I just got off the phone with Dad, who's evidently started the process of cleaning out the past three decades worth of stuff piled up in the basement. Included in the collection are around 3,000 comics that he bought in the late 1970s and early 1980s while he was driving me around to comic shops and local shows. Mostly independent stuff from publishers who have now been defunct for more years than they were around in the first place: Pacific, First, Eclipse, Renegade, etc.

I read a number of those books as a kid, after I had read and re-read my own comic purchases so often as to have them memorized. I distinctly recall reading Scout (Tim Truman), Laser Eraser and Axel Pressbutton (Steve Moore and Steve Dillon), Shatter (Mike Saenz), Somerset Holmes (Bruce Jones and Brent Anderson), The Trouble With Girls (Will Jacobs, Gerard Jones and Tim Hamilton), and others whose creators have gone on to greater heights. And I also recall seeing other comics that I never did actually read, but have remained at least floating in the back of my head since then: Zot! (Scott McCloud), Ms. Tree (Max Allan Collins and Terry Beatty), and American Flagg! (Howard Chaykin) to name a few.

I always kind of figured I would inherit Dad's collection sooner or later, so I didn't really put any effort into tracking down most of that latter selection of comics. For that matter, I could effectively have borrowed any of them at just about any time if I really wanted to. But Dad was largely holding on to all of them because he was going to read them again once he retired. Of course, he retired five years ago and hasn't had a chance to flip through a single issue yet, so he's opting to give them to someone who would appreciate them more than he's able.

Now I'm faced with three challenges. (None of which are ones that I really mind facing, though.) First, I need to transport all the books from his place to mine. He's in no rush to get them out of the house, so this will probably occur one or two boxes at a time over the next six to twelve months. Second, I'll need to rework how my own comics are stored. The shelving unit I made for my existing collection is just about at capacity already, so it will definitely need to be expanding to absorb Dad's. Third, I'm pretty far behind on reading the comics I already have -- I can't imagine racing through his not-insubstantial collection too quickly.

All in all, though, this will be great timing as I'll be able to dramatically expand my own collection of independent comics quickly and put the marvel and DC books of old behind me more dramatically and conclusively.

Yea, me!

Luke Cage, Power Man...
Pam Grier, Foxy Brown...
My question: why the hell are they wearing the same shirt?!?

I was a bit rushed out the door this morning and forgot to grab some reading material for lunch. Fortunately, I'm almost always prepared for such contingencies and keep something in my desk at work at all times. So when I went down to the cafeteria for lunch, I took with me Comics and Culture: Analytical and Theoretical Approaches to Comics.

As I was in the checkout line, paying my tab, the person in line behind me read the title aloud and added, "I didn't know there were analytical and theoretical approaches to comics."

I don't know this guy, so I have zero clue how I was supposed to interpret that. Was he still working from the mindset that comics are for kids and unworthy of academic scrutiny? Does he, instead, have the broader misconception that no art form can be studied analytically? Does he even understand the words well enough to know what they mean?

I made a quick comment about how he could read the book to learn more about it, paid for my lunch, and found a seat relatively isolated from anywhere he might choose to sit. Serendipitously, the essay I read today began by talking about how the study of comic books was not often considered a subject worth pursuing. (It should be noted, though, that the essay was written a decade ago -- before Henry Jenkins became Director of MIT's Media Studies program, before Will Brooker became the first person to get a PhD in Batman, before Gen X-ers invaded Hollywood and started making "comic book movies"...)

Reflecting on the incident, I'm still not sure how to interpret the man's comment. Why wouldn't any art form be able to be studied analytically or theoretically? Even if the art implicit in the object of study is merely a function of its use, one can still discuss aesthetics in concrete terms: color, shape, line, etc. How is that any different than talking about the nuances of Lysistrata or King Lear -- both works that were written to entertain the masses in exchange for money paid to the plays' producers.

Indeed, we can take that to an extreme and direct a critical eye to the crayon drawings of five-year-olds.

"Note the exaggerated legs, relative to the torso, suggesting that the artist identifies the Spider-Man character with running and leaping moreso than other physical activities. Interestingly, one can note also that the webbing coming from the web shooters becomes a framing element for the entire page."

Yes, it's something of a silly discussion, but not because that a child drew the artwork, but because that the child who drew the artwork is too young to have developed the vocabulary to understand the critique, and improve his/her craft accordingly. One could also say...

"I like the red you used."

A child could understand that, and take away from it something useful: namely, that Spider-Man's costume is best drawn with the "Red" crayon and not the "Magenta" or "Brick Red" or "Maroon" ones. It's a simple critique, but one that the artist can comprehend and appreciate.

My point here is that the level and depth of study in any piece of art should be relative to those who might be interested in the subject. If my audience here, for example, were drooling fanboys who bought every marvel or DC book published, my reviews and commentary would be written significantly differently than how I'm writing this now. But you are here reading this passage, so I'm writing to a level I think you'd like to see. I could get much more academic in my writing, sure, but this isn't the forum and audience for that type of material. Just like it's not the audience for "Skrulls bad, Bendis good" commentary.

Analytical and theoretical approaches to comics? Absolutely! Provided that it's presented to the right audience in the right format. (Which the book was, I might add!)

As near as I can tell from a BabelFish translation of this page, the Spanish Association Against Cancer is auctioning off original artwork that recreates Stan Lee and Jack Kirby's famous Fantastic Four #1. It looks like the original page layouts and story structure were largely maintained, but artists were still left open to use their individual illustration styles. Lots of good looking art, and it seems to be benefiting a good cause.

The current auctions end Monday.

I'm going to admit upfront that I have no exactly how/where I heard about Outer Orbit. I had written it down as a book I wanted to order at some point, apparently, and it was sitting at the top of the list I printed out to turn over to my Local Comic Shop. But I can't remember anything about how I got to putting it on my list.

There must have been a valid reason, I figured -- I wouldn't have made a note of it otherwise. So two weeks ago, I handed in my request with no recollection of why I was looking for this book, and this week, it arrived. After reading through the book, I'm still not sure where I might've heard about it, but I can clearly see why I wanted it.

The story is about a hapless space pizza delivery guy named Quinn, who accidentally falls in with a sex-starved museum thief (Neoki), who then ditches him and leaves him with a gruff, by-the-book policeman (Krunk) who's been framed for having sex with sheep. Lots of explosions, shootouts, chase scenes, death-defying escapes, cookies, poker, sex, and general mayhem.

No, that doesn't really explain it very well, does it? OK, let me try this another way...

You've seen the Judge Dredd movie, right? Now, picture Dredd as Krunk, and Fergie as Quinn. Except it's funny. No, I mean, intentionally funny. And there's sex. And the plot's a lot different. And the protagonists run around in their underwear more often than not.

That's not exactly making things clearer, either.

How about I just show you page 4? The first three pages were okay, but I think page 4 sums up the theme of the book as well as the protagonists' relationship pretty succinctly...
That page totally had me sold on the book, and I knew then and there that I was in for a good read.

The comedy throughout the book was spot on. They avoided most of the more obvious gags and jokes, and came up with new and interesting twists on older set-ups. Plus, the creative team collectively seemed to have a great sense of comedic timing. Lots of "Stupid, stupid rat creatures" type moments throughout the whole book.

While the comedy made Outer Orbits a fun read, the whole creative team clearly have a lot of storytelling talent at their disposal as well. The main adventure is told as a series of flashbacks from multiple characters' perspectives, and is frequently interrupted by questions from others. The flashbacks are not told in a linear fashion and, indeed, many of the flashbacks have flashbacks within them. It's a little like listening to an old, married couple telling you a story that they've told a million times before, and the entertainment comes more from listening to the two of them try to tell it together than from the actual anecdote itself.

I may have forgotten why I originally wanted to pick this book up, but I am not going to forget why I couldn't put this book down!

I'd just like to drop a quick note to alert regular readers that I've updated my Blogroll on the right to be somewhat more functional. It now lists some of my favorite blogs in order of when they were last updated, and includes the title and date of the latest post. Because of this, I've added a few more blogs that I keep an eye on, but aren't updated as regularly/frequently as the others. Hopefully, you'll find it a more interesting/useful aspect of this blog.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled postings.

A lot of comics focus on fiction. There are indeed an almost frightening lack of non-fiction comics commercially available. But from time to time, those fictional books bring in characters who were people in real life. I've seen the Fantastic Four banter with Richard Nixon, Superman share cover space with Ben Franklin, and Harry Houdini join forces with Arthur Conan Doyle to ward off the evil machinations of H.P. Lovecraft.

There are any number of reasons for bringing real-life celebrities into fictional works. In some cases, it provides a quick sense of context for the reader. If you open a scene, for example, with Abraham Lincoln writing the Gettysburg Address, the reader quickly understands that the story takes place during the height of the American Civil War, and it at least starts in or near Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. It also provides an immediate sense of gravity as the circumstances around the speech itself are fairly well-known. Opening a scene, by contrast, on Lincoln's deathbed alerts the reader that the War has officially ended, but there are still a great deal of hostilities between the two sides of the conflict.

Another reason for using a real life person in a fictional story is to provide a greater sense of importance to the other characters and/or the plot. If Julius Caesar himself is specifically asking by name for Asterix to be killed, then the reader gets the sense that the protagonist must be really significant to bring on the wrath of Rome's Emperor. Of course, alternatively, if Adolf Hitler completely ignores and out-of-uniform Steve Rogers, it can bring some humility to the character who is now considered "beneath the notice" of a powerful figure.

In other cases, the real life people are in fact the primary characters of the story itself, often re-created in larger-than-life roles. The primary idea here, I think, is another form of shorthand in that readers might have a better sense of who the character in advance, allowing the writer(s) to focus more on the story and leave more of the character definition to the person's actual character in real life. That's not to say, of course, that these types of characters are NOT given adequate characterization necessarily, just that it's more quickly rounded out more fully by history itself.

In any of these cases (which, I might add, are not mutually exclusive) the historical/real people used in fiction are necessarily interpreted by the writer(s). The characterizations they write are simply how they believe the real person would speak/act. Personally, I find that especially fascinating to see how different people will interpret others differently than I do. I've read up, for example, on the historical Blackbeard and my interpretation of who he is and how he would act is significantly different than any other interpretation of the man in comics that I've ever seen. In some cases, the misinterpretation (at least, I call it a misinterpretation) is due to just an obvious lack of research. (Jack Kirby's Blackbeard in Fantastic Four #5 seems a noteworthy example of this.) In other cases, the research has been done but deliberately modified for storytelling purposes.

At the end of the day, I suppose it's not that different than using any existing character, including fictional ones. How does any one interpretation of Sherlock Holmes hold up against Conan Doyle's? How does a comic book Tarzan compare with Burroughs'? The difference, though, that does exist is that using real people provides an immediate and generally more complete character template to start from. How evolved a character was Mina Harker before Alan Moore got his hands on her? By contrast, did Matt Fraction really have to do that much much to make Nikola Tesla interesting?