompression and issues that seemed to linger on moments so long as to feel stagnant at times. Yet, Langridge makes it work by tying all four elements into the main plot of each issue. While each issue’s plot would resolve, it would also advance those four elements a little bit, giving both a sense of completion and progression. Dipping in for a single issue would be satisfying on its own; reading the entire run would give a larger story. And by focusing every issue around those constant elements, it allows Langridge and company to ground any new ideas, keeping things on track and with a purpose. If the Warriors Three pop into town to visit, it will serve to advance the subplots of the series.

When I call the series simple, it’s because of that central focus. The plots don’t get too complicated, there isn’t a lot of intricate moving pieces. Everything revolves around Thor and Jane, often as a pair. More than revolving around them, every character and plot exists only in relation to them. There is no ‘extra’ in these issues. No go-nowhere subplots. No extraneous scenes or characters. This is a ‘simple’ comic in the sense that it is incredibly disciplined and focused, both in the writing and the art. Langridge and Samnee prefer to tell stories through the characters. Every issue’s plot can be summed up quickly and usually resolves itself through long character interactions. While Langridge’s dialogue is clever and insightful, I usually lingered over Samnee’s drawings.

One of my favourite interactions is in issue six when we see Thor try to return to Asgard, only to be barred entry by Heimdall. Samnee’s Heimdall takes its cue from Idris Elba’s casting, depicting him with brown skin, but that choice is only one of many interesting ones. As guardian of the Bifrost, Samnee draws him as towering over Thor and his eyes constantly in shadows. Given that he’s meant to literally see everything in his duties, that you never see his eyes (barring one panel) shows the hidden layers of the character. As we see, his powers are much different here than we are used to as he transforms his form to keep Thor out of Asgard, including becoming a dragon that resembles Fin Fang Foom and, then, a literal rockslide, all while maintaining a calm, even demeanour. His shadowy face matches his stoic, matter of fact tone in dealing with Thor. He’s cool, calm, and constantly supportive of his young friend. That Samnee draws him as a good two or three feet taller than Thor emphasises the sort of mentor/protégé relationship that seems to exist with Heimdall as the wise older warrior that often gives sage advice to the young prince – just as he does throughout their confrontation.

Thor’s youth is constantly emphasised. Despite being thousands of years old, in the life of a immortal, he’s barely out of his teens. His strength isn’t quite the ‘challenge the Hulk’ level that we’re used to and our expectations of the character are often toyed with. In the first issue, he’s wrestled to the ground by museum security and thrown several times through the window of a bar. Even after he regains Mjolnir and his full strength, he’s still very much a young god that, while stronger than a human, is a far way from where he’ll someday be. It’s usually his courage and determination that carries the day more than brute strength. Continually, he’ll do what’s right even though it seems likely he’ll fail or suffer dire consequences. Part of what wins over Jane in the first issue is his unwillingness to back down from defending a woman from the unwanted advances of Hyde even through Hyde keeps overpowering Thor. Honestly, it’s not an unfamiliar take on the character. It’s the regular version of the character distilled to a narrow, specific form. He’s young, he’s headstrong, he’s got a good heart, and he’s got a ton of potential. This is as pure a form of the character as you’re likely to ever get.

The character that I struggled to fully wrap my head around is Jane. In many ways, she’s the main character of the series, at first. While it does become a Thor-centric comic (I’d argue the fourth issue when the Warriors Three visit is when it transitions from Jane to Thor), she’s almost a co-lead. I wasn’t kidding with the “Jane Loves Thor” idea. At the same time, what exactly motivates and drives her is a bit more opaque. Where Thor is a known quantity and, largely, he’s merely a version of that character that we know, Jane is a bit more of a new creation. The regular Jane Foster suffered in the original comics from being a bit of a hollow character. An ideal woman that Thor/Blake loved without much justification. She was a nurse and an inherently good person, although it was her beauty that was often emphasised. I’ve never had as much of a problem with the idea that a fictional character is appealing for reasons never quite articulated as others, since that actually mirrors reality, for me. I could give you a bunch of reasons why I love my wife, but they would never really capture the core truth, one that seems beyond words somehow. I don’t think that Jane is entirely in that territory here, although there are elements of that. I mean, part of what makes her so appealing to Thor is that she’s there. He meets her, there’s a mutual attraction, and admiration, and that grows over time. Dead simple.

But, what I’ve been reflecting upon is what Jane actually wants in this series. When it begins, we learn two things about her: she likes her job and gets a promotion despite believing she may be fired, and she has had an on again/off again relationship that she’s decided to end permanently. In her professional life, she’s successful but has low confidence; in her personal life, she’s not as successful but has self-awareness and self-respect. It’s an interesting combination to introduce a Thunder God into. What it results in, initially, is that, without a human alter ego for Thor, Jane kind of fills that role. The involvement of Thor introduces professional and personal drama into her life, both good and bad. Early on, she nearly loses her job thanks to Mr. Hyde (and Thor, kind of), but that same conflict provides the catalyst for her to have it secured as a favour from Janet Van Dyne. The idea of off-loading all of that usual alter ego drama onto Thor’s romantic foil is an interesting one and, while it doesn’t maintain its steam after the first few issues, that’s actually a good thing. One of the more frustrating elements of the Marvel style of superhero comics, at time, is the constant need for ‘human level’ drama that usually involves the hero sacrificing something in their personal life to do good as a hero. It works for Spider-Man and, thus, it became the norm. After that initial blip, the series settles into ‘human drama’ meaning people just having weird things happen and having to deal with those weird things without the constant pressure of job loss or eviction or whatever other extreme crisis could arise.

But, still, that doesn’t quite answer who Jane is in this series. Why is she drawn to Thor? While Thor is a good person, she does seem to be repeating her romantic history in a way. When she breaks up with Jim in the first issue, her big reason is that he’s inattentive and more focused on his career than her. Thor is definitely attentive to Jane, using up one of three tips on a magic chariot to take her on a picnic, yet his primary focus is his personal problem is learning why he was banished from Asgard and returning home. At some point, Thor will leave Jane. Had the series continued, that crisis would have no doubt come up as Thor would be forced to choose. And I think we all know that, eventually, he would return to his home. He’s an exciting, thrilling person to be around, no doubt. I love that their relationship is clearly doomed as she found someone who obviously has priorities that don’t include her after she broke things off with a man for just that reason. Maybe the self-awareness I attributed to her isn’t there as much as I thought...

That eventual doom in their relationship mirrors the structure of the series that I spoke of earlier. What we get in these issues are all of these little romantic adventures that progress their relationship, all while that reckoning is no doubt coming. The cancellation of the series means that we never actually get that resolution, for good and ill. I really do think that there is a positive to the limited nature of the series and it relates to the hesitancy to revisit the series that I started this piece with. The legacy and idea of Thor the Mighty Avenger benefits from the eighth issue getting a little “of 8” added to its cover. Much like Thor and Jane’s relationship, there was no decline in this series. It may have had unrealised highs that we’ll never experience; but, it also never got bad. It remains a book of unknown potential and possibilities.

It remains the best and most effective distillation of the Thor concept. If you’re looking for the true template that an ‘ultimate’ line of comics that modernises and simplifies decades of continuity and character development, look no further. I’m so glad that I got over myself and finally pulled this out of the long box to read again.