Colin Goh and Woo Yen Yen

The following was published in the Sunday Times on 4 May 2008:

A Comic Recollection
by Colin Goh

Two weeks ago, I trudged across midtown Manhattan to meet some folks concerning a future project.  (Sorry, can’t reveal details yet.) Their designated meeting place was the Jacob Javits Convention Centre, which, in some ways, represents the convergence of two aspects of my life.

The Javits was where, some years ago, I took the New York bar examinations to qualify as an attorney.  It was the hardest exam I ever took, not because it was intellectually challenging, but because it required memorizing several phone directories’ worth of material. For once in my life, I was grateful for Singaporean rote training, a fact emphasized by the candidate seated next to me, who moaned “Oh! My! God!” every few minutes.

This time, however, the Javits was hosting the New York Comic Convention, which, though second in size to the one in San Diego, has the distinct advantage of being in the capital of the comic world: Gotham City itself.

I grew up on American comics. My parents were very enlightened about what many dismissed as a corrupting influence on children; they felt that as long as I didn’t read comics exclusively, it was fine. More than any other form, comics taught me how to read, write, draw, and thanks to their depictions of different kinds of vernacular dialogue (compare, say, the Thing’s speech patterns with Thor’s), the ability to “code-switch”, something that many language teachers say is the preserve of an elite few.  Phooey, I say to them (or whatever the Hokkien equivalent of ‘phooey’ is). I learned it from possibly the most low-class artform of all.

I really loved the darned things. And like all things you love, they can break your heart. In JC, I started a small comic shop, fueled by pure hubris: I hoped to share my beloved medium with others through judicious curation. But the vast majority of comics buyers at the time weren’t interested in reading:  they only wanted to buy multiple copies of special issues, slip them immediately into protective plastic bags, and then resell them for a profit. On shipment day, the store often felt dispiritingly like the floor of the stock exchange, except the traders had more pimples. Most of the really innovative work remained unsold, and unappreciated.  After closing the shop, I gave up collecting comics and read only the barest handful of titles.  Much of the content by then had become saturated with increasingly nihilistic superheroes and gimmicky storylines anyway.  It seems I wasn’t the only one to turn away from comics – by 1996, industry leader Marvel Comics had even gone bankrupt.

But visiting the Con, I learned that the industry had turned a corner over the past few years. Better writers, artists and editors have regained control, and though superheroes still dominate, the content is much more diverse. There are works out there which rival any prose novel – Alison Bechdel’s literate and nuanced ‘Fun Home’ is the best thing I’ve read all year. Graphic novels (storylines contained within a single volume, as opposed to single issue ‘floppies’) are also a real growth area because they can access regular bookstores, who are devoting more space to them too. In 2007, they became a US$375 million market.

But chope: if you’re thinking of jumping into comics hoping to make big bucks, here are some reality checks – part of the buzz about comics comes from being able to translate them into games, toys and movies, and cross-pollinating audiences. This usually only works with established characters. So unless you’ve created Spider-Man, moderate your expectations.  One of the most depressing things you can do in life is visit the Con’s artists’ alley, where legendary creators are willing to doodle for you for $10. Guess who doesn’t have contractual entitlements to merchandising and adaptation royalties?

Also, although more profitable than in the past few years, readership is still generally depressed compared to, say, thirty years ago. But that’s the case for all periodicals, not just comics. People just aren’t reading as much as they used to. The industry is also afflicted by the same problems that the digital world poses to all other media, including piracy and speculative revenue models.

Still, despite the challenges, it was nice to see my old passion evolving and widening. As the Cons are usually assemblies of male nerds, I was especially happy to see more women and girls attending. (I’m not counting those hired to walk around in Princess Leia bikinis to flog Star Wars merchandise.)

But I was also glad one thing hadn’t changed at American comic conventions: I’m never the fattest guy in the room. Heng ah!

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