Please be critical of this essay. I have not turned it in. I am submitting this for publication so ANY and ALL criticisms would be greatly appreciated.
Casey Deans
LARGEY
ENG 311, SEC 002
Subscriber
Child-like,
naive, melodramatic, and juvenile are words that litter the critiques of the
comic book genre. As a child, I was enthralled by the melodrama that unfolded
from the pages of my comic books. My naivety was all encompassing as I truly believed
that one day I would be a superhero. My juvenile sense of right and wrong had
yet to be twisted and turned by the adult onset inflictions of utilitarianism,
self-critical examination, and fear-induced submission. Comic books were my
springboard into imagination. They were adult, violent, scary, and raw, yet you
could read them in the living room. This subtle secret increased the excitement
as you read them in plain view of everyone.
I don't
remember the first comic book I read just like I don't remember the first pizza
slice I ate, first sports game I participated in, first Christmas, first birthday
celebration, first time I saw the sky, or first breath I took. Comics were
always there, and they will always be there. They don't require the mental work
of novels. "What was the first book I remember reading?" is a question
I can answer: Hatchet by Gary
Paulsen. I have a clear recollection of finishing the book and feeling as
though I had also just survived alone in the wilderness with only a hatchet by
my side.
Books are
great. They are "Tony the Tiger Grrreat!" and they are "Alexander
the Great". They have a looming sense of snobbery, a daunting history, and
an ocean like immensity that is intimidating and scary. Books change lives,
leave scars, induce life-long inflictions like enlightenment, religion, and
dissatisfaction with the mundane. Books are like mothers and fathers; comic
books are like best friends from gym class. You don't go to their weddings or
bail them out of jail, but you always laugh at the same things. When you see
them in the hallway you casually nod hello, but you don't stop and chat. Books
are judgmental. Comic books understand they won't be taught at the prestigious
Harvard or even the lowly Greendale Community College. Comic books don't want
that. They want you to buy them, experience them, enjoy them, collect them, but
most importantly subscribe to them.
Comic books are like a secret club, a fringe element, a peccadillo, and a
secret society. They do not form their club through selection, elimination, and
evolution. Comic book society is formed by selecting the "Average
Joe" and indoctrinating him with their beliefs then sending him forth
recreated in their image, addicted to their drug, and forever hooked on their
entertainment.
Curator,
stockbroker, cataloguer, archivist, historian, fact-checker, reader, writer,
artist, and fan are all titles that can be hybridized into describing a comic
book nerd. A spider web of ever increasing split-offs and divisions sprawls out
when you dissect the comic book nerd. First is the analysis of the label
"nerd". Thick rimmed glasses, flood pants, books about wizards, video
games, old cartoons, and comic books are all gaining hipness, mainstream
acceptance, and popularity that is changing the definition of "nerd".
Since the 2000's, skateboarding and surfing are examples of lifestyles that emerged
from the nerd or fringe class, and become common, uniform, and fashionable.
Rap, video games, and comic books also are previous "nerd" or fringe
cultures which are diluting throughout the "too cool for school"
pool. This "cool to be a nerd" attitude is prevalent throughout many
facets of society, but the most obvious one is clothing. Suddenly,
"Tommy-quarterback ESPN-addict" is sporting a shirt with Super Mario Bros. on it, and a pair of Vans
skateboarding shoes. His hat, New York Yankees of course, is twisted to the
side in an attempt to fool us into believing that he knows who Big L is and
doesn't know who Garth Brooks is. These chameleons will take their self-labeled
"ironic" pictures that they will look back on in a few years and
laugh and think how much better their new society-prescribed outfit is.
Luckily, the comic book world is not one that can be joined by buying a T-shirt
or seeing Thor in theatres.
Admittance into comic book fandom requires subscription.
One question can quickly separate the true
comic book nerds from the posers. No, the question is not something technical
like, "What is Wolverine's real name? or How many different colors of
Kryptonite are there?" The question is surprisingly obvious and seldom
replied to with lies. That question is: "Do you read comic books?"
People respond very quickly with a slight disdain and say, "Oh no, I just
like this T-Shirt" or "I just saw the movie and think [Insert Chris
Hemsworth, Ryan Reynolds, or Robert Downey Jr.] is hot." If by some random
chance you find a person who reads comic books a sudden change of mood quickly
descends. Similar to when two cats see each other, the defenses come out and
their tails puff up and sometimes even the fangs are bared. Comic book readers
are also fiercely territorial and often highly cliquish. A self-declaration is
made when two comic book readers meet, a declaration that I will now make to
you about myself.
I am a
Marvel Fan Boy. I read Ultimate X-men, X-Men, Wolverine, Avengers, and Captain
America. I enjoy reading and am also a collector. My collection is almost
entirely Modern Age, 1980's-Present, and consists of over 3,000 books. The pièce
de résistance of my collection is a signed CGC Origins #1. Most of the prized books are Wolverine related and I
have some significant runs, or series of issues. I have never met anyone
personally who owns more comics than me but there are many, many people out
there who do. If I didn't want to explain all that to someone, I could simply
say, "I like Marvel's superhero comics".
The main
divisions of comic book readers are Marvel, DC, and Independent. Independent
readers are somewhat cheating in my opinion because they are often given the
literary clout and intellectual status that superhero comic book readers are
not. This elevation of the Independent reader is not undeserved or incorrect
but really should be given the label, "graphic novel reader" not
comic book reader/fan.
The word
subscription has an interesting etymology: From early 15 century Latin subscribere it originally meant "to
sign at the bottom of a document". Subscribere
combined sub
"underneath" and scribere
"write". The meaning of "giving one's consent" was first
recorded in 1540's and the meaning of "become a regular buyer of a
publication" in 1711. I subscribe, literally, to about 24 different
titles. In other words, I pay for a year's worth of comics, twelve titles, and
receive them monthly through the United States Postal Service. I also subscribe to comics in the sense that I
am fiercely loyal to their form and content. I recently ordered my first
subscriptions to DC Comics because of their historic re-launch. DC comics have
been publishing comics since 1937's Detective
Comics #1. "DC" stands for "Detective Comics Inc", the
original name of the company. Detective Comics
#27 contained the first appearance of Batman. DC Comics published Action Comics #1 that contained the
first appearance of Superman, in 1938. For about 74 years DC comics has
continuously published those two books: Detective
Comics and Action Comics. The
comics were each numbered, Detective
Comics zenithed at #881 and Action
Comics at #904.
The month
of September 2011 saw a historic re-launch or DC Comics. All of DC Comics titles
would start over with #1 issues. This meant that 52 books would all have a new
story line devoid of previous plot points and story arcs. The re-launch was an
invitation to all to come and read without the fear of having missed out on 74
years worth of character development, inside jokes, references to past events,
and other knowledge that had plagued the DC Universe. This was an invitation that
had me questioning my devotion, or subscription,
to Marvel Comics. As I investigated the roots of my self-labeled "Marvel
Fanboy" status, I realized that Marvel Comics weren't the only thing I was
subscribing to.
Have you
ever told people you don't like to eat something? They offer soft cheese,
tomatoes, fancy mustard, caviar, pistachio ice cream, Nutella, swiss
cheeseburgers, or some type of food and you reply, "No thanks, I don't
like that, I never have." Then one day you are going out with a girl, guy,
in-law, boss, co-worker, or colleague that you want to impress. You decide to
show off your adventurousness and open-mindedness, or you respect and trust
this person enough to follow them, so you shrug off your initial reaction and
say, "Sure, I'll give it a try." You bite or lick with apprehension
and aren't revolted so you decide to try more. As you ingest this old enemy you
think to yourself or say out loud, "This is great!" Slowly the joy of
newfound treats turns into a mix of self-doubt and guilt as you wonder,
"What else have I been denying myself because I have convinced myself that
I don't like it?" This is what I went through when I began to taste what
DC Comics had to offer.
My views on
entertainment and art always followed a strict set of personal policies. Marvel
NOT DC; Star Wars NOT Star Trek; The Lord of the Rings NOT anything else about
swords, dragons, trolls, or fantasy-related themes; Warner Bros./Bugs Bunny NOT
Disney/Mickey Mouse; Anne Rice's Vampires NOT Twilight; Harry Potter NOT anything
else wizardly or magical; Albert Brooks NOT Hot Rod/Napolean Dynamite; Saturday
Night Live NOT MadTV; X-Men Animated/Batman Animated NOT Mighty Morphin Power
Rangers; Blue NOT Red; Real Bacon NOT Turkey Bacon; and more broadly Art NOT Entertainment.
What had I "NOT" been enjoying as a result of my stubbornness? Why
was I so quick to prescribe my subscription to others I had diagnosed
as "artistically challenged"? Why couldn't we all just get along?
My father
and I recently began debating the movies we would see together. We agree more
than we disagree. My father frequently makes the statement, "My dollar counts
as much as anyone else's." His argument is that by purchasing a ticket he
has voted and the film's worth can be determined by its box office gross. My
view, before my life-event on the road to Metropolis, was always that my opinion was the only one that
mattered and all appraisals of worth should be based on the criteria I have created. After a thorough
self-evaluation I had come to the conclusion that what I had previously
considered to be a confident, loyal, resoluteness was actually a prideful,
intolerant, stubbornness. I had been creating so many walls between me and my
New York Yankee hat wearing, hipster-posing, faux-nerd brothers and sisters
that I had ensconced myself into a box. The concrete armor I wore by having
unwavering tastes and opinions wasn't protecting me but dragging me down into a
dark abyss, devoid of new experiences and most importantly, new people. The
warmth of my beliefs was becoming suffocating and I had distanced myself from
others who might provide a needed breath of fresh air. "I Am a Rock" by Paul Simon echoed
in my head, especially the verse:
"I have my books
And my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.”
No longer
would I be so quick to judge, so quick to draw imaginary battle lines in the
entertainment world. I would embrace Star
Trek, chomp down on a Swiss-cheeseburger, bite my tongue and un-roll my
eyes when I encountered someone born in 1991 who wears a Thundercats T-shirt.
