Loves "Jones", or "Desolation" Row

Though I'm a big Warren Ellis fan, I must admit that his work has left me wanting lately. It hasn't been bad, by any means, but I'm often left with the sense that it could have been better.

His three issue minis were obviously stories that needed to escape from his brain. Ocean has been an interesting story, but has not been that fascinating (which is odd because I love space stories as well). His run on Ultimate Fantastic Four was fun, but I believe you can start seeing his disdain for superheroics in it. Iron Man is pretty, and not very superheroey, which may be its only salvation. Yes, I find myself longing for Transmetropolitan. I become more and more curious as to what his Hellblazer run would have looked like if “Shoot” had been published (thus far the only bit of his run that I have read is the unpublished story).

This week, Desolation Jones came out.

Warren Ellis is back.

Michael Jones and Spider Jerusalem share a common antecedent; there is even a bit of Lazarus Churchyard in there. Whereas the earlier two both take place in some far (or not-so-far) future, Desolation is very much of the modern day. There is the colonel who talks about his sexual escapades and hires Jones to find his copy of Hitler Porn. There is the conversation between Michael Jones and Robin that sounds more like Ellis’s Bad Signal. All of these meld into classic Warren Ellis storytelling.

Desolation Jones still manages to remain different though, and it's probably due to the art (something I normally don’t pick up on, honestly). J. H. Williams III adds something significant to this book. While Darick Robertson helped push Transmetropolitan into the weird/funny realm, Williams is the reason for the, well, desolate landscape painted in the Los Angeles of the book. You will know that this is Warren Ellis after reading it, but this book illustrates wonderfully how Ellis works so well with certain artists. Desolation Jones is the perfect example of why writers should often give artists co-creator credit.

The book already appears to be selling out across the country, though my store still had several copies. On Bad Signal, Ellis mentioned how his readers are not the Every Wednesday group. I imagine, since the book seems to be doing so well, that the Trade will only enhance that. This calls to mind all those times Ellis has commented on the trade vs. monthly debate. Desolation Jones is going to bequie a different book in trade than it is in monthly (or bi-monthly, as it were). As much as Ellis seems to despise certain things about comics, he knows how to do most of them right. Forgetting how he is often cursed with late books for no apparent reason, Desolation Jones makes me excited to go back to the store. I usually decide to go to the comic store when one of those books comes out that I cannot wait for. This book has quite impressively and quickly joined that list.

If this book goes the way of all the Great Cancels of the past year, I think it will severely shake my faith in comicdom. This book needs to do well. It could start big things happening. In the same way that Sin City showed Hollywood that comics can be turned into movies as comics, Desolation should be the sign for the industry that, while super heroes sell, there is an entire audience of readers out there who are craving this stuff. And will go out of their way to get it.

I too had Chris’s lack of excitement there for awhile, despite my huge pull list. Desolation Jones, in one reading, has got me excited again. I just hope there's more to come.

Green Pieces (Part Two)

"What you didn't count on, hotshot, is the madder I get, the sneakier I get."

on The Incredible Hulk 347-359, 361-367

[N.B. My apologies for the protracted delay, Weeklings. I was distracted by an old friend coming back through town. Also, someone stole my car. And, there was an earthquake. A terrible flood. Locusts. Suffice it to say, it wasn't my fault. But, as our esteemed subject Mr. David has been known to say, I digress.]

What's notable about the "Mr. Fixit" era of Peter David's Hulk is how it can at once seem so out of the blue, a perfect ninety degree turn from what's come before, and still subtly maintain momentum. If you know where to look, it really does perfectly what we forget decades-old superhero comics ought to do,: make real changes to the character that are naturally borne out of what has come before (and, more often than not, what has come at another writer's hand).

When last we left the Hulk, we was believed dead, destroyed, in fact, when caught at the epicenter of a gamma bomb. Although his absence from the subsequent issue--346's "Whys and Wherefores"--tried its best to create a true sense of suspense as to whether or not the Hulk survived, it was probably evident to even the least savvy reader that the character with his name in the title would have to be back, eventually. And, yes, the Hulk came back, mean and gray and passionately self-interested. But, as would happen periodically throughout David's run, he was... different. To be sure, the superficial changes were probably most initially shocking. For one thing, the Hulk was dressed, and dressed nattily at that, in the three-piece and fedora befitting a man so high up in the hierarchy of money in the casino that employed him as a sort of hatchet man. And he had a girlfriend, Marlo (who would go on to become a fixture in the book for years to come, later following Peter David and Rick Jones over to Captain Marvel). He had a home, accommodating the size of both of his body and his appetites. He was, as unlikely as it must have seemed, happy. He was satisfied.

The only problem was that, like the man said, you can't always get what you want. When "Crap Shoot"--in 347--opened, the Hulk was surrounded by men and women waiting to tell him "yes," out of fear, out of self-interest, even out of a genuine sense of concern for the Hulk's well-being. But you knew that eventually, someone was going to tell him "no," and the whole thing would come crashing down.

It had to, since all the superficial changes hid (briefly), one fairly major one: Banner was gone.

Through a series of events too convoluted to go into here--and, at the time, unrevealed for four months, in what must have seemed to be David's narrative gloriously shooting itself in the foot--Hulk found himself alone, at last, never changing back to Banner, never even having to deal with Banner chipping away at his subconscious. Keep in mind that it was Hulk's name in the title and, as much as Hulk and Banner are two sides of the same coin, it was unclear at this point whether or not they were inseparable. (In fact, time would prove that they could exist with mutual exclusivity, albeit not safely, as during the "Heroes Reborn" fiasco, when Banner followed the Avengers and the Fantastic Four into the pocket universe while Hulk stayed in the 616.) It was, in short, believable that David had killed off his main character. And while Banner proved not to be dead, exactly, he was still missing from the book. It's really a hell of a thing Peter David did here; Banner and Hulk define one another through their opposing natures, like light and dark, and good and evil. Imagine what it took, not only to attempt to define one without the other, but to think to do so in the first place.

Hence, the "Mr. Fixit" arc is unique in David's run in that it's pretty much the only time you get to see the Hulk really cut loose, not with violence (well, there's that, too), but rather with desire. If the central question of David's Hulk is what he wants, this arc makes it clear that even if you gave the Hulk exactly what he asked for, he still wouldn't be satisfied. It seems that the Hulk doesn't want what he wants so much as that he wants to want.

It's worth mentioning that as much as the book was following its own whims all over perdition during this period, the book still took effort to very much ground itself in the overall context of the Marvel Universe. Previously, during David's first year-and-a-half, the book was very much self-contained, with only an appearance from Wolverine (and, arguably, the behind-the-scenes presence of S.H.I.E.L.D.) to suggest the greater world. Although the first issue of the larger arc--347 again--is relatively self-contained, the subsequent issue features a guest shot from the Absorbing Man. From there, a brief detour to Web of Spider-Man (which David was also writing, off and on, at the time) for the first of a two-part crossover which ended in the next issue of The Incredible Hulk. Which, in turn, led to Fantastic Four for another two-part crossover ending in the next issue of Hulk, which finds ol' Gray Genes in New York, primed for recruitment into the last campaign of the Evolutionary War (which storyline was running through Marvel's Annuals that year, though oddly, there was no Hulk Annual).

The problem with this increased interconnectivity is that in retrospect it smacks of editorial interference. If rumors of behind-the-scenes action are to be believed, editorial machinations were highly influential on David's work here, and what ultimately inspired him to leave the book. Bobbie Chase, David's long-time editor, seemed to be as much of an ally as her bosses were obstacles. The result is The Incredible Hulk 360, the story of Betty Banner's miscarriage. The book was written by Bob Harras, who would of course go on to become a rather polarizing editor-in-chief, after David refused, making the book one of only two issues between 331 and 467 not written by Peter David. What's particularly disturbing about the editorial interference here (other than the Hungry Man portion of story potential wasted) is that it completely goes against a story written just a year before (346's "Whys and Wherefores") wherein Betty agonizes before deciding not to abort the child. Why make the reader go through the catharsis of such a decision, only to render the act of deciding immaterial?

But despite all the superficial changes, despite all the more fundamental changes, despite even the distractions of Spider-Man and co., one constant of David's run is readily apparent, unchanged: the destructively co-dependent relationship between Bruce Banner and the Hulk. When Banner inevitably returns, the spell cast by the sorcerers of Jarella's World having worn off (don't ask), the familiar dynamic is revisited. Banner by day, the Hulk by night, each one struggling to undo the other's hold on their coexistence while simultaneously trying to thwart further attempts. But what's different here is the Hulk finally has something to lose. At one point, Banner wakes up--having gone to sleep as the Hulk--and finds a message written on the bathroom mirror. "Don't screw this up," it says. But where once the Hulk would have threatened Banner unabashedly, he can't help but inadvertently admit that Banner's behavior--among other things--are out of his control. If there's a lesson in this large arc--and David, to his credit, was never one for easy answers--it's that we're never as human as when we're vulnerable, and we're never as vulnerable as when we have something to lose.

Next, in Green Pieces (Part Three): Peter David enters the high point of his run on The Incredible Hulk, issues 368-400, constituting the first half (!) of the Pantheon Saga. Dale Keown, considered by many to by David's definitive artistic partner on the book, joins up to illustrate the introduction of the Pantheon, the return of Betty and Rick, and appearances from the Defenders, the Punisher, and X-Factor, not to mention the Abomination and the Leader. Plus, Jim Wilson has AIDS, Banner's treacherous lab assistant has guilt, and, in David's best-regarded story (possibly ever), the Hulk has an appointment with Doc Samson. There's a lot to cover. Get here early.

Too Thin

Me thinks the man doth protest too much.

I find it hard to do much besides disagree with Mr. Tamarri's post on the current DC Mega-Event, Infinite Crisis. That it is unpleasant for a reader to pick up their favorite monthly titles only to find out that the story they are reading is finished somewhere else cannot be disputed. However, I still think that Prelude to Infinite Crisis is kind of a nice idea, an easily budgeted book. Not only do I not collect the books that will be reprinted, I'm certainly not going to go to the length of getting Outsiders #N to find out what happened on page 13 panel 5. I think that DC has been incredibly accommodating with this crossover. Crisis Counseling is on the main DC website, and its purpose is to give you those minor tidbits that you may miss every week.

And while Chris throws the logic of math at us, let us not ignore logical fallacies. If Countdown's $1 price point was for those 80 pages, look at how much you are actually losing a week when you pick up your measly 32 page monthlies. Six bucks for 96 pages may not be perfect, but it is still not a bad price per page. We must remember that 80 pages for $1 is non-standard.

I also think that DC is being somewhat accurate in its "You do not have to read everything" stance. I know very little about the normal DCU and I've managed to understand all of the Infinite Crisis minis so far. I even dare to say that my reading of Adam Strange did little to improve my understanding of the recent Rann-Thanagar War #1.

In addition, I think it would be a great disservice to the readers if they saw the "Part 17 of 96" on the cover, because they would then be disappointed when they get two pages of necessary storyline (Marvel's "Zero Tolerance" crossover in the X-Books a few years back comes to mind). With Infinite Crisis it seems that the reader will get as much out of the story as they want, or can afford.

It seems that Chris's problem with Infinite Crisis is the very essence of the universe-changing event. How else would you possibly change the entire universe, without affecting every book? I will probably end up being disappointed with Infinite Crisis when all is said and done, but not due to the logistics of storytelling. My fear is still that this universe changing event will be anything but. This past week I picked up all the first issues of the Countdown books. OMAC Project was interesting, and looks to be the most promising in developing into Infinite Crisis. Rann-Thanagar is setting up to be good old-fashioned Science Fiction, which DC seems to do well. Day of Vengeance was (for some reason) rather charming, if only for its apparent simplicity. As for the last, I must admit that I've already planned on dropping Villains United.

So Chris, let us not bury this crossover in crap until it's done. Then one day we can look back on this event with disdain or delight, and see how the shape of things to come shaped up.

Spread

See, this is exactly my problem with this whole Infinite Crisis project.

DC has apparently rush-solicited a book they call Prelude to Infinite Crisis (Countdown was taken obviously; I can only assume that Antecedent to Infinite Crisis will be next). The book'll weigh in at about 96 pages, and will set you back six bucks (suggesting that the 16 pages this tome has on Countdown's length are worth an additional fiver, if I may be so bold as to introduce the rigid logic of mathematics). It will reprint the two-part Flash/Wonder Woman crossover from a couple months ago, the lead story from the most recent Superman Secret Files and, according to the press release, "select pages from nearly two dozen other DCU comics, with new text adding context to each story sequence."

DC would have you believe that this is a service to their readers. At best, it's a concession.

Somehow this company has taken its most appealing aspect--something, to be fair, it shares with Marvel--and turned it into a liability. The shared continuity is the most exciting thing that the DCU has going for it. It's fun to read, say, Detective Comics and Action Comics independently, only to see Superman, faced with an overwhelming problem, turn to Batman for help. Or, more accurately, it's fun to see this once in a while. What's bothersome is to see a major problem faced by Superman and Batman, and Wonder Woman, and the Flash, and the Justice League, and the Justice Society, and the Titans, and, ineffably, Adam Strange, and, once we get around to unkilling her, Donna Troy, each in their own books. Each of which you are asked to pay for.

In theory, it's exciting to see these heroes band together, to see the thread of continuity strung not between two characters or two books, but between all of them. But in practice, frankly, it's impossible. At least, it's impossible for me, inasmuch as I don't have an inexhaustible income.

The prevailing attitude from DC editorial seems to be "no, of course you don't have to buy all of these books to get the whole story," a standard company line (literally) whenever one of the big two trots out one of these big crossovers. However, I can't help but see as how a book like this completely undermines that position. A reprint book like this is just a finger in the dike (so to speak...), a way for DC to hopefully prevent their readers from being completely overwhelmed by a project that's gotten completely away from them. And, bear in mind, we're still a ways off from the actual book in which the central story will appear. I can't help but think that if DC was honest, solicited this as a multi-part story with central, unignorable events occurring in quite a few of their regular books, they would engender more good will than they will doing what they're doing.

What's better, picking up your monthly copy of Aquaman to see "Infinite Crisis part fourteen of seventy-two" on the cover, "continued in next week's Adventures of Superman" announced on the last page, or reading your supposedly self-contained issue of JSA to find that halfway through, a minor scene in an issue of The Outsiders from three months ago has become a major plot point? Neither is particularly appealing. Neither is respectful of the concept of the shared universe, to say nothing of a particular book's readers. But at least you can budget for one.

The Reappointment Artist

You've probably already heard about this, if you're inclined to pay attention to these sorts of things. But, for the sake of continuity (a loaded word, I know), a bit of reiteration: Jonathan Lethem is set to revisit the aptly-named character Omega the Unknown for Marvel Comics, to be published in 2006 (here's the link to the corresponding piece on Newsarama, which disappointingly provides little more information). Which I thought was a curious piece of news, both somehow surprising and, in retrospect, inevitable.

My initial reaction was to think about who this is meant to appeal to.

My secondary, closely following, reaction was to realize that I'm who this is meant to appeal to.

Lethem's hardly the first to have made a name for himself in the outside world before taking advantage of an opportunity to revisit childhood friends (to be overly romantic). Kevin Smith's been here (and was supposed to come back...), as has Straczynski, and lately Brad Metzler and Joss Whedon, amongst others I'm probably forgetting. But Lethem's the first novelist in recent memory to have made the jump. (Michael Chabon's a notable exception, but one with a necessary asterisk next to his name; The Escapist is a new property borne, improbably, out of Chabon's novel, making the "childhood friend" proviso not applicable, save through a brief contribution to the negligible JSA All Stars miniseries a few years back. But I digress.)

I suppose the fact that Lethem's jumped the generic shark isn't so surprising, given his history. Certainly, the fact that he had previously made his Marvel is all over Fortress of Solitude (the book's title notwithstanding). And shorter pieces--like the essay "Identifying With Your Parents", collected in both The Disappointment Artist and the excellent Give Our Regards to the Atomsmashers, or stories like "The Vision"--have dealt with his passion more directly, if less artfully. And since Motherless Brooklyn, casual Lethemites seemed to have forgotten that author's start was very much embedded in a science fiction tradition; As She Climbed Across the Table revolved around a love affair between a scientist and a black hole, and my favorite, Girl in Landscape, mined the same post-future westernist vein that Joss would tap for Firefly. So it's certainly not uncharacteristic of Lethem--or, more accurately, uncharacteristic of the character he's shaped on his pages--to be interested in putting his proverbial money where his mouth is.

But.

I find it hard to believe that this constitutes a good business decision, at least in the short term. It certainly buys the Marvel name some artistic cred, irrespective of the book's ultimate quality (which will probably be good, and will certainly be regarded as good, even if it's not). But I'm more interested in what comics readers will be buying than with what Marvel will.

(By the by, I know it's curious to raise an eyebrow at Marvel having made a decision seemingly motivated by creative impulses rather by finances, but the fact remains that such a decision is uncharacteristic.)

I like Lethem. I've read a number of his books, and enjoyed most of them, some very much so (and even got paid to talk about one once, for the Village Voice). I'll certainly be buying the book, given that I'm already inclined to read the man's work, and am particularly interested in seeing what he's capable of creating for this medium. I'll be there. But I cou;dn't guess who'll be there with me.

"Project" Red Light

I spent some time this afternoon giving my longboxes a much-needed spring cleaning. I pulled old comics, long unread, to donate to my local library (who, impressively, take them and actually introduce them into circulation). I pulled some more comics, recently completed runs, ready and waiting to be converted to trades (something once unthinkable, now standard). And, just to balance things out, I filed some new books who'd been sitting on the shelf, neglected and longing for a good ol' fashioned organizing. I ran into a snag, though.

I couldn't figure out where to put OMAC Project 1.

Admittedly, in the scope of things, this is the sort of non-problem that most of us would love to have top our list of Things Wrong With the World. But, organization and cross-reference are important tools to a comics historian--by which I mean "reader"--and, more importantly, I didn't think "Worse X-Man: Maggot or Marrow" was a compelling post topic. So here we are, lost in the stacks.

For reasons that I'll (hopefully, eventually) make clear, I didn't file the book where it by rights ought to go, under "O", nestled right next to a handfuls of Optic Nerves (can we chain Adrian Tomine to the drawing table, by the by? We'll start a fund, buy some shackles and someone to mind him, bring him sandwiches and clean T-Shirts. Our expectations will be conservative, to start, say a couple new Nerves a year. Ah, but I digress, Weeklings...).

I thought, briefly, about filing the book under "C", right there between Countdown and the inevitable Infinite Crisis (which, very much despite my better judgment, will probably need space in my collection six months from now). That is, after all where the story fits in. Ultimately, though, that didn't feel right, as though I was giving credence to an impulse that ought not be acknowledged.

See, here's the thing. I bought OMAC Project for two reasons: Batman and Greg Rucka. The series promised to feature the Dark Knight rather prominently, and as an old school fanboy for the character, I'll give most of his books at least a cursory glance, based on the creative team, even if I decide not to actually spend money on one book or another. And as far as creators go, there are few who've dealt with Batman in the last half decade who've satisfied more frequently than Greg Rucka. He was a major contributor to the Crossover-Done-Right "No Man's Land" (of particular note is his one-off with the always-solid Rick Burchett in Legends of the Dark Knight 125, an immensely compelling story wherein Bats and Commissioner Gordon talk about their feelings). His miniseries Death and the Maidens was especially pleasing, an in-depth look at Ra's al Ghul, a legitimate argument for the villain as Batman's true nemesis. And, of course, the centerpiece of Rucka's Batmanifesto is his three-year run on Detective Comics, a patient and painstaking delineation of Batman and Bruce Wayne favoring legitimate detective stories to sensational villain-of-the-week smash-'em-ups.

One of Rucka's main contributions to the Batmythos was the character of Sasha Bordeaux. Introduced in Detective 751 (correct if I'm wrong, Weeklings) as a bodyguard for Bruce Wayne, she quickly became a confident, a partner in crimefighting, and a love interest (or as close to one as the character has). Sasha was classic Rucka heroine, in the manner of Tara Chace, or even of his Elektra or Wonder Woman, hard and capable enough that you respected the character, expected her to take care of herself, but just soft enough that you longed for her to allow someone to take care of her, if that makes any sense (in Countdown, Beetle says of Wonder Woman, "It's the way she says your name, like she knows you, knows everything about you, the best and worst. Like she knows, and she loves you anyway." If that's not Rucka writing, I'll eat my hat). Sasha was ushered quietly offstage at the end of Rucka's run, adopted by Checkmate after her association with Batman had essentially made her life as she knew it impossible, but it always seemed as though they were parts of her story left untold. Naturally, I was excited by the possibility that OMAC might finally conclude her story, give her the kind of ending that real life never gives.

So you see why I'm compelled to consider OMAC Project a Batman story.

Here's the thing, though. It is a Batman story, in that he's a major character and he's being written by a man who's intimately familiar with his internal monologue. However, as has been pointed out in better e-rags than this, OMAC Project 1 is really Countdown 2. And Countdown was a story of Blue Beetle, and Superman, and the Titans and the Outsiders, and the JLA, and Adam Strange, and Maxwell friggin' Lord. And, if there's time, Batman. And, just to drive the point home, I notice that in a few months hence, there'll be a crossover between the Superman books and Wonder Woman (to both of which Rucka contributes), which thereafter will crossover with OMAC Project. Which I'm buying to see Batman.

Look, I get the shared universe thing. I enjoy the shared universe thing. The relationship between Batman and Superman is (if written correctly) is one of the most nuanced workplace relationships that I've ever encountered, in any medium. But I don't need a comic just to tell me that they work differently. And I certainly don't need a special, which leads into four miniseries, which in turn leads into another miniseries which will doubtless crossover with more books than my wallet can bear, to tell me that this is a multi-faceted fictional context.

I bought Detective Comics because I find Batman appealing, and I find (found, maybe, sadly) Greg Rucka's writing to be entertaining. I'm buying OMAC Project because it seems as though I have to, to enjoy the completion of the story that began in that title. But I'm not happy about it.

So here's the deal. I'm going to buy the OMAC Project, in toto, 2 through 6. At the end of that final issue, I'm going to decide whether I can continue following this character I enjoy while in good conscience ignoring Superman, and the Flash, and those characters that, due to matters of personal taste, aren't for me. If so, I'll continue reading Gotham Central, and Anderson Gabrych's Batgirl and David Lapham's Detective and Devin Grayson's Nightwing (I know, I know, but that's the subject of another post, friends). But if they ask me to buy more than that, suggest that Batman's story is incomplete without a total understanding of the world in which he lives, I'm out. Look, A Tale of Two Cities was a massive undertaking, with a cast of characters larger than the list of people I know, in real life, and well-studied observations of these two contexts considered through a number of disciplines. But it had a finite number of pages, and Dickens never asked for more money after I was done, to tell me how things really ended. And the DC Universe, I know, isn't Victorian Europe, but in its own way, it could be.

Six months and, maybe, I'm out.

But I'll always have "Officer Down".