If you want to boldly go where no one has gone before, seeking out new worlds and new civilisations, why use a poxy space ship when you can take an entire planet, asks Gigantik?

This is something that you can really only do in comics, just use an entire planet to explore the Galaxy with. Blew my mind reading these as a child, the idea of exploring the universe while still enjoying all the comforts of home. José Maria Cardona’s art, whose style is not dissimilar to Alfonso Font’s here, helped a lot with this. He made Gigantik look very attractive indeed, portraying it as a combination of research center, holiday resort and nature park.

The series was set a century from its first publication, 2078, when the Solar System had been completely explored and several planets had been settled as well. Space travel is common and easy enough that a trip from Mars to Earth only takes a few days and space piracy is actually possible. Which is what drives the plot for this first Gigantik story, as astrobiologist Bruno Castor — who had been stufying the native Martian wildlife — prepares to join the Gigantik expedition in place of his brother, who died in a space accident. The Claw, one of the most infamous space pirates, wants to use Bruno to infiltrate the project and take it over to become the ruler of the Solar System. To that end he kidnaps Bruno and Mireilla Anderson, the grand daughter of the leader of Gigantik’s scientific council, to blacvkmail the latter into handing over the planet. Bruno and Mireilla, with the help of their trusty robot sidekicks Bulldozer and Peanut, however manage to foil his plans.

Yes, there is a fair bit of Star Wars inspiration in here, not the least with the bickering robot sidekicks, but the Claw too is a sort of K-Mart special Darth Vader. Probably inevitable as this series was conceived in 1978/79. Gigantik was created by Victor Mora, Spanish like the artist José Maria Cardona, for the West-German comics magazine Zack which at that time had ambitions to become a pan-European magazine. For a short while in 1979-1980 it would be also published in Dutch as Wham! and in French as Super-As. Printing the same magazine in multiple languages can be cheaper than in just one; to swap language you apparently just have to swap the black printing plates; the other colours can remain the same and higher print runs means cheaper printing costs. With Zack having gotten its hands on both new series by established authors as well as several older fan favourites taken over from other magazines you’d think it could’ve done well, but sadly the whole venture lasted only a year.

Gigantik outlived the magazine: seven albums were published in Dutch, from 1979 to 1984. In retrospect Gigantik is a minor classic of what you might call the “Spanish School” of science fiction comics. Victor Mora of course was also the writer of Dani Futuro.

Here’s a comic for which I have the original art but I don’t think I have the issue in which it appeared. Also, it took me twentyfive years to actually hang this on my walls.

And I had to move house three times before I could!

Back in the previous millennium, in 1999 to be precise, I had the magical combination of income and free time needed to dive deep into comics fandom. I had been going to Dutch cons for some years, but these were mostly an opportunity to score some cheap comics. By the mid-nineties, thanks to Usenet and the Comix-L email list my tastes had broadened and I had gotten into small press and self published comics. Somehow I heard or read about the annual Caption comics convention held in the Oxford Uni halls and decided I would go to the 1999 edition: SpaceCAPTION99.

Caption was an explicitly small press orientated convention, started in 1992 by Adrian Cox, Damian Cugley, Jeremy Dennis, and Jenni Scott, who were still organising it in 1999. Held over the weekend in the hallowed halls of the Oxford Union Society, it was a small affair, a hundred or so people? As I remember it there were maybe a few stands with people selling their own stuff, as well as maybe one dealer with some esoteric stuff — I remember buying some Jack Chic Crusaders comics about the comic apocalypse. There were a fair few comics creators like Dave McKinnon, Terry Wiley, Andy Konky Kru, Lee Brimmicombe-Wood and Bryan Talbot. The latter gave a talk about how his then recently finished Tale of One Bad Rat was created and which techniques he used to make it as accessible as possible for non-comics readers.

The con also held an auction of various things, including original artwork, which is were I bought this. No idea what I paid for it at the time, but it can’t have been that expensive. The pages looked nice, it earned the convention a few quid for next year and I vaguely thought it would be nice to hang up on my wall. Similarly I bought a great looking Lee Brimmicombe-Wood page showing a space ship in transit across the moon and a page from some superhero story by Adrian Dungworth and Mary Green.

Once home none of these made it to my walls, living at the time in a small, cramped student flat already filled up with bookcases. Instead they disappeared in my parents’ attic, where they stayed for a decade and a half until my father got fed up and shifted all my comics crap to me. At that time, having moved twice and in the first house I’d actually bought I still didn’t have room to hang them, for the same reasons. But the beauty of the overinflated housing market in the Netherlands meant I could trade in my far too small flat in Amsterdam for a obscenely big house in the provincial town my parents live in and now I do have room. So yesterday I finally hung these pages up in my living room.

In the process I discovered that this art was created by Nick Abadzis, best known these days for Laika and Hugo Tate. It’s a simple story about discovering Space: 1999 as a child and how he’s occasionally reminded of it as 1999 approaches. According to the sticky note still attached to the back of one of the pages, this story was done for the Caption booklet this year and Nick had donated the artwork to the con’s auction, hoping to raise some dosh that way. Well, according to the surviving photo album, the auction raised over a thousand ponds, so it must’ve served its purpose. As for the booklet, I may still have it but it will be somewhere among all the other convention bumf moved from closet to closet as I moved houses…

You may not like it, but this is what peak Bronze Age storytelling looks like, courtesy of Roger Stern and John Byrne.

Captain America: War & Remembrance is a 1990 trade paperback collecting the short, nine issue 1980-81 run of John Byrne and Roger Stern on Captain America (#247 – #255). As such it’s a showcase of what a typical Late Bronze Age, Shooter-era Marvel comic read like. This period, roughly 1976 to 1984 and the first Secret Wars, might just be my favourite Marvel period, at least in terms of the Marvel Universe as a coherent metafiction. It’s still small enough to be comprehensible even if you didn’t follow every title, had endured long enough to have a proper sense of history while it was not yet spoiled by endless crossover events and reboots. Not quite the Marvel I grew up with (I started reading superhero comics in earnest only in 1987), but the Marvel I got to know and love through back issues and collections like this.

John Byrne at this time is still just an artist, not quite the writer-artist he would become on Fantastic Four; he and Roger Stern broke into comics together doing fan work for Charlton before both went to Marvel. Stern started work as an editor and went on to write several series, most noticably Avengers and Dr Strange. Byrne of course worked mostly with Chris Claremont on e.g. Iron Fist and Uncanny X-Men. Their short run on Captain America is the only series Stern and Byrne worked on together.

But what do I mean by calling this a showcase of Bronze Age storytelling? How is that reflected in these issues? For me it’s a combination of several things. The first is continuity, having that sense of a wider universe in which Captain America takes place. Sometimes this is done casually, as for example in issue 250, which floats the idea of Cap standing for president in the 1980 elections. Not only do we get Cap visiting the Avengers mansion and getting the responses of his team mates to the news (Wasp & the Beast are all for it, Vision and Iron Man less so), but there’s also cameos of other like superheroes like Daredevil, Spidey and Doctor Strange. Funniest is J,. Johan Jameson’s reaction: conflicted until Joe Robinson teases him with “Spider-Man for mayor”. Ultimately of course Cap decides not to run, which is pity considering who would win that year.

The concern for continuity is also shown in the first story in this volume, from issue 247, in which Cap’s wartime footlocker is found and Stern takes the time to fix the mess a previous writer (Steve Gerber) had made of Cap’s origin. Gerber had him the son of a Maryland diplomat with an elder brother who died at Pearl Harbour, rather than an arty Brooklyn kid that Simon & Kirby had made him. Stern resolves it by making Gerber’s version an implanted memory as protection against Nazi torture revealing his true identity. At the same time Stern also re-introduces old Nick Fury foe Baron von Strucker, who was supposed to have died in Strange tales 168 but then showed up in Captain America 130/131 without explanation. At the end of the issue it turns out Strucker is an android.

Which brings me to the next characteristic of Bronze Age storytelling. The story in issue 247 ends with the destruction of the von Strucker android and the revelation of a new villain, Machinesmith. In the next issue he sends an old Fantastic Four foe, the Dragon Man, another android, to attack Captain America, ending on a cliffhanger with Cap in danger of being squeezed to death by the giant android. Then in issue 248 Cap escapes and follows Dragon Man back to Machinesmith’s lair, where he’s attacked by all sorts of half finished replicas of various heroes and villains. In the end it’s all an elaborate ruse to get Cap to kill him, being unable to commit suicide himself. A story that flows naturally through those three issues, but each part of which stands on its own, is a satisfying read in its own right. And while this story is being told, we also get a few look-ins at what Cap’s supporting cast is doing, especially a potential new love interest called Bernie Rosenthal who will stick around for a fair few years.

The other two stories, from issue 251-252 and 253-254 are similar in the way they operate as part of a wider universe. The first had Mister Hyde escaping from prison with the help of Batroc ze Leaper, hijack an LNG tanker to hold for ransom, then wanting to steer it into Manhattan anyway just to kill his old partner, the Cobra. That leads to Batroc teaming up with Cap to stop Hyde, exactly what you would expect of a ‘noble villain” like him. The first part of this story has Cap meeting with D. A. Tower, who would pop up in a lot of New York set Marvel titles. It’s that sort of detail that makes the Bronze Age MU feel so real and lived in. The last story Stern and Byrne did for Captain America has him go to England to meet an old friend and fight an old foe. Spitfire was a young girl during World War II fighting alongside Cap in The Invaders; she’s now a middle aged woman. the Marvel Universe at that time hadn’t quite settled for a floating timeline yet, so this sort of thing could still happen.

The last bit of Bronze Age storytelling I wanted to highlight comes from this final story, issue 253, which has Cap go on a date with Bernie to see Oklahoma and this half page neatly shows off how superheroes once upon a time had a private life away from the costume, not being stuck in Avengers Towers with the rest of the freaks. It also shows just how much sheer dialogue and captions were used back then. These are seventeen and twenty two page stories but they take longer to read than some modern paperbacks collecting six issues…

The happy, lovey dovey autobiographic story of how Chii, the mangaka, found out she was trans, transitioned and got married.

This started as a series of blog posts, short four panel comics in which Chii talked about her life as an “ex-boy” and how she got married. With the encouragement of her husband, she then turned it into a book that was published in 2016 in Japan, then translated and published by Seven Seas two years later. I first read it in scanlation some time before its official translation. The scanlation group had thoughtfully included a link to the book’s Amazon.jp page so I bought it there, then bought the English ebook version when it came out.

Chii’s story, as she presents it here, is probably about as straight forward as a transition story could possibly get. She never quite felt comfortable as a boy growing up, but it took some time before she learned about trans people and that she might be one. Even afterwards, she was still resistant to the possibility of transitioning because of the stereotypes about trans women Japan has. It was only after she became a working adult, having finished college that she took the step to start transition. Which at first did not include medical or legal transition as she didn’t think it necessary, but as she got more uncomfortable with her body and partially because she needed to be legally transitioned to be married in the first place, she pursued both.

Intertwined with that transition story and as important, is the story of her love life and how she met and became the girlfriend of her husband to be. In high school and college she passed as (mostly closeted) gay man and had had several boyfriends. This of course brought its own challenges as people of course expected her to have a girlfriend rather than a boyfriend, while she could never be quite honest with her boyfriends either. Once she transitioned, she met her husband at friends and he immediately fell in love with her, while she took some time to do the same. Once they got in a relationship, she came out as trans to her, which he was completely unfased by.

One of the sweeter parts of The Bride Was a Boy is how accepting her family, husband and friends are. When she came out to her mother the first thing she did was arranged the traditional girls’ coming of age photo shoot, something usually done at twenty. Her father and siblings too were accepting and if anything, a bit too muted in the responses. Chii mentions that her relationship with her father actually improved after her transition and that he even forgot she had been a boy…

Each of the nine chapters in the story also includes more general information on trans and queer issues, some of which is more particular to Japan, explaining the challenges faced by people wanting to transition. The biggest hurdle is that you have to legally transition to get married, which in part requires a medical testimony that you are trans. Because Japan still does not have marriage equality, you need that legal gender change to be able to marry as a trans woman if you want to marry a man and worse, if you’re already married to a woman, you need to divorce to get that legal gender change. Even the laws allowing that gender change are quite new, only dating back to 2007. Even if in Chii’s case all this went relatively smoothly, it still shows how many obstacles there still are for trans people to easily transition.

The Bride Was a Boy is a book you can give to your parents or friends if they’re mostly ignorant about trans people and want to know what being a trans woman is “really” like. Of course it’s not the end and be all of trans experiences, not even of Japanese trans experiences, but it’s a good introduction.

Asterix and Obelix cross the Channel into Brittannia to help out their cousins in a rather jolly adventure. Good show old chum!

It turned out that yesterday was the 65th anniversary of the first publication of Asterix in Pilote, which I only realised after I had already published yesterday’s post. A day late then, a happy anniversary to Asterix. It’s hard to overstate how important this was. Not only has Asterix become a national hero of France and the most popular European comics character of all time, even beating out Tintin, but thanks to him Pilote could break the Belgian Spirou/Tintin duopoly. These two magazines had captured most of the European (or at least the French part of it) comics market post-war, creating the Golden Age of Belgian comics during the fifties. By 1959 and Asterix‘s publication however they both had grown a bit stale. The challenge that Pilote would reinvigorate Tintin and Spirou as well.

Asterix en de Britten is a good example of why Asterix became so popular so quickly. First you have the story itself, set just after Julius Caesar’s invasion of Britain. As with Gaul he quickly conquers most of the country except for one tiny village courageously resisting. Sadly, without a druid capable of creating a magical potion that gives them super strength, their outlook is bleak. Luuckily, Notax, one of the village’s inhabitants is a distant cousin of Asterix and rows to Gallia to get his help. Panoramix the druid creates a cask full of the potion and Asterix and Obelix volunteer to bring it and Notax back to his village. Back in Brittania they promptly lose the cask and go through all sorts of adventures to get it back.

That on its own is fine, but it doesn’t set Asterix apart from similar series. What makes Asterix such fun is its sense of humour, which is a cut above the usual slapstick antics of other humouristic adventure series. Not that it doesn’t like a bit of physical comedy, but it’s not the only thing it does. There are the character names for example, usually a pun of some sort. There’s the referential humour, one panel here showing “a quartet of popular bards”, clearly the Beatles. In this story, there’s the gentle ribbing of English stereotypes: Obelix complaining about boar being served drenched in mint sauce, the poor creature, the lukewarm beer, the Brits breaking off their fight with the Romans for a tea (well, warm water) break…

But the best part is that Goscinny gives his British characters recognisable English speech patterns and sayings. And the unnamed Dutch translator has managed the same, e.g. translating “I beg your pardon” as literally “ik vraag uw pardon” or “rather” as “nogal”. They also speak much more formal then either the Gauls or the Romans, further distinguishing them. It takes some time to notice, but once you do it’s rather amusing.

Asterix is one of those series almost every Dutch child has read at some point and I wasn’t an exception, always happy to read a new one. The great thing about them is that I can reread any of the classic Goscinny/Underzo stories and still enjoy them as much as an adult. Sadly Goscinny passed away far too early in 1977, aged just 51, after a botched operation. Uderzo, the drawer, continued the series on his own but it was never quite the same to me. He retired in 2011 at age 84 from the series and would live until age 92, dying in 2020.