Secret Identity (Pub Date: April 1)

I’ve never read Seduction of the Innocent, but I’ve been reading about it all my life. In it Frederic Wertham argued that the sex-and-violence-soaked imagery and storylines that youth encountered in comics led directly to juvenile delinquency. And although not a comic, the magazine Nights of Horror was in fact found to be among the reading material favored by the Brooklyn teens who were dubbed the Thrill Killers in 1954, a fact that Wertham seized upon both in the newspapers and the courts. Less than a month after the headline-making arrests of the Thrill Killers, a self-censoring body within comics was formed that would eventually lead to the Comics Code. At the time, though, apparently no one really noticed that the covers of Nights of Horrors, and much of the interiors, were drawn by none other than Joe Shuster, part of the dynamic duo behind Superman’s creation.

Flashforward half a century: graphics historian and author Craig Yoe has unearthed all these illustrations, and now presents them in all their full BDSM glory. But Yoe’s is not the only name on this impressive, strikingly designed book: there’s also a brief intro supplied by Stan Lee. An interesting choice on several levels. Certainly Lee is well-qualified to comment on the era and his own idolization of Shuster, but his handwringing about the “sordid” depths to which a talented, wholesome artist can descend sounds a bit off when juxtaposed against the overall tone of the book. Certainly on the level of biography, it’s a shame that Shuster’s legal setbacks over his iconic character left him virtually blacklisted in comics. (It’s also ironic, since Yoe reports that Harry Donenfeld, Siegel and Shuster’s Superman publisher at National/DC, was originally a printer of pornography in the ‘20s and ‘30s.) On the other hand, Yoe quotes Siegel-and Shuster scholar Bradley Ricca of Case Western University as observing that Shuster’s output for Nights of Horror ranks among his “best work.”

But you don’t need to be an art historian to recognize that many of the stark, two-color illustrations in Secret Identity are full of weirdness, resonance, and yes, beauty. Accompanying stories that seem to combine noirish pulp and adolescent fantasy of a dark order, Shuster’s work displays his “diagrammatic” yet keenly stylized renderings of physical perfection. As Alex Ross, in a back cover blurb, confides, “I’ve spent much of my career trying to emulate his male and female ideals,” a comment that comes remarkably close to the heart of the matter.

I’m guessing that by today’s standards, this art is not, generally speaking, arousing.

Instead, it’s compelling because it returns those physical ideals to adult (or becoming-adult) desires rather than leaving them mired in the half-light of mainstream sublimation such as one finds in superhero comics of all eras. If this seems blasphemous, one need only consider the well-documented bondage elements of the Golden Age Wonder Woman or that Stan Lee himself rarely created superheroines who were not buxom and desirable to the predominantly male readership (which is partly why to this day many female readers feel positioned outside American-style comics and instead flock to manga): there has always been sexual subtext to graphica that emphasizes physical attributes. The art reproduced in Secret Identity, with its familiar square-jaw style, plus the fact that we know Joe Shuster is responsible, collapses the gulf that separates the forbidden from the innocent with astonishing swiftness.

But of course I’m leaving out the key reason many will peruse this book, perhaps because it’s more crudely obvious than others: in its pages you’ll not only encounter Lois and Clark look-alikes, but also, as Yoe points out, simulacra of Lucy Lane, Jimmy Olsen, and Lex Luthor.

While we’re on the topic, Yoe’s prose is always efficient and informative although sometimes he can’t help but have fun with the material: “This sailor, whom Claudette shines her moon to, doesn’t appear to be a rear admiral, but for sure, from the expression on his face, he’s a rear admirer.” This kind of comment may seem kind of goofy, but I should point out that they're often immediately followed by insightful observations; in this case Yoe goes on to note how Shuster contrasted the curves of both male and female flesh with exaggeratedly linear, sharply angled backgrounds and settings, the “stark environments deftly [adding] to the feeling of alienation and pain in this story.”

So is this art beyond depressing, suitable only for rubber-neckers interested in the wreckage of Shuster's career? Perhaps. But the quaint thing about the BDSM stuff of this time period,  strangely, is its innocence. The reader seems to be situated as deploring these horribly degrading acts while at the same time stationed in such a way as to derive maximum enjoyment form them (much like in many horror and exploitation flicks). Of course that opens up the fantasy of saving all the damsels in-undress that Shuster lovingly presents and reaping the benefits of their gratitude.Which in turn answers this question: if we’ve seen Clark Kent in Secret Identity, then where is Superman himself, or has the heroic been completely expunged from such “sordid” material? Well, not exactly. I’d venture that Superman is in the easy chair, flipping through the pages of the "adventure"-flavored Nights of Horror, wondering whether he should rescue all the nice men and women being bound and punished, and, if so, can he delay doing so just a little longer.