It’s that time of year again. Throughout the lifetime of this blog, I have attempted – though not always successfully – to review a story in late-October corresponding to the theme of Halloween. The sensationally skin-crawling work of Kelley Jones has always done wonders for scratching that seasonal itch, with the Batman: Vampire trilogy and the other glorious writings of Doug Moench coming instantly to mind. For this Halloween, Kelley Jones will be placed to one side. Instead, it’s time to explore a story which is – frankly – adored and considered to be, according to the collected edition’s own blurb, “the most successful graphic novel of all time.” Grant Morrison has become a monolith in the world of comic books – his creativity with titles and characters like Batman, Superman, Animal Man, Doom Patrol, and his own creations such as the Invisibles, have made him into something of a comic book institution. But it was a graphic novel released in the last weeks of the eighties that came not just to define Morrison’s status and legacy, but the mood and flavour of the comic books of the nineties…
Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth is a graphic novel which instantly confirmed that a new and darker age of comic books had begun. The name of the star character is a minuscule detail on a grim cover looking like no other comic book. There is no pencils or ink to marvel at; instead we have the mystical and highly unique artwork of Dave McKean. He came to fame with his covers for Neil Gaiman’s Sandman series, and he cultivates a style unseen in comic books up until that book. Released in October 1989, this horror-ish tale has been reprinted more times than anyone could count – a strong testament to its success upon its release when it made its Scottish author a rich man instantly.
Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth is a unique tale. At over 100 pages long, describing it as a ‘graphic novel’ is more appropriate than the term ‘comic book.’ No other comic book – up until this point – looks or even reads like this one. Arkham Asylum was suggested, alongside what became Animal Man (vol 1), by Grant Morrison to the editors of DC as projects he wished to work on. The British Invasion of comic books, with Alan Moore at its head, was nothing short of a revolution. Comics entered the dark age not simply of violence and sex, but more deeper storytelling, darker emotions, and weighty plots woven by ideas of psychological damage. Perhaps that last one aptly describes Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth.
Morrison’s graphic novel is bookended by the words of Lewis Carroll from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. These words about the admittance and acceptance of madness instantly paint the walls of the story with its theme – universal insanity. This is Arkham Asylum, the serious house, on a serious earth, where every soul in that building has been driven mad. In this story, Morrison takes a tale of two characters. The first is Batman, who has learned that the lunatics have literally taken over the asylum! The Joker in is control of Arkham Asylum and he – and the other inmates – will begin killing the innocent staff unless the Dark Knight comes along and plays a game. Right from the start, Morrison captures the dark mood of this serious world with stunning bleakness. Batman is a shadowy figure, a creature of the night. However, Morrison depicts a surprisingly vulnerable Dark Knight, one who freely admits that he doesn’t want to enter Arkham Asylum out of fear. It’s clear from the beginning that this is a story that will test Batman as he must confront some of his inner demons. Batman is afraid; his admittance of that to Gordon feels uncharacteristic and occurs too early in the story. Morrison writes a more exposed and emotionally-charged Batman – if this scenario occurred in the mainstream title, Batman wouldn’t think twice about quietly rushing off to Arkham to deal with the chaos. This time, things are different.
While Batman heading to Arkham to stop the chaos chronicles one half of the tale, the other side of the tracks takes us to the tragedy of Amadeus Arkham. Amadeus is not a new character – he has been mentioned as the founder of the asylum before, but little detail has ever been given. Here, Morrison pulls back the curtain to reveal a theatre stage of a most tragic life. Amadeus was a boy when his mother went insane. From watching her eating bugs to witnessing her suicide, Amadeus’s mother and her suffering has come to define him. He became a psychiatrist in Metropolis, raising a family before transforming his old family home in Gotham City into the Arkham Asylum we know and love (sort of) today. It all sounds so dreamy, but Morrison writes the backstory of Amadeus with such sharpness that each moment of revelation and shock feels like a dagger to the stomach. Amadeus came to treat a patient called Martin Hawkins, a mad soul whose lust for murder and blood makes him an ideal patient for Amadeus to treat. The world of idealism – a lost soul being rescued from the midst of deep darkness by a loving family man – is drowned by Morrison as we turn the grimly-painted pages to discover that Hawkins escaped from his cell only to rape and kill Amadeus’s wife and daughter. This moment drives Amadeus over the edge – he delivers the final blow to Hawkins through unending electric-shock therapy, burning out his insides. Morrison’s biographical picture of Amadeus certainly contains weight and emotion – we come to learn the details of Amadeus’s life and watch as it all erodes by tragedy and dreams crushed by nightmares. His belief in a better way is crushed, leading him to become insane and locked up in his own asylum. This is the first time any backstory was ever given about the Asylum, and it certainly has its memorability and impact.
For a time, the relevance of Amadeus’s story – aside from the setting – is hidden. Batman heads to Arkham and it’s here where the story’s great asset is on show. Morrison, with his dark humour and unique grasp of dialogue, was always well-suited to write the words of the Clown Prince of Crime. Here, Morrison writes – with the great help of Dave McKean – the most terrifying rendition of the Joker to date. With his piercing eyes and lack of any humanity, this is the darkest this monster can appear. He is a psychopath – there is no other way to put it. However, unlike the writers of later-Batman stories – especially during the New 52 – Morrison remembers that that he is the Joker! While maiming and murdering, he exudes mirth and merriment. That dark humour and his unpredictable nature make him into a devilish foe, particularly in this tale. Morrison’s brilliance in this department is best displayed in the moment when the Joker calls Batman to Arkham. While speaking through the phone, the Joker seemingly murders a young girl with a pencil in what sounds like a bloodcurdling scene of torture. That heightens tensions immediately. Yet, when Batman arrives at the asylum, he finds the Joker was – characteristically – joking.
The girl is fine! That pleasant surprise is dulled when, later in the tale, the Joker murders an innocent out of pure anger with a bullet to their head. Morrison captures the unpredictable nature of the Joker with flair; his back-and-forth dialogue with Batman make for great reading, especially as their differing emotive styles clash.
So, Batman has gone to the madhouse. The cast of characters is a mixture of familiar villainous faces and a few members of staff who have somehow deluded themselves into thinking they are doing God’s work. One doctor has even gone so far as to take Two Face’s half-scarred silver dollar from him and replaced it with some tarot cards, therefore (in theory) giving the former DA more than two choices. However, it has become so overwhelming that Two Face can’t even muster up the strength to contemplate using the bathroom – the results of which have been far from enjoyable. This dark humour is characteristic of Morrison. With Batman now inside the asylum, what’s next? The Joker wants to play a game of hide-and-seek. He wants Batman to travel the grim corridors of a building occupied by those insane foes who have come to loathe him. Batman must survive reacquainting himself with the likes of the Mad Hatter, Scarecrow, Two Face, Maxie Zeus, and a few others. The purpose is quite clear. The message of Arkham Asylum is very clear – Batman is just as insane as the villains he fights. He has haunted by trauma that has lived inside him since his childhood was torn away from him by Joe Chill. Naturally, such a mention of that pivotal moment means we must now witness Dave McKean’s version of that fateful night in Crime Alley (even though we all know what happened). But throughout the story, especially during the middle and towards the end when Batman travels the dark hallways of the asylum, that idea that Batman is insane stays with you. Including characters from the Rogues Gallery was an obvious choice, and McKean’s take on some of them is very unique and interesting.
It's in the middle where the story dramatically slows down and we have absorbed the nightmares of the asylum and the villains who occupy it. However, when the tale reaches its end, the plotting falls into a bottomless cave of confusion. It turns out that Amadeus, locked away for insanity, got to work in his cell and scratched – literally with his fingernails – spells and incantations onto the stone floor. Why? It’s revealed that poor Amadeus’s mother believes she was haunted by a bat – one of the causes, or symptoms, of her insanity. This revelation felt quite silly really, especially compared to the much darker and gasp-inducing moment when it’s shown that Amadeus actually helped his mother kill herself. The idea that – out of insanity – Amadeus has scratched magical symbols on the floor of his cell to haunt Arkham Asylum with the bat is insane. Maybe Morrison wrote it to be so, but I find it hard to take seriously or really even understand. Either way, the real villain of Arkham Asylum is revealed to be one of the whacky doctors working there. We were barely introduced to him before we forget about his very existence! He has been reading the journals of Amadeus Arkham and all he can see is the light shining from his backside. This doctor, who released all the inmates, blames Batman for everything – despite the fact that Amadeus Arkham died years ago, and his mother died long before even Bruce Wayne’s parents were born. In short, the villain is a crazed doctor who believes he is some kind of messiah. He is killed rather quickly by another doctor who appeared for just a brief moment earlier. So, while the drama and tragedy of Amadeus Arkham was some genuinely gripping and emotional storytelling, the tale of his vague follower is anything but.
That all said, the ending to the story is a mixture of comedy and hope. The comedy comes with the Joker, who says that Batman can leave after one final game. That game all comes down to the toss of a coin, specifically Two-Face’s silver dollar. The scarred villain tosses his coin and allows Batman to leave, even though the scarred side – denoting death for the Dark Knight – came up. It’s a sign that underneath all that wreckage of trauma, there is a glint of light from above. Perhaps the same applies to Batman; upon leaving the asylum (without really returning much order to it) the Joker tells him that he’ll always have a place there. The Dark Knight can perhaps find solace in his own insanity. After all, that is the point of Amadeus Arkham. The similarities between Batman and Arkham are striking – they are both hopeful figures created by guilt and darkness. The only difference is that Arkham long since drowned in that, while Batman resists falling into that unending dark pit.
I suppose that back in 1989, reading Arkham Asylum must have been unlike anything else. No Batman story was ever quite like it. However, subsequent writers have explored the ‘is Batman just as insane as his villains’ idea to the infinite degree. Sure, Arkham Asylum may be slightly more subtle (but not that subtle) in its approach, but the idea has been done to death. Perhaps that explains why I am not exactly enamoured with Morrison’s most famed work here. Readers have heard all of this before. For me, there is a much larger problem in that the story is often too aimless. Why are these events happening? Why is Batman playing along? There are too many long pauses with an absence of tension or drama. The story is dramatically overlong. Originally it was to be half its final length, but Dave McKean wanted more pages. It appears that such an obsession with the artwork has drowned out a comprehensible and potentially enjoyable story. The same applies to Morrison forcing in ideas of magic and mysticism, linking it all through to the symbol of the bat. Sometimes, Morrison can be an extremely clever writer, to the point of great satisfaction. On other occasions, he can be clever with irritating pretentiousness. It feels like he is trying too hard to tie things all through. Perhaps readers can only get pure joy from this story if they are actually insane themselves – there are some great ideas in here, but too little occurs and there are moments of confusion or pointlessness. Maybe that was the point. Morrison perhaps wanted to paint a world of insanity flooded with details of story points and ideas that make no sense, but the trouble is that it just doesn’t work. The lack of a sense of direction, the lack of a narrative from a barren half-way mark onwards, makes Arkham Asylum a failed experiment. And this is despite Morrison’s skill when writing the likes of the Joker and Batman, even if the latter is too emotive and openly anxious throughout.
When Morrison wrote Arkham Asylum in the late eighties, he originally imagined that the realism of Brian Bolland would be suited to it. If Bolland had been the artist, then would we view this story differently? Undoubtedly, yes. Dave McKean’s scratchy and hazy style is a far-cry from Bolland’s work. While painted and semi-realistic, it’s style is one of exaggerated horror and surrealism. I can see the appeal, especially for these darker tales and horror-themed stories. However, it isn’t my favourite kind of artwork. Even though McKean makes the Joker look utterly terrifying (even if the insane bright red font looks absurd and is often unreadable), I will prefer the likes of Bolland or Aparo. I feel as if the reputation of Arkham Asylum lies largely on this unique style of art. If Arkham Asylum looked like your average 1980s comic book, it’s adult themes would appear less impressive or – forgive me for saying such a thing – sensical. McKean just makes the world of Arkham Asylum look even more insane, thereby adding to Morrison’s quest to pen the most crazed of comic book stories.
VERDICT
Overall, Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth is unique. I firmly believe that Morrison has written it to make little or no sense in some areas. I find it difficult to enjoy because subsequent writers had made it their mission to pen predictable tales comparing the Dark Knight to his equally insane foes. Of course Batman is insane. That message of Arkham Asylum is hard to disagree with, but it’s the lack of direction, a staleness in the middle, and a confusing ending that make it difficult to enjoy. Amadeus Arkham is easily the best feature – as for the rest, it is the mess that Morrison intended it to be.
Next Week: Adventures in the DC Universe: Cipher Rules (Adventures in the DC Universe 10-14). Written by Steve Vance with art by John Delaney and Ron Boyd.
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