English Paper about Comic Books

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.