#comics discourse

Perez: (s)he did it

Priest: he did it

Other History: he did it

Tara: he did it

Slade (80s): would it matter if I did it?

Slade (Rebirth): I did it

because they both love aspects of black culture/identity (the underdog trope is really prominent in both nerd spaces and kpop, x-men are one of the most popular superhero teams, kpop is heavily influenced by hip hop and black styling, etc) but once black people try to engage with them, they get pushed out through exclusion and being spoken over

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“Hm, well what would happen if I did read every single issue of Action Comics? Would that finally push Batman out of the top spot? Hm, only if I don’t sort by continuity. Well, how do I get New Earth Superman on top? Oh, I know! I’ll read every issue of Superman 1987 and Man of Steel! Let’s see what that does, read all! 👉✅”

First of all: Cassandra Cain is not “a Batgirl.” She is THE Batgirl. Put respect on her name.

Cass was raised by assassins. Not metaphorically. Literally. She wasn’t taught how to speak, read, or socialize — she was taught to read bodies. She understands movement, intent, violence, fear. She can tell what you’re about to do before your brain finishes deciding to do it. Batgirl (2000) issues 1–6 make this painfully clear, and issues 12–25 deepen it until you’re sitting there like, “oh wow, this is a whole new species of trauma.”

And then DC does something genuinely incredible.

In issue #5, Cass chooses to give up her body-reading ability — the one thing she’s ever been told gives her value — just so she can speak. Just so she can communicate like a human being instead of a weapon. And it destroys her for a while. She becomes clumsy. Hesitant. Afraid. Human.

The next few issues are about her rebuilding herself from scratch, figuring out who she is without the thing that made her “useful,” and it’s one of the most emotionally raw arcs DC has ever written. She even trains with Shiva again, knowing the deal is eventually a fight to the death — and when Cass wins, she refuses to kill her mother. That choice matters. That choice is the point.

Cass’s story is about agency, communication, and choosing humanity over violence, and DC keeps forgetting that’s what made her special.

Now. Stephanie Brown. The girl Gotham keeps trying to ignore and who simply refuses to stay ignored.

Steph gets written off as “Tim’s girlfriend” or “the dumb blonde,” which is wild considering she’s one of the most emotionally resilient characters in the Batfamily. She becomes Spoiler because her dad is a criminal and she’s sick of his nonsense. That’s it. No destiny, no legacy — just stubborn hope and a bad plan she commits to anyway.

Her pregnancy arc in Robin (1993) issues 55–61 is handled with actual care. She makes an impossibly adult decision. She gives birth. She chooses adoption. There’s a scene where she refuses to see the baby because “it isn’t hers,” and then she breaks down — and Tim finds her, not even knowing she was pregnant — and that moment becomes the start of a newkind of relationship between them. Not romance. Understanding.

And DC erased it.

Because apparently female characters aren’t allowed to be strong in ways men can’t be.

Steph earns the Robin mantle. She fights for it. She deserves it. And even when she’s torn down, humiliated, or sidelined, she gets back up anyway. Stephanie Brown is persistence personified. She is hope with a domino mask.

Now listen to me very carefully: Cass and Steph together are everything.

They are pure chaotic soulmate energy. Cass is quiet, observant, intense. Steph is loud, emotional, impulsive. When they’re together, they balance each other in a way that feels intimate and deliberate. You see it in Batgirl (2000) issues 20–25, 34–37, and especially 58–60.

Cass opens up around Steph. Steph treats Cass like a whole person, not a project or a weapon. The devotion is textual. I’m not saying DC intended it to be romantic — I’m just saying the yearning is so loud you can hear it even when the panels are silent.

They are not “the girls of the Batfamily.” They are the emotional backbone.

Which brings me to Barbara Gordon, because if I don’t talk about Oracle I will scream.

Barbara becoming Oracle after The Killing Joke wasn’t just character development — it changed comics. She became the strategist, the information hub, the person everyone relied on. She was powerful, respected, essential. She showed that you could be disabled and still be one of the most important heroes in the world.

Oracle wasn’t a downgrade. Oracle was a reinvention.

And DC took that away.

They erased one of the only wheelchair-using heroes in mainstream comics who wasn’t sidelined or pitied, so Barbara could be Batgirl again like nothing ever happened. Fans lost representation. Writers lost one of the most compelling perspectives in superhero storytelling. The Batfamily lost its anchor.

And for what? To make her “generic bat-themed vigilante number eight”?

We already had Cass. We already had Steph. There were so many better directions to go.

And don’t even get me started on Dick Grayson, Barbara, and Koriand’r — because DC keeps flattening all three of them into a love triangle that makes none of them look like themselves. Dick communicates better than half the Justice League. Kori deserves depth beyond “the ex.” Barbara deserved to keep the identity she built after trauma.

None of this had to be undone. DC just doesn’t know how to handle its female characters unless they fit a very specific mold.

Anyway. Cassandra Cain. Stephanie Brown. Barbara Gordon as Oracle. These characters are messy, strong, healing, hurting, hilarious, and heartbreaking. They are doing emotional labor the men literally cannot. And DC keeps sidelining them instead of letting them be the heart of the universe they helped build.

If anyone gives me an excuse, I will write a 15-page sequel to this rant.

Fuck me sideways what was that hot garbage.

I went into Robin & Batman: Jason Todd #1 hoping for a nuanced, character-driven exploration of Jason’s early days. A chance to show what makes him distinct from Dick, what makes his story tragic and compelling.

Let’s start with the art. Yes, it’s “pretty” in that washed-out, painterly way, but it does Jason zero favors. He’s stiff, lifeless, and half the time looks more like a haunted mannequin than the vibrant kid he’s supposed to be. There’s no kinetic energy, no spark that says this is the street kid who stole the tires off the Batmobile.

The writing isn’t much better. Jason's dialogue feels either sanitized or wildly generic. Like you could swap his name with any other Robin and not notice. The emotional beats are surface-level at best, cribbing the usual “you’re not Dick” tension with Bruce but never developing it. It all feels like it was written by someone who read Death in the Family once and said, “yeah, I get it.”

Also, where’s the grit? Where’s the moral ambiguity, the frustration, the charisma? Jason Todd is so much more than “the angry Robin.” He’s clever, sarcastic, passionate. He tries too hard and feels too much. None of that comes through here. We’re given a Jason who's already halfway on the path to tragedy, but without the heart that makes you care.

And let’s talk about the utter character assassination of both Bruce and Alfred while we’re at it. This comic acts like Jason Todd showed up and ruined the vibes in the Batcave, when older comics made it clear: Jason brought joy into their lives. Yes, he was a handful. Yes, he was rough around the edges. But he lit up that house in ways Bruce and Alfred desperately needed.

In the classic run, Alfred dotes on Jason. He worries about him. He teases him. Basically his grandpa! But here? Alfred feels cold and emotionally distant, like he’s barely tolerating this kid’s presence AND clocks him as dangerous.

I'm not going to touch Bruce with a ten foot pole.

Anyway. For a comic supposedly about Jason Todd’s early days, it does everything in its power to make you wonder why anyone would have ever wanted him there in the first place.

I'm incandescently angry. I just want like one competent writer for Jay. Just one.

Yeah, well. Canonically he's been beat up by his fucking DAD, when he wasn't fighting back. Canonically he was practically lobotomized, also by his fucking DAD. Canonically, the dude gets some of the worst writing this side of the anti-Batfam bullshit written for Bruce by the edgelord fuckwads actually paid at DC for their drivel.

The Venn diagram of bad writing and DC writing sometimes feels like it's almost a circle. With some nice standouts that don't make up for the bullshit the rest of them chuck at folks.