Black Gate

Happy Thanksgiving. All punning aside, issue 12 is a bit of a disappointment to this reader, especially coming on the heels of the most entertaining installment in the first year of the series.

The premise itself is plenty fun: it’s like Roy Thomas thought, hey, I’ve got Arak here on Mount Olympus; before he moves on, I should work in some run-ins with a couple more creatures of Greek myth. Cerberus. Charon, Ferryman of the Dead. And I’ve got the perfect way to tie them in!

Great. Sign me up. I’m on board. I’ve got some change in my pocket for ye olde skull-face ferryman, as long as it’s a two-way trip.

What seems to have been phoned in this issue is the writing. The dialogue and the narration read like someone filling in for Thomas, a poor imitation. Maybe he was on a tight deadline for this one; maybe the whole thing was rushed — Ernie Colón’s art and layouts also pale in comparison to his work on the previous issue. The exception is the back-up feature, which I’ll get to later.

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As I mentioned before, Arak Son of Thunder issue 11 (July 1982) was the first Arak comic I ever bought from a newsstand (or, more likely, off one of those revolving racks loaded with comics that convenience stores used to have). To my surprise, though, checking the publication date, I now realize that I have been incorrect about a particular autobiographical detail. I have usually characterized myself as having been ten or eleven years old when I was reading these comics. However, I didn’t turn ten until July 1982, and since the dating on comics and other periodicals is usually a month or two ahead of the actual date, I was only nine when I first read this one.

If you remember last week’s post, you’ll see that it makes a bit more sense, given my age at the time, that I found some of the illustrations (reproduced later in this post after the “Read More” jump-break) so shocking. But that’s a topic I covered last week (if you missed it, you can read it here). Today, I want to dive right in to summarizing the issue that made me an Arak fan.

This one is hands-down the best issue to date. The illustrations by Ernie Colón and Alfredo Alcala have never looked better; the plot points Roy Thomas has been setting up over the preceding year start to come together to create deepening mystery, suspense, and action against an epic, ever-expanding mythical background. Especially action. The plot is forwarded with new revelations (and new questions) while delivering nearly non-stop action from first page to last.

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Webcomics and Kickstarter have come into their own at similar times. Kickstarter has been debated by PW and Tor.com and other places as a publisher/major funder of the indie comics industry. (In 2012, Todd Allen at PW suggested in 2012 that, by cash totals, Kickstarter could be considered the #2 comics publisher in America; Steven Padnick at Tor.com rebutted that they’re a funding source but not a publisher at all. Which is more than semantics, but I think neither would argue against how important Kickstarter has become for the comics industry.) What’s exciting about Kickstarter and other crowdfunding sources is that — like digital printing and web publishing in general — it gives a sense of immediacy and connection between readers and creators. Namesake is one of the webcomics that I follow, and I was excited to contribute to their Kickstarter to get my very own print versions of the first two volumes of the comic. And I was even more excited to pick those books up in person last weekend in New York, at a delightful meet-up in which I got to meet writer Megan Lavey-Heaton, Yamino of Sister Claire, and a number of writers and artists in various stages of publication. It was a fantastic cross-section of geekdom, with comments being bandied across the table about such topics as Doctor Who, Spiderman, and even My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.

So if it is with a rosy demeanor that I write about the excellent webcomic Namesake, I’ll be the first to divulge that I’m personally invested. (And for the rest of the full disclosure, Megan Lavey-Heaton backed my Kickstarter to self-publish the third novel in an otherwise publisher-abandoned trilogy. The admiration goes both ways.)

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Last week I promised that today’s post would touch on the topic of sexuality in comics and culture. The jumping-off point for that discussion is Arak, Son of Thunder issue #11, which I mislaid and still have not located. So, in lieu of a detailed plot synopsis of that issue (still forthcoming, as soon as I figure out where it absconded to), I will instead delve right into the broader memories that this comic brings back, demonstrating how different my preadolescent experience was in the 1980s from the media culture of youth today.

I can remember opening the pages of Arak, Son of Thunder issue #11 — the first issue of Arak I ever bought — and being shocked (and thrilled) by the scene in which Valda, the Iron Maiden sheds her armor. She has been moved by the pipes of the satyr to embrace her femininity, her freedom, and to dance. Somehow, though, she realizes what the satyr is up to; the spell is broken, and her carefree visage turns to rage. Then she’s standing there, fists clenched, looking like she’s about to rip a certain satyr’s horns off, but still naked. This was a comic approved by the “Comic Code Authority,” so she’s mostly bathed in shadow. Still, standing there in silhouette, she was naked!

When I saw that comic again, thirty years later, I couldn’t help but smile at the innocence and naiveté of that ten-year-old boy, straining his eyes to see if he could make out anything more through that shadow of black ink. I mean, Ernie Colon draws Valda beautifully, but for all the impression it made on me then, there’s not much on the actual page to titillate — far more is concealed than revealed.

No doubt it is nearly universal that when one’s age reaches the double digits, a new curiosity begins to dawn about the opposite sex, about the physical differences, and what those physical differences signify (you know, just what do adults do when they get alone together and take their clothes off? To put it bluntly). What varies greatly is how youth of different cultures and different generations manage to satisfy that inquisitive curiosity. And, of course, what might be titillating or even scandalous for one generation might not even warrant the batting of an eye for the next.

I want to steer clear of ranging too far on that last point: one could write a whole book about changing mores and stimuli, spanning from a Victorian era when a woman’s exposed ankle could cause heart palpitations, to contemporary times when a woman can turn up at nearly any beach in nothing but a G-string bikini without fear of getting arrested for indecent exposure. Indeed, whole books have been written on that subject. Instead, I’m going to narrow in on one preadolescent boy in the early ‘80s, and talk about how the culture was right then, in that little snapshot of pop-culture history.

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