When I was a kid, Batman and Superman didn’t just kick supervillains’ butts, they also helped me battle the slings and arrows of outrageous adolescence. I had already read many exciting classic novels like The Three Musketeers, Ivanhoe and Treasure Island, which gave me hope that — unlike the mind-numbingly boring daily routine of childhood — adulthood could be an exciting adventure in which the battle to defeat evil and corruption paid off in massive public adoration and endless attractive women. Comic books were a modern shorthand version of those thick old books, made more exciting by the addition of superpowers or cool gadgets.
