BT03 – First causes

So … why comic books?

I mean, I’m a grown man and all. Why am I reading tales that are most commonly associated with pre-teens, and that, at best, satisfy the boob fixations of teenagers?

Well, first off, obviously that’s a mistatement (a/k/a a straw man, in this case). Certainly there are comics that are targeted at the boobs-barely-in-spandex crowd, but a review of the ones that I read and care for show that they really don’t fall into the T&A category. Or, when the women are shown as particularly curvaceous, not only are the men all shown looking like body builders themselves, but the exagerrated secondary sexual characteristics are tangential to what the book’s about, or why I read it.

I’m looking for stories. Interesting stories. Encouraging stories. Disturbing (within reason) stories. Entertaining stories. The art adds a dimension to those stories, a critical one. Good writing plus bad art equals an unread comic. Bad writing plus good art equals a bit more slack, but not that much more.

So, then, still, why comics? Given that the average comic is about a third of the price of a thick paperback book, and is read in minutes, not days, what is it that keeps me going back to the comic book store?

Well, some of it is inertia. I’ve a history with the medium. I know these characters (though I’m willing to learn new ones), and am familiar with their backgrounds, their setting. So when I read a comic, I’m not just reading that one, but tying it into years (decades!) of backstory, or general genre knowledge.

And, yes, the art is there, too.

And, perhaps, the wide array and relatively quick read means that I can experience more and different types of stories than just reading paperbacks. I’m not sure about that one.

And there’s something appealing about most comics — a bit of morality play, a bit of soap opera, a bit of fairy tale. It’s comforting, perhaps, to think that good usually triumphs, at least temporarily, over evil. That nobility and honor and sweat and effort can turn things out right, usually. That evil, if opposed, will be defeated, sooner or later. That Galactus won’t eat the world, that Thanos won’t sacrifice us to Death, that all of those scary forces out there can be handled and managed.

Maybe that’s my delusion. But it keeps me relatively happy.

So … why so many comics?

I mean, yeah, I spend a lot more on comics than … well, than I feel I probably should. I try to keep it in check, trying to be sure I cross off titles that aren’t thrilling me any more. But I keep feeling like I could do with less.

Or maybe not. If it were a case between comics and smoking, I’d be spending a lot more (and have a lot less to talk about at the Blogathon). Ditto for gambling. Heck, in the realm of hobbies, there are plenty of hobbies that could easily suck up more funds — boating, for one glaring example.

Sure, part of it is the fear that I’m going to Miss Something. I might not find out in time that Amazing Hyper Man has gone from being mediocre to being really good. Creative teams change, and it’s difficult to keep track carefully enough to make sure I know when the current hacks are leaving and my personal favorites are coming in. And even then, there’s value (or comfort) in having some continuity knowledge, even if it’s of mediocre continuity.

I dunno. It’s a constant struggle, to keep the pull list trimmed down — and, increasingly, to determine when I can just plan on buying the TPB collection, rather than the individual issues (or rather than both).

Eternal vigilence is the price of comic books. Or something like that.