Hi there! Thanks so much for coming by again. We're here with another Queer Comics from a Queer Perspective. Just to remind you, the Queer community is not a monolith, and I'm speaking only from my reading-comics-longer-than-most-of-the-people-in-my-D&D-group-have-been-alive perspective. Now that we've established that, grab a cup of coffee or tea and settle in. Since we're past Gay Christmas (Halloween, for those not in the know) and Thanksgiving is on the way, I wanted to talk about a book I'm thankful for, Gotham Central: Half a Life from 2003 by Greg Rucka and Michael Lark. Last chance to avoid spoilers!
We have another coming-out story to discuss, and I couldn't help but wonder why does this one mean so much to me? Simply put, the story sets emotion front and center. I love watching Wonder Woman and Black Canary kick butt. I love watching Storm get stormy. But we read for connection, for characters we care about and relate to. That's the power of storytelling. We care what happens and who it happens to. Otherwise, we wouldn't keep reading month after month.
Renee Montoya's story is layers and layers of yummy goodness. Rucka contrasts Maggie Sawyer and Renee, both lesbians within the GCPD in one of the best single pages I've ever read. Their experiences, while similar, are so far apart that they're in different zip codes. Renee reminds Sawyer that she isn't a woman of color and that Metropolis, where Maggie's from, isn't the same as corrupt Gotham. Why does anyone even live in Gotham City? I imagine the real estate is dirt cheap, but personally, I'd pack my bags and head to Miami, hoping Dorothy, Rose, Blanche, and Sophia needed a fifth roommate. The duality of being in the closet is brilliantly compared to Two-Face's dual personality. It's complicated, being someone you're not, having to hide something inside yourself. We've all experienced it at some point. Maybe the person you love is a Taylor Swift while you're a Lady Gaga. Or maybe you have to pretend you're all caught up with the MCU when you haven't even begun to recover from what they did to Wanda in Dr. Strange 2, and you can't watch anymore! Sorry. Where was I? Oh yes, the duality of having to hide a part of yourself. It's hard on the soul, and Michael Lark's Beautiful art shows how weary Renee is.
The heartbreak in the story of family rejecting you, believing that coming out is somehow a selfish act, breaks my heart when I read this book. I'm probably preaching to the converted here when I write that coming out is just for you, not anyone else. Being yourself -- truly, completely, and perfectly yourself -- is never selfish. It's the greatest thing you can be and the most difficult. But it also shows how found family supports us. Renee's police partner, Cris Allen, is there for her. The rest of the Major Crime Unit is as well. There are a few jokes, but they are there for each other like a family.
There is one moment in the book that gave me pause. Maggie says to Renee, "You only get to do this once, Detective. Trust me. You want to get it right." When I first read that, I wasn't sure how to interpret it. Coming out is a lifelong process. It gets easier, often because as you get older, you care less what people think, but it never stops. The simplicity of saying to a new co-worker, "My husband and I" or "My wife and I," is as much coming out as the first time you say it. Now when I read Maggie's line, it reads specifically about coming out at work as a cop, but I wonder how others read it.
Should you read this book? You bet! At the end of the day, I'm thankful for this storyline because it reminds us that being loved is about making sure we're loved for who we truly are.