My Name is Wally West. I'm the Flash. The Fastest Man Alive.

Last Friday, Brian Cunningham, the editor of the DCnU Flash book posted the following on The Source blog:

"The Flash is a single man. He’s a bachelor who has never been married."

This is the most major change in the Flash history that I've heard about so far. And it explained to me just HOW the folks at DC intended to disappear my favorite of the five Flashes that have existed in continuity since the late 1980s/early 1990s. That favorite is Wally West.

Barry Allen, the Silver Age Flash who will be the focus of this rebooted book, used to be married to crusading reporter and time traveler Iris Allen. Iris West-Allen, to be exact -- aka, Wally West's aunt, and the person who ushered Wally into his first meeting with the Flash, and so is in some part responsible for his receiving the power of super-speed in the first place, which led to him becoming The Flash in the last place.

(Actually, technically, Barry's the one who ensured Wally was standing next to a weird batch of chemicals that fell all over Wally when he got hit by lightning and gave him super-speed, but that's such a ridiculous origin, I don't really want to go into it.)

By making Iris a supporting player in Barry's book (now she's a crusading blogger, so she's hip with the times), the DC editors are essentially making sure Wally and Barry never meet. This is about the cleverest way I can think of for DC to resolve having no more than one Flash running at top-speed at one time (apparently having five million Batmans is okay, but having two Flashes crowds the buyers' market.).

This change reminds me what a family-based book Wally's Flash has always been. The emphasis has always been on a legacy of heroes growing up underneath each others' wings. But also, almost every Flash is related to one another: uncle, nephew, grandson, son and daughter, etc. What makes The Flash a strong hero is his family and friends, and seeing Barry without his wife will give a whole new slant to a legacy book that's been running on family fumes for the last twenty years or more. Certainly it will mean the emphasis will be on a loner and not a paragon of a family man.

Brian Cunningham continues his thoughts on this change by saying:

"... I make no apologies for opening up a traditional storytelling avenue with our hero’s romantic life, something that’s been shut closed for a very long time now. This is no indictment of marriage. I’m a married man and wouldn’t trade it for anything. But in the realm of fiction, I feel strongly that this change to Barry opens up fresh, new creative directions and exciting new storylines."

He further points out that Barry's romantic life needs to be freshened up for 2011. This reasoning reminds me of what's going on with Superman's love triangle with Lois Lane. Like Lois, Barry will start his book with a new significant other. And my feelings about this change and DC's general attitude toward marriage and divorce can be found in other blog posts.

What really makes me sad about downsizing Iris is that it effectively takes Wally West out of the picture (as well as makes Iris a girl Friday, instead of an agent in her own story). My favorite Flash grew from being an inexperienced, scared, often whiny blowhard after Barry's death, to the most creative, honest and human hero I can think of. As a reader, I was able to relate to his ego and fears as well as his desire to make good on the legacy laid before him by a fallen comrade.

All these factors contributed to many fans hating him when he first debuted in Flash #1 waaaay back in 1987, but I've always found him fascinating. Because he had personality flaws to work on, because he had doubts but squelched them to do what was right, because he made mistakes and tried desperately to correct them. Because he struggled to become the kind of adult his Uncle Barry would be proud of. Who hasn't had these types of growing pains?

And watching a character grow to fulfill the promise that lay inside them all along ... well, I can't think of a more satisfying or American journey. And I'm sad I won't be seeing Wally grow into old age with his wife and kids. But in honor of his memory, I'm posting a list of my all-time favorite Wally West moments, from the twenty-four years of his run as a character. Because I'll still have those stories, even though he's been taken out of the DC Universe (for now, maybe forever). And I think you ought to share in the memories, too. They're fun, they're heartfelt and they show what comics writers can do when they allow their heroes to touch the ground and build a life, as well as run around and be rad.

BEST WALLY WEST MOMENTS

From Flash #1:

The first ever Wally Flash comic took the titular hero in a whole new direction. After Barry's death, Wally moves to New York City and takes up the mantle of The Flash (having been known as Kid Flash for years). Celebrating his twentieth birthday with the Teen Titans takes up the majority of the first part of this issue, but things really get going when Wally's engaged with the task of running a heart across the country in order for doctors to complete a transplant on time. He does the job with gusto, then demands health insurance in exchange for his good deed, claiming Barry died a pauper and it's only right he find a way to protect himself, however selfish he looks. Jaws drop and he skulks away towards a flight home, paid for by the hospital.

So already we have an unlikeable protagonist, a man who is expected not to cover his own back because he wears a costume. Wally callously ignores the looks he gets at the hospital, but the impact of these judgements (and a run-in with immortal villain Vandal Savage) haven't gone away. Which leads me to "Favorite Moments 1 and 2!"

1) Wally's describing Barry's debts via narration as he runs to the plane. Wally reminds himself that Barry taught him he had to treat his powers as a precious gift, but that he died with no money and left the Justice League to pay for his funeral. "He left me his costumes," Wally points out. "And a picture of what a hero should be." It's the emptiness of both those items, costumes and a picture, that drew me to Wally immediately upon meeting him. How hard it is to know what the right action is when all you have are totems and not the actual man to guide you. In moments like this, Wally's immaturity belies his loss and self-doubt.

2) Now comfortably ensconced on the plane, Wally looks up from the crossword he's completing to see terrorists attempting to take over the flight. "I don't think about it," his narration states. "I can't think about it," referring to both his previous Barry wallowing and the guy having a heart seizure in the seat next to him. He zips out of his seat and lunges at a man with a gun.

"Speed, properly focused, becomes power," he claims as he punches the guy once. Then he punches the guy twenty-five more times at super-speed, feels his knuckles break, and hits him twelve more times. Geez, Wally, subdue that dude much? Here we see Wally for what he is -- a man so burdened by the loss of his uncle, that fear drives him to be callous and angry, in the guise of protecting himself and others. It's a trait we see develop in his actions and relationships over the course of premiere writer Mike Baron's run, and it marks this guy as a hero to both dislike and pity. Control is key, Wally thinks he has it, but he couldn't be more wrong about that as he sleeps with another man's wife, gets hopped up on Velocity 9, a speed drug, and has to learn how to live with his overbearing, insufferable mother.

From Flash #19:

After a year or so of stories, Mike Baron made way as writer of The Flash, and William Messner-Loebs joined the title. He stayed on the book for four years and was an extremely popular scribe. He went a long way towards turning Baron's grittier, jerkier version of Wally into the heroic Flash he's considered today. Along the way, he had Flash tackle the issue of AIDS, homelessness and the wealth gap in 1980s America. For me, this stuff wasn't always a good fit, but lightening Wally up from his grief led to his gaining a solid support cast of scientists, villains, girlfriends, and a guy who had a black hole inside him. The goofier moments and gentler, more amiable tone of Wally makes this run a fun read, and nothing exemplifies that more than Flash #19, in which he crashes a party thrown by Barry's old Rogues Gallery with his sometime-lady, hot but dumb model Connie.

3) Looking for a way to impress her with NYC nightlife, Wally ushers Connie into a party of low lives and half-reformed psychopaths, with such ridiculous names as Captain Cold, Mirror Master and Rainbow Raider (who's colorblind but throws color at you, I guess?). As the party reaches its paranoid climax, Rainbow Raider and Weather Wizard get into a skirmish over a body mike he's wearing to sell their story to the National Snoop.

The result of this betrayal? A rainstorm inside the posh hotel where the event's taking place! In a hilarious set of panels, the Wizard runs from the room and everyone gets drenched. Captain Cold asks Wally what he's going to do about it, and Wally asks what he should catch the man for, "Raining without a permit?" Besides, he points out, no one really wants the Wizard to come back. With that, the party returns to normal, and the hobnobbing continues.

That Wally has good priorities when it comes right down to it. I wouldn't leave the party, either.

From Flash 34:

4) While being held by super-slow villain The Turtle, Wally is forced into a deprivation chamber where he hallucinates his worst fears, chief of which is disappointing Barry. Beaten down by his mentor's insults and judgements about his performance as The Flash, Wally finally retaliates, unleashing the thinly veiled resentment he's had for the man since issue 1. He lunges at Barry, both sporting Flash costumes. "You pretended to love me," he screams as they wrestle with one another. "Then you left! You died! You betrayed me! I'm a monster, but so are you!" He begins to choke Barry. "I'll kill you!"

Up till now, Wally has never expressed his extreme sense of betrayal as the result of Barry's noble sacrifice (he basically saved the entire universe in 1985, dying in the process). Messner-Loebs had lightened up Wally's anguish considerably by this point, but here we see it scream to the forefront during an Oedpial explosion that leads to Wally pwning Barry, killing him, claiming his rightful place as The Flash and realizing nothing he's being seeing or doing is real, all in the space of two pages. Barry's often a peaceful guide to Wally in later issues, but it's here, in Wally's struggle to best his mentor, that we see how deeply ambivalent Wally can feel about the shadow of expectations and grief that lay over him. Only by confronting these feelings can he become a true hero to others, something Mark Waid picks up in his run on the title. But I'll get to that in a bit.

From Flash #54:

5) Nobody Dies: This might be the craziest "done-in-one" story in Flash history. At this point in Messner-Loebs' run, Wally is working for the federal government to catch baddies who ran out on paying their taxes. In this issue, Wally impressively saves someone from falling out a window first, and then when the plane he's aboard later is sabotaged, he realizes that the escaped air pressure has sucked the stewardess he'd had a lovely chat with out into the open air.

What can he do? He's not Superman, but he had a nice conversation with this lady, and he wants to do what he can.

SO HE JUMPS OUT OF THE PLANE.

Just to sum up, Flash can't fly. At all. And in a priceless splash page, you see his tiny frame rocket out of the damaged plane, and his narration opines, "This is so stupid."

Miraculously, he finds the stewardess, she feeds him some peanuts to help his super-metabolism and he's magically able to motor them down to the ground by winding his legs around a lot. (I think?) It all sounds ridiculously dumb when I type it. But on the page, it is chock-a-block with the tension of someone attempting the impossible and succeeding.

Because that's what The Flash does. And this is the first time Wally realizes that. It's why the audacious plane splash page is moment number five.

From Flash #72:

And now we come to the Mark Waid era of The Flash. Waid has said that he IS Wally, and it'd be a hard thing to argue. He took this character from the ridiculous/hard-hitting stories previous writers had involved him with, and made the character's journey into adulthood and hero-dom somehow achingly personal. No one has the speed this man has, but Waid's use of the Flash mantle as an allegory for the quest each man and woman goes through in order to fulfill their amazing potential -- well, that gets at what the heart of Wally West is to me, and justifies why comics are our modern mythology. But I digress.

7) Waid is a romantic at heart, and he pairs Wally with epic love Linda Park in issue 72. He and this TV news reporter had a love/hate relationship when Messner-Loebs first introduced her, but Waid takes their attraction to new levels early in his run, by having Linda ask for once and all if she and Wally are more than friends. She's leaving for Midway City for a new job, and if he wants to keep her in Keystone (where he's relocated to pal around with the first Flash, Jay Garrick), he needs to make a move.

After almost being encased in gold, he does. Once he's defeated Dr. Alchemy, he races her train to keep her close to him. In a series of amazing Greg LaRoque panels, we watch as Wally races the train in the same amount of time it takes Linda's purse to fall from the baggage loft in her car.

And just when you wonder if he won't make it before the train hits her destination, he catches the purse. He's fast enough to deflect Linda's protestations that he showed up at the last minute and kisses her. Then he picks her up, as well as her baggage, and runs off the train. To which she asks, what'll I tell the folks in Midway City? To which he replies, "Tell them the truth. Tell them you got carried away."

Mushy? Yup. Corny? You betcha. And yet, somehow perfect for these two people and Wally's strides towards being an adult and making a serious connection.

From Flash #77:

So in an incredible move, Waid and company brought back Barry Allen to usurp Wally's place as The Flash in 1993. My friend Nick found this to be Silver Age garbage, but I'd argue his take on Geoff Johns' run on the Barry Allen Flash suffers far more from putting things back as they were in order to live out the comics he loved as a kid (You probably wouldn't think this unless you'd read the entirety of Wally's run as The Flash, which lamely enough, I have). There's nothing wrong with the Silver Age revamp in theory, but I don't want to go along for that nostalgia ride, especially when Waid does a great job of having Wally face his fears here. Is Waid always the most adventurous storyteller? Not always. But he kills when it comes to generating strong character arcs, and it is in "The Return of Barry Allen" that Wally lets go of comparing himself to Barry, who's gone insane and may not be who he says he is.

8) This culminates in one of the best splash pages of LaRoque's run on the character. Barry's just trounced Jay Garrick at a construction site, and Wally (who's been pitying himself at home while watching the destruction on TV) arrives too late, picking up the unconscious Jay's helmet and staring into the distance. Knowing now who Barry REALLY is, and knowing he's the only one who can stop him, Wally narrates, "I wasn't fast enough. But those days are over. My name is Wally West. I'm the Flash. And now that I know the secret of Barry Allen, I'm going to bring him down ... or die trying."

In most circumstances, this would be waaay melodramatic, but Wally's simple assertion of his identity shows that he's ready to take this fight to the next level, and take on the responsibility of doing hard things as a hero. And that makes for an exciting conclusion to the story!

From Flash #91:

After having Wally finally, truly step out from under Barry's shadow in his first major character arc, Waid moved on to having Wally accept one of the hardest things about being a hero: You can't be everywhere at once.

9) In this issue, Wally uses the Speed Formula (some weird arithmetic that will increase his velocity) to effectively freeze time. One of his swifter friends, Max Mercury, points out why using this trick is a terrible idea. They walk around Keystone City and Max shows him all the people he can't help in the same frozen second, people trapped in fires and crashed cars. Wally didn't know about these people when he froze time to avoid a helicopter disaster, and he can't prioritize everyone. All he can do is help where he can, all he can do is make a choice, or he'll be immobilized in time forever, just like he is now.

In several solid, workman-like panels, artist Mike Wieringo shows Wally heading back to the helicopter, and during this frozen time, stopping its crash, all the while narrating, "There are always choices to be made. ... In the end, all I can do is find the courage to keep choosing ... and make those choices count." Then he whispers, "Go."

And time starts again. Because Wally has to move forward in his life, just as the world does.

From Flash #100:

In "Terminal Velocity," Wally dies to save Linda Park and the whole universe from eco-terrorists intent on using the world's resources to destroy the planet. In comics land, Wally goes to heaven by running too fast to stop a laser beam from hitting his lady. But his link to this heaven, the Speed Force (a name Waid always hated), is also what gives him super-speed. And it's love for Linda that allows him to re-materialize his atoms and return to a long, loving life with her.

10) Basically, Wally dies in issue 99 and this issue opens with Linda losing it, picking up a gun and kicking some serious eco-terrorist ass, along with Wally's bereft superhero and non-superhero friends. But a ghost-like Wally returns to amp up the speed, heal a broken Jesse Quick and take down the villain, Kobra. Then he vanishes in an explosion.

And Linda loses it again, running from the friends pleading with her to accept his death. But when she runs, she runs smack-dab into Wally. They kiss, and she exclaims, "I knew! I knew you were back! But what ... How did ...?" To which Wally replies, "Took you long enough to get over here."

Typical. And perfect. Wally goes to heaven, comes back because his love for Linda won't let him dissolve yet, and it ain't no thang.

Yikes. Even for a nerd, this post is long. I'm going to take a break and let you catch your breath from my gushing. Part two, or Wally's next ten greatest moments according to me, will be coming up real soon.

Stop Me If You've Heard This One: Three Comics Fans Walk Into A Comics Store ...

Reading Nick's post again the other day got me thinking about my experiences with Free Comic Book Day. There are two instances in particular I'm remembering, and I think both shed some light on the importance of retailers in the comics industry. I'll tell you about them chronologically.

Waaaay back in 2008, my boyfriend and I traveled to Deerfield, Massachusetts to spend the weekend with one of my best friends and her boyfriend. Deerfield was her hometown and we had a grand time getting shown around all the cute shops and cool boutiques and rural walkways of the area. One morning, we drove to an adjacent town for no specific reason I can remember, and looking for something to do, we wandered into a storefront that had large posters of comic superheroes plastered all over the front windows.

Upon entering, the store immediately reminded me of the comic stores I avoided when I was a little kid. The walls were painted a dark color and books were stacked everywhere, with boxes upon boxes filling tables with cardboard-supported back issues. Instead of having a delightful, stuffed ambiance like every used bookstore ever, leaving me ready for a browsing adventure, these crammed comics shops usually filled me with a sense of dread. If I ever passed one and looked in the window, I often saw bunches of middle-aged men flipping through books intensely, or searching for something intensely, never looking or talking to anyone around them. Or if they did talk, they were loud and opinionated; I could hear their voices rattling through the glass sometimes. I bought all my "Batman: The Animated Series" comics at Media Play, so scared was I to enter these grim places.

Anyway, L, Z, R (R being my boyfriend) and I entered this shop and started to browse. There was a group of three guys hanging out at the front counter, but I didn't pay much attention, since such shops turn me into one of those intently staring people. I've become convinced over the years that you never look up in crowded comics shops because if you did, all the superheroes in the posters slapped up on the walls would jump all over you. And who wants Wolverine to poke you in the eye with one of his claws?

So, there I was browsing, and I came upon a book I'd been meaning to read for a while. It was Superman: Secret Identity, written by Kurt Busiek and with art by Stuart Immonen. If you like Superman and haven't read this miniseries about a Superman growing up on an Earth without other superheroes, you're missing out! Busiek's exploration of identity and maturation through the eyes of a being with miraculous powers is pretty breathtaking, so I'd recommend it to everybody. Here's a sample of some of Immonen's amazing art and inks to entice you:

All of these panels showcase both the awesomeness and the loneliness of the character as he discovers his powers and tries to deal with them in the natural world. And it's totally worth buying if you're comics fan. But I gush and digress.

I flipped through this beautiful book by one of my favorite writers, and decided today was the day. I was going to buy it. I left my comrades nosing through some back issues and ambled up to the counter where three dudes were standing. One of them had his own nose stuck in a book and didn't really look up when I mentioned I had something I'd like to purchase. The guy actually manning the register gave me a patented dude head nod so I put the book on the counter and looked through my bag for my wallet while he rang me up. The third dude, a guy I very distinctly remember as wearing a black leather jacket over a black t-shirt, and whose black hair was slicked back to high heaven, spotted the title of the book when the register guy put it in a brown bag. He got bug-eyed.

"THAT'S A GREAT BOOK," he said way too loudly.

"Uh, thanks," I said, taking out my credit card to be swiped.

"NO, SERIOUSLY. IT'S -- LIKE -- REALLY, REALLY GOOD."

"That's good to hear. It looks good."

"LIKE, ONE OF THE BEST SUPERMAN BOOKS OUT THERE. I BET YOU DIDN'T KNOW THAT."

I sighed, mentally. Oh, here we go. There's a girl in the comic shop, she must not know anything about comics. "Well, I'd heard a lot about it and read about it and Busiek's had a really good run on Superman and Astro City, so ..."

"IT'S REALLY UNDERRATED. IT'S REALLY AWESOME THAT YOU'VE GOT GOOD TASTE LIKE THAT."

I looked to the back of the store. There was L, Z and R. And no one was lifting their heads up at this guy's voice. I thought his tone was really kind of endearing in its enthusiasm, when I got right down to it, and I wanted others to witness it for themselves.

"YOU KNOW, IF YOU EVER WANTED ANY GOOD RECOMMENDATIONS, YOU KNOW, THERE'S CARDS RIGHT HERE WITH THE STORE'S NUMBER AND STUFF ON HERE. IF YOU WANTED TO GET IN TOUCH."

He stared at me without blinking, like he was trying to tell me something.

Wait a minute. Was this dude hitting on me?

"YOU KNOW, IF YOU WANTED TO TAKE ONE."

"Thanks, but I don't really live in the area."

"OH. WELL, IF YOU'RE EVER BACK HERE ..."

"Sure."

By this point, my card had been swiped and my brown bag was ready to go. But the register guy hadn't handed it back yet. He had put his hand over its brown surface so I couldn't just grab it from the counter, and I wasn't sure why, but he seemed to be sizing me up with his eyes. Then he finally spoke: "I've got something for you."

"Oh, yeah?" I said. "Well, I really just wanted this, so--"

He waved my words away with a hand and walked out from behind the counter to one of the black wire racks nearby. "No, you like good comics, you deserve something extra." He plucked a thin issue out of the racks and handed it to me. The cover read something about the DC universe and a crisis and it was labelled zero and it wasn't something I'd ever pick up for myself in a million years, even though it had Superman on the cover bestriding a sky full of stars. I looked up at the register dude. He looked back at me solemnly as my hands closed around the book.

"That's for Free Comic Book Day," he said. (First I'd ever heard of the event, which had been earlier that month; he explained the concept to me, which I thought was rad, because -- free stuff!) "Right now this issue's supposed to be fifty cents. But you're cool, you can have it for free."

"Oh. Really?"

"Yeah. Like the man said, you've got good taste."

I shuffled over to the counter, slid the issue into my brown bag and creased the opening shut. "Gee, thanks, guys," I said, trying not to answer their serious and genuine offer of street cred with a giggle or something else they might deem inappropriate. It was actually kinda nice they made a fuss over something that cost fifty cents (something that at this moment I realize I may have given away or tossed in the trash within a year or two of receiving it).

What I'm really saying is that it's nice they made a fuss over me. Lots of times, girls in comics shops raise eyebrows of all varieties, but for once I didn't feel put-off by loud talking or serious study of books. These three guys just cared A LOT about what they were reading, and what's more, they cared a lot about what I was reading and they wanted to help me read more (the book I'd gotten for free was a preview for events that would affect the next three years of DC comics; it put me ahead of the curve on continuity). That doesn't happen often, even in used bookstores. And it's worth mentioning now, because it shows the marks of smart businessmen, who are vital to the comics industry ...

... Even if I did return to the counter with R a few minutes later when he wanted to purchase a trade and I mentioned that he was my boyfriend eighty times in two minutes, just to make things clear to Mr. Loud Talking Leather Jacket. Because I'm a spaz.

Anyway, moving forward. It's 2010 and I'm working in the tourist industry in Philadelphia. Now in the tourist industry, you always work weekends; it's impossible not to work weekends. That's when people want to see stuff. So I was in a pickle on Free Comic Book Day that year; I had to work that weekend. And it might not have been important to me, except I'd found a home at a lovely comics store on South Street called Showcase Comics (sometimes referred to as Atomic City Comics, depending on what sign you look at).

This shop is one of the friendliest places I've ever frequented on a regular basis (now semi-regular; I go back on breaks from school; they still recognize me there). The staff is charming and fun, more than willing to show off the low-budget ninja movies they're making on the side via their big screen TV, and yet ready to help you search for anything you could possibly want if you look lost. When checking out, they will strike up great conversations about what you've purchased, what's comparable to it, what they like about the artist or writer, and also how you found the artist, writer or story. When I came in week after week to buy a new Astro City trade (seriously, I bought the entire available run of that book in about three weeks), they understood my excitement and argued the pros and cons of what Busiek was doing with the series, instead of looking at me like I was a happy-spending, obsessed freak.

To boot, the store's selection was (and still is) great; the manager clearly had his head to the ground and adjusted his selection layout based on what was popular, but didn't let the upcoming comic movie of the summer take over the whole place. They also had racks of indie comics, back issues, memoir comics, an amazing trades section and a great little section for kids. And everything was painted white or bright primary colors! Plus, for a while, they had the X-Men arcade game from the 1980s!

I loved this store and its staff, I always felt safe in the family-friendly environment they created (there were always lots of kids running around, many belonging to staff members, who were basically all adults with family, etc.), and I loved being able to talk about comics stuff with professional people. So missing out on FCBD was a bummer in Philly, because it meant I wouldn't be able to talk about what was hip and happening with some of the most knowledgeable people in comics I had access to. Not that I knew any of the staff members' names; I was always too timid to ask. But on FCBD, I felt like I should be spending part of my day with them.

But I couldn't; I had to make that money, son. So instead, I went in on my day off, which was probably some random day like the next Wednesday. I wandered into the store, picked up whatever I felt like buying, etc. The manager was at the counter, and he looked up when I stepped over to pay. He smiled and said, "Hey, we missed you this weekend."

"Yeah," I said. "Had to work. I bet it was a madhouse in here."

"You bet. Every year, this thing gets more popular. We ran outta books! Kids're just ripping stuff off the shelves, you know."

"That's awesome," I said.

"Yeah, well, like I said, you didn't come in. And when I didn't see you, I saved some stuff for you."

"What?" The whole point of FCBD is to give away a bunch of crap in order to get people to buy more crap. Why save something for someone who isn't going to show and doesn't want to buy Green Lantern comics? That's losing you money.

"I mean, there were some little kids that came in this week who missed the free books, and I mean, they're little kids, so they had to get into the stash first, but ..."

The manager turned to the back rack of comics behind the counter and pulled out three or four books for me (a Spiderman, a Green Lantern I ended up giving to R, and some other things I can't remember exactly). He slipped them into my brown bag as he continued to check me out.

"Hey, we gotta look out for our own, don't we? I mean, you're a regular, we gotta keep you up to date."

I was a regular, I'd never been a regular anywhere before that ever.

"ManmynameisSarahandIthinkyouguysareawesome."

"What?"

I stuck out a hand for a shake, which he took, and I slowed down.

"I dig this store so much and I think you guys do a great job."

"Oh. No problem." And he handed me my comics.

See, both the Massachusetts store and the Philly store have something in common. The free books didn't matter, marketing-wise or industry-wise; more often than not, they were filler. But both these memories mean something to me because of the gesture involved in each. We can get mad at DC and Marvel for not giving their audiences what they want because they're corporations, but when it comes right down to it, retailers are the first line of defense in their arsenal, and they should give retailers more credit and give them better stock, as Nick suggested.

Because I've been to the comics store in my current grad school town once. R and I went in on one of my breaks and the sales people sat back by their gaming tables the whole time, never said hi, never wanted to chat, nothing. They stared at us like we should leave, so we did. And I've never gone back there. And I never will.

Running a good business means being good to your customers. And when you're working in a niche market like comics, the little gestures, the little kindnesses pay out for you in the end. I know they meant everything to me. These two stories are yarns I still tell years down the line, and they're part of what makes me love comics culture, despite my constant anger and frustrated expectations at major comics companies in general. The people are what make things go, however.

It's good to remember that once in a while. That there are people out there who love what you love and see the possibilities that you see in something. And it's worth reaching out to them the same way they reach out to you.

In that spirit, I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone in these two stores I mentioned, though I doubt they'll ever read this blog. But if they do, they should know they made one comics fan happen one day or another, and she's tried to spread that enthusiasm on to others. Trick of the trade, you know.

POST-SCRIPT: On that note, I tell you with extreme excitement that in the next few weeks, I will be doing round-table reviews with my learned friend and fellow comics fanatic Ed. We aim to read a gaggle of the DCnu 52 books, like JLA 1, Action Comics 1, Batwoman 1, etc., etc.

I'm looking forward to it, even if this company decision causes me a lot of pain. Talking out this new direction should be fun for us, and I hope it's fun for you. Stay tuned for the first set of reviews!

Free Comic Book Day And Its Pitfalls

-A guest post by Nick Philpott-

Ever since I was young, I've been what some would call a voracious reader and what some others would call a total dork. I learned to read early, and basically devoured whatever I could. Usually my choice of book was entirely dependent on the cover art (a lot of judging books by their covers, har har), which led me to reading a lot of somewhat lurid fiction, which probably wasn't enitely appropriate for a kid my age.

Most of the blame for that falls squarely on R.L. Stine's shoulders, because I read his adult novel, Superstition, thinking it would be like a really scary Goosebumps book. It wasn't. It was the first book I ever read with the word "masturbation" in it, and led therefore to the first of many awkward conversations with my parents as the result of reading books which were at my reading level but not necessarily my life level.

Oddly, comics books didn't really appeal to me until I was freshman in high school, even though they had some of the best cover art. I think part of it was the idea that comics only came one at a time and the stories never truly finished. Half the fun of reading, for me, is seeing the story wrap itself up, tie a bow, and finish itself off. But one day, a capricious trip to my library's Teens section yielded a new result: the graphic novel. Somewhat shockingly, my local library in suburban Cincinnati (such a small branch that it fit comfortably into a strip mall, right next to an Ace Hardware) was well-stocked with comic books, running the gamut from the entire Dragonball magna to single issues to the collected landmark series, such as The Dark Knight Returns and Crisis On Infinite Earths.

Being an awkward, unathletic teenager with no real goals in life, The Dark Knight Returns appealed to me on a gut level because Batman was everything I wasn't: focused, driven to a singular goal, and athletic as shit, not to mention had a hefty bit of Bruce Wayne swag and could have gotten all the ladies. I went home that afternoon and devoured the sucker. I think I skipped dinner, which is unusual, because if there's one thing I love, it's dinner. Now that I knew that comics could tell self-contained stories, I couldn't get enough of them. I read all of the graphic novels, the collected editions and whathaveyous I could get my hands on from the library. It didn't matter what it was, I'd read it.

Shortly thereafter, I saw on AOL's homepage (if that doesn't date me a bit, nothing will) that there was this magical day in May called Free Comic Book Day. I loved comic books! I loved free things! I loved days! What could be better?? So I dragged my friends to our local comic book store (Queen City Comics and Cards, which I'm convinced is the only comic book store in the Greater Cincinnati area, right across from the best record store in town, Everybody's) with promises of free issues of whatever comics they wanted, and hell, maybe I'd buy something, just for laughs.

And then we saw the selection of books.

Free Comic Book Day is a horrendously obvious marketing tool for the industry in general, but we let them get away with it because, God bless 'em, at least they're trying. They give away a free comic book to anyone who wants one as a sort of gateway drug into the Scarface mound of cocaine that is the comic book world. As a friend of mine once put it, "Oh, so it's like with coke, where the first one they give you is a real good batch to get you hooked and coming back for the stuff cut with milk powder." Yes. Yes, it's exactly like that, except for one difference: the first one is almost all milk powder.

All the books on Free Comic Book Day, in my experience, fall into one of several categories:

Issue 0's: As a backhanded way of trying to get you involved in reading a company-wide crossover and get some of the exposition out of the way, a lot of "Issue 0's" get handed out on FCBD (I'm tired of typing that all out, forgive the abbreviation). The most recent example that comes to mind was Issue 0 of DC's Blackest Night, a crossover centered around the Green Lantern Corps, which is making a comeback in a big way, and has been for several years now. I think I can safely say that it was an entirely unnecessary issue that was basically just the Flash (Barry Allen) and Green Lantern (Hal Jordan) standing around, talking about death. It was interesting as a Platonic dialogue between two people have died before about the nature of death and the loss of friends, but it didn't move the story until the last page, when the Black Lantern showed up; basically a whole sequence that was repeated at the beginning of Issue #1 of Blackest Night. Nothing about the issue gave me a sense of urgency, of needing to read Blackest Night immediately when it hit the stands. I'm pretty sure Blackest Night started in the summer of 2009 and I didn't read it until the collected hardcover came out, which was something like winter of 2010/2011.

Reprint collections: There's usually at least one comic that's a couple old EC horror comic stories that have been reprinted with new color and whathaveyou. They're satisfying stand-alone stories, and the new color is always nice, but they're rarely the pick of the litter. I mean, I love those old horror comics, and God knows I love Creepshow, but honestly, if it's either that or an Issue 0, I'm gonna go with the Issue 0, because I don't know what's in it. It's like on Let's Make A Deal: You can either have the sweet new guitar that you've already got, or you can open the mystery door and possibly get a bitchin' new car. Unfortunately, in this scenario, usually there's a heaping pile behind the mystery door.

Dark Horse: Dark Horse is one of the few comic publishers that I think gets it right every year on FCBD. Their offering is usually something Mike Mignola-related, be it a Hellboy story (which are always fairly stand-alone to start with) or a random short that Mike cranks out, plus, they usually have something Star Wars, which is always nice. I'd venture to say that Hellboy and Star Wars are Dark Horse's two biggest properties, so it's sort of like if DC and Marvel would ball up and put a Batman, a Superman, a Spiderman and an Avengers title on the shelf. For free.

Not enough books: This isn't a kind of book, but the past couple years, I've gotten to the comic book store and they've been out of free comics, which means people even took the weird outlier books from Top Cow and whatnot. I don't know if that's the fault of whoever runs the store because they didn't order enough, or if that's even how it works, so let's not place blame for this one, we'll just say it's an unfortunate reality and we'll move along.

Alright, we've made it this far, here's where I finally deduce the problem. I feel like Free Comic Book Day is going about its marketing in a wholly wrong way, which could be extrapolated to the industry as a whole (but that's an entirely different essay). They're offering a free product to supposedly an untapped market of non-readers, but because they're offering sub-par material, they're not getting the readers they should be. There is a scummy undertone to this whole affair, where you can essentially smell the fear of the companies that they are losing a profit for a whole day.

My admonition to the industry as a whole is this: You're multi-billion companies. You put out movies that make staggering amounts of money, like, feed-a-third-world-country-for-years money, and that's not even counting the cash cows like Iron Man and The Dark Knight. Would it kill you to put some A-list talent to good use and have someone write a free comic book that would just knock it out of the park? If you want people to know what they're missing, you have to give them what they're missing. You need to get Grant Morrison to just unleash himself on a single issue, get Tim Sale to draw something rad, I don't know, SOMETHING.

But until that happens, I'll still be in line on FCBD this May, waiting for my milk powder.

Just A Kid From Brooklyn

I'm coming late to the party, in terms of seeing "Captain America: The First Avenger." But when I really think about it, that's a little apt. I knew the movie had potential, I just needed to wait for the right break in my schedule to take action and watch it, much as Steve Rogers the ninety-pound weakling just needed the opportunity to prove himself in order to change the world as Captain America.

Hmm, that's a pretty shameless shirtless Chris Evans shot, isn't it? Oh, well. Onward and upward!

I've always wondered myself what it is that draws people to Captain America. I mean, in the movie, he wears a very tailored soldier's armor that just happens to be painted red, white and blue, thanks to a USO debacle (easily the funniest sequence in the movie):

But in the comics, he's historically looked like this:

Watch out, guys! Here's a huge moving target coming right at you! With winged ears, to boot!

Now I realize thinking of this costume as a bit too much is pretty nuts, and at least, hypocritical. I mean, some of my favorite superheroes have dressed like this in the past:





1) Superman Red and Superman Blue, you both look like you stepped out of Tron.
2) Wonder Woman, there is no space in your costume to store that arsenal. Also, watch out for super-wedgies!
3) Green Lantern Kyle, I do not understand that white stripe or your fingerless gloves.

But I digress. Captain America's gaudiness and longevity has always struck me as particularly crazy, given his phenom heyday was as a propaganda comic bolstering American optimism during World War II. I was never sure what it was about him that captivated imaginations so long after Hitler was defeated.

The movie put things into perspective for me, though. Several times, the characters point out that they're not following Captain America, but the kid from Brooklyn who wanted to serve, powers notwithstanding. Steve even points out that when getting the crud kicked out of him by the Red Skull.

And much is made of Steve exceeding expectations before or after becoming a Super Soldier, precisely because he is a good person. That's the basic point of the movie, actually; Steve was always a hero, he just needed the opportunity to take action, and that requires others to believe in his capabilities as a human being. (SPOILER?) Taking this tack, his sacrifice at the end of the movie is sad in that he loses the chance at a happy life with the totally awesome Peggy Carter by making the ultimate sacrifice, a heroic choice that will save millions of people. But it's a happy moment in that he relies on his humanity to do right by others; he fulfills the need to serve and protect he's been nourishing the whole movie. (END SPOILER!)

So, all in all, this movie showed me exactly WHY this character is still popular today. A youngster getting the chance to make good is a typical story in early American fiction, but I'd also argue it's the lens through which we view America throughout history. We were the underdogs who understood we had so much more to offer than imports for our colonial fathers. As a nation, despite growing cynicism over the past thirty years or so, there's still a current of "can-do" spirit surging in non-profit work or even in canny political moves. As Americans, we started as the 90 pound weakling, and then because we believed in ourselves and our scrappy strength, we come out on top as a world power (not always morally, but with the foundation of our country relying on a moral imperative).

Now. What's going to happen to that world power in today's reality is not what was going on in WW II, but what happens in our fantastic belief in our abilities -- well, that's up to each individual, just as it was up to Steve in this movie.

POST-SCRIPT: Captain America is the result of mythologizing, but the complications of what "Man As Symbol" does to a person has been a large part of Ed Brubaker's stunning years-long run on the Captain America comic. Check it out if you want to see America viewed through a variety of lenses, both heroic and compromised.

The Death of the Marriage of Superman, Followed By the De-Humanization of Clark Kent

Everyone brace yourselves. Clark Kent and I come bearing front-page news.

It's official. Our hero and Lois Lane will no longer be an item come September.

The majority of comics readers I know had already taken DC's half-hearted plan to "examine" the Kent-Lane marriage to mean the two would be divorced by some catastrophic event or through the unfathomable rewinding of time. I'd joined this clan of naysayers pretty much immediately, but I have to admit I nurtured a tiny glow of hope in my heart. I hoped that there might be ONE book among the wandering timeline of books DC's releasing -- most documenting the five-year rise of heroes before starting them on their regular monthly adventures -- where the two might bask in wedded bliss.

But it's not to be. And for the following reasons, documented at Newsrama in quotes and such, but broken down more directly in the following points (http://www.newsarama.com/comics/dcnu-didio-lee-explain-superman-changes-110718.html):

1) Dissolving the marriage makes Superman more "accessible," according to artist and Co-Publisher Jim Lee. Actually, it is one of the many items within his life being vanished for the sake of simplifying his story (benefits: giving readers an uncomplicated starting point to jump onto, and allowing writers to center the drama of their stories on a man desperate for companionship). Clark's Earth parents, the "kindly couple" Jonathan and Martha Kent, are being killed off early in his life, doubling his tragedy as he begins to develop superpowers. The result? An alien completely isolated from the human experience must find his way in the world. (Why this is not a new story idea is something I'll return to.) However, in various series, Superman will either hone his powers, join the Justice League, develop his costume, or struggle with forming relationships while his chief rival at the Daily Planet, Lois Lane, deals with having a boyfriend. (Barf.)

2) DC believes marriage means being "settled" and offers fewer story ideas to play with; better to be single, or so insinuates Lee. "If you have a life partner, you always have someone to rely on. So from a story conflict point of view, it makes for a less dramatic story. I think a lot of writers can agree that one of the most dynamic periods of Superman's history was that period where there was a love triangle between Clark Kent, Lois Lane and Superman." But in returning to the love triangle of yesteryear, Lee points out pioneering Superman writer Grant Morrison will be introducing new elements into the mythos that will make these warring identities and relationships more accessible to a modern reader. How? I have no idea. I assume Lois' boyfriend has something to do with it.

3) The writers at DC want to explore Superman as an alien, not as Clark Kent. If he's married, if he understands his place in the world, if he sees himself as just another person among many, then what is there left to explore in the character?

4) The ultimate desire in this reboot is to showcase Superman as he comes into his own, unmarried; this means many of the stories being told in Action Comics and Justice League will take place five years in the past, where Superman struggles to find others like him and to deal with those that aren't. In order to hit the ground running, we need to see a hero at his earliest point, at his most vulnerable, argue the Co-Publishers. Meanwhile, Superman the comic series, where he'll work at the Daily Planet, will take place in the present and deal with Lois.

Now in response to these justifications, I want to showcase where this reboot is missing the boat, or at least some of the more obvious and interesting ideas surrounding the character:

1) Superman can hear things happening halfway around the world. He can x-ray your body with his eyes. A rock can kill him. He's never been like us, and the real tension in his character lies not in his immediate acceptance of his human identity but in his adoption of it. He's only Clark Kent as much as the immigrants who came to this country in the 1800s and 1900s were Americans; they abandoned their traditions and even last names in order to fit into American society. They left their Old World behind, and there had to be guilt or at least missteps that are interesting to research. Doesn't Superman have anything like that? This would be a fresh angle to explore, if that's what you're worried about, DC -- as opposed to the same-old, same-old comics struggle of learning how to control your powers. I don't have powers, I don't care how you control yours. I do however care about how you navigate your social obligations, and Superman would have issues doing this in certain jams -- whether ordering coffee incorrectly or yearning to honor a dead society he knows little about.

You're right that Clark being Clark isn't interesting. Your implication that being Clark and Superman at the same time isn't possible or interesting is off the mark as well, though.

To me, the most interesting stories in Superman lore, or at least cinematically and television-wise, revolve around him acting as Superman while in the guise of Clark Kent. You can see the tension between his identities in such setups, because he never stopped being Superman. Still, he had to guard his secret, lest he be host to suspicions, mistrust and dissection as an alien; America's never been super-kind to the Other, after all. But he still took opportunities to melt locks with his heat vision, or x-ray hidden chambers, just by nudging his glasses down his nose, etc. The stakes were always high when things like this happened in "Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman" (yes, I'm referencing this show -- not as a amazing dramatic tour-de-force, but as a show that got the everyday issues with being a superhero pretty right, I think). Clark is both a cover and a consolation, but who says Superman has to be comfortable with the surface? Too many writers put him too much at ease with both adopted and intrinsic Kryptonian traditions; there's gotta be push and pull there for us to identify with the character. Sure, he's not human, but when is he fine with that? When is he not?

2) How can you think marriage is undramatic? Apparently, all the writers got together in a conference room and had a big chat about Superman his marriage, many agreeing that dissolving his marriage would allow them to explore the character "in a bigger way." Um, that's tantamount to saying his wife's holding him back. Way to go, guys. Everything I wrote about in my previous blog post about marriage turns out to be reflected in your misigivings about the relationship (or your misunderstanding about Lois Lane, who's a badass)! I can't imagine how your crew could have so little imagination. Because Superman's married, he can't fly into space and help out Green Lantern? I already wrote about what dangerous thinking that is in my last post, so I won't get into it again. But seriously; he can't be epic if he's tied down? Lame, guys.

And also, if you want to dream bigger, maybe don't even try and set up another love triangle (now complete with fourth wheel boyfriend), so the characters are rebooted and actually DIFFERENT! But in your new set-up things aren't different -- the love triangle is still around. Here's an idea: DO SOMETHING ELSE, if you're so tired of sexual tension within relationships. Don't even approach romance and see how the character develops as a career journalist or something, if this a true reboot. Have him adopt a kid, have him volunteer at a soup kitchen or take up needlepoint! (I'm not endorsing any of these ideas, just challenging creativity. Honestly, the heart of this character's journey has always been one of the most endearing romances in comics. I doubt a relationship will be delayed for long; we already waited long enough for them to get married once.)

3) If Clark Kent is an afterthought, as opposed to something that's both in conflict with Superman and helps him, then ... why should I care whether or not Superman is isolated? What is he looking for in these new series? This article gives me no clue, and it makes me nervous to read this reboot.

Struggling with your identity is a universal issue, Co-Publisher Dan Didio points out. And he's not wrong. But where is Superman headed, if the emphasis is staying on his Other-ness, if he's only going to stay an alien?

4) How is it a reboot if you're already telling past stories? That's only going to confuse new readers, guys; new readers don't know that they need to read three series at once to get the whole picture, and I thought the whole point was to simplify things for everyone. Oh, no, it wasn't. Because you basically tell Newsrama you're doing this because Superman sold great when he was re-debuted in the 1980s! So this is still all a cash-cow trick? Great! And what makes it better is that you're stretching the reboot out across several books, meaning customers are forced to spend even more money. Brilliant marketing and sneaky editorialship, a combo that's likely to lose me as a reader.

All this being ranted about ...

Socially, it's interesting that we're de-emphasizing Clark Kent in favor of his alter ego Superman in 2011. This is a radical shift, since his comics have been geared completely towards developing his humanity since the 1980s. And I do wonder what it says that we're returning to the majestical 1930s Ubermensch Superman was created to be ...

I think it says a lot about where we're at in America, standing as a powerful nation with no idea what it stands for in a contemporary context, since it has big shoulder and a heavy stick but is maybe a bit outmoded in its morality and execution of its values. Superman's direction across the ages says a lot about how we see the USA as a world power, whether we realize it or not. And for that reason alone, I find the character worth following and loving. Even if I think the direction he's headed in might be disastrous. Or boring. Or both.

POST-SCRIPT: I will refrain from using my next post to continue talking about DC and Superman. I'll be reading either a new series of comics or talking about how comics work in movies or television. My anger must be exhausting to read. Heck, even I need a break.

Till WHAT Do You Part?

Okay, so all this talk about dismantling Clark and Kent and Lois Lane's marriage, only twelve years old, has had me thinking a lot lately.

About wedding bells.

About marriage vows.

About power couples who travel across dimensions and somehow still have time to work on their relationship, like these happy people:

Basically, I've spent a lot of time thinking about marriage in comics and what it means, overall. Mr. Fantastic and the Invisible Woman seem to have it figured out (despite the world's worst, least feminist-friendly superhero names). How is it their marriage remains relatively un-messed with by writers and editors alike, while Clark and Lois will be hitting the reset button on their antagonist rival reporter relationship come this fall. I'm telling you now, look forward to plenty of old school Siegel style banter:

Wow, tell us how you really feel, Lois. Don't you know your nerdy co-worker is sensitive? Exhibit A, from a later Lois Lane comic:

All in all, I feel like marriage is taken for granted as a chance for character growth within mainstream superhero comics. It's just something that happens, and it's something that ends as easily. Often, marriage is dismantled with nary a thought to the impact it has on the characters within hero books. I suppose this shouldn't surprise me, given that I can think of maybe three writers in past DC stables (Greg Rucka, Mark Waid and Kurt Busiek) who were able to drum up marital conflict without resorting to soap operatic misunderstandings, cliches about somebody being in danger while hubby's out on patrol, or running themes of miscommunication until somebody ends up in a mental hospital (thanks, Daredevil--you're great with the ladies, but once you're in an actual relationship, women don't fare well in your book).

Side note: Is it any wonder the writers I mentioned above no longer work at DC full-time? They're too realistic (actually, they all have personal side projects to work on, but many of those projects probe into the superhero as an allegory for American life in amazing ways)! In his run on Superman, Rucka had Clark and Lois grow apart simply because Superman was having a lousy time at work and Lois was assigned to follow a war in another country. Realistic, everyday things like time and distance separated them, and the sadness they both feel at their limited communication is palpable. Check out this short series of panels, in which Lois heads out for her assignment. I defy you to find a better depiction of two people who want to say a lot but can only manage to say a little under the circumstances:

DC's competition fares no better at allowing married couples to act as married couples do, I fear. Hell, Joe Quesada over at Marvel made one of the least popular editorial decisions in that company's history by breaking up Peter Parker and Mary Jane's marriage. How he do this? He had the couple make a deal with the devil. Seriously. Mephisto vows to save his Spidey's older aunt, who's lived a long, long life in exchange for the following thing:

Diabolical. What he does with their love is anyone's guess. At least when DC's version of the devil, Neron, stole Wally West and Linda Park's love, he ended up cuddling and comforting all the minions he'd been torturing only hours before. Still ridiculous. Then again, Mark Waid also had Wally race into a Vahalla for speedsters, only to come back because Linda's love was his beacon back to Earth. Corny, I know. But still believable, in its fairy tale way. Perhaps more astonishingly, Waid took Wally from being this guy--

--To being this guy:

Articulate, a leader of heroes, and just plain adorable in his marriage proposal. (Of course, Waid had help from Mark Millar and Grant Morrison here. Good on ya, guys!)

But this rather picture-happy rambling forces me to come to a point. What's a more mature, courageous decision than dedicating your life to the support, love and protection of another human being? (You might even call it heroic.) In comics, marriages should be taken at least as seriously as they are in real life, given that character actions in comics often stand as huge metaphors, slipping into allegories, about the everyday heroism displayed and required by real people. What do writers have to say about marriage? How can they make understand the state of the union in a contemporary context through a pulpy, pop culture medium? Could they surprise us? Often, they don't.

Like when, say, Black Canary has to murder her husband on their honeymoon, but it turns out that he's an impostor, so no consequential blow-back happens -- despite having harbored the impression that somebody killed the man they loved for more than a few moments. I gotta think that such plots rob the exploration of marriage any validity or meaning beyond spinning the wheels of a character's lifespan. Rather than showing what a major and somewhat terrifying commitment marriage is, to prove our hero an even greater hero, writers sometimes pull the rug out from under a reader and create false drama.

Not only can violent conflicts be upended using the impostor angle, not only can marriages be stolen by the devil rather than allowed to run a natural course into lovelessness and exhaustion (based on compelling character mistakes), they can be thrown into the jaws of death and THEN snatched right back, as if nothing bad ever happened in the first place. It's okay. Green Arrow and Black Canary are still together today, those crazy kids.

Ultimately, I think it's the impermanence of the marriage institution that drives me a little crazy. Maybe I'm revealing myself to be a prude here, believing in marriage as an institution when half of marriage fail nowadays. But let me be clear: I don't think divorce should be kept out of comics, I don't think everyone should be married, and watching superheroes come to that conclusion would be FASCINATING. An emotional landscape they can't conquer is rare to find; why not explore something more complicated?

But the marketing departments at DC and Marvel seems to think the readers of comic books can't handle a sticky situation involving one's spouse. Rather than go for the heart, they go for the entrails and the easier solution--death, mistaken identities, curses, etc.--rather than explore real conflict between two people. We're already dependent on technology to connect for us; avoiding actual human interaction in our art, substituting it with gore and sophomoric horror and compromises--what does that say about us about an American culture?

I imagine this avoidance mindset grew out of the male-created romance comics from the 1940s and 1950s, where women were either temptresses or pure as snow, and fulfilled their boyfriend's every wish because that was what was expected of them. These comics were written for young girls to bask in sudsy, forbidden predicaments, true, but they also reinforced both the fantasies and nightmares believed of women by nerdy male writers, which led to things like this:

Liking girls, or having any kind of sexual or emotional dependence on anyone--regardless of gender in few cases--leads to compromise, and I'm sometimes told, a lack of action in superhero books. In other words, when heroes get married, they're a snorefest. Well, that's only true if a woman's either a Madonna or a whore. Making her a character in her own right is a step in the right direction for creating good stories and making honest statements about marriage in a surprising context. What makes Mr. Fantastic and Sue Storm work probably has a lot to do with the fact that they star in a book dedicated to showcasing the weird families we make for ourselves, just as The Fantastic Four does after being irradiated into being superheroes. Because of their choice to stick together as a family, strong characters are formed, and marriage features easily in the book, and will always be a permanent feature in it.

I'd love to see more of this. I'd love to see more characters working through the regular stress of a relationship within heightened, universe-shattering circumstances; that's drama on a goofy, adventure-sized level. It could be meaningless, but the right writer could pack it with significance, showing us why we love the characters we're reading in the first place, and how they can prove to us us when we need to suck it up and get on with our lives.

But you don't get that attitude often. More often, you end up with dead ghost detectives, or worse, rebooted lives with a strange new set of circumstances to tangle with--not deep issues, just plot-driven ones. (Check out the Superman 2000 proposal, later cannibalized by several writers involved in the rejected project, for an example of an O. Henry-esque sacrifice to effectively reboot Clark and Lois' relationship, as their marriage is wiped out of everyone's minds: http://superman.nu/theages/History/2000/SUPERMAN2000.php.)

Marriage can be active, it can be as nail-biting as any villain's deathtrap; Aquaman and Mera (they're basically eco-terrorists now), Reed and Sue (um, they travel through dimensions and have kids), and Clark and Lois (balancing work with his constant absence) have proved this on and off--overcoming obstacles that make their feelings for one another even more epic. Getting hitched allows characters to face a new type of conflict and react in ways that makes them even more likeable, complex and adventurous. In that light, de-institutionalizing the concept of marriage, or making characters' choice of it insignificant via rebooted circumstances is a travesty of wasted opportunities. I hope the writers at DC remember this when they decide to have Clark pop the question again years from now.

Sometimes you've gotta start clean/You've got to begin/Not begin again ...

The above are lyrics from a favorite Weepies song of mine, a tune that delves into how much of our happiness depends on forging ahead, not vowing to start over, but to start something completely new.

That idea has been much on my mind since DC Comics announced they'll be rebooting essentially their entire line of comics and characters in the fall. This is not new territory for the company; they restarted their characters' lives, exterior and interior, back in the mid-1980s, after the Crisis on Infinite Earths. At the time, storylines for their characters had become so convoluted -- in terms of who was who, what had occurred in reality versus what was dictated a fantasy, etc. -- that they had to start fresh from their heroes' origins, lest they lose all sense of narrative structure in their writers' work. That reboot came from a place of editorial control. As I've read about the changes coming concerning this reboot, I can't help but wonder if this choice has been made in the interest of the artists at work, or if it's done in the interest of the almighty dollar.

According to the free online dictionary, reboot means to "boot up a computer again." On Merriam-Webster's site, "re-" as a prefix cannily means the following things: 1) again; anew (retell), 2) back; backwards (recall). Taking both these definitions into account may explain my worries about DC's decision to reboot their characters. Beginning again is not the same thing as just plain beginning something, and it seems to be the death knell of originality if the "re-" becomes the operative syllable in this reboot.

Back in the 1980s, the company seemed to be serving readers it already had by restarting their franchises. They used the clay these characters were made out of to integrate them into a more modern context, so readers who grew up in the 1970s would see something new in the characters, and still understand where they were coming from. Many thought Clark Kent turned into a yuppie during this reboot, but I'd argue the nerdish reporter became the focus of his own comic, a daring move for a series entitled "Superman." Readers grew to understand the character in a new context, as his secret identity became a personality unto itself, and actually the driving force of the hero's actions. Seeing the humanity in a flagship superhero must have been a risk at the time, and maybe it even forecast the darker tones of the flawed heroes that became popular in the 1990s. (My boyfriend made an excellent point to me the other day; if The Flash hadn't died during the events of the Crisis, would the rise in violence depicted in comic books have ever occurred? Killing a major character was not an option prior to DC cleaning house, and as meaningless as death is these days, I think it's a telling influence -- something that allowed endings as well as beginnings to have their place in the narrative canon of comic books.)

I don't want to spend more time speculating about the lasting influence of reboots, because I think Nick Philpott already explored how those can be helpful and harmful in his earlier guest post. Plus, most of the people reading this could probably care less about comics' narrative history. Frankly, I hate event comics and the narrative hoops I need to jump through in order to understand why characters make later decision motivated by an event from twenty years ago. Drama for me lies in the present, not the past -- so I won't spend more time dissecting the Crisis and its resulting billion other events within DC's larger continuity. I'll only say I include its mention as a way of letting the general blog browser know that the first reboot was done in the interest of the reader and editorial control.

So far, this announced reboot feels like it's being done to court new readers, who will check in for the first few issues of a particular character's new story, then decide whether or not they like comics, and then continue reading or give up on the whole proposition. This is smart marketing in one way -- if you can build a new universe without alienating longtime fans. Marvel Comics accomplished just that when they launched the Ultimates line of comics back in 2000. They created a separate universe where writers could explore their heroes' origins and adventures from scratch, all set inside the 2000s. In my opinion, some comics in this pocket dimension were more successful than others; The Ultimates (aka, The Avengers) is the ultimate in stupidity, gore and ill-defined concepts (turning Captain America into a quippy abuser for no thematic purpose, etc.), and a single panel displays this. Sorry in advance for all the following gross:

Ultimate Spiderman, on the other hand, rewinds Peter Parker to his teenage age, and uses the boy's upbringing in the 2000s to breathe new life into his everyday challenges, his computer geekery, his rough love life, even giving him a set of former hippies to raise him; the ensuing tragedy involving his Uncle Ben actually creates a touchstone with readers that feels fresh, even as it follows the template laid out by Stan Lee years and years ago when the character first debuted. By making his tragedy immediate, and tying it to a modern family and a modern boy, Brian Michael Bendis and company were able to re-imagine every character's motivation. This allows them to change core things about each hero or villain present in the book's pages, while still honoring what's come before. This is the kind of reboot I'd wish DC in the following months -- something that rewinds the clock without completely abolishing the mainstream universe.

But that's not what they're doing. No, they're restarting things within their mainstream books. They're destroying Superman and Lois Lane's marriage. They're making Dick Grayson go back to being Nightwing, instead of Batman. They may be completely cutting Wally West out of continuity, who rated the highest of The Flashes on IGN's recent Top 100 Heroes list. Maybe the worst thing they're doing is giving Barbara Gordon her legs back.

That's right; after years of sensitively crafting a character based not on her limitations, but based on the opportunities such limitations gave her, DC is erasing their only disability-centered storyline/character. There are multiple reason I find this to be a tragedy, not least because it invoked this passionate op/ed from a concerned reader: http://www.newsarama.com/comics/oracle-is-stronger-than-batgirl-110606.html. But what irks me most about this decision is that it shows a complete lack of compassion for readers. I grew up with a Babs who worked from a wheelchair. And I watched her grow into her role as the most important information gatherer in the heroes' world. Now that'll be erased from the record books. Or will I watch her lose the use of her legs all over again? Either way, that seems a cruel choice by a company that wants to introduce characters to fly-by-night readers who may not even stick with their efforts. Watching tragedies repeat over time is not meaningful -- it's crass, and at worst, boring and meaningless.

Let it be known, I'm not arguing for stasis here. But comic books are cyclical by nature. I accept this as a reader. Nothing can ever change too much. Batman can't give up his quest for vengeance and go to cooking school. Characters can't stop being superheroes. If they did, why would they be in superhero comic books? But how they operate can change, and over the years, watching second tier characters grow into fully realized human beings, as well as great heroes, has been really satisfying for me as a reader. Watching Dick Grayson become a warmer, more acrobatic Batman than Bruce Wayne ever was -- that was satisfying to me, having grown up with his youthful exuberance. Likewise, reading Wally West's adventures as The Flash meant I got to catalogue his journey from egotistical loner to self-sacrificing leader and family man on a personal level. Could I have seen this change in Barry? I'm not so sure. Wally started out a flawed character whose powers extended past those of his predecessor (of course, Geoff Johns changed this by stating in a recent issue of The Flash that Barry granted every other Flash his speed powers; thanks, Geoff, for ignoring every post-Silver Age hero, ever). Seeing Wally change made me think about how I've changed over time, how I've grown, what sacrifices I'm willing to make for the love of family.

Are comics meant to make us draw those parallels to our real lives? Deep down, I think so. I think they're not just fantasies -- because fantasies are rooted in real concerns. Change is a part of narrative structure; it's innately WHY we tell stories, to impact one another as fellow human beings.

Now, my grad school advisor often reminds me that characters don't actually change. They simply make choices that change our perception of them. In the best comics, you can register that change. Right now, DC isn't just erasing confusing continuity or bad story directions. They're erasing years of valuable storylines that DID show us how to perceive their characters differently. Event comics didn't make these changes apparent. Good storytelling did.

And what can save DC from losing readers -- as they often do once events like Blackest Night or The Death of Fill-In-The-Blank end -- is GOOD STORYTELLING. Here's some advice, boys in the boardroom and creative officers in negotiations over web series, downloadable comics and movie tie-ins: Let editors off the hook when thinking about promos for your Warner Brother's projects. Allow writers to write stories that don't have to match with eight other books. Let artists take characters outside their comfort zones. Let authors try crazy concepts out on readers, as Grant Morrison's been doing in Batman (one of the few books getting rebooted with its recent history intact). Don't recycle things in a reboot. Take readers' preconceived notions, then break them -- don't feed into those notions, and don't tell me Superman's origin story AGAIN. (Seriously, you've released four versions of it in the last ten years; updating that story isn't helping his in-continuity writers tell interesting stories; "Grounded" is one of the most miserable arcs I've read in years. It's not challenging our hero; it's making him repeat half-remembered Boy Scout mantras from the 1960s.)

Don't repeat story beats I know. Give me new beats, not re-imagined ones. I'd like to believe this is what DC plans to do. But Dan Dido's talk of "re-examining" things doesn't give me much confidence (http://www.escapistmagazine.com/news/view/111141-DC-Sends-Clark-Kent-And-Lois-Lane-To-Divorce-Court). Nor does the fact that in Justice League: Generation Lost, one of the better books on the market in DC's latest event scheme, I had to watch a teenaged Blue Beetle get shot in the face, just as the previous Blue Beetle did. Repeating grisly occurrences does not create new meaning, DC higher-ups. It just makes me think you don't respect your audience or your characters, creating false drama like that to sell books. Everything I've seen in recent days makes me feel this reboot is injected drama, rather than solid storytelling built on a steady editorial foundation.

In the end, I suppose this reboot ties into a constant social issue for me. In the fight between art and commerce, what wins -- the thing that sells, or the thing makes an impact on the reader? I'd like to think talented, smart writers (like Greg Rucka, Gail Simone and Peter Tomasi) can show us rewound characters from a new perspective. But I have my doubts, given the mishmash way in which DC is announcing changes -- without a greater context with which to view their entire universe. Ultimately, I have no hopes for this reboot, because I don't think it stands for anything, I don't think it has a voice or a concern to attract the reader. The Crisis on Infinite Earths meant to restore the core essence of characters while scaling back their ridiculous concepts to the manageable main few. And that birthed some truly benchmark stories, involving Wonder Woman, Superman and Batman -- while giving their sidekicks room to grow into even greater, more human characters.

What is the point of this reboot? I've read nothing that tells me its purpose. And so I worry that the purpose is business -- just when I most want the human need to tell a story to shine through, to generate renewed loyalty to a franchise of books that have had troubled sales in the last few years. I want to be given new reasons telling me what is so important about these icons, in regards to American character and universal human challenge and achievement. Will I get that? I don't know. I hope I do. But then, I'm not a new reader, I'm not a target. What I hope for isn't DC's concern.