The mood struck me to clear away some misconceptions about the alleged professionalism in the comics industry. I am quite tired of the authorial voice as God that seems to infest so much journalism; in the comics world, this voice is even less defensible.
So without further ado, here are my impressions of the two self-appointed
guardians of comic book culture, Diamond Comics and The Comics
Journal.
***
Certified Bunk
Every comic book retailer who
orders from Diamond Comics Distribution--which is to say, all of them,
since Diamond controls 98% of new comics sales--must plough through the
500+ pages of schlock that is called Previews to put in their
orders. After being lulled into a hypnotic stupor by page after page of
monotonous ad copy and pneumatic women with no lower spines, retailers
stumble across a comic that carries a special "seal of approval." These
books are called "Certified Cool." Comics. Certified by Diamond for
retailers, telling retailers to take a deeper look at these books, because
they are "cool."
Now, Diamond is a suspicious company, and anything with Diamond's "seal of approval" on it must be viewed with a certain skepticism. Monopolies like Diamond do not work for the public interest. Certainly a de facto monopoly that has done as much to destro y the comics craft and industry as Diamond hardly has a benign motive. The question I ask upon seeing their "Certified Cool" stamp on any given book is, why did they certify this? And who certified it?
As far as I can tell, there is no real sense or order to Diamond's certification of alleged coolness. Picking a couple titles at random should reveal some sort of similarity between them. What is the common denominator between Spicecapades, Batman/Hell boy/Starman #1, Usagi Yojimbo #25, Nightwarrriors: Darkstalkers' RevengeŠthe Comic Series #1, Love in Tights #1, Muzzlers, Guzzlers and Good Yeggs, and Poison Elves Volume Five TPB? I will leave it to you to find a correlation; I can find none. No two of them share the same slick commercial style of current superhero books; no three of them are in the same genre. Only two of them are obviously commercial heroic fantasy; not one of them is a Marvel Comics publication.
One might chalk this up to the diverse, eclectic attitude of Diamond's review staff. I prefer to view it as a complete lack of any standards. It is perfectly possible, I admit, to like all of the above titles. It is also perfectly possible to like none of them. This is not the point. The point, rather, is that none of these titles is "Certified Cool" without a reason, and yet there is no explanation for what "Certified Cool" implies or means. The best Diamond Previews manages is an oblique answer:
Throughout Previews, you'll find a selection of the coolest comics around, but let's face it, some comics are so cool that they deserve to be singled out. So every month, we "certify" some of the best and brightest. "Certified Cool" is Previews' way showing you a comics world that is powerfully unique unto itself. The titles listed below stood out to us as perfect examples of distinct comic stories that will broaden your entertainment experience and the industry.
Okay, let's be fair. I am sure there is a great need for "distinct comic stories that will broaden your entertainment experience and the industry." This sounds noble enough. But if this is what Diamond believes, where is the "story" in the Strangers in Paradise 1999 Calendar, the Steven Hughes Portfolio, or the Betty Page Zippo Lighter? No story there. This is pure merchandising. And of course, that's exactly what Diamond is interested in: merchandise. Comics to them are merchandise, to be turned over into money, and to keep themselves in business.
I understand this is the essence of capitalism. I accept it as such. I have no desire to rage against capitalism or its shortcomings here. But one must remember that it is for reasons of selling merchandise that Diamond invented the "Certified Cool" stamp. This makes me ask the next question: why, out of myriad titles, would Diamond want to sell me those particular titles?
One thing that is immediately noticeable to me is that of the fifty titles on Diamond's "Certified Cool" list, twenty-nine of them come from three companies: DC, Dark Horse, and Image. These three companies were also the three companies that first signed with Diamond for exclusive distribution rights, which resulted in the implosion of the comics industry and gave, ultimately, Diamond their monopoly. Three companies' titles represent 60% of the entire "Certified Cool" list, out of a possible 140 companies and their titles, not including international comics or magazines. You may chalk this up to sampling error, but the "coincidence" certainly bears thinking about.
Out of these same fifty "Certified Cool" titles, Diamond's editors have chosen three that carry the text "Why it's Cool," followed by a capsule explanation. This is supposed to be helpful, I'm sure, but each of these three reviews is questionable--not, as you might think, because of their bias, but rather because of their blandness. Read the following:
Spicecapades Why's it cool? Sure it's a
controversial choice (was that a moan of disgust I heard?), but when was
the last time a band break-up made front-page headlines? When was the last
time anyone had enough chutzpah and clout to get a movie, trading cards
and fashion dolls made? And when was the last time Robert Crumb cared
about a pop band? Remember, "they" also said KISS and Madonna would never
last...
I am perfectly willing to forgive Elizabeth Pyatt's naivete in writing this blurb. Clearly she has no real idea that getting trading cards, dolls or a movie made has nothing to do with clout and everything to do with an advertising budget. Surely she's unaware that no band's breakup has ever made the front page of any newspaper I read (and I read quite a few). The truly bothersome part of this blurb is its complete lack of meaning. Whether or not Robert Crumb cares about the Spice Girls is irrelevant. Mor eover, whether or not a band "lasts" has, I'm afraid, no bearing on the value or importance of a comic book adaptation of the band's exploits. Ms. Pyatt is certainly entitled to her opinions about the Spice Girls. At the very least, though, she could make a better attempt to state her case about why she thinks a reader should heed her recommendation. Simply because a band is famous in typical, overblown, flatulent manner is insufficient. Madonna is equally famous, but I don't recommend her to comics readers, or anyone with more than five working brain cells.
Judging from the above, Diamond clearly has no artistic standards for which books should be "Certified Cool." Coolness and certification are up for grabs. Further proof of the fact lies at the bottom of Previews' "Certified Cool" page. In an elegant black box, the white text reads "Why should your favorite comic be Certified Cool? Tell us why a title is cool, and you could see your review in Previews!" This is generous, to be sure, but it is not the responsibility of readers to give out Diamond's own seal of approval. That they are willing to apply it arbitrarily, according to the whim of fanboys who have the time to write, shows how empty is their seal of approval. Ms. Pyatt's "review," as with every other review I have read in Previews, is vague and bland, and in no way furthers creation of "distinct comic stories that will broaden your entertainment experience and the industry." It does not even touch the issue.
Diamond's near-total lack of artistic standards leaves me to wonder how much of their motive in certifying coolness is merely commercial. I understand Diamond's need to make more money from different types of material. I will even grant them their honest attempt to broaden my entertainment experience and the industry. Yet without a clearly discernible standard of merit, their attempt to broaden the industry can only smack of cynicism. Of course, the question remains about coolness? What is so brilliant about being "cool," anyway? Coolness is a fleeting and transitory state. Having nothing to do with quality, it relies solely upon appearance. That same appearance often conceals a fundamental emptiness beneath its surface. There are enough comics and persons in the comics industry for whom that appearance is everything. These persons and comics have, I think, led the comics world to its present sorry state. Unappreciated at their best, dismissible rubbish at their worst, and ignored by the greater public at either end, comics are in no need of further cosmetics. What comics needs, as an art and as an industry, is something more than glib appearance.
Diamond's half-hearted attempt to certify coolness are an effort in the wrong direction. Even forgiving Diamond their mercenary reasons, it is clear to me that touting lighters, cloisonne pins and t-shirts as "cool" does not broaden anyone's understanding of the medium. Such an approach only adds to the public perception (and the perception of comics enthusiast) of comics as marginal and superficial.
Part of this is because the Journal is the main critical magazine in the comics industry. In twenty years, the Journal has gone from upstart to Establishment, and the present attitude among Journal editors clearly reflects the uglines s of the transformation. It is typical of a magazine that has no real competition to abuse its privilege; the Journal definitely abuses the privilege early and often. The prose within goes beyond the pretentious into the ridiculous, but this is not even the worst trait, which is that it is self-referential to absurdity. I do not mean that the Journal reviews publications by its own home publisher, Fantagraphics; I can allow for that. But the Journal has begun reviewing itself, in a most uncritical way, but one that is just specious enough to sound like real criticism. Tom Spurgeon's crap in TCJ #200 about the Journal's "aesthetic" is by far the most obvious, but there are many other examples.
The Journal also publishes and encourages writing of the most disgusting sort of 'hip" nature. If I were to label their prose (as they are so fond of labelling others') I would compare it to a sort of glossy diarrhea. Apparently, writers in the Journal have a fear of monosyllables or indeed of any direct, analytic writing. No: they favor slick metaphor, often strained and mixed like a three-bean salad, and every bit as flatulent. They favor empty, quasi-academic terminology over elegance. Th ey favor impressionistic, wink-wink, vague summary over real formal analysis. I could go on, but I'd rather not.
Apparently, the editors at the Journal receive some truly sophomoric essays (or they commission them), because the crap they publish that passes for criticism is so nebulous that it gives a fart a run for its money. I have, for instance, read several reviews and articles on Paul Pope in the Journal. But that's exactly what they are. Articles about Paul Pope. Not about his work. His work, if ever, is summarized glibly, given an unsubstantial value judgment, and passed over in favor of discussions about his attraction for young girls, his vain off-page persona, and so forth. This is known to any high school senior as "the biographical fallacy," and no self-respecting critic would let it pass on paper. The Journal editors not only publish long-winded essays based on the fallacy, but actively encourage it as well, with their incredibly silly articles about comics creators that border on self-parody. This is the sort of writing that makes People magazine contemptible, and has no place in serious criticism. Criticism should not concern itself with depth psychology, or glib celebrity. The Journal wastes time on both, and does so with nearly every issue.
I could go on about the Journal's numerous faults of style and substance. But the worst fault of the Journal is a bit less visible. It is an attitude.
The Journal may very well claim to be the magazine that publishes the most hard-hitting critical journalism in the comics field. I will, for the sake of argument, grant this. But this statement conceals more than it reveals. The most serious problem with the Journal is that it is really the only magazine dedicated to serious criticism of comics--at least, the Journal's editors seem to think so. Any unchallenged position leads its bearer to a certain vain smugness. After years of being voted the best comics-related publication and so forth, the Journal has, I think, acquired a notion that they are the one true voice of reason in comics. The submissive attitude of the rest of the comics world toward the Journal only aggravates this.
Without any serious competition, the Journal has no reason to do any differently from the past decade, even though writing about comics art requires today a much different approach from ten years ago. Unfortunately, there are no real competitors to challenge the Journal's establishment.
Contemporary writing about comics tends to be of two types. One type is the mindless sort of writing that comes from infatuated fans writing about their heroes. Wizard falls into this type. The other type is the mindless sort of jargon that comes of academics just discovering a new field to obscure with their impenetrable argot. The Comics Journal has recently leaned distinctly this direction, where they are joined by several other popular culture journals. All other magazines about comics are dedicated to collectibility, interviews and sundry other uncritical writing that, while fine in themselves, offer no real threat to the hegemony of the Journal. The result, however, is that the Journal, like any other irresponsible attempt at journalism, goes about its merry way, unchallenged, and therefore with no need to be truly critical.
Since there is no real dialogue in the comics community, there is no real progress in critical thinking about comics. The Journal, of course, is not to blame for that. But it can certainly show more responsibility for generating real dialogue and not just glib lip service in the comics community. More than anything, the Journal is nothing more than the magazine of antagonism. Staking one's identity on contrariness is not a thorough critical position. Criticism implies clear thinking for a nobler purpose than mere gainsay or exhibitionism. The Journal has precious little nobility, and far too much bluster.