“Kirby cooked up some tasty comics. Should we keep warming up his
leftovers, or get in the kitchen and start cooking?”
-Kody Chamberlain, Twitter, April 2012
There’s an early episode in the second season of Game of Thrones that opens with young
Arya Stark squatting to take a piss near a stream right before the Gold Cloaks
from the City Watch at King’s Landing come to serve a warrant for her friend
Gendry, the bastard son of the late King, Robert Baratheon. Now, the only
relevant part of that sentence is that this
little girl is taking a piss. It’s just this small touch of realism.
There’s an uncomfortable impermanence to real things. Real things piss, shit,
fuck, tarnish, lie, and even die. You won’t see anything like that in Lord of the Rings. Frodo and Sam trek to
Mordor to cast the One Ring into the fires of Mount Doom for something like six
months. In that entire trilogy, you never once see them go to the damn bathroom.
Game of Thrones doesn’t trade in that
type of illusion. The needs of story authenticity trump the needs of everything
else; it’s gritty in a way that mainstream work can never be. It’s because HBO operates
with a sort of creator-owned carte blanche, if you will. NBC, ABC, and CBS were
once thought of as “The Big Three” networks. In the wake of FOX coming along to
disrupt the status quo, we witnessed the rise of original programming on
networks like HBO, Showtime, AMC, and FX. Before that analogy gets away from me,
I’ll bring this back around to comics…
The criteria I use to buy monthly comics have changed a lot
over the 30+ years I’ve been doing so. I’m sure I could dive into all the
byzantine personal criteria about what type of writing and art I’m drawn to,
but I’ll save you most of that convoluted agony. Most people think I only like
dystopian style writing (which isn’t entirely true), and since I grew up on
stuff like Dave Gibbons art on Green
Lantern and George Perez on New Teen
Titans, it’s easy to see how that’s
informed my interest in the clean austere styles of artists like John Cassaday
or Jamie McKelvie. But, it’s actually a lot simpler than all that.
When I was a kid, I was limited to however many books I
could get with about $5 a week, sometimes less, depending on the odd jobs I
picked up around the neighborhood and whether or not I wanted to have anything
left over for a movie that weekend. This was when new comics came out on Fridays,
and it was a glorious time. Even though $5 went pretty far back when floppies
were 75 cents a pop, there were always more that I wanted. I could never get my
fill.
So when I got older and started earning the type of
discretionary income that allowed me to
throw it at any passing interest, I just bought everything I liked. Period. It was a simple method. It also
required a lot of money. While it made me pretty well-versed in comic book lore
and canonical creative teams, it was also nothing more than a gigantic
revolving door policy. There was lots coming in, and lots going out, with
precious little actually being retained long term.
After some time, it became buy only what you love. This was a little more stringent. It
required really paying attention to what I was truly enjoying and consciously
avoiding purchases made out of sheer inertia. I had to love both the writing and the art, one never guaranteeing a purchase based solely on its
own merit. About this time, I also made the mental decision to follow creators
over characters or companies. And that felt good, like a step in the right
direction. Yet even with this more focused practice, some chaff still managed
to find its way into the wheat. I’m a pretty adventurous consumer. I like to
try new things. I was still buying quite a bit, but retaining only a small
percentage of the overall haul long term. In fact, a recent look at metrics
revealed that I only continued to support 17 titles out of 91 new #1 issues
that I tried during a one year period.
One day it became – and this is basically where I’m at today
– continue supporting only what you love so much that you’d actually be willing
to pay for it again in a collected edition. It wasn’t as elegant a sound byte,
but it made sense to me. In short, if it wasn’t good enough to go on my
bookshelf one day, then why even bother? Wasteland
by Antony Johnston, Chris Mitten, and Justin Greenwood (published by Oni Press)
is an excellent example of this practice. I buy the single issues. I then
upgrade to the trades, while passing on runs of singles to people in an effort to
hook them. Later, I buy the oversized hardcover Apocalyptic Editions when they come out. Can you hear me in the
back? I buy this book three times.
That’s true love. That’s voting with your wallet. That’s taking a stand.
But, something’s still been bugging me about my comic book
purchasing habits in the last couple of years, and I could never quite
articulate what it was. I was getting bored, or frustrated, or something, by some specific part of the
holistic experience. There was something cyclical and predictable about it. I
enjoyed supporting the select cadre of creator-owned titles I was loyal to,
loved turning people on to lesser known work, and didn’t have moral or ethical
beef with any of the creators I supported. But, occasionally I’d still get
hooked into some dumb crossover event or some new rebooted #1 issue from Marvel
or DC in their tired vain attempts to further recapture the junkie high with
THE GREAT ILLUSION OF CHANGE surrounding a company-owned property. I mean,
really, how good can a new Moon Knight
or Mister Terrific series really be?
I needed to look at the approach I’d been taking to my buying habits in a
different way. I needed some new mechanism of delineation.
Part of what I was feeling was that I’d already seen the
best of what corporate superhero properties had to offer. I’ve seen the
pinnacle of what Superman can be with
Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely’s All
Star Superman. Sorry, but unless you can do better than that, I’m not
interested. I’ve already seen the best Batman stories too. I’m skeptical that
anyone can further the enduring mythos of the character better than Paul Pope’s
Batman: Year 100. I’ve seen the
strong women of Greg Rucka and the inventive art of JH Williams III on Batwoman. Topping that is harder than
bottling farts in the wind. I mean, DC can’t even get their act together enough
to continue it, let alone surpass it.
I’ve enjoyed the DC history lesson depicted in the quintessential liminal state
between Golden Age and Silver Age in Darwyn Cooke’s The New Frontier. The thought of diluting that magical Absolute
Edition with some dopey Earth 2 book
from the so-called “DCnU” is horrifying. Tell me, is that book better or worse
than the aborted First Wave line?
Barf. Can I interest you in a can of lukewarm New Coke? Over at Marvel, is it
reasonable to expect that a better looking X-Men book than Joss Whedon and John
Cassaday’s Astonishing X-Men will
ever come about? Will the raison d’etre of an amoral covert mutant hit squad
ever be more carefully considered or lushly rendered than the Rick Remender,
Jerome Opena, and Dean White issues of Uncanny
X-Force? Can anyone deliver better flash fiction renditions of Iron Man than the fertile minds of
Warren Ellis and Matt Fraction? I doubt it. Yeah, I can still quote lines from
the old Kurt Busiek and George Perez Avengers
run: “Ultron… we would have words with
thee.” To me, that run will forever be what the Avengers are supposed to be. These are all good books. I like them.
I own them. I also feel as if forthcoming creative teams will forever be
chasing their magic. It’s what Kody Chamberlain was talking about in that
tweet. They’ll just be reheating leftovers ad infinitum, ad nauseum. There’s a
glass ceiling on how special you can make something simply by retooling what’s
come before at the hands of others, without offering up some original part of
yourself in the process. I’m hungry for something new.
Those comics I mentioned have capped the properties in such
a way that I feel like I never have to return to that particular well. What’s
the artistic objective of going back to extremely well-tread ground? I’m burned
out, because they’re played out. My
intention here is not to sound like an elitist snob by proclaiming I’m done
with Corporate Cape Comics. But, the game’s changed. So has this player. People
change. People move on. The industry
evolves. Genres, characters, properties, the thing is that their creative
paths can mature to the point of conclusion. It’s possible to achieve a state
of creative bankruptcy. Besides, given the choice between any of those great
takes on company-owned properties I mentioned above, I’d actually prefer the
creator-owned vision of Planetary, Heavy Liquid,
Desolation Jones, Queen & Country, Battle Hymn, Automatic Kafka,
Arrowsmith, I Am Legion, Danger Club, Prophet, The Massive, or 20th Century Boys. Amid all the
controversy surrounding Before Watchmen, I’d strongly prefer
to see pitches from those same writers and artists for original creator-owned
series of their own. I’d buy some of those instead. That’s what’s going to keep
the future of the industry vibrant. Creativity lies ahead. Looking back is
fleeting.
It’s impossible to talk about this stuff and not acknowledge
the work of a few people that acted as some sort of thought-catalyst for me. There
was the tipping point of Chris Roberson essentially being fired from DC Comics
because he spoke out on the creator rights issue and ethical concerns about
their practices, as well as Roger Langridge quitting Marvel and DC work over
the same concerns. I was also inspired in part by David
Brothers’ public cold turkey “quit” of all Marvel and DC books, but want to
differentiate that what I’m doing is different, and for different reasons. Bloggin’
buddy Keith
Silva’s swearing off of Marvel and DC material in favor of creator-owned
comics led to some healthy exchanges between us. I started asking myself questions.
Could I do that? Would I be able to give up Marvel and DC books? Yeah, no
problem with the mainline universe titles. I mean, I’d woken up one day and the
Marvel U and DCU had suddenly become “616” and “DCnU” or some fucking thing. No
sweat ditching that mess. The gray area became imprint books at places like
Vertigo or ICON. Those were creator-owned after all. Would I be willing to drop
books like Scalped or Casanova? Well, no. That’s not what I
wanted to do. Not exactly. My main objective wasn’t to shun Marvel and DC in
their entirety for unethical business practices associated with Before Watchmen or the Avengers movie. That’s a good fight, but
what I wanted to do was slightly different. After verbally water-boarding me
like I’d been deemed an unlawful combatant at Gitmo, Keith cornered me with a
phrase that stopped me dead in my tracks:
“So… you’re saying you only want to do creator-owned, then?” The words
still ring in my ears like truth. That was it. I wanted to support
creator-owned titles, exclusively.
In less than sound journalistic fashion, I always tend to
bury my lead. So, yeah, here’s the news: I’m
no longer buying Marvel or DC books unless they’re creator-owned. But this
has less to do with being a punitive move against Marvel and DC than it does
with me just really wanting to support creator-owned titles exclusively. There
will be one exception. If you’re reading this, it’s probably no surprise that I’m
something of a Brian Wood completist.
He’s a creator I’m loyal to, and I’ll ride with him to whatever end, be it
creator-owned, company-owned, or licensed work. I’m planning on buying X-Men and Ultimate Comics: X-Men when he jumps on with their next issues.
That’s just the way it is. It’s non-negotiable. I’ve spent a considerable
amount of time writing about his work and the
arc of his career. I absolutely plan to continue examining his books as
long as he keeps writing them. I realize I don’t really need to seek anyone’s
approval other than my own about what monthly floppies I buy, but y’know,
transparency and all.
Honestly, it didn’t take much effort to make this deliberate
shift. I was actually already leaning into this position through natural attrition,
but this stance is now by design. In terms of what I’m buying today, here are
the substantive changes, which will be put into effect immediately. I wasn’t
actually buying a single Marvel book regularly, so that’s easy. The closest
thing I have in the line-up is Matt Fraction and Gabriel Ba’s Casanova, and since it’s technically
creator-owned under the ICON imprint, it gets a pass. On the DC side, the
titles on the chopping block are Batman,
Batwoman, and Worlds’ Finest. Who doesn’t love George Perez art? I’ll miss that
about Worlds’ Finest. But you know
what I don’t really care about? Power Girl and Huntress. I love Greg Rucka and
JH Williams III’s Batwoman run that
originally aired in Detective Comics,
and I’ll keep that Elegy hardcover on
my bookshelf, but this new run has degenerated from that rapidly. I don’t mind
giving this up since I was already considering it. Batman is a book I enjoy reading for straight-up mainstream done
right. But, I also came to the realization it’s a sad commentary that this
above-average effort is basically the best thing DC could muster from the
flaccid New 52 initiative. It should actually be the bare minimum level of quality allowed, yet the cold hard truth is
that this is actually the best book in the line. That’s ridiculous to me. So,
farewell Batman. It’s like Michael
Corleone said when he wanted to off Captain McCluskey and “The Turk:” “It’s not personal, Sonny. It’s strictly
business.” No hard feelings, I hope. Next time Scott Snyder and/or Greg
Capullo launch a creator-owned book, I’ll check it out. As far as DC imprints
go, my only other books at the moment are actually Scalped and Saucer Country.
Scalped has only two issues left, so
that will soon be a moot point. I’m enjoying Saucer Country, but who knows how long that will hold. So, it’s
kind of interesting that even including imprints (which get passes for being
creator-owned anyway), that’s just two books I’m currently supporting through
Marvel and DC. Essentially, everything else in my current line up, or on the
horizon, is from Dark Horse, Image Comics, and Oni Press, with a whole slew of
self-published mini-comics and small-press boutique publishers.
This is something that I already decided to do a while back,
but I want to reiterate it and maybe encourage others to do the same(?). I’m no
longer using the verbiage “The Big Two” to refer to Marvel and DC. Words are
powerful. I just think it’s unduly empowering. It’s become this weird default
nickname. I think people use the term a lot without even thinking about what it
means. They don’t consider if that’s truly what they intended to say. They
don’t consciously acknowledge the embedded messaging the phrase contains: That
there is a hierarchy. That they dominate. That there can only be two. That
everyone else is small by comparison, and thus, of lesser inherent value. It’s
artificial segregation. It’s a closed paradigm, and I don’t like that. Maybe
it’s not even accurate in some circumstances. I mean, when I ran my own
personal metrics on the last year of purchases (I track everything), I found
that in a statistical heads-up comparison, I was buying 64% more Dark Horse and
Image Comics alone than Marvel and DC. If you factor in Oni Press and a few
others, the numbers get even more compellingly lopsided. With the creative push
that Image Comics alone is on this year, I only anticipate that rift widening.
As it stands today, Image Comics and Dark Horse are basically my “Big Two” in
terms of actual financial market-share. Should Dark Horse and Image Comics be
called “The New Big Two?” Should I refer to them as “The Twins?” (yes, another Game of Thrones reference). With Oni
Press, are they “The Medium Three?” Somebody invent a term for this that I can
use. Nah, I’m just playin’. Inventing new language like that to label these
publishers would only further marginalize their status and reinforce the
practices of a flawed system.
Seriously, I’d rather just say this: “I only buy creator-owned comics.”
