Jackson Hyde steps out of the shadow of his mentor and begins the journey to accept his legacy in Aquaman: The Becoming #1 written by Brandon Thomas, pencilled by Diego Olortegui, inked by Wade Von Grawbadger, colored by Adriano Lucas and lettered by AndWorld Design.
There’s always something thrilling about a debut that knows exactly what it wants to be. Even more so when said debut can actually materialize that intentionality and actually execute on its promises.
And sitting here, ruminating on the experience I had with this debut, I’m immensely thrilled.
Right from the title, what you’re being given in this Jackson Hyde-starrer isn’t Aqualad. It’s Aquaman, for it is what this young Aqualad is set to become. And that’s what that second part of that title is there for.
The Becoming.
It’s a tale of transformation. It’s a tale of change. It’s a moment of transition, of growing past who you were to morph into who you must become. And the son of Black Manta must ascend to the title of his father’s greatest enemy and his dearest mentor.
It’s a crucial story in that sense, as it’s the rare ascendance tale you don’t often get in Big Two comics; it’s meaningful change, it’s progress and evolution of a character for good. It’s the kind of thing that made people fall in love with legacy figures like Dick Grayson, particularly during the Morrison Batman and Robin era, and Wally West, who both got to ascend to the titles of their mentor and embody those roles for a whole new generation. It felt like the heirs who’d been preparing all their lives finally got their hour and due, their moment and spotlight, as they picked up the enterprises of their father figures and carried them forward. And they did so with great uncertainty, with tremendous doubts, for how do you bear the burden and baggage of such grand titles and legacies? How do you go from who you were into this thing you’re supposed to be?
It’s the kind of propulsive, forward-gazing superhero storytelling DC Comics has largely strayed away from in its endless series of reboots/retcons/redefinition cycles, as commercial interests and conservative impulses drove things back to the net of assumed safety.
The question of “How do we take all that has been, all that’s been done, and move forward meaningfully?” is an important one, and it’s ultimately what this start is deeply rooted in. The creative crew assembled here under the editorial stewardship of Mike Cotton, Andrea Shea and Marquis Draper is reckoning with that question meaningfully, and the ways in which it does are what I find endlessly fascinating.
You look at Aquaman as a title, and it’s never had anything quite like what I’ve described above. There has been no Wally West or Dick Grayson shift, or even, say, a Kyle Rayner shift. Aquaman joins Superman and Wonder Woman in the realm of struggling historically to do anything meaningful with its legacy characters.
The first Aqualad, Garth, the peer of your Wally Wests and Dick Graysons, has gotten historically nothing. Bar a really striking but largely forgotten and ignored mini-series by Phil Jimenez, Tempest, as he’s been dubbed, is largely absent from Aquaman comics and The Aquaman Legacy just isn’t as much of a key element to the title, as it’s historically sulked in the shame of just being an ‘Aqua’ anything.
The endless cycles of ‘I’ll be the one to make Aquaman cool, goddamnit!’ attempts left little room for the kind of stable, meaningful building that has helped other legacies prosper.
But the last decade or so has proven to be a real boon to Aquaman, as following the 2011 re-establishment and foundation, the whole thing was put to a bit of a rest, as Jeff Parker and Paul Pelletier picked up the character from the previous Geoff Johns era and ran forward with it, building new things. And while that was followed by about 8 issues worth of tumult under Cullen Bunn, Dan Abnett picked right back up from where Parker left off, and went on to build a substantial, meaningful epic sprawling over 50 issues of comics. Kelly Sue DeConnick then picked up that baton and told her own mythic epic with Arthur Curry and crew, closing things out with a nice little bow.
Arthur Curry as the Aquaman got to have a propulsive narrative journey and across these ten or so years, wherein things meaningfully built forward. He had a full evolution from broken, traumatized boy to conflicted superhero, troubled king, to an accepting king, to no king at all. He’s been everything from a mythic folk hero and freedom fighter to seafaring super-adventurer in all that time, and he’s kept moving forward, growing, until he finally became a father. He’s lived, he’s died, he’s had his roles and titles given and stripped, he’s assessed and re-assessed his priorities. And he’s a different person than he once was, and there’s a sense of completeness, a sense of satisfactory conclusion, in a sense, to all this. This sort of consistency, evolution, and building across different hands, really opens you up to the kind of aforementioned legacy building that gives birth to your Wallys and Dicks.
Which brings us to Jackson Hyde, who was really birthed in that same decade, via Greg Weisman/Brandon Vietti/Phil Bourrossa’s Young Justice. Brought over to the comics, he took on the moniker of Jackson Hyde, and since then has been stuck in the sidelines of titles.
But here, at last, he comes alive in his own solo title, as has long been deserved.
The conceit of Jackson has long been rich, rich material that has been explored far too little in the comics. Every character needs an arch-nemesis, and Aquaman’s forever had one in Black Manta. And the central conflict between the two is the thematic idea of The Death Of The Father. Manta hates Arthur for killing his own father, with Arthur having done so because he thought Manta targeted his own father. It’s this vicious cycle of hatred, this never ending loop, centered on and around paternal relationships.
Now, to take that and drop the bomb of “Oh, yeah, Manta has a son…and Arthur is his actual father figure?” Now that’s huge. That is juicy drama right there.
This bloody bastard took my father, my heart and soul, my past, and now he’s even stolen my son from me?! He’s got his hands even on my future. He’s got my damn son.
Manta’s rage, Arthur’s guilt (from what he did to Manta’s father), and poor Jackson, caught between the two and their hate-cycle.
But more vitally, who this boy is, what he thinks, what he believes, what he wants, and who he might be, these are all fascinating questions. Jackson, just by existing, adds so much fuel to light the fire of the story-engines in Aqua-comics, that it’s ridiculously exciting. He’s a whole canvas of loaded potential, just waiting to be unlocked, a figure to forge forward into the future, past the first Aqualad due to his sheer conceptual potency.
And that’s what this book understands, and leads with. It’s a comic fascinated with who Jackson Hyde is, and who he might be, and not just in broad superhero role terms. We already know, especially given peeks in Future State, and through the book’s title, that he will become Aquaman one day. But what kind of person will he be? Who will be the respective people who inhabit his life? Who will he be when he isn’t ‘Aquaman’? What’s his life like beyond that?
These are clearly questions the creative team of Brandon Thomas, Diego Olortegui, Wade Von Grawbadger, Adriano Lucas and Andworld Design want to clearly address and establish in this title.
How do we move forward?
Who is this person?
These are the questions leading the charge on the title, and the ways in which these questions are addressed I find deeply enjoyable.
Right out the gate, we open Apokolips, in a scene that is effectively laying out the mission statement.
This is what awaits Jackson Hyde, if he is to take on this role. This is what he must steel himself for and be prepared for. The very manifestation of the ultimate hell, the absolute nightmare, the death and destruction of all, until only he remains, the sole remnant of the powers which keep despair and nihilism at bay.
This is what Aquaman is.
Now, can you measure up, can you do this? Do you know what you’re taking on? Because you better make damn sure you do.
That’s the purpose of this whole scene, which works great for both the character and the readership. If you’ve never read Aquaman comics, this is a striking start and you’re sucked right in. If you have read Aquaman comics, it’s a memorable moment that has some weight, as you bring your own investment and meaning of what Aquaman is.
But even beyond that, the actual choice of wording here I find terribly pleasing. Let’s break it down.
DARKSEID IS.
The iconic Grant Morrison mantra from JLA that took Jack Kirby’s ultimate antagonist, and his ethos, and captured it in a simple phrase. It’s like a horrific incantation. An invocation of nihilistic tendencies, and a line that is chilling in its absolute nature.
It’s about the absolute nature of humanity’s own dark side (thus the iconic antagonist’s name), and how it just is and you cannot avoid it. All you can do, all you must do, is rise above it. You must rise above your own dark side: all your nihilism, all your despair, all your fears, all your inadequacies, you must rise above them when it counts, when it truly matters.
Symbolically it’s a great and pitch-perfect way to illustrate what an actual goddamn iconic superhero’s appeal is, and what their deal is. This is what you’re here for. This is what you must do. This is what you must ever ascend from, o’ Aquaman-to-be. This is what a proper, true superhero does. A superhero fights the ultimate nightmarish vision and stands; a superhero keeps going, because that’s how you help others and yourself. That’s the strength and fortitude required.
And what I dig here is that while Morrison came up with the eerie mantra for the ur-fascist supervillain in Darkseid, which is now nigh everywhere, they also came up with its counter-mantra. It’s opposing phrase of power, which is just as potent in its simple yet effective illustration of its core conceit.
SUPERMAN CAN.
Darkseid Is. Superman Can.
Dark Side Is. Superman Can.
Humanity’s dark side absolutely exists. It cannot be denied. But so does its superhuman side. What is cannot be denied, meaning what must be focused on is what can be done. That’s what Superman Can is and means. It contrasts the absoluteness of the first phrase with the open possibility and potential of human kind.
Can what? Can anything. It’s a very Morrisonian notion, which is to say it’s all about humanity’s capacity for and our ability to do the impossible, despite all our absolute worst tendencies and bullshit.
And that’s what Brandon Thomas drills down immediately and effectively here.
AQUAMAN CAN.
It’s simple. It’s efficient. You get it.
This is all you need to know.
I’m reminded of the phrase ‘superhero poetry’ in this regard, which is how Morrison described doing little things like this. Little expressions of essences, ideas, which just drill down the essence and spirit of a thing, and get the point cleanly. And reading this, it’s hard not to get it.
And that’s just the start! This is but the opening scene! (Can you tell I bloody loved this comic yet?)
I rather love the idea that this whole scenario is a training scenario from Kirby technology set-up by Batman, and that the Apokolips test is Batman’s personal favorite.
If there’s one thing you can absolutely take away from the Morrison era Bat-Epic, particularly the Final Crisis era, it’s that while Darkseid Is, Batman will never die, which is another way of saying, Batman, the most blatantly human of the primary DC heroes, represents the undying human will to turn the dark side of oneself into something useful, productive. To find strength among the demons, and wield them for oneself to better things.
So of course the damn thing is Bruce’s favorite!
Olortegui’s work here, inked by a classic inker like Grawbadger (Starman!!) is really strong here, as they nail the emonality and body language of the characters as well as the scope and scale and the action-storytelling work like this demands.. There’s shades of everything from Greg Capullo and Jim Cheung to Mahmud Asrar in here; which is to say, Olortegui’s work is very very exciting to witness. Add in Lucas’ colors which elevate the mood of the sequences here, shifting from bleakly apocalyptic reds to the cool waters of Atlantis, and you’ve got a strong superhero title visually.
Once you factor in that the comic is then woven together by Andworld Design, a joint of prodigious letterer Deron Bennett, who recently wrapped up the striking Many Deaths Of Laila Starr, you know you’ve got some really remarkable, A+ superhero action storytelling.
Look at the cartooning on the above page. See how clearly the emotional beats land, the clarity with which Olortegui’s characters emote. The surprise in the first panel, the sudden anxiety in the second, the hurry and rush (covered by a nervous grin) in the third, then the deep embarrassment which leads to silence, Jackson biting his lip, eyes closed, and just sitting there, like he just spilled wine. Then the body language and expression of his mother in that final panel. Look at the utter clarity there, as she just watches her son, and you know precisely what’s on her mind, just like you know what’s on poor Jackson’s. (Note how Lucas colors this scene, granting it a much needed sense of warmth.)
This is the hard stuff, even more so than superheroic action, and Olortegui pulls off these little moments, like in the above sweet YA-romance cartooning, while also nailing kinetic action sequences in the issue like so:
The speed-lines, the power and sense of movement on that kick and the impact shot on the supervillain (named The Human Flying Fish lol), as blood spills out at you. Fun stuff, and all things you need to be able to nail for a solid superhero action romp, and this does that. It’s a visually exciting title, especially as Bennett’s lettering captures the sense of Thomas’ dialogue and makes it work beautifully well on the page with the work of the art-team.
But beyond all that fun stuff, I do also adore what’s being done with Jackson here. His queerness isn’t sidelined, but neither is it made into an awkward note-hitting thing some well-meaning creators do that feels like crossing a box off a checklist. It’s a fundamentally important key part of him and it’s woven into the fabric of his life, his conversations and his story here with a sense of authenticity that works. He’s immediately given a potential love-interest here, so that’s fun to see. But also just beyond that, Jackson hits upon another part of the Aquaman character that’s often overlooked, which is that the dude is a Community Hero. Everyone knows him and is like ‘Hey dude!’ and as it remains true for Arthur, it remains true for Jackson as well. He’s a good successor, and an earnest, likeable dude.
The central boiling conflict is with regards to identity and worth. Jackson is a Black queer man who is also The Son Of Black Manta and Aquaman-to-be. That’s a lot to juggle, and there’s a lot to deal with, and once you understand that, it’s understandable why the book is explicitly titled what it is. Jackson needs this. He needs to sort himself out, particularly as he faces a massive challenge.
Remember the right wing terrorist organization of Atlantis, The Deluge? Well, they’re back! Dan Abnett’s prescient creation from 2016, in his grand project to really, truly flesh out Atlantis and its mythology (which he greatly succeeded at), is here once more, as The Big Grand Antagonist terrorizing Jackson and his future. They do not believe Jackson deserves anything that he has, that he should have what he has, and they’re coming for him.
Once again, this is a book very consciously building upon what has been, and what has come before, in ways that make sense and feel additive. The narrative of the the Atlantean rightwingers absolutely losing their mind over the ascension and position of this young Black queer dude? Yeah, I buy it. That tracks. That makes sense. Of course they believe he deserves nothing and want to destroy him. And, of course, Jackson must endure, he must survive, like any individual facing oppressive forces, and it will not be easy. None of this is easy, and that’s the point. It’s a massive moment for Jackson. The more you rise, the more scumbags will come wanting to take you down, for whatever reason. And he must come out on top here, as these terrorists try to cause him harm.
Thomas recently spoke on the work and the character, which I found to be rather telling and lovely:
“I love the character and what he represents. Here is a young man who spent a long time ostracized and estranged from his birth family, who was forced to go out and create his own surrogate one to survive and thrive, which, unfortunately, is something I think a lot of people can relate to. There is also a darkness in him, that both tells him he doesn’t deserve all the great things finally happening for him and is a constant reminder that his father will always be a part of him, whether he likes it or not. Coming to grips with that is the final step in freeing himself and becoming the hero and man he wants to be.” – Brandon Thomas
That’s the story.
That, to me, makes the opening mission statement with ‘Darkseid Is.’ even more potent and deliberate. Jackson MUST reckon with his dark side, he needs to deal with all these messy feelings, and come to terms with that, to become someone he’s truly, fully happy with being. And that’s a journey I’m more than happy to go on, particularly with Thomas, who has been killing it over the last years, whether it be on indie works like Excellence, revamping classics brilliantly like in Hardware:Season One or writing what is simply the best Calvin Ellis Superman story ever.
Add all of that, and the fact that the opening story title is Things Fall Apart, nodding to Chinua Achebe’s classic novel? I’m already in.
I look forward to seeing wherever this takes me.
P.S: Arthur Curry The Aquaman meets Frankenstein on Mars. More people should meet Frankenstein on Mars. That’s what all the cool people do in all the cool comics, clearly.
Ritesh Babu is a comics history nut who spends far too much time writing about weird stuff and cosmic nonsense.
