or, How a Lunatic Murderer Coached My Teen Years
It’s the smile that makes Grimjack who he is. You might argue his trademark characteristic is the scar on his eye — and it’s true that was the first thing I noticed when I discovered him a lifetime ago — but it’s not, nor the streak in his hair, nor how he dresses like the most militant member of the E Street Band. And though “grim” is right there in his name, it’s not his brooding, a legitimate character trait of his long before it became pointlessly de rigeur in comics’ leather-clad ’90s. It’s not even his moral complexity, brought to comics ahead of Vertigo or Watchmen. All of those are defining traits of the character, but not the definitive one that answers the question: “Who is Grimjack?”
Nah, it’s the molon labe grin that only comes out when someone offers violence. Why, sure, says that mad smile, we can dance. Who is Grimjack? The cheshire cat of bloodshed. As for what is Grimjack? A comic book which, more than any other, made me want to create comics…while also giving me an outlet for my standard-issue teenage aggression, and all the other high emotions now available to me.