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To celebrate the release of Man of Steel this month, we’re going Superman mad. Check back daily for Superman-related reviews.

If you are looking to get a taste of the shared universe that DC have created, a glimpse at the diverse characters and their overlapping worlds who have been cultivated as part of the publisher’s comic book line, then it’s very hard to go wrong with 52. A weekly series set in the wake of one of the company’s line-wide “everything changes” events, it offers a fascinating glimpse into the workings of the minor characters dealing with their own problems and issues in a world without Superman, Batman or Wonder Woman.

Published as fifty-two weekly issues, it serves as something of “a year in the life” of this fictional world. Written by four of the best writers in contemporary comics, each of whom has made outstanding contributions to the company’s output in the not-too-hazy past, 52 might not be the best or most consistent comic book that DC ever published, but it is one of the most insightful, original and fun.

There are minor problems with 52, but that’s to be expected when you have four writers working with one breakdown artist and a team or pencillers and inkers and colourists on a weekly comic for a year. 52 was originally intended to cover the events of a missing year in the comics. In the wake of Infinite Crisis, DC’s titles all skipped forward in time by a year. This allowed creative teams to make various changes and shifts to the status quo. Oliver Queen could become mayor of Star City, for example. Bruce Wayne could entrust the safety of Gotham to a reformed Harvey Dent.

A lot of these changes were tied down to one or two titles, but there were some changes that this 52-week series was meant to explain or explore. However, while writing the series, the writers weren’t always able to keep track of various threads. So certain ideas and events couldn’t necessarily be handled within the series. This prompted various 52-related tie-ins, including World War III and so on. It really isn’t a major problem when reading the collected edition – the absences are hardly noticeable.

That said, as the series approaches its end, you can feel the writers coming under strain to resolve their plot threads. It seems like not all the recurring plotlines in 52 were properly paced. Rather than the various plot lines advancing at the same speed, some race ahead and others fall behind. There are times when some characters and threads aren’t mentioned for weeks, so that everything else can catch up. This particularly obvious towards the end of the run, as it seems like entire issues are dedicated to wrapping up particular threads, with some dove-tailing quite smoothly while others stop and start.

Still, this is hardly a major problem. The strength and appeal of 52 is hardly in the plot points of the stories that it tells. None of the plot lines are anything especially unique, particularly within the framework of superhero comics. Lex Luthor tries to gain control of Metropolis’ super-human population; Booster Gold has a crisis of conscience; Ralph Dibney comes to terms with the loss of his wife; mad scientists are being abducted from around the world; the Question is training a replacement; Black Adam struggles with his responsibilities and the line between anti-hero and outright villain.

The key to 52, and what makes it such a modern comic masterpiece, is the way that the plot is told. Turning it into a weekly comic, rather than a monthly book, allows the writers to adopt a different approach to the characters and their tales. With the “missing year” broadly cordoned off from other writers working at the company, they have the sandbox to themselves. They have a large canvas and the ability to offer more regular instalments.

In a way, 52 feels more like a television show with a large ensemble cast involved in various plot threads from week-to-week. Those plot threads all take place in the same world and events in one ripple across to the other. The Question and Renee Montaya venture to Khandaq, overlapping with Black Adam’s story briefly. Booster Gold operates in Metropolis, the same city where Lex Luthor is running his sinister “everyman” experiments. The disappearance of the mad scientists is linked to the mysterious Religion of Crime cropping up in Gotham.

I’m not normally quite sceptical of the “shared universe” concept in superhero comics, because it usually amounts to little more than an excuse to force readers to buy more tie-ins or crossovers. It can serve as a continuity lock-out, as readers wonder why this strange character is appearing in this Batman book they just paid good money for, and… why are they talking about this thing that happened in a different comic, that I have to buy to understand?

This is arguably especially the case with DC comics. As Mark Waid, one of the writers who contributed to 52 has argued, DC’s characters tend to come from wildly different worlds and genres and outlooks, reflecting the business model of the company. They created different characters at different times, purchased and tried to integrate them all into a rather improvised shared universe after the fact.

It is very hard, to pick an obvious example, to reconcile Batman living in a world with Superman or Aquaman. It’s somewhat stranger when new acquisitions seem to fill a niche already occupied by a popular character. The “new 52” is struggling with trying to integrate Wildstorm character Apollo with Superman, when the former was created as a pastiche of the latter. In contrast, at Marvel, the characters tend to fit together a lot better because they were generally created or at least overhauled at approximately the same time by a relatively tight group of creators.

However, despite that, 52 works amazingly well as an exploration of this wonderful and wacky world that has been created by bringing together all these characters and philosophies. Indeed, a lot of the fun from 52 comes from celebrating just how diverse the DC universe is, and how weird the overlap between various areas must be. The Question and Renee Montaya, for example, begin in a gritty street comic, get tied up in international intrigue and eventually end up in a spiritual haven. The arch-rationalist Ralph Dibney finds himself investigating the mystic side of this world.

The fact that DC’s three most iconic characters aren’t around helps. 52 is dominated by second-tier characters. As such, it’s strangely accessible. Although it builds on back story for characters like Booster Gold and Renee Montoya, and relies heavily on the mythology of the Marvel Family, everything is explained and outlined in a way which makes the story easy for new readers to follow. Without characters like Batman or Superman or Wonder Woman to dominate the book, it feels like we’re watching second-stringers grow into positions of authority.

More than that, though, 52 exists as an articulate and affectionate love letter to comic books. Then again, it would seem silly to expect otherwise from this pool of creators. There’s a sense that this is the story of a magical place where wonders happen. Ralph Dibny deals with the loss of his wife by investigating a means of resurrection. Ellen Baker considers the loss of her husband, the low-tier hero Animal Man. “Missing, huh?” she notes. “So there’s still hope.”

Modern comics typically come under fire for being relatively grim affairs, for being too dark or too cynical, or for losing sight what endearing comic books to earlier generations. Infinite Crisis, the event leading into this series, is perhaps one of the more high-profile examples – featuring dismemberments, murders, brutality and mayhem. Identity Crisis, another event which ripples through to 52, wallowed in cynically undermining the innocence of classic comics.

However, while 52 contains its share of brutality and cynicism, there’s also an endearing optimism and enthusiasm at the core of the book. After all, so much of the series centres around the Marvel Family – a bunch of children who can become superheroes by uttering a magic world. “Oh… this is no fun to watch,” their foe mutters while watching television. “Where’s Captain Marvel? Black Adam is too serious for me.”

One plot thread (written by Grant Morrison) features the delightful image of DC’s mad scientists sequestered away on a desert island sipping cocktails and passive-aggressively sniping at one another. This is a prison/resort where the Thanksgiving dinner is carved with a chainsaw. It’s beautiful absurdity, and 52 seems to relish that approach to comics. At one point, Mercury – one of the Metal Men – invites his creator to stop being so serious about everything. “Hell, Doc, why don’t you just reanimate Platinum right now and we’ll all go fight weird science monsters like we used to!”

After all, 52 is a series which hinges on the recreation of the DC multiverse. For those unfamiliar, it’s basically the network of alternate universes that our comic book characters could traverse and explore. It was shelved with Crisis on Infinite Earths in the eighties, as comics prepared to enter their “mature and serious” phase in the nineties. (An approach to comics which, broadly speaking, did not work out well.) The reaffirmation of this multiverse is a bold rejection of the cynicism and nihilism which crept into comics in the nineties, suggesting that anything should be possible, and that characters should inhabit a world of limitless potential.

52 reimagines the delightfully silly Golden Age evil caterpillar, “Mister Mind”, as a grim nihilistic universe-eating monster in the finest tradition of nineties excess. In a sequence which seems to heavily foreshadow Grant Morrison’s Final Crisis, the grotesque fiend plans to devour the shared universes, eating away at the company’s legacies and traditions and literally destroying creativity. A very Morrisonian villain, he isn’t just a threat to the fictional characters inside the comic, but to the narrative itself.

“I was the dominant life form on Earth between the dinosaurs and the humans,” he boasts. “I will be dominant again. But this time not only on Earth… on all Earths.” It’s the threat of homogeneity – the fear that everything will end up dull and drab and the same, and that creativity will be smothered. As he devours the multiverse, we’re told “he’s eating years and years of events from this universe’s history.” It’s no coincidence that this history is drawn to look like comic panels, perhaps a none-too-subtle dig at DC’s decision to cull those sorts of alternate universes to streamline their publishing output.

Indeed, 52 affirms the idea that comic books are the perfect place for this sort of high-concept. “Dude, we watched all of reality get splintered,” Booster remarks at the end of the series. “Aren’t you worried that so much is broken?” Rip replies, “There’s so much more happening out there than we ever could have imagined. That’s not ‘broken.’ That’s the way things should be. Welcome to a multiverse of possibility, Booster. Welcome home.” It seems that this is the way that things should be.

There are other hints of enthusiasm and optimism to be found here, to balance out the grimness and the darkness. Ralph Dibny’s entire plot looks to be heading into a deep black hole of despair. He seems to be considering suicide, and willing to go to insane and unnatural lengths to bring his beloved wife back to life. He’s also seen drinking quite frequently from a flash he keeps in his suit pocket. He doesn’t seem too healthy or together, and his journey into darkness seems like it can only end badly.

And yet, despite this, Ralph holds on. He withstands all the pain and the suffering. “I f-figured that I guh-ground you d-down… enough…” Faust confesses, just as Ralph explains that he hasn’t been walking into a trap – he has been setting his own. The kicker? He hasn’t become the run-down alcoholic that we think. “It’s not booze, Faust. Gingold.” Gingold being the magical potion which allows Ralph Dibny to stretch and do those impossible things.

Okay, that plot thread doesn’t have an overly happy ending, but Dibny endures. He refuses to be swallowed by the darkness, and he gets to continue on as a ghost detective. It’s hard to imagine a more upbeat ending to what was shaping up to be a a pretty grim tale. Even the plot thread with The Question ends with Renee Montaya figuring out her place in the world. The only story with a completely bleak ending is that featuring Black Adam.

52 serves as something of a link between Infinite Crisis, the massive and sprawling event written by Geoff Johns, and Final Crisis, Grant Morrison’s massive cosmic crossover. It bridges two very different ideas of what comic book crossovers should be. One of the more interesting aspects of 52 is the way that it begins in the aftermath of the latest crisis. Things aren’t immediately tidied away. “My history files show the city’s still in shock over Superboy,” Skeet advises Booster after one of his stunts fails.

There’s a memorial for fallen heroes in Metropolis. Green Arrow is still trying to keep order in Star City. There are glimpses into how various characters are coping with the damage done during the big universe-spanning crossover, and in a way that probably wouldn’t be possible within a title focused on one character or one team of characters. It’s nice to get a sense that these events have fallout and consequences.

At the same time, there are hints of things to come. DC generally made a mess of promoting or leading into Final Crisis. Really the only lead-ins worth reading were written by Morrison – most notably his superb Seven Soldiers miniseries, which you should really read anyway. There are little elements of foreshadowing scattered throughout 52. As Booster investigates Rip Torn’s old study, there’s a scrawl on the blackboard noting, “The old gods are dead the new gods want what’s left.” One of the mad scientists on the island notes, “A higher, brighter, more terrible world has fallen to Earth, Doctor Magnus.”

(You could probably also argue that Ralph Dibny’s “wishing bullet” probably counts as some sort of thematic foreshadowing, given the way that Darkseid would be killed by shooting the idea of a bullet out of a gun. That said, it’s probably a bit of a stretch. See what I did there, eh? Still, there’s an acknowledgement that comic books tend to lean more on metaphysical silliness rather than anything resembling science. “It seems like romance, Doctor Magnus, not science,” one observer remarks to the creator of the Metal Men. And he’s not wrong.)

It also provides a nice lead-in to Grant Morrison’s Batman run, to the point where I’m surprised that the collected editions of Morrison’s Batman work don’t include excerpts from 52. There are scenes here that Morrison revisits repeatedly throughout his time working with the character. They also work quite well in the context of 52, developing the theme that comics cannot be endlessly grim and dark and sinister.

Morrison makes the observation that everything Batman has endured from the nineties to the then-present is just too much blackness. “When you think about everything that happened,” Nightwing observes, “it’s too much for any man. Even the strongest.” That darkness threatens to swallow Bruce up. He embarks on a vision quest to find his roots. Much like the re-discovery of the multiverse, it involves rediscovering his past. “Why else are we here, patiently recreating the journey that turned Bruce Wayne into Batman?” (This plays into Morrison’s Batman run, which takes the approach that every Batman story happened, in one form or another.)

Bruce’s pilgrimage into the desert is a quest to find himself, and to cut loose all of the darkness and bitterness. It effectively grants him a free slate away from all that pain. “The Ten-Eyed Men kill demons, Tim,” he tells his sidekick. “I asked them to kill mine. I asked them to cut out all the dark, fearful, paranoid urges I’ve allowed to corrupt my life… and they did.” There’s a nice note on the art for the sequence, instructing the penciller to “give Bruce the smile of a man freed from pain.”

Morrison scores bonus points for managing to foreshadow quite a few of his Batman themes in the space of an issue. Tim raises the issue of replacement Batmen, a recurring plot point over Morrison’s run. “He wants us to be the new Batman and Robin, right?” Tim asks Dick, a line which becomes somewhat ironic when Tim finds himself on the outside of the Bat family following Bruce’s death. The cover to the issue evokes the final sequence following Bruce’s “death” in Final Crisis.

The splash page opening the issue seems to be a visual shout-out to Darwyn Cooke’s superb New Frontier, which is a comic book out of continuity. It’s a nice way for Morrison to open his Batman run by suggesting that even the out-of-continuity Batman stories are part of the fabric that makes Batman what he is. (It’s also just a great image.) This single issue is pretty much essential reading for anybody wanting to make sense of Morrison’s Batman, almost serving a mission statement.

In a way, the Ten-Eyed Men seem like surgeons cutting out a cancer, suggesting some connection to Bruce’s late father, Thomas Wayne. You could also suggest that it’s a somewhat literal shout-out to Frank Miller’s rather iconic “I’m the surgeon” monologue from The Dark Knight Returns. While the absent heroes are never allowed to dominate 52, I do like that we get little glimpses at what they are doing during the missing year. I particularly like the image of Alfred conducting a choir in Cathedral Square in Gotham, suggesting that Bruce isn’t the only person who has found peace when Batman retired from his crusade in Gotham.

On the subject of retired heroes, there is a nice little glimpse into the life of Superman without powers. Robbed of his special abilities for a year, Superman is forced to exist exclusively as Clark Kent. “I cut myself shaving,” he confesses, suggesting that he is having a bit of bother. It’s nice to see Superman forced to embrace humanity, and to learn to live without the “secret skills and tricks [he’s] been relying on all these years as an investigative reporter.” It doesn’t amount to more than a scene, but it’s a nice scene.

There are times when 52 leans quite heavily on the fourth wall, almost winking playfully at the audience. Rama Kushna assures Ralph Dibny, “The end is already written.” A demon taunts Nightwing, “The outcome was already decided. This was all written long ago.” Metaphorically, it sounds quite profound. However, it also seems like an acknowledgement that, the longer the that 52 went on, the further it got from its own ending. Because of the “one year later” time skip, the ending of 52 was published a year after the comics set in the wake of the missing year.

After one superhero fight, Mercy Graves is frustrated by the quality of the banter. “I know,” Luthor agrees. “And we had four writers. We’ll re-record the fight banter in post.” It seems a sly nod at the fact that 52 was being written by four members of DC’s very top creative talent.

At one point towards the end of the collection, Tim Drake is left pondering how to get a goose out of a bottle. He finally figures out the answer to the riddle; it’s a riddle. “There’s only a goose in a bottle because you said so,” he tells the monk, revealing that the key to controlling a story is to acknowledge that it is a story. Right on cue, Bruce Wayne emerges, wrapping up the story thread and resolving the plot.

52 also allows us a nice bit of insight into the mechanics of the shared DC universe, the day-to-day realities of this fantasy world. Early on, the Green Lanterns are accused of having “violated Chinese airspace.” Frustrated at this turn of events, one of the Great Ten protests, “Bureacracy will be the death of us, Perfect Physician.”

It’s nice to get a glimpse of the DC universe outside the United States, and 52 really broadens the canvas a great deal. In particular, I like the idea of the Great Ten, the Chinese superhero team. “Chinese superheroes, huh?” Ralph Dibny ponders. “I guess it had to happen.” Accomplished Perfect Physician corrects him and points out that he’s using a culturally relative term of reference. “Heroes? No. Servants of the people. As I say, functionaries.”

There’s also – appropriately enough for a book sandwiched between Infinite Crisis and Final Crisis – a whole host of interesting religious stuff. Given that Morrison wrote a book called “Supergods”, it’s not too surprising, despite Bruce’s observation that “mixing religion with what we do is dangerous.” In a way, this feels like a set-up for Final Crisis, with a sense that a new religious order is taking shape – literal “New Gods.”

Early on, our intergalactic explorers are trapped on a planet Starfire describes as “heaven”, while Animal Man warns his colleagues about a “serpent” lurking in the bushes. Starfire, the only female member of the team, almost dooms them by eating the fruit from the trees. The group find themselves hunted by Devilance the Pursuer (“God of the Pursuit”), who accuses them of having unnatural knowledge. “You saw beyond the veil, beyond the two score and twelve walls of heaven. That knowledge belongs to the gods alone!”

There’s also Intergang’s Religion of Crime trying to secure a foothold around the world, based on the mythology of Darkseid. Even the bounty hunter Lobo has styled hismself as a religious figure, answering to “Archbishop Lobo of the first celestial church of the triple fish-god!” There’s a sense of heightened religious unease, and it seems like 52 might be putting its finger on the pulse of America, where religious debate and politics have grown increasingly heated.

Indeed, a significant portion of 52 is dedicated to reappraising the American Dream in the 21st century. Superman was once the ultimate expression of that ideal – the man who came to America and made something of himself. However, times have changed. Lex Luthor seems to speak to a shift in cultural values and norms when he introduces his scheme to grant everybody superpowers. It’s superheroes for the X-Factor or America’s Got Talent generation.

It’s no longer about the exceptional few. Everybody is entitled to be brilliant. “It means that we no longer have to trust our safety to the privileged elite, the accidental few,” Luthor boasts, as if preaching the democratisation of superpowers. “It means every man and woman can be a superhero. Superman is gone, but here’s the good news. We no longer need him or any of his kind. The age of the super-citizen is dawning.”

He makes the point more explicitly at the big launch of his new team, contextualising his scheme in terms of shifting cultural norms. “We call it the American Dream,” he wonders. “But what is that, really? A chicken in every pot? A car in every garage? That was the old dream, my friends, my guests…. I have seen a new dream. A dream where every man becomes a super man.” Power without responsibility. Entitlement rather than aspiration. It’s a new world order, a shifting paradigm. And not for the better.

It’s no coincidence that this scheme is directed by Lex Luthor, Superman’s swore arch-enemy. It’s this changing cultural value which is eroding Superman’s appeal. People don’t want to read about a paradigm of virtue representing an ideal to strive towards. People want instant gratification. They want regular superheroes, people with problems they can relate to.

You can see it in the way that superhero secret identity has been slow but significantly chipped away at in recent years, from Tony Stark’s declaration that he is Iron Man to Bruce Wayne’s announcement that he funds Batman. You can even see it playing out in the way that the Marvel Universe seems to have developed a superhero overclass. There’s a sense that everybody wants to fantasise about about being a superhero, but less of a sense of the superhero as an idealised figure.

So it’s interesting that 52 addresses the notion of a DC superhero overclass, but firmly comes down in defence of the establishment. Lex Luthor’s team of new heroes come into conflict with the original members of Infinity Inc. The original team was composed of the “sons and daughters of the original members of the Justice Society.” These people who inherited their powers and their positions are knowns as “blood brats”, hinting at the idea that the superhero community as become fairly class-based.

“You’re a legacy,” one of Luthor’s team protests. “You inherited your powers. Never worked for anything a day in your life, have you? Not like us.” Jack Ryder describes the Justice Society as “a group of old man desperate to control the next generation.” These are interesting allegations, and it’s very hard to disagree. Then again, modern comics tend to be so conservative that they favour classic characters over their successors.

The return of Hal Jordan and Barry Allen creates a sense of stagnation, as their successors – the “new blood” – is sidelined and marginalised. So it probably shouldn’t seem so strange that 52 would come down so firmly in favour of those characters who held their powers by virtue of their birth rather than any innate skill. Then again, the concept of a Luthor-controlled super-team is a terrifying thought, a horrifying capitalist excess.

Perhaps Renee Montoya’s arc offers a nice middle-ground. Writer Greg Rucka had been writing for Montaya for years on the superb (and underrated) Gotham Central. Here, he carries her story over and 52 allows us to see the birth of a new superhero. Renee Montoya becomes the Question. Montoya was a character created in Batman: The Animated Series, but developed largely by Rucka. It’s a shame that the “DCnU” reboot threw out her time as the Question.

The DC universe needs more of these sorts of legacies and replacement characters – particularly those who could add a diversity that wasn’t really possible when the characters were originally created. Was anybody really that attached to Steve Ditko’s Vic Sage that reverting him to the role of the Question might attract new readers? I can understand wanting Barry Allen and Hal Jordan as a form of Silver Age nostalgia, but I can’t believe that the Question was so popular that there was any reason to bring him back.

And I say that as somebody who appreciated Ditko’s original comics, even if I’m not sure I agreed with their politics. And also Denny O’Neil’s work on The Question. I just don’t see what was gained by bringing this character back. Indeed, I suspect that the only way of bringing the Question back and making him really popular would have been to reboot him has Rorschach (from Watchmen) after Flashpoint. And DC would get the bonus of making Alan Moore’s beard explode with rage, which is the kind of thing they live for if the internet is correct.

The artwork on the series is remarkably consistent for a weekly comic book, largely thanks to the fact that Keith Giffen provided breakdowns for the artists to work on. 52 is a delightfully visually accessible comic book. The structure isn’t overly elaborate or complex. Indeed, with so many stories, the comic tends to follow a six-panel grid, with occasional splash pages or double panels. It’s a nice choice which makes the comic very easy to read. Complete with the interlaced plotlines, it is very tempting to plow through this oversized edition in one (very) extended sitting.

I have to admit, though, I am a bit disappointed that the collected edition doesn’t include the wonderful creator commentaries. Of course, the book is absolutely massive, and adding more pages would push it over some sort of limit. That said, I think that that sort of value-added material is worth extra space. I’d gladly pay a little more to see it split out into a two-book collection and appendix, like Marvel did with The Dark Tower or The Stand. Still, there are occasional script excerpts and sketches which give an insight into the design process. Still, on a project as unique as this, it would be nice to have more.

Still, all that said, 52 remains a modern DC classic. It’s one of the most enjoyable and accessible comics ever published, featuring a rake of the company’s strongest creative talent. Mark Waid, Grant Morrison, Greg Rucka and Geoff Johns are some of the strongest comic book writers working today, no matter what your taste in genre. Mark Waid and Geoff Johns are two of the best superhero writers in the business. Greg Rucka is a great noir or crime writer. Grant Morrison is master of high concepts.

As such, it’s a bit of a shame that most of these writers have drifted away from DC. Johns is the company’s flagship writer, and they are getting their mileage out of him. However, Grant Morrison is finishing up Batman Inc. soon. Mark Waid and Greg Rucka are not on friendly terms with DC. Both, however, were writing great books at Marvel. Waid’s Daredevil is one of the best superhero books being published at the moment, and I’m hoping for a nice oversized collection of Rucka’s too-short Punisher run.

52 is a classic, and one to savour. It’s a superhero bundle of joy, and a celebration of DC’s massive shared universe and the characters who populate it.

You might be interested in our other reviews relating to Infinite Crisis:

• The O.M.A.C. Project
• Superman: Sacrifice
• Villains United
• Superman: Lightning Strikes Twice
• Day of Vengeance
• Adam Strange: Planet Heist
• Rann-Thanagar War
• Justice League of America: Crisis of Conscience
• Infinite Crisis
• 52

Filed under: Comics | Tagged: Animal Man, batman, Black Adam, booster gold, Captain Marvel (DC Comics), dc comics, Ellen Baker, grant morrison, infinite crisis, lex luthor, metropolis, Renee Montoya, Superboy, superman, United States, wonder woman, world war iii |