Grant Morrison’s book on superheroes and their place in our culture is:
- Schizophrenic, sometimes swinging from memoir to analysis in the space of a paragraph.
- Bereft of any footnotes that would help solidify some of his more dubious points.
- Full of his usual crazy-man jibber-jabber about his hallucinogenetic* past, further fueling the sort of people who like to say “he’s on drugs” when they can’t offer up any real analysis of his works.
- Utterly addictive reading. It could have been twice as long and I’d have enjoyed it five times as much.
*You can use that one. It’s on me.