I Know Thorion of the New Asgods and You, Sir, Are No Thorion of the New Asgods

Thorion of the New Asgods #1 was part of the second wave of Amalgam titles, the joint venture between Marvel and DC, where the worlds of the two companies were merged into a single universe. The characters at the forefront were Dark Claw (Batman meets Wolverine), Spider-Boy (Spider-Man meets Superboy), and Super Soldier (Superman meets Captain America) and the titles were full of Easter eggs for the hardcore fans, cramming in as many references as possible. Two lines of 12 comics (six from each publisher) came out over successive years and the quality, honestly, was a bit hit or miss. They were all ‘fun’ for their own reasons and remain somewhat stunning that they exist at all. It wasn’t until the second wave that the specifically Kirby side of things was addressed in Thorion of the New Asgods by Keith Giffen and John Romita, Jr. in what remains one of my favourite single issues. Not so much a cohesive story or even an Easter egg-filled book, it’s practically sparse of all of the characters it could have crammed in. Instead, it seemed to capture the spirit of Kirby’s Thor and Fourth World works, eventually culminating in an ending that brought forth the Celestials of his Eternals. As far as corporate-owned homages go, it the gold standard – and the book that seemed to ensure that, when Thor was relaunched post-Heroes Reborn, that Romita would be the man drawing it.

While it remains large in my mind and is a work that I keep returning to. (I briefly considered structuring my Three Chariots project after it until that seemed too limiting.) This past week, I was thinking about it in relation to two other recent comics and the way that they sought to pay homage to Kirby by combining Thor and the Fourth World, and how each fell short in their own way.

“The Wondrous and the Worthy” from Marvel/DC: Spider-Man/Superman #1 by Jason Aaron, Russell Dauterman, Matthew Wilson, and Joe Caramagna

Of the two works I’m discussing, this is the one that gets closest to Thorion in that it directly uses Marvel and DC characters. This story was one of the selling points for me of Marvel’s half of the Spider-Man/Superman crossover comics, reteaming the main creative team of the Jane Foster Thor for a story where that version of Thor meets Wonder Woman. Except, it’s not exactly that version of the character. This five-page story follows suit from most of the stories in the anthology by depicting a joint world of Marvel and DC where that’s how it’s always been. Also like most of the stories in the anthology, the main point of this story seems to be to talk about how great these characters are (how legendary, how meaningful, how inspirational, etc.) rather than simply telling a good, entertaining story. That’s all this story is. It feels like the middle five pages of a longer story.

Which isn’t inherently bad. Part of the charm of the Amalgam comics was the way that they made an effort to, despite being the supposed first issues of series, to fit into a larger continuity, often predicting the modern habit of relaunching a title under a new first issue when a new creative team comes aboard. Entering en media res isn’t a problem if the substance is there. And it’s not, in this case. To break down the story’s five pages:

1. Red skies above the Daily Planet as narration sets up the idea that Darkseid has conquered Asgard and now has his sights set on Midgard. What looks like Parademons attack Lois Lane, Jimmy Olsen, and J. Jonah Jameson until lightning strikes and Thor (Jane Foster) begins to fight them. They’re actually Paravenoms, suggesting Symbiote-possessed Parademons.
2. Overwhelmed, a golden thread wraps around Thor’s wrist and yanks her free. As she’s pulled, she tosses Mjolnir, which is deflected by bracelets. It’s revealed that Thor was rescued by Wonder Woman.
3. The two discuss Thor’s real identity as they fight Paravenoms and Thor reveals her self-doubts, asking Wonder Woman to take Mjolnir.
4. Jane tells Diana why she is far more worthy. Wonder Woman responds in kind, revealing that the Lasso of Truth allowed her to see Jane’s true form, dying of cancer and that she is the best choice to wield Mjolnir. A silhouette boot proclaims “LIES!”
5. It’s Darkseid, wielding All-Black. And, then, there’s a big pin-up style image of various Marvel and DC heroes as the narration discusses their eventual win over Darkseid’s forces.

Now, the story being that Jane as Thor lacks self-confidence in this world and is reassured by Wonder Woman is valid. It’s not substantive, it’s pure fluff that seeks to ‘celebrate’ through explicitly holding our hands and going “Hey, kids, look at how great these characters are! Aren’t they something?!?” rather than having them be great. I think what frustrates me so much about this story is not just how fluffy it is and devotes most of its space to discussing how inspirational and ‘worthy’ Jane is (in contrast to the moments where Jane does the same for Diana), it’s how unnecessary a story like this. The comics that Aaron and Dauterman did together starring Jane as Thor did this already – and far more effectively. While I’m rarely one to preach that old CIA gem of “Show, don’t tell,” I also don’t think a story whose entire point is to tell us how great a character is is worth reading, particularly when these same creators already told that story.

The one upside should be Dauterman and Wilson’s art given that even a fluffy story can still look great. If anything, this feels like an excuse for Dauterman to get to draw Thor and Wonder Woman. There’s energy and dynamism in his layouts that recalls his time on Thor. Something about Dauterman’s linework, particularly for faces, has lost me. I’ve noticed it in the covers he’s done for Marvel and the odd interior page I’ve seen over the past few years, where, somehow, his line work has simplified and part of what I loved about it has disappeared. But, that’s just my preference. What bothers me more is that the Paravenoms don’t offer much in the way of visual stimuli for Dauterman to craft a good action sequence. While the page where Diana rescues Thor is laid out wonderfully and has some inventive action, the rest of the story is fairly cramped and uninspired. It’s a lot of posing and reaction shots.

The use of Darkseid as the primary villain makes sense, given that combining Thor with something from DC will invariably lead to the Fourth World. But, again, not much is done with it. Parademons and symbiotes is more something that comes across in the name than anything practical in the story, while Darkseid showing up with All-Black coming out of his hand is, at best, a cool tease, and, at worst, Darkseid with a sword coming out of his hand... whoop-dee-whoop, ya dig? There’s little engagement with the New Gods beyond that – nor with Asgard. Like I’ve been saying, it’s light. It’s fluff. Another disappointment mostly brought upon myself, I suppose.

 

The Ultimates #23 by Deniz Camp, Stipan Morian, and Travis Lanham

In another disappointment, for different reasons, is The Ultimates #23, the second issue of the title devoted to Thor’s attempt to overthrow Loki’s Asgard. Ostensibly a tie-in to Ultimate Endgame, also written by Camp, it’s not actually much of an issue. Like issue 11, it’sdone entirely in splashes/double-page spreads and the narration is poetry. For Camp, that mostly means alliteration abused absent abandon. The true purpose of this issue is to let Stipan Morian deliver 24 absolutely stunning pages. Morian drawing a version of Ragnarok is worth anyone’s time. The words are practically superfluous and I think there’s a decent chance that even Camp would agree with that sentiment.

The words and the story they tell is nothing new. From the perspective of someone who has been reading all of the Ultimate titles, it’s downright baffling by how little it matters in the larger scheme of things. But, that’s for another time. In general, it’s a fairly straight forward variation on the traditional Ragnarok story. Back in The Ultimates #11, Thor made some deals to bring this about and here it is. No surprises, no bombshells, nothing specifically noteworthy. If you’ve never encountered this story before, then I imagine it will land a lot better. It’s a story that’s been told or foretold far too many times in Thor comics over the decades, so it all feels a bit repetitive. The cycle is a big deal and the idea that this will break that cycle is meant to hit hard, yet even that’s been done before. All this issue really has going for it is Morian’s art.

You can see various elements in the art. A bit of Bisley and Vess and Kordrey and Mignola and, yes, Kirby. That final name is the one that hangs over the issue heaviest, because it’s the one that’s invoked in all but. From the heavy use of Kirby creations like Mangog and the Destroyer to the page where Thor meant to suggest Ego the Living Planet to the final page that basically calls out the first page of New Gods #1 with the line “...and there was a time when old gods died.” laid over Morian’s version of that first page. It’s a complete recreation of that page with a detail or two changed, mostly due to Morian’s difference in style to Kirby’s. The entire issue’s Ragnarok leads into that first page, which Kirby had clearly written and drawn to evoke his work at Marvel on Thor, laying plain that this was the next step beyond that work – something he’d tried to accomplish at Marvel, but they were too tied to the existing characters to want to move on.

What I’ve been struggling with is why bother turn this issue into a direct lead-in to that page. It’s a nifty callback, a fun visual homage for those that will get it... When considering it, I’m struggling to find a good reason for it. In the preceding pages, there seems to be a critique of the endless nature of these stories, which does fit with its position as the second-last issue of a series whose ending coincides with the conclusion of the Ultimate world/line in its current iteration. Given that these are variation characters whose existence bears no influence on the ongoing stories of the ‘original’ versions, there’s something hollow about the sentiment and the ending. After all, this is not the first Ultimate Universe. Perhaps, that reborn cyclical nature is what Camp is getting at, that the Maker has turned his world into something akin to the Aesir, existing in a cycle of birth, death, and rebirth...

It still doesn’t track for the Kirby homage. That was something new and different. It may have tackled some similar ideas – so did Eternals – yet each step forward was a step forward, not a repetition. At worse, they were ruminations on ideas that haunted Kirby akin to a novelist with recurring themes. At best, they were still works from the same mind. New, yes; not disconnected or unrelated. That’s where the message is muddled. This is the death of this Asgard and these gods and there’s a hope for something new springing from it... Only it’s the old.

Maybe it’s that cynical, this issue. Rather than hopeful, it points to the next logical step after this ends, which is just rebooting another Kirby concept. There was a time when that sort of message suited me. I’ve come to grips, largely, with where I’m at and all I see is someone railing against a system that they’re very much a part of. I mean, it’s still comics about Spider-Man and Captain America and Doom and Iron Man and Thor... Oh, the Thomasian in me wants to point out that this bridges the gap between the two in-continuity versions of Asgard and the Fourth World. This is the Third World, following the ongoing Second-That-Will-Not-Die and preceding the Fourth that began decades ago... What a crock.

The story of Ragnarok was always one with the rebirth after. The new out of the old. The seasons, the wheel, all of that shit. You look at it from a certain perspective and you can see these comics as the launching pad for new, interesting work from those involved reaching an even larger audience. That also rings somewhat cynical and laughable, though. I first encountered Camp and Morian in their creator-owned 20th Century Men, an audacious and stunning work of New. The new already exists and this is spinning your wheels. At least when guys like Ennis ‘slum it,’ there seems to be something worth saying. This is aimless lashing out coupled with taking the knee at the same time. Maybe I don’t understand. Maybe I’m missing something crucial, one key detail...

Damn good looking art. At least there’s that.

The Immortal Thorsday Thoughts 23

Let’s return to Thor #272, the original trip by Thor and Loki to Utgardhall, later recounted/retconned in The Immortal Thor #6-7. In that original story by Roy Thomas and John Buscema, adapted from The Prose Edda by Snorri Sturluson, Thor and Loki travel through the land of giants, following Skrymir, to Utgardhall where they encounter Utgard, the lord and master of Utgardhall. In the original Edda, it’s Utgarda-Loki specifically named as the king, which is how Utgard is presented in Thor #272. He’s shown as an older man wearing a crown and fur-lined robes, declaring himself “master of Utgardhall,” and, by all respects, the sole ruler of the land. When Loki retells the story, fashioning it into the larger context of Utgard as a Realm-Outside-of-Realms where some of the Elder Gods fled to avoid death at the hands of Atum, Utgard becomes Utgard-Loki as designed by Alex Ross, and it introduces itself to Thor and Loki as “MOON-KING, MONSTER-TAMER, MASTER-MAGICIAN OF UTGARD’S HALL... / ...YOU MAY KNOW ME AS THE UTGARD-LOKI.” It’s a shift from the ruler of Utgardhall to something more nebulous, still retaining the word ‘king,’ but adding a modifier along with numerous other titles. Yet, Utgard-Loki still takes on the grandeur and role of ruler of that Realm... in that retelling and throughout The Immortal Thor when we see Utgard.

So... Kemur, the minotaur at the centre of NRGL the endless city in Utgard, representing the idea of kingship. But, not the king of Utgard? I guess this is where you could argue that my hyper-literal brain is trying to impose too much order. If you look into Kemur/Kemwer, you find yourself into some Egyptian god stuff where Kemwer could refer to Horus or to Mnevis, a bull god, that was originally its own being, but was eventually subsumed into the idea of Atum-Ra as his physical manifestation or as the soul of Ra. The centre of worship for Mvenis was in Heliopolis, a large city and major place of religious worship. Funnily enough, the Mnevis bull was second to the Apis bull... Yet, Kemur is clearly drawing upon, for our purposes, more the Minotaur of the Labyrinth. Ewing is mixing and matching lots of influences, which complicates any background.

But, there are two things about the Mvenis bull that stand out as relevant to Kemur and this issue: that it was the second-most important bull and that it’s conception was eventually subsumed into Atum-Ra. The fact that the Mvenis bull was second to the Apis bull in importance is what I was trying to get at with referencing The Prose Edda and Thor #272: Kemur is second to Utgard-Loki (at best) in Utgard. He may be the embodiment of the idea of a king, but he doesn’t rule Utgard. He’s more like the Minotaur trapped at the centre of the Labyrinth, fed virgins by the King of Crete. He rules his area, but there is a larger world. This strikes at the central point of much of the discourse on kings in this issue, about their cowardice, their lack of rule through anything other than fear and force... Kemur is a pathetic creature living in the centre of a larger god, uninvolved in the true goings on in Utgard, content to sit on his throne and pretend himself important.

That the Mvenis bull began as its own god until eventually becoming the physical embodiment of Atum-Ra is, perhaps, where Ewing began to formulate the idea of Kemur. The big revelation of Kemur is that, when confronted by his half-brother, Atum, the god-slayer, instead of battling him in a battle to end all battles to determine the fate of the Elder Gods, Kemur ran, praying to his half-brother that he wouldn’t be killed. While not subsumed by Atum as the Demigourge, his fleeing is admitting defeat. Atum beat Kemur via forfeit and Kemur’s physical existence is like being an aspect of Atum, a reminder of Atum’s supremacy and power. Kemur is second to both Utgard-Loki and Atum.

He’s also half-brother to Thor (and great-great uncle) being the son of Gaea and Tiwaz. That detail is almost too easy to gloss over in this issue. While Thor, king of Asgard, fighting Elder God Kemur, god of kings, already places Kemur in a place of external embodiment of Thor, by making him share the same mother and Kemur’s father be Thor’s great-grandfather, Kemur is placed that much closer to Thor. There’s a bit of Kemur that recalls old King Thor from the Jason Aaron run. The old king that sits on his throne in his empty city, ruling over no one, clinging to the idea of being a king despite having no true kingdom. The king as tyrant is also a version of Thor that we’ve discussed previously from the Dan Jurgens run and the future that Magni comes from. Basically, Kemur is what Thor could be. The king that rules for the sake of being a king. The Thor that would be weighed down by the idea of Asgard, the burden of his lineage – hence why Kemur is also family.

Kemur is eventually brought low by three things: Thor’s belt that represents his endurance, the assistance of Skurge and Hermod, and Loki shooting the Eternity Mask (now an arrow) right between Kemur’s eyes.

The importance of belt becoming the ring that leads Kemur by the nose is that Thor’s endurance is also his spirit of will. His unwillingness to bend from who he is, to always remain true to his ideals. By using this to defeat Kemur, it’s the dominance of his strength of character over the idea that he could ever become the tyrant king of various futures. It’s also the first Elder God defeated, in part, by one of the magical weapons that Thor brings with him to Utgard. He will face at least two more Elder Gods and he has...

That Hermod and Skurge assist him, fighting alongside him as equals, speaks to his strength as a king. These are both Asgardians that are subject to his rule, but they don’t fight here because he orders them to. There is an element of duty, but earned duty. They feel affection and devotion to Thor not just because of his title, but because he treats them as fellow warriors, equals on the battlefield, willing to fight and die beside them. They follow Thor as their king because they want to. Again, he’s not the tyrant king that commands subjects who obey only out of fear, he inspires them to follow him and be willing to trust in him.

And Loki’s entrance and slaying of Kemur with the Eternity Mask fashioned into an arrow is the first symbolic killing of Thor. The foreshadowing of what’s to come. Loki stepping back into the story to influence its direction, because, otherwise, it will not go where it is supposed to. Ideally, Thor would have come to Utgard with all three weapons, but he only has two, and that’s not enough. Loki kills one physical representation of Thor before they will kill Thor, their narration addressing their guilt and reluctance to do so. But, another element of who Thor is is slain here, stripping him of another aspect of himself, if only symbolically.

Next week, Thor dies for real.

The Immortal Thorsday Thoughts 22

Despite its structural conceit and technical skill, The Immortal Thor #22 is probably the most straight forward issue of the series. Almost all of the usual subtext and themes are sacrificed upon the altar of the gimmick of the issue wherein the majority of the pages can be read either before or after each page that precedes and follows it. I give Al Ewing all of the credit in the world for making a comic that pulls off that feat, because it’s actually pretty remarkable. But, it also means that the storytelling needs to be so precise that the transition between pages is where much of the importance lies. Do you move onto the next or back to the previous? Either way, it must make sense and flow, even in repetition.

The plot of the issue is straight forward: Thor and Skurge, trapped in NRGL, the Elder God that is the endless city, battle their way through the creatures that are also NRGL, encountering both Hermod and Heimdall, both thought lost to a death beyond the Realms. Which, of course, is true, given that Utgard is a Realm outside of the Realms. The conceit of the issue is that Utgard-Loki sets us on the path of the issue and we advance or go back by the flip of a coin. Hence why pages must make sense in either direction. Eventually, when we (and Thor, Skurge, etc.) make it through, the issue ends with the embodiment of the image upon Utgard-Loki’s coin representing heads: the bull/minotaur. Yet, even in a relatively straight forward issue (if you’re lucky), there are still bits and pieces of interest.

The framing where Utgard-Loki takes charge of the narrative, including flat out preventing Loki’s usual narrative captions from addressing is the ‘meat’ of the issue, as it were. The conceit of the coin that moves you forward or back, of leaving your progression to chance or luck – or fate – is meant to mirror the journey that Thor has already taken. Guided by some unseen force that appears random and without motive. Yet, the path is straight, a road that heads in two directions. Even if you seem to go back, the story continues and, eventually, you move towards the fated end. Thor encounters Toranos, manages to progress past that challenge, yet encounters him twice more. Thor passes Loki’s test/riddle... and, then, must solve another. Thor journeyed to Utgard... and so has returned. To go forward, you sometimes go back.

And, like Loki being the unseen author of Thor’s tale, providing a framework and correcting things, we’re also reading a story seemingly constructed by Utgard-Loki – but all of it is really Al Ewing and Jan Bazaldua with Matt Hollingsworth and Joe Sabino. They are the storytellers and the story is their work. Utgard-Loki, the coin, the whole thing... it’s not actually luck or fate, it’s just a comic and the idea that, we in real life, would flip a coin to determine which direction we go is them breaking the rules, in a way. They’re breaking the illusion, which actually works against the point of the comic, which is to show Thor, Skurge, Hermod, and Heimdall trapped in the endless city that is NRGL. Theoretically, the coin technique could trap the reader in the comic, never allowing them to finish it, but it also pushes them out of the comic. After all, how engrossed can you be if you’re flipping a coin at the end of each page? The natural flow of the comic is broken, making it nearly impossible for a reader to actually lose themselves in its pages, even if for a few minutes. It’s oddly paradoxical.

The coins that Utgard-Loki uses are never shown to actually contain both sides. We see each displaying a single side. Whenever they’re flipped, one always comes up tails and one always comes up heads. It’s implied that both contain each a heads and a tails, yet... Utgard-Loki is the archetypal trickster god, so, when it flips a coin right to introduce the idea that we may move forward or back, that the coin flipped is the one that shows heads suggests that it’s all a lie. If you look closely at the panel where it’s turning in the air, you can only see heads, no tails. We’re only meant to move forward. There is no going back. Even the repetition of the past is different, has a different meaning, plays out differently... it’s always moving forward.

The two coins contain various meanings, some of which is told by Utgard-Loki. The design of each is specific, containing both an image and a familiar rune.

For tails, per Utgard-Loki: “THE SERPENT ENCIRCLES YOU AS IT EATS ITSELF. CIRCLES THE WORLD, AN ENEMY PROPHESIED BUT NEVER DEFEATED. / THE COIN TAKES YOU BACK TO WHAT YOU THOUGHT YOU’D LEFT BEHIND.” It has the image of the serpent as Ouroboros along with the rune raidho, the rune of journeys. (“Now I’m going back to Canada on a journey through the past...” the man sings.) Looking back, the snake eating its own tail, the way that this comic is built upon the work of the past, referencing it over and over again, a modernist work that is ultimately self-referential. The journey of Thor through time, through stories. But, also, when Thor encountered the riddle of raidho, he crafted Tormod, his ax of wit and wisdom. After all, when taking all of these pieces of the past, of feeding stories into this story, isn’t that showing off cleverness and knowledge? But, the serpent also points to the Midgard Serpent, Thor’s past and future enemy. His past and future deaths. In this series, the serpent is not just the Midgard Serpent, though, it’s Donald Blake. His past self, the other half of his soul, his future self, after a fashion. As Thor moves forward, he’s actually moving back towards Blake. And, as enemies, since they are, in fact, one being (in a sense), isn’t their conflict the Ouroboros?

For heads, per Utgard-Loki: “NOW THE COIN IS WITH YOU. IT MOVES YOU ON, PUSHES YOU FORWARD... BUT TO WHAT? FOR WHAT? / WHAT WAITS AT THE END OF THE MAZE?” It has the image of the bull’s head along with the rune uruz, the rune of endurance. You get through it. You make your way through the maze to the end of the comic. The story goes on and on. Literally, the issue ends with Kemur, the Elder God that looks like a bull/minotaur. But, he’s not the only one that has that imagery. Dario Agger is also the minotaur associated with money. He keeps coming back, his corporation Roxxon a constant threat to Earth, which Thor is trying to save. But, also Utgard-Loki’s head, as it appears to us, resembles the image on the coin. The horns and the skull-like face. After Kemur lies Utgard-Loki. And after Utgard-Loki is Loki, whose headgear also makes them resemble the bull. And both Utgard-Loki and Loki wish to move Thor forward, move the story forward, for their own ends. Just as Dario wishes to progress. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Progress. The line going up? Each bull just another enemy to move past on the way to that eventual serpent thought left in the past. Because you don’t journey through the story, you endure it. You live it.

Later in the issue, Utgard-Loki makes their presence known again with the phrase “THAT’S THE QUESTION, ISN’T IT?” in response to two different questions. Because Utgard-Loki is a liar and a trickster. In this page, we’re almost tricked into thinking that there’s only one coin, that it’s a fair even choice between going back and moving forward. In the second panel, Utgard-Loki holds the tails coin in their right hand (on our left). In the third, it looks like they’ve flipped the coin, now showing heads mid-air, yet the fourth panel, showing the coin in rotation still only shows heads. I can’t see any suggestion of the serpent eating its tail. Because, as Utgard-Loki tells us, the coin is the lie that tricks us into repeating our actions, day after day. Our dreary lives spent in toil for coins to survive, doing the same tasks, living the same routines... except, the coin is actually propelling us forward. Making us think we’re journeying through frustrating repetition while we’re actually enduring our lives, always going forward. Utgard-Loki boiling our lives down to this pathetic imagery as justification for the destruction of humanity at the hands of the Elder Gods.

“HOW MANY COINS ARE THERE? / DO YOU KNOW?”

*

If Utgard-Loki is heads, NRGL is tails... the endless maze, the Ouroboros...

With NRGL, Ewing adds a bit of playfulness and looking beyond the Norse pantheon for the denizens of Utgard. The name seems a reference to Nergal, a Mesopotamian god associated with war, death, and disease, translated from Sumerian as “lord of the big city,” specifically the underworld. Using the dual meaning of that translation, Ewing envisions a literal lord of the big city in the sense that NRGL is a living city, endless (immortal), and able to be whatever it desires. But, NRGL is also a literal underworld in that gods that die in a certain way go to. The underworld that NRGL is lord of is the oblivion that awaits the gods if they die beyond the Realms. Heimdall came here in Valkyrie: Jane Foster #3, while Hermod was obliterated by the Oblivion-possessed Tyr in The Immortal Thor #12. If you’ll recall, Tyr was given to the In-Betweener by Loki in an effort to learn something... perhaps, an alternate route to Utgard?

In Valkyrie: Jane Foster #3, after being killed by Bullseye, Heimdall’s request to not be taken to Valhalla is honoured by Jane in her new role as the last Valkyrie. Instead, she takes him to the edge of the Realms/reality and sets him adrift to cross beyond. We never see what happened, nor is it ever hinted that it could be Utgard. But, just as Loki retcons reality, so too is Ewing retconning his own work to accommodate the needs of the current story being told. Utgard is literally the ‘Outyards,’ the Realm that’s not a Realm, outside the Realms and the universe. The way that Jane takes Heimdall to get there is through Heven and Hades where the anti-Yggdrasil lies. There’s a bit of play with passing through two places that signify an afterlife, but are also not the traditional Valhalla/Hel dynamic that exists for Asgardians typically.

Much of Immortal Thor is spent revolving around various afterlife locations and their relationship with these seemingly eternal gods. The story literally starts with an unending war between the Elder Gods that is ended by Atum who absorbs and digests them, causing them to flee. Utgard is held behind a locked gate, basically an eternal afterlife for the gods that sought shelter there. Removed from existence, it’s a sort of limbo existence. Which is also the way that Vidbláinn is described, the other big afterlife of the series – one that Thor has already visited and will visit again. Where Skurge is threatened to go should he die again. It’s interesting that neither Heimdall nor Hermod went there when they were removed from the universe by different than usual means. And, when Thor dies in Utgard, that’s where he goes. And these various places all relate to Loki’s quest for freedom for all. Die enough times, live enough afterlives, and...?

With NRGL, there are two additonal details that struck me when doing the bare minimum online research. A logogram used for Nergal from the Middle Babylonian period forward is ^dU.GUR, which was originally associated with Ugur, an attendant deity to Nergal. It’s hard not to see the visual similarity to Utgard. Maybe that was what sparked the initial connection.

For comics, the name Nergal also brings to mind John Constantine. Nergal is the demon that Constantine summoned at the Casanova Club to combat the demon summoned by Astra Logue and the result of that is the big moment of guilt that hangs over Constantine throughout his life. Nergal became a regular antagonist to Constantine throughout Hellblazer and is sort of representative of the only demon that holds any upper hand over him consistently, if only because of that initial mental scar inflicted when he was younger. Bringing up Constantine and words like ‘magic’ and ‘trickster’ in relation to Loki and Utgard-Loki isn’t a direct clue to anything. If anything, it’s a very faint allusion where connections are visible without much true meaning. If pressed, there’s something in Loki sacrificing others in pursuit of their larger goal that recalls Constantine’s willingness to let others pay the price for his actions. However, Constantine is usually reactive, while Loki is fully active here.

The final bit on NRGL: the continued use of the word ‘maze’ in this issue is misleading. NRGL is not a maze, it’s a labyrinth. That’s part of the trick of the coins: the only way is forward and there is only one path. A maze is a contained, winding path puzzle with various false branches that shunt off from the one true path; a labyrinth only has one winding, twisted path that you can’t veer off from. That’s this issue, the story. It may seem disorienting and like you’ve gotten lost, but it’s always a direct route from A to B. And, at the end, is a minotaur...

Next week, the minotaur and the king in The Immortal Thor #23.

Monsters Who Will Never Die: On Godzilla vs Thor #1, Possessiveness, and Legacy

Aside from King Thor for the final ThorsdayThoughts, I haven’t reread Jason Aaron’s Thor run since it finished. At the time, I was pretty quick to enthusiastically put it into conversation as a contender for the best Thor run of all time. Right up there with Kirby and Simonson, and I’ll stand by that until the eventual reread that either validates my in the moment proclamations or reveals them as nothing more than overcompensation to allow me to have experienced the best Thor run in real time. I’ll be honest, the holes in the concept have already been made, the edges frayed, as it were... mostly by Aaron himself. Or maybe my expectations of him, ones that I don’t think anyone else is held to in mainstream superhero comicbooks.

When he finished his run on Thor, I immediately wanted to lock off the character from everyone. That you had this massively successful (critically and commercially) run and it just went right into another Thor run (the ill-fated Donny Cates/Nic Klein run) seemed wrong somehow. It felt wrong to not give the story that had just finished some time to breathe and settle. Like, we just read one of the best Thor runs of all time and I thought that respect was owed, for a moment of silence or something. Unrealistic when the spice must flow, of course. I didn’t think going right into a new creative team was doing them any favours by having to immediately follow King Thor #4. It was an unjust comparison and standard to have to live up to. But, you know, the month after Kirby left, Thor still came out. The month after Simonson left, Thor still came out. The churn is real and there’s always someone ready to step up and keep that train moving. The periods where the character didn’t have an ongoing title (and subsequently launched huge) were both fallow periods, in a sense. Moments where things had slid into apathy and the break was, in part, a way to generate interest. Interest, both creatively and commercially, isn’t low at the end of an historic run... that’s when all eyes are on the book and you strike while the iron is hot. Or, you feed some folks into the grinder to make way for the next run that no longer has quite as many lofty comparisons to meet...

It was more than that, though. I thought that the character should be locked off from Aaron, specifically. That he should be somehow prevented from writing Thor for a long, long time, to let the run sit untouched in another way. To not let him tarnish his achievement due to later, lesser work. Completely unfair and possessive in a weird, kind of creepy way. It’s a bit of the opposite of what superhero comicbook fans want, though. Usually, there’s strong demand for successful creators to return to their most beloved work – and, quite often, they do. Sometimes it pays off, as I’d argue it has for Jim Starlin’s periodic returns to Adam Warlock and Thanos; sometimes, it doesn’t, as it has for Chris Claremont’s periodic returns to the X-Men; and, usually, it’s a mixed response or an apathetic one, as we’ve seen in Frank Miller’s return to Batman and countless creators’ returns that appeared to some hardcore fans while everyone didn’t even notice. Hell, Walt Simonson has returned to Thor and his world numerous times since he departed the book and that hasn’t tarnished a thing.

But, the feeling persisted – the desire that Aaron remain at a remove from Thor, that he not fuck with the run he wrote... And that desire was almost immediately crushed by his still in-progress Avengers run, of which Thor was a central member of the cast along with Loki. I’ve made my feelings on that run (particularly the final year or so) pretty clear elsewhere. You’d think that would have been enough for me to get over myself. It wasn’t. It was easy to write that off as already in motion or evidence that I was right. Then, he did a story in Marvel Age #1000 that revisited the Jane Foster Thor and it was fine. Nothing amazing, nothing special, but not bad either. Almost akin to a lot of Simonson’s return to that world where he’ll come back for a short story that tells a nice little tale before moving on... It was easy to live with this and sigh in relief that the case around that Thor run was still intact.

Until.

Joined by his Avengers Forever collaborator, Aaron Kuder, Jason Aaron was doing Godzilla vs. Thor as part of a series of one shots of “Godzilla vs. [Marvel hero/team].” You can imagine my internet reaction. I don’t think I said anything online as I’m pretty good, at this point, about keeping my more obnoxious thoughts private (oops). I was not pleased, I was fearful, and I, of course, told my shop to order me a copy, because, like so many superhero comicbook readers, I am broken and dumb about this stuff.

The idea of the comicbook kind of offended me. It lends itself to all of Aaron’s worst sensibilities, the sort that I saw run rampant over the final year of his Avengers work (and dip in an out of his Thor work, admittedly). He is one of those lingering writers from what I’ve long dubbed The Age of Awesome in mainstream superhero comicbooks. The hallmarks of that period are still with us, sometimes for good, often for ill. The overreliance on the multiverse is one such trait; the inclusion of dinosaurs whether it makes sense or not is another; the odd obsession with Groot and MODOK and Deadpool... Thor as fucking Iron Fist... You know it when you see it and, after a period, I grew weary. Godzilla fighting Thor as written by Jason Aaron seemed, immediately, like the entire concept of The Age of Awesome taken to its logical conclusion in the worst way...

And, on my first read of the issue, that’s what it read like. Spinning out of his most recent Punisher book – which was itself an unneeded return to a character he has great creative success on (his Punishermax run with Steve Dillon is fantastic...) and, in conversation with that earlier work, diminished it, I’d argue – did not endear me to the comic at all. Culminating in Godzilla absorbing part of Gorr’s Necro-Sword to ravage Asgard only confirmed my worst fears. It was a fluffy bit of nonsense that took meaningful art for inane ideas that held nothing more than a shiny thrill with no substance. This is what he wants to add onto his Thor run’s legacy?

A couple of days later, I read it again. And it’s fine. It’s not a great comicbook. I wouldn’t call it fun or awesome or any of the superlatives I could find said about it elsewhere if I looked. But, it’s not terrible. It’s a dumb crossover licensed book that delivers on the title. What else could it be. It doesn’t tarnish anything. As I myself told many people when they were upset at The Dark Knight Strikes Again for ruining The Dark Knight Returns: “The original is still there!” It was unfair to hold on so tightly and personally.

I do think that there’s a conversation to be had about the legacies of great runs in an age where those runs don’t fade into back issue bins anymore. Of writers and artists maybe taking a beat before returning to characters and titles that they did their best work on. But, I also know that schmucks like me are not the people to decide that. We get to read the work (or not read it), be affected by the work, and decide where it sits for us. That’s it.

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.”

"I don't want it to end." On King Thor #4

The other day, for some reason or another, I went back and read my CBR review of Young Liars #18. It was the final issue and I gave it five stars and the review was part celebration of a comic series that I really connected with and felt passionately about, part giant fuck y’all to everyone who wasn’t on board with it. I haven’t read that series since it ended. I should go back and give it a look, I think. I believe there have been final issues I’ve liked a lot since that one, but it’s what stands out for me when I think of final issues that really landed.

It didn’t take long for me to realise that Jason Aaron stuck the landing. Page seven cemented it for me. King Thor is going to die in a black hole of Gorr (literally) and the narration breaks down his lifelong struggles with self-worth, depression, all of his inner demons, and how he always hoped he’d overcome them some day. Except that day never comes – will never come. “You only learn to better live with the demons. To channel the rage and shame. To be the storm.” All while Thor yells for his father, about how Odin was right, how Thor wasn’t strong enough, worthy enough, and... I almost lost it there.

 

This isn’t a perfect comic. The middle section is Jason Aaron being Jason Aaron in a way that kind of makes me roll my eyes with Thor as cop or Thor as living planet or Thor as whatever the fuck. But, as much as I’ve lost my patience for that sort of things over the years (the Age of Awesome is behind us, I’d like to think), I can’t help but appreciate that there’s room for it in this issue. Aaron gonna Aaron, y’know?

 

It’s a big issue that packs everything in. Everything is tied up or addressed (oh, except for the odd thing, but, as the comic points out, there’s power in untold stories, so more about Volstagg and Roz will have to wait). The future, the past, the fate of Loki, the fate of Thor... the idea of Thor. The spirit of thunder.

 

It’s a little too fresh to really take in. This is becoming a fragmented thing and I didn’t want that. I wanted to, somehow, sum it all up and say something meaningful.

 

I guess I’ll go back to that seventh page.

 

Back when I began this newsletter, I said that part of my goal is trying to figure out why I feel such an affinity for Thor. I don’t feel worthy a lot. I’m very critical of myself, hate most of what I say, and seem to spend much of my time cringing at myself in real time. The more self-aware I become, the more I’m able to both overcome this and fall prey to it. I spend a lot of time wondering what the right thing to do is; the right thing to say; the right way to feel. What’s allowed, what’s too much, what’s too little, what’s appropriate, what’s not. Usually, I try to console myself with the idea that the struggle is enough; that I question myself and my actions and my thoughts and my feelings means that I’m not a lost cause at all.

 

I think I always liked Thor because he was just worthy. He just was. And his dad still thought he was a fuck up anyway. I never thought that my dad thought that, but our relationship was strained for as long as I can remember. Over time, I’ve realised that it had very little to do with me. I know that. I know that. But. But, that little bit of self-loathing on the matter is still there. I never related to Thor so much as when he was in the same room as his dad. Issue 491 held a great sway over me with Odin’s appearance.

 

And, at the end of time, Thor still can’t get over his bullshit with his dad. He still can’t get over every little bit of self-loathing and shame and feeling of unworthiness. But does he give up; does he fuck!

 

I related to Jason Aaron’s Thor run like no other Thor run. This wasn’t a Thor who was worthy because he’s worthy because he’s Thor. This was a fuck up; a mess of self-doubt and self-hatred, who had to struggle for so long to think himself worthy and, then, a single phrase took it all away. Thor never stopped being worthy, he just stopped believing himself to be worthy. He gave in to those terrible thoughts that haunt us all. And he kept going. It took him a while, but he kept going. And he’d get beaten down and he’d keep going. The whole thing began with that story: King Thor in the future, nothing but a mess of self-loathing and self-pity, but, after some time and a reminder of who he is, he was a grandfather and brought Midgard back.

 

Actually, it didn’t so much remind me of Young Liars as the end of Gødland. Enlightenment isn’t a destination; it’s a process. There’s no point where you become enlightened and just stop. It doesn’t work that way. Same with being worthy. You just keep going, trying to do your best, waking up every day and hoping you can still lift that hammer. We all have our hammer. It may just be looking yourself in the mirror and not hating the person you see. Most days, I’m successful. It was nice to read about a Thor with those same struggles.

 

Jane had those struggles, too. Her struggles helped the Odinson find his way back. She was worthy, but didn’t really know what that meant. It reminds me of when I met my wife and had this other person basically telling me that I was great. I was worth loving and liking and being around. And I had no idea why. I felt a little like a fraud. Still do. I always got that sense with Jane and Mjolnir. She didn’t understand why exactly she was chosen, why she was worthy when so many weren’t. Sometimes, I think that lack of awareness is part of the why.

 

I don’t know what now. I know that there’s a new Thor comic that I’ll be reading in two weeks. Just two weeks. It all keeps moving, doesn’t it. I don’t know if I’m ready. How often do you get to read the best of something and know at the time that it was the best. Is this what it was like when Simonson left? When Kirby left?

 

It’s a weird feeling. This was something special. And it’s done. But, it’s also here on my desk. I have the entire run stacked, ready to be read any time I want. It’s complete. Ha. Pretty cool.

 

This isn’t my last word on this comic or this run. Not by a long shot. It’s just what I’ve got tonight.

Did “The God Without Fear” Actually Happen? On War of the Realms: War Scrolls #1-3

Okay, yes, it did.

But.

But.

But, what if it didn’t?

What if the events as depicted in “The God Without Fear,” which ran for three parts in War of the Realms: War Scrolls #1-3, written by Jason Aaron, drawn by Andrea Sorrentino and Matthew Wilson, and lettered by Joe Sabino, only occurred within the mind of Matt Murdock? Setting aside the fact that that is highly unlikely based on the entire history of Marvel and the work of Jason Aaron, let’s walk through this story and see if it did, in fact, occur as presented.

The idea that this story didn’t actually happen first came to me when reading the third part, in the bottom panel of page nine. Daredevil, having used shards of the Bifrost to rescue a bunch of blind children that Malekith kidnapped to draw him out, is depicted lying in a field, arms outstretched, holding the hands of a child on either side whose arms are similarly outstretched to holds the hands of the children next to them. It’s such an odd panel that seems to have little basis in reality. Daredevil rescues the children so they can lie in a field, holding hands? It struck me more as an insight into his mind and the reality that he wished to observe. He equates saving the children, blind like himself, with their being at peace together in a field. It’s not a literal depiction.

And if that panel is not real, what is?

The observer effect is a theory of quantum mechanics in physics where the act of observation alters or impacts that which is being observed. It’s a theory that suggests that things aren’t as isolated as we like to think; that observing and measuring something, usually some small element of reality, affects it because no observation is entirely passive. Daredevil, normally blind, has the ability to see and hear all in this story, having taken Heimdall’s sword to command the Bifrost, which granted him Heimdall’s abilities. So, if Daredevil can see everything everywhere, how does that impact the reality of his own actions and events he’s a part of?

I would argue that the entirety of “The God Without Fear” is Daredevil’s observation of events, altered by his own viewing of them. What we see in the comic is entirely from his perspective. There are two things that support this idea: Daredevil narrates the entire story and the unique artistic by Sorrentino and Wilson that mimics Daredevil’s senses, even when he’s not present, as it does at the end of the first part when Kurse kicks Fisk in the face and there’s an outline box on the impact, coloured differently. It’s inconsistent with the non-Daredevil art and a clue towards what’s actually happening.

The primary conflict of “The God Without Fear” is an internal one. Matt Murdock’s continuing struggles with his faith run up against a new challenge when he becomes a god, or, at least, as close to one as he’s ever encountered. That casts the entire narrative into that set framework of Murdock trying to come to grips with what this means for both himself and the world around him. The narrative is shifted to suit his attempt to use this experience to better understand an unknowable deity whose presence and existence was ingrained into him at a young age.

By observing himself using these powers, Murdock hopes to observe a god in action. If he knows what he is thinking as he acts, and he is able to observe those acts from an external perspective, perhaps new insight is to be gained. In the first part, there is a clear disconnect between Murdock’s internal narration and the actions depicted. When he fights Frost Giants, the art depicts a cacophony of images piled upon one another with various insets and specific focal points, but the narration speaks of everything else that Murdock can see and hear until “I force myself to focus on the rush of icy blood through the arteries of these giants.” Once he focuses in that way, there is no true difference between Daredevil the god and Daredevil the man beyond some additional knowledge. A large depiction of a Frost Giant with a dozen parts isolated with facts provided is not so different from what Daredevil can normally sense in an opponent with his radar senses; the knowledge of the unearthly elements at play is the only addition. He can ‘see’ the various weaknesses and strengths of his opponent like any other time. As such, in the first part of this narrative, he learns very little about what being a god is, except that it’s either an activity in observing all of reality at a remove or it’s exactly like being a person, but with some added information immediately at hand. He’s left somewhat unsatisfied, questioning himself: “[...] but I do not know... if I am truly a god. I just answered the prayers of these people. Isn’t that what a god should do? I have also brought... divine retribution.” Except, in saving some innocents from Frost Giants, did he do anything different from any other night, except perhaps on a different scale?

This pattern continues through the second part. He talks up his powers in his narration, but his actions aren’t much different than normal. He marvels at the power both he and Fisk have at their disposal as they fight, but, aside from that, it’s just another fight between Daredevil and the Kingpin. By the end of the third part, Murdock cannot help but conflate himself with a god, not based on powers, but through his experiences. The added information and perspective gained by his godly powers doesn’t actually change him in any meaningful way. He takes down some thugs in New York, gets into a fight with Wilson Fisk, and saves some kids from a scummy bad guy and his muscle-bound goon before jumping back into another fight in New York. When he goes after Malekith, he narrates, “I used to curse God because I didn’t understand how he could be omnipotent and still let bad things happen to good people. But here I am, a god... doing the very same thing.”

His rescue of the blind children is very much a “Daredevil fight,” as he uses his abilities to his advantage, taking away the moonlight to fight in pitch darkness, and outthinking his opponent. He takes a beating to buy time before he’s able to enact his true plan. He plays to his strengths, fights a boxing strategy, and is able to save the day. At this larger scale of power, it only teaches him one thing: he’s still him, even with godlike powers. And that is the insight that he gains by juxtaposing his own actions with his inner knowledge. The story ends with him looking up at a church in New York and saying, “I’m sorry. About the things I always cursed you for. I didn’t know until now. That you’re just as blind as me.”

In observing himself from an external perspective using his new powers and comparing that to what he was thinking and feeling inside, Murdock learns that the only difference is that of scale. I suppose that is an insight, of sorts, but it’s also a thought exercise that doesn’t actually resolve the conflict he begins with entirely, because it begins from the flawed assumption that additional power is the same as being a god.

The manner in which he defeats Malekith provides another insight that competes with that final moment for being the ‘point’ of the story. The shards of the Bifrost are activated and allow Daredevil and the children to escape only when one of the children touches his sword. He narrates that “what I didn’t expect... was that sometimes more important than salvation... is divine inspiration,” which leads him to conclude, while he lays on the grass with the kids, that “It’s not our gods who give us strength. It’s the other damn way around.” If conflating himself with a god and judging that the only difference is that of scale is simplistic, this is the closest to a profound lesson that he learns and relates to the end of the first part when he spoke of answering prayers. It’s not a new lesson: the god doesn’t matter, it’s the believer. The god is a mirror of the believer, one imbued with an awesome scale of power, one whose whims and directions are merely an attempt to arrange order on the chaos of reality. Of observing the world around you and trying to make sense of it all, changing the unseen things to fit into a nice, neat narrative.

Just as Murdock does for the duration of this story.

There is one glaring argument against this particular reading: Daredevil, throughout the story, cannot actually see Malekith, who uses his magic to avoid detection and observation. In the second part, Daredevil is surprised when Wilson Fisk shows himself in New York, now possessing magical powers from Malekith; in the third part, Daredevil says that he can’t see Malekith until a specific moment, which is part of the Dark Elf’s attempt to entrap the hero. Except, that fits neatly into the narrative that’s presented here; it’s self-sabotage by Daredevil that’s not really in effect. Daredevil conveniently only sees Malekith as he discusses not being able to see Malekith with Heimdall. It fits Malekith into the regular Daredevil narrative where a bad guy has kidnapped some kids and holds them hostage, causing the hero to search for them until, finally, he comes across the trap.

The neatness of the narrative progression is part of what gives this away as a fantasy – or, at least, an edited version of reality. Aside from the present events of the narrative, the first and second parts begin with flashbacks to Daredevil’s past that inform the narrative. The first is an encounter with Thor that introduces the inner conflict between his faith and the existence of the Asgardian gods. He senses tell him that Thor believes himself a god when he calls himself such, which only raises more doubt. The ensuing narrative is Murdock gaining the powers of an Asgardian and learning if that means being a god. Much like the flaw in assuming additional power is the same as being a god, there’s also a flawed assumption in that having the power of an Asgardian is the same thing as being an Asgardian. If Daredevil has the power of Heimdall, is that the same thing as being Heimdall in every aspect? Of course not, because Daredevil continues to behave like Daredevil, not like Heimdall.

The second flashback focuses on the interplay between what is observed externally and what happens internally. Daredevil has caught a serial killer and talks of praying “that once I started beating you, I’d be able to stop,” and, then, admitting that he didn’t kill the man. He muses, “So I suppose God was listening to me that night. Or maybe my arms just got tired,” indicating that even he doesn’t know what happened. He experienced the events and walked away with an ambiguous conclusion of what happened. Perhaps if he had also witnessed those events, he would have gained new insight? Probably not.

If anything “The God Without Fear” is an exercise in solipsism. By simultaneously observing his actions and experiencing them, Murdock makes himself the centre of the universe, the focal point of everything. Everything that happens is fit into a narrative that suits his inner conflict and questions. Reality is remade to revolve around him. He doesn’t recue the children and return them back home; he lies in a field, basking in the glory of being their saviour and the knowledge that he is no different from his God. Even the ‘divine inspiration’ provided by one of the children becomes about him. If anything, this entirely self-centred approach to using his powers and defining his actions provides an unstated insight into the nature of God; one where everything exists and occurs merely as a reflection of His existence. Everything is God experiencing it and observing it simultaneously, fitting it all into a grand narrative of order, just as Matt Murdock does for the entirely of this story.

But, even if this reading of the story is correct, I must admit, that doesn’t mean that the events didn’t actually happen. Aside from that one panel, everything is credible enough. That the events that happen aren’t referenced in any way in War of the Realms does seem suspect, particularly an encounter with Malekith that doesn’t fit neatly into what’s shown in that series. Unfortunately, that isn’t enough to support the argument that the story didn’t happen. Even if the act of observing what happened caused Murdock to unconsciously use his powers to somehow reshape reality into the narrative that we read, that would mean that that is what happened. So, I guess the question that really needs to be asked: how different is “The God Without Fear” from what actually happened?

Only god knows...

The First Thorsday: On The Unworthy Thor #1

Jason Aaron began his run on the Thor titles in November of 2012. Four years ago. It began with Thor: God of Thunder with Esad Ribic drawing the book and Dean White colouring it. Now, four years later, Aaron delivers his 50th Thor comic, The Unworthy Thor #1 and he has the artist that put his stamp on the two previous big Thor runs with him, Olivier Coipel. I've been looking forward to this comic ever since it was announced as, unsurprisingly, an underlying mystery that has obsessed me is the words that made the Odinson unworthy back in Original Sin. I imagine that this mini-series will finally answer that question. I haven't even speculated in private as to what was said to change the Odinson from worthy to not, because I'm sure that I can't come up with it myself. And part of me is certain that the revelation will be somewhat lame. After all, what can possibly be whispered to a god and have such a profound effect? We'll see, I suppose.

But, back to the business at hand...

I must admit that, beyond the mystery of how he became unworthy, my other big reason for anticipating The Unworthy Thor was that it continues the story of Thor Odinson. Given the amount of backlack that the Jane Foster Thor has gotten from some sections of Thor fandom, it feels wrong to say that in some ways. But, you know, as much as I'm enjoying The Mighty Thor currently (and I am, quite a bit), it's not the same character, a character that I'd have to say is my favourite mainstream superhero comic character. Part of the reason why I've wanted to write about Thor is to see if I can figure out why I love this character so much. After all, it's a character that seems the opposite of me: not necessarily bright, very violent, a bit of drunken oaf... He's not a character that I see myself in, like Peter Parker or even wish, on some level, I were, like Spider Jerusalem. While there is a part of me that would love to hit things with a big fucking hammer, I can't say that Thor is character that I would like to be, beyond using his action figure to play superheroes with my son. So, the unstated question that will run through this newsletter is

WHY DO I LIKE THOR SO MUCH?

Let no more be said of that question...

A return to the Odinson has been something I've been waiting for. In part to answer the mystery, in part because he's my Thor. I dig the other Thor (I dig all Thors, really), but it's not the character that I've been reading about for most of my life. Is that sad? It might be, but fuck it. I have enough love in my heart for many Thors and I'm not ashamed to say such an obviously shameful thing.

The last time we saw the unworthy Odinson, he was trapped in some energy/mechanical thing and, nearby, on the ground, was Ultimate Mjolnir. Here's the continuation as we begin with the Odison fighting through mobs in a daily attempt to get that hammer -- and every day he fails. Then, we get the beginning of how he got the idea to get Ultimate Mjolnir in the aftermath of Secret Wars. Aaron has the Odinson narrate the story and Coipel, along with colourist Matthew Wilson, delivers some gorgeous work. It's a good comic. At least, for me, it's a good comic.

I recently reread all of the Thor comics (including Journey into Mystery) from J. Michael Straczynski (I didn't have to look up the spelling) until the beginning of Jason Aaron's run -- so, the JMS run, the Gillen run, and the Fraction run with a bunch of Loki stuff thrown in. Olivier Coipel drew most of the JMS run, with some help from Marko Djurdjevic (I didn't need to look up how to spell that, either) and, then, later did the first six issues of relaunched Mighty Thor under Fraction (that was the story where Odin fought Galactus, the Silver Surfer moved to Broxton, and a local pastor became the new Herald of Galactus, a fact that was probably never followed up on by anyone). He also drew Siege, which was the second-closest event that we've gotten to a Thor-centric event (after Fear Itself). He's clearly got a fondness for the character and the news that he would draw this series was less a surprise than a friendly bit of news. A moment where a familiar face pops in for a visit. His work here with Wilson is quite good. More lush and detailed than the last time I saw his art; a bit sketchier in spots, a bit rougher... yet more refined. I've been a fan of his for a decade and this is the best work I've seen from him. I'm still not sophisticated enough to fully articulate the ways that I think I see Wilson making Coipel's line work better, but, rest assured, he does. Wilson and the fact that Coipel is inking himself are two things that assist in this 'level up' moment...

The version of Thor Odinson we get here is a bit pathetic. He's less than he once ways and knows it. He's full of self-loathing... and pride. That undercurrent of pride is important, because it shows that no matter how unworthy he may be, there's part of him that can't escape who he's been his entire life. He's still the Odinson. He's just fallen and desperate and sad. That opening scene where he's fighting off hoards of aliens and creatures to reach Ultimate Mjolnir -- does he drive himself on because he's THOR SON OF ODIN GOD OF THUNDER or because he's desperate to be that person again? It's the same character, obviously, but is he the same man/god that we've been reading about for so long? That looks to be the point of the series (which Aaron confirms in his text piece at the end of the issue) and it's an intriguing one. In the small amount of Thor comics I've been (re)reading lately (the Simonson run, the aforementioned JMS/Gillen/Fraction runs, and a few issues into the second Essential Thor volume after reading the first one) (okay, that's not a small number of comics, but, in the overall number of Thor comics, it's not large), the idea that the Asgardians are malleable beyond other superhero characters has cropped up. They are explicitly beings of stories and, thus, are more easily shaped and reshaped according to the needs of the narrative. There have been numerous contradictions and changes and retcons and they all work, because the characters shrug and say "It was so long ago, who can remember for sure?" and just get on with it. The most recent issue of The Mighty Thor gave a new origin for Mjolnir and it's great. If someone retcons that in a few years, it won't matter, because the story was good. Thor and the Asgardians yield entirely to the story and that's cool.