Man is egomaniacally narcissistic, sacrilegiously so. King captures the admixture of mundanity and mythology that we imagine our own to be.
“We are torn between nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known.”
Snyder sees the thin divide between awe and awful, between textual and metatextual. Then he burns dow that divide to ashes.
Klaus is Christmas’ Superman, replete with red cape, an indefatigable product of the greatest imagination of our generation, a perfectly designed emblem of highest selves.
After years of an admixture of apprehension and anticipation for the inevitable continuation of Watchman, Doomsday Clock #1 does not disappoint.
Snyder’s thesis is this: Batman would not be made better by having powers; such would prove a crutch, over-reliance on which would cripple Bruce’s brilliance.
Snyder’s sensational storytelling is reward enough, but the chance to crack the case while working alongside the World’s Greatest Detective adds all the more satisfaction.