Depths Of Grief

My Very First Issue of:

 Sub-Mariner

Sub-Mariner #38

This issue of Sub-Mariner not only holds the distinction of being the first issue of the character's title that I'd read, but also the very first Marvel comic book that I ever picked up. I couldn't point you to any one reason why; I suppose I was just struck by the nobility of the character, drawn and inked so beautifully on the cover by Marie and John Severin. The image remains the definitive Sub-Mariner for me.

As it happened, I'd also lucked into picking up an issue that gave an excellent retelling of Namor's origin. I admittedly don't have a very high opinion of artist Ross Andru's artwork--but I must give credit where credit is due, as the interior art excellently details an Atlantis in its nascent stages of development. I lot of the credit, in my opinion, goes to inker John Severin, whose work here and in issues of Incredible Hulk and other titles results in a splendid finished product.

Namor's origin is told by himself, in his musings following the death of his bride-to-be, the lady Dorma, who was murdered by an old enemy whom Namor had spurned. And page one does a splendid job of ushering us in to Namor's current state of mind, as he mourns both Dorma and his impending wedding to her that will now never happen.

Nor does it take long for Namor's thoughts to focus on what's foremost in his mind:

As many readers know, Namor's origin comes about as a result of the violent (and misunderstood) incursion of surface dwellers at the site of Atlantis' ancestral home underneath the Antarctic ice. His thoughts drift back to those times as he visits Dorma lying in state.

The entire recounting of Namor's origin is meant to set the stage for a dramatic event later in the issue, though it's certainly an odd time for him to reminisce on the history of his species. The reason given--that Dorma's death was caused by the daughter of a human, which makes Namor think how wise his ancestors were to abandon the madness of land-dwellers for the sea--is such an odd reach, given that one generally doesn't dwell on historical matters when one is in mourning. Nor are ocean-dwellers exactly free from initiating conflict amongst themselves.  If Namor is simply grasping at straws in order to reconcile his conflicting feelings in the wake of Dorma's death, it seems a very unusual tangent for him to divert to.

On the other hand, up to this point we've seen just bits and pieces of Namor's origin, which is now presented in more detail than ever before--and in Namor's own words, no less. So from a reader's perspective, the diversion is rather interesting, with Namor's tone during the retelling tinged with the sadness and regret he seeks to resolve.

One scene, at least, should be familiar to all:

There were once descriptions of Namor in other books that were pushing for Namor to be labeled Marvel's first mutant, though I never really bought into that. Unless Leonard McKenzie or Princess Fen was working with radioactive isotopes or was otherwise exposed in some way, I don't see how the word "mutation" would apply to Namor, ankle wings aside. (Though it's possible a previous ancestor of either parent was thus affected.)  Perhaps "hybrid," a description which has been occasionally used with Namor before, would be a better word.

At any rate, Namor's thoughts on his origins also cover some other fascinating ground--his first exposure to (and confrontation with) humans, his fond associations with both Betty Dean and Sue Storm, and of course his growing relationship with Dorma. Which brings us full circle to a solemn event, and the end of Namor's self-reflections.

Addressing the populace, Namor stuns the crowds by immediately (and unexpectedly) addressing the topic of Atlantis' long period of strife with the surface world, as well as assigning blame for it. And on its heels, he makes an announcement that takes everyone completely by surprise.

Not exactly what a nation in mourning expects to hear from its leader. I'm sure more than a few people were wondering where the hell all this was coming from, and what in the world did it have to do with Dorma's death. In his origin retelling, it was certainly clear that it was Namor who did indeed threaten the surface world with hostilities--though to Namor, it was probably a show of strength which he felt needed to be put out there. But aside from the odd timing of making that admission publicly in the wake of Dorma's entombing, why would that warrant not only abdicating his throne but also abandoning it on the spot? No discussion with his cabinet or advisors, or at least Vashti? No arrangement for a smooth transition--just yank the rug out from under your people and swim off, leaving them to fend for themselves with no formal ruling succession in place? You can almost hear the neighboring undersea kingdoms and warlords sharpening their spears.

As a dramatic moment, it certainly capped the issue; production-wise, it made way for a new direction for Namor as he immediately heads to the surface world to make a home for himself. (Of all places. Didn't he just get finished poo-pooing land dwellers and telling us the surface world was a place to be avoided?) And despite the issue's letters page announcing that Ross Andru would be replacing Sal Buscema on artwork from that point on, Gene Colan takes over just a couple of issues later, with Gerry Conway replacing scripter Roy Thomas. It almost makes it sound like this new direction wasn't entirely thought through.

The Sub-Mariner book never truly recovered from Namor's abdication and the sharp shift in direction. When Namor finally returns to the throne (despite his haughty words above), I'm guessing his people were just a bit confused to see this side of him yet again, given his declared reason for leaving in the first place:

From that point, it was a downward spiral for both Namor and Atlantis--with the city later smashed to ruins, its people near death from exposure to nerve gas, and Namor forced to wear a life-sustaining costume, before cancellation of the book took place just a few issues afterward. The only bright point was prior to this period, with the return of writer/artist Bill Everett for a little over a half-dozen issues. Yet in the end, Namor turning his back on his kingdom eventually reminded us of the adage that you can't go home again.

Your Own Worst Enemy

My Very First Issue of:

 Thor

The Mighty Thor #188

I have to admit: initially I felt this issue of Thor was nothing to write home about, with not much happening with the title character to leave an impression with a first-time reader. In fact, it left me so apathetic about the character that I wouldn't start regularly reading Thor until issue #193, which featured the Silver Surfer. From there, I worked my way backward--first going through artist Neal Adams' work on a three-issue story where Loki appropriates Thor's body, then his first battle with Dr. Doom, and then his two-issue evasion of Hela, Goddess of Death, before finally circling back and reading the "Infinity" story which culminates in this issue. In a way, Thor led me on as much of a merry chase as he led Hela.

Read in its entirety, the five-issue story of Infinity is more entertaining and interesting than inadvertently cutting to the chase, as I did, and picking up the story's climax. But this issue has a few things to pique your interest. You get a great sampling of John Buscema's artwork, inked by both Joe Sinnott and Jim Mooney. You're introduced to practically every main Asgardian character. You don't see Thor in battle, but you definitely get a measure of the power he wields. You learn of the Odin-sword--the power of which is revealed in full much later, but still awes you with its appearance in this issue. And you get the menace of a threat that is engulfing whole worlds, one by one.

To understand the gist of this story, you have to sort of come to terms with Hela and her role as Goddess of Death. And that's difficult to do. Because in Thor, she's treated alternately as both a malevolent entity and a necessary evil. In some stories, she exists as a sort of conductress to the gates of Valhalla, a refuge the gods hope is their final "resting" place where they wage eternal, glorious battle. In other stories, she maliciously attacks the gods in order to bring about their deaths prematurely. In still others, she's portrayed as the mere personification of an inevitable fate, neither good nor evil. In other words, if you ever face Death and hope to reason your way out of it, you can forget about it if Hela is the one in front of you. (Sif, pleading for Thor's life, being the only exception I can think of.)

Suffice to say that, for this story, Hela is going all in and seeks nothing less than the death of the Universe itself. But her plan doesn't take shape until an opportunity arises to slay Odin while he's helpless in a rejuvenation cycle called the "Odin-sleep." She strikes, but doesn't get the end result she wished for.

So she drops off "Infinity," a soulless version of Odin himself, at his first world to bring to an end, and her plan is put in motion:

And just look at this gorgeous representation of Infinity in action by Buscema, showing the power of Odin in its relentless march to universal death.

In the stories leading up to this one, Odin--with no knowledge of Hela's actions (so much for being omniscient, though Odin is usually referred to as omnipotent)--leaves Asgard to go off and battle this massive threat to the universe, with Thor tagging along later and managing to pick up clues while Infinity sends lackeys to deal with him. Odin, naturally, has his hands full; after all, in essence he's fighting himself. He makes little to no headway against Infinity, and is completely taken by surprise when Infinity closes in for a final strike.

From that point on, Thor's task is made doubly difficult--because not only does Odin fall in thrall to Infinity, but Infinity also seeks to merge with his physical self. Once Thor reveals that fact to his fellow Asgardians, they launch several attempts to foil that plan. First, Karnilla, Queen of the Norns:

And then, in tandem with the God of Evil himself--Loki, who has no wish to go down with the rest of Asgard.

But Thor attempts the same tactic on a greater scale, using his hammer to combine the power of himself with a number of other powerful Asgardians. And this time, the strike is successful.

Afterward, Odin--being Odin--uses his power to restore everything to its former state, with none of the engulfed worlds any the worse for wear. It's the mother of all reset buttons--which Odin, over time, has practically worn the paint off of, as often as he's hit it. When you see power displayed on this level, it's no wonder why the Asgardians regard him as their undisputed leader and are in such awe of him. Not only can he correct destruction on a universal scale--but he can actually overpower a version of himself (provided he knows what it is he's fighting). I can't figure out how the Celestials practically stepped on someone like this, as if he were only mildly bothersome. Maybe Odin should have sicced Infinity on them, instead.

Strange Magic

My Very First Issue of:

 Doctor Strange

Strange Tales #120

And believe it or not, this was his deadly opponent:

Technically, I suppose my very first issue of Dr. Strange was another book that really only featured the character--the appropriately titled Marvel Feature #1, which introduced the Defenders. I'd later follow that up with Strange's second series under his own banner, the Steve Englehart/Frank Brunner book from 1974. But the character of Dr. Strange had a prior incarnation before he became so mainstream--in his earlier, under-the-radar days as a promising disciple of the Ancient One, where he was a part of the Marvel universe yet still outside of it--and in comparison, I'd have to say that I was more intrigued in my first reading of that character than I was with the man who would be pulled out of mothballs to make up the odd trio of the Defenders.

So I'd have to choose this particular story as my first substantive exposure to Dr. Strange. The story was reprinted in an issue of Giant Size Defenders, but originally appeared in an issue of Strange Tales--a title which, at that time, had two characters (in separate stories) sharing the same issue. Since Strange was still a work in progress as far as getting readers to become interested in him, it made sense to bookend him next to established characters like the Human Torch (or with other characters that offered the reader a mixed bag, with the hope that the variety of the book would better sell it). And certainly the book's title provided the perfect format in which to introduce him.

Strange was an enigma to just about everyone in those days. Even in the story, there are references to people knowing about him (through gossip or news stories), but having rarely seen him in the flesh. So whenever he did make an appearance, the stunned effect that passers-by experienced usually had the nice side-effect of transferring to the reader, as well:

Strange's first artist was Steve Ditko, who was at the time also pencilling a more well-known character, Spider-Man. Ditko's style seemed a good match for Dr. Strange, with its exotic dimensions and sorcerous effects; but as far as establishing Dr. Strange as a character, with his brooding demeanor and solitary existence that invited a reader in but at the same time kept them at a distance, Ditko's sparse panels combined with the character's stiffness were well suited to his transformation from arrogant surgeon to a more noble character being built again from the ground up.

And, of course, the "world" that Dr. Strange operated in ("operated" in--heh heh) was our own world, yet Strange warns us that there are things out there we simply do not know about. And when you see a gorgeous opening splash page like this one, you can't help but be enticed by the journey he's about to take us on:

In a nutshell, word has gotten around about a house that's supposedly haunted--so a network TV channel has decided to do a show on it, by sending in a reporter who will do a live broadcast to a news crew outside and report on any supernatural events that may occur while he's in there. (Judging by the assembled crowd, it's easy to understand how today's reality shows capitalized on this sort of thing.) The story attracts the attention of Strange, who arrives on the scene and keeps an eye on things. Literally:

But when the network abruptly loses contact with the reporter, Strange decides to investigate personally. And for added effect, look how writer Stan Lee contrasts Strange's grim determination with the continued skepticism of regular people--i.e., us--to enhance for the reader Strange's ability to perceive things that the rest of us have no idea exist:

As for Dr. Strange, luckily for us the man knows how to make an entrance:

And after fending off the house's attempts to contain him, and securing the release of the reporter, Strange discovers its secret:

Strange then banishes the "house" back to its world, in full view of the assembled crowd. But even then, the people refuse to believe their own eyes, chalking it all up to special effects by the network to impress the television viewers.

Given that I'd first read this story as a reprint, thanks to The Defenders I was already involved with a much more learned and engaged Dr. Strange, who had become more mainstream with the Marvel universe and far less enigmatic. Better sales of issues featuring Strange, after all, was the goal with the character, so I can't begrudge him his success; but what a treat it would have been to have seen him interacting with the likes of Namor and the Hulk as his old stuffy, stand-offish self. In fact, since at last report he'd renounced his "Sorcerer Supreme" status and returned to a more down-to-Earth "master of the mystic arts," I'd hoped he would readopt his original raiment and amulet in recognition of his need to assume the role of a less powerful practitioner again. Since that didn't happen, it's a good excuse to revisit some of these older stories, where our guide to the supernatural is just as diligent as ever--and, suitably, more unknown.

Disturbing The Police

My Very First Issue of:

 Spider-Man

Amazing Spider-Man #80

Beats me what it was about this issue that made me interested in the character of Spider-Man. In all probability, it may have been just coincidence. My Marvel reading list was expanding at the time, and this issue simply may have been in the right shop at the right time. I may have been rifling through a stack of back issues when I found it; after all, this particular issue was well before I became interested in picking up any Marvel books. It also has a strange notation on its cover that wasn't from its publisher, indicating that it was "marked" in some way by whatever shop it ended up in.

So what made me reach for this mag? Well, the cover has a good depiction of Spider-Man, in what would turn out to be a perfect way to describe the character: wronged by the public, distrusted by the law, and battling for justice in spite of it all. And the Chameleon seemed like an interesting enough foe, at first glance. I didn't realize it at the time, but he was one of Spider-Man's earliest villains--from the first issue of Amazing Spider-Man, in fact:

The Chameleon is really simply an elusive, sophisticated thief who targets high-profile items and later sells them to interested parties. Though as you can see, he thinks much more of himself:

The issue does a good job of bringing a new reader--e.g., me--up to speed on Spider-Man, his secret identity of Peter Parker, and Peter's cast of characters. (All but Aunt May, who's absent this issue.) In fact, the very first page gives us an idea of Spider-Man's loner status, given that his "base of operations" is a room in his apartment:

Right from the start, we're introduced to Harry Osborn, Peter's roommate, as well as Flash Thompson, Peter's nemesis from his high school days who Peter thinks is beating his time with his girlfriend, Gwen Stacy. Flash finds out very quickly that this isn't the same "puny Parker" he used to bully in high school:

Yet when Flash clears things up, the ice seems finally broken between these two. It was a long time coming. It cracked a little when Flash joined the army; but with Harry's help, the two now seem headed for a decent friendship.

We're also introduced to the indomitable and irascible J. Jonah Jameson, publisher of "The Daily Bugle" newspaper, who is a thorn in just about everyone's side and Spider-Man's in particular. Fortunately, Jameson's attitude toward Spider-Man is somewhat buffered by his trusted editor, Joe "Robbie" Robertson, who gives a fair shake to Spider-Man in his efforts to bring the Chameleon out into the open:

Unfortunately, Spider-Man's plan backfires, since his spider-sense can't pinpoint who the Chameleon is in a roomful of suspects. (Since when?) And as time is running out, just look who's leading the charge to nab the wall crawler:

It's a made-to-order moment for the police to finally tell off this headstrong idiot. Jameson, as you might imagine, isn't accustomed to being on the receiving end of indignation:

But Spider-Man is in luck, since the Chameleon assumes another identity in order to escape in all the confusion. It turns out to be a fatal miscalculation:

Spider-Man isn't too bright himself, to be running off at the mouth in front of a newsman on just how he deduced the Chameleon's identity. He doesn't exactly put the issue to bed with this offhand comment, either:

He probably could have said something like "My spider-sense was able to nail him down"--which it was, though that would have made for a short issue. A so-called master of disguise isn't going to get very far with a walking divining rod like Spider-Man as a foe. So Spider-Man, who in his first encounter with the Chameleon was able to sense him in a getaway helicopter, had a little more trouble this time around.

But everything eventually works out:

Though not the way a certain newspaper publisher might wish:

When The Going Gets Tough--Disband

My Very First Issue of:

 The Avengers

The Avengers #92

When word balloons began appearing on cover art, there was a lot of backlash from those readers who thought they were unnecessary and didn't want them cluttering up the usually fine dramatic artwork of comic book covers. Granted, some of the balloons were ridiculous, adding no real substance and being more of a sales gimmick than anything else:

Yet these word balloons helped to finally bring me to The Avengers, a group which I'd never really been interested in. Its members had always looked so "stuffy" to me--its membership so centered on its charter members, who were merely several of Marvel's charter characters gathered under one roof. Yet here was a cover which showed a crack in this book's armor and threatened to shake things up with dissension and disbandment. The word balloons, for once, were directly relevant.

So I was surprised at how low-key the majority of the issue was. Intentionally so, though I didn't know it at the time, as it was carefully laying the groundwork for what would be the Kree-Skrull War. For proof of that, you needed to look no further than this panel of Rick Jones remembering his days at the orphanage reading old comic books, an out-of-the-blue detour which had absolutely nothing to do with this particular story but which we know now would play out in a major way near the end of the war:

This was my first exposure to Rick, so you can imagine my confusion as to why this kid was able to hang with the Avengers. Or with Captain Marvel, for that matter. Or why he was getting so much development in the book. I had no idea of his history with the team up to this point. And speaking of the team, for someone who was expecting a more formal tone to the Avengers, page one gave me a far more casual picture:

Knowing the Avengers as I do today, the page still surprises me. Quicksilver kicking back and relaxing out of costume? Mod Wanda? GQ Vision? Yet at the time, it all eased me into the Avengers nicely.

The issue brings us up to speed on things as the story's crisis develops. The Avengers had just foiled a plan by one of the Kree, Ronan the Accuser, to de-evolve humanity; and they'd asked some government technicians caught in the crossfire to keep silent about it, in order to avoid panic. Nevertheless, word about this incursion gets out, and leads to the establishment of the Alien Activities Commission, led by a man named H. Warren Craddock. As you can see, Craddock's fixation on conspiracy can't help but remind you of the McCarthy hearings:

Things are complicated by the fact that the Avengers know Captain Marvel, a Kree exile--and Craddock's commission wants Marvel to testify. Mar-vell has himself suggested that he turn himself in, but the Avengers come to another decision:

While it's easy to feel our hackles go up at the implications of these commission "witch hunts," I can't help but disagree with the Vision's reasoning. First, he makes an almost panicked leap from commission hearing to a planet brought to destruction by suspicious frenzy, which seems more lecture to us than intra-team discussion. But more directly, no one said anything about confining Mar-vell; further, the Commission does indeed have reason to want him for questioning, given that he was on the scene at the time of Ronan's attack. The fact that he's also a Kree makes him an ideal witness for the Commission to question--he can provide insight and answers that not even the Avengers can give.

Yet the Avengers nevertheless vote to send him into hiding. After, of course, he (with help from the Vision) saves a damsel in distress, in this superb full-page artwork by Sal Buscema:

Again, keep in mind that this was my first exposure to the Avengers. So when Wanda shows concern for the fate of the Vision after the crash, this scene had no special meaning to me:

I just interpreted it as a scene showing characterization of the Vision--a figure who was heroic, yet aloof, even to his fellow Avengers. I had no idea it was the result of this scene which played out in the prior issue:

Another thing I was unaware of at the time was that the Fantastic Four had already encountered the Kree--not only the Kree sentry, but Ronan himself--in earlier issues of their own title. Had I known, I probably would have wondered why the FF wasn't put through the same wringer of disclosure that the Avengers--a group with government clearance, mind you--were now going through. No panicked, angry mobs camped out in front of the Baxter Building demanding answers, which I'm assuming meant that the FF briefed the government on the Kree but the government didn't inform the public--probably for the same reason the Avengers wanted to keep their own encounter with Ronan quiet. But since the FF were called as witnesses during the Avengers' hearing with the Commission, we can conclude that the Feds have known about the Kree for some time--so why the establishment of a formal Commission now, which can only make the investigation public? Why not a simple debriefing of the Avengers? It makes no sense.

Reed himself gets off pretty easy on the stand:

Beats me why the government brought him all the way down to the courthouse to repeat in public what they must have already gotten out of him privately.

As for the Avengers, their testimony at the hearing doesn't satisfy Craddock in the least. Nor, apparently, have the Avengers' actions satisfied their other teammates, who have reached an incredible knee-jerk decision:

Given that this scene plays out on the issue's last page, it gives neither the Avengers nor us time to process what's occurred. For all I know at the time, these three have always come across as arrogant overseers of the team--yet with the benefit of hindsight, I know they'd never come to such a decision without getting all the facts through further deliberation with everyone present. But aside from that, I think the circumstances would have to be far more extreme than they are here for them to see disbandment as the solution to a team problem.

So a lot of unanswered questions. But for a new reader, the abruptness of the ending certainly whetted my appetite to explore this story. And look what I got in return: the Kree-Skrull War, the Inhumans, the original Avengers, the Kree Supreme Intelligence, Captain Marvel, and art by Neal Adams, Tom Palmer, and John Buscema. And, of course, writing by Roy Thomas, who blessed me with perhaps my first introduction to one of his conspicuous, tiresome pop culture references:

On the bright side, I could at least count on the fact that neither the Kree nor the Skrulls would be having such references pop up in their dialog anytime soon.