An Open Letter

To the next woman or women that I go out with who when I tell them that I read comic books and graphic novels, they either respond with “Oh that’s…interesting. Why?” or “But aren’t they for kids?” (The much hoped for “Oh Me Too!” has yet to materialize)

Yes, I read comics.
No, they are not for kids. Well, some are. But not the ones I read. Maybe.
Look, I love reading. I always have. I love reading all sorts of things, and comics are a part of that. I won’t apologize for it. Except maybe for those X-Men years but hey I was a kid then. Cut me some slack.
Ok ok, I can see that you seem to find this a little perplexing. I guess you probably haven’t really seen a lot of these working the runways in Paris and studying physics at M.I.T. (hey, if I am going to have an imaginary date, the least I can do is have it with a smoking hot genius). I guess maybe I should go way back.
I don’t remember the first comic I read, but the first one that stayed with me was an old issue of Iron Man. I had that thing for years; I remember he was battling this villain called The Living Laser. I don’t remember the plot very well, but I still remember the cover. It was with that comic that I was hooked.
It didn’t help that I had an uncle that was a big comics fan and he really fueled the fire. He would have these stacks at his house that he would let me pick through. I read long runs of Batman and X-Men and a bunch of others .From him, I learned about the history and the characters and saw that this is something that you can read no matter what age.
Yes, my mom never forgave him. Do you see the waiter? I think I need more wine.
Over the years I read more and more, and began branching out into the independents comics, the ones for mature readers. The ones without guys in tights. I found stories that could be incredibly complex and intelligent, stories about simple relationships, detective stories, journalism and memoirs. And of course Robert Crumb’s fascination with big asses.
For me, reading has primarily always been about the story. Can it absorb me, take me away from the reality of my life and put me in another world? For me, I see no difference if that world is the strange landscapes of Borges, the hard boiled streets of Chandler, or the skies of Metropolis with Superman. The same goes with a good film or TV show. If the story can grab hold of me, then I am there, transfixed.
Oh good, I needed this refill.
Nowadays, people talk about this growing acceptance of comics and graphic novels. They get reviewed in major newspapers, they get on top ten lists alongside Pynchon and Lethem. They are taught in schools and universities. Heck, one even won the Pulitzer. Maybe I was just ahead of the curve, cool before everyone else? ......Yeah, that was silly to say. I blame the wine.
So no, I am proud of reading them. I love reading them. I always have and I always will. I like to think that the person I am has been shaped as much from my love of comics.
Someone asked me recently if I picked out one book to give to someone that would tell them who I was, how I saw myself. I looked through my bookshelf and thought about it for a second and I said Spider-Man. The person laughed and asked why.
Spider-Man was this ordinary, skinny, nerdy high school kid who got his powers from a freak accident. He uses these powers to try to help regular people. No matter how much he gets abused by the press, or beat up by super villains, he always tries to fight for what’s right in the world.
I would like to think, that although I don’t have super powers, that I try to live my life the same way. That no matter how big the obstacles are I try to fight the good fight for the people that I care about. I don’t know of any other way to live and I wouldn’t change that part about me for the world.
If that came from reading a comic book, then how could they ever be bad?
Hmm? Thank you, I think you are very sweet too. Want to get out of here?