Anyone who's read some Garth Ennis comics for a decent period of time knows that Ennis seems focused around a certain type of masculinity. It's an older sort where men are men and they drink and hurt bad people and say "ma'am" and treat ladies with respect. It also means often keeping emotions bottled up and act condescending to women. Preacher dealt with that in a big way. The Boys did it again with a slightly different take. Yet, despite this recurring pattern, Ennis does have a habit of writing strong women who act as counterbalance to his men -- often pointing out the faults in this particular view of men and woman, too.
I want to focus on Annie January in The Boys, because she seems like a possible target to point out where Ennis writes women poorly, mostly because of her introduction: she performs oral sex on three men to get into a Justice League-esque superhero team. Ennis has said that the character began as one-note joke. Another example of how horrible and crude the supes in that world are. Someone who would be corrupted (willingly to a degree) and really just another supe for Hughie to see and feel disgust at. But, something changed and, soon, Annie reappeared and, slowly, became a more rounded character, someone who struggled with the choice she made, what says about her, who she thought she was, and where she is. Over the course of the series, she developed into her own person who falls in love with Hughie and, while understanding his issues with her actions, stops apologising and says that he needs to move on, because that's something she did. She regrets it, but she's not going to obsess over it and allow it to determine every aspect of her life. If there's a weakness to the character, it's her inability to move past Hughie. It's understandable given that he was a genuine moment of kindness at a time when she needed it. She even recognises this weakness. But, what I have to wonder is if that's really cause for criticism. Since when is anyone perfect and sound in their judgment, especially when it comes to matters of the heart? She fell in love and can't get past that. It winds up happy in the end when her idiot boyfriend gets over himself. I don't know what anyone else would want, besides that perfect embodiment of everything righteous and wonderful in a woman.
And what are those qualities, by the way? For me, someone making a horrible mistake and then doing their best to learn and grow from it is about as close as it gets.
More than other Ennis women like Kit or Tulip, there's a bit more of a flawed streak running through Annie and I appreciate that. If she were a male character, no one would pay a second look to those flaws. They would simply see an interesting character. A well-rounded character even. Look at her other half, Hughie. He is the entry-point character of The Boys and is horribly flawed. He's narrow-minded, whiny, and selfish. He doesn't always do the right thing and struggles. All of which make him more 'real' and interesting. The relationship between the two is so compelling and engrossing because they're both so flawed. Neither is perfect... except maybe for each other. (Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww...!)
In 30 minutes, Brian Cronin will share his thoughts on this topic.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Blogathon 22: 100 Issues in a Row (Part 2)
One series that I know I will get and read more than 100 issues of is Cerebus. Just a matter of when, not if.
Of the current titles that I'm buying, I'm not sure if there are any that will make it that far. One that just finished up that almost made it was The Boys (it hit 90 if you include the three mini-series that accompanied it) and it was, as you said, creator owned. Oddly, the two that I had that made the cut (sort of) were not creator-owned. Maybe that's because not a lot of creator-owned books last that long either.
Getting back to current titles... Uh... I could see me winding up getting those 100 issues of Thor in a row despite it being across three volumes (at least!). Nothing else is standing out. Maybe Jonathan Hickman's Avengers/New Avengers? Those two titles in conjunction could hit 100 if he's allowed to tell his whole story, I suppose. Possibly The Unwritten. That could make it, I guess, if it keeps going. I don't know if I'd be there when it reached 100 issues.
100 issues is a lot. That's 100 months (if it ships monthly): a little over eight years. As Augie said, who wants to stick around on a book that long when you can be doing new things? That's a big investment of time and energy -- and maybe not the best investment.
Since few seem likely to make it that far, I'll say what comic I would like to see make it that far all things considered: Wonder Woman. That's probably the only ongoing title that I'm buying that I could see making 100 issues and that being fine. With Brian Azzarello still writing. Everything else seems to have a built-in shelf life. I love The Manhattan Projects, for example, but that does not strike me as a 100-issue series. Nor does Prophet (though, maybe I'd like to see them try there...). Maybe it's the natural tendency to assume that only superhero comics will last forever. And Wonder Woman is the ongoing superhero comic that I'm enjoying the most right now, so... let's see it hit 100!
In 30 minutes, I'll begin talking Garth Ennis's best female characters with Brian Cronin.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Of the current titles that I'm buying, I'm not sure if there are any that will make it that far. One that just finished up that almost made it was The Boys (it hit 90 if you include the three mini-series that accompanied it) and it was, as you said, creator owned. Oddly, the two that I had that made the cut (sort of) were not creator-owned. Maybe that's because not a lot of creator-owned books last that long either.
Getting back to current titles... Uh... I could see me winding up getting those 100 issues of Thor in a row despite it being across three volumes (at least!). Nothing else is standing out. Maybe Jonathan Hickman's Avengers/New Avengers? Those two titles in conjunction could hit 100 if he's allowed to tell his whole story, I suppose. Possibly The Unwritten. That could make it, I guess, if it keeps going. I don't know if I'd be there when it reached 100 issues.
100 issues is a lot. That's 100 months (if it ships monthly): a little over eight years. As Augie said, who wants to stick around on a book that long when you can be doing new things? That's a big investment of time and energy -- and maybe not the best investment.
Since few seem likely to make it that far, I'll say what comic I would like to see make it that far all things considered: Wonder Woman. That's probably the only ongoing title that I'm buying that I could see making 100 issues and that being fine. With Brian Azzarello still writing. Everything else seems to have a built-in shelf life. I love The Manhattan Projects, for example, but that does not strike me as a 100-issue series. Nor does Prophet (though, maybe I'd like to see them try there...). Maybe it's the natural tendency to assume that only superhero comics will last forever. And Wonder Woman is the ongoing superhero comic that I'm enjoying the most right now, so... let's see it hit 100!
In 30 minutes, I'll begin talking Garth Ennis's best female characters with Brian Cronin.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Blogathon 21: 100 Issues in a Row (Augie de Blieck, Jr. Guest Post)
COMICS CENTENNIAL
The only thing rarer than a comic book reader sticking around to read 100 straight issues of a comic series anymore is a singular creative team sticking around for 100 consecutive issues. When I sat down to make a list of the comic series I had read for 100 issues straight, though, I was surprised to realize that (A) they were nearly entirely creator-owned and (B) all kept the same creative team for a long stretch.
The obvious conclusions to make from this are two-fold:
* Creative consistency is key to my enjoyment of a comic. Give me a singular voice and there won't be as many opportunities to jump off the train.
* Creator-owned comics are freer to make changes, take chances, and adapt to the times. They don't need to stop every six months for the latest crossover. They don't have stories dictated to them by an editorial committee. That keeps the books fresher, inviting readers to stick around longer without being bored by repetition.
The list of books I didn't make it to 100 issues with didn't follow those two rules. I read "The Amazing Spider-Man" for a long time when I first started reading comics, but the changes of direction and creative teams eventually drove me away. I stayed for darn near 100 issues of Peter David's "Hulk" run, but after David left, so did I. I read "Uncanny X-Men" for a long time, too, but you know how things go in the Mutant world. . . The last two decades of that title have been a churn of creative teams, directions, reboots, and rampant crossovers. Just when you get comfortable or find a particular creative team to enjoy, they're gone again.
I have read more than 100 consecutive issues of "Uncanny X-Men," mind you. I just didn't read those from month to month. That came from reading Chris Claremont's entire run, 90% of it in reprinted editions. That doesn't count for this column, because I'm explicitly thinking of the books I read from month to month as they show up on the stands. It's a different thing, but it is interesting that the run is based on the specific work of one creator. I don't think I'd ever go back to read 100 consecutive issues of X-Men from a time after that run. It would be too jumpy.
Which comics have I stuck around for 100 issues of? Not many:
* "The Savage Dragon"
One creator, Erik Larsen, has handled words and art for nearly 200 issues now. And I've been around since the first issue of the first mini-series. The biggest changes in the title, creatively, have been in the coloring department, but they've still mostly maintained the same look and feel of the series. The lettering has been passed off a couple of times, but you can't complain when the list of letterers is Chris Eliopoulos, John Workman, and Tom Orzechowski, can you?
* "The Walking Dead"
Charlie Adlard just hit his 100th consecutive issue, after taking over from Tony Moore early in the series' life. Given the speed of Moore's output in the years since, it's obvious that "The Walking Dead" would be nowhere near #100 if he had stuck around. Adlard is a producing machine, and he's good. I've enjoyed his work going back to "Astronauts in Trouble." His style is much better suited to comics without super-heroes, so "TWD" is a good fit for him.
* "Invincible"
The series is coming up to 100 issues soon, and Ryan Ottley has drawn the vast majority of them. Only Cory Walker has drawn the series otherwise. Walker is the series' co-creator, and still comes back from time to time for a fill-in story or some pages of issues with separate stories. This entry is a bit of a cheat, in that we're still a couple weeks away from the 100th issue, but I'm going to give msyself that buffer.
* "Ultimate Spider-Man"
This is the only series that fails the creator-owned test. It's a title I stuck with for the entirety of its original run. I said often that it was the single best monthly superhero comics being published during those years. I only hopped off when the series ended, the character "died", artistic teams began to change frequently, and the series rebooted a couple of times. I would like to get back to it someday, buy up all the collections since then and sit down to have a good read. I just can't force myself to read "Ultimatum" again to get the whole story. Ugh.
Still, those 120 or so issues with Brian Bendis, Mark Bagley, and Stuart Immonen were pure gold. I wouldn't trade them for anything. I never considered dropping the title, either. I do honestly believe the quality level was high throughout the whole run. Some stories might have grabbed me harder than others, but I was never bored. I never bided my time until a better creative team or a better story came along. That goes for all the books on this list. And that couldn't be said about any series that had multiple creative teams, reboots, "jumping-on points," etc.
The comics market today doesn't reward consistency, creators are too busy diversifying their IP portfolio to stick to the long slow decline in sales that most monthly books fall prey to, and the Big Two don't want to publish a comic for three years (let alone 8.5) without rebooting it and pushing me away. The Direct Market does not reward extended runs. And monthly comics don't get produced for the non-Direct Market. Those markets -- specifically, the bookstore market -- are geared towards collections, and those rarely last long as a series. So how many titles might you read 100 issues of in the next few years? I doubt there are too many. Jump aboard "Usagi Yojimbo" and you stand half a chance, though.
Or do what I do and buy lots of translated French albums. But that's a topic for another Blogathon someday...
Thanks to Chad for lending me a few inches of blog space for this particular walk down memory lane, and for putting together this Blogathon for a good cause. Let's go to the tote board now!
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
The only thing rarer than a comic book reader sticking around to read 100 straight issues of a comic series anymore is a singular creative team sticking around for 100 consecutive issues. When I sat down to make a list of the comic series I had read for 100 issues straight, though, I was surprised to realize that (A) they were nearly entirely creator-owned and (B) all kept the same creative team for a long stretch.
The obvious conclusions to make from this are two-fold:
* Creative consistency is key to my enjoyment of a comic. Give me a singular voice and there won't be as many opportunities to jump off the train.
* Creator-owned comics are freer to make changes, take chances, and adapt to the times. They don't need to stop every six months for the latest crossover. They don't have stories dictated to them by an editorial committee. That keeps the books fresher, inviting readers to stick around longer without being bored by repetition.
The list of books I didn't make it to 100 issues with didn't follow those two rules. I read "The Amazing Spider-Man" for a long time when I first started reading comics, but the changes of direction and creative teams eventually drove me away. I stayed for darn near 100 issues of Peter David's "Hulk" run, but after David left, so did I. I read "Uncanny X-Men" for a long time, too, but you know how things go in the Mutant world. . . The last two decades of that title have been a churn of creative teams, directions, reboots, and rampant crossovers. Just when you get comfortable or find a particular creative team to enjoy, they're gone again.
I have read more than 100 consecutive issues of "Uncanny X-Men," mind you. I just didn't read those from month to month. That came from reading Chris Claremont's entire run, 90% of it in reprinted editions. That doesn't count for this column, because I'm explicitly thinking of the books I read from month to month as they show up on the stands. It's a different thing, but it is interesting that the run is based on the specific work of one creator. I don't think I'd ever go back to read 100 consecutive issues of X-Men from a time after that run. It would be too jumpy.
Which comics have I stuck around for 100 issues of? Not many:
* "The Savage Dragon"
One creator, Erik Larsen, has handled words and art for nearly 200 issues now. And I've been around since the first issue of the first mini-series. The biggest changes in the title, creatively, have been in the coloring department, but they've still mostly maintained the same look and feel of the series. The lettering has been passed off a couple of times, but you can't complain when the list of letterers is Chris Eliopoulos, John Workman, and Tom Orzechowski, can you?
* "The Walking Dead"
Charlie Adlard just hit his 100th consecutive issue, after taking over from Tony Moore early in the series' life. Given the speed of Moore's output in the years since, it's obvious that "The Walking Dead" would be nowhere near #100 if he had stuck around. Adlard is a producing machine, and he's good. I've enjoyed his work going back to "Astronauts in Trouble." His style is much better suited to comics without super-heroes, so "TWD" is a good fit for him.
* "Invincible"
The series is coming up to 100 issues soon, and Ryan Ottley has drawn the vast majority of them. Only Cory Walker has drawn the series otherwise. Walker is the series' co-creator, and still comes back from time to time for a fill-in story or some pages of issues with separate stories. This entry is a bit of a cheat, in that we're still a couple weeks away from the 100th issue, but I'm going to give msyself that buffer.
* "Ultimate Spider-Man"
This is the only series that fails the creator-owned test. It's a title I stuck with for the entirety of its original run. I said often that it was the single best monthly superhero comics being published during those years. I only hopped off when the series ended, the character "died", artistic teams began to change frequently, and the series rebooted a couple of times. I would like to get back to it someday, buy up all the collections since then and sit down to have a good read. I just can't force myself to read "Ultimatum" again to get the whole story. Ugh.
Still, those 120 or so issues with Brian Bendis, Mark Bagley, and Stuart Immonen were pure gold. I wouldn't trade them for anything. I never considered dropping the title, either. I do honestly believe the quality level was high throughout the whole run. Some stories might have grabbed me harder than others, but I was never bored. I never bided my time until a better creative team or a better story came along. That goes for all the books on this list. And that couldn't be said about any series that had multiple creative teams, reboots, "jumping-on points," etc.
The comics market today doesn't reward consistency, creators are too busy diversifying their IP portfolio to stick to the long slow decline in sales that most monthly books fall prey to, and the Big Two don't want to publish a comic for three years (let alone 8.5) without rebooting it and pushing me away. The Direct Market does not reward extended runs. And monthly comics don't get produced for the non-Direct Market. Those markets -- specifically, the bookstore market -- are geared towards collections, and those rarely last long as a series. So how many titles might you read 100 issues of in the next few years? I doubt there are too many. Jump aboard "Usagi Yojimbo" and you stand half a chance, though.
Or do what I do and buy lots of translated French albums. But that's a topic for another Blogathon someday...
Thanks to Chad for lending me a few inches of blog space for this particular walk down memory lane, and for putting together this Blogathon for a good cause. Let's go to the tote board now!
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Blogathon 20: 100 Issues in a Row (Part 1)
Augie de Blieck, Jr. asks: "What titles have you read more than 100 issues of straight, as they came out? Why did you stick around so long? Did you ever continue to buy the book in the hopes that it would get better again eventually? Have you no shame?"
I think I only have two: Hellblazer and Brian Michael Bendis's Avengers stuff (shut up, it's one run!). And both of those don't fall into the traditional category that Augie's speaking of. I buy Hellblazer in trades (as they come out), while the Bendis Avengers stuff was spread out over... six ongoing series, some event books, and a mini-series or two. I'd have to count how many issues of Thor comics have come out since I began buying it regularly again, but I don't think it's been 100. Even if you include Journey into Mystery.
So, those two. And I have stuck with both, because I enjoy them -- for different reasons. Hellblazer is a comic that reveals something about each new writer. John Constantine is malleable and interesting and shows off what a particular writer is interested in like no other mainstream corporate comic character. I've seen the title through... four regular writers since I began buying trades as they come out. Each has been unique. Some haven't been as great as others, but, hey, bad Hellblazer comics are still better than most comics. Something about the title. The Bendis Avengers stuff was because of Bendis. The quality would dip here and there, but there was a standard that it usually met and that standard was high enough (and interesting enough) to keep me.
I don't think I've stuck with any other title for so long, because I can't keep buying books too long in the hopes of the quality getting better. I may have some specific, funny tastes, but I know my standards and it doesn't take long before I will kick something to the curb that isn't meeting those standards. As well, the nature of mainstream corporate comics is rotating creative teams. My interest rarely lies in the specific title/character; it's usually the people working on the comic (specifically, the writer) that get me to buy the book. If a writer leaves, there's a good chance that I'm out the door, too.
I grew up as a teen in a time where I had people like Warren Ellis emphasising the creator -- to not mindlessly buying something. To giving something a fair chance to keep you, but, should it fail after two or three issues, drop it and don't look back. I haven't always adhered to that and have let things slide a little longer, but very, very, very rarely do they slide too much longer. Six issues at the most. Which is too long, honestly.
I've gotten some books that have been 100 issues or more after the fact. 100 Bullets is one. Some others that aren't consecutive issues. But, it's hard to find 100 issues in a row that are worthwhile. What writer can maintain that? What are the odds that a company will put enough good writers on a book in a row? What are the odds that the great things can last 12 issues let alone 100 in this market?
In 30 minutes, Augie may or may not answer these questions. I don't know honestly.
And, something else: NINE HUNDRED DOLLARS, PEOPLE! That is amazing. Stunning. Let's keep it up.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
I think I only have two: Hellblazer and Brian Michael Bendis's Avengers stuff (shut up, it's one run!). And both of those don't fall into the traditional category that Augie's speaking of. I buy Hellblazer in trades (as they come out), while the Bendis Avengers stuff was spread out over... six ongoing series, some event books, and a mini-series or two. I'd have to count how many issues of Thor comics have come out since I began buying it regularly again, but I don't think it's been 100. Even if you include Journey into Mystery.
So, those two. And I have stuck with both, because I enjoy them -- for different reasons. Hellblazer is a comic that reveals something about each new writer. John Constantine is malleable and interesting and shows off what a particular writer is interested in like no other mainstream corporate comic character. I've seen the title through... four regular writers since I began buying trades as they come out. Each has been unique. Some haven't been as great as others, but, hey, bad Hellblazer comics are still better than most comics. Something about the title. The Bendis Avengers stuff was because of Bendis. The quality would dip here and there, but there was a standard that it usually met and that standard was high enough (and interesting enough) to keep me.
I don't think I've stuck with any other title for so long, because I can't keep buying books too long in the hopes of the quality getting better. I may have some specific, funny tastes, but I know my standards and it doesn't take long before I will kick something to the curb that isn't meeting those standards. As well, the nature of mainstream corporate comics is rotating creative teams. My interest rarely lies in the specific title/character; it's usually the people working on the comic (specifically, the writer) that get me to buy the book. If a writer leaves, there's a good chance that I'm out the door, too.
I grew up as a teen in a time where I had people like Warren Ellis emphasising the creator -- to not mindlessly buying something. To giving something a fair chance to keep you, but, should it fail after two or three issues, drop it and don't look back. I haven't always adhered to that and have let things slide a little longer, but very, very, very rarely do they slide too much longer. Six issues at the most. Which is too long, honestly.
I've gotten some books that have been 100 issues or more after the fact. 100 Bullets is one. Some others that aren't consecutive issues. But, it's hard to find 100 issues in a row that are worthwhile. What writer can maintain that? What are the odds that a company will put enough good writers on a book in a row? What are the odds that the great things can last 12 issues let alone 100 in this market?
In 30 minutes, Augie may or may not answer these questions. I don't know honestly.
And, something else: NINE HUNDRED DOLLARS, PEOPLE! That is amazing. Stunning. Let's keep it up.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Blogathon 19: Best Time to Stop Reading Superhero Comics (Part 2)
Fuck.
How do I approach this. I'll start at the beginning and see if I can not embarrass myself. What I wanted/expected when I began writing for CBR was a cheque every month. A cheque for doing something I already did, albeit in a slightly different way. I was broke, out of work, and that money came at a good time. I would buy my comics and still have money left over each week, because I always made sure to review more books than my comics bill would be. That mentality lasted until I found work in the fall of 2009. And began again when I lost that job later in the fall of 2009. That's okay, because it was a shitty job that I could never figure out. It was calling up people in Edmonton and Calgary, asking them to do vacation surveys. If they said no, you had to take no for an answer. 90% of the calls you made were blocked by the national blocker list or simply got no answer. Another 8% said no. Another 1% didn't fit the criteria. And they wanted a certain numbers of surveys completed each night. You were not allowed to falsify any. I got in shit for that, because, the surveys were step one. Step two was calling those people back and trying to sell them on a bullshit travel club membership. On my final night, in one hour, I made 110 calls. 100 of those had no answer/were blocked. Another 8 said no. 1 didn't qualify. 1 did. Somehow, it was my fault that I didn't get enough completed surveys, though they couldn't tell me how to get more. Because it was out of my hands. But, they paid me for a few months and I wasn't too sad about leaving behind such a scummy, awful job. It took another ten months for me to find another job. The CBR cheque helped a lot in that time. It took me a year or so of working my current job before I realised that I didn't like reviewing comics enough anymore and I didn't need the money anymore either. So, I quit. And it felt good. I wasn't enjoying the free comics writing stuff either, so I'm quitting that, too. I thought giving myself a year would mean trying to get as much out of it as possible. It meant I wrote about Avengers vs. X-Men and enjoyed that, but... yeah. Don't get me wrong, I never did the CBR gig "for the money" as it were. It just came along at a time when I needed money. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed writing about comics like that for a time. Of finding new ways to say things I'd said many times before. Of finding the line you couldn't cross and somehow sticking a toe over. Of hearing rumours or getting impressions that I'd pissed off some thin-skinned creators who never quite got that it was never personal until they decided to whine. And, even then, I didn't make it personal though I wanted to. I can't say that the comics themselves got to me. The comic review that ended it for me was an issue of Prophet early in 2012. It was a Sunday and I was at my job (I worked weekends then) and I had a choice: write the review or do some more work (I was ahead). I realised that I enjoyed the work more than the review writing. So I was gone.
I spend 9-10 at work every day (if you include travel), so, you're right, why would I want to have any other time wasted? That actually gets at the heart of why I'm quitting this blog. I want to scale it back and see what I really love about writing. Figure out how to do it all again and not treat it like a chore. Maybe part of that is getting away from what you mention: superhero comics aren't as smart as I am. I take these skills and tools that I learned in school that I honed on great works of literature and, then, I apply them to Avengers vs. X-Men and bask in the praise I receive for making those comics seem smarter and more worthwhile than they do when you actually read them. It's not something I've ever thought about consciously. Or for that long. My usual response was always "It's all in the work! It's not me!" But I wonder...
I'm not certain that that's it entirely. In leaving the internet (I even plan on setting out a rigid schedule for reading things online) I have thought about what that will do to my pull list. There are things I buy because I know I will write about them. I was thinking the other day about picking a number and seeing if I could cut back to that. I'm not sure I can. I'm not sure that I should want to. But, having Michelle in my life and working -- those two things together have made a lot of this seem like a distraction that I don't need. When I was going to school, I didn't have her, so this was fine. When I had her, I wasn't working, so I had plenty of time. Now, I don't have that time. And what about if/when we have kids? I don't know how Tim does it somedays. But, look at his comics reading habits now that he's escaped the week in, week out wheel of comics reviewing (and comics podcasting). I said earlier today that he's my example in many ways and this looks like another one.
I can't see myself giving anything up entirely. Specific books, sure. Maybe most of them. Maybe everything new. Maybe get rid of a lot of what I have. But, not all. Never all. And I think I'm going to teach myself how to love this again like I used to. On my terms.
I wasn't planning to say any of this until Tuesday. But, hey, what the hell.
Thanks, Tucker.
In 30 minutes, we try to recover with Augie de Blieck, Jr. and I discussing long, 100+ runs of comics we have read.
We're up to $779.95 raised for the Hero Initiative.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
How do I approach this. I'll start at the beginning and see if I can not embarrass myself. What I wanted/expected when I began writing for CBR was a cheque every month. A cheque for doing something I already did, albeit in a slightly different way. I was broke, out of work, and that money came at a good time. I would buy my comics and still have money left over each week, because I always made sure to review more books than my comics bill would be. That mentality lasted until I found work in the fall of 2009. And began again when I lost that job later in the fall of 2009. That's okay, because it was a shitty job that I could never figure out. It was calling up people in Edmonton and Calgary, asking them to do vacation surveys. If they said no, you had to take no for an answer. 90% of the calls you made were blocked by the national blocker list or simply got no answer. Another 8% said no. Another 1% didn't fit the criteria. And they wanted a certain numbers of surveys completed each night. You were not allowed to falsify any. I got in shit for that, because, the surveys were step one. Step two was calling those people back and trying to sell them on a bullshit travel club membership. On my final night, in one hour, I made 110 calls. 100 of those had no answer/were blocked. Another 8 said no. 1 didn't qualify. 1 did. Somehow, it was my fault that I didn't get enough completed surveys, though they couldn't tell me how to get more. Because it was out of my hands. But, they paid me for a few months and I wasn't too sad about leaving behind such a scummy, awful job. It took another ten months for me to find another job. The CBR cheque helped a lot in that time. It took me a year or so of working my current job before I realised that I didn't like reviewing comics enough anymore and I didn't need the money anymore either. So, I quit. And it felt good. I wasn't enjoying the free comics writing stuff either, so I'm quitting that, too. I thought giving myself a year would mean trying to get as much out of it as possible. It meant I wrote about Avengers vs. X-Men and enjoyed that, but... yeah. Don't get me wrong, I never did the CBR gig "for the money" as it were. It just came along at a time when I needed money. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed writing about comics like that for a time. Of finding new ways to say things I'd said many times before. Of finding the line you couldn't cross and somehow sticking a toe over. Of hearing rumours or getting impressions that I'd pissed off some thin-skinned creators who never quite got that it was never personal until they decided to whine. And, even then, I didn't make it personal though I wanted to. I can't say that the comics themselves got to me. The comic review that ended it for me was an issue of Prophet early in 2012. It was a Sunday and I was at my job (I worked weekends then) and I had a choice: write the review or do some more work (I was ahead). I realised that I enjoyed the work more than the review writing. So I was gone.
I spend 9-10 at work every day (if you include travel), so, you're right, why would I want to have any other time wasted? That actually gets at the heart of why I'm quitting this blog. I want to scale it back and see what I really love about writing. Figure out how to do it all again and not treat it like a chore. Maybe part of that is getting away from what you mention: superhero comics aren't as smart as I am. I take these skills and tools that I learned in school that I honed on great works of literature and, then, I apply them to Avengers vs. X-Men and bask in the praise I receive for making those comics seem smarter and more worthwhile than they do when you actually read them. It's not something I've ever thought about consciously. Or for that long. My usual response was always "It's all in the work! It's not me!" But I wonder...
I'm not certain that that's it entirely. In leaving the internet (I even plan on setting out a rigid schedule for reading things online) I have thought about what that will do to my pull list. There are things I buy because I know I will write about them. I was thinking the other day about picking a number and seeing if I could cut back to that. I'm not sure I can. I'm not sure that I should want to. But, having Michelle in my life and working -- those two things together have made a lot of this seem like a distraction that I don't need. When I was going to school, I didn't have her, so this was fine. When I had her, I wasn't working, so I had plenty of time. Now, I don't have that time. And what about if/when we have kids? I don't know how Tim does it somedays. But, look at his comics reading habits now that he's escaped the week in, week out wheel of comics reviewing (and comics podcasting). I said earlier today that he's my example in many ways and this looks like another one.
I can't see myself giving anything up entirely. Specific books, sure. Maybe most of them. Maybe everything new. Maybe get rid of a lot of what I have. But, not all. Never all. And I think I'm going to teach myself how to love this again like I used to. On my terms.
I wasn't planning to say any of this until Tuesday. But, hey, what the hell.
Thanks, Tucker.
In 30 minutes, we try to recover with Augie de Blieck, Jr. and I discussing long, 100+ runs of comics we have read.
We're up to $779.95 raised for the Hero Initiative.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Blogathon 18: Best Time to Stop Reading Superhero Comics (Tucker Stone Guest Post)
I can't remember what was in my head at the time I asked you at what moment you think you should have stopped reading super-hero comics. What was it I was thinking?
I wonder what you wanted out of CBR when you first started reviewing there, or what you wanted when you hit a year, or two, or had your first taste of the meaningless of it all, the way a great comic or a great artist or a great writer could fail miserably to find its audience out of what initially seems like the most arbitrary bits, like the characters it featured, or the day it came out, or its lack of connection to a part of continuity, or any one of the things that tend to have so little bearing on quality and yet exert a massive influence over their popularity. I'm not curious to whether you got irritated--you either did because you're sane, or you didn't because you're a fool, and I have to act as if you're the former or else I won't be able to continue. I'm curious what you did after the irritation wore off, what motivated you to go forward. You have these funny little standards--not funny in a patronizing way, funny just in that they're specific and unusual, they're private, personal--and I wonder how that seriousness worked when you were met with such consistent mediocrity. I want to know about the moment when you let your standards slip. Me, Deadpool Max, I knew there was something off, but I kept returning. I thought I liked REBELS until I realized I just liked clinical, thin lined facial expressions. Looking into a box, realizing that I was the guy who read Geoff Johns Teen Titans comics, drawn by Mike Mckone. I see you doing it with Ellis, with treacly crap like The Massive, but I can understand that--it's competence, there's efficiency happening there. Bryan Wood, Bryan Vaughan--those are creators that have massive appeal if you have a tendency towards timers and productivity and deadlines. They get the job done, and while that job tends to be a 7 minute distraction over the barely 3 minutes that Rucka can provide, they tend to feel reliable. It's not art anyway, regardless of how well they've all adopted artist as their job description. Ellis is another beast entirely, a topic I can't imagine discussing with you seriously, we'd both just end up talking around each other, mumbling obscenities under our breath. It would be like an abortion debate, or the way Republicans and Democrats cockfight on talk radio. You think he's made some good comics, I think the world would be a far better place if he cleaned bowling alleys with his tongue and slept in a bucket.
Ugh. This is becoming such a mess. I don't have anything to say about this topic myself, that's the problem, so of course it's going to deteriorate into easy, familiar topics, like being sarcastic about ex-Vertigo check chasers with T1 lines. I bailed on super-hero comics because I got a Chevy Blazer and because I was obsessed with the idea that if I drove around in it smoking Marlboro Reds and listening to Pretty Hate Machine and Doggystyle, that if I did that long enough, girls with names like Kelli and Wendy would get into the Blazer with me and we could go watch movies where people murdered people because Tommy Lee Jones needed to wear a bandanna and no one would let him. I came back to super-hero comics because I read an article that Frank Miller was doing more Dark Knight comics, which he did, and I didn't fall in love with them the way other people did but I decided to read Kevin Smith comics because I had always liked the part in Mallrats where Jason Lee carried around his own little paper cup. Where else but in super-hero comics do people choose to consistently pursue something they barely even vaguely enjoy in a regimented, obsessive fashion? Television doesn't count, because television is essentially a more exciting version of an overhead lamp. You had to go and get comics, you had to pay for comics, there was effort and choice there.
I think about it now, and the only explanation that really makes sense to me is that I liked weaker, stupider stories that I could feel smarter than, because I didn't feel smart enough, and I didn't know how to change that. I didn't read hard comics, good comics, I read swill and organized it, I forced my way through Dan Jurgens on the Justice League, or that storyline in Batman where he fought an earthquake, and I knew it was page after page of garbage, but it gave me a momentary sensation of power and success to have read those things in order after having found them in order. I did that instead of actually doing things that make my life better, and I used the excuse that I deserved to have fun and kill time or blow off some steam or have some escapism in my life, when the truth was that I didn't want to do any of the things that I was doing nor did I want to be around the people that I was around, and having a regimented place to go to that wasn't some absurd church full of absurd chuchgoers made things more bearable, and finding out that Stanley was getting molested by the Monster was a small psychic price to pay for the opportunity to forget the choices I'd made.
I suppose it's impossible to argue someone into that mindset, it certainly sounds as if I'm describing shitty Green Arrow comics as the only bright spot in a life of horrifying pain--but that's only for exaggeration sake, to make it sound more interesting than it was: which was the actual problem. The mediocrity of my taste was a reflection of the mediocrity of my life, I read crap to forget about the weakness of my relationships, the impotence with which I pursued my dreams, the embarrassment I had for even having dreams. Super-hero comics weren't the cause, they were a symptom, but their toxicity has a tendency to spread. There's no better excuse for Catwoman 16 than Catwoman 1-15, quitting today--when nothing has actually changed, when the qualitative shifts are incremental at best--is merely a reflection that one should have never begun. And you know this part, don't you Chad? You run through the conclusion of another Marvel tie-in-a-thon and you know that it's meaningless, and I can hear it in your voice, you don't like it, and it would be so easy to dismiss it as no big deal--but it's a big deal for you now, right? You have somebody who loves you, and you love her, and there's weight to your life now, those moments you so easily burned through before now become moments that could have been spent in the presence of something or someone that actually does mean something, in the practice of something that's genuinely great and not just above average or okay or a nice way to spend ones afternoon.
Whatever. Winter Solider, right? Something by Garth Ennis. Nostalgia. Who gives a fuck.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
I wonder what you wanted out of CBR when you first started reviewing there, or what you wanted when you hit a year, or two, or had your first taste of the meaningless of it all, the way a great comic or a great artist or a great writer could fail miserably to find its audience out of what initially seems like the most arbitrary bits, like the characters it featured, or the day it came out, or its lack of connection to a part of continuity, or any one of the things that tend to have so little bearing on quality and yet exert a massive influence over their popularity. I'm not curious to whether you got irritated--you either did because you're sane, or you didn't because you're a fool, and I have to act as if you're the former or else I won't be able to continue. I'm curious what you did after the irritation wore off, what motivated you to go forward. You have these funny little standards--not funny in a patronizing way, funny just in that they're specific and unusual, they're private, personal--and I wonder how that seriousness worked when you were met with such consistent mediocrity. I want to know about the moment when you let your standards slip. Me, Deadpool Max, I knew there was something off, but I kept returning. I thought I liked REBELS until I realized I just liked clinical, thin lined facial expressions. Looking into a box, realizing that I was the guy who read Geoff Johns Teen Titans comics, drawn by Mike Mckone. I see you doing it with Ellis, with treacly crap like The Massive, but I can understand that--it's competence, there's efficiency happening there. Bryan Wood, Bryan Vaughan--those are creators that have massive appeal if you have a tendency towards timers and productivity and deadlines. They get the job done, and while that job tends to be a 7 minute distraction over the barely 3 minutes that Rucka can provide, they tend to feel reliable. It's not art anyway, regardless of how well they've all adopted artist as their job description. Ellis is another beast entirely, a topic I can't imagine discussing with you seriously, we'd both just end up talking around each other, mumbling obscenities under our breath. It would be like an abortion debate, or the way Republicans and Democrats cockfight on talk radio. You think he's made some good comics, I think the world would be a far better place if he cleaned bowling alleys with his tongue and slept in a bucket.
Ugh. This is becoming such a mess. I don't have anything to say about this topic myself, that's the problem, so of course it's going to deteriorate into easy, familiar topics, like being sarcastic about ex-Vertigo check chasers with T1 lines. I bailed on super-hero comics because I got a Chevy Blazer and because I was obsessed with the idea that if I drove around in it smoking Marlboro Reds and listening to Pretty Hate Machine and Doggystyle, that if I did that long enough, girls with names like Kelli and Wendy would get into the Blazer with me and we could go watch movies where people murdered people because Tommy Lee Jones needed to wear a bandanna and no one would let him. I came back to super-hero comics because I read an article that Frank Miller was doing more Dark Knight comics, which he did, and I didn't fall in love with them the way other people did but I decided to read Kevin Smith comics because I had always liked the part in Mallrats where Jason Lee carried around his own little paper cup. Where else but in super-hero comics do people choose to consistently pursue something they barely even vaguely enjoy in a regimented, obsessive fashion? Television doesn't count, because television is essentially a more exciting version of an overhead lamp. You had to go and get comics, you had to pay for comics, there was effort and choice there.
I think about it now, and the only explanation that really makes sense to me is that I liked weaker, stupider stories that I could feel smarter than, because I didn't feel smart enough, and I didn't know how to change that. I didn't read hard comics, good comics, I read swill and organized it, I forced my way through Dan Jurgens on the Justice League, or that storyline in Batman where he fought an earthquake, and I knew it was page after page of garbage, but it gave me a momentary sensation of power and success to have read those things in order after having found them in order. I did that instead of actually doing things that make my life better, and I used the excuse that I deserved to have fun and kill time or blow off some steam or have some escapism in my life, when the truth was that I didn't want to do any of the things that I was doing nor did I want to be around the people that I was around, and having a regimented place to go to that wasn't some absurd church full of absurd chuchgoers made things more bearable, and finding out that Stanley was getting molested by the Monster was a small psychic price to pay for the opportunity to forget the choices I'd made.
I suppose it's impossible to argue someone into that mindset, it certainly sounds as if I'm describing shitty Green Arrow comics as the only bright spot in a life of horrifying pain--but that's only for exaggeration sake, to make it sound more interesting than it was: which was the actual problem. The mediocrity of my taste was a reflection of the mediocrity of my life, I read crap to forget about the weakness of my relationships, the impotence with which I pursued my dreams, the embarrassment I had for even having dreams. Super-hero comics weren't the cause, they were a symptom, but their toxicity has a tendency to spread. There's no better excuse for Catwoman 16 than Catwoman 1-15, quitting today--when nothing has actually changed, when the qualitative shifts are incremental at best--is merely a reflection that one should have never begun. And you know this part, don't you Chad? You run through the conclusion of another Marvel tie-in-a-thon and you know that it's meaningless, and I can hear it in your voice, you don't like it, and it would be so easy to dismiss it as no big deal--but it's a big deal for you now, right? You have somebody who loves you, and you love her, and there's weight to your life now, those moments you so easily burned through before now become moments that could have been spent in the presence of something or someone that actually does mean something, in the practice of something that's genuinely great and not just above average or okay or a nice way to spend ones afternoon.
Whatever. Winter Solider, right? Something by Garth Ennis. Nostalgia. Who gives a fuck.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Blogathon 17: Best Time to Stop Reading Superhero Comics (Part 1)
Tucker Stone delivered a fantastic list of possible topics, but the one I had to choose was one with two simple questions: "When do you think you should have stopped reading superhero comics? Why do you think you kept going?"
It's tempting to simply go "Never! Because they're awesome!" but I won't do that. That would be cheap. (This is the part where I hope that Tucker doesn't do that...)
My initial answer was after The Authority #12 came out. But, my real answer after thought is after Marvel Boy #6 came out. I think I could have stopped then and been satisfied. That was a high moment for me and superhero comics. While the first 12 issues of The Authority were another big, important moment for me (I carried around the first four issues in my backpack for a month or so, just rereading and looking at them), Marvel Boy was one of the most important superhero comics for me, especially as a critic. It was the first that I 'got' and it was the topic of my first post on this very blog. If I were to have stopped reading superhero comics, I would like it to have been a big, great, happy moment. The end of a work that means a lot to me. Seems like the natural breaking point.
As for Tucker's second question... The obvious answer is another question "Why would I stop?" Why would I stop? Why give up rock music or action flicks or beat poetry or Futurism drama or anything else specific like that within a medium? What reason would anyone have to give it up beyond not enjoying it? Why do I think I kept on reading superhero comics past Marvel Boy? Because I enjoy them. Not all of them, obviously, but at least one. Usually more than one. Why give up on something you enjoy unless for some external reason beyond your control (like a lack of money)?
Even the idea that one should bothers me. I don't think that was Tucker's intention, except in a tongue-in-cheek way. Superhero comics dominate the comics medium in North America for a variety of reasons -- one of them being people like me who enjoy them. Sure, there are plenty of people who buy them who don't seem to enjoy them and they should probably stop. Me? I dig 'em. I do. Hell, my last Blogathon was devoted to them -- and in the period following when I would have chosen to stop reading them! (Did Tucker somehow know my answer? Is he a witch?)
There's also the fact that superhero comics have always been a part of my life. That's both a good and bad reason to stick with them. "Because that's the way it's always been" is horrible, yet understandable. I've always read superhero comics -- even before I could read. They were always there and it seems strange to imagine my life without them. Just like it's strange to imagine my life without certain foods or clothing or other things. They've always been there. Maybe they shouldn't be. But, I wouldn't know how to stop them from being here. I guess that would apply to comics in general. My preferences do lie more towards superhero comics than anything else, though.
I'm curious to see what Tucker has to say on the subject. I'm probably more curious about his post than any other for this Blogathon. It will be up in 30 minutes.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
It's tempting to simply go "Never! Because they're awesome!" but I won't do that. That would be cheap. (This is the part where I hope that Tucker doesn't do that...)
My initial answer was after The Authority #12 came out. But, my real answer after thought is after Marvel Boy #6 came out. I think I could have stopped then and been satisfied. That was a high moment for me and superhero comics. While the first 12 issues of The Authority were another big, important moment for me (I carried around the first four issues in my backpack for a month or so, just rereading and looking at them), Marvel Boy was one of the most important superhero comics for me, especially as a critic. It was the first that I 'got' and it was the topic of my first post on this very blog. If I were to have stopped reading superhero comics, I would like it to have been a big, great, happy moment. The end of a work that means a lot to me. Seems like the natural breaking point.
As for Tucker's second question... The obvious answer is another question "Why would I stop?" Why would I stop? Why give up rock music or action flicks or beat poetry or Futurism drama or anything else specific like that within a medium? What reason would anyone have to give it up beyond not enjoying it? Why do I think I kept on reading superhero comics past Marvel Boy? Because I enjoy them. Not all of them, obviously, but at least one. Usually more than one. Why give up on something you enjoy unless for some external reason beyond your control (like a lack of money)?
Even the idea that one should bothers me. I don't think that was Tucker's intention, except in a tongue-in-cheek way. Superhero comics dominate the comics medium in North America for a variety of reasons -- one of them being people like me who enjoy them. Sure, there are plenty of people who buy them who don't seem to enjoy them and they should probably stop. Me? I dig 'em. I do. Hell, my last Blogathon was devoted to them -- and in the period following when I would have chosen to stop reading them! (Did Tucker somehow know my answer? Is he a witch?)
There's also the fact that superhero comics have always been a part of my life. That's both a good and bad reason to stick with them. "Because that's the way it's always been" is horrible, yet understandable. I've always read superhero comics -- even before I could read. They were always there and it seems strange to imagine my life without them. Just like it's strange to imagine my life without certain foods or clothing or other things. They've always been there. Maybe they shouldn't be. But, I wouldn't know how to stop them from being here. I guess that would apply to comics in general. My preferences do lie more towards superhero comics than anything else, though.
I'm curious to see what Tucker has to say on the subject. I'm probably more curious about his post than any other for this Blogathon. It will be up in 30 minutes.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Blogathon 16: Dreadstar #1-12 (Part 2)
I grew up with Dreadstar. It began just before I was born and my dad bought every issue. He was a Starlin fan. Before I read the whole thing a couple of years back, I'd read bits and pieces and studied the art for years. Starlin was one of those guys who made comics that I loved to flip through as a kid and look at the wild, inventive pictures he drew. The strange aliens and insane layouts... the big moments of heroism and dark panels of villainous triumph... Starlin drew (and wrote) comics that engaged my young mind.
And I still love these comics. They still engage my mind as we both reach 30 years of age at roughly the same time. Part of that is surely nostalgia, remembering my childhood; part of it is that I don't mind the didactic nature of the comics. I'm not as put off by didacticism as most people are -- particularly when I agree with it. The way that Starlin attacks organised religion and government here is still very much in my wheelhouse. These are two governments that aren't fighting a war to win it, they are locked in a conflict that has become essential to their economy -- and people pay the price with their lives. In the Dreadstar graphic novel, there's a bit where Vanth is taken off the front lines (he was in the Monarchy's army at the time) and put in a desk position because he was too successful. With a man like him, there was a chance the balance of the war would tip and the status quo would be ruined. It's such a telling scene.
I have a hard time looking at this work through modern eyes. Like a lot of things in my life, it's been such a constant presence that there's no way to see it fresh again. The closest I come is with the second issue where it's revealed that Willow's father molested her as a child. In late 1982/early 1983, that's a bold, shocking choice in a comic like this. Now, it's so common that Willow seems like just another damaged female character in an industry littered with them. As I said when I wrote about Dreadstar in December 2010, I'm surprised at how little love/fondness there is for Willow. You don't see it as much in these 12 issues, but, as the series goes on, she really comes into her own as a strong, powerful character. She isn't the weak link of the team or someone who needs Vanth to save her -- she's right up there with him and Syzygy. She really grows over the course of the series.
Something Jeff mentioned that I hadn't considered as much is the lighter, more jokey/cartoony stuff that happens in Dreadstar. It doesn't happen a lot (though issue 12 certainly has that at the end), but Starlin was definitely capable of doing something very goofy. His art style, though, didn't always work well with gags like that, which Jeff noted. Nor did those moments always fit in with the tone of the story Starlin was telling. This was Big stuff: war, nuking cities, betrayals... and it would only get bigger and more serious after these issues.
Unlike other Starlin heroes, Vanth Dreadstar seemed like anger personified. Captain Mar-Vell was the guy who switched sides to protect innocents, Warlock was insane Jesus... Vanth was a guy who was just pissed off. He looked around and couldn't let go of his anger. He did for a time in the Dreadstar graphic novel after he killed Aknaton and lived life in a farming community with his new wife. Until a new war came and killed that. Dreadstar is a big story of revenge -- not against a person (though the Lord High Papal does represent the forces that killed his wife) but against the very idea of war. He wants to kill war and he's doomed to fail, because you can't win that fight. So, we get a man who's bursting with rage and frustration a lot of the time, unable to see that he's never going to get what he wants. Even when he eventually kills the Lord High Papal, the universe isn't made utopia all of a sudden. He wakes after a coma in a world that's broken in new (but similar) ways. That's the tragedy of Vanth Dreadstar: he is immortal and will always live in worlds of death and pain...
See, I can't stick to these first 12 issues! I know too much! You can't unsee what you have seen!
In 30 minutes, I'll answer Tucker Stone's questions "When do you think you should have stopped reading superhero comics? Why do you think you kept going?"
We're now at $739.95 raised for the Hero Initiative!
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
And I still love these comics. They still engage my mind as we both reach 30 years of age at roughly the same time. Part of that is surely nostalgia, remembering my childhood; part of it is that I don't mind the didactic nature of the comics. I'm not as put off by didacticism as most people are -- particularly when I agree with it. The way that Starlin attacks organised religion and government here is still very much in my wheelhouse. These are two governments that aren't fighting a war to win it, they are locked in a conflict that has become essential to their economy -- and people pay the price with their lives. In the Dreadstar graphic novel, there's a bit where Vanth is taken off the front lines (he was in the Monarchy's army at the time) and put in a desk position because he was too successful. With a man like him, there was a chance the balance of the war would tip and the status quo would be ruined. It's such a telling scene.
I have a hard time looking at this work through modern eyes. Like a lot of things in my life, it's been such a constant presence that there's no way to see it fresh again. The closest I come is with the second issue where it's revealed that Willow's father molested her as a child. In late 1982/early 1983, that's a bold, shocking choice in a comic like this. Now, it's so common that Willow seems like just another damaged female character in an industry littered with them. As I said when I wrote about Dreadstar in December 2010, I'm surprised at how little love/fondness there is for Willow. You don't see it as much in these 12 issues, but, as the series goes on, she really comes into her own as a strong, powerful character. She isn't the weak link of the team or someone who needs Vanth to save her -- she's right up there with him and Syzygy. She really grows over the course of the series.
Something Jeff mentioned that I hadn't considered as much is the lighter, more jokey/cartoony stuff that happens in Dreadstar. It doesn't happen a lot (though issue 12 certainly has that at the end), but Starlin was definitely capable of doing something very goofy. His art style, though, didn't always work well with gags like that, which Jeff noted. Nor did those moments always fit in with the tone of the story Starlin was telling. This was Big stuff: war, nuking cities, betrayals... and it would only get bigger and more serious after these issues.
Unlike other Starlin heroes, Vanth Dreadstar seemed like anger personified. Captain Mar-Vell was the guy who switched sides to protect innocents, Warlock was insane Jesus... Vanth was a guy who was just pissed off. He looked around and couldn't let go of his anger. He did for a time in the Dreadstar graphic novel after he killed Aknaton and lived life in a farming community with his new wife. Until a new war came and killed that. Dreadstar is a big story of revenge -- not against a person (though the Lord High Papal does represent the forces that killed his wife) but against the very idea of war. He wants to kill war and he's doomed to fail, because you can't win that fight. So, we get a man who's bursting with rage and frustration a lot of the time, unable to see that he's never going to get what he wants. Even when he eventually kills the Lord High Papal, the universe isn't made utopia all of a sudden. He wakes after a coma in a world that's broken in new (but similar) ways. That's the tragedy of Vanth Dreadstar: he is immortal and will always live in worlds of death and pain...
See, I can't stick to these first 12 issues! I know too much! You can't unsee what you have seen!
In 30 minutes, I'll answer Tucker Stone's questions "When do you think you should have stopped reading superhero comics? Why do you think you kept going?"
We're now at $739.95 raised for the Hero Initiative!
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Blogathon 15: Dreadstar #1-12 (Jeff Lester Guest post)
Dreadstar Omnibus, Vol. 1
by Jim Starlin
377 pages, Dynamite
This is one of those pieces you write where you're less interested in what you're going to say than in what the reaction is, because in this case I'm very, very curious about Chad's take on this material. His take on it has to be very different from what mine is, just because the way he found this material must be substantially different from how I originally experienced it (and then experienced it again).
For you see I am one of the Old Farts in the Comics Blogosphere, and Chad is not. I bought these first twelve issues at the local bookstore that also carried direct market comics, and if Wikipedia was to be believed, I was somewhere around 16 for the first issue and 18 for the twelfth, the last in this volume. It was, in so many ways, perfect for me, and in its way perfect for the comics market at the time: Because, like me, the marketplace was young and dumb and impaired in its judgment, unsure of how to react to being challenged in our likes and dislikes.
But--and this is something I had to keep telling myself as I made my way through these twelve issues--we were also used to our best and brightest leaving us. As an even younger kid, Starlin's work at Marvel, along with Englehart's, Gerber's ,Gulacy's, and McGregor's, (Buckler's work on Deathlok, and Gene Day's work on MOKF) had blown my mind. I'd never been a completist, so my back order collection didn't go very far back but I at least had sampled work by Steranko and Barry Smith (pre-Windsor) and a few of the undergrounds. Most of them did a little bit of work, left, and then never returned.
So having a new series by Starlin--and a series he was both writing and pencilling--was something I accepted and loved unconditionally. I was genuinely grateful to have it out in the marketplace. Actually, that states a concern about the industry I never had at 16 through 18. What I really mean is, I was grateful to have it in my hands, in my collection.
Interestingly, that wasn't the case for me with Englehart (Coyote), Gerber (Destroyer Duck) or much of McGregor (Sabre) with their own independent projects. I wonder now, was that stuff too challenging for me? Or did I not like it because the art for nearly all the projects was outside my narrow range of tastes? Either way, Dreadstar trumped them: it was Starlin writing a cosmic space epic and the work looked almost 100% like his earlier Marvel work. It was simple when it needed to be, and busy when it wanted to be, and Starlin clearly put a shit-ton of work into them. Even now, I'm in awe of the pages in the Dreadstar Omnibus--his default is mostly set to a three-tiered grid, with pages frequently moving up past nine panels to a page so he can save the space for a killer full page or double-page spread when he needs it. In an industry where the big two churn out monthly books with widescreen tiers of four to six panels to a page, I was faintly embarrassed to reread this material. The effort Starlin puts into Dreadstar doesn't just shame the Big Two's output; it shamed me for going along with that output. Oh sure, I complain...while I shuffle every week or every other week to the comic book store. If nothing else, these twelve issues are one of the best arguments that can be made for the necessity of bi-monthly material in the marketplace, as opposed to bi-weekly. I know bi-monthly books are not the easiest things for retailers to sell, or for readers to remember to buy. And it was probably the case that in 1982, it was easier to just come to the store every week and be delighted when a new issue was out. There were only something like twelve titles a week. If nothing else, every issue ended up being read two or three times because you didn't have a content pipeline sitting on your desk, or resting in your pocket.
And but so here's the interesting thing about these twelve issues of Dreadstar, after having said all that: it's not great. When I try to peek behind the veil of nostalgia, and appreciation for the ambition and the hard work, I find myself thinking that it's....all right. In fact, it's a'ight, that version of "all right" where it's arguably not worth these extra consonant sounds.
A lot of people may disagree with me, but this work just isn't as gripping as Warlock or his original run on Captain Marvel. What Starlin has to prove is very different here from what he felt he had to prove the first time around; the demons Starlin has to exorcise are much smaller, while perhaps equally personal with less of the semi-psychotic megalomania that was his thesis on the Marvel books.
I realize I've gotten this far into the piece without really talking about the plot or the theme or characters or stuff (always a failing of mine) so let's usher that in here now: Vanth Dreadstar is a galactic rebel who, after having unwitting participated in the destruction of the Milky Way, arrives on a backwater planet in the Empirical Galaxy, and is yolked into ending the bicentennial war between the Galactic Monarchy and the Galactic Church. He and his four man crew are trying to end the war without choosing a side. (Though after Vanth kills the reigning Monarch, his son the successor is quick to act as ally.
It's the first Star Wars movie, basically, slightly grown up and jostling with The Empire Strikes Back to see who can more quickly infuse the proceedings with daunting dourness, and I remember there were many times I picked up an issue of Dreadstar and thought "I wish the Star Wars comic could be like this." Dreadstar was funny and cool and personal and not in any way wimpy. Even Oedi, the farmer-turned-rebel a la Luke Skywalker, is more of a kick-ass athelete, springing all over the panels while avoiding blaster fire.
But, again, cojones aside, there is a huge difference between doing your version of Star Wars and doing your version of Elric. Dreadstar, like Starlin, is the veteran of a war he's bitter about having participated in, and that's a pretty good melodramtic hook on which you can hang a some clenched-fist single tear series of panels with Vanth muttering "Damn you! Damn you all to hell!' through clenched teeth. But that really doesn't have the resonance for me that Mar-Vell, the conflicted soldier turned cosmically aligned zen warrior, or Warlock, the ex-savior with the weapon that is slowly killing and corrupting him, the artificial man who knows he will have to kill himself before he becomes the universe's worst enemy. In Sean Howe's Marvel Comics The Untold Story, Howe quotes Starlin as saying, "I was just as crazy as everybody else post-Watergate, post-Vietnam... Mavell was a warrior who decided he was going to become a god, and that's where his trip was." Contextually, this isn't really the case, but it is the case with Thanos, the villain Starlin created and returned to again and again over four decades. Thanos is Starlin's ultimate mirror image, at least in those days: he is a supremely confident schemer and powerhouse whose megalomania finds its essence in the dual desires of nihilistic death and transcendent divinity. I'm assuming it would be true for all teens and pre-teens, but the push and pull of in all three characters--"Am I nothing? Am I everything?"--was, I regret to admit, crucial to me.
Dreadstar hates what he is doing but in these twelve issues he never doubts himself, and it never feels like Starlin does, either. Although the storytelling is gorgeous, the story itself is equally turgid and smug--spending pages focusing on exposition or the horrors of war, before going on to have two of the crew defeat a dumb enemy using a Bugs Bunny routine.
Although I hasten to add, that was the era--the hammy, self-satisfied pathos of Sylvester Stallone was big then, and unless you bought comedy albums, most humor came from cartoons over three to four decades old. (Only the hardiest of nerds moved in Monty Python--I myself stalled out around Dr. Demento and Monty Python and the Holy Grail.) But although I can't begrudge Dreadstar for being so much of its time, I can't bring myself to laud it, either: working with a lot of the same ideas and with many of the same influences, Dave Sim was doing High Society and the Church & State I at the same time. While not exactly perfect either, I'd still maintain Sim's work holds up better because it's cartoonier, which can allow for the pathos and the hijinks to turn on themselves more tightly. Both men conclude that religion is a creation of material men to sway the masses, but Sim is far more interested in exploring what that means and how it works. Starlin is quick to let it go, as if that idea is such a stunner he really doesn't think he needs to go any further with it. Which is why the Dreadstar Omnibus reads like what it is--a master craftsman showing he has mastered the craft of narrative storytelling and deadline-hitting--instead of how I wish it would read (as Star Wars by way of Chomsky). It's big ideas handled inelegantly. It's the next stage of Marvel Comics for people who read Marvel Comics, by people who read Marvel Comics. It was perfect for me at sixteen, who wanted to feel grown up, but didn't really want to actually grow up. I was uncomfortable with Heavy Metal; had only the vaguest sense of manga, was creeped out by R. Crumb and his bands of merry ids.
Which brings me, finally, to my questions for Chad (although I wish I could figure out the right way to praise Starlin's amazing synthesis of Ditko's Dr. Strange in Dreadstar, which I think is probably the best Ditko work not done by Ditko).
Chad, how did you discover this work? What does it do for you? Are you fond of it on its own, or are you fond of it because it is such a big bag of Starlin, with all of his themes cut into tasty McNuggets? What parts of the above do you think I'm high on crack? Which parts do you think I'm right on track?
Finally, I should mention that without Dreadstar, we wouldn't have Starlin's return to Marvel in the '90s being nearly as impressive as it was: his desire to tell big, crowd-pleasing work within the narrow lines of circumscribed work for hire was something I don't think he could've pulled off if he hadn't spent all this time mastering his craft, even if he couldn't keep himself from snorting the heady scent of his own armpits. It's something I think about as you prepare to leave the Internet (for however long). I'm half-hoping for you to stay, to see if you can wring out any more skill from your own work. And I am hopeful for your return. Thanks for all the words and insight you've given us, and all of your generosity along the way.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
by Jim Starlin
377 pages, Dynamite
This is one of those pieces you write where you're less interested in what you're going to say than in what the reaction is, because in this case I'm very, very curious about Chad's take on this material. His take on it has to be very different from what mine is, just because the way he found this material must be substantially different from how I originally experienced it (and then experienced it again).
For you see I am one of the Old Farts in the Comics Blogosphere, and Chad is not. I bought these first twelve issues at the local bookstore that also carried direct market comics, and if Wikipedia was to be believed, I was somewhere around 16 for the first issue and 18 for the twelfth, the last in this volume. It was, in so many ways, perfect for me, and in its way perfect for the comics market at the time: Because, like me, the marketplace was young and dumb and impaired in its judgment, unsure of how to react to being challenged in our likes and dislikes.
But--and this is something I had to keep telling myself as I made my way through these twelve issues--we were also used to our best and brightest leaving us. As an even younger kid, Starlin's work at Marvel, along with Englehart's, Gerber's ,Gulacy's, and McGregor's, (Buckler's work on Deathlok, and Gene Day's work on MOKF) had blown my mind. I'd never been a completist, so my back order collection didn't go very far back but I at least had sampled work by Steranko and Barry Smith (pre-Windsor) and a few of the undergrounds. Most of them did a little bit of work, left, and then never returned.
So having a new series by Starlin--and a series he was both writing and pencilling--was something I accepted and loved unconditionally. I was genuinely grateful to have it out in the marketplace. Actually, that states a concern about the industry I never had at 16 through 18. What I really mean is, I was grateful to have it in my hands, in my collection.
Interestingly, that wasn't the case for me with Englehart (Coyote), Gerber (Destroyer Duck) or much of McGregor (Sabre) with their own independent projects. I wonder now, was that stuff too challenging for me? Or did I not like it because the art for nearly all the projects was outside my narrow range of tastes? Either way, Dreadstar trumped them: it was Starlin writing a cosmic space epic and the work looked almost 100% like his earlier Marvel work. It was simple when it needed to be, and busy when it wanted to be, and Starlin clearly put a shit-ton of work into them. Even now, I'm in awe of the pages in the Dreadstar Omnibus--his default is mostly set to a three-tiered grid, with pages frequently moving up past nine panels to a page so he can save the space for a killer full page or double-page spread when he needs it. In an industry where the big two churn out monthly books with widescreen tiers of four to six panels to a page, I was faintly embarrassed to reread this material. The effort Starlin puts into Dreadstar doesn't just shame the Big Two's output; it shamed me for going along with that output. Oh sure, I complain...while I shuffle every week or every other week to the comic book store. If nothing else, these twelve issues are one of the best arguments that can be made for the necessity of bi-monthly material in the marketplace, as opposed to bi-weekly. I know bi-monthly books are not the easiest things for retailers to sell, or for readers to remember to buy. And it was probably the case that in 1982, it was easier to just come to the store every week and be delighted when a new issue was out. There were only something like twelve titles a week. If nothing else, every issue ended up being read two or three times because you didn't have a content pipeline sitting on your desk, or resting in your pocket.
And but so here's the interesting thing about these twelve issues of Dreadstar, after having said all that: it's not great. When I try to peek behind the veil of nostalgia, and appreciation for the ambition and the hard work, I find myself thinking that it's....all right. In fact, it's a'ight, that version of "all right" where it's arguably not worth these extra consonant sounds.
A lot of people may disagree with me, but this work just isn't as gripping as Warlock or his original run on Captain Marvel. What Starlin has to prove is very different here from what he felt he had to prove the first time around; the demons Starlin has to exorcise are much smaller, while perhaps equally personal with less of the semi-psychotic megalomania that was his thesis on the Marvel books.
I realize I've gotten this far into the piece without really talking about the plot or the theme or characters or stuff (always a failing of mine) so let's usher that in here now: Vanth Dreadstar is a galactic rebel who, after having unwitting participated in the destruction of the Milky Way, arrives on a backwater planet in the Empirical Galaxy, and is yolked into ending the bicentennial war between the Galactic Monarchy and the Galactic Church. He and his four man crew are trying to end the war without choosing a side. (Though after Vanth kills the reigning Monarch, his son the successor is quick to act as ally.
It's the first Star Wars movie, basically, slightly grown up and jostling with The Empire Strikes Back to see who can more quickly infuse the proceedings with daunting dourness, and I remember there were many times I picked up an issue of Dreadstar and thought "I wish the Star Wars comic could be like this." Dreadstar was funny and cool and personal and not in any way wimpy. Even Oedi, the farmer-turned-rebel a la Luke Skywalker, is more of a kick-ass athelete, springing all over the panels while avoiding blaster fire.
But, again, cojones aside, there is a huge difference between doing your version of Star Wars and doing your version of Elric. Dreadstar, like Starlin, is the veteran of a war he's bitter about having participated in, and that's a pretty good melodramtic hook on which you can hang a some clenched-fist single tear series of panels with Vanth muttering "Damn you! Damn you all to hell!' through clenched teeth. But that really doesn't have the resonance for me that Mar-Vell, the conflicted soldier turned cosmically aligned zen warrior, or Warlock, the ex-savior with the weapon that is slowly killing and corrupting him, the artificial man who knows he will have to kill himself before he becomes the universe's worst enemy. In Sean Howe's Marvel Comics The Untold Story, Howe quotes Starlin as saying, "I was just as crazy as everybody else post-Watergate, post-Vietnam... Mavell was a warrior who decided he was going to become a god, and that's where his trip was." Contextually, this isn't really the case, but it is the case with Thanos, the villain Starlin created and returned to again and again over four decades. Thanos is Starlin's ultimate mirror image, at least in those days: he is a supremely confident schemer and powerhouse whose megalomania finds its essence in the dual desires of nihilistic death and transcendent divinity. I'm assuming it would be true for all teens and pre-teens, but the push and pull of in all three characters--"Am I nothing? Am I everything?"--was, I regret to admit, crucial to me.
Dreadstar hates what he is doing but in these twelve issues he never doubts himself, and it never feels like Starlin does, either. Although the storytelling is gorgeous, the story itself is equally turgid and smug--spending pages focusing on exposition or the horrors of war, before going on to have two of the crew defeat a dumb enemy using a Bugs Bunny routine.
Although I hasten to add, that was the era--the hammy, self-satisfied pathos of Sylvester Stallone was big then, and unless you bought comedy albums, most humor came from cartoons over three to four decades old. (Only the hardiest of nerds moved in Monty Python--I myself stalled out around Dr. Demento and Monty Python and the Holy Grail.) But although I can't begrudge Dreadstar for being so much of its time, I can't bring myself to laud it, either: working with a lot of the same ideas and with many of the same influences, Dave Sim was doing High Society and the Church & State I at the same time. While not exactly perfect either, I'd still maintain Sim's work holds up better because it's cartoonier, which can allow for the pathos and the hijinks to turn on themselves more tightly. Both men conclude that religion is a creation of material men to sway the masses, but Sim is far more interested in exploring what that means and how it works. Starlin is quick to let it go, as if that idea is such a stunner he really doesn't think he needs to go any further with it. Which is why the Dreadstar Omnibus reads like what it is--a master craftsman showing he has mastered the craft of narrative storytelling and deadline-hitting--instead of how I wish it would read (as Star Wars by way of Chomsky). It's big ideas handled inelegantly. It's the next stage of Marvel Comics for people who read Marvel Comics, by people who read Marvel Comics. It was perfect for me at sixteen, who wanted to feel grown up, but didn't really want to actually grow up. I was uncomfortable with Heavy Metal; had only the vaguest sense of manga, was creeped out by R. Crumb and his bands of merry ids.
Which brings me, finally, to my questions for Chad (although I wish I could figure out the right way to praise Starlin's amazing synthesis of Ditko's Dr. Strange in Dreadstar, which I think is probably the best Ditko work not done by Ditko).
Chad, how did you discover this work? What does it do for you? Are you fond of it on its own, or are you fond of it because it is such a big bag of Starlin, with all of his themes cut into tasty McNuggets? What parts of the above do you think I'm high on crack? Which parts do you think I'm right on track?
Finally, I should mention that without Dreadstar, we wouldn't have Starlin's return to Marvel in the '90s being nearly as impressive as it was: his desire to tell big, crowd-pleasing work within the narrow lines of circumscribed work for hire was something I don't think he could've pulled off if he hadn't spent all this time mastering his craft, even if he couldn't keep himself from snorting the heady scent of his own armpits. It's something I think about as you prepare to leave the Internet (for however long). I'm half-hoping for you to stay, to see if you can wring out any more skill from your own work. And I am hopeful for your return. Thanks for all the words and insight you've given us, and all of your generosity along the way.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Blogathon 14: Dreadstar #1-12 (Part 1)
I've actually written about these comics before on an issue-by-issue basis. Jeff Lester suggest "the first Dreadstar omnibus" and I had no idea what that meant. That means the first twelve issues of Dreadstar apparently. I love how the format of today is applied to a comic from 30 years ago. Anyone paying attention would never think to collect the first 12 issues, because they don't naturally fall into a collection. It's not like the first six issues are one story and the last six another (or, four, four, and four). To reach the only real dividing point in Dreadstar, would need to collect the first 31 issues, because that's the big story Jim Starlin tells.
Looking at these first 12 issues, a more natural stopping place might have been issue 11 where we get the Lord High Papal's origin story. There is something appealing of ending with issue 12 and the lighter transitory nature of it. It isn't the sort of issue you'd want to lead off a collection with necessarily. I don't know... I've only ever read Dreadstar as the big epic that it is, never just as 12 issues in a single book. I wouldn't know what that's like.
I will say that the first 12 issues of Dreadstar are probably Starlin at his peak. He's never better than this. There may be more passion and creative energy in things like his Warlock run or The Metamorphosis Odyssey, but he's so adept at crafting single issue comics in this period. Every issue is a complete story with its own focus and still builds the bigger story. It's a little clunky at times the way that Starlin recaps everything, but that's how it was done then. And with good reason. He made every issue accessible and, like good TV shows, the parts he emphasised in his recap would give you a window into what this new issue would be about. It wasn't just the same blanket recap. It was shaped by context and the person telling us what happened before.
That said, it's a little weird that this comic series begins with Oedi recapping the events of three previous books. Not at all what you'd expect from the first issue of Epic Comics' first ongoing series. But, it's also book four of The Metamorphosis Odyssey. It was a continuation of a serialised narrative of short chapters and, then, two graphic novels (including one with the same title as this series). That's a little weird.
As for the comics themselves, Starlin sets up an interesting situation. The conflict is really Dreadstar vs. the Lord High Papal, each with their own support. Yet, this happens within the war of the Lord High Papal's Instrumentality and another empire, the Monarchy. Dreadstar winds up on the same side as the Monarchy by default, though is never truly with them. He's more like Yojimbo, playing both sides against each other -- though clearly with the aim of bringing down the Lord High Papal.
The Lord High Papal is a very Starlin-esque character. A giant, muscle-bound thug-looking character. He resembles Thanos and 'Breed and many others. He's a man of power and destiny. The first issue ends with him going to his gods, admitting that he cannot defeat both Dreadstar and his ally Syzygy -- and his gods simply give him more power. He's their tool, their pawn... someone whose job is to simply give them more followers. He's a punk, basically. But, he's capable of terrifying acts like wiping out an entire refugee camp.
He also represents religion organised to the point of forming an oppressive government. His name clearly alludes to the Catholic Pope. Starlins is at his most vicious in attacking organised religion with the Lord High Papal. I'm surprised that this book didn't lead to protests and outrage from Catholics. I love the way that Dreadstar tries to combat the Instrumentality: through their own messiash. It's so cynical and funny.
There's so much that I love about and have internalised from these comics. It's almost hard to write about them since there's so much that I know and take for granted. I'm really curious what Jeff has to say. So, let's end here and see what he has to say in 30 minutes...
We're up to $719.95 raised for the Hero Iniaitive!
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Looking at these first 12 issues, a more natural stopping place might have been issue 11 where we get the Lord High Papal's origin story. There is something appealing of ending with issue 12 and the lighter transitory nature of it. It isn't the sort of issue you'd want to lead off a collection with necessarily. I don't know... I've only ever read Dreadstar as the big epic that it is, never just as 12 issues in a single book. I wouldn't know what that's like.
I will say that the first 12 issues of Dreadstar are probably Starlin at his peak. He's never better than this. There may be more passion and creative energy in things like his Warlock run or The Metamorphosis Odyssey, but he's so adept at crafting single issue comics in this period. Every issue is a complete story with its own focus and still builds the bigger story. It's a little clunky at times the way that Starlin recaps everything, but that's how it was done then. And with good reason. He made every issue accessible and, like good TV shows, the parts he emphasised in his recap would give you a window into what this new issue would be about. It wasn't just the same blanket recap. It was shaped by context and the person telling us what happened before.
That said, it's a little weird that this comic series begins with Oedi recapping the events of three previous books. Not at all what you'd expect from the first issue of Epic Comics' first ongoing series. But, it's also book four of The Metamorphosis Odyssey. It was a continuation of a serialised narrative of short chapters and, then, two graphic novels (including one with the same title as this series). That's a little weird.
As for the comics themselves, Starlin sets up an interesting situation. The conflict is really Dreadstar vs. the Lord High Papal, each with their own support. Yet, this happens within the war of the Lord High Papal's Instrumentality and another empire, the Monarchy. Dreadstar winds up on the same side as the Monarchy by default, though is never truly with them. He's more like Yojimbo, playing both sides against each other -- though clearly with the aim of bringing down the Lord High Papal.
The Lord High Papal is a very Starlin-esque character. A giant, muscle-bound thug-looking character. He resembles Thanos and 'Breed and many others. He's a man of power and destiny. The first issue ends with him going to his gods, admitting that he cannot defeat both Dreadstar and his ally Syzygy -- and his gods simply give him more power. He's their tool, their pawn... someone whose job is to simply give them more followers. He's a punk, basically. But, he's capable of terrifying acts like wiping out an entire refugee camp.
He also represents religion organised to the point of forming an oppressive government. His name clearly alludes to the Catholic Pope. Starlins is at his most vicious in attacking organised religion with the Lord High Papal. I'm surprised that this book didn't lead to protests and outrage from Catholics. I love the way that Dreadstar tries to combat the Instrumentality: through their own messiash. It's so cynical and funny.
There's so much that I love about and have internalised from these comics. It's almost hard to write about them since there's so much that I know and take for granted. I'm really curious what Jeff has to say. So, let's end here and see what he has to say in 30 minutes...
We're up to $719.95 raised for the Hero Iniaitive!
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Blogathon 13: Favourite Peter David Star Trek Novels (Part 2)
It looks like Graeme and I share a similar sensibility when it comes to Star Trek and its novels. That feeling of 'fun' is exactly what I love about Peter David's novels. That sense where I can read one in an afternoon and just enjoy myself. That's going to be a fun, entertaining afternoon! They're the sort of books you read in between others...
Just like I've long wondered why Q-Squared wasn't made into a movie, I've wondered why New Frontier wasn't made into a TV series. When Enterprise debuted, I was pissed that they would make THAT and not New Frontier. It seems like a no-brainer. How do you not want to put Mackenzie Calhoun on screen as the newest Star Trek captain? It would settle that old Kirk/Picard debate pretty damn quickly -- the answer is Calhoun, dammit!
Those first four New Frontier books are slight, quick reads. Slimmer than normal books, they're really just one big books divided up into bite-size chunks. And Calhoun is a complete badass. I never tire of retelling the part with the hostages and the quantum torpedos. It's something you've never seen on Star Trek and that felt important to me. New Frontier is funny and touching and adult. More than anything else from that franchise, it seems like it takes itself seriously as adult fare. Not in the way Graeme talks about towards the end of the book series. It just doesn't shy away from adult subjects like sex, death, and intimacy the way the rest of the franchise seemed to. Star Trek always seemed content to spend its time with kids playing as adults to a degree. Very high-minded and serious with no room for the messy subjects of life except in the odd moment. David put those subjects at the forefront and it was much more engaging. It didn't seem like utopia in space, it seemed like people in the future. What humanity would become. The few moments when Star Trek shows would cast off the limitations imposed on them by narrow-minded creator and strive for more.
It's also a book series that's a bit of a treat for longtime fans as David never passes up an opportunity to bring back old character. Half of the cast are pre-existing characters that showed up in the background or for a couple of episodes in a guest role. Calhoun has a feud with Admiral Jelicho that mirrors how everyone else hates that guy. It's a book series that isn't afraid to embrace where it comes from while being completely open. Part of that is that David takes such minor characters that their previous appearances don't really matter. Part of that is that he is so good at developing characters and making them seem more than they are that, again, their previous appearances don't matter. They become his as he created them himself.
Unlike Graeme, I've never really gotten into David's comic writing. I've enjoyed what I've read -- it's just never grabbed me too tightly. I've always preferred his novels -- like the Star Trek stuff or his Babylon 5 ones. I like his prose style. Graeme was entirely right. It's light, 'throwaway' stuff and that's not an insult. You don't want everything to be heavy and Important and all of that. Sometimes, you want to spend an afternoon reading something that seems to turn its own pages, because it's just so much fun. I'm told that's what reading should be like and Peter David is a master of it.
In 30 minutes, we jump to Graeme's Wait, What? co-host Jeff Lester as I kick off our discussion of Dreadstar #1-12.
The 'best of 2012' has continued over at Comics Should be Good!
As well, we're now up to $694.95!
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Just like I've long wondered why Q-Squared wasn't made into a movie, I've wondered why New Frontier wasn't made into a TV series. When Enterprise debuted, I was pissed that they would make THAT and not New Frontier. It seems like a no-brainer. How do you not want to put Mackenzie Calhoun on screen as the newest Star Trek captain? It would settle that old Kirk/Picard debate pretty damn quickly -- the answer is Calhoun, dammit!
Those first four New Frontier books are slight, quick reads. Slimmer than normal books, they're really just one big books divided up into bite-size chunks. And Calhoun is a complete badass. I never tire of retelling the part with the hostages and the quantum torpedos. It's something you've never seen on Star Trek and that felt important to me. New Frontier is funny and touching and adult. More than anything else from that franchise, it seems like it takes itself seriously as adult fare. Not in the way Graeme talks about towards the end of the book series. It just doesn't shy away from adult subjects like sex, death, and intimacy the way the rest of the franchise seemed to. Star Trek always seemed content to spend its time with kids playing as adults to a degree. Very high-minded and serious with no room for the messy subjects of life except in the odd moment. David put those subjects at the forefront and it was much more engaging. It didn't seem like utopia in space, it seemed like people in the future. What humanity would become. The few moments when Star Trek shows would cast off the limitations imposed on them by narrow-minded creator and strive for more.
It's also a book series that's a bit of a treat for longtime fans as David never passes up an opportunity to bring back old character. Half of the cast are pre-existing characters that showed up in the background or for a couple of episodes in a guest role. Calhoun has a feud with Admiral Jelicho that mirrors how everyone else hates that guy. It's a book series that isn't afraid to embrace where it comes from while being completely open. Part of that is that David takes such minor characters that their previous appearances don't really matter. Part of that is that he is so good at developing characters and making them seem more than they are that, again, their previous appearances don't matter. They become his as he created them himself.
Unlike Graeme, I've never really gotten into David's comic writing. I've enjoyed what I've read -- it's just never grabbed me too tightly. I've always preferred his novels -- like the Star Trek stuff or his Babylon 5 ones. I like his prose style. Graeme was entirely right. It's light, 'throwaway' stuff and that's not an insult. You don't want everything to be heavy and Important and all of that. Sometimes, you want to spend an afternoon reading something that seems to turn its own pages, because it's just so much fun. I'm told that's what reading should be like and Peter David is a master of it.
In 30 minutes, we jump to Graeme's Wait, What? co-host Jeff Lester as I kick off our discussion of Dreadstar #1-12.
The 'best of 2012' has continued over at Comics Should be Good!
As well, we're now up to $694.95!
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Blogathon 12: Favourite Peter David Star Trek Novels (Graeme McMillan Guest Post)
To all intents and purposes, the Star Trek: New Frontier series are the most "Peter David-y" of all of Peter David's Star Trek novels. That only makes sense, when you think about it; he created the majority of the characters, he's the dominant writer of the series - He's written the entire series, outside of some short stories for an anthology… that he edited - and the stories take place off in their own corner of the Trek universe (Specifically, the Next Generation-era Trek universe). The format of the series - controlled by one writer, with characters and situations that have the ability to evolve through the series, but taking place in a shared universe - is pretty close to a comic book set-up, and that's part of what attracted me to the books in the first place, when I was dipping my toes back into the murky and socially-shameful world of Trek novels. Well, that and Peter David.
I have this ridiculous belief, you see, that Peter David's Trek novels are somehow "better" than anyone else's. I know that it's irrational, because it's not based on a comprehensive reading of every single Trek novel ever, nor are David's Trek novels even necessarily outstanding works in and of themselves. And yet, it's still there in my head, an opinion that I hold even though I don't even agree with it half the time. But Peter David was what brought me to Star Trek prose, when I was a teenager and a massive fan of his Incredible Hulk run, and Peter David wrote all of the Trek books that I liked best back then; that kind of thing sticks with you, no matter how much logic and facts stand in opposition.
There was something about his Next Generation novels in particular that worked for me even more than the show did, at the time; I'm tempted to put it down to the sense of humor that was on display in David's books, which humanized the characters in a way that the series itself - which never passed up a chance to be self-important and po-faced whenever possible, as if to reinforce the idea that this show was serious science fiction - could never quite manage. The me I was then thought that David "got" Trek on some level that others didn't, although, looking back, I recognize my own prejudices in that; David's Trek, in whatever incarnation he wrote it, in whatever medium, always felt to be primarily influenced by the dynamic of the original series: a belief that the science fiction and social commentary being offered should always be balanced with lighter moments and some kind of reminder that these people were friends as well as colleagues, and I found myself appreciating that a lot at the time. Hence my excitement for the New Frontier books when they were announced. Finally, I thought, Peter David Trek unbound!*
And for, what, maybe just over two thirds of the series, it completely lived up to my expectations. The books were as funny as I wanted them to be, and as… "thrilling" feels curiously old-fashioned a term, but one that still feels appropriate. From House of Cards through Stone and Anvil, there's a really enjoyable, very throwaway pulpy feel to the series; each novel was a self-aware (but not overly-so, with the exception of David's tendency to always go one pun or joke too far at one point each novel) smart-enough read that was completely entertaining, but not too troubling, if that makes sense. You could read and enjoy them for what they were, but also put them down and walk away without too many questions weighing on your mind afterwards. Perfect popcorn literature, if you will.
Then, something happened. I'm not sure how to explain it, but it's what happened to David on X-Factor, too, as well as his Hulk run way back when. It's as if he gets bored of his own formula, or decides that it's time that he took the whole thing more seriously, and suddenly there's a tonal shift and - for New Frontier, at least - a time jump, and the series is noticeably not what it was before. For New Frontier, it was the beginning of the end. As the novels became more irregular - and the scale of each one grew, as if David felt the compulsion to make the stories "count" more - everything falls out of balance, somehow, and the books became less fun to read: Characters died, went insane and had to be dealt with. Everything became less fun.
I'm kind of embarrassed to write that, to be honest; I feel as if I'm whining or something similar, complaining that I don't want to read something because it's not "fun." But… that was always the selling point for me on Peter David's Star Trek, and maybe even Star Trek in general. I want it to be enjoyable, I want it to be fun. I'm uncertain about whether there's enough heft to the concept/series in general for it to be "dark" or heavy in any real way, and just as I get bored of people trying to find "meaning" and "depth" in kids' comic characters that was never really supposed to be there because they don't want to deal with them any other way, attempts to turn Star Trek into something dark and troubled and full of grimacing just feel false and unnecessary to me. (Which means, yes, I'm desperately hoping that the new movie isn't going to be the dark thing that everyone keeps talking about. Please have a swerve in there, JJ!)
It sounds like damning with faint praise to say that the strength of Peter David's Trek - And, I'd argue, his writing in general - is the throwaway, pop quality of it, the "fun." It's not meant to be; I think it's far more difficult than it seems to get that kind of thing right, and far more valuable a skill to have than just being able to write sturm-und-drang all the time. Despite how New Frontier has ended up - and the series does appear to have ended, with the last book a couple of years old and nothing new on the horizon - David's Trek, when he's on, when he's firing on all cylinders, still feels like Star Trek at its best to me. But maybe I just like popcorn a little too much.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
I have this ridiculous belief, you see, that Peter David's Trek novels are somehow "better" than anyone else's. I know that it's irrational, because it's not based on a comprehensive reading of every single Trek novel ever, nor are David's Trek novels even necessarily outstanding works in and of themselves. And yet, it's still there in my head, an opinion that I hold even though I don't even agree with it half the time. But Peter David was what brought me to Star Trek prose, when I was a teenager and a massive fan of his Incredible Hulk run, and Peter David wrote all of the Trek books that I liked best back then; that kind of thing sticks with you, no matter how much logic and facts stand in opposition.
There was something about his Next Generation novels in particular that worked for me even more than the show did, at the time; I'm tempted to put it down to the sense of humor that was on display in David's books, which humanized the characters in a way that the series itself - which never passed up a chance to be self-important and po-faced whenever possible, as if to reinforce the idea that this show was serious science fiction - could never quite manage. The me I was then thought that David "got" Trek on some level that others didn't, although, looking back, I recognize my own prejudices in that; David's Trek, in whatever incarnation he wrote it, in whatever medium, always felt to be primarily influenced by the dynamic of the original series: a belief that the science fiction and social commentary being offered should always be balanced with lighter moments and some kind of reminder that these people were friends as well as colleagues, and I found myself appreciating that a lot at the time. Hence my excitement for the New Frontier books when they were announced. Finally, I thought, Peter David Trek unbound!*
And for, what, maybe just over two thirds of the series, it completely lived up to my expectations. The books were as funny as I wanted them to be, and as… "thrilling" feels curiously old-fashioned a term, but one that still feels appropriate. From House of Cards through Stone and Anvil, there's a really enjoyable, very throwaway pulpy feel to the series; each novel was a self-aware (but not overly-so, with the exception of David's tendency to always go one pun or joke too far at one point each novel) smart-enough read that was completely entertaining, but not too troubling, if that makes sense. You could read and enjoy them for what they were, but also put them down and walk away without too many questions weighing on your mind afterwards. Perfect popcorn literature, if you will.
Then, something happened. I'm not sure how to explain it, but it's what happened to David on X-Factor, too, as well as his Hulk run way back when. It's as if he gets bored of his own formula, or decides that it's time that he took the whole thing more seriously, and suddenly there's a tonal shift and - for New Frontier, at least - a time jump, and the series is noticeably not what it was before. For New Frontier, it was the beginning of the end. As the novels became more irregular - and the scale of each one grew, as if David felt the compulsion to make the stories "count" more - everything falls out of balance, somehow, and the books became less fun to read: Characters died, went insane and had to be dealt with. Everything became less fun.
I'm kind of embarrassed to write that, to be honest; I feel as if I'm whining or something similar, complaining that I don't want to read something because it's not "fun." But… that was always the selling point for me on Peter David's Star Trek, and maybe even Star Trek in general. I want it to be enjoyable, I want it to be fun. I'm uncertain about whether there's enough heft to the concept/series in general for it to be "dark" or heavy in any real way, and just as I get bored of people trying to find "meaning" and "depth" in kids' comic characters that was never really supposed to be there because they don't want to deal with them any other way, attempts to turn Star Trek into something dark and troubled and full of grimacing just feel false and unnecessary to me. (Which means, yes, I'm desperately hoping that the new movie isn't going to be the dark thing that everyone keeps talking about. Please have a swerve in there, JJ!)
It sounds like damning with faint praise to say that the strength of Peter David's Trek - And, I'd argue, his writing in general - is the throwaway, pop quality of it, the "fun." It's not meant to be; I think it's far more difficult than it seems to get that kind of thing right, and far more valuable a skill to have than just being able to write sturm-und-drang all the time. Despite how New Frontier has ended up - and the series does appear to have ended, with the last book a couple of years old and nothing new on the horizon - David's Trek, when he's on, when he's firing on all cylinders, still feels like Star Trek at its best to me. But maybe I just like popcorn a little too much.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Blogathon 11: Favourite Peter David Star Trek Novels (Part 1)
We depart from comics for 90 minutes to talk about Peter David's Star Trek novels. Originally, Graeme McMillan and I were going to discuss why we take superhero comics so seriously, but the Hero Initiative raising money for David after he suffered a stroke was something I wanted to include. And both Graeme and I are fans of his Trek novels...
My favourite Peter David Star Trek novel is Q-Squared. I like it even more than the entire run of New Frontier (which I am woefully behind on...). Before they stopped making Next Generation movies, I always wondered why they didn't simply adapt Q-Squared. It's got the series' first villain (Q), alternate timelines, Jack Crusher, ties to the original series, a story that's big as big gets, and it ends with a solution to the "Data problem" (how to get around Brent Spiner aging and makeup not covering that as well anymore). It seemed like the perfect Star Trek: The Next Generation movie.
For those unaware, Q-Squared is based around the idea that Trelane (a one-episode bad guy from the original series) is actually a Q -- and the Q we know is his godfather. He begins messing around with alternate realities, going to the lone alternate reality where Jack Crusher did not die (Wesley died instead) and begins manipulating things to the point where realities begin crashing into each other, things get mixed up, and the whole thing ends with him and Picard fencing (with Q as Picard epee!). There are three realities shown: the regular one, the 'at war with the Klingons' one from Yesterday's Enterprise, and the Jack Crusher one.
For a fan of alternate realities, this was right up my alley. The new reality that David creates is really engaging with the twists he has on characters. My favourite is that Data is a human with a positronic brain (and he's involved in a secret affair with Tasha Yar). At the end of the novel, he's left stranded in another reality and that always seemed like a way to get around Brent Spiner's makeup issues: simply switch our Data for that one. Boom. Done. Problem solved, make more movies. Beyond that, the story is just entertaining as hell. The Jack/Beverly/Jean-Luc love triangle in that reality is engaging and another way of 'having your cake and eating it too' that David engages in.
David (co-)wrote two other Q novels that I really liked. One was Q-in-Law where he brings together Q and Lwaxana Troi... I can't remember the 'main plot' of that one. Just that you don't need a main plot when you're bringing together two characters like that. Of course, they become romantically involved! Of course, Q gives her Q powers! Of course, she kicks his ass! Awesome.
The other is I, Q, which he co-wrote with John de Lancie, the actor who plays Q. It's an unusual novel (unusual for Star Trek novels, because it's written in the first-person) and one of the few audiobooks I really enjoyed, because de Lancie does that, too. Plus, it's got Data and Picard fishing.
What always impresses me about David's prose is how light and engaging it is. He keeps it very simple and lively. He can do big time drama and mix it with moments of very funny humour with seeming ease. Beyond these books, his Star Trek novels were always my favourite. Hell, they may be my favourite Star Trek stuff period.
I need to reread these books, I think. It's been too long...
In 30 minutes, Graeme McMillan shares his views on the subject.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
My favourite Peter David Star Trek novel is Q-Squared. I like it even more than the entire run of New Frontier (which I am woefully behind on...). Before they stopped making Next Generation movies, I always wondered why they didn't simply adapt Q-Squared. It's got the series' first villain (Q), alternate timelines, Jack Crusher, ties to the original series, a story that's big as big gets, and it ends with a solution to the "Data problem" (how to get around Brent Spiner aging and makeup not covering that as well anymore). It seemed like the perfect Star Trek: The Next Generation movie.
For those unaware, Q-Squared is based around the idea that Trelane (a one-episode bad guy from the original series) is actually a Q -- and the Q we know is his godfather. He begins messing around with alternate realities, going to the lone alternate reality where Jack Crusher did not die (Wesley died instead) and begins manipulating things to the point where realities begin crashing into each other, things get mixed up, and the whole thing ends with him and Picard fencing (with Q as Picard epee!). There are three realities shown: the regular one, the 'at war with the Klingons' one from Yesterday's Enterprise, and the Jack Crusher one.
For a fan of alternate realities, this was right up my alley. The new reality that David creates is really engaging with the twists he has on characters. My favourite is that Data is a human with a positronic brain (and he's involved in a secret affair with Tasha Yar). At the end of the novel, he's left stranded in another reality and that always seemed like a way to get around Brent Spiner's makeup issues: simply switch our Data for that one. Boom. Done. Problem solved, make more movies. Beyond that, the story is just entertaining as hell. The Jack/Beverly/Jean-Luc love triangle in that reality is engaging and another way of 'having your cake and eating it too' that David engages in.
David (co-)wrote two other Q novels that I really liked. One was Q-in-Law where he brings together Q and Lwaxana Troi... I can't remember the 'main plot' of that one. Just that you don't need a main plot when you're bringing together two characters like that. Of course, they become romantically involved! Of course, Q gives her Q powers! Of course, she kicks his ass! Awesome.
The other is I, Q, which he co-wrote with John de Lancie, the actor who plays Q. It's an unusual novel (unusual for Star Trek novels, because it's written in the first-person) and one of the few audiobooks I really enjoyed, because de Lancie does that, too. Plus, it's got Data and Picard fishing.
What always impresses me about David's prose is how light and engaging it is. He keeps it very simple and lively. He can do big time drama and mix it with moments of very funny humour with seeming ease. Beyond these books, his Star Trek novels were always my favourite. Hell, they may be my favourite Star Trek stuff period.
I need to reread these books, I think. It's been too long...
In 30 minutes, Graeme McMillan shares his views on the subject.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Blogathon 10: West Coast Blues by Jacques Tardi (Part 2)
Ales didn't bring me around entirely, but he has certainly given me a lot to think about with regard to West Coast Blues. My first instinct is never to go to philosophy. When I was doing my Master's in English, I was one of the few that stuck to close readings and ignoring theory. I'm from the school of New Criticism -- but have a deep appreciation for what others who don't share that view can shed light on for me.
Gerfaut's inner void is something that I had a sense of while reading West Coast Blues, but hadn't fully considered. Similarly with the contrast between inner disharmony and the specifics of the narration. So much time is spent in the narration on the physical objects. The things that are real and easy to pin down. "Just the facts, ma'am" as it were. There's an accumulation of items, of physical objects, that points to that sense of greater wealth creating a loss inside. These are people surrounded by objects and things -- and none seem satisfied. His kids demanding a TV is a lovely little moment. He doesn't quite understand, but their world has become one that isn't real but contained within this physical box that shows pictures. What does it mean -- what does it offer? He wonders that out loud at one point (in different words) and there's no answer.
Gerfaut is never satisfied. He gets lost in moments, but there's never any lasting peace beyond the beginning and end of this book as he's driving, on the move, not stationary. Is he satisfied then? I don't know. Certainly the substances he's taken help create a sense of happiness... but it's one that won't last. It's temporary. Maybe that's all he can strive for anymore. Maybe that's all there is.
There's a mirroring between Gerfaut and my experience of reading West Coast Blues. That getting lost in small moments, but ultimately finding no satisfaction. I wonder if I should appreciate that. That effect cannot be coincidental and I should, perhaps, embrace it. Is that the joy and wonder of this book?
* Okay, Melville did an adaption of this novel, too? I need to see that. I'm interested to see how it works against the graphic novel. Hell, I guess I should be curious about the original novel as well...
* I love the 'falling out of the train' sequence and the attempted murder sequence. Those are two moments where Tardi slows it down and relaxes. Totally at odds with the fierce intensity of what's happening. Hmm.
* I can't say I like this book yet in an entertainment sense, but I definitely appreciate it. Thanks, Ales.
In 30 minutes, I'll talk about my favourite Peter David Star Trek novel.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Gerfaut's inner void is something that I had a sense of while reading West Coast Blues, but hadn't fully considered. Similarly with the contrast between inner disharmony and the specifics of the narration. So much time is spent in the narration on the physical objects. The things that are real and easy to pin down. "Just the facts, ma'am" as it were. There's an accumulation of items, of physical objects, that points to that sense of greater wealth creating a loss inside. These are people surrounded by objects and things -- and none seem satisfied. His kids demanding a TV is a lovely little moment. He doesn't quite understand, but their world has become one that isn't real but contained within this physical box that shows pictures. What does it mean -- what does it offer? He wonders that out loud at one point (in different words) and there's no answer.
Gerfaut is never satisfied. He gets lost in moments, but there's never any lasting peace beyond the beginning and end of this book as he's driving, on the move, not stationary. Is he satisfied then? I don't know. Certainly the substances he's taken help create a sense of happiness... but it's one that won't last. It's temporary. Maybe that's all he can strive for anymore. Maybe that's all there is.
There's a mirroring between Gerfaut and my experience of reading West Coast Blues. That getting lost in small moments, but ultimately finding no satisfaction. I wonder if I should appreciate that. That effect cannot be coincidental and I should, perhaps, embrace it. Is that the joy and wonder of this book?
* Okay, Melville did an adaption of this novel, too? I need to see that. I'm interested to see how it works against the graphic novel. Hell, I guess I should be curious about the original novel as well...
* I love the 'falling out of the train' sequence and the attempted murder sequence. Those are two moments where Tardi slows it down and relaxes. Totally at odds with the fierce intensity of what's happening. Hmm.
* I can't say I like this book yet in an entertainment sense, but I definitely appreciate it. Thanks, Ales.
In 30 minutes, I'll talk about my favourite Peter David Star Trek novel.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Blogathon 09: West Coast Blues by Jacques Tardi (Ales Kot Guest Post)
WEST COAST BLUES
First, a note: this turned into a huge essay. What you're about to read is a cut-up, some parts that feel finished enough to be shown online. I thought I'd be writing a 500 word piece, but I'm somewhere in the vicinity of 2,000 words and I don't think I'm going to stop writing this anytime soon. The entire essay, if I'm going to be happy with it, is eventually going to turn up somewhere online, but for now, this is what I'm willing to show you.
This is what happens when you ask me for something short about comics, Chad - I don't shut up easily.
This is also an examination of some of what drives the magnificent lean brutal black fuck thriller absurdist gem named West Coast Blues, Jacques Tardi's graphic novel adaptation of Jean-Patrick Manchette's book named Le Pettit Bleu de la Cote Quest that I have never read. I attempted to write a traditional review but it didn't work, so I'm going for a different approach. You could claim that this approach comes from a place of laziness and you wouldn't be wrong - it is partially laziness and pure deadline hell that steered me towards this format. But then again, I tend to be too hard on myself and what masquerades as laziness might simply be a recognition of a way that would not yield the type of analysis I'm interested in today.
I'm interested in creating a dialogue with Chad, in letting him riff off my notes if he feels like it, and that, considering our limited time, needs to be made as easy to do as possible. Hence the format.
(I wrote that sentence when I still assumed this entire thing would be short. I also still don't have an exact idea of what the final format is – I rethought it about five times by now. So laugh at me, yes.)
The premise of West Coast Blues is simple: George Gerfaut is a bored executive salesman who sells pricy electrical components manufactured by his company, a subsidiary of the I.T.T. group; he knows how they work because he is an engineer. One night, Gerfaut saves a man who was attacked by two killers. He picks him up, assuming the man was just involved in a simple car crash. The next thing Gerfaut knows, a hit is placed on his head and the same two hired killers go after him equipped with clothes, toiletries, a science fiction novel in Italian, three extremely pointed and razor-sharp butcher knives, one knife sharpener, a garrote with three piano wire cords and aluminum handles, a leather blackjack filled with lead, a .45 caliber 1950 model Smith & Wesson automatic with its own silencer, 20 feet of nylon cord, a SIG P 210-5 automatic target pistol with a 9mm barrel, high-powered binoculars, a superposed M6 and loads of ammunition . After Gerfaut recognizes the first botched assassination attempt as something connected to the car crash incident, he goes on the run, leaving his family behind, finally excited to be on the big adventure that just might drown out his existential malaise.
What Tardi and Manchette pull off with this premise is nothing short of phenomenal. West Coast Blues is original because it utilizes a traditional, simple premise of a man on a run to convey a truth about the human condition that is not easy to describe or digest, and T+M state that truth with scalpels.
The Merriam-Webster dictionary on existentialism: a chiefly 20th century philosophical movement embracing diverse doctrines but centering on analysis of individual existence in an unfathomable universe and the plight of the individual who must assume ultimate responsibility for acts of free will without any certain knowledge of what is right or wrong or good or bad.
Term first used in 1941. Jean-Patrick Manchette is born in 1942. J.G. Ballard's Crash, a subversive novel interrogating the core ideas responsible for our existence - sex, death and the drive for something more - came out out in 1973, four years before Manchette's novel. On a superficial level, Crash focuses on car crashes and people who are turned on by them. And Gerfaut wants to be turned on. He sleeps through his days with a cigarette in his mouth, a job he doesn't give a shit about, a wife and two kids he can handle but maintains hazy distance from, a distance symptomatic of his entire existence that suggests depression stemming from inner emptiness as the core problem of his being. This changes with the car crash - for a few moments, Gerfaut's life has purpose, and that is to help the victim. This act of ordinary kindness does not create a new man out of him, but it sets Gerfaut on a path to becoming, at least temporarily, transformed. The survival impulse simplifies priorities, and the use of circular narrative reminds me of The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus. This part will further your understanding of how the two connect:
“I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain. One always finds one's burden again. But Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night-filled mountain, in itself, forms a world. The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”
– Albert Camus, 'The Myth of Sisyphus'
The whole story begins and ends with Gerfaut doing 90 mph on a highway, listening to jazz, drunk on Four Roses bourbon and high on barbiturates. Gerfaut is a bored patriarch disassociating himself from the world, looking for something more while in stasis. Looking for a release. Looking for an escape. He's intent on driving as close to the edge as he can, perhaps hoping to recapture the past horror and glory or discover new peace.
Because one of the ways to see the entirety of your life clearly is to dance on the edge of it, not giving a fuck whether you're going to fall off or not, or at least pretending to not give a fuck so well that at times you truly don't. It's one way to discover where the balance lies. It's one way to get to that place where you see the world as it is: not just good or bad, not just black or white, but a complex thing that constantly adjusts its shapes.
Anyone can be an asshole, anyone can love with all of their heart, anyone can be lost. Anyone can kill a man or run away from their family. Things are and will continue to be absurd, at least for some time; you can choose what to do with that knowledge. Reading a fucking review of a comic book or driving a suicide car wired on booze and pills, it doesn't matter - we're all lost and we're all trying to find our ways home. We want something to flip our switch. Together with Tardi and Manchette, Gerfaut faces this notion head on despite realizing that his struggle might be entirely meaningless, which is one of the reasons why he's one of the most relatable characters I have encountered in ages.
Random bits.
– The emotions, feelings and thoughts are mostly vague. The places, names of weapons, types of cars, news, specifics of time are very concrete. This contrast creates a dissonance that forms a larger whole, subconsciously reminding us of Gerfaut's inner void. His confusedness and aimlessness would not be as starkly defined if it weren't for the extreme clarity with which many objects and daily occurrences are named.
– The laundry list of weapons in the car of the killers also works as a simple way of saying that shit will get real very fast - these two carry enough weapons to kill twenty people and not just one supposedly helpless sales executive. The murderers are a pre-Coen brothers work buddy comedy gone badly wrong types. Coen Brothers are an obvious connection here; I do wonder if they read some Manchette in their early days, because while their early work, especially Blood Simple and Fargo owe a lot to Jim Thompson and the theatre of the absurd respectively (mixing occurs), there are many similarities. Then again, these similarities could be also traced to Jean-Pierre Melville's films and herein lies an interesting fact: Melville directed an adaptation of Le Petit Bleu de la Cote Quest with Alain Delon as Gerfaut.
– The assassination attempt on the beach that comes early on is deeply unpleasant. If someone ever tried to choke you, you can partially imagine how it feels. Add the interminable mass of water you're breathing in as the hands around your neck tighten while another man punches your liver. Gerfaut escapes the way a man usually wins a fight unless he's a trained fighter - by going for the soft places and using every part of his body to land hits as damaging as they can be. Fighting an untrained person can be hard, precisely because there is no clarity to their movement, no learned ticks you can read, they're just fighting because the other choice is pain or even death. Grabbing someone's balls and headbutting them solves problems, and to Tardi's and Manchette's credit, they know how to make a fight look real. And no-one, no-one except for Gerfaut and the attackers realizes what's happening. The beach is overloaded with people and the assassination attempt is happening during daylight. Death comes anytime and anywhere.
– Gerfaut's arrogance and self-awareness are honest. His reactions are that of a human being, not of a character constructed to fit a narrative. There's a scene where he falls out of a moving train and breaks his ankle, but regardless, he's still enthusiastic about the situation he's in, it's a fight for his life, it's invigorating. Then he realizes how badly lost he is, and that he's got nothing to eat. He plans ways of finding food and attempts to eat some roots, the ankle gets worse, he's still completely lost and eventually, bit by bit, the thrill of the situation grows thin. It starts to rain, Gerfaut hides and realizes just how cold, lost and fragile he is – and he starts to cry.
– Tardi's artwork is confident and raw. Its commitment to the matters of flesh rivals Crumb. It's a dirtied up ligne claire – primal, utilizing simple and very effective shading, constantly supported by fully realized, perfectly constructed backgrounds and everyday objects that convey and fully ground each location. Tardi's style is committed to delivering realism with the exaggeration that is an inevitable part of it – his characters are expressive and organic, supported by Tardi's extraordinary command of body language. The way he kicks out most of the blacks for the first assassination scene in broad daylight, his use of the circular inset panels and the way he breaks one of them in what could be called the first climax of the book, the expert sense of pacing in the gas station scene where panels don't give way to anything vastly different than before in terms of panel size, but instead continue with the panel sizes and the rhythm already firmly established in the comic, thus adding resonance through its refusal to add urgency via anything but that which is inside the panels themselves...if one took out all the words, this comic would still be very easy to follow and a joy to pore over.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
First, a note: this turned into a huge essay. What you're about to read is a cut-up, some parts that feel finished enough to be shown online. I thought I'd be writing a 500 word piece, but I'm somewhere in the vicinity of 2,000 words and I don't think I'm going to stop writing this anytime soon. The entire essay, if I'm going to be happy with it, is eventually going to turn up somewhere online, but for now, this is what I'm willing to show you.
This is what happens when you ask me for something short about comics, Chad - I don't shut up easily.
This is also an examination of some of what drives the magnificent lean brutal black fuck thriller absurdist gem named West Coast Blues, Jacques Tardi's graphic novel adaptation of Jean-Patrick Manchette's book named Le Pettit Bleu de la Cote Quest that I have never read. I attempted to write a traditional review but it didn't work, so I'm going for a different approach. You could claim that this approach comes from a place of laziness and you wouldn't be wrong - it is partially laziness and pure deadline hell that steered me towards this format. But then again, I tend to be too hard on myself and what masquerades as laziness might simply be a recognition of a way that would not yield the type of analysis I'm interested in today.
I'm interested in creating a dialogue with Chad, in letting him riff off my notes if he feels like it, and that, considering our limited time, needs to be made as easy to do as possible. Hence the format.
(I wrote that sentence when I still assumed this entire thing would be short. I also still don't have an exact idea of what the final format is – I rethought it about five times by now. So laugh at me, yes.)
The premise of West Coast Blues is simple: George Gerfaut is a bored executive salesman who sells pricy electrical components manufactured by his company, a subsidiary of the I.T.T. group; he knows how they work because he is an engineer. One night, Gerfaut saves a man who was attacked by two killers. He picks him up, assuming the man was just involved in a simple car crash. The next thing Gerfaut knows, a hit is placed on his head and the same two hired killers go after him equipped with clothes, toiletries, a science fiction novel in Italian, three extremely pointed and razor-sharp butcher knives, one knife sharpener, a garrote with three piano wire cords and aluminum handles, a leather blackjack filled with lead, a .45 caliber 1950 model Smith & Wesson automatic with its own silencer, 20 feet of nylon cord, a SIG P 210-5 automatic target pistol with a 9mm barrel, high-powered binoculars, a superposed M6 and loads of ammunition . After Gerfaut recognizes the first botched assassination attempt as something connected to the car crash incident, he goes on the run, leaving his family behind, finally excited to be on the big adventure that just might drown out his existential malaise.
What Tardi and Manchette pull off with this premise is nothing short of phenomenal. West Coast Blues is original because it utilizes a traditional, simple premise of a man on a run to convey a truth about the human condition that is not easy to describe or digest, and T+M state that truth with scalpels.
The Merriam-Webster dictionary on existentialism: a chiefly 20th century philosophical movement embracing diverse doctrines but centering on analysis of individual existence in an unfathomable universe and the plight of the individual who must assume ultimate responsibility for acts of free will without any certain knowledge of what is right or wrong or good or bad.
Term first used in 1941. Jean-Patrick Manchette is born in 1942. J.G. Ballard's Crash, a subversive novel interrogating the core ideas responsible for our existence - sex, death and the drive for something more - came out out in 1973, four years before Manchette's novel. On a superficial level, Crash focuses on car crashes and people who are turned on by them. And Gerfaut wants to be turned on. He sleeps through his days with a cigarette in his mouth, a job he doesn't give a shit about, a wife and two kids he can handle but maintains hazy distance from, a distance symptomatic of his entire existence that suggests depression stemming from inner emptiness as the core problem of his being. This changes with the car crash - for a few moments, Gerfaut's life has purpose, and that is to help the victim. This act of ordinary kindness does not create a new man out of him, but it sets Gerfaut on a path to becoming, at least temporarily, transformed. The survival impulse simplifies priorities, and the use of circular narrative reminds me of The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus. This part will further your understanding of how the two connect:
“I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain. One always finds one's burden again. But Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night-filled mountain, in itself, forms a world. The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”
– Albert Camus, 'The Myth of Sisyphus'
The whole story begins and ends with Gerfaut doing 90 mph on a highway, listening to jazz, drunk on Four Roses bourbon and high on barbiturates. Gerfaut is a bored patriarch disassociating himself from the world, looking for something more while in stasis. Looking for a release. Looking for an escape. He's intent on driving as close to the edge as he can, perhaps hoping to recapture the past horror and glory or discover new peace.
Because one of the ways to see the entirety of your life clearly is to dance on the edge of it, not giving a fuck whether you're going to fall off or not, or at least pretending to not give a fuck so well that at times you truly don't. It's one way to discover where the balance lies. It's one way to get to that place where you see the world as it is: not just good or bad, not just black or white, but a complex thing that constantly adjusts its shapes.
Anyone can be an asshole, anyone can love with all of their heart, anyone can be lost. Anyone can kill a man or run away from their family. Things are and will continue to be absurd, at least for some time; you can choose what to do with that knowledge. Reading a fucking review of a comic book or driving a suicide car wired on booze and pills, it doesn't matter - we're all lost and we're all trying to find our ways home. We want something to flip our switch. Together with Tardi and Manchette, Gerfaut faces this notion head on despite realizing that his struggle might be entirely meaningless, which is one of the reasons why he's one of the most relatable characters I have encountered in ages.
Random bits.
– The emotions, feelings and thoughts are mostly vague. The places, names of weapons, types of cars, news, specifics of time are very concrete. This contrast creates a dissonance that forms a larger whole, subconsciously reminding us of Gerfaut's inner void. His confusedness and aimlessness would not be as starkly defined if it weren't for the extreme clarity with which many objects and daily occurrences are named.
– The laundry list of weapons in the car of the killers also works as a simple way of saying that shit will get real very fast - these two carry enough weapons to kill twenty people and not just one supposedly helpless sales executive. The murderers are a pre-Coen brothers work buddy comedy gone badly wrong types. Coen Brothers are an obvious connection here; I do wonder if they read some Manchette in their early days, because while their early work, especially Blood Simple and Fargo owe a lot to Jim Thompson and the theatre of the absurd respectively (mixing occurs), there are many similarities. Then again, these similarities could be also traced to Jean-Pierre Melville's films and herein lies an interesting fact: Melville directed an adaptation of Le Petit Bleu de la Cote Quest with Alain Delon as Gerfaut.
– The assassination attempt on the beach that comes early on is deeply unpleasant. If someone ever tried to choke you, you can partially imagine how it feels. Add the interminable mass of water you're breathing in as the hands around your neck tighten while another man punches your liver. Gerfaut escapes the way a man usually wins a fight unless he's a trained fighter - by going for the soft places and using every part of his body to land hits as damaging as they can be. Fighting an untrained person can be hard, precisely because there is no clarity to their movement, no learned ticks you can read, they're just fighting because the other choice is pain or even death. Grabbing someone's balls and headbutting them solves problems, and to Tardi's and Manchette's credit, they know how to make a fight look real. And no-one, no-one except for Gerfaut and the attackers realizes what's happening. The beach is overloaded with people and the assassination attempt is happening during daylight. Death comes anytime and anywhere.
– Gerfaut's arrogance and self-awareness are honest. His reactions are that of a human being, not of a character constructed to fit a narrative. There's a scene where he falls out of a moving train and breaks his ankle, but regardless, he's still enthusiastic about the situation he's in, it's a fight for his life, it's invigorating. Then he realizes how badly lost he is, and that he's got nothing to eat. He plans ways of finding food and attempts to eat some roots, the ankle gets worse, he's still completely lost and eventually, bit by bit, the thrill of the situation grows thin. It starts to rain, Gerfaut hides and realizes just how cold, lost and fragile he is – and he starts to cry.
– Tardi's artwork is confident and raw. Its commitment to the matters of flesh rivals Crumb. It's a dirtied up ligne claire – primal, utilizing simple and very effective shading, constantly supported by fully realized, perfectly constructed backgrounds and everyday objects that convey and fully ground each location. Tardi's style is committed to delivering realism with the exaggeration that is an inevitable part of it – his characters are expressive and organic, supported by Tardi's extraordinary command of body language. The way he kicks out most of the blacks for the first assassination scene in broad daylight, his use of the circular inset panels and the way he breaks one of them in what could be called the first climax of the book, the expert sense of pacing in the gas station scene where panels don't give way to anything vastly different than before in terms of panel size, but instead continue with the panel sizes and the rhythm already firmly established in the comic, thus adding resonance through its refusal to add urgency via anything but that which is inside the panels themselves...if one took out all the words, this comic would still be very easy to follow and a joy to pore over.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Blogathon 08: West Coast Blues by Jacques Tardi (Part 1)
I didn't really like West Coast Blues by Jacques Tardi and that made me dread this part of the Blogathon. Ales Kot gave me a few topics and I picked this one because I remembered hearing good things about Tardi and this book in particular. Seemed like a good excuse to buy and read it. I read it the other night and... yeah... I didn't really like it.
I didn't hate it either. Let's be clear on that. It just sort of left me cold. I liked the art. The way that Tardi begins and ends the book with the same sequence of panels reversed was wonderful. A masterful demonstration of what the sequential part of sequential storytelling means. How arranging panels in a specific order can produce a different meaning. How a familiarity with images transforms how you interpret them when you see them again. How much the narration can impact you view of the images. That alone was worthwhile for me.
Between those two sequences, the biggest change was from anticipation to disappointment. That potential of a new work, one highly recommended, to having experienced it and it not touching you the way it has touched them. As I wrote half an hour ago, I had to wonder if it was me somehow. What was I not getting? (Hopefully, Ales explains that in 30 minutes...)
I found the storytelling very abrupt and fragmented. Very start and stop with narration that was lacking something. Maybe it reads better in French. Maybe that's the fault of Jean-Patrick Manchette who wrote that novel that Tardi is adapting. That this is an adaptation of a prose work into comics certainly has some impact on the pacing. The rushed nature comes from compression, of trying to fit a novel into 75 pages of comics. I don't know if you can do that and not have it feel rushed somehow.
That pacing felt at odds with the story and the mood it was going for -- at least in those opening and closing pages. It began and ended in a relaxed manner. But, the rest of the work takes little time to relax or linger and that was offputting. It didn't feel right somehow. So much happens so quickly that there's a sense that it isn't right. The way that Gerfaut reacts after the attempt on his life is shown too quickly.
Or is it? Maybe that was the point. Noir often switches between relaxed and breakneck... and Tardi never slows up. It's all immediate in pacing, contrasted with hyper-detailed narration. The narration is all about telling us things that don't seem to matter (small details) as the story pushes forward as quickly as possible. It's unsettling and not entirely pleasing, I don't think. It shouldn't be -- the entire story is an unsettling one. Gerfault helps a man and is put on a path where he may die, has to abandon his family, and becomes someone else for a period... it's unsettling! It's a giant break from the norm and it should read as uncomfortable.
I understand all of that. Yet, I don't particularly like this work. And I feel like I have let Ales down (even though I shouldn't). But, I also haven't read what he has to say about the work. That's coming in 30 minutes.
As well, Ales has an offer up on his Tumblr for anyone who's donating to the Hero Initiative. Go check it out as he makes it that much easier for you to have a reason to give to this worthy cause.
We're now up to $665.95 raised!
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
I didn't hate it either. Let's be clear on that. It just sort of left me cold. I liked the art. The way that Tardi begins and ends the book with the same sequence of panels reversed was wonderful. A masterful demonstration of what the sequential part of sequential storytelling means. How arranging panels in a specific order can produce a different meaning. How a familiarity with images transforms how you interpret them when you see them again. How much the narration can impact you view of the images. That alone was worthwhile for me.
Between those two sequences, the biggest change was from anticipation to disappointment. That potential of a new work, one highly recommended, to having experienced it and it not touching you the way it has touched them. As I wrote half an hour ago, I had to wonder if it was me somehow. What was I not getting? (Hopefully, Ales explains that in 30 minutes...)
I found the storytelling very abrupt and fragmented. Very start and stop with narration that was lacking something. Maybe it reads better in French. Maybe that's the fault of Jean-Patrick Manchette who wrote that novel that Tardi is adapting. That this is an adaptation of a prose work into comics certainly has some impact on the pacing. The rushed nature comes from compression, of trying to fit a novel into 75 pages of comics. I don't know if you can do that and not have it feel rushed somehow.
That pacing felt at odds with the story and the mood it was going for -- at least in those opening and closing pages. It began and ended in a relaxed manner. But, the rest of the work takes little time to relax or linger and that was offputting. It didn't feel right somehow. So much happens so quickly that there's a sense that it isn't right. The way that Gerfaut reacts after the attempt on his life is shown too quickly.
Or is it? Maybe that was the point. Noir often switches between relaxed and breakneck... and Tardi never slows up. It's all immediate in pacing, contrasted with hyper-detailed narration. The narration is all about telling us things that don't seem to matter (small details) as the story pushes forward as quickly as possible. It's unsettling and not entirely pleasing, I don't think. It shouldn't be -- the entire story is an unsettling one. Gerfault helps a man and is put on a path where he may die, has to abandon his family, and becomes someone else for a period... it's unsettling! It's a giant break from the norm and it should read as uncomfortable.
I understand all of that. Yet, I don't particularly like this work. And I feel like I have let Ales down (even though I shouldn't). But, I also haven't read what he has to say about the work. That's coming in 30 minutes.
As well, Ales has an offer up on his Tumblr for anyone who's donating to the Hero Initiative. Go check it out as he makes it that much easier for you to have a reason to give to this worthy cause.
We're now up to $665.95 raised!
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Blogathon 07: Keeping Up With the Critics (Part 2)
I'm not entirely sure what my relationship with other writers is. I know where Tim and I stand along with a few others. Actually, in getting people to participate in the Blogathon, I learned a little where I stand with others, positively or negatively, I guess. But, I don't think that's exactly what David was asking about.
Let me say a few words about David first: David is one of my favourite writers online. He's damn good. He inspires jealousy with almost every post -- thankfully, the kind that makes me want to simply be better. He's got such a strong voice and perspective and is unapologetic for it. He's one of the people I try to be like -- one of the standards I hold myself up to.
He and I are of the same generation of online critics. There's a group of us. What I found interesting when I quit CBR and announced that I was ending this blog was that, in speaking to a few of them, they understood and were in a similar place. We all began writing online around eight years ago -- a little more for some, a little less than others -- and all seemed to 'reach out peak' at the same time. It was fascinating to me to see how many of us were at similar places with our writing. We'd all written for a 'major' site or two, all had our blogs, all written pieces that got linked by everyone, all written pieces that were ignored, all had little dust-ups with creators... and we were all tired in our own ways. Is there something inherent in what we're doing that caused this or is it just that subtle peer pressure infecting each other? I don't know...
The worst time, for me, to deal with the influence of others is when it comes to my top ten comics of the year. Putting those books in order, leaving off certain critical darlings, putting on other books that no one else seems to like... you worry what that will do for your reputation. It's all ego and petty bullshit, but you don't want to post a list that turns you from someone other people like and respect into someone whose opinions are so out of vogue that you're a joke. I don't know if that happens with just one post, but it happens and it's something I'm always afraid of. And that's a little sad.
As David says, when you read about something someone else likes, you don't just want to check it out, you want to like it too. And you don't always. There's a lot of doubt that comes with that. Like what am I not seeing that they are? Am I wrong? Are they? Of course, no one is wrong. It's all opinions and reactions. No one is right, no one wins. But, try getting yourself to believe that.
It's easier when it's something you love and others don't, I find. I'm more secure in what I like than what I don't. I hate the term 'guilty pleasure,' because it's so stupid. This idea that you shouldn't like certain things -- or that liking them is something you need to justify... it's so wrong in its approach. My attitude is, if I like it, it's great. I wouldn't like it if it wasn't. Fuck everyone else.
I don't have that confidence in things I don't like, though. That's where the doubt creeps in. That question of what am I missing? I've yet to find a way around that...
And I'll deal with that in 30 minutes as I begin discussing West Coast Blues by Jacques Tardi with Ales Kot.
By the way, we're up to $600.95 for the Hero Initiative. Keep those donations coming! Even $5.00 can add up quickly if a lot of people give that much.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Let me say a few words about David first: David is one of my favourite writers online. He's damn good. He inspires jealousy with almost every post -- thankfully, the kind that makes me want to simply be better. He's got such a strong voice and perspective and is unapologetic for it. He's one of the people I try to be like -- one of the standards I hold myself up to.
He and I are of the same generation of online critics. There's a group of us. What I found interesting when I quit CBR and announced that I was ending this blog was that, in speaking to a few of them, they understood and were in a similar place. We all began writing online around eight years ago -- a little more for some, a little less than others -- and all seemed to 'reach out peak' at the same time. It was fascinating to me to see how many of us were at similar places with our writing. We'd all written for a 'major' site or two, all had our blogs, all written pieces that got linked by everyone, all written pieces that were ignored, all had little dust-ups with creators... and we were all tired in our own ways. Is there something inherent in what we're doing that caused this or is it just that subtle peer pressure infecting each other? I don't know...
The worst time, for me, to deal with the influence of others is when it comes to my top ten comics of the year. Putting those books in order, leaving off certain critical darlings, putting on other books that no one else seems to like... you worry what that will do for your reputation. It's all ego and petty bullshit, but you don't want to post a list that turns you from someone other people like and respect into someone whose opinions are so out of vogue that you're a joke. I don't know if that happens with just one post, but it happens and it's something I'm always afraid of. And that's a little sad.
As David says, when you read about something someone else likes, you don't just want to check it out, you want to like it too. And you don't always. There's a lot of doubt that comes with that. Like what am I not seeing that they are? Am I wrong? Are they? Of course, no one is wrong. It's all opinions and reactions. No one is right, no one wins. But, try getting yourself to believe that.
It's easier when it's something you love and others don't, I find. I'm more secure in what I like than what I don't. I hate the term 'guilty pleasure,' because it's so stupid. This idea that you shouldn't like certain things -- or that liking them is something you need to justify... it's so wrong in its approach. My attitude is, if I like it, it's great. I wouldn't like it if it wasn't. Fuck everyone else.
I don't have that confidence in things I don't like, though. That's where the doubt creeps in. That question of what am I missing? I've yet to find a way around that...
And I'll deal with that in 30 minutes as I begin discussing West Coast Blues by Jacques Tardi with Ales Kot.
By the way, we're up to $600.95 for the Hero Initiative. Keep those donations coming! Even $5.00 can add up quickly if a lot of people give that much.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Blogathon 06: Keeping Up With the Critics (David Brothers Guest Post)
We both have a lot of friends who write about comics, but I don't think I've ever seen anyone talk about the subtle peer pressure that comes along with that. Do you ever feel like there are books that you should like, and that liking them somehow makes you feel more informed to be a critic?
I feel like that a lot. It's dumb, and I recognize that, but there's a certain level of wanting to keep up that I just can't shake. It's not quite competitiveness -- I don't care about whether or not I can go toe-to-toe with someone over Los Bros deep cuts -- but it's like... I learn by seeing and doing, right? I see that other people can do something, so I try it myself. So when I see people writing about something I'm not particularly into, be it highbrow comics or minicomics, my first thought is either "Why don't I do that?" or "Why can't I do that?"
This is an almost entirely internal struggle, one that I could solve as easily as just deciding not to care any more, but that's hard to do. When you see critics, and especially friends, championing a book, you want to not just check that book out for yourself, but to like it, yeah? You have good taste, so you have good taste in friends, and it therefore follows that your friends should have good taste. But sometimes your friends are really into it and you check it out and whoof... nothing doing. Which makes me wonder if I don't get it, instead of just accepting that different people have different tastes.
I don't know about you, but this definitely has an effect on what I write and how. I go harder and write more when I'm feeling bad about my tastes, almost as an attempt to justify the trash I like in the face of the stuff my friends like. It's not a conscious decision. It's only something I can see when I look back and try to figure out why I spent a week writing about the secret genius behind fart jokes or something.
But at the same time, while the whole insecurity that comes from this is dumb, it does make me a better writer, I think. If I was inclined to be charitable to myself, I would say that being driven to do that work, to dig deeper to cover up what I view as failings, makes me a better writer. I want to do more to keep up, so I figure out how to do just that, without reading a bunch of stinky classics or whatever.
Do you struggle with this at all? It's not a huge burden, and I can obviously recognize it for what it is, but it's a hard habit or insecurity to shake, even with that knowledge. We want to fit in, and I think more than that, we want to be considered good or informed or however you measure criticism.
Where do you stand on this? What's your relationship with the work of other critics like?
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
I feel like that a lot. It's dumb, and I recognize that, but there's a certain level of wanting to keep up that I just can't shake. It's not quite competitiveness -- I don't care about whether or not I can go toe-to-toe with someone over Los Bros deep cuts -- but it's like... I learn by seeing and doing, right? I see that other people can do something, so I try it myself. So when I see people writing about something I'm not particularly into, be it highbrow comics or minicomics, my first thought is either "Why don't I do that?" or "Why can't I do that?"
This is an almost entirely internal struggle, one that I could solve as easily as just deciding not to care any more, but that's hard to do. When you see critics, and especially friends, championing a book, you want to not just check that book out for yourself, but to like it, yeah? You have good taste, so you have good taste in friends, and it therefore follows that your friends should have good taste. But sometimes your friends are really into it and you check it out and whoof... nothing doing. Which makes me wonder if I don't get it, instead of just accepting that different people have different tastes.
I don't know about you, but this definitely has an effect on what I write and how. I go harder and write more when I'm feeling bad about my tastes, almost as an attempt to justify the trash I like in the face of the stuff my friends like. It's not a conscious decision. It's only something I can see when I look back and try to figure out why I spent a week writing about the secret genius behind fart jokes or something.
But at the same time, while the whole insecurity that comes from this is dumb, it does make me a better writer, I think. If I was inclined to be charitable to myself, I would say that being driven to do that work, to dig deeper to cover up what I view as failings, makes me a better writer. I want to do more to keep up, so I figure out how to do just that, without reading a bunch of stinky classics or whatever.
Do you struggle with this at all? It's not a huge burden, and I can obviously recognize it for what it is, but it's a hard habit or insecurity to shake, even with that knowledge. We want to fit in, and I think more than that, we want to be considered good or informed or however you measure criticism.
Where do you stand on this? What's your relationship with the work of other critics like?
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Blogathon 05: Keeping Up With the Critics (Part 1)
The topics that I received from my guest posters for this were fantastic. So fantastic that I don't have any favourites. If I did, this one would definitely be in contention for the top spot. The idea of having to 'keep up' with other critics is something that's always there, but not many people seem to talk about. Instead, we get a mix of support, hatred, jealousy, backstabbing, and pressure. I know I've felt or experienced all of those things at some time or another, and tried my best to focus more on the 'support' side of things than anything else.
A big part of that is because of Tim Callahan. Tim is the only comic critic who I can say I've only been jealous of once. By my nature, I'm a jealous sort of person. Not outwardly; I keep it to myself. My first reaction is often a jealous, awful one. I'm aware of that and do my best to press it down, not let it come out, and remind myself that there's no reason for it. But, yeah, Tim writing his piece for that second Gødland hardcover? That's going to make me jealous. And I've felt bad about that ever since.
Otherwise, Tim has been one of the most positive influences in my comics criticism world. He... didn't mentor me. But, grabbed me and stuck me by his side and said "This guy, he's all right." He'd written a book on Grant Morrison that everyone knew about and I was the guy he wanted to talk comics with. He got me the gig with Comic Book Resources (or, got me the opportunity to get the gig). He put me on Sequart's radar and I've written three essays for them along with edited a book that will see publication in 2013. Some of the stuff I am best known for is stuff I have done with Tim.
Tim Callahan is the example of how we should act towards our fellow writers. And it's an example I have tried to follow when I could. Write well, do your thing, and, when possible, use your name to shine a light on others. Very rarely have I seen Tim exert ego and I admire that a lot.
But, that's not all to this idea. It's not just about 'keeping up' with other critics directly. One of the hardest things to escape is the influence of others. That moment where you feel like you have to like something because everyone else seems to. That fear of not sticking to your guns and being your own person. I've had conversations with people about this and it can be hard to escape. If you look at my writing, you can sometimes see where I'm doing what I want and sometimes where I'm trying to fit in. Sometimes the two are the same thing, but not always. And what's even worse is trying so hard to escape the unsaid 'peer pressure' that you become a simple contrarian. Where you begin taking stances you don't believe in just to be different.
All of this sounds a bit silly, but it's so easy to get lost in this bullshit. How do you draw that line between reading others and listening to them while still being separate? It's very easy to just 'fall in line' with someone who you respect and, honestly, agree with a lot of the time. I mean, if you agree with them 90% of the time, you're inclined to make an effort to see things their way that remaining 10%.
In 2012, I made an effort to really do what I want. I wrote about Avengers vs. X-Men and Before Watchmen. Not because it was the opposite of what everyone was doing. Just because I was reading them both and didn't really foresee anyone else writing about them too much.
What makes it especially hard is that no one talks about it really. You get the odd e-mail conversation, but not much in the open like this.
In 30 minutes, we'll see what David Brothers has to say.
In the last Blogathon, we raised $535 total. As of right now, we're up to $590.95 raised for the Hero Initiative this year. That is so wonderful.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
A big part of that is because of Tim Callahan. Tim is the only comic critic who I can say I've only been jealous of once. By my nature, I'm a jealous sort of person. Not outwardly; I keep it to myself. My first reaction is often a jealous, awful one. I'm aware of that and do my best to press it down, not let it come out, and remind myself that there's no reason for it. But, yeah, Tim writing his piece for that second Gødland hardcover? That's going to make me jealous. And I've felt bad about that ever since.
Otherwise, Tim has been one of the most positive influences in my comics criticism world. He... didn't mentor me. But, grabbed me and stuck me by his side and said "This guy, he's all right." He'd written a book on Grant Morrison that everyone knew about and I was the guy he wanted to talk comics with. He got me the gig with Comic Book Resources (or, got me the opportunity to get the gig). He put me on Sequart's radar and I've written three essays for them along with edited a book that will see publication in 2013. Some of the stuff I am best known for is stuff I have done with Tim.
Tim Callahan is the example of how we should act towards our fellow writers. And it's an example I have tried to follow when I could. Write well, do your thing, and, when possible, use your name to shine a light on others. Very rarely have I seen Tim exert ego and I admire that a lot.
But, that's not all to this idea. It's not just about 'keeping up' with other critics directly. One of the hardest things to escape is the influence of others. That moment where you feel like you have to like something because everyone else seems to. That fear of not sticking to your guns and being your own person. I've had conversations with people about this and it can be hard to escape. If you look at my writing, you can sometimes see where I'm doing what I want and sometimes where I'm trying to fit in. Sometimes the two are the same thing, but not always. And what's even worse is trying so hard to escape the unsaid 'peer pressure' that you become a simple contrarian. Where you begin taking stances you don't believe in just to be different.
All of this sounds a bit silly, but it's so easy to get lost in this bullshit. How do you draw that line between reading others and listening to them while still being separate? It's very easy to just 'fall in line' with someone who you respect and, honestly, agree with a lot of the time. I mean, if you agree with them 90% of the time, you're inclined to make an effort to see things their way that remaining 10%.
In 2012, I made an effort to really do what I want. I wrote about Avengers vs. X-Men and Before Watchmen. Not because it was the opposite of what everyone was doing. Just because I was reading them both and didn't really foresee anyone else writing about them too much.
What makes it especially hard is that no one talks about it really. You get the odd e-mail conversation, but not much in the open like this.
In 30 minutes, we'll see what David Brothers has to say.
In the last Blogathon, we raised $535 total. As of right now, we're up to $590.95 raised for the Hero Initiative this year. That is so wonderful.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
Blogathon 04: Jack Kirby's Comics Work in the '70s (Part 2)
Tim Callahan, ladies and gentlemen! That is how you discuss Jack Kirby, people!
As I said an hour ago, I have, without knowing I was, taken Tim's prescription for all of us. I don't have a nightstand next to my bed, I have a small, three-shelf bookcase. You see, our bed is a big one. Very tall. I'm 6'1" or so and I have to hop up slightly (pity my poor wife for the massive leaps she must take every time she wants to get into bed). When we were looking for bedside tables, we saw some nice shelves on sale and, well, now I have shelves filled with trades. Some of the first that I decided must go in were those Kirby collections. Over the next while, I plan on taking out the three Captain America trades and reading them. And that Essential Black Panther I picked up in the summer that has most of Kirby's run along with, what I'm told are some fantastic comics done by people who aren't Kirby. Maybe I'll try to reread the Fourth World saga in one long go.
Tim's post was a lot of bombast and became something of a list (which is hard to avoid) and I'm struck by the sheer magnitude of Kirby's output in the '70s. I have four big omnibuses, a slim hardcover, and then another six trades of material... and that's, what, half of what he produced in the '70s? There's no Losers or The Demon or Kamandi or Devil Dinosaur or 2001 or anything else on my shelf. Though, as someone just e-mailed me, 2001 needs to be reprinted. Whatever needs to be done to get that to happen, Marvel, needs to happen!
The one work that I want to read more than any is one that never really happened, not completely: Jack Kirby's The Prisoner. If you read Mister Miracle or OMAC (and probably some of the stuff I haven't read yet), you can see that Kirby had a shared sensibility with that show. A similar love of weird, unexplained events -- of elaborate traps and rouses. Of getting to the end and having the rug pulled out from under you. Of weird machines and fake villages. The Prisoner is a TV series that I enjoy a lot and seeing it filtered through Jack Kirby gets me excited in a way that remaking it with Jesus as the lead doesn't (still haven't seen the remake). I guess it's the unknown possibilities of a Prisoner comic that leaves me so entranced. What would Kirby have done? Would it have been a simple adaptation? Or would Kirby have deviated after that first issue? Where would he have gone?
But, that's the story of... well, almost every Kirby did in the '70s, isn't it? Here was a man, basically, producing creator-owned work, except it was owned by corporations and they kept cutting him off at the knees. The most popular comic book artist of the '60s wasn't so popular in the '70s and every time he tried to make something new happen, something personal and brilliant, it would be taken away because the sales weren't there. That is hard to fathom now, isn't it? How could readers in the '70s not love what Kirby was doing? How could they not buy New Gods and OMAC and Eternals and everything else and make them best sellers? What else of that time hoped to match those books? How? HOW? How could they not let this brilliant genius tell his stories in the ways he wanted for as long as he wanted?
And it makes me wonder about the things we're ignoring now. We've made great strides in this area, but we've all known too many materpieces that have been cut off at the knees thanks to low sales. I guess that's a reality that I'll never fully understand or be comfortable with. But, how could I not when I've got a shelf next to my bed where Kirby's Fourth World ends at four omnibus editions and Eternals only fills two trades? Where OMAC is only eight issues! EIGHT! MY GOD!
So much missed opportunity... so many damn good comics...
In 30 minutes, I'll kick off the next topic as David Brothers and I discuss the idea of keeping up with other critics.
And my top ten comics of 2012 has kicked off with Prison Pit book four!
As well, we're up to $490.95 raised for the Hero Initiative! And it's only 10:30 in the morning. I can't believe it, honestly. That is stunning. Thank you.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
As I said an hour ago, I have, without knowing I was, taken Tim's prescription for all of us. I don't have a nightstand next to my bed, I have a small, three-shelf bookcase. You see, our bed is a big one. Very tall. I'm 6'1" or so and I have to hop up slightly (pity my poor wife for the massive leaps she must take every time she wants to get into bed). When we were looking for bedside tables, we saw some nice shelves on sale and, well, now I have shelves filled with trades. Some of the first that I decided must go in were those Kirby collections. Over the next while, I plan on taking out the three Captain America trades and reading them. And that Essential Black Panther I picked up in the summer that has most of Kirby's run along with, what I'm told are some fantastic comics done by people who aren't Kirby. Maybe I'll try to reread the Fourth World saga in one long go.
Tim's post was a lot of bombast and became something of a list (which is hard to avoid) and I'm struck by the sheer magnitude of Kirby's output in the '70s. I have four big omnibuses, a slim hardcover, and then another six trades of material... and that's, what, half of what he produced in the '70s? There's no Losers or The Demon or Kamandi or Devil Dinosaur or 2001 or anything else on my shelf. Though, as someone just e-mailed me, 2001 needs to be reprinted. Whatever needs to be done to get that to happen, Marvel, needs to happen!
The one work that I want to read more than any is one that never really happened, not completely: Jack Kirby's The Prisoner. If you read Mister Miracle or OMAC (and probably some of the stuff I haven't read yet), you can see that Kirby had a shared sensibility with that show. A similar love of weird, unexplained events -- of elaborate traps and rouses. Of getting to the end and having the rug pulled out from under you. Of weird machines and fake villages. The Prisoner is a TV series that I enjoy a lot and seeing it filtered through Jack Kirby gets me excited in a way that remaking it with Jesus as the lead doesn't (still haven't seen the remake). I guess it's the unknown possibilities of a Prisoner comic that leaves me so entranced. What would Kirby have done? Would it have been a simple adaptation? Or would Kirby have deviated after that first issue? Where would he have gone?
But, that's the story of... well, almost every Kirby did in the '70s, isn't it? Here was a man, basically, producing creator-owned work, except it was owned by corporations and they kept cutting him off at the knees. The most popular comic book artist of the '60s wasn't so popular in the '70s and every time he tried to make something new happen, something personal and brilliant, it would be taken away because the sales weren't there. That is hard to fathom now, isn't it? How could readers in the '70s not love what Kirby was doing? How could they not buy New Gods and OMAC and Eternals and everything else and make them best sellers? What else of that time hoped to match those books? How? HOW? How could they not let this brilliant genius tell his stories in the ways he wanted for as long as he wanted?
And it makes me wonder about the things we're ignoring now. We've made great strides in this area, but we've all known too many materpieces that have been cut off at the knees thanks to low sales. I guess that's a reality that I'll never fully understand or be comfortable with. But, how could I not when I've got a shelf next to my bed where Kirby's Fourth World ends at four omnibus editions and Eternals only fills two trades? Where OMAC is only eight issues! EIGHT! MY GOD!
So much missed opportunity... so many damn good comics...
In 30 minutes, I'll kick off the next topic as David Brothers and I discuss the idea of keeping up with other critics.
And my top ten comics of 2012 has kicked off with Prison Pit book four!
As well, we're up to $490.95 raised for the Hero Initiative! And it's only 10:30 in the morning. I can't believe it, honestly. That is stunning. Thank you.
[Don't forget to donate what you can to the Hero Initiative (Details in this post)! After you do, let me know via comment or e-mail (found at the righthand side) so I can keep track of donations -- and who to thank.]
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