CRIVENS! GUEST POST: WINDOWS TO ANOTHER WORLD...

Okay, peeps, here's yet another guest post, this time from the

commenter formerly known as Dunsade Dave (now Dave S).

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American comics meant a lot to me as a kid in the mid '80s.  Not
only because of the mind-boggling stories and dynamic art, but also

because they were a window into another world.  I read literally every

word of the US comics I fell in love with – and I mean every word;

adverts, letters pages, indicias, statements of ownership, the lot.

To me, they were like travel agents' brochures advertising a trip

to the limits of imagination and the outer edges of sanity – the heroes

swung, soared and scrapped their way through vast cities full of towering

skyscrapers and sinister alleys;  villains struck poses, grimaced and ranted

even when they were on their own in their secret labs and hideouts.  It was

a far cry from the British comics I'd previously experienced – as much as I

loved The Leopard of Lime Street or The Visible Man, the stories

always looked static to me - they never had the vibrancy and energy

of The Fantastic Four or The Mighty Thor.

But that was only one of the worlds that comics let me peek

into.  They showed me another, almost as intriguing world too.  One

that flaunted itself through attention-grabbing adverts for sweets called

Snickers and StarBurst, which sounded so much more alluring that dull

British confectionery like Marathon or Opal Fruits.  They showed me a

world where you could claim prizes for selling copies of a paper called Grit

– I would peer for ages at pages festooned with minute drawings of micro-

scopes, disguise kits, baseball hats and digital watches.  Single-page comic

strips promoting Twinkies & Hostess Fruit Pies puzzled and beguiled

me – foods so tasty that even the vilest baddie would change their ways

for a nibble.  (I can't tell you how disappointed I was when I finally

tasted a Twinkie a few years ago - it was nice, but not quite so

nice as to drive every evil impulse from my mind.)

Everything in those comics amazed me – adverts for comics

shops with lists of what surely must be every comic ever printed, cut-

out-and-mail forms where the reader could send for sea monkeys, false

beards and unnecessarily large numbers of plastic soldiers.  Even the let-

ters page was a source of fascination - addresses had house numbers in the

3000s.  My brain boggled at how long the streets must be;  I imagined long

rows of houses stretching toward a far-distant vanishing point that not even

The Flash could reach in a hurry.  Names were no less fascinating.  Grow-

ing up in Glasgow, the most exotic name I'd known was someone called

Lloyd;  now I was seeing names like Buscema, Giordano, Ditko,

Salicrup, and they seemed like some kind of poetic secret words

that opened the door to the magical realms they created.

The world seems a little smaller these days, and less able to

surprise and enchant me as often as it once did.  Although I can still

sometimes look back at those comic mags and feel exactly the way I did

back then – excited, intrigued, bewitched – it usually only lasts for a mere

second or two, before I'm flicked back into the present day.  In that brief

time though, I feel elated - as if I'm at the beginning of a whole new ex-

istence, with new possibilities and an infinity of days ahead, and it

always seems like I can hold on to that feeling forever.

Thanks DS.  Anyone else like to write a guest post?  Then

let me know in the communicative comments section.

Posted in: Cartoons