1996
Somewhere in the UK
I was inside a comic book shop for only the second time in my life. The first had been a strange tent-like structure in a dying Putney mall a couple of years prior. It hadn’t been a good time, but this one felt different. Maybe because I was on my own, or perhaps it was because I was a stupid kid trying to make sense of this world by finding a different one.
The place was small, almost claustrophobic, with lighting so dim that we could have conducted a seance, and the low droning of surfer music filling the single room. Those things quickly faded away however, as I realised that I was in a waiting room, a bizarre sort of purgatory. It was impossible to focus on any one thing, as every cover of every book lining the shelves and displays became a door to another place. I had never known such freedom. I could go anywhere. And so? I went everywhere.
Well, everywhere that the two pounds in my pocket could take me. The proprietor ambled over and began stacking out new issues, giving me a knowing nod, as though he was aware I had no real money, but that I needed to escape.
“Everything in those long boxes over there is twenty pence an issue.”
I looked over at the twelve battered boxes rammed with back issues he had motioned towards.
“Got any X-Men?” I asked hopefully.
He nodded and walked over. After a brief rummage he pulled out a few issues, and told me that if I liked those mutants, maybe I should try some other books. He proffered Justice League Europe, Wild C.A.T.S, Weapon Zero, and Team 7. Unfortunately, I wasn’t much of a DC fan back then. It wasn’t until much later that I discovered Metamorpho, Swamp Thing, and Animal Man. But this guy obviously knew his stuff. He left me to it, and I spent a joyful half hour perusing the boxes, choosing my adventure,
before shuffling over to pay for my haul. He cast his eyes over my collection and laughed.
“You’re going to have a fun weekend.”
He slipped the books into a brown paper bag and handed it over as I pulled out all my money, just enough to pay. He only charged me half. Before I left, he asked if I was a Super Man fan, as issue three of Kingdom Come had just arrived. I shook my head. I was at that age of beginning to make my own decisions on how to deal with the world and all its heady concepts. I already had my own problems with God...Why would I want to read about one? This was a character descended from the heavens, capable of flight, impervious to harm, a savior of humanity. From Clark Kent’s boy scout attitude, to his alter ego’s moral superiority. The unattainable power of absolution, and control. It wasn’t for me. I would stick to the outsiders. The smaller heroes. The ones who struggle and still find a way to get the mission done. I looked up past the counter like I were meeting the gaze of a judge beyond his bench, and all I could say was;
“I don’t like Super Man.”
Years passed by, and my interests evolved, as did my tastes. I devoured other titles old and new. I was awed by the work of Alan Moore on Swamp Thing. The pages of Spawn kept pulling me further into hell. Preacher was an education in narcissism, and X-Men consistently reminded me that being different was always a problem of others, not your own.
Now don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed Batman, Spiderman, and a host of other A list superheroes just as much as everyone else. But there was still one that I didn’t care for at all. The Super Man. Of course I had watched the Christopher Reeve movies, and an episode of Lois and Clark on occasion, but I couldn’t fathom the appeal. Somewhere along the way I had picked up a couple of villain action figures from Superman the Animated Series; Lex Luthor and Metallo. Time moved on and so did the beginning and the finish of Smallville (I skipped that one). I may have bought a Cyborg Superman figure (robots are cool), and maybe I even caught a couple of dozen episodes of the aforementioned animated series.
But still, I didn’t get it.
Autumn 2019
I got old.
It had been a long week. Who am I kidding? It had been a long life. I had to do something. I had to get out. So on that rainy Sunday I got in my car and decided to go somewhere I hadn’t been for a very long time...the comic book shop. The nearest purveyor of graphic satisfaction was 60 miles away, but that wasn’t a problem. It was a fair exchange to be able to escape reality for a while.
When I finally got to the shop it felt different somehow. Perhaps I had grown too cynical, given up the prospect of a better world. I felt as I had before I stepped into my second ever comic shop. A nervous child, so small, so lost. All was dark. Like I’d washed up on the rocky shore of life with no prospect of rescue. What had happened to me?
I walked the length of the shop, noting that the unwritten rules of these places still abided. We don’t speak. We barely acknowledge one another, and everyone else's opinions are wrong. This always seemed strange to my mind. Comic shops are flush with such colour, optimism, and the promise of adventure...yet no one talks. I would ask what went wrong, but I think this has always been the way. People afraid to admit what we are interested in, what excites us, even to each other. To find connection in challenging the moral ambiguity and choices of their favourite character versus yours. Instead we have our paper temples filled with silence.
I crouched to look at the Spiderman books.
“Dude, did you check out Ultimate Spiderman by Bendis?”
I looked over to my right and found a man behind the biggest grin I had ever seen. He clutched a large stack of books. You always get the odd rule breaker, I guess. I expressed that I had indeed, and that it was excellent. He told me that he wasn’t really a Marvel guy, but that he loved Bendis’ work on Alias and Sam and Twitch. We continued chatting for a while. A nice guy. Perhaps the vow of silence taken by comic nerds was changing. 
Before I knew it, I was in my car and driving home with a huge stack of volumes on my passenger seat. On the very top was the book that the gentleman had recommended to me, and which I had purchased under much protest. A Superman book. Apparently, it was definitive, a game changer for the genre. I supposed I would find out. Over the next few days I read through the assorted titles, and everything was as I remembered.
Spiderman was still depressed...
The X-Men were still oppressed...
The state of the world’s morality had left Captain America really...stressed.
When I had nothing else left to occupy myself, I knew it was time. I had paid money for this, so I should at least make the effort to read it. Afterall, the writer was incredible. Their runs on Animal Man and New X-Men were flawless, and foundational to all comics going forward. Grant Morrison, what have you done?
All Star Superman
To say this book was a revelation would be to vastly understate it. How many cliches can I pull out of my head for you? Everything seems said, is there anything left to add? I think perhaps there is. Maybe there hasn’t been enough said. Or maybe there are no words. Maybe it’s a feeling. A sense of knowing, not just your place in the world, but what you leave behind once you are done. A legacy that was never supposed to be about yourself, but rather what you did to leave the world a better place than you found it.
Talking of the book, this was the first time that I had read about a character I had been staunchly against for so long and had such a sudden change of heart.
I finally got it.
It could have been the words so deftly carved into my mind by Morrison, or the cinematic art of Quitely, but I’m not sure it was either. Yes, they created this masterpiece, but it would all fall apart if not for one thing...Superman. It’s always been Superman. After so many versions of the character, so many different takes on the same thing.
I get it now.
And I missed out for so long! If there’s one thing I learned, it’s that I can have my beliefs and my opinions, but I needed to shake of my cynicism.
2025
I caught up. I can’t say, even now, that I enjoy every iteration of the character, but the stories I hold most dear have challenged my own beliefs. The world was so small before. My misanthropic nature was shrugged off, revealed to be nothing more than a lesson I was taught at a young age. I realised that we are not yet what we could be. They say that we are just numbers, but I disagree. We are neither calculations nor equations. We are one. Our individuality may keep the world fresh and exciting, but it is our acceptance that makes us unique. Superman has had so many different powers over the years that have helped him save the day (which, from time to time, may seem more than a little convenient), but I think that is such a great metaphor for humanity. We have all kinds of powers. Diverse people who can excel at different things, and by truly working together maybe we can get it done.
To everyone I ever spoke to over the years that told me Superman is awesome, you’re right. I used to think of him as the silliest of comic characters, one that could do anything the situation required, someone who was essentially a God. But I know now what a hollow vision that is. He was never supposed to be bigger than any of us, because he is us. Or at least, us as we should be...as we could be. He is an impossible man, but he shows us what is possible. He will always show up for us, and we should be showing up too. For each other.
11th of July
Controversy...
A movie about a nice man and a dog doing good things. A movie in which doing the right thing no longer begs permission, and focusing on hope should be the new default. You could say (and many have) that the reflections of the real world are about as subtle as a semi-truck to the face, and tasteless at that. Yes, a wealthy and well-armed country attacks a poorer nation with no adequate means of defense because they want the blood-soaked land for themselves. But at what point throughout history would that not be relevant to some conflict? Especially considering the wests propensity for colonialism. Perhaps the social, ethical, and moral problems that people have with this film are more of a commentary on themselves. No one enjoys having their faults projected twenty feet tall and in technicolour. Lashing out is a natural response, but a better one is to stop, take a moment, and learn. We can be better. If that’s the hope that we hold onto, maybe we can even be...Super.]
So, thank you James Gunn, and everyone who worked on this movie. Thank you for having the guts to make something honest.
Thank you, Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster. Thank you for seeing that we could be more than we are and building a Metropolis to show us.
Superman won’t come to save us. He’s already here, in all of us. He is a beacon, an idea, an ideal. And he is hope.
I don’t think I’m wrong this time.
I don’t like Superman.
I revere him.
Post Credit Scene
Writing a short blog on Superman isn’t an easy feat. It is hampered not by what you choose to say, but what you must leave out. It would be a disservice not to mention the supporting cast of characters, who are fantastic in their own ways. I hope everyone has their own real-life Jimmy Olsen, the best friend who always has your back. If you are a Jimmy yourself, then know that you are irreplaceable.
Perry White is the boss who will never cease pushing you to be the best version of yourself.
Lois Lane; the role model for everyone who wants to live in truth, not fiction. An anchor and proponent for justice.
Lex Luthor, who has shown us what the world really is, and what needs to change.
They say you can’t learn to parent from a book, but I disagree. If you are hoping for or already have children, and you ever feel unsure of what to do, then check in with the Kents. Martha and Jonathan have always got you covered.
Of course, there are so many more that deserve to be mentioned, but the fun will be finding out for yourself as I (finally) did. If reading isn’t your thing, then check out Superman the Animated Series and My Adventures with Superman. You won’t be disappointed.
I guess that’s about it.
Thank you for reading,
R&R