Look high and low, far and wide, for months on end, and it will still be tough to find a comics-related quote that beats the following bit from the Pulse’s interview with Grant Morrison:

I must admit I have no time for the ’80s style “serious superheroes” books riding the retro wave; never resisting any chance to gratuitously stick the boot in, I thought Watchmen was self-conscious, derivative, and heavy-handed when it first appeared and time hasn’t mellowed my opinion of this vastly overrated series – so the comics I dislike most of all at the moment are filled with unsexy ’80s retro “superheroes-in-the-real-world” type stories. All these soldiers-in-tights comics seem miserly and lacking in wonder, surrealism or novelty. Even Alan Moore himself ran screaming from this kind of story and began an ungainly, 15-year long attempt to reinvent himself as me. So why anyone would look to the awkward pomposity of mid-’80s comics for inspiration is baffling.

Holy shit.

I’ve been thinking a lot about scenesterism and hipsterism lately. Partially this is due to my entree into High Society at the X-Men 2 DVD release party at Jay-Z’s club last week. The whole affair was a little disappointing. The fellow who invited us was a delight, don’t get me wrong, and if I said it wasn’t a little interesting to have Rebecca Romijn-Stamos’s ass wiggling against mine at one point, I’d probably be lying. But mainly, I didn’t see the point of going to something like that unless you were a famous person. If you weren’t a famous person, you were just someone standing around looking at/for the famous people, and what kind of fun is that? You’re a hanger-on, a wannabe, a scenester. It’s boring and silly.

Also boring and silly are hipsters. This is a particularly tough pill to swallow for me, as a twentysomething media worker in NYC who likes weird music and films and reads comic books. But the fact of the matter is that now matter how weird or cool you dress, there are at least 200 other people in this city (I reiterate, at least) who dress in exactly the same way. Most of them spend their nights at deliberately trashy bars drinking deliberately bad beer trying to pick up any one of a cadre of identically-dressed girls or boys. They all read the same hipster publications, take the same out-of-focus photos of one another, do the same drugs, have a friend who takes her top off a lot, blah blah blah. God, it’s so tedious.

And what’s depressing about both these things is how magnetic they seem to be to the artist. Being seen at the right place, or with the right people, or wearing the right outfit–it’s just an incredibly tempting shortcut to Worthwhileville, particularly when compared to the struggle to create something of value, art-wise. It’s also a tremendously easy way to augment the creating you do perform in such a way as to make it seem a lot more impressive. I’m kind of horrified at how soul-destroying and peripheral this enterprise seems to be, since it’s so prevalent, and since there’s a real sense that you’re not living up to your potential if you’re not participating in it in some way.

I’ve long said I’m glad I live on Long Island instead of in NYC. I live there out of necessity due to my marriage to a wonderful woman who happens to teach there, but I’m happy this decision was made for me. If I weren’t married, I’d be living in some awful place on the Lower East Side or Williamsburg or Astoria, paying too much, doing bumps in the bathroom and acquiring sexually transmitted diseases, and God knows how much writing I’d actually be doing, and whether it’d be any good or just something dopey like every other artsy boy in the five boroughs. Which is not to say that what I’m doing now is works of brilliant genius, just that I’m reasonably sure it’s MY work, and not the product of some cookie-cutter scene I’ve found myself involved in.

(And let’s not forget how arbitrarily spacio-temporally biased “scenes” are, by the way. I spend the 1990s getting angry at writers telling me that my enjoyment of, say, Soundgarden was invalid because I didn’t have the good fortune to be born ten years earlier in Seattle.)

This is not to say that I think all aspects of scenesterism are invalid. Certainly if you can find a group of people with compatible artistic drives with whom to work or collaborate, even simply on a moral-support level, go for it. Hey, it worked for the Fort Thunder kids! And just because the comics-crit world is starstruck by them don’t mean they acted like the kind of scenester idiots people are usually starstruck by. Also, I do happen to think fashion and style are important, insofar as they are some sort of expression of your insides made manifest on your outsides. Courtney Taylor-Taylor from the Dandy Warhols put it to me in those kinds of terms, and suddenly I found myself thinking, “A-ha! I get it now!” In a way this only makes it more depressing when you walk around Avenue A and see 40,000 people who might as well be sharing your closet. But still, dressing up in a way that makes you feel vital and creative is a self-reinforcing thing, or at least it can be–like an athlete or a soldier putting on your uniform, you’re transforming yourself into the person you want to be. Just make sure that person’s you, and not Julian Casablancas.

The only important place is inside your head. That’s the only thing that defines you and your worthwhileness. When you’re an artist, the window to that is what you put on the page. To the extent that you can make your surroundings and your appearance and your circle of friends reflect this in some way, hey, great. But ultimately none of that matters in the slightest. The inside of your head can’t be reproduced, sold in thrift stores, and worn ironically. It’s yours!

Okay, so I’m starting to freak out just a little bit. The world premiere of The Return of the King has happened, and it won’t be long now before the movie comes out around here. As such, it’s time for my annual re-reading of The Lord of the Rings, a tradition that began in the summer of 2000, when Amy and I read the book aloud together. (Prior to that I think I’d read the book four times–once in elementary school, once in middle school, once in high school, once in college–give or take one reading; it’s just such a part of me I kinda forgot.)

This time around, however, I’ll be blogging my response to whatever I read during the course of a particular day. Nothing elaborate, I don’t think; certainly nothing approaching the effort that went into the October horror-blogging marathon. Just my observations and emotions about passages that strike my fancy.

Would it be too cheesy to say I hope it’s a journey worth taking? Maybe. But I do. First installment coming soon!

And the December 2003 award for Best Creative Comic-Book Excoriation goes to…

Paul O’Brien, for his righteous take-down of the latest Chuck Austen turkey over in the pages of Uncanny X-Men. Ouch. Best part: pointing out a storytelling flaw that makes Jeph Loeb look like Bill Shakespeare.

Here’s a rule of thumb for Chuck Austen (call it Collins’s Law): If he can’t show boobs and disembowelments, don’t read it. Seriously, U.S. War Machine was terrific, The Eternal has been a lot of fun, and I even loved his art on the Brian Bendis-scripted Elektra miniseries (the sole good story told centering around that character by anyone who isn’t Frank Miller). But aside from that… yikes.

Let’s hear it for the National Dog Show, on your local NBC affiliate! Bichons, baby! Lots of ’em!

Happy Thanksgiving everybody!

The other day, a good friend of mine who’s half Jewish said matter of factly that he’s of the belief that within 10-15 years, we’ll see another Holocaust. I was surprised to find myself not entirely in disagreement. Anyone who’s been following European (and of course Muslim) political discourse recently could tell you of the shocking level of Jew-hatred that’s pretty much taken for granted at this point.

Case in point: this cartoon has just won an award from the British Political Cartoon Society. I know, I know, we go through this little two-step every time some hack shits out a sledgehammer-subtle indictment of Ariel Sharon & Israel–“he’s criticizing a man/a government, not being an anti-Semite!” And as usual, I call bullshit: Anti-Semitism has always presented “legitimate” political concerns as a false face (anti-capitalism, anti-Communism, pacifism, protectionism, and on and on). Moreover, such cartoons inevitably tap into a centuries-deep resevoir of anti-Jew imagery (hook noses, money-grubbing, puppet-mastery, the blood libel), or compare the Jewish state to the anti-Jewish state, namely Nazi Germany, or indeed swipe ideas directly from the Nazis themselves. And this one, in which Ariel Sharon is show devouring a Palestinian baby, is no exception. However noxious you happen to find Sharon or his policies, this is the equivalent of, say, drawing Colin Powell in a loincloth, chucking a spear at Iraq while raping a white woman. It’s anti-Semitism in its new, more respectable outfit: anti-Israelism. So much classier than brown shirts and armbands, isn’t it?

But what’s even more troubling than the fact that this cartoon was drawn and then published by people who one imagines are not drunken skinheads but respected members of the political journalism community, is that that same community saw fit to say that this is The Best of what they have to offer. The cartoon came out and was widely criticized, and you know what the British Political Cartoon Society thought? They thought that not only did this cartoon deserve to be defended, but that a message needed to be sent to the world at large: This is truth. This is courage. This is the way the world should be viewed. We should look at a drawing that would be at home in the most grotesque propaganda of pogroms and Inquisitions past, and think to ourselves, “bravo.”

It’s got me thinking something very, very different.

I’m not trying to contribute to the whole “argu[ing] endlessly” bit here, but the fact that even intelligent comics fans still feel comfortable calling manga formatting a “trend” is pretty much why the industry’s in so much trouble in the first place….

David Fiore responds to the minor tizzy he worked the collective comics blogosphere (yours truly included) into with his posts in favor of the mainstream-company superhero-property model of storytelling. Basically, he says, “my bad!” He says he didn’t mean to give the impression that this mode of narrative production is the tops, just that it’s a lot more interesting than many writers are giving it credit for. I’ll certainly grant him that–some of this stuff is just crazy. I think many “serious” art scholars might look at it the same way they look at “outsider art,” which is probably the last thing Dave has in mind, but honestly, there’s genuine formal weirdness inherent in this kind of storytelling that belies its critics’ claims that it’s all adolescent power-fantasy simple-mindedness.

Also on the Fiore beat is Matt O’Rama, who works himself up into an unseemly lather over Dave’s use of critical-theory vocab but scores some as-yet unanswered points against Dave’s assertion that authors lack, uh, authority over their creations.

Shawn Fumo attempts to analyze Marvel’s latest actions toward The World At Large. For those of us who want the company to succeed, the moves can be baffling, but I know that there are enough smart people in there to actually make some progress given time and latitude.

Eve Tushnet reviews Ito, Moore, and Millar. Her comments about Ultimate X-Men are particularly enjoyable. That book really did provide some highly entertaining ass-kicking popsplosive bang for the buck.

Lotsa yuks over at Derek Martinez‘s place, who’s rounded up the good, the bad, and the ugly of the year in comics. (Link courtesy of ADD; Derek, I’ve got no idea why I hadn’t blogrolled you, but consider that problem rectified.)

BEST SUBJECT HEADING EVER

Kevin Melrose discusses the sad level of bare-minimum suggestions for comics retailers to improve their image. It’s funny, because it’s true.

Mick Martin needs manga recommendations. Help him out, and tell ‘im Sean T. sent you!

Finally, my Thanksgiving suggestion to you: Give thanks for good comics! Sitting on my bookshelves right now are unread copies of Dave McKean’s Cages, Chris Ware’s Quimby the Mouse, and two volumes worth of George Herriman’s Krazy Kat. I’ve still got half of Gilbert Hernandez’s Palomar, Jim Woodring’s The Frank Book, and Ben Katchor’s Julius Knipl: Real Estate Photographer to go through. And if that’s not enough, I can flip through my already-read copies of various books I got this year, like Unstable Molecules, Clumsy, Unlikely, AEIOU, Diary of a Teenage Girl, Blankets, Kramers Ergot 4, Teratoid Heights, Shrimpy & Paul and Friends, Battle Royale, Tomie, Ripple, 100%, DK2, New X-Men, Ultimate X-Men, Rubber Necker, Powers, Alias, Daredevil, Ultimate Spider-Man, The Ultimates, Incredible Hulk, Truth, Born, Vikings, Forlorn Funnies, Tepid, Big Questions, Chrome Fetus, Amazing Spider-Man, Savage Dragon, Astro City, The Filth, and on and on and on, to say nothing of older stuff I first came across in the past 365. We comics fans (can’t believe I’m using that formation, but there you have it) really do have a lot to be thankful for, if we’re lucky enough to know where to look.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

I just heard the following phrase:

“Despite President Bush’s campaign promise to avoid nation-building…”

…as a lead-in to a story on Iraqi and Afghan reconstruction. Gee, what a liar that Bush is, huh? I mean, it’s not like anything happened since he became President that might make him reconsider his foreign policy stance, right?

Is it weird that I tend to respond only to those political issues that find their way into the comics blogosphere? I think it’s weird.

Jim Henley and Jason Kimble are up in arms that the U.S. military has arrested the wife and daughter of Izzat Ibrahim al-Douri, one of Saddam Hussein’s seemingly countless right-hand men and the theoretical instigator of much of the ongoing insurgency/terrorist campaign. I think my difference of opinion with Jim and Jason can be summed up pretty neatly like thus: Jim (at least; don’t know enough about Jason) assumes that the army generally acts wrongly; I tend to give them the benefit of the doubt, believing that they’ve learned that the kind of brutal and stupid tactics employed during many 20th century wars not only look bad, but are militarily inefficient. But beyond that general difference in philosophy, why is it so inconceivable that al-Douri’s wife and daughter may have done something wrong themselves? Hell, in the U.S. itself, I think they should be throwing the ghoulish wife of ghoulish CEOs like Tyco’s Dennis Koslowski in prison right along with her hubby, as she is fully complicit in the looting he did. We don’t know the specifics of the al-Douri situation (again, perhaps this brings us back to the larger philosophical difference between Jim and myself) but at the very least his family can reasonably be suspected of knowing where he is, making them material witnesses; moreover, they are likely in possession of stolen goods and funds, and may well be implicated in some of his crimes as well. “Collective punishment” isn’t an applicable term if the people you’re punishing have actually done things deserving of punishment.

So I’m at the X-Men 2 DVD release party at Jay-Z’s 40/40 club last night (well, that was a hoot to see in print) and it occurred to me, it’s not very hard to be Mark Ronson, is it? I enjoyed the set he spun, but seriously, I could have played Wu-Tang’s “Pinky Ring” into the Stone Roses’s “Fool’s Gold” into the Rolling Stones’s “Emotional Rescue” easily enough, and for a lot less than $5000 an hour, too. “Pass That Dutch” into “Once in a Lifetime”? Happens in my iTunes every day, folks. This cat is like the patron saint of twentysomething rock nerds.

David Fiore, God bless ‘im, has been breathing some rareified air of late: In a couple of posts, he essentially argues that the best art is like big-company supercomics–never-ending, closure-free, static characters, obsessively concerned with minute variations on a very limited number of themes, and without an author to speak of. I wholeheartedly agree, which is why I’ve advanced my theory that General Hospital is the finest narrative work of the 20th century.

I kid!

I appreciate what Dave’s saying on some level–formally, at least, “normal” mainstream genre-comic storytelling is interesting, insofar as it’s so goddamn bizarre. But the assertion that it’s superior to narrative art as we know it in virtually every other form (aside from soap operas, and perhaps professional wrestling) is so transparently ludicrous to me that I wonder if I’m missing something. Hey, I like superhero comics as much, if not more, than the next guy, but I like superhero comics by certain people, and when those certain people stop working on a given superhero comic, I tend to not like that comic anymore. As characters/concepts, some of the superheroes are pretty fascinating–which is, I suppose, why I tried out works featuring them and subsequently discovered good authors in the first place–but privileging them over the people who write and draw them? That way lies madness! I mean, we’re basically talking about favoring run-of-the-mill post-Lee/Kirby/Ditko Marvel fare (it’s got to be “run of the mill,” since we’re rejecting the influence of the author, so those cries of “what about XXX’s run on XXX” will be unheeded, thanks!) over, say, Chris Ware (or Alan Moore or Frank Miller or Grant Morrison, by the way). I understand that it’s difficult to reach an objective standpoint in art criticism, but, uh, c’mon.

Moreover, despite what Dave suggests, when freed from the constraints of the product-producing mainstream machine, creators do have godlike control over their creations. They can’t control viewer reactions, obviously, but viewer reactions change what’s on the page not one whit. What’s there is what’s there is what’s there.

John Jakala has some further thoughts on this, focusing on David’s rejection of endings. Listen, we’ve all been burned by a lousy ending, but we’ve all been burned by lousy beginnings, too. Should we just give up writing, then? Dave, I’m glad you’re enjoying the trees and all, but there’s a whole forest out there!

I’ve always wanted to use that as an entry title. It doesn’t have anything to do with what I’m actually going to say, but it’s pretty amusing, no?

Anyway, Alan David Doane has written up his picks for the Best Comics of 2003. I’m glad that he ignored all the cavilling that goes on about whether or not reprints or first-time collections count as having come out in a particular year. If you can’t count The Frank Book, Palomar, and Quimby the Mouse in a Best-Of list due to some technicality, it’s really not much of a Best-Of list, is it?

I agree with pretty much all the books he’s selected that I myself have read (I’ll reserve judgement on League of Extraordinary Gentlemen Volume II till I read it in its collected form, however; issue by issue I found it relatively disappointing). I do feel that he’s overselling Mother, Come Home by Paul Hornschemeier a bit. Visually, the book’s frankly incredible, and it’s inspiring to see a relatively young cartoonist attempt a work of such ambition. However, I think that towards the end Hornschemeier’s desire to deliver an emotional knock-out punch forces the story off the tracks of believability a bit. Like Craig Thompson’s Blankets, this is a gorgeous, involving, moving, but not-perfect work, one that I’m reasonably certain will be surpassed by its creator in his subsequent efforts.

I might come up with a list of my own, provided I develop the attention span to look through what I bought this year to figure out what actually was released this year–a possibility, if not necessarily a strong one. I’ll tell you right off the bat that Mat Brinkman’s Teratoid Heights and Marc Bell’s Shrimpy & Paul and Friends would be near the top of the list, and Bendis and Morrison’s genre work (particularly Daredevil, The Filth, Powers, and New X-Men) would be represented pretty highly as well. But till then, if you’re looking for Christmas shopping ideas for the irredeemable nerd in your life, Alan’s list is as good a place to start as you’re likely to find.

Terriffic interview with Clive Barker over at his official fan site, Lost Souls. This one gives a progress report on virtually every project the man’s working on these days, and there’s something like two dozen of them. Most promising among them are a film version of the masterful short stories “The Midnight Meat Train” and “Dread,” originally from his Books of Blood anthologies; the “final” Hellraiser/Pinhead story he’s been talking about writing for some time now; plans for further installments in the three (!) series of novels still ongoing in his ouevre–the Abarat Quartet, the Galilee saga, and the Books of the Art; and the first rumblings of a mythological-in-scope series he plans on beginning in his late 50s, a Tolkien-like endeavor which he promises will dwarf everything else he’s done. C’mon, Clive–we don’t have eternity!

Floppies/Pamphlets/Singles stink

Manga is the future

Rinse

Repeat

UPDATE: John Jakala has expressed to me his wish that I’d written the above in haiku format. Eager to throw him some sort of bone (since that whole comments-feature thing just ain’t gonna happen), and seeing as I’m not one ever to turn down the opportunity to write haiku:

PERENNIAL TOPICS OF DEBATE

a haiku by Sean T. Collins

Manga’s the future

Pamphlets/Floppies/Singles stink

Lather, rinse, repeat

Once they find these guys, who I think it’s safe to assume have not aged at all due to their ingestion of an elixir derived from hidden jungle herbs, they should have them take their ancient warrior skills and hunt for the Abominable Snowman. Does this not make sense to everyone?

1) Ol’ Dirk Deppey gives Brian Bendis quite the ribbing today about the superhero scribe’s description of his upcoming Secret Wars project. Personally I think Dirk’s being unfair. Yes, Bendis’s choice of words–“A gritty real world take on the idea of a secret superhero war”–is, ahem, unfortunate. But Bendis’s work to date has evinced none of the ghastly, unimaginative, dreary cliches that his dopey phraseology calls to mind. We’ve seen any number of mindless atrocities in comic-book form touted as “gritty, real-world takes on superheroes”; I’d like to give Bendis the benefit of the doubt that this won’t be one of them.

2) The ongoing effort to shoot the zombie that is pamphlet-format comics in the goddamn head once and for all, most recently taken up by Franklin Harris, has met a couple of opponents, namely Johnny Bacardi and Tegan Gjovaag. Johnny and Tegan rightly point out that floppy comics are easy enough to travel with (I’ve taken many on airplanes myself; like Johnny, I bag-and-board mine, so they’re both thin and relatively durable). Tegan also deflates Franklin’s argument that collectability makes floppies too precious to actually read. Franklin alleges that today’s small print runs equate to big bucks later on, but he overlooks the fact that those small print runs all end up in the hands of anal-retentive bag-and-boarders (ahem) who are convinced that their copies of the Death of Superman will put their kids through college one day. Beyond the artificial demand created by things like Wizard’s price guides, most floppies won’t be worth much of anything. So hey, read ’em all you want!

But these little niceties, alas, amount to a fart in a hurricane compared to the overwhelming evidence that the world at large has less than no use for the stupid things. Tegan claims that “the form has worked for well over 50 years. Tegan, define “working well,” would you? No one buys them except a coterie of, what, 250,000 or so diehards in an increasingly insular market whose idea of growth seems to consist largely of puffing up its cheeks as it thrusts its head in the sand. The comics that sell in big numbers–manga–and the comics that make a big pop-cultural impact–trades and graphic novels–are unsurprisingly in a totally different, much more book-like format. That’s what the kids are reading, and to quote Mrs. Bobby Brown, I believe the children are our future. And then there’s the whole angle of cost-effectivness–don’t make me break out The Manga Stack of Intimidation…

Stuart Moore has detailed all the reasons that the industry is stuck with pamphlets, largely thanks to the backwardness of its current audience and retailership. But just because we have to rely on them now doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be looking to, and planning for, and doing our best to bring about, the future.

I’m glad to see that non-bloggers are beginning to pick up on the Weekly Standard’s leaked-memo story, originally reported by Stephen Hayes. Here’s Slate’s Jack Shafer, arguing persuasively that the allegations of a link between Saddam Hussein’s Baathist Iraq and Osama bin Laden’s al Qaeda terrorists proferred by the memo merit attention and scrutiny by the major media; Here’s Newsweek’s Michael Isikoff and Mark Hosenball paying the memo just that, but finding it wanting.

And while we’re at it, here’s Hayes’s rebuttal to the Defense Department’s quasi-dismissal of the the memo story. And as a supplement, here’s Slate’s Edward Epstein describing exactly why the jury’s still out on the much-ridiculed notion of the Prague meeting between 9/11 hijacker Mohammed Atta and an Iraqi intelligence agent.

I, for one, am glad to see this stuff being discussed again anywhere, and am saddened that it still hasn’t become the major story it deserves to be in the mainstream press. Yes, I tend to credit the notion that Saddam and al Qaeda were acquainted with one another’s operations, for several reasons. The specious argument that Saddam is secular and bin Laden fundamentalist and never the twain shall meet is belied not just by their sharing of a common and far-more-hated enemy (the U.S.), or by Saddam’s increasing tilt towards Islamism himself (adding the Koranic verse to Iraq’s flag, writing a Koran with ink containing his own blood, the constant language of jihad and infidels he employed on every occasion), or by the fact that despite their much-touted animosity for one another bin Laden never once took action against Saddam

And when you hear your master,

You will come a little faster, thanks to

Bitch School

Bitch School

(Gonna have to send you back to)

Bitch School

—Spinal Tap, “Bitch School”

Could be that a lot, and I mean a LOT, of blogging will occur today. Could be. We’ll see.