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The State of Star Trek Literature

Five-minute maybe; fluff no. You think any poem shorter than five minutes is fluff? How about every song ever?

The kind of wordcraft that goes into good poetry is not something you see in comics, where descriptive terminology is generally confined to "Whizzz!" "Bang!" "Pow!" and one would be hard-pressed to find anything much more challenging than what you hear on the nightly news. Not exactly a hotbed of poetic or even prosaic excellence.

As for songs--most of what gets on the radio these days most definitely is fluff. The better lyricists, unfortunately, do not enjoy anywhere near the same level of success, nor do the more inventive musicians.
 
The kind of wordcraft that goes into good poetry is not something you see in comics, where descriptive terminology is generally confined to "Whizzz!" "Bang!" "Pow!" and one would be hard-pressed to find anything much more challenging than what you hear on the nightly news. Not exactly a hotbed of poetic or even prosaic excellence.

Your every post about comics only further underlines the fact that you don't READ any comics and know nothing about them beyond a set of antiquated stereotypes that even most of the general public knows better than to believe anymore. Why do you insist on embarrassing yourself by pretending to know what you're talking about while addressing an audience that's vastly more informed on the topic than you are and universally telling you that you're profoundly wrong?
 
Five-minute maybe; fluff no. You think any poem shorter than five minutes is fluff? How about every song ever?

The kind of wordcraft that goes into good poetry is not something you see in comics, where descriptive terminology is generally confined to "Whizzz!" "Bang!" "Pow!" and one would be hard-pressed to find anything much more challenging than what you hear on the nightly news. Not exactly a hotbed of poetic or even prosaic excellence.

Well, unlike you I've actually read a few comics, and I can tell you for a fact that this is completely false. But I think it's clear at this point that you're so convinced you're right that you're not going to be willing to entertain or consider any evidence to the contrary, so I'll stop arguing now.
 
The kind of wordcraft that goes into good poetry is not something you see in comics, where descriptive terminology is generally confined to "Whizzz!" "Bang!" "Pow!" and one would be hard-pressed to find anything much more challenging than what you hear on the nightly news. Not exactly a hotbed of poetic or even prosaic excellence.

As others have said, the intensity with which you clearly do not know what you are talking about is staggering. You're speaking with very damning tones of an entire medium that contains a vast range of quality. You're confining yourself to incredibly antiquated ideas of comic book writing and seemingly ignoring the responses of people who are clearly much more familiar with the medium. Some serialized comic book storytelling has a great deal of complexity, while other comics are pretty meh. Just like in pretty much any other medium.
 
I think it's also worth pointing out that several of the posters here (like KRAD and David Mack, and the IDW editors) and what you (Nerys) are saying could be very insulting. Hell, I just read comics, and I almost find it insulting.
 
The kind of wordcraft that goes into good poetry is not something you see in comics, where descriptive terminology is generally confined to "Whizzz!" "Bang!" "Pow!"

You seem to be confusing the 1960s Adam West Batman television series with actual comic books.

I've been reading comics my whole life. I have literally never seen one with "WHIZZ!" "BANG!" and "POW!" in it.

and one would be hard-pressed to find anything much more challenging than what you hear on the nightly news. Not exactly a hotbed of poetic or even prosaic excellence.

So why was Maus given a Pulitzer Prize?
 
Wordcraft in comics, from Watchmen, written by Alan Moore:
Doctor Manhattan: Thermo-dynamic miracles... events with odds against so astronomical they're effectively impossible, like oxygen spontaneously becoming gold. I long to observe such a thing.
And yet, in each human coupling, a thousand million sperm vie for a single egg. Multiply those odds by countless generations, against the odds of your ancestors being alive; meeting; siring this precise son; that exact daughter... Until your mother loves a man she has every reason to hate, and of that union, of the thousand million children competing for fertilization, it was you, only you, that emerged. To distill so specific a form from that chaos of improbability, like turning air to gold... that is the crowning unlikelihood. The thermo-dynamic miracle.
Laurie Juspeczyk: But...if me, my birth, if that's a thermodynamic miracle... I mean, you could say that about anybody in the world!.
Dr. Manhattan: Yes. Anybody in the world. ..But the world is so full of people, so crowded with these miracles that they become commonplace and we forget... I forget. We gaze continually at the world and it grows dull in our perceptions. Yet seen from the another's vantage point. As if new, it may still take our breath away. Come...dry your eyes. For you are life, rarer than a quark and unpredictable beyond the dreams of Heisenberg; the clay in which the forces that shape all things leave their fingerprints most clearly.
http://www.bookrags.com/quotes/Watchmen

A bit more than whizz, bang, pow. Anyone want to chime in with examples from other comics?
 
God only knows what you think of me - that I'm a conniving bastard, that I used you just to produce a child whom I could saddle with this city. And it's true, I don't deny it. But I swear to you, not a day has gone by that I haven't thought about what we had, and realized what you meant to me.

Because the truth of the matter is this: you're just as big a conniving bastard as I ever was. More. And if you're willing to admit that, then we can build a life together. If this city is hell, then we're a match made in it. And when I think what the two of us could do in the outside world...

I have money, resources out there you can't begin to imagine. We'll live like a king and queen. We'll want for nothing and wrap humanity around our fingers.

That night I tried to kill you, I was never that furious in my LIFE. It was... exhilarating. I want to be with someone who can arouse that amount of passion in me.

Come with me, my love.

- Fallen Angel, by... oh, just some hack...
 
While we're at it:
You think he NEEDS you to do that for him? The creator of everything needs you to tell him how wonderful he is? It's like... like ants singing hosannas to a lion. He doesn't need you. But you still need him. You're parasites, the lot of you. Every other species in this world trusts itself to survive, but you're all still sucking at the boss's teat for moral support.

And hes getting really... fed... up.

So he's been using tough love, for CENTURIES now. Sending disaster upon disaster, one act after another, hoping that you'll stop venerating him, that you'll leave him alone so he can move on. Because what rational creatures could possibly worship a being who keeps annihilating them by the thousands?

But like a wife sticking with her abusive husband, hoping things will improve, you keep clinging to him. He rains disaster down upon you, and you come right back for more. You hold to the idea of a divine plan, and it never occurs to you the divine plan is simple. He wants you to grow up. And you won't... fucking... do it. And because of that, he's denied the ultimate peace he desires above all else.

Same source.
 
Or:
They shot me, you know. Quite literally. Took me out back of the canteen, put me up against the store's wall and shot me. Five of them. With rifles. I remember quite distinctly that one of them wet himself when he squeezed the trigger.

And then they brought me back. Just to see if they could.

This is theatre A. This is where they dragged my corpse. I'm told I was still warm when they put me on the table, still leaking. Weird, it almost seems harmless, seeing it all like this. The Devil's empty house.

I remember the smells first. Ozone. Bonfires. And then the light. It flickered, flared, sent everything monochrome, and then electric blue, and then flickered again. A voice saying "atomics". Something else; atomic projection, something like that. Atomics.

I knew I'd died. I'd felt the bullets tear me open, rip me up inside. They don't tell you that, you know; that you can feel the bullets moving inside you, burning channels inside your body. You assume a firing squad death will be quick, but it's not. I finished the scream I started just before I died.

The man who operated on me waited patiently until I had to breathe again, and then said "my name is Doctor Randall Dowling. Can you understand me? I brought you back from the dead. Can you understand?"

- Planetary; Warren Ellis.
 
Good evening, London. I thought it time we had a little talk. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin... I suppose you're wondering why I've called you here this evening. Well, you see, I'm not entirely satisfied with your performance lately.... I'm afraid your work's been slipping, and...

... And, well, I'm afraid we've been thinking about letting you go.

Oh, I know, I know. You've been with the company a long time now. Almost... Let me see. Almost ten thousand years! My word, doesn't time fly? It seems like only yesterday... I remember the day you commenced your employment, swinging down from the trees, fresh-faced and nervous, a bone clasped in your bristling fist... 'Where do I start, sir?' you asked, plaintively.

I recall my exact words: 'There's a pile of dinosaur eggs over there, youngster,' I said, smiling paternally the while. 'Get sucking.'

Well, we've certainly come a long way since then, haven't we? And yes, yes, you're right, in all that time you haven't missed a day. Well done, thou good and faithful servant.

Also, please don't think I've forgotten about your outstanding service record, or about all of the invaluable contributions that you've made to the company... Fire, the wheel, agriculture... It's an impressive list, old-timer. A jolly impressive list. Don't get me wrong.

But... well, to be frank, we've had our problems, too. There's no getting away from it. Do you know what I think a lot of it stems from? I'll tell you... It's your basic unwillingness to get on with the company. You don't seem to want to face up to any real responsibility, or to be your own boss. Lord knows, you've been given plenty of opportunities.

We've offered you promotion time and time again, and each time you've turned us down. 'I couldn't handle the work, guv'nor,' you wheedled. 'I know my place.' To be frank, you're not trying, are you?

You see, you've been standing still for far too long, and it's starting to show in your work... And, I might add, in your general standard of behavior. The constant bickering on the factory floor has not escaped my attention... nor the recent bouts of rowdiness in the staff canteen.

Then, of course, there's... Hmm. Well, I didn't really want to have to bring this up, but... Well, you see, I've been hearing some disturbing rumors about your personal life. No, never you mind who told me. No names, no pack drill...

I understand that you are unable to get on with your spouse. I hear that you argue. I am told that you shout. Violence has been mentioned. I am reliably informed that you always hurt the one you love... the one you shouldn't hurt at all. And what about the children? It's always the children who suffer, as you're well aware. Poor little mites. What are they to make of it? What are they to make of your bullying, your despair, your cowardice and all your fondly nurtured bigotries?

Really, it's not good enough, is it? And it's no good blaming the drop in work standards upon bad management, either... though, to be sure, the management is very bad. In fact, let us not mince words: The management is terrible! We've had a string of embezzlers, frauds, liars, and lunatics making a string of catastrophic decisions. This is plain fact.

But who elected them?

It was you! You who appointed these people! You who gave them the power to make your decisions for you!

While I'll admit that anyone can make a mistake once, to go on making the same lethal errors century after century seems to me nothing short of deliberate. You have encouraged these malicious incompetents, who have made your working life a shambles. You have accepted without question their senseless orders. You have allowed them to fill your workspace with dangerous and unproven machines. You could have stopped them.

All you had to say was, "No." You have no spine. You have no pride. You are no longer an asset to the company.

I will, however, be generous. You will be granted two years to show me some improvement in your work. If at the end of that time you are still unwilling to make a go of it...

You're fired.

That will be all. You may return to your labours. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.

-- The anarchist V's call to arms-slash-threat to the people of fascist-ruled Britain in Alan Moore's V For Vendetta
 
Five-minute maybe; fluff no. You think any poem shorter than five minutes is fluff? How about every song ever?

The kind of wordcraft that goes into good poetry is not something you see in comics, where descriptive terminology is generally confined to "Whizzz!" "Bang!" "Pow!" and one would be hard-pressed to find anything much more challenging than what you hear on the nightly news. Not exactly a hotbed of poetic or even prosaic excellence.

As for songs--most of what gets on the radio these days most definitely is fluff. The better lyricists, unfortunately, do not enjoy anywhere near the same level of success, nor do the more inventive musicians.

I know where the communication problems are - you are posting from the 1960s!
 
I've generally found over the years that a typical comic book takes around 12-15 minutes to read, give or take, and I tend to read them fairly quickly, not lingering on the art.

Same here, although if the art is particularly intriguing, I'll often go back to an issue again and again. In the 80s I used to keep my folders of the first series of Marvel and DC ST next to the bed and often found myself riffling through them.
 
I have literally never seen one with "WHIZZ!" "BANG!" and "POW!" in it.

Hehehe. But TOS movie-era comics, under Mike Carlin, were notorious for hand phasers that often went:

"Beedeebeedeebeedeebeedee!!!"

Causing much hilarity when my ST club did selected readings at monthly meetings or newspaper collating weekends.
 
I have literally never seen one with "WHIZZ!" "BANG!" and "POW!" in it.

Hehehe. But TOS movie-era comics, under Mike Carlin, were notorious for hand phasers that often went:

"Beedeebeedeebeedeebeedee!!!"

Causing much hilarity when my ST club did selected readings at monthly meetings or newspaper collating weekends.

"Beedeebeedeebeedeebeedee!!!" was the first DC TNG miniseries. I remember because, as a 5 year old, it became my war cry charging around the house with a homemade cardboard phaser :lol:.
 
"Beedeebeedeebeedeebeedee!!!" was the first DC TNG miniseries. I remember because, as a 5 year old, it became my war cry charging around the house with a homemade cardboard phaser :lol:.

Pretty sure it was also "The Apple" sequel in TOS.

I remember because, as a 28 year old, it became my war cry charging around the house with a homemade cardboard phaser :lol:.
 
I think the literacy of comic books should be a thread of its own. It has siderailed what was a pretty good thread to follow until you guys started debating the value and literacy of comics. As far as I'm concerned they are two completely different art forms and both have their validty but I don't come here to read about comics.

Kevin
 
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For some shorter examples of comic book dialogue of the non-whiz-bang-pow variety:

"It has always been the province of children and fools to point out that the emperor has no clothes. But the emperor remains an emperor, and the fool remains a fool."

"Justice?" It repeated. "Justice is a delusion you will not find on this or any other sphere. And wisdom? Wisdom is no part of dreams, lithe walker, though dreams are a part of the sum of each life's experiences, which is the only wisdom that matters. But revelation? That is the province of dream."

"You are mortal: it is the mortal way. You attend the funeral, you bid the dead farewell. You grieve. Then you continue with your life."

"I like the stars. It's the illusion of permanence, I think. I mean, they're always flaring up and caving in and going out. But from here, I can pretend... I can pretend that things last. I can pretend that lives last longer than moments. Gods come, and gods go. Mortals flicker and flash and fade. Worlds don't last; and stars and galaxies are transient, fleeting things that twinkle like fireflies and vanish into cold and dust. But I can pretend."

"Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so a simple phrase like 'maybe we should just be friends' or 'how very perceptive' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart."

"We were never loves, and we never will be, now. I do not regret that, however. I regret the conversations we never had, the time we did not spend together. I regret that I never told him that he made me happy, when I was in his company. The world was the better for his being in it. These things alone do I now regret: things left unsaid. And he is gone, and I am old."

"Sometimes I suspect that we build our traps ourselves, then we back into them, pretending amazement the while."

-- All from Neil Gaiman's Sandman
 
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