Final Crisis Post Mortem, Part 6

I've been asked on several occasions what tie-ins I would recommend as essential to the overall Final Crisis story. Other than Superman Beyond and the Batman issues, I don't think there are any others that include any necessary plot information, and in most instances, inconsistencies from the tie-ins to the main series might frustrate those looking for a perfect fit.

Also, when listening to the Comic Geeks Speak podcast on Final Crisis 7 (which was largely negative about the series as a whole), I was struck by a comment made by one of their callers. The caller complained about all the unnecessary or unrelated tie-ins that DC "made" him get. While I think there is legitimate criticism to make of DC thinning the Final Crisis brand, especially on something like Rage of the Red Lanterns, I also think it's odd to say that DC made anyone buy anything. But the expectations set up by the brand caused a lot of readers to reject or dislike otherwise good stories.

But I like Intruder W's comment about Submit in my last post: that Submit is a model for the type of spinoff that could be done from the main story, taking an idea hinted at, or a plot element alluded to, and develop a story around it. And the tie-ins have varying degrees of success when it comes to how well they do this. So, as I discuss the non-Morrison-penned tie-ins, I will be looking at their connection to the main story as well as their overall quality.

Final Crisis: Requiem, written by Peter Tomasi and drawn by Doug Mahnke and Christian Alamy, appeared first, and it fills in what many readers thought was the too-abrupt murder of the Martian Manhunter in Final Crisis 1.
In fact, in Requiem, J'onn puts up a fight that lasts for several pages, giving him a more heroic send-off that many fans thought he deserved.

His fight also includes a psychic attack on all the villains present, with each one imagining his death at the hands of his arch-nemesis--

--with the exception of Talia, who just starts making out with her fantasy Batman (one nitpick: Batman should be shirtless in that panel).

In this sense, Tomasi does a good job expanding on just a couple of scenes in Final Crisis 1, and Requiem develops a clear purpose: the reader has enough information about J'onn J'onzz's death to know what's going on in Final Crisis, but if the reader wants more information, or wants a more heroic exit for the hero, then Requiem is there for that. (Also, Doug Mahnke's art is much cleaner here than it is in Final Crisis 7.)

One problem emerges in this tie-in that will also plague others: the fit with Final Crisis is not perfect. One of the biggest problems that surfaces in these ancillary stories is the status of Hal Jordan and Batman. Both have pretty tight continuities in the main series, and both appear to be doing things that don't fit with those continuities. Batman is especially a problem, becuase of the lack of a clear transition from Batman RIP to Final Crisis. If Batman's supporting cast thinks he's dead, then how is he showing up for the funeral and driving the Batmobile around Gotham? Personally, this doesn't worry me that much, but I can see how it would frustrate some readers who take more pleasure in continuity than in story.


I'd be curious to hear what readers thought of Final Crisis: Resist. I stopped reading Greg Rucka's Checkmate series after the first year, so I was not up on the status quo of that organization when I first read this issue (and when did Snapper Carr get teleportation powers?). I place this story in the space between the last pages of Final Crisis 3, after Oracle has shut down the internet, but before Darkseid's total victory that the Flashes find after they've moved forward in time. I'm sure this one has several continuity problems, like Mr. Terrific's inconsistent location, but none really detract from the overall quality of the story, which is pretty fun. I especially enjoyed the fact that Snapper Carr and Cheetah hooked up. This is exactly the sort of thing I would expect to be happening at the end of the world.

If the first two at least attempted to fill in important or interesting story gaps from the main series, Final Crisis: Secret Files fills in a gap that is neither important nor interesting: the secret origin of the villain Libra. While I'm glad DC gave the job to the character's creator, Len Wein (and I'm glad to see Wein writing again for DC in general), I thought the character worked better as a mystery. The origin story is also fairly mundane, making Libra an abused kid who gets some assistance from Darkseid to become a one-off JLA villain. If anything, this makes the villain less interesting than he is in Final Crisis.

The back of the book contains more of J. G. Jones's sketchbook pages, with further evidence that he and Morrison generated a bunch of crazy ideas that barely made it into the series (including the new Aquaman, who only shows up in two panels).


For the sake of completion, I want to mention DC Universe: Last Will and Testament, by Brad Meltzer and Adam Kubert. Though this comic doesn't come with a Final Crisis label, the story does take place during the Crisis, and the format is basically the same. Because I wasn't present for any of the editorial decisions that went into this series, I hesitate to speculate on why this wasn't specically labelled a tie-in. Perhaps there were early concerns about diluting the brand that were later abandoned. But I do get the sense that, due to the fact that both Meltzer and Kubert are notoriously slow, the creators were given a lot of lead time on this book, and the were, therefore, given only the most cursory information about the plot of Final Crisis. Characters--again, Batman and Green Lantern, but also Superman, Flash, and probably some others I didn't notice--are used in ways that don't agree with the rest of Final Crisis. But, more importantly, the main story about Geo-Force seeking revenge on Deathstroke just isn't that interesting, and it does little to overcome the issue's other flaws. Like Secret Files, this is a forgetable story that also fails as a tie-in to the main series.

Overall, these single-issue tie-ins don't take full advantage of the potential that Final Crisis holds for these ancillary stories. Of the four, only Requiem and Resist deliver on that potential. Although I hesitate to say that DC should have done more tie-ins, there may be some good stories that have yet to be told.

Up next: Rogues' Revenge and Rage of the Red Lanterns.

Final Crisis Post Mortem, Part 5

One tie-in I should have included in the previous post was the Final Crisis Sketchbook, which actually preceded the regular series and reveals just how far the initial plans for the series changed in the final product.

The foreward indicates that Morrison and artist J. G. Jones met in May 2007 to begin initial plans for the series, and from the content of the sketchbook, it looks like they generated a shit-ton of ideas, many of which never made it into the series. For example, they came up with redesigns for the New Gods and Forever People (the latter being completely revamped and updated). Only the designs for Darkseid, Metron, The Black Racer, and Mister Miracle appear in Final Crisis (and the Mister Miracle design was previously used in Seven Soldiers).

The Forever People update is particularly fascinating. As the scan shows, Morrison's idea was to make the new Forever People the 21st century equivalent of what hippies were for the youth of the 60s and early 70s. This makes some sense, as the Forever People have always been the Fourth World concept that aged the worst. However, it would only be a matter of a few years before this concept were to become dated once again. (I do, though, think the updating of Vikin the Black as "Black Viking" is pretty cool.)

The most extensive and detailed concepts in the sketchbook come in the section on Japanese superheroes, and like the Fourth World updates, most of these never made their way into the series.

The Big Science Action team is mentioned in the series, but the description in the sketchbook fleshes out their history and members in great detail. Most of the members--Cosmo Racer, Boss Bosozuko, Hammersuit Zero-X, and Junior Waveman--are fusions of Marvel characters with Japanese pop culture. Jones's art in this section is much less sketchy, looking like Big Science Action got well beyond the idea stage and may have been jettisoned late in the game. Even the Super Young Team, which has a prominent role in Final Crisis, does not look as clearly developed or finalized as a concept. Morrison has created out of whole cloth a history of Japanese superheroes in the DC Universe, and I'd like to see DC run with a Super Young Team series that would capitalize on these ideas.

At the time the sketchbook came out, it was difficult to see how all those ideas were going to work together in one series. And clearly, Morrison is an idea machine, and those ideas may get diluted as they move from that initial stage to the final product. Whatever the case, the sketchbook probably gives us the closest thing to undiluted Morrison as we can get, and it would be interesting to see more of what was generated during these brainstorming sessions.

Final Crisis Post Mortem: Submit and Batman

Superman Beyond 3D is certainly essential to understanding the conclusion of Final Crisis, and that contradicts statements made by Dan DiDio and Grant Morrison that one could follow the main series without reading the tie-ins. In fact, many of the problems with Final Crisis seem to stem from the marketing of the series before its release. It would be nice if, as a result of this series, DC developed more secure marketing plans for its events, which could be sustained without contradiction throughout the event.

I don't want to spend to much time on the marketing of the series, as it really has no bearing on the story itself, and it will ultimately be irrelevant as the series moves in to its future as a collection (the marketing did set expectations for many readers and may have led to some disappointment). I also wonder, though, about the eventual publishing future of this event. The Final Crisis hardcover will not contain Superman Beyond, which I think is a mistake. However, DC is releasing a Final Crisis Companion trade paperback, but I'm not sure what the contents of that will be. At the very least, it should contain the Morrison-penned tie-ins.

Final Crisis: Submit is probably the least essential of the Morrison tie-ins. In terms of plot, it serves the purpose of getting the Tattooed Man to the Hall of Justice in Final Crisis 4, and it places in his hands the sigil that will resist the Anti-Life Equation. The story also plants the seeds for Tattooed Man's conversion from villain to hero.

While the appearance of Tattooed Man at the Hall of Justice in Final Crisis 4 is sudden, it's not the only sudden, unexplained appearance of a character in that scene, or in the series in general. I can't imagine, if I hadn't read Submit, that I would be any more confused by the character's appearance than I would Green Arrow's, The Ray's, or Wally West's family. Hence, the tie-in does not fill in any significant blanks in the series, and there are probably many more significant ones later in the series that could use some elaboration and explanation.

As it is, though, Submit is a satisfyingly straightforward story, and a departure from the more disjointed storytelling technique that Morrison uses in the main series. In fact, the story is fairly basic in its plot: Black Lightning rescues Tattooed Man and his family from the Justifiers before submitting to their control himself. But, as it stands, it is also fairly unremarkable in relation to the rest of the series as well. At the very least, Morrison proves that he can do a plot-driven action story.

Batman 682 and 683 are a different matter. These issues are, for Batman, the equivalents of Superman Beyond. These issues take Batman from his capture in Final Crisis 2 to the point where he could shoot Darkseid with the god bullet in issue 6. In a storytelling style similar to the later issues of Final Crisis, the narrative is disconnected and nonlinear, but the explanation for that becomes apparent at the end of the first issue: Batman is being subjected to a psychic attack as a prisoner of Darkseid's minions, Simyan and Mokkari, after his capture in Final Crisis 2.

In these two issues, Morrison takes us on a Cook's tour of Batman's career, from the goofy Silver Age stories to the grittier modern stories. These two issues present a perfect encapsulation of Batman as envisioned by Morrison. Morrison's Batman, as depicted here and in RIP, can beat any attack because he has prepared for them all, and a psychic attack that might destroy a powered hero will not bring him down. I especially like Morrison's take on the Joker, showing how Batman's arch nemesis can move from comic villain to homicidal maniac yet still consistently remain the same character. If anything, I hope Morrison's work on Batman sets a new status quo for the character whenever he returns after "Battle for the Cowl."

Final Crisis Post Mortem: Superman Beyond 3D

Many critics of Final Crisis have complained--rightfully so--that too much important stuff happens in the two issues of Superman Beyond that should be included in the main series. Essential information about Mandrakk (who only shows up in the main series in the final issue), the origin of the Monitors, and the nature of the multiverse appears in Superman Beyond, and I would also argue that many keys to reading Final Crisis appear here as well, especially since reading itself is such a crucial part of Superman Beyond.

However, the two issues are also tied together through the use of 3D technology--a gimmick I appreciate in spirit if not in practice, as the 3D glasses don't fit around my regular glasses very well, and the 3D effects always come off as distorted for me.



The 3D glasses, or "Overvoid Viewers," themselves are presented as artifacts of the story world and, therefore, provide the most obvious example of Morrison making the reader a part of the story. Like Superman, we get to upgrade to "4D Vision" in order to see the story as he sees it. In fact, the Overvoid Viewers are "forged from Superman's own cosmic armor" that he wears in issue 2. And the 3D effect, when it works, enhances images where Superman reaches through the page and out to the reader.

I like Douglas Wolk's analysis of this page. He reads the caption text about "A sound like breathing" and "The whole continuum...trembles, as if cradled" as a reference to the reader's relationship to the comic: the reader breathes and cradles the comic in his or her hands.

This isn't the first time Morrison has done something like this--he's done it before in Animal Man and The Invisibles in particular. In fact, as both Wolk and Marc Singer (among others) point out, Superman Beyond is heavily self-referential to the point of having an autobiographical subtext (I especially like Wolk's reading of Morrison's "anxiety of influence" over Alan Moore). Morrison "self-quotes" from almost all of his major works here, including Animal Man, The Invisibles, Zenith, and JLA (especially Rock of Ages, World War III, and Earth 2).

This may lead to accusations that Morrison is repeating himself, and I will admit he does crib a lot of the best bits from his JLA run, though I don't hold that run in as high esteem as a lot of Morrison fans. (For one, that's the first of Morrison's works where I got the sense that the final product really missed something in the transition from script to page. It's been a problem in Morrison's career that artists seem to have difficulty bringing his vision to the page. I'm trying to be politic here because, as some commentors have pointed out in earlier posts, that may not be a problem of the artist per se, but rather a failure of communication from the writer to the artist.) I would say, however, that Superman Beyond (and Final Crisis in general) does not represent a mere repetition, and that Morrison does move forward with ideas that have been developing throughout his career. In particular, Superman Beyond presents the clearest articulation of Morrison's idea that the shared universe and continuity of a comic book company is essentially a single story (or a "self-assembing hyper story," to be precise). The infinite book that Superman and Captain Marvel read obviously embodies that concept (and it makes my head hurt just thinking about it. One would assume, if it contains every book possible, that it contains every rumored, aborted, or unpublished story in the DC Universe as well, meaning I could read Alan Moore's "Twilight of the Superheroes" and Rick Veitch's final, censored Swamp Thing story, or Jamie Delano and Neil Gaiman Swamp Thing run that was supposed to follow Veitch's or ....).

As in Final Crisis, Morrison finds moments here that show how he perfectly "gets" a character. And in this exchange, we see both the quintessential Superman and Ultraman: Also, Doug Mahnke really nailed Superman's profile there.

Morrison also makes a strong case here for keeping the Fawcett-style Captain Marvel around, even if he is relegated to Earth-5. Though Superman and Ultraman are meant to form a "symmetry" that, when brought together by Allan Adam (who, as a Dr. Manhattan analogue, represents the logical conclusion of the Superman concept), combine to defeat Mandrakk, Captain Marvel serves as an important complement to Superman as well. Captain Marvel can, after all, read the infinite book, and he intervenes to keep Superman and Ultraman from destroying each other. Captain Marvel is a character who works fine in his original conception, and I don't understand why DC feels the need to keep screwing with his status quo, especially by darkening the character up. But I also think the character works best when kept to his own separate universe, with its own rules, logic, and continuity, and perhaps Morrison is making that possible here.

In rereading Final Crisis for these posts, I've treated Superman Beyond as Final Crisis 3.1 and 3.2. I'm assuming that Legion of 3 Worlds will explain how Superman got from Lois's bedside to the 31st century in FC 6, but the delays in that series leave that particular story connection up in the air. Next, I'll touch on Batman 682 and 683, as well as Final Crisis: Submit and their relation to the overall story.

Final Crisis Post Mortem, Part 3

First of all, I'd like to thank everyone for the support and debate that's been going on in the comment sections. With the debate, I especially welcome the opportunity to defend or, if necessary, revise my thoughts on this series. As long as it all stays civil.

Also, I want to thank everyone who participated in the song meme. That sure turned out to be a thing, didn't it?

By the way, I agree with New York Magazine's Vulture Blog, this one was my favorite. (And while you're there, check out the Registered Weapon web comic--it's hilarious.)

I'd like to point everyone to a couple of articles in Final Crisis that are worth checking out. Steven Grant in his Permanent Damage column at CBR makes some points about the series that dovetail with what I've been saying, though he comes down a bit more ambivalent on the series than I do. I especially like how he separates the (mostly failed) publicity for the series from the story itself.

Also, Andrew Hickey is doing a nice series of posts on Final Crisis, with the effect of kicking me in the ass to get my series done before he makes me redundant. He even does an insightful, extensive analysis of the song that Superman sings to kill Darkseid.

And, finally, Marc Singer provides some essential reading on Final Crisis (though our opinions on the series differ), while also (sadly) bringing his blog to a close. Marc does an amazing job breaking down the various climaxes in the final issue, and he makes a strong case for ignoring the external controversies (shipping delays, editorial statements) when evaluating the story itself. I've admired Marc's blog and his academic writing, and I look forward to his promise of more of the latter in the future.

As I promised, I want to talk about some of my favorite moments in Final Crisis. I'm going to consider just a few here, as I've already gone through some in the previous post.

Other than the death of Batman, one of the most talked about scenes in the series was Mr. Talky Tawny's defeat of Kalibak in issue 6. It was, in fact, a pretty awesome scene. After reading the story as a whole, though, I marvel at it even more. Morrison devotes several pages to Tawny, while giving the new Aquaman only three panels (two shots in issue 3 and one in 7). The Tawny story, though brief, is one of the few complete narratives in the series, going from him offering Freddie Freeman some Tiger Tea to Tawny using the strength of the Tiger Tea against Kalibak, and ending with him becoming leader of the tiger men.

I also really like the trial of Hal Jordan scene in issue 5, with this conclusion that gives a sense of urgency to this turning point in the series: the Guardians have realized their own fallibility, which also proves just how screwed up things are, and they unleash the whole power of the Green Lantern Corps despite the uncertainty of their success. This scene also forms a nicely contained narrative, and it makes me wish that DC had hired Carlos Pacheco to do the whole series. Nothing against J. G. Jones, who did a fine job, but if Pacheco could have done the whole series as well as he did this Green Lantern scene, that consistency could have gone a long way to overcome some of the series' flaws.


While I initially thought this shot was awesome, I'm starting to rethink my first impression after reading Marc Singer's commentary on it. I like the gathering Morrison has set up here--angels, Supermen from all the parallel universes, the Green Lantern Corps, the Super Young Team, and the Zoo Crew--but I agree with Singer that nothing much happens as a result of it. This is, almost literally, the A-to-Z of the DC Universe, symbolizing the range of stories that can be drawn from this universe (though to be really inclusive, it should contain Scooter, Prez, Date with Debbi, Sugar and Spike, and Cap's Hobby Hints, among others). And this really should have been a double-page spread, while the shot of all the Supermen in the previous spread (though awesome in itself) could have been reduced.

Next, I'll start covering the tie-ins, beginning with the Morrison-penned issues.

Final Crisis Post Mortem, Part 2

When I studied James Joyce in graduate school, the professor approached the author's work in a way that stuck with me. He argued that A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and Ulysses teach the reader how to read them. In other words, these novels contain cues within the text itself that help the reader follow these unconventional narrators, and once the reader recognizes these cues, the reading process becomes much less difficult.

While I wouldn't necessarily say that Final Crisis is the superhero comic equivalent of Ulysses, I do think that the text of Final Crisis does cue the reader with some metacommentary that can make this unconventional narrative less challenging.

This metacommentary takes a couple of forms. The first type is fairly straightforward and takes its inspiration from film: the POV shot. This serves the purpose of making the reader a part of the story, like this one from the end of issue 1:

So, at the end of the first issue, we are symbolically left in the story world until the next issue starts with the image that opens this post--yet another direct address to the reader.

We get a similar shot in issue 5, this time from the POV of Darkseid's henchman Symian:The image is complicated by the fact that the hands in the panel are holding what amounts to a comic page, just as our real hands are (unless you read your comics by laying them down flat on a table and use tweezers or a high powered fan to turn the pages in order to avoid having human hands touch them).

The second type is a bit more complicated. Characters in the story occasionally use dialogue that can have a secondary level of meaning beyond its diegetic significance or importance to the story, where it directly addresses the reader with directions or other metatextual information. Often, such scenes occur in panels where a character is looking directly into the "camera" and addressing an ambiguous "you." (This technique features more prominently in Superman Beyond, where the 3D effects work to involve the reader in the story with even more depth. I'll cover this in a later post.)
Metron's lines, "Have no fear. Here is knowledge," lets the reader know that he or she has (or will have) the knowledge necessary to get through this story. That knowledge may come from an understanding of DC Universe continuity, but it's not necessarily so. The series foregrounds storytelling and imagination frequently, especially in the final issue, so our cultural knowledge of stories in general should get us through. Other cues, like Frankenstein quoting Paradise Lost in issue 5, let us know that we have other sources to draw from as well.

These two panels resonate throughout the series, but their importance can best be summed up as such: "What you are about to experience will be a challenge. At times it will be confusing, but you have what you need to get through this." It's knowledge--or, better yet, applying knowledge through imagination--that not only gets the reader through the story, but also allows the superheroes to triumph in the end.

Many of the other direct addresses to the reader come from Darkseid's minions, and their dialogue serves the opposite purpose of Metron's lines. In issue 2, as the possessed Alpha Lantern Kraken takes Batman prisoner, she looks to the "camera" and says, "The life you know is over. Mine now." Such images recur throughout the next two issues as Darkseid's power grows and his possession of Dan Turpin becomes more entrenched, until we get to this image at the end of issue 4:He looks at us and gives us the thumb's down. We are screwed. But we're now also subject to the chaos and destruction that Darkseid creates.

With the reader made a part of the story, the disruption that the world faces with the release of the Anti-Life Equation at the end of issue 3 manifests itself as a disruption of the story's structure and linearity as well. Note at the end of issue 3 how we go from Oracle deleting the internet to the Flashes moving forward in time, past the point where Darkseid has won (note, too, that Barry Allen has already given us a warning of what's to come when he tells "everybody" to "RUN!" at the end of issue 2). We are immersed in the chaos, and we are frequently told that the story is spinning out of control.

Many reviews of the series, even negative ones, point to the fact that the first 3 issues were the best, because that was where the story made sense. And it's at this point that readers split: either you accept these cues, go along with the chaos and destruction, and finally participate in the resolution, or you reject the storytelling shift and refuse to go along (and accept Anti-Life--Just Kidding!).

Reading the series through the lens of this particular interpretation helped me to arrange a coherent story from what seems on the surface to be a disconnected series of events. In fact, that disconnectedness is essential to my understanding and enjoyment of the series. I freely admit, my interpretation came from some good will toward Grant Morrison as a writer based on years of reading and enjoying his comics.

But if this interpretation holds up, then it turns out to be a huge risk. It's not what a lot of readers want from a superhero comic, but because it is a huge, company-wide crossover with promised significance, a lot of readers felt compelled to follow it despite the fact that they would otherwise reject such unconventional storytelling. It would be like if MGM and the Broccolis handed over the next James Bond movie to Guy Maddin--it would definitely change the way we think about James Bond movies, but most moviegoers aren't there for that.

And while this interpretation might help justify some of the apparent "flaws" in the storytelling, it can't make up for some of the practical problems the series faced, like production delays and fill-in artists.

Next: some favorite moments that were just pure, good comics.

Final Crisis Post Mortem Interlude: The Song at the End of the World

In Final Crisis 7, Superman finally kills Darkseid by singing a song into the newly constructed Miracle Machine. Morrison doesn't let the reader know exactly what song Superman sings, but instead leaves it up to the reader to fill in this particular gap.

Here's how I like to think it went down:



What song do you think killed Darkseid?

Updated

Chris Sims presents a good argument that only the unholy sound of Katy Perry could destroy the ultimate evil. If only she would then be encased in inertron to protect the rest of us.

Dorian imagines that Superman would destroy Darkseid with a song about his own existential angst.

Mike Sterling believes that Darkseid could be brought down by the same thing that caused my parents to bang on my bedroom door and scream, "KEEP THAT NOISE DOWN!"

Benjamin Birdie says what everyone already knows: Superman is a big Bikini Kill! fan.

In Kevin Church's world, Superman is singing the Ladyhawke cover.

Dave Campbell helps explain why Darkseid destroyed Indiana first.

Bully also presents a strong case that Michael Parè has something to answer for.

Special thanks to Kevin Church for putting the image and text together and saving me from throwing in a sloppily pasted word balloon and text in ComicSans.

Final Crisis Post Mortem, Part 1

Now that the main Final Crisis series is over, and all the tie-ins but Legion of Three Worlds completed, I thought I'd throw in my take on the event as a whole.

While I enjoyed the main series quite a bit, the tie-ins were a mixed bag, so I'm going to devote the next few posts to assessing those in relation to Final Crisis itself. I would have to say, though, in general, that DC diluted the brand too much by attaching the Final Crisis label to unrelated or inferior product. That's not to say all the tie-ins were bad, but that the better ones were only tangentially related to the main story, while others were disappointing (the exceptions being the Morrison-penned tie-ins).

I've especially been enjoying much of the online conversation that has emerged on Final Crisis. Some criticism, like Benjamin Birdie's reviews at Comic Book Resources and Douglas Wolk's own assessment and his useful annotations on all Final Crisis-related comics, has sent me back to the series with new eyes, illuminating some aspect that I hadn't seen in my original reading.

Like Wolk, I'm also fascinated with the negative reaction to the series, notably the anger that comes out from some bloggers, as well as from commentors on blogs that review the series favorably (all it took was for Chris Sims to say "I loved it" for the hate to start on The ISB).

The angry, negative reaction seems to come from two directions (I'm excluding from these responses negative reviews like Jog's of issue 7, which, while ultimately negative, does present a balanced assessment of the effect of the series' ending on his opinion of earlier issues [though I would say that 29 “deeplys” are a bit excessive in explaining its flawed condition]. I also exclude criticism of the book's uneven schedule and the lack of a consistent artist on the entire series--these are legitimate criticisms, though the former should have no effect on an assessment of the series as a whole.). One, readers found the series dense and confusing. I have to say that, while I don't agree with this assessment, I do have sympathy for it. Part of that sympathy comes from the fact that my area of specialization is British Modernism, and I've watched my own students struggle with the unconventional narrative experiments in Joyce, Woolf, Ford Madox Ford, and others. Morrison has done similar narrative experimentation with Final Crisis, playing, at times, with a nonlinear structure without cueing the reader to the time shifts and intentionally leaving gaps in the narrative that the reader must actively fill in.

But often when I teach Modernist texts, students react with a sense of antagonism, as if the writer is trying to trick the reader and hide meaning in a text that should otherwise be straightforward and transparent. This is similar to the negative response that Final Crisis received, exacerbated by the fact that superhero comics tend to follow pretty standard narrative conventions and present fairly passive reading experiences (though continuity in superhero comics tends to require some level of active reading). Such a sense of antagonism led Final Crisis haters to claim that Morrison was using the series to express his own hatred of superhero comics--an evaluation that proved to be wrong in the end.

However, as a student, what attracted me to Modernism as an area of study was the immense amount of freedom its texts give the reader as a participant in the creation of meaning, and it is this same effect that attracts me to what Morrison is doing in Final Crisis. Heck, he basically tells the reader that he or she has a job to do in the story on the first pages ("Man...Have no fear. Here is knowledge.") and in later appearances of Nix Uotan and Metron. That active role the reader must play in this series is exciting: we become creative forces in the DC Universe through our knowledge of continuity and our interpretations of the text.

The second kind of harsh negative reaction comes from those who seem to have a preset narrative for Final Crisis in mind and react angrily when it doesn't meet their expectations. Or, worse, they believe that they've divined Morrison's and DC editorial's intentions behind the series and are critical when the series hasn't met those goals. They were fed by rumors that editorial exerted a heavy hand on Morrison, forcing rewrites that added to delays in publication and to the readers' confusion.

Such assessments often went so far as to declare the series an artistic and commercial failure even before its completion. Many critics, for example, commented on DC's failure to adequately publicize the death of Batman in issue 6, not taking into consideration the obvious possibility (especially obvious to those familiar with the standard conventions and tropes of comics narratives and cliffhangers) that such publicity wouldn't be necessary if Batman were to be shown alive in the very next issue (in fact, imagine the online fan backlash if DC engaged in a media blitz announcing the death of Batman in issue 6, and, just a few weeks later, the Dark Knight turned up alive in the very next issue). Most notably, former DC employee and current Marvel writer Val D'Orazio referred to the series as a desperate and cynical attempt to establish Marvel-style darkness and seriousness to the DC Universe in an effort to compete with Marvel in sales. She even went so far as to refer to the death of Batman as classless, “sensationalist crap” and "one of the most ugly fucking things [she's] ever seen in [her] life." In other words, she appears to have wanted Final Crisis to be a certain thing—a “Marvelization” of the DC Universe—and she deems the series a failure when it doesn’t meet that particular desire. She also cites, as evidence of the series’ failure, the fact that it was outsold by Marvel’s massive crossover, Secret Invasion. However, as the author of an upcoming miniseries starring niche characters Cloak and Dagger should know, sales are never a determiner of quality.

Such reactions, however, fail to take the long view or to consider the fact that the series wasn't over yet. As both Benjamin Birdie and Rachelle Goguen, among others, have pointed out, the final message of the series is optimistic, but Morrison had to take the DC Universe, and the readers, through the deepest pit of despair--a threat to which they had lost before they even knew a threat was there--in order to make that optimism even more triumphant.

Serial narratives like superhero comics present an obstacle to criticism, as reviewers often find themselves in the position of evaluating only part of a story when they choose to focus on individual issues. Such critics may have to give the creators some benefit of the doubt regarding the overall plan for the series, or they have to hold out hope that their predictions and negative assessment bear out for the remainder of the series. And with Final Crisis, apparent flaws in the narrative turn out to be part of the overall design that is only apparent with the final issue, especially the disjointed nature of the narrative, which, in the end, is acknowledged by characters in the narrative (in issue 6, Nix Uotan announces to Metron that he "can't coordinate" all the events happening simultaneously, as if the narrative has taken on a life and momentum of its own).

Jog makes a fair point in his review: "Final Crisis, in contrast, has functioned primarily as oscillating series of thematic prompts that sort of look like a story when you stand back and watch them all swinging in a web of trails, but don't particularly connect as one when examined closer." I think it's easy to see Final Crisis as a disconnected series of events that don't really cohere. (Even the more negative critics agree that there are some awesome individual moments in the series.) However, this view is only true if you expect the passive reading experience of a narrative that lays out the connections for you. This is not necessarily a bad expectation--most Western forms of entertainment train us for a passive viewing or reading experience. But another valid view allows for the reader to make the connections him- or herself--to fill in the gaps with the story that Morrison trusts us to make--and to participate in its creation.


Readers of superhero comics have always benefited from a strong participatory role. Part of the appeal of DC and Marvel comics for many readers is the opportunity to engage in the history and continuity of these shared universes. When I started reading comics in the early 70s (about the time I started reading, period), one of my favorite series was Superboy and the Legion of Super-Heroes. My first exposure to the series had me hooked, and I wanted to learn more about these characters' histories: how they joined the team, who died, who got married, etc. Over the years, I would feel smart when I got a reference to an earlier story or recognized an obscure character.

With Final Crisis, Morrison has kicked that participatory tradition up to another level, proving, like Mister Miracle's letter from the New God's alphabet, that comics can be a medium "free from restrictions," much in the way artists from other media did throughout the 20th century. It’s also the ne plus ultra of Scott McCloud’s concept of “closure” that he describes in Understand Comics, where the gap in the gutter between comic panels is filled in by the reader, who is trained by the narrative form to make certain decisions regarding that transition from panel to panel. Closure, for McCloud, is what separates comics from other artforms, and Morrison is combining that concept with the reader’s knowledge of DC Universe continuity to create a new kind of closure.

Perhaps some debate could be had as to the wisdom of using a company-wide event as a vehicle for narrative experimentation. But I would reserve that debate for those who have better knowledge of the business side of the industry. I, for one, was glad DC put out a series that challenged me and inspired an intellectual conversation about it.

In the next post, I'll discuss some of my favorite moments in the series, and then in later posts, I'll move on to the individual tie-ins.

John Updike, RIP

As an undergraduate, I had the good fortune to meet John Updike when he came to my school for a weekend. The English department had a budget of about $6,000 for its writers series, and that money was usually doled out over the course of the year to 5 or 6 writers from the area. My junior year, however, the department decided to blow the whole wad on one writer, and they managed to get Updike.

The department also decided to pick out two English majors who would get to go out to dinner with the author and have some other personal time with him. Because I was a pretty good student, and I cleaned up nice, I was one of the chosen two.

Other than a few short stories, essays, and reviews, however, I had not read much Updike. I managed to find some cheap paperbacks at a used bookstore, and I read what I could in the weeks before his arrival.
>
Which turned out not to be much. I read some of The Centaur, all of the memoir Self-Consciousness, more short stories, whatever were his most recent things in The New Yorker, and possibly a few chapters of some other novels.

In preparation for the visit, the English department held a discussion of Updike's work. There was, amongst the faculty, a lot of ambivalence about Updike's fiction, just as there seems to be in the obituaries that have come out today, and for similar reasons: gender, sex, class, etc. The discussion included readings of selected passages from his work, one of which was a sex scene that, in typical Updike fashion, was both unerotic and excessively, almost medically, detailed. (I wish I could remember the source of the passage. It may have been from The Centaur or from Couples.) After hearing the passage, an older gentleman in the audience burst out, "I've had sex many times with many women, and it has never, ever been like that." Though I would never have quite the same basis for comparison, I would recall this reaction every time I came across a sex scene in an Updike novel.

When Updike arrived in town, I was taken, with some faculty, administrators, and the other English major, to dinner with the author. Updike turned out to be unintimidating and personable, focusing a lot of his attention on the two students in the room. I have a picture, which is framed on my office wall, of this dinner: me in a suit that I bought while working at Sears, a huge smile on my face, sitting next to the author. As I remember, I managed not to embarrass myself very much, though I did try to draw too much of a connection between him and me by referencing the fact that both of us had fathers who were teachers.

The next day, I brought my stack of cheap paperbacks for him to sign. He referred to me by name and said, "You really haven't read all these, have you?" I just laughed and didn't give an answer. (Now, in going through my home office looking for my Updike books, I could only find two signed paperbacks. I know I had to have more than that at the time, but I have no idea what happened to the others.)

I also got to spend more time with him before his reading, where I was told by a woman who may have been his agent that I shouldn't bring up The Witches of Eastwick movie with the author. "He's not happy with it?" I asked, and she just shook her head. "Don't bring up Hollywood at all," she added. (And now, it turns out, one of his last works, if not his last, is a sequel to that book.) I was surprised by this directive, as Updike did not seem to be the kind of high-maintenance author who needed such protection, but maybe it was just one of those things that agents do for their clients.

This was my first experience meeting a "big-time author," and it had a profound effect on me, especially since Updike turned out to be such a nice guy. I would later read much more of Updike's work, and for about ten years, I kept up with all his new releases as well. I read Rabbit, Run in my early twenties, which seems now to have been the perfect time for a young white guy to read it (much like reading Catcher in the Rye at 15 or 16). The last novel of his that I really liked, however, was Memories of the Ford Administration, a book that has passages that I remember well and still marvel at their style. One passage in particular I often find myself thinking about and laughing:

Sex still had a good name during the Ford Administration. Betty Ford had been a footloose dancer for Martha Graham and announced at the outset of the administration that she and Gerald intended to keep sleeping in the same bed.... In those years, one-night stands, bathhouses, sex shops abounded. Venereal disease was an easily erased mistake. Syphilis, the clap--no problem. Crabs, the rather cute plague of Sixties crash pads, had moved on as urban rents went up, and herpes' welts and blisters had yet to inflict their intimate sting. The paradise of the flesh was at hand. What had been unthinkable under Eisenhower and racy under Kennedy had become, under Ford, almost compulsory. Except that people were going crazy, as they had in ancient Rome, either from too much sex or from lead in the plumbing. Ford, a former hunk, got to wome in a way Nixon hadn't. Twice, I seem to remember, within a few weeks' time, a female went after him with a gun: Squeaky Fromme was too spaced to pull the trigger, and Sara Jane Moore missed at close range.

For one, I love how this passage encapsulates a nostalgia for an era that otherwise seems so unmemorable. And this, for me, is the thing that Updike did best: fix his eye on a particular time in American culture and articulate a perfect description of it. I think the Rabbit books do this especially well.

I haven't read Updike in years, with the exception of my annual re-reading of his short story, "A&P," which I teach every year in Freshman Comp. I should probably pick up some of the books I never finished as an undergrad. I noticed that my bookmark is still in my copy of The Centaur--I was using a ticket from a breakfast with the author to mark my page.

In his hilarious and insightful account of his literary admiration for Updike, titled U and I, Nicholson Baker begins by discussing the recent death of Donald Barthelme, and he goes on to write about the way in which a reader's attitude changes after a writer's death:

That phrase which reviewers take such pains to include when delivering their judgments--when they say that among living writers so-and-so is or isn't of the first rank--had once seemed to me unnecessary: the writing, I had thought, was good or bad, no matter whether the writer was here or not. But now, after the news of Barthelme's death, this simple fact of presence or absence, which I had begin to recognize in a small way already, now became the single most important supplemental piece of information I felt I could know about a writer....The intellectual surface we offer to the dead has undergone a subtle change of texture and chemistry; a thousand particulars of delight and fellow-feeling and forbearance begin reformulating themselves the moment they cross the bar.... Posthumously their motives become ludicrously simple, their delights primitive and unvarying: all their emotions wear stage makeup, and we almost never flip their books across the room out of impatience with something they've said. We can't really understand them anymore. Readers of the living are always, whether they know it or not, to some degree seeing the work through the living writer's own eyes; feeling for him when he flubs, folding into their reactions to his early work constant subauditional speculations as to whether the writer himself would at this moment wince or nod with approval at some passage in it. But the dead can't suffer embarrassment by some admission or mistake they have made. We sense their imperviousness and adjust our sympathies accordingly.

I find this assessment particularly appropriate of Updike because he was so prolific and continued to write up until his death. And his work was such a mixed bag. One could read a new Updike novel with the hope that it was a return to form because there had been so many returns over the last 50 years or so. Now, one can go to the obituaries and figure out exactly which works to read and which to avoid, but the hope that the next one might be the best is no longer there.

Grammar Survey

Just a quick note here asking for your help by participating in a survey about grammar errors. The survey, which was developed by two university professors, can be found at this link.

As the researchers conducting the survey write:

"We would like to invite you to take part in an online survey to share your opinions about grammatical errors in Standard Written English as they might appear in business or professional correspondence. Your survey response will help us to assess current perceptions about language usage in professional contexts."

If you have about 15 minutes to spare, please help with this important research project.

Thanks!

Lordy Lordy

So, yesterday was my 40th birthday. The Other Dr. K conspired with Chris Sims to throw an awesome surprise party on Friday. A BATMAN-themed party, I should add (the awesomeness of which was only slightly diminished by the fact that Batman is now dead and never coming back).


The guests at the party were primarily friends from work, and I don't think all of them were quite aware of my "scholarly interest" in Batman before this event. And I wonder what kind of looks the Other Dr. K got when she picked out the Batman balloons along with the "40" balloons.

Chris Sims gave me a buttload of DC Showcase Presents and Marvel Essentials editions, probably enough to last me until next year.


A colleague gave me a Sterling Cooper Advertising coffee mug. I don't think my facial expression in this picture quite captures my real excitement, because this gift puts me just one step closer to my goal of having an office as awesome as Don Draper's. Now all I need is the art deco furniture, a full bar, and some ashtrays.

Speaking of Mad Men, another gift I got which would fit that milieu was this:


Playboy's Host and Bar Book from 1971. The book is everything you'd expect from the time period, including a a Cold War-theme running through the section on vodka drinks. (The "Kremlin Colonel" includes vodka, lime juice, sugar, and mint.) However, I was surprised that the chapter on "15 Types of Parties" did not include an entry on "Key Parties." Perhaps Playboy was reserving that for its own special book.

I was also surprised by the large number of drinks with a raw egg in the ingredients, including a whole section of "flips," which are defined by the inclusion of a raw egg.

This book is definitely going to require further study.

Anyway, thanks to everyone who helped make the birthday special, and also to those who sent birthday wishes through Twitter and email. Now I'm going to mix up a Kremlin Colonel while playing with another gift, the Quantum of Solace game for the Wii.

More on the LCS

Yesterday's post on my attempt to get the Obama/Spider-Man comic at the LCS has generated a lot of attention, including links from prominent comics bloggers like Mike Sterling, Kevin Church, and Tom Spurgeon. It's also started to make the rounds of some comics news sites.

Many of the comments--which I appreciate, by the way--have talked about further steps that might be taken with this situation. And, as a kind of collective response, I'd like to address them by giving some background about my experiences with this store in general.

When I first moved to the area eight years ago, I opened up the local phone book to see if I could find a nearby comic shop in this small city. After looking for the various Yellow Pages categories--Comics, Collectibles, Hobbies, Toys and Games--I couldn't find anything that resembled a comic shop. I even asked at the chain bookstores in the mall, and no one knew if the city had one.

I spent some time during those first weeks here driving around and exploring the city. One day, I drove past a store that did have the word "Comics" in its name. However, the store windows were covered with old and faded posters, and where I could see through, the place looked dark inside. The paint on the logo and mural outside the building was peeling, and tall weeds grew out of cracks in the sidewalk leading up to the door. I wasn't hopeful.

However, I pulled on the handle, and the door opened. Inside, behind the counter of statues and busts, was the same clerk I discussed yesterday. Displayed prominently behind the counter were autographed pictures of Rush Limbaugh and Southern morning show stars John Boy and Billy. The back wall was lined with higher-priced Marvels, and the middle of the sales floor was an island of back issue bins. New comics were arranged by Marvels and DCs in the opposite wall.

I asked the clerk if I could start up a sub. He said, "Sure," and took out a piece of paper to write down what I wanted. First, I had some questions to ask about their policies. For one, the store had the policy that if you subscribed to a particular title, they would also automatically order the annual and any related miniseries, crossovers or spinoffs. So I asked,

"I want to order Justice League, but I don't usually get the related miniseries and spin-offs unless I really want them. Can I just subscribe to the main JLA series without also automatically getting the other stuff?"

While this was certainly possible, the clerk also made clear that this was not the normal policy, and his demeanor indicated that I was perilously close to maximizing the amount of work he was going to do to get my business.

So, I put together a minimal list with some specific instructions like the above for keeping stuff I didn't want out of my pull box (Like "Batman--main title only"). He then explained that he would see what he could do about my special requests. It became clear to me that the store may have had exactly as many regular customers as it needed or wanted, and they especially didn't need or want a high maintenance customer like myself.

I then grabbed some stuff off the rack to buy. I paid cash, and the clerk recorded the transaction by hand on a 3x5 notecard.

Over the next few years, the store reinforced my earlier impression that they weren't really interested in gaining any new customers. After all, a Yellow Pages ad seems like a no-brainer for any retail business, but the store steadfastly avoided even that basic marketing strategy. On one occasion, I listened to the same clerk and his buddy loudly describe wrestler Chris Benoit's murder of his wife and son, oblivious to the father who was quickly hustling his own son and daughter out the door.

The few times I was in there when the owner was running the place, he would have conservative talk radio on. This didn't bother me personally, though I would have preferred something a little more neutral--something that didn't feel like he was ignoring the fact that many customers might not want to listen to this. It now seems ironic, in retrospect, that the clerk would have such a strong negative reaction to the presence of an image of someone who represents a different political view in the store. (To be fair, though, the times I have engaged the owner in political discussions have been pleasant and respectful.)

There are other stories I could tell, like the Free Comic Book Day where the owner gave away random issues of Mark Millar's Trouble miniseries--a decision that was a mistake on many levels. In general, though, the store is a dinosaur--a throwback to the heyday of the 90s where the sheer popularity of comics as investments made it easy for stores like this to get by on bad business practices and terrible customer service. This store continues in that mode primarily because it is the only comic store in a 75-mile radius and really has no reason to change.

So, I say all this to give something of a picture of my experience with the store, and as a response to those commenters who mentioned contacting the owner about the clerk's tirade. Basically, I don't think it would change much. The store is what it is--an unpleasant stereotype of the bad reputation comic stores get--and it seems to get by on a base of loyal, regular customers. It's open for a few hours in the afternoons on Wednesdays thru Sundays, giving those customers just enough time to get in and get their subs. The reality is this: the owner is free to run the store any way he wants, and to attract, discourage, or keep customers using whatever method he sees fit. I've long since stopped shopping there regularly, only going there on occasions like yesterday, when something particularly special or noteworthy comes out. The meager few dollars I spent there on such occasions will be no great loss, but refusing to give them even that is the most reasonable response to the experience I had yesterday.

Brand New Day

So, I went to my Local Comic Shop to see if I could get a copy of the Spider-Man/Barack Obama comic.

I get to the store at about 1:05. The store is supposed to open at 1:00, but it's dark inside and the door is locked. About half a dozen cars are in the parking lot waiting for the place to open.

The guy finally shows up about 10 minutes later and opens the door. Most of the people coming in are not regular customers, but are there for the Obama comic. For the next ten minutes, a steady stream of customers comes in asking specifically for the comic. The store has about 35 copies of the regular issue and 3 copies of the Obama cover, which have been marked up to $25.00.

Of course, customers are confused. They want the Obama cover, which they've seen on the news with a price of $3.99. The clerk tries to explain the concept of variant covers, but this doesn't seem to make sense to nonregular customers. After all, they wouldn't expect to walk into Best Buy to purchase a Wii for the regular price of $250, only to find that the store is charging $1000 because it is a rare item.

A little bit later, the clerk gets a phone call from an irate customer whose daughter came in to buy the Obama cover but refused to pay the jacked up price. He again tries to explain the concept of variant covers, but it becomes clear that even he doesn't understand how the ordering worked on this variant, because he seems to think that it's a one-for-ten variant, rather than the more complicated situation it actually was. He gives the customer the phone number of the store owner and hangs up.

This turned out to be the tipping point that had been building for the last 15 minutes.

The clerk lets off a tirade for any of the six or seven customers currently in the store. "Don't complain to me about the price--I didn't set it. I'd just as soon give the fucking thing away so I don't have to look at it for the rest of the day. I'd rather wipe my ass with it than sell it. And I'm going to have to deal with this shit all day."

A couple of people in the store respond about the demand for the book and the news coverage, which is the first the clerk has heard of it. The fact that he was not aware of the media attention this book was getting says volumes. And this just gets him going more:

"You know, I do want things to get better, but a big part of me hopes that it gets worse and this guy really fucks this country up. Because then all the people with their DVDs and magazine covers and shit will shut the fuck up. Because I'm sick of hearing this shit. I really hope he fucks this country up even more. And Joe Quesada has probably been whoring himself out on television rather than doing his job. He should get back to telling stories rather than this propaganda cashing in on this shit. I'm just fucking sick of it."

A customer then walks up to the counter to make his purchase and engages the clerk in further conversation. The clerk then mutters, at a lower volume than his tirade, a completely despicable racial epithet. I set down my comic and left. I won't be supporting this store anymore.

And I'd rather be out this particular comic than give that store any of my money.

Patrick McGoohan, RIP

Sad news today that Patrick McGoohan, star and creator of the greatest television show in history, died today. More on this later.

The Many "O" Faces of Superman

From the DC Vault, art by Curt Swan.

True Fact: The first image in row two inspired Soulja Boy's "Crank That."

Oh Bondage Up Yours!

The DC Vault, by Marty Pasko, is filled with some amazing culled from the DC archives, even moreso than what we find in the Marvel Vault, which came out the previous year. This may be due to the fact that DC has a much longer and well-recorded history.

One of the true gems is the following 1943 letter from All-American Comics president M. C. Gaines (father of EC and Mad founder William Gaines) to "Doc" William Moulton Marston, creator of Wonder Woman:

(Apologies for the crooked scan--the DC Vault doesn't fit on my scanner too well.)

Anyone who's read Golden Age Wonder Woman stories knows of Marston's notorious bondage fetish. Here's an example that may very well have been the tipping point for the reader who sent in the complaint discussed in Gaines's letter:
Wonder Woman, in a gimp mask, chained up and dumped in a water tank. (From Wonder Woman 6, Fall 1943)

This letter is fascinating on several levels, especially the sequence of events that must have led to this letter. First, Gaines and Marston apparently had several conversations about the preponderance of bondage in Wonder Woman comics. The problem, however, is not bondage in general, but the excessive use of chains. A recent conference between Gaines and Marston has set a goal for chain-bondage reduction by 50-75%. Gaines seems to assume that Wonder Woman fans will be satisfied with other forms of bondage and don't necessarily need it to be chain-specific.

So, Gaines has Miss Roubicek, who I assume is his secretary, put together a list of acceptable "methods which can be used to keep women confined or enclosed without the use of chains." It's a shame that Pasko doesn't include that enclosed list of methods, but I imagine the scene playing out something like this:

Gaines (wearing suspenders and an open-collared shirt with tie undone, while holding a lit cigar, calls from his office): Miss Roubicek! I need you to take something down!

Miss Roubicek (putting down her red nail polish and quickly grabbing a No. 2 pencil and yellow legal pad): Right away, Mr. Gaines!

Gaines: Miss Roubicek, I need you to help me with something--how can I confine or otherwise enclose a woman without the use of chains?

Miss Roubicek: Well, gee, Mr. Gaines, I don't think I'm that kinda...

Gaines: C'mon Ruby! Don't kid a kidder, sweetheart. Bondage--no chains! Go!

Miss Roubicek (chewing her gum thoughtfully): Well. let's see...there's rope...

Gaines: Natch! I need more creativity, chop chop! (Claps)

Miss Roubicek (more quickly): ...silk scarves, rubber bands, other forms of elastic material, leather straps, stocks, a mink stole, the plastic tubing hospitals use to administer intravenous fluid, ivy (but not the poisoned kind), a garden hose, the cord from venetian blinds, the belt from a terry cloth bathrobe...

Gaines: Yeah, yeah, yeah--that's the stuff!

Miss Roubicek: How 'bout handcuffs? Do those count?

Gaines: Y'know what? I think I'm going to have to count that as chains. But we've got a good start here. Now take a letter for that perv Doc Marston...

Man, those were the days!

More Fun with Blackhawk

The recent Showcase Presents: Blackhawk collection features a disclaimer at the end of the table of contents: "The comics reprinted in this volume were produced in a time when racism played a larger role in society and popular culture, both consciously and unconsciously. They are reprinted here without alteration for historical accuracy."

However, one doesn't have to go far into the book to question why, of the many offenses on exhibit here, racism in particular was singled out. A better disclaimer would be something like, "Look. These comics are old. There may be a lot wrong with the world today, but after reading this, you will have to admit that some progress has been made in the last 50 years. Racism, sexism, and cultural insensitivity in general are not nearly as rampant as they once were. And the next time you see Tom Brokaw, hit him over the head with this book and let him know that this is what his so-called 'Greatest Generation' produced."


In this issue, Blackhawk ill-advisedly responds to an email titled, "Gain Inches the Easy Way!"

A case in point, from Blackhawk 110: "The Mystery of Tigress Island," in which the Blackhawks take on their distaff doppelgangers, The Tigresses!



Like the Blackhawks, the Tigresses are a team of international aviators (aviatrixes?) with a multicultural make-up. Led by an American named Joan, the team also includes Frenchwoman Yvette, Norwegian Ilse, and Spanish-speaking Rita--


--whose Spanish really sucks. Or is it meant to be ironic that she fails at gender agreement?

The Tigresses lure the Blackhawks to their island hideaway--which is identical to Blackhawk Island--with the offer to help capture the wanted criminal mastermind, Kurt Ostrec. The Blackhawks, however, do not want any help with this dangerous criminal. Whatever it is that the Blackhawks do, it's too difficult for women, as Blackhawk explains in every other panel, including this one where Joan introduces the rest of the team.


The Blackhawks underestimate the Tigresses and fall prey to their cunning honey trap:
Fortunately, two of the seven Blackhawks are able to spout their culturally stereotypical catchphrases while falling into the pit.

With the Blackhawks trapped, Joan and the Tigresses send a message to Kurt Ostrec, informing him of their success. Ostrec arrives on Tigress Island thinking that he now has the amazing opportunity to do away with his foes once and for all, but he quickly realizes that something else is afoot.

It turns out, the Tigresses' real target was Ostrec himself, but their plan to kill the villain is stopped by the timely escape of the Blackhawks. After Ostrec has been captured, Joan explains their motives: all the Tigresses are widows of men killed by Ostrec.
Hey, Joan, try varying your sentence structure once in a while.

As the Blackhawks take Ostrec into custody, the Tigresses--and the reader--learn a valuable lesson about essentialized gender roles in relation to crime fighting. And it's one of the many valuable lessons readers can find in the pages of Blackhawk!