It may be a little audacious to argue this in a week in which Gone Girl, based on the bestselling novel by Gillian Flynn, is in theatres; but if successful movie adaptations are any criterion for the popularity of the written word, it seems comic books are the most successful form of writing of our time. (If, that is, you exclude WhatsApp forwards.) Books-turned-movies are, well, so last century.
It is sometimes hard to admit for those of us who prefer our stories written, but film adaptations are really what make them explode into popular consciousness. Even The Lord of the Rings, one of the most read books of the 20th century, became infinitely better known once Peter Jackson turned New Zealand into Middle-Earth.
What intrigues me, however, is what this comic-book/comic-book movie renaissance tells us about the cultures that grow up around the written word. Sometimes the outlines of these subcultures are not easy to discern - until sudden popularity shines a harsh light on them.
And what popularity: since Sam Raimi's trilogy reinvented Spiderman as a post-9/11 everyman New Yorker in the early 2000s, comic-book movies have gone from strength to strength. Last week, Indian Institute of Technology-Bombay seemed to suggest that Christopher Nolan - who may have made Memento and Inception, but will it appears forever be remembered for The Dark Knight - would drop by its fest, Mood Indigo. The stir that this created, online and off, was unparalleled for the visit of any film director.
The comic-book world is essentially divided in two, between DC Comics and Marvel. Batman and Superman, The Dark Knight and Man of Steel, are DC; Spiderman, X-Men and the Avengers are Marvel. DC took an early lead, with Mr Nolan's strong Batman franchise; but Marvel has shot back firmly, releasing high-quality films at a much faster pace, keeping them interconnected in a clever manner reminiscent of the episodic and networked nature of comic books themselves. Marvel has earned $7 billion from these movies - making its comic-book movies the second richest film franchise in history, after Harry Potter. (Note: Hollywood makes no original live-action movies, any more. Why should they? Adaptations of books, graphic novels, comic books, older movies toys, theme-park rides and board games all do better at the box office than new and original stories.)
Why has Marvel done better? Well, I can explain it best by looking at what one of its star directors, Joss Whedon of The Avengers, said of the head of Marvel Studios, Kevin Feige: "He's just a huge nerd." In this case, it meant something very simple: Mr Feige was a reader. There are not that many people who will define themselves as readers left - remember when people used to put "Hobbies: Reading" into CVs? Kids don't do that any more. But those who are left don't simply read; they become part of the culture that surrounds the books they love. In Mr Feige's case, that culture was the one surrounding comic books. And, thus, he did a good job of curating comic books, transforming them into another art form, and presenting them to his fellow-readers and the audience beyond them - because he knew what made them tick, he knew what was essential, and what could be tweaked and updated and renewed.
But here is what the success of comic-book movies, and of "Geek Kings" like Messrs Whedon and Feige, tells us: that almost any written-word subculture can be monetised; and, once monetised, almost any written-word subculture can be made cool. Consider the highest-rated TV sitcom of the past few years, The Big Bang Theory: it's about four comic-book-reading, video-game-playing academics. Let me assure you, if only other academics were watching it, it wouldn't still be on the air.
Turns out, however, that even a subculture that comes across largely as lovable and harmless can have sharp and unpleasant edges when popularity hits. Turn being a "geek" from an object of unkind amusement into some kind of trophy, into a lucrative target audience, and suddenly people defend their turf. The other place this subculture has seen a sudden expansion of its world recently is in video games, which are no longer played just by adolescent men; more and more older people and women, too, call themselves "gamers". This does, however, not please everyone; and there is an unpleasant online backlash at the moment attacking women who have dared to point out the sexism and violence embedded in most video games. The buying power of this subculture has been mobilised to intimidate even big companies like Intel into boycotting the magazines and websites where such women work.
It turns out that "readers" can be dangerously homogeneous. Readers of comic books, and the defenders of the subculture that has grown up around them, are overwhelmingly young, male and often white. (Marvel and DC are both trying to drag diversity into their movies, announcing new black and female leads last week.) This was something understood, but glossed over, till the stresses of popularity hit.
So here's my question: what of other reading cultures? For example, just as comic books are overwhelmingly read by young men, novels are overwhelmingly read by women. This is not something that is generally talked about, perhaps because so many authors and powerful publishers are men. But this is not just about the solitary act of reading: women use libraries more, buy more books, attend more book clubs. This, too, is a subculture, a world unto itself.
And there are others like it. To be a reader, today, is to do more than read.
Disclaimer: These are personal views of the writer. They do not necessarily reflect the opinion of www.business-standard.com or the Business Standard newspaper
