It’s been a YEAR, y’all. There’s a lot going on in the world, most of it sinister and upsetting at best and downright terrifying at worst, and escaping into the land of well-crafted comics has been a bit of a blessing. It wasn’t always like that for me, though.
I’ve been reading comics since I was a kid, but only sporadically: Casper, Archie and Batman all featured in my initial forays, as did a lot of weird German cartoons my grandmother foisted on me. In high school, a forward-thinking English teacher introduced us all to the wonders of the graphic novel. I dug into Bay Area local artists with the help of my uncle in my 20s and met someone who’d later be my partner who put a book in my hands that changed my brain, if not my life: Giffen & DeMatteis’s seminal “Justice League International.”
Guy Gardner got me into comics.
Guy Gardner’s what us Millennials would call a “problematic fav.” He’s a no-nonsense, all-American white cis dude whose politics have ranged all over the spectrum. He’s had a few, er, unfortunate runs (“Warrior”, anyone?), been hit by a bus, been hit by about every other character in the DCU, and is a general thorn in the side of the Lantern Corps and the Justice League. He’s a jerk.
In the hands of the right people, however, Guy’s turned into something more than the sum of his contrary parts. There’s no doubt he’s got the will to be a Lantern (Hal was chosen by proximity only), and his friendship with John Stewart over the years has been nuanced and lovely. He’s steadfast, sure in his beliefs, loyal, uncompromising and true. He falls, and he fails (without destroying an entire city, thank you very much). He can still be a seminal goof when he needs to be, but if you scratch the surface there’s a solid character underneath that many people have used as a catalyst in superhero storytelling.
Guy Gardner’s complicated, and by his mere existence the people around him are better. I didn’t realize that superhero comics could do this with a character. So I was on board, but still not entirely convinced. There was still something missing for me. I grew up obsessed with text, and followed a childhood filled with books with a similar academic trajectory. I made a mid-20s impulse decision to pursue a creative degree, which was terrifying but valuable. When I escaped grad school with an overwrought creative manuscript and my MFA clutched between sweaty fingers, I didn’t realize I’d barely pick up a book for the next 10 years. My primary means of experiencing art evaporated, until I picked up comics again.
Fast forward to this year. Everyone’s talking about how we’re in another Golden Age for the medium, and while I’m hesitant to label anything as such given our cultural trend of calling everything the best thing ever AND labeling a specific period in time as a zeitgeist kind of spits in the eye of everyone who got us there in the first place, I can safely say that the work that’s coming out now is what got me to dig in.
I’d been writing about comics for a few years and hit a good stride in 2017, but 2018’s when things finally clicked for me. This year was the first time I picked up a book and started to understand the deeper mechanics of what’s going on on the page. I still struggle with some terms, and I’m pretty sure you can track my learning process through my reviews by what concept I’m banging my head against as I try to wrap my head around a particular piece. But the ineffable, the magical thing? That’s what I finally understand: the sum of the parts.
Comics are a special thing. The medium’s a completely unique art form that requires us all to bring more of our faculties to bear than most of us realize. They’re a full sensory experience that engage multiple learning modalities, light up your brain and generally fire the imagination. When they’re bad, they feel like a slap in the face. When they’re brilliant, they’re extraordinary, and there are so many different ways they can shine. It’s an open plane of possibility, and I’m enjoying the heck out of exploring it.
Continued belowAs for my lit roots? Non-linear or experimental or hybrid storytelling in prose or poetry promotes dissonance and a reordering of thought and of experience. These works are rich, but the making of them gives rise to an unbearably ponderous nouveau literati and reams of tiresome cultural critique. Comics do the same thing with images, with less text, with (arguably) more imagination – in 22 pages. Each monumental work is unique in its execution, in the beats that it hits and the way it gets there. And the best part? These gems can surface in any genre, at any time.
Comics can be anything and for me, they’re finally something special. And throughout all of this, Guy’s been standing there with his arms folded, grinning at me. He knew all along. I just had to get there.
So, thank you. Thank you to all the creators who’ve shared their works with us and who I’ve gotten to speak with, briefly or more in depth. Good or bad, my taste or not, revolutionary or traditional, it doesn’t matter. Comics themselves are joyful, imaginative, endlessly innovative and completely unique. And I love ‘em to death.
Let’s do it again in 2019.
