While I don't deny my firm conviction that historically the best and most vital comics have been personal works with a single creative vision -- often autobiographical in nature, such as the works of R. Crumb, or Art Spiegelman's Maus, but not always, as in the case of Louis Riel or Palomar -- I spent my formative years reading and absorbing superhero comics, and I have to admit that even now, after over four decades walking the Earth, there's a special kind of thrill I get from the very best superhero comics. Grant Morrison's run of New X-Men and its exploration of family, persecution, power, destiny and betrayal, Warren Ellis and John Cassaday's deconstructionist Planetary, or Darwyn Cooke's New Frontier with its unapologetic celebration of superhero traditions and iconography -- all of these have given me very near the same thrill as the best ndependent/alternative/grownup/artcomix do.

When I was 6 years old, my exploration of the comics artform began. I was far from a discriminating reader in my single-digit-years -- in fact, once I discovered comics, I was rapacious in my appetite for as many as I could possibly find, read, and cherish. I can remember back in the 1970s regularly walking a mile or so to the nearest convenience store near our house in Florida. I was around 10 years old, had a couple of parent-given bucks in my pocket, and after studying the spinner rack carefully for new releases, and perhaps spending any leftover change on a Slurpee®, I would go home with 6 or 8 titles ranging from Amazing Spider-Man (Ross Andru was an early artistic favourite, and although I see his work very differently now, I still can't help but see see something of the excitement in it that I did then) to Richie Rich (Ernie Colon was one of the first artists whose style I identified) to E-Man (man, did I love Nova Kaine) to Little Dot (the story where smokestack pollution control devices turned smog to dots that unexpectedly and ironically littered the landscape haunts me still); the point is, and I do have one, if it was comics, I read it.

My tastes evolved slowly, probably thanks in large part to parents who approved of my reading comics, likely because reading comics is reading, and because when I started reading them, they cost all of 20 cents (which also may have played a role in my diverse tastes, come to think of it). It wasn't until I stumbled over things like The Overstreet Price Guide, The Comics Journal and The Buyer's Guide in my early teens that I realized just how wide the artform truly was, and it wasn't long after that that I discovered, seemingly almost at once (and very likely through the Bud Plant Catalog, now that I think about it) the triumverate of Cerebus, Elfquest and The First Kingdom, each an alternative title with a very different creative vision from, say, Richie Rich. Soon enough works like the original Love and Rockets came along, and I was well on my way to seeing how comics could be -- should be -- a vehicle for individual artistic expression.

In my mid-teens I really became addicted to such comics, although some creators -- Crumb, for example -- would take years more life experience and exposure to the work for me to truly begin to appreciate. And while I still bought superhero comics, my favourites were those that intersected with that same individual artistic expression. Frank Miller's Daredevil, Walt Simonson's Thor, and the Kitchen Sink magazine-sized reprints of Will Eisner's The Spirit (an incredible magazine for its time, really, packed with some of the best comics in history) -- here were creators given free reign (or nearly enough as to not make a difference) to do what they wanted with the characters they were creating stories about. And how much better, I noted, even these superhero comics were when the men and women creating them were allowed to follow their vision and see where it took the creators, the characters, and most importantly, me.

Not every comic I'll talk about in this series is a visionary work by a single, uncensored creator. In fact, none of them really are, although at least one (Daredevil #233) was clearly the work of creators following their muse and blazing new trails. But for the most part, as a child and as a teenager these individual issues are the ones I read again and again, dazzled by their drama, action and storytelling. There's a baseline quality to even the most banal of these comics that I find missing in a lot of today's entry-level superhero comics, and I'm convinced that that's the reason so few children are interested in what Marvel and DC have to offer in titles that should be instantly addictive to young minds, like Iron Man, The Flash, Wonder Woman or Superman.

The comics I'll be discussing are ones that I am sure I could have enjoyed even if I didn't encounter them until I was an adult, but they were simple and engaging enough that even at 9 years old, or into my early and mid-teens, I could appreciate what was being offered and be fascinated enough to want more. It seemed then like the writers and artists and editors knew how to walk a line that allowed readers both young and, well, older to get something positive out of the experience and look forward to the next issue.

I think it's because, as Alan Moore notes in The Extraordinary Works of Alan Moore from TwoMorrows, the best comics give the reader what they need, not what they want. It's possible to deliver action and adventure with a spark of creativity and ingenuity without pandering to the mobius-strip storytelling that the aging fanboy audience seems to demand. A lot of today's lackluster, unengaging corporate superhero titles are clearly designed to deliver what the average comics shop customer wants in the way of comfort, nostalgia, and/or snickering, naughty sexuality; think of Hank Pym's superpowered exploration of his wife's vagina during a recent issue of Avengers or a deviant, possessed Power Girl sticking her tongue down Superman's throat in an expensive hardcover team-up of the Justice League and the JSA in what can only be described as a corporate comics moment of meta-incestuousness. The mind reels at the lack of imagination on display in comics like these and others, which by their very nature exclude younger readers through their inbred (in more ways than one, clearly) nature.

It seems to me that the mandate that entry-level superhero comics meet the reading needs of a wide range of ages was probably enforced by editors, and it further seems that there are few editors working in corporate comics today who have the skills, or the power, to work with creators to make their comics the most creative and entertaining as possible. I would guess that the editors are either powerless in the face of industry "superstars" given the keys to the kingdom, or they do not have the desire, energy, time or even knowledge of how to achieve the necessary balance to create true entry-level superhero comics suitable for most readers and engaging enough to even, oh, I dunno, attract new readers year after year. Which strikes me as a better, saner response to audience attrition than multiple covers, stunt storylines, pandering to fanboys, and the near-constant rebooting of series with new #1s.

But when I was younger, it seemed most superhero comics were purposely aimed at readers of a wider age range, and it seemed like the most exciting and complex ones were published by Marvel Comics. This week I'll be looking at a few that made a huge impact on my developing mind -- for varying reasons, as you'll see -- and each of which retains today at least a portion of the power that they had over me even back then.

Avengers #161 by Jim Shooter, George Perez and Pablo Marcos

Speaking of which, anyone who enjoyed Kurt Busiek and George Perez's lengthy run but found succeeding creative teams not quite as engaging should investigate the original Perez era on the title, especially my favourite, Avengers #161.

Looking at this comic as an 11-year old boy, I was entranced by the level of tension and drama in this issue; looking back decades years later, I can see it's one of the few comics that have held up for me through my transition to adulthood -- I think it's one of the most exciting and visceral Marvel comics ever.

As an 11-year old, the only superhero identity I ever knew for Henry Pym was Yellowjacket. Oh, I may have seen a flashback here or there that referred to his other identities, but to me, he was Yellowjacket, and Yellowjacket was one of my favourite characters. A two-part appearance by YJ and the Wasp over in Marvel Team-Up (drawn by John Byrne in his glory days) made for two comics that I read and re-read constantly. I was fascinated by the fact that the two of them were married (that was a rarity for superheroes then), and the fact that they could shrink down to insect size just seemed too cool.

When Scott Lang stole Pym's old Ant-Man costume in Marvel Premiere #47 (again drawn by Byrne, and discussed below) and assumed his former identity, Pym not only didn't mind but helped Lang in his quest to save his daughter. My young mind was enchanted by the awakening sense that these characters were living in a shared universe and that I was in on the behind-the-scenes intrigue.

In Avengers #161, the excitement started building right on the cover (drawn by Perez and inked by Marcos). Ant-Man rises up from insect-size and clocks Captain America and the Black Panther in a single effort, while ants swarm over the Vision, Scarlet Witch and Wonder Man. Surely puny Ant-Man could never do such harm to Earth's Mightiest Heroes? And why would he, anyway? The intriguing cover is a lesson to today's corporate comics mindset of generic group shots that do nothing to even get your attention on the stands, never mind engage your imagination as to what the heck might be the story behind that cover.

I don't think it's any coincidence, by the way, that I was so pleased with the Avengers lineup Kurt and George chose for their first couple of years of Avengers tales together in Avengers Volume 3. Virtually the same lineup is present in #161, and the strength of the interaction between these characters shines through despite the occasional ham-handedness of Jim Shooter's dialogue.

While the dialogue is occasionally stiff, though, the plot is straightforward action, grounded in Avengers history and enhanced by the dynamic of this particular assemblage of heroes. The splash page focuses on Ant-Man as he looks in on the Avengers, surrounded by his only allies in this story, a swarm of obedient ants. Pym is confused to see unfamiliar strangers at Avengers mansion, and is strangely hostile and ready to attack.

As the Avengers get a look at Wonder Man's new costume (the first he's gotten since his original, Kirby-designed outfit was destroyed in #160), Ant-Man announces his presence and demands to know who these strangers are. Pym explains angrily that he is there for the first meeting of the Avengers, and while he recognizes Iron Man (but doubts the man in the unfamiliar armour is the Iron Man he knows), he doesn't know any of the other heroes and is infuriated by the imposter pretending to be Captain America.

By now, the reader is thoroughly confused. This team of Avengers had more or less been the book's lineup for a year or more, and it's becoming clear that something is quite wrong with Ant-Man.

Whatever his problem is, it has not affected his fighting skills one bit. I'd go so far as to say his hostility has given him an even greater edge than he might otherwise have, as he single-handedly overcomes (albeit briefly) Iron Man, Captain America, the Scarlet Witch and even Wonder Man (newly returned from the dead and unsure of both his abilities and his place on the team). The use of flying ants to swarm through Iron Man's eye-slits struck me back then as brilliant, and the ingenuity of the move retains its impact and wit even now. Any doubts about Ant-Man's ability to carry off the image on the cover are completely erased in this terrific sequence. Only the Vision is immune to the onslaught of Hank Pym and his ants, but the Synthezoid's powers are shown to be pretty useless in any kind of offensive move against the attacking Ant-Man. Only the Wasp, able to shrink down to Pym's level and attack him close-up amid a swarm of flying ants, is able to bring down her enraged husband.

I have to say something here about George Perez's depiction of these events. While he is generally regarded by superhero fans as one of the most exciting and energetic artists working today, Perez was pretty goddamned good even all those years ago. His earliest Avengers issues demonstrated enthusiasm and interesting layouts, but his faces were often weak and his backgrounds often non-existent. In #161, Perez obviously has gained confidence and skill and stretches his muscles in the way that endeared him to readers for decades to follow. He uses a variety of angles to add visual interest to the battle, and his powerful depictions of such powerhouses as Iron Man and Wonder Man add depth and drama to the fact that Ant-Man is able to render them helpless in such short order.

This entire issue is filled with visual power and tension rarely seen in superhero comics. The inks by Pablo Marcos (Perez's best inker back in those days) could only enhance the design and layout of Perez; in those days you often saw the quality of Perez's work degraded under the inks of craftsmen like Jack Abel or Vinnie Coletta. It's hard to imagine I would continue to hold this issue in such high esteem 23 years after the fact if it had been inked by one of those sorts of inkers. While Marcos might have exhibited a heavy hand in inking Perez, he did so in a way that complemented the work rather than obliterating its appeal.

As Pym is brought down by his (clearly distraught) wife, the team gathers its wits and tries to get to the bottom of the unexpected attack. Jan explains that her husband has had a history of mental problems (explained in flashbacks) which seemed to be resolved when Pym took on and kept the identity of Yellowjacket. The stability and passion of their marriage is explained in a single panel in which the heroes are apparently making love, nude. A panel that struck me as provocative at the age of 11 still strikes me as daring. Not only are the heroes clearly naked, but the close-up panel of the two of them intimately kissing expresses not only passion, but love.

Jan tells the team that her husband unexpectedly flew off during an in-flight conversation the day before, and that she returned to his lab to find it in ruins. She was coming to the Avengers for help when she interrupted Ant-Man's assault on the team.

Iron Man suggests using "the subliminal recall-inducer" on Pym to learn the reason for his attack. I don't know if this device had ever been seen before in continuity, but it certainly struck me as something Shooter probably bought on clearance at his local Deus Ex Machina Superstore.

The Beast is assigned to drive Jan home so she can find some items to spur her husband's memories. Captain America and Iron Man chide the Beast for his patented humour in the face of the day's events in a sequence that seems a bit harsh and even clumsy now. Plotting was always more Shooter's strength than dialogue.

As McCoy escorts Mrs. Pym to her Creskill home, we see through thought balloons that the Beast's humour disguises his sense of self-pity over his own plight. While Jan heads into her home, McCoy muses "Henry Pym is one lucky guy to have a lady like that! A lot luckier than a Beast could ever be." McCoy came to accept and even enjoy his furry blue condition in later issues, but in those days the Avengers was the only place his character was being developed at all.

Jan is attacked while rummaging through her husband's things. The picture we see of Reed Richards on the wall was a reminder in those days that this was a shared universe -- today it strikes me as a bit comical. Not only do I question why the Pyms would have such a photo, but why Richards has such a wide grin on his face.

As Jan is taken down by a mysterious attacker, back at the mansion the Avengers zap Ant-Man with their memory-inducer. The panel is bathed in yellows, reds and oranges, and Kirby Dotz suffuse the air. Whatever that machina, er, machine, is doing, it doesn't look like fun. It also does not succeed in answering the question of why Hank Pym would attack his teammates.

Captain America sends out a call for absent Avengers, but we're shown in brief vignettes why Thor, Quicksilver and Hawkeye (along with the Two-Gun Kid...don't ask) won't be coming to the rescue. By the end of the issue, Cap'll be wishing he'd had their help.

As the team gathers to discuss their inability to discover Pym's motive for attacking, the Beast stumbles in, obviously having been assaulted himself. Then, the answer. It probably comes as no surprise to anyone now (or then, I'd wager) that Ultron is to blame for the strange turn of events. The killer robot explodes into Avengers Mansion, and as the Scarlet Witch gets close to defeating him with her probability-altering powers, she is distracted by Ultron's attack on Captain America. Ultron defeats the rest of the team in short order, and shoots off skyward, Ant-Man having been sucked into his "fingertip capsule-prison." That Shooter sure had a way with naming stuff.

Jarvis returns to the mansion to find it plunged into darkness, and flips the light-switch. The final, memorable panel shows the team's butler as he takes in the carnage Ultron has left behind. Wonder Man, Iron Man, the Vision, Captain America, Black Panther, Scarlet Witch and the Beast -- among them the some of the most powerful Avengers ever--utterly defeated. Possibly dead. To be continued.

The repercussions of this storyline were felt for decades. This was the first time, I believe, that Perez was assigned to depict a storyline focusing on the robotic villan Ultron, and the power and fury on these pages resonates well with the fairly acclaimed Busiek/Perez Ultron storyline in Volume 3. The fact that Yellowjacket wasn't as stable as he might have seemed was a major plot point here, and that also nugget played a big role not only in the Vol 3 Ultron story but also in the Avengers Forever 12-issue series by Busiek and artist Carlos Pacheco. Additionally, you'll eventually learn that Ultron's machinations (heh heh) here resulted in the creation of Jocasta, later an Avenger herself and a supporting character in Iron Man's solo series.

As I implied earlier, many superhero comics from the '70s do not hold up well when looked back at through nearly three decades of improvements in production techniques and more sophisticated visual and written storytelling techniques. But Avengers #161 cemented my affection for the title, an affection that was reignited under the later stewardship of Kurt Busiek and George Perez. Avengers #161 not only serves as an obvious inspiration for Busiek and Perez's run, but it stands up just as well today as it did back then. If you've never read it, and especially if you enjoyed the Busiek/Perez Avengers, by all means seek it out. It remains my all-time favourite single superhero comic book.