You’ve spoken a couple of times—in Ushant and more guardedly or more subtly in the poetry—of your faith in consciousness. You speak of the “teleology of consciousness” at one point. This sounds almost as if you’re looking for a new spiritual attitude toward life, a new religion not based on religious dogma or revelation or a conventional God. Is there anything to this?
Possibly. I don’t know whether I’d put it quite like that. Of course I do believe in this evolution of consciousness as the only thing which we can embark on, or in fact, willy-nilly, are embarked on; and along with that will go the spiritual discoveries and, I feel, the inexhaustible wonder that one feels, that opens more and more the more you know. It’s simply that this increasing knowledge constantly enlarges your kingdom and the capacity for admiring and loving the universe. So in that sense I think what you say is correct. Ushant says this.
One statement that’s always impressed me is the preface you recreated for The House of Dust in 1948 in which you wrote that “implicit in this poem was the theory that was to underlie much of the later work—namely, that in the evolution of man’s consciousness, ever widening and deepening and subtilizing his awareness, and in his dedication of himself to this supreme task, man possesses all that he could possibly require in the way of a religious credo: when the half-gods go, the gods arrive; he can, if he only will, become divine.” Is that too extreme a statement, do you feel, now?
No, I would stand by that. Which is really, in sum, more or less what my Grandfather Potter preached in New Bedford.
You once wrote, speaking of the great writers of the American nineteenth century—Whitman, Melville, Hawthorne, James, Poe: “We isolate, we exile our great men, whether by ignoring them or praising them stupidly. And perhaps this isolation we offer them is our greatest gift.”* It seems to me you didn’t receive much attention from the time of your Pulitzer Prize in 1930 until, at best, fairly recently—that you were ignored in the way you speak of for almost thirty years. “This isolation we offer” as “our greatest gift”—would this be true of yourself also?
I think so. I think it’s very useful to be insulated from your surrounds, and this gives it to you because it gives you your inviolate privacy, without pressures, so that you can just be yourself. I think that what’s happening today, with all the young poets rushing from one college to another, lecturing at the drop of a hat and so on, is not too good; I think it might have a bad effect on a great many of the young poets. They—to quote Mark Twain—“swap juices” a little too much, so that they are in danger of losing their own identity and don’t give themselves time enough in which to work out what’s really of importance to them—they’re too busy. I think Wordsworth and Coleridge had the right idea, too—they deliberately sequestered themselves.
* London Mercury, vol. 4, no. 23, Sept. 1921. [link to New Republic, Oct. 12, 1921: 174, quoting this line]
Read on the heels of Slott's Superior Spider-Man arc (see below), I was less than impressed. The first volume was a good start: Peter Parker, newly restored to his body after defeating Doctor Octopus (who had taken over Peter's body--and life--as the "superior" Spider-Man), goes about repairing the damage done to his reputation as a civilian and as a superhero by the oddly well-meaning Doc Ock. As Spider-Man he apologies to New York City as a whole, and as Peter Parker he makes amends with his aunt, Mary Jane, and a host of others. But in volumes 2 and 3 we leave this character-building track behind to instead watch dozens of alternate-reality Spider-Men/Women/Robots, etc., join together with Peter to battle Morlun, an old mainstay in Spider-Man's rouges' gallery, and Morlun's multiverse-spanning family of Spider-assassins. These two volumes are all action, little plot, and no character. In a phrase, they bummed me out, reminding me why I stopped reading Marvel comics back in the '80s. In volume 4 Peter gets back to trying to save his company (which Doc Ock created), but by this point I'd lost interest. And volume 1.1 was just a modern retelling of Spider-Man's origin, released in conjunction with the second Amazing Spider-Man movie. Bleh.
Fans of the Iron Man, Avengers, and Captain America movies who don't read comics may not know that the Black Widow is most popularly associated with Daredevil in the comics. Granted, she first showed up as a nemesis for Iron Man, but by the early '70s she appeared most often alongside the Man without Fear--even sharing title billing with Daredevil on his own comic book for a while (
I started off loving this series. But as time went on, my unfamiliarity with Carol Danvers's extremely deep backstory started to hurt my enjoyment of the book. The first series, and the first volume of the reboot were all pretty good. The series is strongest when Captain Marvel is exploring the galaxy in a classic sci-fi manner. But I'd mostly lost interest by the last two volumes. I think part of my problem is that the book seems controlled, to some extent, by Marvel's desire to maintain Captain Marvel as a viable film property. Certain Avengers, as well as Rocket Raccoon (from Guardians of the Galaxy), show up in the series often enough that I started to wonder how much editorial meddling was involved in DeConnick's story. Possibly I'm wrong, and DeConnick is telling exactly the story she wants to, but I'm skeptical. 
Daredevil is my favorite Marvel character, but my post-childhood encounters with his comic book series have been largely disappointing. Kevin Smith's overhyped eight-issue run in 1999 was one of the lowest points of the series as far as I'm concerned, and the subsequent arcs written by David Mack and Brian Michael Bendis were OK but not great. But I'd heard that Mark Waid has been writing the heck out of Daredevil since 2011, so I bought his initial 36-issue run as well as the three volumes released so far from the current series. And it's good. Waid seems to understand the fundamental appeal of Matt Murdock and his Daredevil alter ego, and capitalizes on this understanding very well. Matt's funny again (not Spider-Man funny, but witty nonetheless), and still dark and brooding, but not too dark and brooding. Moving Matt Murdock to San Francisco in the newest volume is an interesting choice (apparently DD had moved there temporarily a few years back), and presents him with some new challenges. This is the kind of creative change that can make a fifty-year-old series fresh. (See, Smith? You don't need to kill Karen Page to make a Daredevil issue meaningful! Jerk.) Oh, and the art, primarily by Chris Samnee, is spectacular. 
The greatest villain of late-'70s blockbuster cinema gets his own comic book, which has led me to wonder if there's actually that much substance to this character who seemed so interestingly amoral and badass in Star Wars and The Empire Strikes Back. Perhaps Darth Vader was so impressive as a villain because we didn't know that much about him. His primary purpose, from a storytelling point of view, was to capture Princess Leia, kill Ben Kenobi, and set Luke Skywalker on his path to the Force. He also provides some dramatic sequences on Bespin, including torturing Han Solo and screwing up Luke's mind (not to mention his hand), but he's not a guy who has much of an interior life onscreen. George Lucas tried to remedy this with the prequel movies, and failed spectacularly. Gillen, here, does a slightly better job, but that's not saying much. I think Darth Vader functions better as the scary, unknowable antagonist of our Rebel heroes, rather than as a three-dimensional character. Let's not forget, as Ben Kenobi said, that he's more machine than man. Perhaps he should stay that way.
This is the book that got all the publicity that convinced me to give Marvel a try in the twenty-first century. Fortunately, it's one of the books that actually delivered on what was promised. The story, the art--it's all really good. It has the perfect balance of humor and drama, along with some effectively experimental stories that I'd expect to find in a book published by an independent company like Fantagraphics. I'm disappointed that this series is over; it's one of the few that I would've continued to read.
As the one series in the bunch written and drawn by a single creator, I had high hopes for Iron Fist. Andrews's artwork is amazing, but his writing is less than stellar. I liked the plot well enough, but the script could have used some help. Of course it probably doesn't help that I don't know much about Iron Fist as a character to begin with. I felt like I was missing something, which is perhaps not Andrews's fault, but it still didn't make me want to pick up the second volume.
Warren Ellis wrote the first volume, and I didn't care for it. He effectively reintroduced Marc Spector as a vigilante who is certifiably nuts, but the six stories he wrote for the first volume didn't amount to much. He built no continuity, and the stand-alone issues weren't strong enough to impress me. I got the feeling Ellis wrote them strictly for the paycheck. Brian Wood, who wrote the second volume, did a better job of crafting a sustained story, but in the end I just couldn't get into it. 
This is the only 5-star book of the bunch as far as I'm concerned. G. Willow Wilson is a great writer (I loved her graphic novel Cairo), and her creation of a new superhero--Kamala Khan, a Muslim teenager living in Jersey City--allows Wilson to write a strong, character-based story without fifty years of continuity baggage tying her down. Ms. Marvel reminds me of the early issues of The Amazing Spider-Man, in that Kamala is a teenager with teenage problems, who tries her best to balance her superhero life with her civilian one. She fun, spunky, a bit awkward (like most teenagers), and she sometimes makes mistakes. But she learns from those mistakes in an attempt to become a better superhero. In short, she's adorable. This is a great series.
This series had so much potential. The only Marvel series of the last fifteen years that I liked (before reading this latest group, that is) was Dan Slott's run on She-Hulk in 2004–2007. That was a great book, unfortunately doomed by low sales. Soule's take on She-Hulk was charming in its own way, and Javier Pulido's oddly static artwork complemented the story extremely well. I probably would've continued to read this series, but poor She-Hulk just can't seem to hold onto a solo series for long. This one was canceled after volume 2, without ever quite shining the way Slott's series had.
I love the Silver Surfer, I love Mike Allred's artwork, and I consider this series to be another contemporary Marvel success. Dan Slott has successfully extracted the Silver Surfer from the less useful aspects of his considerable backstory to tell a series of enjoyable, wacky adventures out in the far reaches of space. His Earthling companion, Dawn Greenwood, helps to ground the Silver Surfer in a very human way. I'll keep reading this one for as long as Slott and Allred are involved.
With Disney's acquisition of Marvel Comics and Lucasfilm, the reboot of the Star Wars comic book was probably the most-anticipated mainstream comics release of 2015. Marvel's original Star Wars comic, which ran from 1977 to 1986, was an occasionally thrilling, often goofy take on the universe in which George Lucas's popular trilogy took place. I loved it, but it had its faults. This new series, which takes place between the first two movies and attempts to take the franchise a bit more seriously (again, very important corporate interests are at stake now), was a bit too dry for me. Sure, it hits all the obvious crowd-pleasing notes (Boba Fett! The cantina! Han Solo's a wise-cracking scoundrel! Boba Fett, again!) but it reads like a series plotted by committee. Perhaps I'm being cynical, but I can easily picture Disney handing Aaron a stack of notes, essentially telling him, "This is what we need to see in the comic." The story is well told, but there's not much passion in it, and who has time to read a series with no passion? Not me.
Spider-Man's arch-nemesis, Doctor Octopus, is dying in prison. Spider-Man visits him to pay his last respects. Bad idea! Doc Ock seizes the opportunity to switch bodies with Spider-Man, leaving Peter Parker to die in Otto Octavius's decrepit form. At last, Doctor Octopus has the ultimate revenge on his enemy. But just before Peter dies in Otto's old body, he tells the "new" Spider-Man that with great power comes great responsibility. Thus, Otto vows to become the Superior Spider-Man. What follows is a supervillain's attempt at becoming a hero, and the results are, well, amazing (if not truly superior). Dan Slott claims he received death threats when he made this change to the most popular character in the Marvel Universe, but he didn't deserve them. I enjoyed this series tremendously. Although he tries to be a hero, Otto Octavius is still a dick, thus his interactions with Peter Parker's friends and family (including Spider-Man's verbal sparring partner J. Jonah Jameson) are hilarious. Similarly, Otto's attempts at improving Spider-Man's crimefighting effectiveness seems to work at first, but eventually breaks down into a crazy, paramilitary disaster, causing widespread devastation across New York City. What can I say? Dan Slott's a pro. I may have hated his run thus far on the relaunched Amazing Spider-Man (see above), but that's one stumble in an otherwise pretty stellar writing career. This one's well worth reading again.
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