There are two things that set Marvel Comics apart from other publishers in the early days. One is their commitment to superheroes that are essentially flawed. Spider-Man is considered a criminal, the Hulk is hounded across the country, and even Thor can't get the girl. The other unique part to Marvel was their idea to mix all of their superhero characters together into a cohesive universe, so that they could interact, team up, fight each other, and trade villains.
It was a good marketing strategy. Now Dr. Doom, of Fantastic Four fame, could pop over to Spider-Man for a month and give him a little publicity. Or you can put the superheroes together in one comic, like The Avengers.
The problem with this universe today is that, with so many writers and so many Marvel comics coming out in one month, Marvel needs teams of people just to figure out where all the characters are. (And they do -- not that some characters don't slip through their fingers; Wolverine always seems ubiquitous.) But in the beginning, there was one writer -- Stan Lee -- and a limited number of artists -- primarily Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko. So it was pretty frigging ambitious to not only create all these disparate characters, but merge them into different stories as well.
The fun part of reading old Marvel Comics (putting aside the problems and benefits of modern ones) is seeing how the storylines merge together. It's why comics are really the only camp-tastic works of fiction I can enjoy.
With that preamble out of the way, I've just read Essential Marvel Saga, Vol. I -- the first half of a twenty-five issue series published in the 1980s that summarized most Marvel Comics up to that point. Except it's not just a summary -- oh, no. Marvel reprinted many panels, and often entire pages, of the early comics within this series, so it's a bit like reading the CliffsNotes versions of Marvel. In addition, the editors included characters' backstories that were only revealed in later issues. This is a particular draw for the X-Men, whose origin stories are spread pretty far throughout the early Marvel comics. (And it's the only way to get the X-Men reader base in early, because X-Men #1 was published pretty far into the early Marvel era. Bear in mind that this is a large reader base that they want to get hooked.)
So how's the quality? I got exactly what I wanted out of this series. I didn't really want to spend hundreds of dollars tracking down all the Essential Marvel paperbacks to read all the early stories; here, I've gone through a few years' worth of comics in twelve issues. I'm missing a lot of material, but the early comics were fairly repetitive anyway.
And I really prefer the early Marvel comics to the modern ones. Today, the editors and writers are constantly worried about making world-changing events, when really all I want are some good superhero fights with some relatable characters. This is a good way to get me to find out what early comics I want to seek out, if any. Sure, I'm getting spoiled on a few notes, but hey -- it's comics that are 40 years old, so I'll probably already know the outcome.
Actually, I found that, having read the early issues of Fantastic Four, Spider-Man, and Thor, I had covered a lot of what's mentioned in here. I hadn't read the X-Men origins (but those are hard to find), and I hadn't read Ant-Man, Hulk, or Iron Man. Or the Avengers & X-Men, when I got to those at the end. But I found this to be a superior way to read Fantastic Four and such; I loved Spider-Man, but the others were a bit too pedestrian for my tastes, to read quite so regularly. This is a good middle ground.
Long review. So! Should you read Marvel Saga? Only if you're a real geek like me, and if you like the crossover aspect to Marvel Comics. (Some don't.) If you'd rather read these characters' individual stories, seek out their books instead -- especially in the early issues of Marvel Saga, close to the entire issue is republished. For the rest of us, it's fun escapist reading -- it's nice to remember a time when Stan Lee wrote the best comics in the world.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
My God -- it's full of stars.
Any science fiction afficionado worth his salt knows 2001: A Space Odyssey. We know HAL 9000, and his inevitable malfunction. We know the film's trippy ending, though we don't understand it. And we know the monolith, always paired with that mother of all epic music, Also Sprach Zarathustra.
Stanley Kubrick didn't make a whole lot of effort to put narrative coherence in the film, though. It's enjoyable without it, but there are plenty of details that never made it into the final film, and are alluded to only. Arthur C. Clarke's 2001: A Space Odyssey (the novel) is meant as a sort of manual to the movie. It shows. There are chapters that take us out of the action to explain some scientific concept (the nature of the monolith, or HAL's thought processes) that couldn't come across on screen.
A lot of the rest of the book is visual descriptions of the stars. There are some truly inventive details of the near future from Arthur C. Clarke, too. Additionally, I was impressed by the amount of scientific research that went into this book. Descriptions of how humans move on the Moon were particularly impressive, especially considering that man had not been to the moon when this book was published in 1968.
And that's it. That's pretty much the book. The opening feels like Raptor Red in its pessimistic view on humans; the HAL section is decently horrific. 2001: A Space Odyssey an inventive series of events that comes together rather nicely into an ambiguous ending. Truth be told, this is pretty hardcore science fiction, too (what with the heavy, you know, science stuff in it). But if I have to be honest about the writing, it's not my cup of tea. It's a little slow. And I think (though I haven't seen most of it) that the movie was always intended to be the primary work of art here. This is just background reading. Very high quality background reading, but background nonetheless.
My recommendation, therefore, is to go see the movie first, or read Childhood's End instead (another book by him that's supposed to be narratively superior).
Stanley Kubrick didn't make a whole lot of effort to put narrative coherence in the film, though. It's enjoyable without it, but there are plenty of details that never made it into the final film, and are alluded to only. Arthur C. Clarke's 2001: A Space Odyssey (the novel) is meant as a sort of manual to the movie. It shows. There are chapters that take us out of the action to explain some scientific concept (the nature of the monolith, or HAL's thought processes) that couldn't come across on screen.
A lot of the rest of the book is visual descriptions of the stars. There are some truly inventive details of the near future from Arthur C. Clarke, too. Additionally, I was impressed by the amount of scientific research that went into this book. Descriptions of how humans move on the Moon were particularly impressive, especially considering that man had not been to the moon when this book was published in 1968.
And that's it. That's pretty much the book. The opening feels like Raptor Red in its pessimistic view on humans; the HAL section is decently horrific. 2001: A Space Odyssey an inventive series of events that comes together rather nicely into an ambiguous ending. Truth be told, this is pretty hardcore science fiction, too (what with the heavy, you know, science stuff in it). But if I have to be honest about the writing, it's not my cup of tea. It's a little slow. And I think (though I haven't seen most of it) that the movie was always intended to be the primary work of art here. This is just background reading. Very high quality background reading, but background nonetheless.
My recommendation, therefore, is to go see the movie first, or read Childhood's End instead (another book by him that's supposed to be narratively superior).
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
The Tragedy of Macbeth: The Graphic Novel
Macbeth: The Graphic Novel has got to be the last thing I was expecting on Easter. It wasn't unwelcome -- I love Macbeth, definitely my favorite of Shakespeare's plays. I've encountered it in about as many ways as you can: I've read it and analyzed it more than once; I've performed it twice (once as the Doctor and the ill-fated Young Macduff; once as a soldier); I've seen a version that used extensive magic tricks. It's heralded as the most action-packed of Shakespeare's plays, which is why it's seen so many iterations. Which, one would think, would make this perfect for a comic book.
Not so much. Bear in mind that plays (especially Shakespeare's) are comprised primarily of dialogue scenes. Want to try turning six pages' worth of foreign policy talk into graphic novel form? Classic Comics did. It worked out okay -- there are some emotional conflicts in that scene (4.3), which lend themselves better to the comic format -- but not that great.
I love reading Macbeth just for the language, but Classic Comics destroys all subtlety in it. They try to make it easier to understand by bolding emphasized words. That means there's only one way to read the many, many speeches and soliloquies in this comic, whereas the beauty of the play is that it can be interpreted several different ways.
The other way this comic destroys the subtlety is in the blocking. Characters' movements emphasize basic story points that might be otherwise unobvious -- Macbeth sweeping aside plans as he cries "Bring me no more reports!" in 5.3 is one example. But other speeches are ruined. The Porter in 2.3 is a classic extended sexual metaphor of Shakespeare's plays, but it's thrown away in a couple of panels. Tragedy of Macbeth, indeed.
Character designs are occasionally interesting. Macbeth and Macduff are much more obviously brutes; Macbeth looks a bit like a feral wolf sometimes. Also, there are occasionally interesting things done with the blocking: Lady Macbeth's suicide is alluded to in the first panels of 5.5, before her actual death. A few panels show the devestation of the war in ways you couldn't in a play; see flashbacks to the pre-Act I battle, or the Act V battle.
And I saw one new thing this read-through: the witches proclaim Macbeth the Thane of Cawdor after King Duncan makes said proclamation somewhere else. Which makes me feel more like they're playing him. Also, having the full text here is the one plus this book has, since there are portions I usually miss or skip over. (See the witches' song in 4.1.)
But overall, this is the worst way yet I've encountered my favorite play. It's pretty and colorful and diverting, but I recommend you avert this one at all costs.
Not so much. Bear in mind that plays (especially Shakespeare's) are comprised primarily of dialogue scenes. Want to try turning six pages' worth of foreign policy talk into graphic novel form? Classic Comics did. It worked out okay -- there are some emotional conflicts in that scene (4.3), which lend themselves better to the comic format -- but not that great.
I love reading Macbeth just for the language, but Classic Comics destroys all subtlety in it. They try to make it easier to understand by bolding emphasized words. That means there's only one way to read the many, many speeches and soliloquies in this comic, whereas the beauty of the play is that it can be interpreted several different ways.
The other way this comic destroys the subtlety is in the blocking. Characters' movements emphasize basic story points that might be otherwise unobvious -- Macbeth sweeping aside plans as he cries "Bring me no more reports!" in 5.3 is one example. But other speeches are ruined. The Porter in 2.3 is a classic extended sexual metaphor of Shakespeare's plays, but it's thrown away in a couple of panels. Tragedy of Macbeth, indeed.
Character designs are occasionally interesting. Macbeth and Macduff are much more obviously brutes; Macbeth looks a bit like a feral wolf sometimes. Also, there are occasionally interesting things done with the blocking: Lady Macbeth's suicide is alluded to in the first panels of 5.5, before her actual death. A few panels show the devestation of the war in ways you couldn't in a play; see flashbacks to the pre-Act I battle, or the Act V battle.
And I saw one new thing this read-through: the witches proclaim Macbeth the Thane of Cawdor after King Duncan makes said proclamation somewhere else. Which makes me feel more like they're playing him. Also, having the full text here is the one plus this book has, since there are portions I usually miss or skip over. (See the witches' song in 4.1.)
But overall, this is the worst way yet I've encountered my favorite play. It's pretty and colorful and diverting, but I recommend you avert this one at all costs.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Revolutionary
Whew! After several weeks of reading, The Berkeleian is back. The length of the title should be enough to suggest this: The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation, Volume I: The Pox Party by M. T. Anderson. Nope, Mr. Anderson is not one for brevity. The title page is full of subtitles that go beyond this title, in order to copy the kind you might see in the Revolutionary War.
The entire book is another experiment of prose - much in the same way The Road was, testing our reading skills with a radically different style of diction. This time, instead of stripping down the writing to its basics like McCarthy, Anderson makes everything as flowery and philosophical as possible, as if the book were actually written by an 18th century educated youth. The result is a much more difficult read, but a more satisfying one, with some interesting experiments in metaphor and visual description.
There is one prosaic stumble. Of the book's four sections, the third is mostly composed of letters written by a soldier to his family. The letters are much more traditionally 18th century, with oft-wrongly conjugated verbs and random capitalization. It is tedium to read, and nearly made me quit. Fortunately, the end of the book comes back with a wallop, packing a strong emotional punch while making some profound philosophical points.
As for the story, it is appropriately revolutionary. There are certain periods in history which we always encounter, but seldom get tired of hearing about. The Revolutionary War and World War II are two good examples. It's nearly always a pleasure to read these oft-repeated stories from another perspective, then. Markus Zusak's The Book Thief, for example, placed us in the shoes of a German Girl in WWII. What makes this book significantly different is that we already know there is next to no hope for a happy ending.
I don't want to give away the story's many twists and turns, but the premise should be enough to intrigue you: Octavian is an African-American youth, living in America during the Revolutionary War, under the care of a philosophical college. Before long he finds out that he is involved in their experiments. Here is where his extraordinary education comes from (I'm quite sure his knowledge would overcome that of most of today's students). Here also is sufficient explanation for the presence of scientifical documents written by him. These, along with some other letters and public notices, are pieced together to create a single narrative.
We already know that the African-Americans, no matter which side they are on, are going to lose in this war; wherever they end up, they will be slaves. This is a heartwrenching tale - particularly because Octavian is such a bright child, and begins our story in a position of such promise. The hopelessness does take away some of the narrative drive, actually (especially when the main character begins to lose some of his will to live). What kept me reading was his reactions to the destruction of all he believed in - about himself, about his people, and about freedom. It was also frankly brilliant to pit such cruel passages of African-American slavery directly next to American outcries against British "tyranny". You even begin to feel some sympathy for the perhaps unjustly-accused tarred-and-feathered British soldier.
I don't recommend this book for everyone. It is a long read - AND it's only the first of two volumes. But it's a thoughtful book, with quite historically accurate diction. Your basic history buff will love it. And I have a feeling that a lot of readers will come to fall in love with Octavian - because above all, he's frankly the best excuse we've had for a protagonist in a while.
The entire book is another experiment of prose - much in the same way The Road was, testing our reading skills with a radically different style of diction. This time, instead of stripping down the writing to its basics like McCarthy, Anderson makes everything as flowery and philosophical as possible, as if the book were actually written by an 18th century educated youth. The result is a much more difficult read, but a more satisfying one, with some interesting experiments in metaphor and visual description.
There is one prosaic stumble. Of the book's four sections, the third is mostly composed of letters written by a soldier to his family. The letters are much more traditionally 18th century, with oft-wrongly conjugated verbs and random capitalization. It is tedium to read, and nearly made me quit. Fortunately, the end of the book comes back with a wallop, packing a strong emotional punch while making some profound philosophical points.
As for the story, it is appropriately revolutionary. There are certain periods in history which we always encounter, but seldom get tired of hearing about. The Revolutionary War and World War II are two good examples. It's nearly always a pleasure to read these oft-repeated stories from another perspective, then. Markus Zusak's The Book Thief, for example, placed us in the shoes of a German Girl in WWII. What makes this book significantly different is that we already know there is next to no hope for a happy ending.
I don't want to give away the story's many twists and turns, but the premise should be enough to intrigue you: Octavian is an African-American youth, living in America during the Revolutionary War, under the care of a philosophical college. Before long he finds out that he is involved in their experiments. Here is where his extraordinary education comes from (I'm quite sure his knowledge would overcome that of most of today's students). Here also is sufficient explanation for the presence of scientifical documents written by him. These, along with some other letters and public notices, are pieced together to create a single narrative.
We already know that the African-Americans, no matter which side they are on, are going to lose in this war; wherever they end up, they will be slaves. This is a heartwrenching tale - particularly because Octavian is such a bright child, and begins our story in a position of such promise. The hopelessness does take away some of the narrative drive, actually (especially when the main character begins to lose some of his will to live). What kept me reading was his reactions to the destruction of all he believed in - about himself, about his people, and about freedom. It was also frankly brilliant to pit such cruel passages of African-American slavery directly next to American outcries against British "tyranny". You even begin to feel some sympathy for the perhaps unjustly-accused tarred-and-feathered British soldier.
I don't recommend this book for everyone. It is a long read - AND it's only the first of two volumes. But it's a thoughtful book, with quite historically accurate diction. Your basic history buff will love it. And I have a feeling that a lot of readers will come to fall in love with Octavian - because above all, he's frankly the best excuse we've had for a protagonist in a while.
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