Detective Comics #854

I haven’t yet read a thing by Greg Rucka that I didn’t love. Detective Comics #854, aka The One With Batwoman, is no exception.

I love this book.

Now, I want this blog post to be a cogent, articulate review. I want it to be a clear discussion of the text that conveys the high quality of the writing and the shocking brilliance of J.H. Williams’ art. I think I’m going to fail at that. I think I am just going to squeal in delight. But I’ll give it a shot.

The last single issue of comic I re-read four times on the day it came out was Astonishing X-Men #1. I thought, and think, that Joss Whedon’s story and John Cassaday’s art made a near-perfect re-introduction to the X-Men. This 25-issue run is the one I most often recommend to people who want to try out the X-Men. But, let’s be honest, folks — selling me on an X-Men comic really isn’t that hard. For a DC comic to achieve this level of lip-biting, squeal-suppressing glee has not happened prior to this. (Not even the Birds of Prey issues in which Dinah and Barbara declared their eternal love commitment to the partnership.)

Let’s talk about the art. Williams does something that —

Okay, let me interrupt myself. Mr. Rucka? Can we see the script for this issue? Because I deeply want to know who to credit for the sheer genius in panel design.

But let’s say it’s Williams. Williams makes strong, obvious style differences between the scenes about Batwoman and the scenes about Kate Kane. Batwoman’s scenes are not only gorgeously shaded, beautifully hi-lit, and incredibly dynamic, they are all in a panel / border structure that represents Batwoman’s bat-symbol. And the way this is used, and they way the panels are broken, and the sheer energy this structure conveys in the end-of-book fight scene, this is amazing.

Which makes the transition into life as Kate even more fascinating. The Kate panels and scenes are flatter, overlit, harsher and more raw than the shaded, painted nuance of the Batwoman scenes. And that, that my friends is somebody’s genius, because that right there tells us which life the red-headed woman who leads this book prefers. The Kate panels are regular, they are bordered, they are regimented. Except where her other life bleeds into the daylight, and red is not only the color of her hair, but the color of her blood spilling.

People in superhero-land are superheroes because they can’t help it. Because, at the end of the day, they can live with themselves as long as they go out in tights and fight crime. Some, like Dinah Lance and Dick Greyson do it because being a hero makes them feel good. Some, like Barbara Gordon, do it because they really can’t live with being mundane and helpless. Some, like Helena Bertinelli, do it because they can’t stand the other things they inevitably are. Some, like Tim Drake and Renee Montoya, do it because they are good at it. And some do it because it’s the only time they like themselves. Because without a purpose, there’s not really a point to getting up in the morning.

All of which is a complicated way of saying that I look forward to watching Kate try to deal with the fact that she would rather go out and get hurt night after night than talk about her feelings with an attractive woman. Like Kate Bishop over in Marvel’s Young Avengers, at some point you have to ask the character why they choose this? Fear? Anger? Hatred? Self-loathing? I don’t know yet.

This is, to return to my opening lines, Rucka’s forte. Renee Montoya, Tara Chace, Carrie Stetko, Sasha Bordeaux, and Kate Kane are all of an ilk I love. Extremely strong women, competent, skilled, capable, intelligent, and flawed. Not grievously or dramatically flawed, and certainly not in need of rescue, these characters are driven and motivated and in deep need of a good friend. There’s a loneliness they share that makes them compelling fictional characters — while they are solving crimes, engaging in international espionage, and kicking ass they are also observing the world from some internal distance. From within some safety and solitude that has inadvertantly locked themselves away.

This is nowhere near as coherent as I want it to be. And I didn’t even get around to discussing my sheer joy at the scene in Kate’s apartment. Or the villain. Or the supporting cast. Or the backup story, with Renee Montoya as The Question, which is a whole ‘nother realm of love and joy for me. But this is clearly the start of a great, great superhero detective story.

Detective comics, indeed.

You’ll excuse me. I have to go re-read this issue again. How about you buy it, and let me know what you think?