Comic books, and why I'm a grownass man who loves them.

I made what's likely to be my last trip for a long time to my favorite comic book store yesterday. It had been about six weeks since my last visit, so my haul ended up costing me more than any grownass man should spend on funny books.

I came to comic books late in life, and I'm still a novice compared to most fans with a serious habit. I gravitate toward DC and a few smaller publishers, like Image. For the most part, I'm not a Marvel guy. After several years of steady consumption, I recommend that every writer -- and serious reader -- study up.

When I read comics, I plow through the dialogue first before I take in the artwork. Often, dialogue is the only type of textual narrative device that you'll find on a page. The art handles conveying the exposition and description (we'll return to that). Comic books are an excellent case study of good and bad dialogue. The cringe-worthy stuff, in the words of my college writing mentor, hits you in the ear like a spitball. The good stuff unravels without effort -- like a conversation.

I have to force myself to stop and appreciate the artwork. The lack of pictures has always been the appeal of reading, to me. With the right words, I can conjure the images in my head. I like the notion that my image of Holden Caulfield is not your image of Holden Caulfied. With a comic book, you don't have that option. You're forced to appreciate the harmony (or discord) of words and art. When the two are in sync, you gain a finer appreciation of the vivid images your prose is supposed to create. It gives the writer something to strive for. 

If Harold Bloom reads this (and I suspect he won't), I don't expect him to walk to his local comic book store and buy The Dark Knight Returns or Kingdom Come in trade paper (though he should). But there's still hope for you, isn't there?

Book report | 'The Professor In The Cage' by Jonathan Gottschall

“Then a roundhouse kick reminded me of why it’s much better to bite down on the mouthpiece. The kick sank my teeth hard into my lower lip. I struggled as my opponent pushed me into the fence and tried to drag me down. The flavor of the blood pulsing into my mouth was nauseatingly good, and it made everything clear: by nature, men like the salt taste of blood.”

— Jonathan Gottschall, The Professor In The Cage

In its opening pages, Jonathan Gottschall, a struggling college English professor, becomes a willing test subject by immersing himself in the body-breaking world of mixed martial arts -- a blood sport maligned for its brutality and culture of machismo. In the process, he delves into the nature of self-confidence, masculinity and violence. What he learns from the black eyes, stints on crutches and hyper-extended limbs -- as well as a near-scientific analysis of martial arts and careful examination of pugilistic history -- surprises him and likely will offend many.

On the surface, this book seems like a man who has watched Fight Club one too many times living out his fantasy of defeating his own cowardice and cutting closer to the fascia of our nature. In fact, every time he mentions the book, I found myself wincing. But Gottschall is more deft than that. He knows he's traversing well-traveled territory of writers and journalists who have either fought themselves, or written extensively about the subject, such as Joyce Carol Oates, George Plimpton and Norman Mailer. What sets him apart is his willingness to to look closely into the mirror to find out what fighting means for man and mankind.

“The whole project made me think differently about masculinity, about the codes, tendencies and rituals of manhood. It made me feel more compassion for my own sex—locked as we are, pathetically and sometimes tragically, into a lifetime of monkey dancing. Although it is perhaps regrettable that men are so competitive, so dominance obsessed, it’s still a lucky thing that we have our monkey dances. Most of the time, they keep our contests civilized.”

— Jonathan Gottschall, The Professor In The Cage

Will I ever be able to watch an MMA event without a twinge of guilt? Or hear the thwack of leather smashing into a skull without recoiling? Or watch Muhammad Ali nod off during  a live interview without feeling sorrow? No. No. And no. But like Gottschall, I accept why people want to step inside an octagon or a ring and throw bones at each other. And I respect them for it.

Cocktail hour reads.

Good evening, friends. And a happy Mother's Day to all the mother's out there. I just got back from seeing my mother, up in the wilds of North Jersey. The drive back to Jersey City -- with my lady beside me and big band music on the stereo -- couldn't have been better. Now's the perfect time to pour yourself your favorite adult beverage of choosing and stimulate your gray matter. Here are some interesting things I found this week:

• A photographer traces his grandfather's journey across Europe during WWII when he discovers a box full of his undeveloped film. (Huckberry Journal).
• The pine snake is common throughout the southeast. They tend to stay south of the North Carolina border -- except for the population that lives in the sandy soil of the New Jersey Pine Barrens. (NJ.com)
• I got my first induction to Harold Bloom my junior year of high school with his How to Read and Why, which I still think is one of the greatest titles of all time. I didn't know he was still alive, let alone still writing. And, apparently, he's a fan of stuffed animals. (New York Magazine).

Cocktail hour reads.

Sunday nights, and the prospect of another week in the trenches, have always been difficult for me. Over the years, I've learned to sink my nose into a book or magazine. It puts me back into the present, and primes my brain for the work week ahead.

With that, it's the perfect time to pour yourself a beverage of your choosing, put on some big band music, and do some reading. Think of this as your digital evening newspaper. Enjoy.

• A teen's parents are fighting to allow her to use medicinal marijuana -- the only medicine that has alleviated her condition --  while in school (NJ.com).
• Tim Ferriss explains the importance of a morning ritual. (fourhourworkweek.com)
• Your cat is trying to talk to you (New York Magazine).
• You're racking your kettlebells wrong (Onnit Academy).

The life unread.

As an unpublished author, I feel like I'm not in any position to be giving advice on writing. For the most part, I'll be sticking to providing fuel for creative endeavors. But this is a subject on which I feel comfortable giving advice.

You're not reading enough. As someone who makes a living reading, the experience has strengthened my approach when I switch to the other side of the desk. My best teachers are other writers.

When I read, plot is secondary to the workings of the complex machinery that the author has put to paper. I want to know what about her prose is making me feel a certain way. Or how he captures the nuance of a New York accent. Or why she's turned her back on adverbs. To put it another way, I read like a painter might look at a painting in a gallery. Instead of gazing from a comfortable distance, I'm up close, examining the brush strokes.

Why aren't you reading more books? Blame the internet-connected device you're holding. Put it down and read something. You'll feel better and you'll learn something about how this complex machine runs.