The Secret Art of Reading a Comic (After Auden) The old comics were never wrong. Right always defended by the hero – polished like Adonis. In one moment Thor is paused in flight towards his foe, the motion lines steadying his resolve as he hurtles ever closer. The next moment Mjolnir, his mystical hammer, slams against the Black Knight's helmet with a thwack in red letters – emulating pain, as Thor announces every move in white bubbles. These are treats, delicious twenty-two-page snacks we swallow, never questioning the action between the panels' gutters and how similar that world bleeds into our own. Take, for example, Avengers #4 where we see
the final days of World War II. Captain America and his sidekick Bucky chase a runaway plane. As they grab hold, the plane explodes. Cap yells No! cuing the combustion of smoke and flame. The next panel flashes forward twenty years. We see Cap preserved in a glacier, found by Iron Man, Giant Man and the others. Hail the returning hero. But what we don't see before the miraculous resurrection is Cap losing his grip on the plane, falling and helpless to watch Bucky fragment into pieces. And how below, the Allies carried on, k**ing Nazis, failing to notice the body wrapped in the American flag, dropping into the frigid ocean behind.