I always liked comic books growing up. What red-blooded American boy wouldn’t? When I was little, X-Men seemed like where it was at. Probably because of the cartoon on the Fox network and prevalent Arcade game. There was even a short period during middle school when I picked up the comic every couple of weeks off newstands — quite a feat for someone without a car. However,
as I’m sure I’ve made apparent by now, I owe my current addiction to comic books and obvious allegiance to DC Comics to the allstar superteam that is the Justice League of America, more specifically the writing of Grant Morrison and Mark Waid.
Back in the late nineties and early part of this decade, JLA (and an embarrassing number of ill conceived, related miniseries) the book I followed (if in trade paperback form from the local media megastore in my hometown of Richmond, Ky). These high years of the Justice League title experienced by me in between the waning days of middle school and the first half of high school were super-influential in forming what I expect out of superhero comics. That is to say, superhero mega-epic that shakes the foundations of reality with a twist of the absurd to keep things interesting. The pages of JLA read like contemporary myth always pointing out that the Justice League was the Justice League, iconic and without equal–heroes as or more mythic than Hercules, Beowulf, Hiawatha, Lancelot, El Cid, or whoever you got. THEY WERE THE JUSTICE LEAGUE and it was bad ass.
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