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I’m quite annoyed by Paul O’Brian’s review of Promethea from Ninth Art. I don’t mind that he doesn’t care for Promethea’s subject matter—there’s no arguing with taste—but O’Brian goes on to stereotype the Promethea audience as would-be elitists who sneer down their aquiline noses at the common man who can’t appreciate Promethea the way they can: “If only you were as insightful and thoughtful as we are, you'd be able to appreciate PROMETHEA for the work of genius it is. What a shame it is that you're some kind of mental defective. You probably listen to the Backstreet Boys.”
As a admirer of the series, I know that it’s not to everyone’s taste, but I find that it appeals to more than lone connoisseurs. I’ve introduced several friends to Promethea. Some loved it, some were ambivalent, but the quality of the series’ art and writing have such universal appeal that no one I’ve shown it to has hated it outright. (I assure you my friends, a contentious bunch, wouldn’t hesitate tell me if they disliked the series.)
O’Brian acknowledges that the writing and art in Promethea are masterful, but belittles the series’ content as little more than the musty philosophical ramblings of a flaky ex-hippy. He concludes that the book will never attract more than a fringe audience.
I must disagree. The art of Promethea drew me in, but it’s the substance of the series that has elevated it to the top of my list of recommended comic reading. The didactic approach Promethea brings to comics makes it stand out in an industry largely devoid of any goal beyond entertainment. It’s refreshing to read a comic book that expounds on metaphysics and philosophy, and tells an engaging story in the process. Now, I’m not a believer in the occult; I’m an agnostic and skeptic with a “prove it!” attitude to the supernatural. But Promethea isn’t really about “magic” in the sense of casting spells and summoning spirits. It’s about ideas, and the seemingly supernatural power some ideas have to perpetuate themselves. With less suspension of disbelief than it takes to believe in a green ring that can create giant hammers, I enjoy the series completely.
O’Brien’s complaints aside, there’s reason to think that this kind of writing has wide appeal. Witness the abiding popularity of certain contemporary novelists that expound philosophy in their fiction (Tom Robbins, “Even Cowgirls Get the Blues”; Robert Pirsig, “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance”; Richard Bach, “Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah”  . To believe that a similarly diverse audience for Promethea couldn’t exist is to take a narrow view of comic’s potential, to suppose that the comics can be entertainment and nothing more. I hope Promethea finds its audience, because something this delightful shouldn’t be kept a secret. |
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Heh, I called it "Swampo Thing". Heh. 
