The backlash was swift and merciless: clearly Morrison was no more than a DC stooge, an industry apologist. He couldn’t possibly just be a writer with his own opinion, frustrated that his words were stripped of intent and context, twisted and gnarled into the readers cynical interpretation.
Reminder from the New Statesmen: anytime that comic fans ever disagree with comic creators, it’s because they’re cynical backlashing word-gnarling fuckheads bereft of mercy and reason, taking words out of context, nay, taking the entirety of the English language out of context— they probably speak some weird clicking language, the savages, the SAVAGES. That’s not the creator saying that— he doesn’t have to because the person doing the interview always has to assure the reader that they’re above the fray. ALWAYS. EVERY TIME. Quitting that would be like quitting oxygen. And as the band the Sweet once sang, Your Love is Like Oxygen, so according to the transitive property of mathematics, if the person writing the article doesn’t assure us that comic fans are terrible people, then that’s basically the equivalent of kicking the Sweet out of bed! The Sweet! Brian Connolly. Steve Priest. Andy Scott. Mick Tucker. You would kick Mick Tucker out of bed?! Who would dare? WHO WOULD DARE? They sang Ballroom Blitz, you guys. Ballroom Blitz. Just think about that.
Except the writer is right in this instance. What is a cynic but an idealist who’s been burned? Who are more idealistic than comics fans, believing their favored creators believe everything they write? Or is it our all-or-nothing culture?