Apologies to Mr. Johns Part Two: A Geek Repents

There’s nothing like getting a letter from an author you’ve critiqued to make you stop and listen to yourself for a moment. And there’s nothing like hearing your own voice braying back at you like a jackass from the void to make you think that perhaps you should shut up for a while—or at least seek to make things right.

Exhibit A: My review of the first issue of the new Green Lantern series, written by the über-prolific Geoff Johns, who is also responsible for scripting or co-scripting JLA, The Teen Titans, The Flash, and the upcoming Infinite Crisis maxi-series, among other titles. As indicated in my review, I purchased GL #1 after a protracted absence from the world of comic books. I had been an avid collector throughout the 1980s and into the early 1990s but eventually stopped collecting due to a lack of funds (I was in university) and a sense that speculation and marketing had taken over the industry, turning people like me—people who read and collected comics simply for the love of it—into little more than pawns to be hooked and strung along like so many drug addicts. (Little did I realize then that marketing and speculation had driven the industry virtually from its inception.)

Imagine my horror when, over ten years later, I returned to one of my favorite titles from the past only to discover that not only was the situation the same, it had actually gotten worse. The comics were printed on better paper and with fewer ads, but that did not, in my mind at least, create a better reading experience. Not only did it download more costs to readers rather than advertisers, the amount of story contained in a single issue appeared to have gone down rather than up. In other words, it seemed like readers were being asked to pay far more for far less. Let me hasten to say that I have not verified this scientifically by going back to my old issues of the Green Lantern Corps., for instance, and seeing how many pages I got for how much money and how that money translates into today’s dollars. I am speaking merely from a gut level reaction. I felt like I was getting ripped off. For $4.50, I could buy either the first issue of GL or the latest issue of Wired magazine, for example. In the latter case, I would get hours of reading pleasure and loads of information. In the former, it would all be over in an instant, with little or nothing to show for my time or financial investment.

What I am trying to say by all of this is that poor Mr. Johns found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Putting aside my comments about his actual story for a minute, what really made me angry about GL #1 was the realization that, even more than before, the world of mainstream comic book publishing seems to be more concerned with making lots of money than making great art. Sure, creators like Johns obviously still love the stories and characters, but if they want to work in this industry, they have to play by the rules. And that means structuring their stories in ways that sell as many issues and titles as possible. Hence the dominance of multi-part stories, crossovers, tie-ins, and other devices that make it virtually impossible for casual readers to merely pick up one or two issues and be able to figure out what the heck is going on. Unless they are willing to go the whole nine yards, readers might as well not even get started in the first place. I know Mr. Johns is not personally responsible for this business model, and I’m sure he would structure things differently if he could. So it was unfair of me to aim the brunt of my brief but virulent tirade directly at him. I experienced the same sort of disappointment with other titles as well. He just had the unfortunate luck of being the first.

Concerns about the industry aside though, in my review, I also expressed strong disappointment regarding the actual content of GL #1. To understand why this is the case, you have to remember that during the height of my collecting days, comic books were going through somewhat of a renaissance in terms of storytelling, led by such luminaries as Alan Moore and Frank Miller. After years of superhero comics being little more than melodramas punctuated by pyrotechnics and fisticuffs, Moore and Miller took the medium to an entirely new level, showing that superhero stories could be far more than escapist, adolescent fantasy. They could also provide social commentary, spiritual reflection, and innovative, sophisticated storylines. Of course, Miller and Moore weren’t the only ones taking comics in new directions. Underground writers and artists had been pushing the boundaries of the medium for years. But Miller and Moore were among the first to bring such sensibilities into the mainstream. Needless to say then, after years out of the scene, I expected to re-enter it and find the spirit of Miller and Moore still echoing throughout the DC universe. Instead, I found that Green Lantern, at least, had actually reverted back to what comics were before titles like before The Watchmen, Elektra: Assassin or The Dark Knight Returns revolutionized writers and readers alike.

To say that I was disappointed is an understatement. But as I thought about it—and as people like fellow HollywoodJesus reviewer Maurice Broaddus began to get on my case for my “pissy� attitude—I began to realize that perhaps I was being too hard on Mr. Johns. More than that, perhaps I was judging him according to a standard he never even set out to attain. Sure, Miller and Moore had achieved some remarkable things during the mid-1980s. But did that mean, henceforth, that all other comic books would have to conform to their image to be considered worthy of our attention? Surely that would only lead to a new type of stagnation and homogeneity. After all, vehicle manufacturers offer a wide variety of makes and models, because they recognize consumers have a wide variety of wants and needs. Why can’t comic book publishers do the same? Just because I have a predilection for all things dark and brooding, does that mean everyone else should be forced to share my tastes? Of course not. What about the fourteen-year-old kid who just wants to read an exciting adventure story, the type of kid who is actually put off by too much philosophical gobbledygook? Naturally, as a 34-year-old reader, I want comic books to cater to my tastes. But to insist that they publish only comics that conform to my standards is like four-wheel drive enthusiasts demanding that Ford manufacture and sell only SUVs, to heck with what other people want and need. It doesn’t make sense. Sure, the storyline in Green Lantern doesn’t exactly push the boundaries in terms of what comic books can be, but neither does it claim to do so, and nowhere do the rules say it should. Some people really do want and need superhero stories told in the classical mold, and such people will not be disappointed when it comes to this title.

So, my apologies to Mr. Johns. Not only did I make you the scapegoat for the entire comic book industry, I also pilloried you for a crime you did not actually commit. I’m sorry it has taken me so long to learn this lesson—and that I have had to learn it in public—but better late than never.