Who Is Charles Webb?
A frequent contributor to Comics Bulletin, Twitchfilm, and his own blog, Monster In Your Veins, I do more than write about comics, movies, and games – I make my own. I was the lead writer on the horror-mystery mobile game “Exile,” and contributing writer to several other titles for both classic mobile and home platforms. Most recently I’ve taken on the Lead Game Designer position for the North American arm of Advanced Mobile Applications where I hope to have some interesting projects to tell you all about soon.
At the Heart of Vertigo
By Xavier Lopez
I am very excited to have been given the happy responsibility of covering the Vertigo line at DC Comics for Comics Bulletin. I could begin in a very contrived sort of way, and introduce myself. They call me Mr. X., short for Xavier. Some of you may know me from my merciless reviews at ComicBloc.com, where I thrashed Countdown to within an inch of its life. It's also possible that you may have seen my comics-inspired paintings in galleries around the country. Some of you may know me as Gremlin--tireless advocate of all things Golden Age--from way back when on the old comics-related Usenet groups. You may have seen me present a paper on the postmodern edge of the various comic book universes at an academic conference. And still others may know me from various and sundry comics message boards. But most likely, you don't know me at all, and that is perfect because this column isn't (after this introduction) going to be about me. Such an introduction would be tiresome and trite, and I'm glad we're all now past that.
Instead, I will endeavor, in this bi-weekly column, to bring you the latest information, interviews and gossip relating to one of the most interesting, creative and varied line of comic books being published by any comics company today. All of that will begin in the next column, but first, I hope you will allow me to meander a bit. As they say, every journey must start with few uncertain, perhaps preordained, steps (and maybe a small snack). In addition, a map (or in this case, a plan) is always helpful in directing one's steps, providing a raison d'etre, so to speak. Here is mine:
Let me say at the outset that my first goal for this feature is that I intend it to be a little different than any of the others out there (not that there's anything wrong with what IS out there). Sure it will cover some of the same issues and some of the same material, but I propose to do so in a way that is just as exciting and unique as the comics that I will be covering. Coming from a fine arts, academic and, let's face it, fanboy background, I love to explore comics from a simultaneously artistic and intellectual place. Vertigo has a different take on what comics are meant to be and not only lends itself to such an approach, it practically begs for it. To do any differently would be unfair to the source material.
Let us talk about what Vertigo is and has always been all about. First off, of course, Vertigo is a line of comics from a company that is known principally as the home of characters that run around in tights, spouting clichéd dialogue and fighting bizarre, garishly-clad villains. But while there is some of that in Vertigo, it serves only to highlight what these comics are truly about: magic, the libidinal forces that guide us from birth to the tomb, dreams and the dreaming, all in the guise of giants and fables, killer mutants, swamp things and hell blazers. It is also about how, sometimes, an idea can be so powerful, a need can be so compelling, that it will create something from nothing. That is what Vertigo has always been. In fact, it has become quite clear to me, from conversations with others and even my dear editor, that, if indeed there was no Vertigo, we would have had to create it.
You see, rather than starting in 1993, under the auspices of Karen Berger, Vertigo began while hiding under the bed in the very first panels of Little Nemo. It slipped around unnoticed on the texted skirt of the Yellow Kid. It was there along with all the dead Kryptonians at the explosion that birthed Superman and in the bullet that traumatized a young Bruce Wayne. It was there in the pills, poisonous gases, nuclear explosions, mutant spiders, bolts of electricity, hard waters and mystical incantations that created hero and villain alike. It was there in the Golden Age Sandman's gas gun, in the sludge of the Swamp Thing and the kinky bondage of Dr. William Moulton Marston's pre-feminist feminist Wonder Woman. Vertigo, like most things that matter, comes from the outskirts, those areas that lay outside the text. It comes from the same place that gave us the Uncertainty Principle and Derridean deconstruction. It comes from the Lacanian excess—those things that are left over once we look under the covers of polite society's subject matter and see what we weren't talking about the whole time—or rather, what we were actually always talking about but were afraid to come out and state clearly--those concepts, fears and dreams that had for so many years gone unsaid and undone because they could only have been hinted at—especially under the ever-watchful eyes of the Comics Code.
That is why titles like Swamp Thing, Sandman, Lucifer, Fables, Doom Patrol and even Grant Morrison's Flex Mentallo are so important, groundbreaking and, at the same time, inevitable. Each of these titles, and many more in the 15 years that Vertigo has been publishing, have dived headlong into areas that comics had always wanted to go into, but would not and could not--partly because comics were first presented as kids' books, partly because the something must be created before it can be deconstructed, parodied and paid homage to—but more importantly because, common decency would not have allowed it.
If the origin of Superman seemed oddly bloodless, then every issue of Sandman wherein sister Death appears will more than quench your blood thirst. If the original fairy tales lacked depth, complexity and even humanity, then Bill Willingham and Matt Sturges' Fables will correct this oversight. If satiric conceits and a winking nod to the history of comic books themselves is what you are looking for, then Alan Moore and Grant Morrison will take you to truly alternate realities and infinite Earths. Horror and science fiction, mystery and trips to hell, even seemingly banal slices of life that would have made O. Henry wince in envy are all parts of what make Vertigo such an exciting and unique set of worlds.
Finally, and I would be remiss if I did not mention this: amid all the weirdness, there is a heart to Vertigo that draws me back time and again. Vertigo pairs some of the best (and I have to be blatantly honest about this: some of the worst) artists with writers who are freed up from many of the usual constraints which bind them. It is a place for authors to go wild and write exactly what they want, as they want it. Vertigo is ultimately then a place for stories, fables and tales of every kind. Because of all of this, Vertigo is the uncanny Other to all of the rest of comics—and I, for one, am happy to get to be a part of that. I hope you will join me.
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