Comics’ Greatest Enigma, by Mike Gold
If you’re interested in comics creators, it’s been a good couple months for biographies. First, we had Mark Evanier’s Kirby: King Of Comics (Abrams, $40.00); now we’ve got Blake Bell’s Strange and Stranger: The World of Steve Ditko(Fantagraphics, $39.99). We’ve covered Mark’s book extensively, and our very own Rick Marshall did a swell interview last March.
My column today is not really a review of Blake’s book; it’s a blather about comics’ greatest enigma. Blake is the ultimate Ditko historian, and his book (and website, Ditko Looked Up) reflects his passion. It’s well-written, well-researched, and wonderously designed by Adam Grano. If you’re into Ditko or comics history, it’s a must-have. Kudos to Blake; that’s my review.
Steve Ditko is another matter. I can’t say he’s been denied his rightful place in history – his is always the third name in the phrase “Marvel Comics as we know them was created by Jack Kirby, Stan Lee and Steve Ditko and together they brought comic books kicking and screaming to an adult audience.” If he gets short-shrift, it’s because Steve refuses all interview requests, convention appearances, and celebrity signings. He says he prefers to let his work speak for itself, and I’m sure that’s true. He’s also very shy and has no problem with one-on-one (or two-on-one) conversations in his studio, at the publishing houses, or in restaurants. That’s his prerogative.
On the other hand, he’s a public figure – even inadvertently. This makes him subject of many an article, long-winded editorial (like this), and Blake’s book. I’m told he’s not happy with the attention focused on him from Strange and Stranger; having known Ditko. I’m not surprised. Maybe a little disappointed, but again, that’s his prerogative.
I think from the commercial perspective Steve Ditko’s role in the success of Marvel Comics and its transcendence to the college-student market has been severely underrated. It was The Amazing Spider-Man that put Marvel on the map and in the college bookstores. It was Spider-Man that became the first comic book character to achieve icon status since Superman, Batman and arguably Wonder Woman. That’s the first in a generation. And, maybe, the last to date.
As the 1960s progressed Steve became more and more political, embracing the values of a form of Objectivism so fundamentalist that it even scared its founder, Ayn Rand, who asked Ditko to print a note saying his work reflected his values and not necessarily hers. Objectivism, for the Google-challenged, is the philosophy that holds “there is no greater moral goal than achieving happiness. But one cannot achieve happiness by wish or whim. Happiness requires that one live by objective principles, including moral integrity and respect for the rights of others. Politically, Objectivists advocate laissez-faire capitalism. Under capitalism, a strictly limited government protects each person’s rights to life, liberty, and property and forbids that anyone initiate force against anyone else.” (Excerpted from The Atlas Society).
Warner Bros. is apparently looking to emulate the success Marvel has had making its own movies, such as Iron Man and Incredible Hulk.
One of the more shocking moments in my life came when I was pretty young and randomly picked up an Elfquest comic book. Tolkien’s stately creatures, these are not.
Among comic book fans, Brian Bendis has become a household name as the architect of Marvel Comics’ “Ultimate” universe, the writer of countless stories involving just about every character in the publisher’s stable and the author of a long list of well-regarded, creator-owned projects such as Powers, Torso and Jinx.
Sunday afternoon. Two hundred and four days left before he gallops on back to Texas and that consarn brush that always seems to need clearing.
Born in Brookline, Massachusetts in 1958, Shawn McManus got his comic book start in the early 1980s, working for Heavy Metal. He illustrated two issues of the Alan Moore run on Swamp Thing, then went on to draw most of the “A Game of You” storyline in Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman.
The booths are broken down and all that’s left of this year’s Wizard World Chicago convention are empty mylar bags blowing in the wind and streets littered with Marvel Comics promo cards.
How’s this for a concept of a superhero? A guy who is strong, can leap maybe a mile but doesn’t fly, and only a bursting cannon shell can puncture his skin. He is on the outs with the government, the local representatives of whom may be corrupt. He’s on the side of the “little guy” who otherwise may not have a chance against the Big Interests. He dangles neer-do-wells by one foot high in the air and threatens to drop them unless they co-operate – and he laughs while he’s doing it. The guy may be more than a little crazy.
As I begin to type this, on a rainy Sunday afternoon, there are only 211 days left before someone else lives at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, near the Potomac. I tell you this, not because it has anything to do with what follows, but to perhaps lend a note of cheer to your hour.
