Welcome to Exhibit A Press!

Mr Negativity
and Other Tales of Supernatural Law

Introduction by Tom DeHaven

There have been few weeks over the past 45 years when I haven’t bought and read at least a couple of new comic books. Shoot me, but I love the suckers: their dimensions, their paper, their smell, their staples, and the just-perfect amount of time—twenty minutes, roughly—that it takes to read one.

As a thing, an object, an invention, the comic book is one of the glories of American life, maybe not an essential ingredient in our cultural hash but for sure a mighty zesty seasoning. No, on second thought, it is an essential ingredient. (But did you notice, back in the late 90s, that the “comic book” never, to my knowledge, made it on to any of those summary lists of twentieth-century-defining artifacts that newspapers, magazines, and TV kept bombarding us with? Skyscrapers, guided missiles, Levittowns, compact discs, VCRs, even hula hoops and Viagra were all trotted out, numbered, and explicated, but nobody ever thought to give a nod to the poor comic book.)

Yeah, I love ’em. Except that mostly I don’t like ’em. Or rather I don’t like what’s in ’em.

Sure, I wish there was less, far less, emphasis on superheroes—don’t you?—but I have nothing against superheroes, if they’re done well. It’s just that in a medium where imagination, concision, and fluid storytelling are defining traits, are the damn foundation, those qualities don’t make even cameo appearances half the time. And yet, and yet—as long as there are creators like Batton Lash and titles like Supernatural Law (is it okay to mention that I prefer the original title, Wolff & Byrd, Counselors of the Macabre?), it’s a safe bet that I’ll be reading and loving comic books for another 45 years. (Well, maybe not 45—but 30? 25?)

This latest collection consists of stories gleaned from issues 31 through 36 of the ongoing series. Because I enjoy reading Batton’s mini-essay published on the inside front cover of every new issue, and I always check out as his generous plugs for new work by younger cartoonists, I prefer getting my hits of Wolff and Byrd hot off the comic-book press. (You should, too: Buy both versions and one day you’ll be received graciously into heaven.) Still, I’m glad for the chance to reread good work.

And these stories are good work—indeed, some of the best in the series. In fact, “The Strange Case of Mr. Negativity” and “The Co-Inkydinks” are, for my money, comic beauties of the first rank. But they’re not too comic, which is the series’ golden secret: The humor arises, always, from the situation, from the characters, and from the inevitable conflicts and action. Nothing, ever, is forced, and because it’s not, you can fall into that wonderful fictional dream where belief and engagement come as naturally as breathing, no matter how preposterous or “impossible” the storyline. Elzie Segar was a master of this particular legerdemain, as were Carl Barks, Billy DeBeck, Will Eisner, Sheldon Mayer, John Stanley, and Walt Kelly; and as are, these days, Dan Clowes, Kim Deitch, Patrick McDonnell, and Jeff Smith.

It begins with talent and a good idea, but the magic happens when those things are combined with a ferocious, committed creative engagement. They believe, you believe. Batton Lash believes, we believe.

I recall reading, somewhere, the opinion that the best and most durable of comic strips and books are those creations with the simplest premises. (I used the line in a novel I wrote, but I was cribbing.) That makes perfect sense. The simpler the premise, the more possibilities for new stories. The premise of Supernatural Law is not only simple, it’s freaking ingenious: Bogeymen need lawyers, too. What could be simpler? Or more fruitful?

Yes, yes, Professor B. Lash knows his comics history inside and out and is always happy to make a few in-jokes and to sample some “classic” comic book styles, imagery, and narrative techniques—see the “tributes” to Dave Sim and Carmine Infantino in “Huberis the Dybbuk” and “The Trial of the 800-Lb Gorilla,” respectively. But if you don’t know which craft innovations of Carmine Infantino’s are being borrowed, or haven’t the remotest clue as to why Huberis’s misogynist rants are so funny vis-à-vis Dave Sim—hey, it doesn’t matter. These stories, expertly imagined, written, and drawn by one of the art form’s true originals, stand on their own.

I love comics. Like these.

Tom DeHaven
Professor of English/Director of Creative Writing Program, Virginia Commonwealth University

author, Funny Papers; Derby Dugan’s Depression Funnies; Dugan Underground