“That comics were participating factors in juvenile delinquency and in some cases, juvenile suicide, that they inspired experiments, a la Superman, in free-fall flight which could only end badly, that they Were, in general, a corrupting influence, glorifying crime and depravity — can only, in all fairness, be answered: ‘But of course. Why else read them?’ ...Comic books, first of all, are junk.” (Jules Feiffer, The Great Comic Book Heroes)

“Instead of seizing the opportunity to exploit outstanding individual stories to the maximum, American publishers created mass-production art shops to milk the talents of the creators, who used their often immense talents to bring transient life to too many stories too hastily written and too quickly drawn to endure beyond their newsstand date. Book publication was not even contemplated. The work of some of the most remarkable creators of our time was bought and sold as trash, and the real money-making potentials of their extraordinary inventions, mythlike creations who reflect the modern psyche in a way no other literary conceptions do, have been utterly thrown away.” (John Righter in Graphic Story World No. 7)

Surprise! Comic: books ain’t dead, despite the best efforts of publishers, as Righter charges, to bury the suckers under bad vibes, bucks, and bungling. As a matter of interest, we are in the midst of a comic book boom on both sides of the ground that threatens to become the real Golden Age for the graphic story-telling arts. In the old days, kids bought comics, ate them, and threw them away.

The good ones were remembered just like a dynamite movie; comics are little frozen movies with fabulous sets, im-peccable acting, lousy lines, and limitless budget to create special effects. But the kids who remembered the good ones grew up and still remembered, and now those kids are reading comics again, and certain adults that led deprived childhoods and didn’t read comics are now crackers for them because they read Zap No. 0 or a Steranko Nick Fury.

In the old days the comics were drawn' by a small group of dedicated artists who thought they were entertaining kids. Today, most of the undergrounds and most of the exceptional overgrounds are being written and drawn by young, aware, serious storytellers for other young adults. Clearly, the adventures of Green Lantern and Green Arrow, featuring drug abuse, slumlords, and overpopulation, are meant for more than a fast meal and the scrap heap. Certainly there has been a trend in juvenile literature towards realism, but the new comics go beyond the boundaries of mere literature or mere graphic representation to embrace modern graphic techniques and narrative styles that invite the kind of analysis and toothy appraisal that only semi-intelligent, semi-adult, drug-using, over-educated, jaded, listless media freaks can deliver. In other words, the creators are pouring a lot more work into the stories than a bunch of snotty kids can appreciate. It’s for our mutual benefit.

To paraphrase Sri Chinmoy, “There is a rising comic consciousness” wrought in part by great Marvel when they made Spiderman a neurotic. Comics are still treated like bastard art in this country, but the bullshit legit recognition is coming along, following in the trail of the one-time bastard art form cinema, which went to France, was duly overpraised, and returned triumphant. We are in the process of discovering what a great and wonderful art form comics are and have been all along; that popular literature, by its ingenuous nature, reveals more about ourselves than we supposed, and in a most delightful manner.

Let us consider one cause and effect trip. Rarely does a single series provoke vast ripples in the incestuous pond of comics publishing, but Conan the Barbarian, a Marvel title based on the pulp writings of Robert E. Howard,has caused major title shuffling and soul searching. Conan is the brain child of Marvel Editor Roy Thomas, who, as assistant editor, argued with Stan Lee for the acquisition of the Robert E. Howard material. The rights were purchased and the material has developed into a goldmine, due in no small part to the English illustrator for Conan, Barry Smith.

Thomas’ writing for Conan has been literate and impeccable, story-wise, but it’s been Smith’s graphics that have forced many people to consider comics more seriously, and have prompted major changes in the Marvel and National line-ups. Smith is an incredible illustrator irT the full sense of that word. Only 23, he has already established himself as a major craftsman equal to a Hal Foster or an Alex Raymond. We shall go into the strange case of strange Smith in a future column, but now let us consider Conan dropping into the pond and the resultant ripples.

Conan No.l appeared in 1970 and bore strong traces of Smith’s earlier work; graphics were crude, dominated by Jack Kirby type layouts, and flat. But by No.3, a fine, delicate style had emerged and in issue No.4, “The Tower of the Elephant,” winner of the ACBA SHAZAM award as best comic story of the year, Smith shattered the thencomplacent comics-reading public with a graphic work of unparalleled grace and detail. Every panel evidenced far more work than the standard comics sensibility junk, and the inking and coloring were of an unnaturally high quality.

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Utter Trash

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With sporadic success, Conan has continued along these meticulous lines and enthusiasm has grown out of control, so much so that Conan the Barbarian sells out the day it hits the newsstands in most large cities. The growth and bizarre history of this comic is a story in itself, but briefly, this is what happened with the publishers, reeling under the critical success of the title.

Marvel realized they had an esthetic winner on their hands, but (by limiting the press run and distribution because they were afraid the comic would go over the heads of their [presumed] child readers) they denied themselves the sales winner they could have had. And there have been a thousand hassles between the temperamental Smith and his'publishers. Marvel quickly moved to put other Howard characters into graphic form, mainly Kull the Conqueror, a fabulous sword and sorcery hero that chronologically precedes Conan. Bingo! A double-barreled success: sales arid esthetics.

The big change happened over at stodgy National, who had at least one esthetic winner in Green Lantern. Writer Denny O’Neil was given the sagging Green Lantern strip because National thought he could do no harm. Teamed with the brilliant artist Neal Adams (whb did a recent album jacket for the Mighty Groundhogs), O’Neil introduced psuedo-relevance in the form of slumlords and ecology issues that were just hip enough to sucker the starved comics enthusiast, desperate for any relief from the treacly, ersatz remnants of ghosts of relevance in Marvel.

Anyway, the top brass at National heard the rumble going around about Conan and realized that the other camp was fielding a major weapon, a Ferrari among Fords, so to speak. National had to have a Big Gun too, a direct competitor to the burgeoning “sword and sorcery” threat and, wisely, they looked first for a creator of popular fiction who could produce material rich and varied enough to challenge the well-established Robert E. Howard.

They found Edgar Rice Burroughs. Tarzan was already vastly more popular than Conan could ever hope to be (as a character in popular myth), but the comic rights belonged to Western Publishing until National made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. Then National put Senior Editor Joe Kubert, the skilled creator of Sgt. Rock of Easy Company on the strip, and set to work. Kubert has consciously tried to emulate the great Burne Hogarth, but Kubert is wise enough to allow his own, somewhat looser style to shine through and the result has been a graphically fascinating book. Both Marvel and National realize that given the well-established characters, the real contest is between the illustrators; the graphic part of the story will establish the comics’ reputation.

Tarzan has been ecstatically received by fans the world over, despite the fact that the previous Gold Key comics had been done by Russ Manning, an artist very close to Foster in style, and in many ways, a more exciting and painstaking craftsman than Kubert.

National owns rights to all the ERB characters and stories and has so far produced a crudely drawn (by Frank Thorne) Korak, Son of Tarzan, a spotty Pellucidar (drawn by A1 Weiss), and a majestic, unearthly John Carter of Mars in Weird Worlds drawn by erratic, often brilliant old-time National artist Murphy Anderson.

Marvel sprang back with original adaptations of Robert E. Howard stories, the incorporation of Howard (and Lovecraft) themes and characters into Dr. Strange, and plans to introduce further sword and sorcery material from non-Howard sources, including Thongor of Lemuria and an up-dated version of Welles’ War of the Worlds. The latter strip was to be written by Thomas and drawn by Adams, but Adams has had to give up the project due to other commitments, mostly in advertising. (Jim Steranko says all the modern graphic innovations are in advertising.)

Conan has caused a landslide comics rush back to the pulp heroes. Comics, which originally derived from the pulps, have returned td their origins for source material in a process that can only enrich both comics and popular literature in general. Marvel is doing Doc Savage. National will do The Shadow, to be drawn by Steranko.

There has been a scattergun presentation of titles by both major publishers. Some of these titles have no chance of succeeding, but each publisher hopes to be top dog when the present bucking market finally settles down. But will it settle down? We shall follow new developments on these very spaces. Meanwhile, face front! Great Ceasar’s Ghost! Crom! Tarzan bundolo! And Hawkahahahahaaaaah!!!!!