Whenever you mention graphic novels or comic books, two typical images spring to mind: either the spotty, nerdy loner (usually male) or that they are books for children. Admittedly, as a nerdy, teenage loner (thankfully, I never had acne), I was not doing much to assuage people from their comic book prejudices.
However, as I became older, I began to realise that comic books get a bad rap unfairly. And, in truth, there have been quite a number of titles which have won prestigious awards, deal with hard-hitting issues and complex philosophical notions.
My love of comics started from an early age, starting with Pictures Stories from the Bible, a 1960’s cheder prize my uncle won, and which lived on the shelves in my Grandma Bobbie’s flat. In those technicolour pages, I marvelled at clouds issuing holy orders, cheered on Samson as he levelled the Philistine temple and winced at Absalom left hanging in mid-air by his hair from a tree.
As a pre-teen, I devoured my brother’s Peanuts books, Garfield and regularly borrowed Tintin books from the Hass family on Highview. Uncle Herman and Auntie Olga used to bring us Archie comics from the US, and we had a stack of Beano/ Dandy books in both the upstairs and downstairs toilets.
Bus rides to Calamity Comics in Harrow were a regular feature of secondary school holidays, during the early 1990s. It was there that I fell in love with Spiderman (buying many, many back issues) and it was there that I also bought my souvenir, memorial edition of Superman #75, released to coincide with the passing of co-creator Joe Shuster.
Despite it being sealed in a black poly bag, I opened it and read it; after all, what’s a comic book for? I must confess that I have never understood those collectors whose comic books are pristine and unread. It seems so counter-intuitive.
For Chanukah in 1992, my parents bought me Batman v Predator, which I still have (and reread) to this day. My mother inscribed my copy of Art Spiegelman’s Maus (also bought that year), which my 11-year-old son has been currently eyeing up on the shelves in our house. Even now, as a parent, I am conscious of how Maus pulls no punches and is one of the most compelling Holocaust testimonies out there.
As an English teacher, I have (over the last 15 years) always used elements of the comic book genre in the classroom. Whether it was the creative writing module I produced at Rooks Heath, based around Spiderman or recommending that students read and buy Classical Comics, a company who produce a range of Shakespearean graphic novels, as well as classic literature — and all without “dumbing down” the text — I have always encouraged students to experience comics / graphic novels.
Since the advent of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, many students have asked me which of the latest blockbuster films I have seen. And, like all true comic book pedants, I tell them (rightly so) that the book is better. Take Jim Starlin’s Infinity Gauntlet.
It is not about a violent brute smashing his way through the universe. Starlin’s Thanos is a deep-thinker, a philosopher of sorts, a nihilist who struggles with omnipotence, while using his guile — not his fists — to achieve his aim of wiping out half of the universe. Also, his motivation in the book is much more apt than in the film: love. Now, who hasn’t done something foolish or crazy for love?
It is no secret that reading for pleasure is on the decline; screens reign supreme in many houses across the land. That said, when faced with a Pajes award of £1,000, it took mere nanoseconds for me to decide what to do with it: create a graphic novel section in the Immanuel College library. I was really proud of being nominated, and even more grateful to be able to share my love of comic books with the students at IC.
