As a comics lover, it doesn take much to catch my eye. When a school chum of mine brought in Giant Size X-Men no.1, I almost went into a state of shock. No comic prior to that one caught my attention the way that one did. It had that kinda United Nations feel to it. An African, a Scotsman, a German, etc. There was nothing not to like about the comic. The art would waver between being decent (Dave Cockcrum, John Byrne ), to excellent (Paul Smith, Jim Lee)
I was sold, hook, line, & sinker. The stories; from the Sentinels, to the Shiar. From Magneto, to the Brood, I was all in! Then without warning, I became disenfranchised with it. I’m not sure when. My best guess is it was either because of the art of Marc Silvestri (whose work, I love, now) or John Romita Jr., whose work. I never loved. In any regard, other than an issue here, or there, I hadn’t gone back to X-Men (with the exception of the Carlos Pacheco drawn issues) for any considerable length of time.
Fast forward to a couple of years ago. I’m feeling nostalgic, and l want to pick up on that feeling of wonderment again. So I purchase Essential X-Men, volume one. I get less than fifteen pages deep, when I think to myself; “I actually use to like this Shitzu?
The amount of exposition, was staggering. It read like a bad soap opera (oxy moron, I know) Needless to say, I had no fun travelling down memory lane. With fresh eyes I could see how ponderous Claremont’s writing was.
Though I was happy Marvel was bringing back Nightcrawler, when I saw Claremont’s name was attached, happiness turned to disinterest.