![]() But the back cover says it's about the first year of Batman's history, and I instinctively know that I'm not allowed to call myself a fan of a comic book character unless I know literally everything about them first. Every scene sort of looks like somebody put a different color of cellophane over the lens of a camera. Standing in the graphic novel section (this is 1997, so it consists of a magazine rack on top of a single column of shelves), I pick up a book called Batman: Year One. Lately my interests have been drifting down a thin, lazy creek - from the Richard Donner Superman films to Superman: The Animated Series to Batman: The Animated Series - and they're about to hit a mighty, rushing river I'll be following for the rest of my life. About growing up with a Batman who'd never not been influenced by Miller's work. The more I chewed it over, the more I did want to write something, about how I was born the month the final issue of The Dark Knight Returns hit shelves. "The 80-page giant comic cost 25 cents, but I bought it anyway." ![]() But the irony of the situation struck me. It's not like I get on social media or draft a big story for every email asking for coverage or every box of comics that arrives on my desk. ![]() This is the usual boilerplate for this kind of thing. ![]()
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