Originally published September 29, 2000, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1402

The release of the “Ultimate Marvel” line, the first of which launches this week (as of this writing) with Spider-Man, serves several purposes. The first, of course, is that it downgrades the previous forty years of Marvel tales by Stan Lee, Steve Ditko, Jack Kirby, et al, into merely a Penultimate Marvel line, leading up to the overwhelming greatness represented in the new series. A sizable legacy to live up to, indeed. However, it also seeks to address a genuine problem facing many potential new readers: Where to start?

When I was a kid, it was simple. Seeking an entrance into the Marvel Universe, I merely had to pick up such ongoing reprint titles as Marvel Tales or Marvel Collector’s Items Classics. For all of twenty-five cents, we got early tales of our heroes introducing many of the villains who were old standbys in the ongoing series. Times, however, have changed. Young readers subscribe to the same old-equals-bad mindset of most of the rest of society (Rudy on Survivor notwithstanding). They will not support stories that they consider antiquated and simplistic, and reprints are now the province of high-priced collections aimed—not at the new readers—but at the people who read them when they were first published and can afford the more “permanent” binding.

Now it’s not simple. Not simple at all.

This was driven home to me after I took eight-year-old Ariel to see X-Men. Intrigued and excited by the characters and situations she had just seen, she asked if she could read the comic. I realized we had a slight problem. X-Men, as currently presented, would simply be beyond her ability to handle. The storylines are spread out and complicated, the characters innumerable. I wouldn’t even know where to begin explaining everything to her. I realized at that point that the only place I could reasonably start her would be to go all the way back to the beginning. To give her the original Lee/Kirby Uncanny X-Men #1. Granted, Wolverine wasn’t in it, nor was Rogue. But Scott and Jean were present, as was Professor X, and Bobby—who had little more than a cameo in the film, but for some reason was a big hit with Ariel. Plus Toad (sans tongue) and Magneto were there as well.

(Purely as an aside, was I the only one who derived amusement from reading the coverage of the major gathering of world leaders at the United Nations recently? I found myself adding to the articles, “The only disruption in the proceedings occurred when massive energy waves radiated from the Statue of Liberty, causing pandemonium among the world leaders. Sources claim the energy waves were part of a master plan by Magneto; however the mysterious mutant group known as the X-Men managed to thwart the malicious scheme, allowing the gathering to proceed with no further problems.”)

The early X-Men tales are “safe,” you see. Not only is the continuity manageable, just beginning to build, but the conflict is clear and unvarnished, and I don’t have to worry about the “maturity” level of the tales. I don’t know that I’d be comfortable with Ariel reading even the early adventures of the “new” X-Men, because some of them get—well—a little intense. The old X-Men, though, have a comfort level on par with what I want to have my youngest reading.

Now perhaps I’m being overcautious. After all, even though she was capable of reading it herself, I insisted on reading the latest Harry Potter novel to her because the increased darkening of tone—and the death of one of the characters—had been well advertised. Ultimately, I was glad I did. Without giving anything away to anyone who hasn’t read it, I got to the point in the book where one of the characters was killed. I paused, waiting to see if Ariel would react. Nothing. So I kept reading. Three pages later, mention was made of the character’s corpse lying on the ground. Abruptly Ariel turned to me and said, “Is (the character) going to come back? Is (the character) going to be brought back to life somehow?”

And I explained to her patiently that, like in real life, no, that wasn’t going to happen. The character had been killed, and that was that. At which point Ariel burst into tears and reading came to a halt until she was finally able to compose herself.

In any event, Ariel is a potential X-Men fan, just as other kids—when the Spider-Man movie is released—will be potential Spider-Man fans. It’s hard to tell them where to jump on, both in terms of continuity and in terms of story content. The thing is, time has always moved forward for Peter Parker, as it did for the X-Men. Peter Parker graduated high school, college, got married, got widowed. The X-Men graduated, grew older, broke up, got new members, went their separate ways. Time marched on.

Except it’s been more than just time. Because new creators have come in as well, and consistently the new creators have reimagined the characters in terms that they themselves can handle. The increasing sophistication, the “adulting” if you will, of various characters, has become more and more prevalent, moving the superhero form further and further away from its original audience. Once upon a time, it was accepted that people didn’t stick with comic books; generally they gave up comics around the time they discovered the opposite sex. Now, however, the questionable health of the industry depends upon an audience who sticks with comics through thick and thin. The problem is that, as that audience stops collecting due to reasons ranging from boredom to lack of funds to outright hostility, there’s a lack of fresh bodies to replace them.

A big problem remains the cover price. Parents remembering comics as twelve or twenty five cents simply ain’t going to give their kids $2.50 or $2.99 for a comic book. Comics were fine when they were an impulse buy. When you have to think about it, you realize that there’s lots of stuff that’ll give you more bang for your buck.

But the other problem remains story content. Have we, we must wonder, made comics so sophisticated that they’re an outright turnoff to younger readers? What is this compulsion we have to tell adult stories with what most people perceive as kiddie characters? And are we wrong to do so?

It’s not as if I’m pointing fingers at others while exempting myself. Any kids who catch the old Supergirl movie (now in rerelease on DVD) or see the cartoon version and run out to buy Supergirl #49, now on the stands, won’t have a clue as to what the hell they’re reading. There are some readers who insist that the stories I’m telling have no place in a book entitled Supergirl. That if I want to spin elaborate mythos of angels and such, I should be doing it elsewhere instead of “ruining” the character as she stood before.

Nor is the redefining of kiddie icons into adult status limited to comic books. Observe, if you will, Wicked, Gregory Maguire’s novel that gives us the previously unknown true story of the Wicked Witch of the West. On the very first page we see the following exchange as Dorothy and her companions journey toward the Witch’s castle:

“Of course, to hear them tell it, it is the surviving sister who is the crazy one,” said the Lion. “What a Witch. Psychologically warped; possessed by demons. Insane. Not a pretty picture.” “She was castrated at birth,” replied the Tin Woodman calmly. “She was born hermaphroditic, or maybe entirely male.” “Oh you, you see castration everywhere you look,” said the Lion. “I’m only repeating what folks say,” said the Tin woodman.

Not only are we not in Kansas anymore, we’re not even in Oz anymore. At least not the Oz with which we’re all familiar.

What is it about childrens’ fables and other icons that prompt us to re-examine them and redefine them with adult sensibilities? Are we doing anyone any favors in doing so? Or are we just displaying a singular lack of imagination?

More thoughts on it next week, although I’d certainly be interested to hear yours.

(Peter David, Writer of Stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705.)

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