Why are old comic books expensive? Supply and demand. There's not very many copies of Action Comics #1 floating around any more, and a large number of people who would like to have a copy. Some of those people are willing to pay more than others, so that drives the cost up.

But why aren't there very many copies of Action Comics #1 left? The first print run was something like 200,000 copies so why are there only about 100 left? It was the first appearance of Superman after all, and even back in 1938, people immediately saw how popular he was!

Well, not quite immediately. After the first issue, Superman doesn't appear on the cover of the comic again until #7 and doesn't start appearing on the cover regularly until #14. The knock-offs that other publishers tried didn't start until mid-1939 with Victor Fox's Wonder Man, right around the time Superman started appearing in his own title. The radio series and Fleischer cartoons didn't come until 1940 and '41 respectively.

So there was easily a year between Superman's debut and when people started to realize that this might have some larger cultural impact. Probably two or three years before people started thinking, "Hey, maybe this isn't a fad!" Remember that, while Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster believed in their creation from the start, no one else really did, with many publishers rejecting the idea citing that it was too fanciful.

There was no reason to think, in 1938, that Superman would be around two or three years later, much less three quarters of a century. Action Comics #1 was seen at the time as no different than Crackajack Funnies #1, which came out at about the same time. They were both anthology comics with a broad mix of genres/styles inside. Never heard of Crackajack Funnies? That's because nothing significant happened in it, and no one of note worked on it.

But, in 1938, Siegel and Shuster were no one of note either. Neither were Fred Guardineer or Shelly Moldoff, who also both contributed to the issue. So there was no reason for anyone to pay particular attention to Action Comics #1. At least no more attention than they might pay Crackajack Funnies #1.

It's only with the passing of time, and a growing body of work, that we can see how and why Action Comics #1 was important. Had National (the publisher now known as DC) gone bankrupt or decided to stop publishing comics -- if they essentially stopped producing Superman stories in that first year or two, Action Comics #1 would be just as much a footnote as Crackajack Funnies #1. But because Action was successful and continued to be successful, that's why we can look back at #1 and cite its importance.

By that time, though, we've moved on as often as not. We, as an audience, generally don't recognize success as it's starting to build; we only see it once it's reached some critical mass. And by that point, we're a ways removed from the original. The original that we may have dismissed or discarded at the time. We can't hold on to everything, and we passed judgement on it at the time, deeming it irrelevant or insubtantial.

And that's how we get down to 100 copies of Action #1. By the time we got to Showcase #4 or Amazing Fantasy #15 or Incredible Hulk #181, we'd collectively seen enough debuts that we had started actively looking for them. We were hoping to find the next Superman so we were holding on to more. But even here, those issues were in the midst of other debuts and it's only in looking back where we find that Flash and Spider-Man and Wolverine stand out from the Frogmen (Showcase #3), Ozarr the Mighty (Amazing Adult Fantasy #14) and -- I swear I am not making this up -- 'Crackajack' Jackson (Incredible Hulk #182).

My point is that you can never predict what's going to be successful. You can only look back on the histories after it becomes successful and that, to me, is part of the fun of comics. Going back and rooting through those histories that other people tossed aside.

Also a less significant, though still poignaint, secondary point: stay away from any comics that use the name Crackajack.

Despite it having started back in 2003, I only started reading Questionable Content sometime last year. I seem to recall having seen it a couple years before but, for whatever reason, I didn't get into it at the time. But having started reading it regularly in the middle of last year, I quickly found it to be a regular favorite. Creator Jeph Jacques is really consistent with his writing style, and turns in clever dialogue day in and day out. Not to mention that I really like his illustration style.

But despite having nearly a decade's worth of material available for free online, I opted to purchase the three compilation books he has available. Part of it was to provide some monetary thank you back to Jacques for my enjoyment of the series, but part of it was that I like the long-form reading experience better in print than online. I've been noodling that idea while going through all three of Jeph Jacques' books and I think I finally pegged why I have that preference.

The issue, for me at least, boils down to placeholding. If I'm trying to read through an extended series that has years and years of backlog material, I'm just not going to be able to do that in one sitting. If I'm online, my options are:

1. Simply try to remember the date and/or number of the last historical strip I read
2. Set a bookmark in my browser each time I get to a breaking point
3. Use a service like Piperka to bookmark each time I get to a breaking point

The problem with #1 is that my memory is not infallible in the first place, and I have no clue how long it might be before I'll get a chance to return to the strip's archives. Also, as I'm reading a story, I tend to get engrossed in the story and completely miss that there are date-stamps on the individual strips that I need to pay attention to.

Both #2 and #3 solve the memory issue, but have some issues of their own. With #2, I'm limited to following the comic on one specific browser on one specific machine. However, I switch between two desktops, a laptop and my phone with great regularity, and I have another three or four machines I use not infrequently. Tying my archive strip reading to only one of those would be decidedy inefficient.

Option #3 is the most viable, but I've not been terribly happy with the user experience in these solutions. I understand that they're essentially trying to create a navigation overlay for an existing set of webcomics which have their own internal and independent navigation, so that it works at all is pretty impressive. However, I still find the process overly cumbersome and somewhat intrusive to the reading experience.

In fact, I find that Option #3 to be so cumbersome that I would prefer to pay for a printed copy of the book or, if one is not available, simply not read the archives at all! In the Questionable Content example, the books Jacques has printed so far only cover about one third of the archives. So I've got this huge gap between what I've read in the archives and what I'm reading as current. Apparently Marten and Dora broke up at some point, and Faye and Angus have some kind of hook up after all, and who the heck is Steve dating now, and Dora seems to be going out with Tai now? But I'm willing to let those questions all kind of hang out there because going through the online archives is too tedious compared to just reading a physical book and throwing in any handy scrap of paper as a bookmark when I need to set it down for a bit.

So it seems to me that having print edition of your webcomics available -- even if they're just a-little-better-than-break-even-PODs -- is something of a necessity to keep your audience engaged for a longer term. After all, the more they read your comic, they more emotionally invested they're likely to be. The more emotionally invested they are, they more likely they are to continue reading. This is kind of how the Marvel and DC business models work, after all! Not to mention that by having printed books available, you have more to sell both online and at conventions.

This is me talking here though. I'm a sample size of one. I don't know how many other people, if there even are any, have the same type of reading habits and experiences I have. But I'm sitting here scratching my head and wondering why any webcomic creator who has a book's worth of material doesn't have printed copies available for purchase for those of us who are late to the party that is their webcomic.

For at least the past decade -- probably a bit longer than that -- I have wanted to build a comic book library for myself. A room that housed not only my comics and graphic novels, but also all of my books and resources about comics; and also have the room serve as a workspace. I wanted to be able to write and research back and forth without having to do any more than take a few steps across the room.

I'd tried doing it on the cheap in my last house, and I was able to make my collection more personally accessible, but I was still resigned to doing my writing elsewhere. In my new house, I've been able to really design it to suit my needs and it's already working exactly how I hoped it would. This week, I've gotten all the major components in place, and I thought I'd share something of a tour.

First, here's my main workspace. I've got my computer and microfiche reader side-by-side, and all of my reference books about comics and comic creators right there. (They still need to be alphabetized, though.) Right underneath my microfiche reader is a portfolio of original art that I don't have room for on the walls. The smaller bookshelf on the right has books on comics fandom and my meager collection of comic strip reprints. On the other side of the room is the bulk of my comics collection. The graphic novels are stored in standard Ikea bookshelves, but I had a carpenter build specially designed shelving units for my long boxes. It's a pretty straight-forward cubbyhole type of design. And in the middle is a custom-built daybed sitting atop more longbox shelving. There are some more 'regular' shelving units on one end with some floating shelves on the wall above for my manga.
I put together this video of the progress I made in building my library. At the end, you can see a single, continuous pan of the entire room.There's still some work that needs to be done, primarily some rewiring for the lighting. But I have really been enjoying it so far, almost to the point where it's difficult to get any actual research or writing done in there! But I'm sure once I get used to having it -- it has been something I've been wanting for over a decade as I said -- it will function exceptionally well for me. But yeah, those random posts and Tweets and such over the past year or two where I've talked about wanting to do this? This is exactly what I was hoping to accomplish!

I was recently reminded of the classic "Judgment Day!" story from Weird Fantasy #18 (March 1953). The story, if you've never actually read it, is reproduced below... Now here in 2014, there seems to be no end of racial tensions. I wouldn't be writing this column if there were. But, despite those tensions, we live in a world where some of the highest paid actors and actresses are Black. Where many of the great sports stars are Black. Where many of the great musicians are Black. Where CEOs of major corporations are Black. Where mayors, senators, Supreme Court judges and other politicians are Black. Where the frickin' President of the United States is Black.

That's not to suggest we've reached any level of racial parity in our culture, but only to point out that today, in 2014, it's not particularly unusual to see a people of color in positions of power. When Black parents tell their children they can grow up to be anything they want, they can point to very real examples in pretty much every profession.

That wasn't the case in 1953. Jackie Robinson had only broken the color barrier in professional baseball in 1947. It wouldn't be until 1966 that Robert C. Henry became the first Black mayor of a U.S. city. So the very idea of the protagonist being Black in "Judgment Day!" was novel; the "hero" of every story was a white man back in 1953. "White male" was very much the default for everything, so putting a Black man front and center in this story -- this story about prejudice based on superficial qualities -- said something very powerful. The character, up until the very last panel, would have been assumed to have been a white male and taking off his helmet to reveal otherwise was very much a story twist.

Particularly with the casual way it's done. Read the script closely. It does cite the color of his skin in the text, but merely as a description of his visible appearance; there's no comment or even hint of a suggestion at any cultural baggage based on his skin color. That is only brought to the table by the reader in the context of the times it was written. It's only in the backdrop of 1953 that his skin color holds any real significance.

So does "Judgment Day!" hold up in 2014? Is it still relevant beyond it's historical significance? The original story was aimed at kids in the 1953; would their contemporary counterparts get it? Or would they get to the end, shrug and say, "So he just leaves? What the heck kind of ending is that?"

Or am I too optimistic in that thinking? There were, after all, any number of idiots who complained about Super Bowl advertisements that featured non-Caucasians. Would they still get that same 1953 impact if they read "Judgment Day!" today? I don't have any kids and make a point not to spend any time with racist asshats, but if you have access to either, try printing out those seven pages and ask them to read it in front of you. I'm honestly curious what their reaction would be.

• Alex Jay has a pretty comprehensive biography of Chu F. Hing, the creator of what is possibly the first Asian-American superhero, the Green Turtle.
• When The New Yorker moved to Connecticut is a short piece about the relocation of a number of the magazine's regular artists. The covers became more suburban and, as I recall, it was precisely this period that Art Spiegleman has slagged as terribly boring on more than one occasion.
• The British Library posted a collection of images from The Egerton Genesis Picture Book, which is basically the Book of Genesis in comic strip form. Dating back to the 14th century!
  
• David Herbert has some advice for anyone thinking about starting up a webcomic.
  

I vaguely recall hearing about Clifford Meth trying to Kickstarter his book, Comic Book Babylon last year. I'll be honest and say my reaction at the time was, "Meh." I've read some of Meth's columns over the years and didn't really see how what amounted to a collection of them would be worth it; nothing wrong with his writing, just that the pieces I had read were either A) very bound to the time he was writing, as he was commenting on current events, or B) off on something of a tangent to my personal interests. But the Kickstarter was successful (coming in at over five times Meth's asking amount!) and a Kindle edition of the book showed up on Amazon in January. For a reasonable cover price, I figured it was worth checking out.

Now, the book is basically a collection of columns and articles that Meth has written over the past decade or so. Nearly all of which have already appeared online. So why am I reviewing it under my "On History" segment? I mean, come on, we're talking about pieces that even fifteen year olds could have read as new. And while it does cover recent events like Dave Cockrum's last years and after-parties from conventions you may well have attended a few years ago, it sits further back than that as well.

See, although Meth was writing about contemporary events, many of the people involved witnessed and/or created chunks of what we now consider comics history. Cockrum is a prime example, having created many of the X-Men that are now famous thanks to a series of successful films. Neal Adams and Harlan Ellison come up repeatedly, Stan Lee shows up for more than a couple cameos, Marie Severin, Joe Kubert... Even more contemporary guys that pop up like Joe Quesada -- who I might remind readers was Marvel's Editor-in-Chief for over a decade, but has still been out of that role for several years now -- are beginning to take on this aura of being part of comics history. So, despite being relatively recent writings to be considered history, the overall work winds up being almost historical in nature.

Think about it. In detailing Cockrum's fight with Marvel to receive some compensation for helping to create such popular characters, don't you have to provide some background on his creating them? Meth's pieces are still written very much in the present and are focused on the then-current situation at hand, but the contexts goes back decades.

So the book sits in this curious middle ground between the contemporary and historic. It's nearly unique in that regard, I think, and makes for both some excellent anecdotes about the late Silver and early Bronze ages of comics, but also provides a snapshot of the industry and fandom from a decade ago. "Oh, geez, people were fighting over that?"

At this point, you might be thinking, "So far, Sean, you've spent this entire 'review' trying to justify why you've posted it under you 'On History' category!"

Well, I think it's worth pointing out what this material is. There are no great revelations in here -- most of it was published in some other form before. But Meth hasn't just thrown together all of his blog posts into a book. He's curated what he's written so there's a surprising cohesiveness to the book. It's not one simple narrative, far from it, but the pieces all tie together thematically. And where one column doesn't slide particularly smoothly into the next on its own, he's added some bridge pieces to keep the book from becoming too halting. Not to mention some way-better-than-I-ever-anticipated illustrations by Michael Netzer.

There is a bit of inside-baseball type of talk from time to time, and Meth never sugar-coats his words. Even those directed at himself. He clearly shows some preferential biases -- he's quite upfront about his long friendships with Cockrum and Ellison for example -- but he also seems to be fair all around. I'm generally skeptical about the veracity of comic creator anecdotes, but I feel less so with Meth than I think I normally would. Maybe it's how he's willing to show himself in less-than-flattering lights sometimes, or that he freely admits when his memory might be off. Regardless, the book feels authentic despite it being largely anecdotal.

I actually bought my copy for $3.99, a couple days before the price dropped by 75%, but I have to say that I'm not miffed. I find it's worth what I paid for it, and certainly worth the 99¢ that it is right now! You could track down all of Meth's columns and articles online for free, but I definitely think getting the best of them collected in one place is a better option!

Here's an article by Tyler James, author of Tears of the Dragon, in which he talks about some ideas behind designing your cover/promotional image for comiXology. Good ideas, well worth a read.

But let's think about why he's writing it for a minute. I don't mean why is James writing an article about submitting to comiXology, but rather why is James writing an article about submitting to comiXology? The answer is almost so self-evident that I think the question gets overlooked. In submitting a comic to comiXology, a creator is trying to tap into the largest distributor of digital comics. I mean, why wouldn't you submit your work to them? Getting work in there gives a creator (well, most creators) a much broader set of eyeballs. A lot more people could potentially see (and pay for!) their work. So writing an article about making your work stand out in that environment is obvious, right?

Back up a second, though. We're talking about comiXology specifically here. Not "a digital comics reader", not "a smartphone app". We're talking about one very specific company. Oh, there's other digital comic distributors out there, but is a creator going to get any traction with them? They're either specific to one company, or they're so obscure that it's essentially not worth your time. If you want your comic to be seen in the digital comic space, you have to go through comiXology.

Kind of like how if you want your comic to be seen in the physical retail space, you have to go through Diamond.

Let that sit for a bit. What Diamond is to print comics, comiXology is to digital comics. One has a monopoly on printed comics, one has a monopoly on digital ones. How/why do you think Marvel and DC wound up delivering their digital comics on the same day as their printed ones? You remember that whole "day and date" debate from a few years back? Where did that go? It's a non-issue now because the one distributor of digital comics convinced the two biggest publishers it didn't make sense to have multiple release dates. Sure, technically, it was Marvel's and DC's independent decisions to go ahead with that, but you think comiXology didn't provide more than a little influence there?

Look, I'm not mad at comiXology or am trying to launch some kind of campaign against them. They've got a good product, and done some great work in front of and behind the scenes. Many kudos to them.

But it's worth pointing out their similar position to Diamond as it relates to digital comics, and that the twelve years it took for Diamond to become a print comics distribution monopoly, comiXology achieved digitally in... what? Five years? (They launched in 2007 and got big deals with Marvel and DC in 2012.) Not to mention that Diamond came to the direct market game after the model had been around and somewhat established for a decade, compared to comiXology all but inventing their model.

In comics circles, we've talked a lot about the success of digital comics over the past few years and that has been almost exclusively due to comiXology's efforts. And it's fantastic that more people are getting more into comics. But that its long-term direction is effectively in the hands of a single company does give me a moment's pause.