People think they understand me. Alfred, Gordon, the boys. All of Gotham, in its way.
A main in pain, trying to save who he can.
They think…but…They don’t understand…anything. They don’t know a damn thing about me.
Because they don’t know, Cat. They have no idea. You have no idea.
But you have to. Before. Before any of this. You have to know.
What I did…What I had to do.
During the War of Jokes and Riddles.
It can take a lot to perk my interest in a Batman story. Or, him as a character. He’s so easy to get wrong, so easy, and I’ve read a lot of stories where people don’t quite have a handle on who he is a person. They write him like the icon they’ve imagine.
King does a good job with it.
I don’t know where I fully stand, yet. Currently he’s writing the 10th or 11th volume of the series, and this is only 4. He was still cutting his teeth, but already he was delivering stories with edge and thought-provoking commentary on what kind of man Batman had to become.
There’s weak spots, and I’ll talk about those some other time, but sometimes it’s all how you leave them.
This left me with my jaw open.
Thanks for reading,