Someone Else’s Toys
A fresh page scanned, a new podcast posted. I am sitting here at my desk on a cold Thursday morning, staring at the teaser image for Johns’ and Lee’s new Justice League, which is to debut in three months. The day was filled with the internet din of rumor mongering and shocking confirmations of DC resetting their entire universe and launching fifty-two first issues from September onward.
They’re starting from scratch.
Will this stick? Or is this yet another Heroes Reborn event Jim Lee is involved with? I don’t know. But this all reminds me of something Skottie Young said on a podcast, during one of his more lucid moments: “Ten years, pussies. That’s it. And you’re done.” He was referring to the number of “good” years one comic fan can really call his own. A decade. After that, it becomes clear how cyclical the industry is, and how convoluted histories need to be reset in order for new readers to jump on board. And then you make a subconscious choice between continuing or ending your fandom, knowing this nature of comics.
Having been exposed to comics by my older brother, I’ve been in love with the art form since I was four years old. Comics taught me how to read. Comics taught me how to draw. And probably most importantly, comics taught me how to be passionate about telling stories. And in spite of being held at the mercy of retcons and reboots for almost thirty years now, with Skottie’s logic in mind, I have enjoyed comics enough for three fans’ lives.
And here we are again. Another jumping-on point for some, a potential jumping-off point for others.
But you know what? Just because heroes and characters we’ve loved for so long need to start from scratch, doesn’t mean the adventures we enjoyed as children are undone. No one’s taking them away. What this means is that it’s time for new children to enjoy these stories, and for these characters to be someone else’s toys. And if that means comics can be enjoyed for more decades to come, then I’m all for it.
Continuity isn’t intrinsically a bad thing, especially when it’s observed within the bounds of one writer’s story. Continuity in that regard is akin to Consistency. But when continuity becomes a thorn that hinders new stories from happening because it clashes with the events of past storylines, then it just becomes a pain.
When any novice artist begins working on comic pages, there’s always an urge to make every panel feel like a fragment off the fucking Sistine ceiling. This is admirable. Who’s gonna hate someone for giving all he’s got? Certainly not me. I mean if you’re a fast motherfucker, go for it. But me being equal parts comic artist and comic reviewer, I came to realize fairly quickly that no one spends an hour reading any single comic panel. You might’ve rendered the shit out of that picket fence in the background. Good for you. But you’ll be lucky if the average reader spends more than five minutes on that entire page.
