REVIEWS

X-Men: Grand Design – Second Genesis

Two volumes into Ed Piskor’s X-Men: Grand Design, the question still nags: who is this for? Usually these projects—your remakes, your reboots, your adaptations—are a siren call to the elusive New Comics Reader; the untapped market blithely sailing by, waiting to be lured into fandom. The moviegoers. Yet there’s an absence of asterisks here to carefully lead the curious consumer directly and permanently into the Marvel vaults. There are few notes in the margins for context, while the Additional Reading sections by Daron Jensen and Jeph York that serve as bibliographies in the single issues have been conspicuously excised from the paperbacks. Every indication is that Piskor clearly intends Grand Design to be a self-contained experience. So again: for who?

In an interview with Juxtapoz magazine, Piskor explains how he got into the X-business: “I drew some X-Men and sent out a tweet saying something like ‘Marvel should just let me make whatever kind of X-Men comic I feel like making.’ They got in touch within an hour and it was on.” It’s nearly unprecedented for a Marvel superhero project to be written, penciled, inked, and lettered by the same artist, as Piskor does with Grand Design, so it’s curious that—given creative control plus carte blanche to pick a project—Piskor chose to remake the first three decades of X-Men comics. “I assure you,” he tells Juxtapoz, “this was a comic that I've been building myself up 35 years to create.”

Why do a remake? Was the intention to take a kernel of the original and spin it off into surprising new directions—Piskor’s The Thing to Jack Kirby and Stan Lee’s The Thing from Another World? Would he reimagine the hallowed heroes from a contemporary point of view? Reinterpret the sacred text with the advantage of modern perspective? Or was this more about form than content? Should he recreate the X-Men from memory, the way Dirty Projectors did Black Flag’s Damaged on their album Rise Above? Switch the genre? The setting? The characters themselves? I have this secondhand David Mamet anecdote I’ll tell anyone who listens, where Mamet is arguing with a friend about Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard, which Mamet had done a translation of, and his friend gets frustrated and yells, “Did you even read The Cherry Orchard, Dave?” And Mamet says, “They didn’t pay me to read it, Scott. They paid me to fix it.” Is Piskor trying to fix the X-Men? Or is this more like Gus Van Sant’s shot-for-shot redo of Psycho, just learning in public?

It skews the latter. Piskor does change plenty of narrative details from the original comics to fit his arc, but Grand Design often feels like it’s more about craft than story. Piskor is what you might call a student of the game (a phrase I’ve also used to describe his Comics Kayfabe co-host, Jim Rugg): he’s fascinated by how comics artists interconnect with, pay homage to, and cannibalize one another in their work—a trait the medium shares with Piskor’s other favorite subject, hip-hop. He’s constantly sneaking in visual references to other creators and redrawing images from the original Uncanny X-Men comics into different contexts. A battle lifted from issue #97, for example, is drawn to look like a fight from issue #100. The details matter to him. Piskor’s Silver Age-inspired coloring techniques, on which Mark Sobel’s TCJ review of Grand Design’s first volume goes into detail, make the books feel like a discovery from deep within the archives. Interviews with Piskor universally contain mention or pictures of his own library. This is a creator that not only cares what his work looks like, but how it fits into an artistic lineage. He’s imagining his own place in the history he’s rewriting.

When it comes to narrative, however, Piskor’s thoughtfulness feels misplaced. There’s a structural contradiction at the heart of Grand Design. Piskor wants the book to be, as he tells Juxtapoz, “a single, satisfying, tale with a beginning, middle, and ending.” But then he uses an episodic approach, with each page representing a single installment. Those are two very different modes of storytelling, with their own unique strengths and weaknesses that don’t necessarily play nicely with one another. Smashing together linear and episodic narratives, as Sobel points out, is essentially the Netflix model of television applied to comics. And like most Netflix series, Grand Design seems to be figuring itself out in real time. That means the reader doesn’t know where they’re at in the dramatic arc at any given moment, and the impact of individual events get lost as a result; pacing falls completely out of whack—a death match with the Shi’ar takes up the same amount of real estate as a sequence about answering the mansion’s doorbell; and transitions between pages are often jarring, disruptive of any attempt at a clean throughline.

Yet the conflicting desire for a single narrative also makes it so that we can’t take detours, get messy, or dwell on the emotional lives of the characters—all of which tend to make episodic storytelling thrive. It feels like Piskor is constantly hedging his bets on that single, satisfying tale; and maybe for good—or at least well-intentioned—reasons, if contradictory ones. For one thing, Piskor seems to love structural challenges. He does well with parameters. It shouldn’t surprise, then, that within the one giant architectural task of recreating the first thirty years of the X-Men, he’s incorporated fractal organizational challenges for himself throughout. But the other thing—the one that really disrupts Piskor’s desire for a “single, satisfying tale”—is that if you’re going to rewrite the X-Men story whole, you’re essentially rewriting Chris Claremont, and you’re going to have to grapple with the fact that Claremont is an absolute master of episodic storytelling. His entire tenure completely rebuffs the type of clean, Joseph Campell-type structure to which Piskor claims to aspire.

For my money, the best thing that Grand Design has done to date is the very first thing that it did: it reframes the X-men’s story as a philosophical showdown between Professor X and Magneto. The first volume spends a significant amount of time threading everything involving the inaugural class back to that conflict. This was Grand Design’s mission statement writ large: the idea that all the strands, the rebrands, the “wait, who’s on the team now?” decades, were all interconnected in a gratifying and resonant way. But this was just a subtly-remixed version of Claremont’s spin on the original creators’ work. Claremont spent much of his tenure fleshing out backstories—developing psychological arcs that motivate the action, and vice versa. In many ways, Grand Design simply takes Claremont’s numerous retcons and puts them into chronological order.

Claremont has a gift for reinterpreting events without rewriting them (see also Avengers Annual #10, which harrowingly recontextualizes Captain Marvel’s departure from the Avengers). But retcons are only one way that he capitalizes on the strengths of episodic storytelling. His work on the X-Men is intuitive and non-linear: he’s frequently jumpstarting issues in the middle of the action, crowbarring origin stories into characters’ real time traumatic events, or planting plot points that won’t pay off for years. The throughline is emotion, not action. It’s messy in the way the characters might themselves be experiencing the events.  Some of the non-linear storytelling occurs for practical reasons, like the recapping of past events to give new readers a foothold in the narrative. But those recaps often have a Rashomon effect for longtime readers—each appearance gives shades of fresh insight and added context to familiar beats. As in real life, the present is always remixing the past.

Claremont also works non-linearly on a subtler level in the way he consistently tracks the X-Men’s interpersonal connections, and this is what elevates his run on the book into something special. He doesn’t necessarily create complex characters—rather, he gives each member of the team a simple internal conflict, sketched out in melodramatic strokes—but over time all the moving parts combine into a complex, dynamic machine. A reader can’t just track the story in terms of “A happens which causes B to happen which causes C to happen.” When “A” happens in Claremont’s X-Men, it affects each member of the group as an individual, each member’s relationship to every other individual member of the group, and each member’s relationship to the group as a whole. Then, when “B” happens, the effects ripple outward again. That’s a ton of information, and it requires a certain amount of emotional intelligence and emotional investment to follow it over a long period of time, especially because Claremont never dials down the complexity, he only ratchets it up.

To go back to the Netflix analogy, the Claremont of the late 70s/early 80s X-Men uses similar narrative devices to the ones that television began to use in the mid-80s and sparked three decades’ worth of storytelling growth and depth in that medium. In his 2006 book on pop culture, Everything Bad Is Good for You, Stephen Johnson calls the use of a complex structure that involves numerous plots happening at once “multiple threading”; the use of narrative signposts to acclimate the reader into the action at any given moment are “flashing arrows”; and groups of people with intricately entangled relationships are, ahem, “social networks”. Those mechanics tend to help episodic storytelling work and make make the epic storytelling of comics and prestige television both more demanding and more rewarding for audiences. Netflix series, while nominally episodic, count on binge viewing, which lends itself to the “one single, satisfying tale” model. They are quick to jettison multiple threading, flashing arrows, and social networks nearly altogether. So is Piskor. Compared to Claremont’s X-Men, Grand Design reads like a Wikipedia plot synopsis.

It’s no coincidence that the Dark Phoenix saga, widely recognized as Claremont’s apex, has a relatively simple throughline—Jean Grey gains absolute power, is corrupted—that develops through series of seemingly disparate movements, from the mundane (Jean Grey gets indoctrinated by the Hellfire Club) to the cosmic (Phoenix kills the population of an entire planet), all of which factor into Jean’s mental and physical deterioration. By the end of it, she has been manipulated, exploited, and condemned, all while having to reckon with her inner thirst for power and inability to control her body or mind—and as readers we are asked to experience all of that through not only Jean, but through each member of the X-Men. In Grand Design, Piskor sacrifices Claremont’s complexity for a contradictory sort of streamlined completism. He’s thorough when it comes to what happened and when, but he avoids digging into the messy emotional journey of the group, even thought that's the lifeblood of Claremont’s X-Men.

For example, one way that Claremont develops the reader’s emotional investment in his characters is by building downtime into the narrative so that we can experience both how the battles have affected the X-Men on a personal level and how the friendships within the group extend to the choices they make when fighting. The first time we see the X-Men playing pickup baseball, Claremont covers miles of ground in only a few pages, particularly with Wolverine, a mostly by-the-numbers tough guy to that point. The game creates tension between Logan and the group while revealing his deeper feelings for Jean Grey, which sets up for a later action moment where he’s forced to decide whether to save Cyclops, his romantic rival, from harm. It’s not exactly earth-shattering stuff, but those are the building blocks of good story. When baseball shows up in Grand Design, it’s initially delightful because there have been so few other diversions along the way. Then Piskor just uses the sequence to land a pretty obvious Nightcrawler joke.

Uncanny X-Men #110 (Claremont/DeZunga)

 

 

X-Men: Grand Design – Second Genesis (Piskor)

Grand Design consistently whiffs on these kinds of recognizable moments. Throughout the book, Piskor the writer seems to be counting on Piskor the artist to make up for his deficiencies. Claremont, of course, could do this; he had artists who supported and amplified his strengths. Dave Cockrum’s work from Giant-Size X-Men #1 through Uncanny X-Men #105, which typically gets short shrift compared to Claremont’s other collaborators, excels at a few key things that effectively helped relaunch the brand with Claremont at the helm. Cockrum’s drawing is less interested in being aesthetically pleasing than it is in being immersive. That’s the hook that gets you emotionally involved with the New X-Men before Claremont can give them psychological depth. Cockrum is consistently thoughtful about point-of-view: he likes to place the viewer at the point of impact, say, when someone gets thrown across the room.

Compare his introduction of Phoenix to Piskor’s. In Uncanny X-Men #101. When the team crash-lands a space shuttle into the ocean, we experience it first psychologically, as Jean Grey struggles to telepathically hold the ship together; then we experience it physically, from the point-of-view of the water as the vessel rends apart mid-air. We are still half-submerged in the waves when Jean, transformed into the Phoenix for the first time, explodes out of the water.

Uncanny X-Men #101 (Claremont/Cockrum)

Cockrum’s shuttle crash is noisy, chaotic. It doesn’t feel good to read; it feels like metal being ripped apart at the seams. In the opening panel of #110 (above left), the ship tears through Jean Grey’s head as she screams. Later, when she re-emerges from the wreckage, she erupts out of the water—transformed from a passive being into an aggressor. Piskor’s panels, on the other hand, mimic Cockrum’s while changing a few essential details. As opposed to a psychological onslaught, the energy that infests Jean is both literal and nonsensical: an actual bird made of… space flames? After the crash, he lifts our point of view above of the water, so you’re experiencing the tumult from a cold distance. Within two panels of a horrific ordeal, the X-Men look like they’re maxing out in an enormous jacuzzi rather than struggling to stay afloat in the hostile undertow.

X-Men: Grand Design – Second Genesis (Piskor)

And that’s before we get to those iconic Phoenix panels. Cockrum and Claremont use a two-part build that sets the tone for the entire Dark Phoenix saga. The first panel shows Jean Gey's rebirth as the Phoenix. Cockrum shifts the reader’s point-of-view upward as the Phoenix triumphantly explodes from the water. We are at her level as she seems to consume the entire sky. In the next panel, she collapses. Awesome power immediately gives way to complete surrender. First, Jean Grey suddenly possesses infinite ability, but then the human body can only contain so much. Again, this is one of the simple dichotomies Claremont uses to define his characters, but Cockrum instills it with humanity. Note his positioning of Jean’s body. Now she is vast, open, limitless. Now she is broken, anguished, defeated.

Uncanny X-Men #101 (Claremont/Cockrum)

Piskor handles this moment completely differently. He sets Jean at a tremendous distance from the viewer and angles her body away from us. In what is supposed to be an explosion of unforeseen power, she is dwarfed by the panel—smaller, even, than Nightcrawler and Wolverine watching from the water. Instead of thunderously declaring her rebirth, she appears to be feebly yelling up toward the atmosphere. The second panel is even worse, as Piskor obscures Jean’s face with her hair to make his analogy—that she has “fizzle[d] out like a cheap match”—work. The panels (and the analogy, for that matter), rob Jean of her emotional life in one of the character’s pivotal moments. Cockrum invites you into this intimate scene where Jean is at her most vulnerable; Piskor alienates you.

X-Men: Grand Design – Second Genesis (Piskor)

Cockrum’s talent for depicting the inner life of his characters reaches well beyond the birth of Phoenix. In his group shots, you can typically pick up on each character’s relationship to the rest of the team, even without context. In battles, you can easily track the logical push and pull of the action. Through Cockrum’s work, it’s easy to see a path that Piskor could have taken: one where his retelling of the X-Men story would stay economical, but with the emotional contours of the team coming out through the art. But that’s not where Piskor’s interests lay. He loves composition, but his mise-en-scène is rarely evocative. He positions the characters as if they’re action figures, guided by his unseen hand, bereft of any psychological motivation. He’s always thinking about how his panels look, but never what they’re supposed to be doing.

Piskor’s style has more in common with John Byrne, the other artist from the Dark Phoenix Saga—to whom Cockrum is often unfavorably compared. Once Byrne takes over, Claremont’s run on Uncanny X-Men starts jamming on a higher frequency, in no small part because Byrne’s work is so pleasing to the eye. His drawing may lack many of the experiential qualities of Cockrum’s work, but Byrne makes up for it by pulling from a seemingly inexhaustible wellspring of styles, including expressionism, surrealism, and psychedelia. At his best, Byrne elevates the series into something resonant yet unknowable. Professor Xavier’s depression is a cage of shadow and light; Jean Grey’s personality crisis is five outfit changes in a single twirl; Wolverine’s struggle with his worst impulses is the distortion of funhouse mirrors; and when Moira MacTaggert loses her son, reality becomes a slippery, abstract mess. Byrne doesn’t need to place the reader inside of the action the way Cockrum does because he bends the external world around the characters to reveal their inner lives.

Clockwise from top right: Uncanny X-Men #114, #123, #125, and #127 (Claremont/Byrne)

It makes absolute sense that Piskor would want to make Byrne his primary reference point. Yet, for all Piskor’s comics literacy, he doesn’t have the vocabulary, the artistic range, or, frankly, the capacity for abstract thought that Byrne does. Where Byrne is endlessly inventive, Piskor repeats the same visual motifs across Grand Design, often without regard for what they’re meant to signify beyond the literal. His favorite trick seems to be using pure white color, since it stands out against the antiqued tan affectation of the pages. It’s a cool effect, but Piskor uses it incessantly and in ways that represent so many different things (psychic power, magnetism, ice, Angel’s wings, etc.) that when it’s meant to have its biggest impact in Second Genesis, the moment falls flat.

Continually, Piskor has a flair for the dramatic without understanding how to earn dramatic moments. And on their own, his panels are frequently clumsy or nonsensical. For a cerebral guy, Piskor reads as a severe under-thinker. Storm in “a claustrophobic panic” looks like she’s pleasantly dancing with a cellophane streamer; a volcano collapsing on top of the X-Men with “seismic intensity” looks more like a floating junkyard; in a fight scene, the team hilariously looks on with only mild concern as Magneto threatens to drop tons of metal on then; one panel where the team is supposed to be springing to action feels like an homage to clip art.

X-Men: Grand Design – Second Genesis (Piskor)

At the climax of the first part of the Phoenix saga, Jean pulls the X-Men into the M’kraan Crystal so that she can literally rebuild the universe. Piskor’s depiction of this high stakes moment presents everyone as paper dolls, floating against—his favorite signifier—a pure white background. The characters’ body language reveals absolutely nothing about the story.  The panel could be plugged into dozens of places throughout the book and take on an entirely new meaning. The image is an homage to the X-Men’s battle with Dark Phoenix in Uncanny X-Men #136; if not for the presence of the Starjammers, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to suggest that Piskor had drawn it before he even knew where it would go. But look at Byrne’s panel compared to Piskor’s: it’s pulsing with energy and emotion, and you immediately get a sense of what’s happening, even without context.

 

Top: X-Men: Grand Design – Second Genesis (Piskor); Bottom: Uncanny X-Men #136 (Claremont/Byrne)

 

Incidentally, Byrne’s depicts the M’kraan crystal event as a psychosomatic ordeal for the X-Men. In his very first issue, he’s already channeling the full range of his abilities.

Uncanny X-Men #108 (Claremont/Byrne)

It ultimately feels like Piskor either didn’t bother to figure out what makes Claremont’s X-Men so vital or doesn’t care—which circles back to the question of why he’s doing a remake in the first place. Piskor promotes himself as a longtime fan of the X-Men, but Grand Design reveals next to nothing about what it is that he truly likes about them. And where the creators of the most successful remakes—from The Thing to Rise Above—use their source material as vessels with which to explore contemporary themes, Piskor operates almost entirely on surface level (and he doesn’t always succeed there). Second Genesis does little to illuminate its subject on any level greater than simply filling in the backstory. It lacks insight and purpose, so much that it feels incongruous that he could be making Grand Design for actual fans of this era of X-Men. When the things that make the X-Men special—the broad-spectrum storytelling, the ever-evolving team dynamic, and the emotional complexity that grows out of that—are unavailable, what is there for readers at any stage of fandom to latch onto?

Could Grand Design be a repudiation of Claremont’s run, intentionally stripping it of its defining characteristics while keeping the most obvious signifiers? If so, maybe it holds up as some sort of feature-length pop art—X-Men qua X-Men. Piskor does seem to have a Warholian knack for self-promotion. In that sense, perhaps it’s not for X-men fans at all, but for Piskor fans. After all, branding is often about affiliation, and there’s almost no doubt that Piskor and Marvel aligned thinking they’d be great for each other’s PR. Grand Design is, if nothing else, Piskor Brand X.

Yet this would work against Piskor’s compulsion for referencing other artists. It’s difficult to completely reject a milieu while drawing inspiration from it. Add that to the list of other contradictions embodied by Grand Design, and you have a book completely at odds with itself. Piskor seems to undercut himself at every turn, which tends to be the mark of a creator who lacks a unifying vision—outside of the marketing department, at least. Look, that’s a common problem, and one that’s not always completely detrimental. But in this case, the whole project is about creating a unifying vision! So Piskor promises nothing if not coherence; he demands creative control, works in isolation, and eliminates direct ties to the source material, like asterisks and annotated bibliographies; and then he abdicates the responsibility to deliver on his one promise. That’s the failure of Grand Design: Piskor sells himself as an auteur, but he doesn’t really have anything to say.

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27 Responses to X-Men: Grand Design – Second Genesis

  1. Joe S. Walker says:

    I looked and it and thought it was insufferable nonsense perpetrated by someone who couldn’t do a straight X-Men comic to save his life.

  2. Matthias Wivel says:

    Well put. Been thinking exactly the same thing, while impatiently waiting for Piskor to return to The Hip Hop Family Tree.

  3. Sally says:

    This is an excellent piece that clearly took a lot of thought and work. I’ve never vibed with Piskor’s stuff: I think his art style is over-rendered and emotionally stiff (as you comprehensively illuminate), and his writing is blatantly surface-level. His approach to comics is fanboyish, which isn’t inherently a bad thing, but as you mention, his aims are higher than that. If this was an X-Men zine an artist was selling at a fest, it’d be a fucking riot. But it’s a real-deal Marvel conic, and one that is hawked as something we should all care about. It’s not up to snuff.

  4. Wrestling Terminology says:

    Cogent piece. As a reluctant admirer of Piskor’s Hip Hop Family Tree, I found the initial X-men: Grand Design announcement curious, but was cautiously excited to see Piskor’s take, which has, unfortunately, highlighted his limitations as a cartoonist. Had his love letter to Claremont’s X-men existed as unauthorized fan fiction, it would’ve retained some charm, but its novelty, “straight white guy straightens X-men to gain bragging rights and pay off house,” won’t age well. Even the phrase Grand Design is exhausting in its self importance. Ed Piskor as a promoter of the Ed Piskor brand is mostly obnoxious, but a least he’s consistent.

  5. Alex says:

    I think the problem here, and this is a great, incisive review, is comics people know X-Men way better than they know hip-hop. Piskor’s a clunky storyteller who flattens everything into Wikipedia summaries, but he got away with it in Hip-Hop Family Tree because even a big ol Serious Comics Reader maybe doesn’t know a bunch of Def Jam trivia. Maybe people even let him wear sunglasses inside and co-opt black slang because it seemed new in the moment. But now he’s talking about things we all have intimate knowledge of and he can’t fudge it.

  6. Scott says:

    I posit the same question you ask of the work: who is this review for? You’re about a year too late on this so what’s the point?

  7. Matthias Wivel says:

    I don’t think that’s fair. Piskor knows his hip hop history, and he knows his X-Men too, for that matter. HHFT arguably has many of the same weaknesses outlined above, but the difference is that he is actually threading together real historic events from a multitude of sources, whereas here he is mostly delivering a pedestrian retelling of stories that worked better in the original. I think the passion for the subject matter is undeniably on display in both projects, but the former ultimately has more to tell us about same.

  8. Alex says:

    I think he knows his history, I just don’t think he’s a very good storyteller. I was saying that it’s easier for people to recognize his deficiencies as a writer when he’s covering comics-related ground his comics-fan readers are super familiar with.

  9. Sally says:

    @Scott: This is a review for people who appreciate comics being taken seriously.

  10. Paul Slade says:

    Scott: I was never going to be in the market to buy this book, but I found Brown’s piece an interesting read nonetheless. Very often I’ll approach reviews in exactly that spirit – not because I’m looking for advice on whether to buy a particular book or not, but simply for the sake of whatever enjoyment or enlightenment the review itself can provide. If the book’s already been out for a while, so what?

  11. Christopher Duffy says:

    A well written and thoughtful review. I enjoyed the issues of the series I picked up, though. I thought Ed’s survey of the blueprint Claremont built up had a lot of energy and sense of fun. I’m not entirely sure it’s fair to compare Ed’s “recap” scenes to the “in story” dramatic scenes of the original series. Perhaps a better comparison of Ed’s work in the series would have been with X-Men #138, the “all recap” issue that I ate up as a youth–it provided a history of the comic/team for readers like me who didn’t know the details. For that matter, a comparison to the recap pages every artist and writer had to include in continued stories in the 70s and 80s (some of them quite artfully done, as in the cases of Starlin, Gulacy, Perez and other artists with a strong sense of design) might have been more relevant. And last, you describe the accomplishments of Cockrum and Byrne very well. (And helped me see why I prefer the former more as an adult.)

  12. Nate A. says:

    As Duffy points out, this is hardly a new genre for the big two. As a kid I bought Perez and Wolfman’s post Crisis “History of the DCU,” which had the advantage of being more visually interesting than the originals (to the point where I was super bummed when I saw some of the primary sources). There were also those “Marvel Saga” comics, which abridged the original comics. And the most obvious precursor, at least to my eye, was the Official Handbook of the Marvel Universe, which like Piskor’s comic read like Wikipedia entry but featured even staider visuals. The upshot is that Piskor ends up being the only “value added,” which supports the final claim of the review. This is a book for Piskor fans, which is cool as far as I’m concerned, especially if it leads to other cartoonists getting a shot at these types of projects.

  13. Po says:

    Alex, what’s your hang up about black slang? White dudes have been using black slang since African slaves learned English. Not only slang, but music, dance, fashion, cooking. It goes the other way, too. People are too hung up on “cultural appropriation” – I’ve studied anthropology (mostly ethnomusicology) for years, and that’s pretty much what cultures do. In my view, the current overly-cautious environment kills any nuance in these types of discussions. If I’m a Hispanic guy playing country music, am I co-opting white culture? C’mon man. Is he disparaging anyone? Is he offending anyone? Nope. Dude likes to project an image by wearing sunglasses inside. Cool man, wish I could pull it off.

    I think if you want to critique this guy’s passion project, that’s totally fine, but when you start digging into his character, to me it discredits not only whatever statement you make, but also potentially the actual opinion you support.

  14. Matthias Wivel says:

    Alex,while I largely agree that HHFT suffers from similar writing issues to X-Men: Grand Design, I still think his slightly tongue-in-cheek nerdology works a lot better with historical material than with the confused fictional tapestry of Claremont & Co. HHFT is genuinely informative and more impressive in its synthesis of its material, even if — or perhaps because — it reveals little in the way of a Grand Design on the part of its author.

  15. Alex says:

    Po— I think Piskor’s character is uniquely up for discussion because he’s so interested in making himself a public figure. I’m not stalking the guy’s social media here, I’m responding to exactly what he wants me to respond to.

  16. Nuddy Bubkis says:

    Going to go ahead and say if the first sentence of a response to criticism involving use of particular slang contains a reference to “african slaves” you may not be taking the best approach.

    It’s laughable that Piskor’s self-conscious approach to parroting the black slang of a particular eta can’t be critiqued along with his work, it’s part of the public persona he uses to sell HHFT as a brand (and, indeed, his youtube channel). Worth looking at which particualr slang he’s gleefully appropriated as well, for instance I could do without “pause” somehow making its way into to comics in 2019.

    I’ve often though it funny that I’m a big fan of comics and a big fan of rap so therefore I should be the ideal audience for HHFT but I end up finding both sides of the endeavour dillentantish and left feeling completely unimpressed. Maybe a nasal nerd rehashing the 80s parroting the same tired East Coast bias (I know you have a google alert, Ed: listen to some Suga Free and Big Moe) is fascinating to comics people but having spent many years on rap message boards I can tell you that it is impossible to swing a cat without hitting 18 white guys wearing dickies clothing two sizes too big for them who think they’re the ony people to know about Dolemite and Kool Keith.

    (also 2 hours clicking on rap documentaries on youtube can get you all the info in these books, the idea their exhaustively researched tomes is mind boggling)

    I have a similarly feeling about comics that forensically recreate an imagined ideal of how “old comics” used to look, right down to faux-distressed paper stock. He’s not even the second best guy who does that in the studio he uses.

    Grand Designs being a comic about an IP, distinct and less interesting that “comic about comics”, seems to miss the triangulated multiple-target-market approach his previous books. People do love pictures of X-men though, leaving Grand Designs to feel like a series of con sketches with wikipedia summaries of the revelant issue underneath (this is content-wise, obviously the execution is a lot more involved than con sketches).

    Piskor’s comics exist at about the same level of like Taschen books listing top 100 films: lavishly produced reminders of things you already enjoy for gift buyers short on ideas. This is a kind of cynicism of which he’s clearly very proud but it seems a bit empty to me.

  17. Matt Seneca says:

    There’s a lot of good stuff in the conversation above but I just wanted to echo the people praising this piece of writing. Super thorough, super incisive analysis that really understands what it’s discussing – and excellent uses of images to prove points too. This is high quality comics criticism.

  18. Martin says:

    I’m fairly new to Ed Piskor’s work and got there through Kim Deitch’s praise about the HHFT project a little while ago, and have been having a really fun time following his Kayfabe youtube channel.

    I don’t think I’ve ever posted here before – but I read this review along with its the links and what stood out to me was a remark from Sorbel’s review of the first volume where he said:

    “Piskor’s perspective is not as storyteller but archaeologist, sifting through the past and excavating the gems from the soil. In that sense, it’s closer in ambition and spirit to The Marvel Saga, or even The Official Marvel Index to the X-Men, though, on the strength of Piskor’s cartooning, it far surpasses either of those prose-centric efforts”.

    This positions Piskor as not trying to do a straight ahead usual superhero package, but something else.

    It seems to make a lot of sense to me that the structural approach he took to make HHFT would be applied to this. I wonder if it even made its way into the pitch … since HHFT was a hit, Marvel was attracted … do a X-Men family tree for us and you got the gig kinda situation.

    Something tells me Piskor is not even interested in doing a straight forward X-Men book anyways … the Pekar beginning, Wizzywig book, HHFT and what he is currently working on now points more towards a certain independent comics ideology than traditional super hero books. And that one way of expressing his passion, excitement and relationship with the X-Men was this weird hybrid archaeologist Marvel Index / recap / Marvel Saga / Official Handbook type concept.

    And this is why a literal side by side comparison seems to miss the point for me here.

    I don’t think Piskor is aiming for the usual super hero presentation, so of course it’s not hitting the same marks. But that to me is like blaming an apple for not being an orange.

    You can not like apples and not like this book and that is ok, but then comments like these pass along and I’m even more confused:

    @Sally “If this was an X-Men zine an artist was selling at a fest, it’d be a fucking riot. But it’s a real-deal Marvel comic, and one that is hawked as something we should all care about”

    As someone who is totally uninterested in reading any X-Men comics I see this as exactly the above: a weird anomaly that has the feel and energy of “an X-Men zine / artist selling at a fest / fucking riot”.

    So I’m ok with it.

    But your comment seems to imply that if the VERY SAME BOOK (with the same work inside) would be published by a smaller press, or independently you’d like it but since it’s officially from Marvel you don’t?

    I’m not sure who it is that is “telling you” you should care about it, but this makes it all seem like you don’t like being told what to like and you’re reacting against THAT rather than the actual work.

    @Wrestling Terminology seems to echo similar feelings: “Had his love letter to Claremont’s X-men existed as unauthorized fan fiction, it would’ve retained some charm”.

    Again, same work but “unauthorized” would have had charm, but it being officially made by Marvel takes it away? I don’t get it.

    It seems to me that in this anomaly of a Marvel project we had a cartoonist who instead of (the usual) of not making money off a passion project actually got paid. It’s not like you can doubt Piskor’s passion and affinity for the source material … it’s not like he’s selling out, or stepping outside his borders just to make money. Why not celebrate one of the rare moments a cartoonist got paid well on a project he wanted to do / was the right fit with Marvel instead?

    “Even the phrase Grand Design is exhausting in its self importance”.

    I think the “Grand Design” statement is an expression of the overall concept of mashing everything together, but even he has mentioned how convoluted the history of X-Men is. It’s not like he is pretending it isn’t. I also remember him talking about being a big fan of Fletcher Hanks … and I could be wrong but the caption heaviness of Grand Design and the idea of just mashing one weird moment after another seem to fit in the intention of it all. That’s what he’s going for.

    “Ed Piskor as a promoter of the Ed Piskor brand is mostly obnoxious, but a least he’s consistent”.

    Ok, so you don’t like the guy’s personality – and it gets in the way of you reading his work. Fair enough.

    Do you like all the personalities of all the artists you have on your shelf?

    From @Alex: “Maybe people even let him wear sunglasses inside and co-opt black slang because it seemed new in the moment. But now he’s talking about things we all have intimate knowledge of and he can’t fudge it”.

    Again a comment with a weird personal attack (sunglasses)!?!

    Maybe it’s different for me because I could really care less about the X-Men or Claremont.

    And I have to say that I am finding it strange to find so many people on here REALLY pissed off because a cartoonist did not get a representation of X-Men “exactly as they wanted”.

    Last thing I would have expected at a Comics Journal related site.

    He messed up the dramatic narrative impact of X-men issue 138, let’s laugh at his sunglasses!

    It’s all very weird :)

    I usually don’t post stuff on boards, but for some reason all this got me typing.

  19. Alex says:

    The idea that I’m making fun of his sunglasses and not the ego that would lead a man to constantly wear sunglasses indoors is bizarre, unless we’re saying Ed Piskor is just a thousand affectations smashed together and “wears sunglasses indoors” is part of his personality, which, sure, I guess I agree that I’m making fun of his sunglasses.

  20. Martin says:

    @Alex

    So you don’t like Piskor’s personality, question his fashion sense and you think he has a big ego.

    Is that a criteria you impose on all the art you engage with – no art from artists with big egos (weird clothes) or personalities you don’t find pleasant?

    Miles Davis must send your head spinning – big ego AND wears sunglasses inside!

    And really, who knows WHY Piskor wears sunglasses when we see him in social contexts … I know David Foster Wallace talked about his bandanas as a sort of “security blanket” when talking to the public, maybe it’s similar to Piskor. Who knows what kind of stress and self-awareness this causes and what kind of weird talismans you find yourself concocting when faced with that kind of spotlight, or what helps or makes you comfortable. Lord knows cartoonists are not known for their social skills, and need all the help they can get. And who cares if, for Piskor its having sunglasses when addressing the public.

    And unlike you – if I dig down into it, I’d say when I see it (and since we’re talking about sunglasses inside = Miles, Dylan, Godard, Joey Ramone, Prince) its behavior that reveals a sense of vulnerability, a possible defense mechanism to being put in the spotlight … and at the end of the day maybe a down right sign of shyness rather than a show of “ego”.

    I just find it a pretty boring thing to point to when talking about his work.

  21. Alex says:

    I think his work is boring and maybe that means I give him fewer concessions and I don’t think, if anybody has ever possibly “earned it,” Piskor has “earned” the right to dress like a parody of a white person dressing as a black person and appropriating black slang.

  22. Martin says:

    @Alex

    – I think his work is boring and maybe that means I give him fewer concessions and I don’t think, if anybody has ever possibly “earned it,” Piskor has “earned” the right to dress like a parody of a white person dressing as a black person and appropriating black slang.

    You at the same time bring up the possible futility of using an “earnings” system and then go on to USE that very same system to say that Piskor fails at it. You can’t have your cake and eat it too.

    But if we keep going with your proposition of an “earning” system, and as you say Piskor fails at it – what does “properly earning it” look like then?

    Does it involve devoting a large part of your life to a passion project (like him or not you can’t deny that he genuinely cares about this stuff and has worked hard)? Does it involve getting the praise and acceptance from people depicted in the work? Does it involve getting praise and acceptance from people in his field? Does it involve getting praise and acceptance from the public who are engaging with the work?

    If so, like him or not Piskor checks all the above in regards to HHFT.

  23. Alex says:

    Jesus Christ, I’m saying I don’t think anybody’s earned it because it can’t be earned and wanting to earn it is insane. If you like his comics, great. I don’t think it’s unreasonable of me to be put off by a person’s wikipedia summary art and then also make fun of his giant ego. I have a lot of social anxiety, I have the same confidence issues as the next person, but I’m also not dealing with that by becoming a character from a MadTV sketch from 1998. I’m glad that Biz Markie likes HHFT, but disappointed that apparently means Ed Piskor gets to adopt the black slang of yesteryear.

  24. Martin says:

    @Alex

    I’m curious – what’s your take on the Beastie Boys?

    – I don’t think it’s unreasonable of me to be put off by a person’s wikipedia summary art and then also make fun of his giant ego.

    You can make fun of whomever you want. There are also consequences to doing it, and people can call you on it and challenge you when you do.

    – I have a lot of social anxiety, I have the same confidence issues as the next person, but I’m also not dealing with that by becoming a character from a MadTV sketch from 1998.

    No, apparently unleashing stinging fashion attacks from behind your computer is how you deal with it.

    – I’m glad that Biz Markie likes HHFT, but disappointed that apparently means Ed Piskor gets to adopt the black slang of yesteryear.

    If Public Enemy and Biz Markie can stand behind Ed Piskor you walking around being disappointed about it all pales in comparison.

    But I guess we’ve reached an end here, forget my first question.

    Over and out,
    M.

  25. David Moses says:

    I’ll tell you who this work is for: me.
    Someone who is overwhelmed by the magnitude of the X-Men backlog but feels a little left out by not knowing.

    It’s also for my friends’ kid, who, at 10, can be introduced to an entire history in three digestible volumes – then dig deeper if he wants to because – and I don’t know how you missed this – there is an extensive bibliography in the back of each issue that details the source of what happens on every page.

    It sounds like many folks here like their history uncut, primary-sourced. Well, it’s all there for you, in all its Claremont, Cockrum, Bryne glory. In trade paperbacks or essentials compendiums. Have at it.

    But this work is a documentary, not a drama. Why you would expect soap opera bombast from Ken Burns?

    Frankly, the X-Men title – and its multitudinous (and sometimes conflicting) threads – has needed this for a long time to help new (or old, like me) readers get a sense of the history without having to wade through the super-verbose Claremont years (sometimes I get exhausted just looking at one of those pages – Tom O. was a wizard).

    Now I feel like I have an entry point. Now I can go back if I want to and explore, and even compare/contrast where the original went with how Piskor shaped it to make a cohesive narrative.

    And by the way, all artists reference all the time. Even the greats did it.
    That’s nothing to shame him over.

    Yes, I like the Kayfabe channel, so if you want to dismiss me as a Piskor apologist, go ahead.
    But I’m not wrong.

  26. "Pause" says:

    Aha! Martin, your piece is an example of exceptional comics criticism. The string of badgering comments you’ve made in its wake, though, that’s where the real meat is – because they’re all so uninformed and tacky. Just exquisite.

    Some of my best friends wear sunglasses indoors – some even wear them at night. I don’t think that’s what is at stake here.

  27. Sally says:

    Martin – Are you an artist with publicly available work? I notice the chorus of “separating the art from the artist” is sung by people who do not make art. Art, made by an auteur or a hack, is a reflective surface. Sometimes it’s a vast ocean that reflects things far and wide. and sometimes it reflects from a small place where the paint chipped off.

    This is all to say that Piskor making a choice to wear sunglasses inside is part of an act, and as an act, it has some value when discussing his other acts e.g. his comics. They go hand in hand. And if it some defense mechanism used to control his shyness, perhaps he shouldn’t inflate his ego when he puts them on (cue that clip I randomly saw of him saying he “doesn’t want any of these schmucks doing an X-men comic,” pointing at a convention floor full of professional artists).

    Also — Public Enemy or Biz Markie enjoying a lovingly-crafted comic about themselves and the era they came up in is hardly a thoughtful endorsement of a comic, and I’d actually value some random comic shop dweller’s positive opinion on a comic before theirs.

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