For this column I am indebted to a mate in Australia. He asked me if I was doing a blog. I said No, I wasn’t but I was doing a column, here have a look and directed him here. His tactful reaction was “it was interesting until I got to the part about comics zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.”
At first I was peeved. This noo-nah sends me all sorts of stuff I’m not interested in, including a series of boring fog bulletins in which the joke kind of ran out of steam (or rather, fog) in email number one. Besides, I’d been flattering myself that my comic-related nattering was so brilliant it would interest people who didn’t even know what comics were. Obviously not! What’s more; this bloke is into comics. He likes Viz, which is mainly comics and keeps me up to date on the Fat Slags, Doctor Poo and the rest. Dammit, everyone likes a comic of some kind. My father shakes his head in sad bewilderment if I wear a comics t-shirt at my age, but loves Doonesbury and still quotes Mad magazine. My sister calls modern comics “stick books with elves” but adored Cerebus and Doonesbury. My mate George who seems to live only for motorbikes as he mostly checks Motorbike Sport as well, church architecture and guns, reads Fred Gassitt (admittedly a motorbike comic). And so on….
I should start out by saying that this is not the beginning of an impassioned plea for comics to be taken more seriously. In general, I think comics get the respect they deserve. The comics I dislike get much more respect than they deserve. Besides, if you take a look at the contents of a comic shop in general, the overwhelming impression is, to be honest, breasts. Comics are a form of porn and the existence of say, Alan Moore or particular comics which challenge stereotypes, make us think and confront the zeitgeist (even comics which manage to do this without being pretentious), doesn’t make the genre any less pornographic. On this note, it’s always kind of pitiful to read Pat Mills going on about the importance of his stuff being popular in Europe. Oooh, Europe where people drink good coffee and watch difficult films. But do they buy his comics for the bold, challenging ideas he’s so proud of or for scantily clad large breasted women and big blokes with axes? Take a guess.
Where does this leave the individual comic fan? Well, I love comics, not withstanding the nerdiness and the porn-ness of the whole field. I have reservations about loving COMICS in capitals, meaning the entire field, to be championed and defended, but I love comics. Just as people who like Margaret Attwood novels don’t feel they need to campaign for Clive Cussler to get more respect, I don’t feel like I have to worry about most comics being taken seriously.
I mentioned my adventure with DC comics and Hitman the other day. I bought 35 copies of Hitman for a song. I feel especially obliged to bring this up again because I got a letter, which shows that at least one person is reading this column (he said he liked the column but that I hadn’t talked about the Zombie aquarium story. Which was hilarious, so thanks and ‘hi’). I loved reading them but I was horrified by the merchandise that was advertised. Every other page there was an add for either a figurine of some DC character or a comic featuring one of about nine billion different DC characters in one of nine billion alternative universes which have been constructed for the purpose of selling comics to ….well I shudder at the thought. of the person who buys all that stuff. Somewhere out there, there’s a really really rich bloke surrounded with Wonder Woman figurines, reading his “Hitman” comic and saying “great- a comic about what Superman would be like if he was Algerian! This I must have”. Much as I love 2000 AD and the other comics, which I can afford, I don’t want to like comics like that.
However, I’m past defending or hiding my hobby. the last time someone told me to get a life (because I was wearing a badge I’d won from 2000 AD), I just said “this is my life”. I can’t be doing with defending or promoting COMICS the genre because most of them don’t deserve it and the good ones promote themselves. Take Preacher, which is popular with quite a few people who don’t otherwise read comics. However I am too old to worry about being uncool so I’m honest about my hobby. I was inspired in this by a mate called Saul who is into sex. “Who isn’t?” I hear you cry, but this guy is really, really into sex. He has a revolving cast of at least six girlfriends and he talks about sex a lot. His friends listen.
He had a birthday recently, and everyone who bothered getting him a present got him something to do with sex. As he was standing there unwrapping handcuffs and body paint, that kind of stuff, he said “It’s good I’m honest about my hobby”.
I thought about this and resolved to be honest about my hobby. It’s paid off. A colleague saw a copy of 2000 AD in my bag and turned out to be maniacal Alan Moore fan who has loaned me “From Hell” and all sorts of stuff I wouldn’t otherwise have bought.
And my sex mad mate likes comics too. I mentioned my hobby to him and he promised to send me a comic called “Housewives at play”, which sounds interesting.
