I read a good deal of Grant Morrison's work before really becoming convinced of his more sublime gifts. I read his JLA pretty much from the beginning, but saw most of it as entertaining but impenetrable eye-candy; as is the case with Warren Ellis, I believe Morrison shines best when he is matched with quality artists long enough to establish a groove. JLA was crippled in some ways by the awkward, freakish but occasionally appealing art of Howard Porter, but for true excellence, Morrison's JLA: Earth 2 with artist Frank Quitely was many, many levels above anything else Morrison did on JLA. It is, very nearly, the perfect superhero comic: Inventive, witty, violent and unpredictable. 

So, it took me a while to truly appreciate the more subtle joys of Morrison's writing; it was a one-two punch of re-reading the entirety of Morrison's New X-Men and finally seeing how meticulously he plotted out the entire three years' worth of issues, seamlessly melding his interests in science and metaphysics and societies and cliques and mindfucks with the classic feel of Claremont and Byrne's X-Men, and even more importantly, The Filth, which is one of the most amazing graphic novels ever created for a corporate comics imprint.

Both Grant Morrison, and his sole peer in terms of the quality of his best writing, Alan Moore, are often disparaged by comics "fans" because they don't play by the usual rules. The Filth is not widely well-regarded, but despite that, I think it's one of Morrison's best works, if not one of the best works in comics, ever. But both Morrison and Moore are held to a higher standard by readers, because they so often have provided entertainment which is light-years more mind-expanding, thoughtful, clever, witty and charming than the nearest competition. I find the work of both Moore and Morrison addictive, genuinely addictive -- I've more than once blown the rent money on their work because I just had to have it -- and like any drug (and I do believe their best works are drugs, impacting themselves on my cerebral cortex in quite delightful ways), I want the high to be bigger and better every time.

Like many, I've been disappointed by some of their works -- like much of Moore's mid-'90s Image work or Morrison's Arkham Asylum, which I think is a bit overrated -- but I have learned to trust them. If a new work by one of these transcendent talents fails for me upon first reading, my first instinct is to guess it's me and not them. And often -- like The Filth -- a second, later read will prove my theory right. I just wasn't ready for it the first time, my mind wasn't open enough.

Now place this discontent on the average comics "fan" who actually has somehow managed to deceive himself into thinking people like Geoff Johns or Frank Tieri are "writers," (ha! ha!), and I imagine the effect is magnified enormously. Because so much time is spent justifying a love for mediocre crap, as long as you get to see the Alan Scott Zombie shamble through yet another moribund "adventure" in JSA, that you also have to build up a real resistence and resentment of talent that genuinely dares to shine. So when a Moore or a Morrison fails for the typical comics "fan," man, they start throwing the *** around their cages with their righteous indig-nerd-ation.

One of the things that seems to aggravate the typical superhero reader is the use of cutting-edge science and mysticism in the work of both writers. They're often said to be exploring "mad ideas," without any real examination of what that means. When one does a little research, one discovers that the type of magick that Moore and Morrison describe is closer to science than superheroics or the supernatural. Even Warren Ellis throws in some futurist science in some of his better work, but the key to all these "mad ideas" is usually the idea of using one's will to affect beneficial change on your immediate universe -- which is a lot of what Moore and Morrison are talking about, when you strip away the hyperbole. You can understand why more conservative-minded readers might despair at the exploration of such ideas.

Moore's Promethea is a virtual primer on the subject if one follows up on the references in the text. Morrison is even took part in a weekend educational retreat a few years ago with other noted, forward-thinking authors. But it's so easy to dismiss these progressive, exciting concepts as "mad ideas," and therefore deny yourself the full range of the work, comforting yourself with specious claims that Moore and Morrison are wacky charlatans. Meanwhile, comics like The Invisibles and Promethea mapped out a potential course for 21st Century humanity based on history, science and yes, magick. And they did it in monthly funnybooks. No wonder the nerds are so outraged when they don't get it. No wonder there's so little discussion of Moore's stunning prose novel Voice of the Fire, which perfectly encapsulates the universality of human experience with wonder and awe, while also serving as a speculative fiction of the human race and Alan Moore's hometown over the course of thousands of years. This stuff is just too big for the average sooperhero fan, I suspect -- but for those willing to make the leap, you couldn't ask for more entertaining or rewarding work.